Disclaimer: I do not own anything in Arda (except for Varilerin, *sobs*)
Time had always been a petty thing for Varilerin. Under many circumstances she had decided to ignore the spinning wheel of time, preferring to concentrate on whatever was at hand. But the never-ending enemies seemed to blind her perception of time itself completely. She could only know that it had been hours since the first Nazgul rallied on the walls, which were now ruined to rubbles because of the hostile projectiles and with chaotic soldiers fighting for their lives. Now such projectiles were replaced by flaming stones mercilessly crashing the city, accompanied with endless Orcs sieging the top of the walls.
And Varilerin had never seen darkness lingering for so long, nevertheless her consistency in staying in the shadows for countless years. There were no stars which could give her the assurance that Varda was watching over them, nor the hopes that the sun would rise soon. Rohan would not come to their aid so soon, she did not doubt it, and there were no signs of Aragorn coming from the shores. As much as Varilerin wanted to place all hopes on her comrades, the screaming soldiers around her prevented her from doing so.
Screams of Orcs coming from the gates only worsened the thought. Varilerin inhaled deeply of the blood-reeking air, feeling tiredness hinting her breath, before she shifted her attention from the siege towers to the gates—where Gandalf, she presumed, was stationed. She retreated back from the lines attacking the siege tower to get a better view over the walls. Her eyes caught a large, perhaps the largest and most terrifying, battering ram she had ever seen. It was the shape of a wolf, flames sparking from its mouth, and it approached the gates with slow yet consistent pace.
Varilerin's eyes widened, now scurrying across the battlefield to measure their odds, and finally came upon a decision. "Retreat! Retreat to the gates!" she ordered to her remaining men, sprinting along the walls to relay the message evenly. The men, who had been blocking the path of the raiding Orcs with the stakes of their lives, immediately heard her command. Their numbers had been reduced considerably and it would only waste their strengths if they continued to defend the wall, which should have been lost by this time. They should buy the city more time if they now place their priorities to the entrance.
And Varilerin, as she ran along the walls with immense speed, truly noticed the glances the soldiers took from her as they ran past. Several of them were directed to her swords—already decapitating countless Orc heads and now losing its flourish as Elven swords as a result of the dark blood drenching it—yet most of them landed on her visage. She could judge her appearance right now just by looking at her dangling braid, marred dull with Orc blood, and she doubted her face to be far different. She had not sustained any injuries, except for small grazes here and there, fortunately. At this rate, she might last a night of battle before exhaustion finally take over her focus.
The elleth finally ran back to the gates, where her archers had stationed themselves above them. Varilerin finally had a proper view of the battering ram, pulled by several beasts and operated by trolls cladded in armour. She bit her lip. A ram as large as that should shatter the gates in seconds, all the while throwing the Men struggling to bar the doors like lumps of cottons. Gandalf was on top of Shadowfax, endlessly spouting words of encouragement as they men rooted themselves on their grounds. Varilerin joined the archers, eyeing the battering ram with distaste, for it had arrived just before the gates.
She drew her bow, aiming her arrows at the trolls. "Aim at the trolls!" Varilerin ordered as she shot arrows on one of them. It did not budge, stronger than the others, truly bred specifically for such siege. "Kill the trolls!" she repeated as she fired more arrows, joined by the Men's. Yet, the trolls did not waver, instead raging all their strength to one powerful swing of the battering ram. The wall above the gates shook terribly and so did the gates below. The Men tumbled to their feet, expecting a loud shatter from the doors, but it did not come. The gates had not been defeated.
"The trolls! Kill them!" Varilerin screamed, leaping to her feet and now, with no more arrows to fire, ran down the stairs to join Gandalf. The wood of the gates had been cracked, the men now holding them, and another hit was all required for the entrance to be pried open. Varilerin unsheathed her swords again, placing herself beside Gandalf.
"The wall has been breached. It will not be long for the first level to be lost," Varilerin reported, catching her breath and catching glimpses of screams coming from the wall. She glanced up, viewing the Orcs from the siege towers flooding in, led by a single hooded figure she could never mistake for anyone else. "Once the gates have been taken down, we need to retreat to the city. Vrasari is leading the legion raiding inside."
"Should I fear for that single man or should I fear for what lies beyond this gate?" Gandalf muttered grimly, clutching his staff in anxiety.
"Both," Varilerin murmured with a scoff. "Either way, our lives are on the line. Fortunately the citizens have fully been evacuated to the upper levels. Rohan should come by now, we do not have all the time in the world."
"Indeed, we do not," Gandalf remarked, furrowing his brows so his wrinkles deepen. He noticed Varilerin continuously glancing upwards, to the horde of Orcs closing their distance. "Vrasari is hunting you, you know this. If you want a better chance to survive, you should separate yourself from the soldiers, confront him personally. If he is indeed such a great threat, you need to end this fruitless chase once and for all."
"I will, with my head still intact, of course," Varilerin said, hesitance hinting her voice. "He is skilful a warrior and no doubt he shall give me a gruesome fight, but I should survive. I have come too far just to die." Varilerin closed her eyes, firmly believing that somewhere along the shores he was sailing on the black ships. He will come, she assured herself as she gripped her swords tight, and I will not fall. "When that gate opens, I shall fight off the horde before I disappear. The soldiers shall be then in your hands."
Gandalf nodded, his attention returning to the impending fall of the gates. "May the Valar bless us all. May we live the battle," he whispered, the last word he had with his old friend in the battle. Gandalf stepped forward, interspersing the soldiers. "You are soldiers of Gondor. No matter what comes through that gate you will stand your ground!" Gandalf bellowed before the gates broke upon, the mouth of the Wolf protruding from the resulted cracks.
"May we last the battle," Varilerin prayed as the gates pried open. Battle trolls, cladded in thick armours, greeted them and roared. Gandalf and the other soldiers stepped back, alarmed by the sight.
"Volley! Fire!" Gandalf shouted, followed by a rain of arrows hitting the arriving enemies. They killed many of the Orcs, yet the trolls stood still with their armours as protection. Varilerin twirled her weapons and took care of the trolls before the Orcs could advance. She leapt at one of the creature and pierced her blades deep into its exposed mouth, receiving an agonising moan in return. She leapt before the other of its kind landed its mace on her body. As strong as they were, the Trolls, their armours limited their vision entirely, giving Varilerin the undeniable advantage to sneak around their legs and killing another.
With the Orc threatening her position, Varilerin retreated back to the lines of soldiers. Their clash now began, Orcs and Men fighting for their lives. Nevertheless how persistent they were in holding their grounds, the sheer number of enemies slowly and relentlessly pushed them back. And they finally moved from the gates, for the enemies above the walls were threatening their position as well. "To the second level! Fight! Fight to the last man! Fight for your lives!" Gandalf ordered. The Wizard searched for Varilerin, assuring if she had disappeared or not. Yet, he found her still among the sea of men, protecting the others to ensure their escape. "Varilerin! Hurry!" Gandalf reminded, just before she retreated further and approached him.
"It is difficult to escape in this chaotic situation," Varilerin reasoned, running beside Shadowfax. "We need to reach the second floor first—"
"Gandalf!" It was a familiar voice, though it was out of place. Varilerin moved her eyes to the hill, expecting well a Hobbit sneaking among the taller figures.
'What is he doing here?" Varilerin wondered with a frown as the Hobbit closed his distance. "What are you doing here? I've told you to stay in the citadel!"
"Denethor has lost his mind!" Pippin shouted, almost tumbling when he came to a halt. Varilerin gaped and so did Gandalf, seeing that the Halfling did not utter any lies from his lips. "He's burning Faramir alive!" Pippin continued.
"Up! Quickly!" Gandalf ordered, pulling Pippin to Shadowfax. Pippin tried to climb the saddle, but the forced sprint he just had weakened his legs. Varilerin immediately lifted him like a child, placing him safely on the saddle. Gandalf looked at Varilerin, two orbs filled with deepest fear—over her or Faramir or their battle, she did not know.
"Do not worry, the soldiers can take care of themselves," Varilerin said, though she knew Gandalf wanted a reassurance of her wellbeing. She smirked, something inappropriate in this dire situation, and patted Shadowfax. "Go."
With a last nod Gandalf left Varilerin in the chaos. She stood still, watching her comrades disappearing uphill. If she were allowed to, she would be the one riding to the citadel, but she had another score to settle. She turned around, her eyes landing on the numerous enemies in search for their commander, Vrasari. She did not find him, though she knew he was lurking somewhere beyond her vision. She would confront him, but now she had one more matter to take care of before she leapt on a battle of life and death.
She shifted her legs, rushing uphill to the second level. "To the second level! Slow the enemies down! Prevent them from reaching your women and children! Do not let them destroy your People!" she boomed. To encourage them to drive the enemies out of the city would be worthless, for they had no chance once they had been breached. The only chance they had was to obstruct them from entering further, the very least to provide time until Rohan came—a thought which now faltered within Varilerin's hopes as the battle progressed.
Fireballs, which Varilerin just remembered existed in their battle, continued to rain down the city. They were one of the few lights provided in the dark day. She continuously glanced to the horizon where she could still see the stars, to the hill where Rohan would arrive. The unobstructed sky had turned pearl grey, a hopeful sign back in Helm's Deep but nothing less than a refreshing sight in this dark battle.
Varilerin finally reached the second floor, requiring a longer time than she had expected. She drew a deep breath and stopped, standing so still she became a statue among the moving Men. This is where the crucial battle starts, Varilerin mused meditatively, swallowing all the sound and movements surrounding her. One man's presence suddenly stopped as she did so. She could feel his eyes piercing through her as he too stand still. Without doubt he tried to discern her weak points, but Varilerin was too experienced of a warrior to show any—there was a reason why she maintained her composure all times.
When the Orcs entered the second level, Varilerin finally shifted her leg and ran to her left. Her opponent immediately followed, gaining the same speed as her. Swiftly she moved into the small alleys of the city, the sounds of battle dissipating from her ears as she did so. She had not stayed too long to remember the layout of the roads and buildings, but throughout the battle she had grasped blur positions of certain locations she delved in for solitude—one which allowed her to be alone and to gaze to the horizon. There, they would have their battle, and none shall interrupt.
Varilerin finally halted before a small open yard facing the horizon. It was empty, deserted, and provided her a broad view of the current battle. Afar she heard the Orcs streaming into the second level of the city, soldiers shouting battle cries and vaguely women and children screaming. Advertently she drew a deep breath and closed her eyes, meditating in the split second before her opponent arrived. As the sound of light footsteps stopped behind her, she slowly turned on her heels and faced the cloaked assassin. He stood as still as her, one observing the other intently without grasping for their weapons. Varilerin carefully examined her opponent, not an Orc or any kind of Sauron's making no doubt. His footing was that of a warrior, without doubt, and light like an Elf's. He carried a longbow and a quiver, both the colour of dark wood, and two swords which he had used to assault her back in Osgiliath. The similarity was uncanny for both, though when one finally decided to speak they did not mention it.
"Here I finally confront the notorious Daefaroth—the Shadow Hunter," Vrasari said first, his voice cold and ominous. Varilerin did not move, merely glaring at his bloodshot eyes with the same manner. "I believe this is where our mindless chase ends."
"It is strange and unnerving for myself to face my own kin," Varilerin responded. "Tell me, why does an Elf reside his loyalty to a Dark Lord who, as a matter of fact, has done nothing to our race other than inflict us with pain?"
"Pain?" Vrasari snapped, almost startling Varilerin if it was not for her unwavering composure. "You do not know pain, not at all. Do you think you losing your friends equals the pain I felt? I was left in the woods, left to succumb from my wounds. And who came? Your kin? No, the Dark Lord himself reached for my pitiful soul, and took me in as one of his loyal servants."
"Sauron never respects you as a servant," Varilerin retorted sharply. "All of you are mere tools for him to achieve his goals. Once he's finished, you are to be disposed, like a broken sword never meant to be re-forged."
"And a tool I have been," Vrasari hissed. "I owe him my life and my allegiance. He gives me purpose to live, a path to pour my hatred to those who decides to turn away from helpless people like us."
"That's it? Hatred is your fuel? You are such a pathetic warrior," Varilerin mocked him in disgust.
"And what is your purpose then?" Vrasari asked. "Protecting your friends? Protecting that Evenstar everyone places highly in their world? Protect those Elven Lords who cast you to this hopeless quest? And what do they give you? Promise to restore the world back to its always pitiful state?"
"And what does Sauron give you?" Varilerin asked back, her tone as hard as stone. "Power? A place beside him?"
"Revenge," Vrasari said simply, his voice almost carefree. "Never mind my past, but I know that those Lords who place themselves so highly above the others do not deserve all the power they have. The Elves, they believe that they are wiser yet they are not more than a fool, ignoring the truth for centuries which bring themselves their doom. The Men, they are weak and do not deserve all the land they rule. And the Dwarf? They can only think of gold and prosperity, never mind the undeniable truth that wealth is not everything."
"Then power is everything?" Varilerin spat.
"In this cruel world, power is everything," Vrasari answered without hesitance, drawing his two swords. "Sauron knows this well, yet all the others are blind. And that blindness casts upon them their inescapable doom."
"Such doom shall not be brought by you nor Sauron," Varilerin declared as she unsheathed her short swords, eyeing Vrasari not with hate but with determination. "There will come a day when this world disappears, but it is not this day. This day I shall bring you down, and Minas Tirith shall stand with its people welcoming their returning King."
"We will see if your prophecy comes true," Vrasari hissed as he shifted to his stance. Varilerin followed his gesture, careful not to show any weaknesses to her deadly opponent. Their eyes burnt with the fury of battle, one pair trying to extinguish the other. Just before they were about to dash their feet, a ringing sound brought their gazes to the hills. It was the sound of a horn, echoing throughout the battlefield as a song which filled Varilerin's senses.
From the hills rode a single horse, its rider cladded with glorious armour and equipped with a sword. Followed behind him was a single line of horse riders expanding across the hill, banners of Rohan purposefully waving in the air. Theoden advanced forward, his eyes landing on the unbelievable battle ensuing. Yet, even from a distance, Varilerin could see that there was no such thing as fear in the king's eyes. There was no fear in the riders either, as all rode under the banner of their King and the leadership of their King.
Varilerin and Vrasari stood transfixed as the columns of Orcs began to move, forming rows of spears and archers ready to receive the incoming army. Theoden rode across the hill, barking orders to his men before he raised his sword. His horse galloped back, bringing its rider before the soldiers as his sword touches those of his men. Behind the ranks of riders Varilerin could see the light, so bright it warmed her eyes. And Theoden shouted, his voice booming like thunder and brimming with valour.
"Arise! Arise riders of Theoden! Spears shall be shaken, shields shall be splintered. A sword day, a red day ere the sun rises!" Theoden roared. "Ride now. Ride now! Ride! Ride for ruin and the world's ending! DEATH!"
"DEATH!" the soldiers shouted, reverberating the air with unmatched courage. Vrasari widened his eyes, his clever mind not expecting so many reinforcements to arrive. He scowled before he turned to Varilerin, who now faced him with a fierce visage. The battle cries of Rohan riders continued to sound, clearly fueling his opponent with surety and hope more than before.
Varilerin formed a small smile, enough to convince Vrasari that she would not give him an easy fight. She could see from his eyes that his thoughts on the strength of Men were false. Men were not as weak as he thought, and Rohan riders were not even close to being weak. They were warriors, the greatest riders of Middle Earth, and they shall not be defeated without spilling the blood of their enemies.
From the hill the sound of the horn of Rohan echoed once more, followed by relentless galloping of the horses. "CHAAARGE!" Theoden boomed as the riders rode to meet their enemies.
"Death," Varilerin muttered before she leapt to meet her nemesis.
Their weapons clashed in a deafening clang, bringing them face to face once more. Their equal speed brought their blades against each other once more, both relying solely on their agility rather than strength. His swords were thin and longer than hers, meant for stabbing and slitting with its sharp point. It was now clear why his strike at Theodred was true, and deadly.
As Varilerin saw this, she immediately retreated back to create a safer distance, giving her enough time to receive Vrasari's next assault. True to her predictions, her opponent shifted his stance and thrusted like lightning, aiming for her abdomen. She dodged sideways, letting the blade pierce the empty air before she dodged the other. His movement was precisely calculated, and he did not waste any time to linger as he tried to land another blow at Varilerin.
The elleth spun, evading the strike almost gracefully before she seized her turn to attack. She skittered past his thrusted sword before she swung her weapon at his head. He ducked immediately, pulling his weapon and countering her attack with brief stabs which found not her body but her sword. She spun her body and aimed at the man's exposed back, but her sword clashed with cold metal and her target rolled forward.
Vrasari scowled as he returned to his feet, vindictively grabbing his stored arrow and flung it to Varilerin. She widened her eyes and shifted her head, the arrow grazing her cheek before it hit a stone pillar behind her. She glanced at the halting weapon incredulously, for judging from the capability of the arrow sticking at the pillar, her opponent was not all about speed. And he was not a warrior who depended on a single weapon alone.
The arrow was, as she had expected, a mere distraction for Vrasari, and he charged again at her. His sword moved past her as she turned on her heels, flowing like water and blocking the sword with a single sword before she struck the back of Vrasari's head with her elbow. He staggered forward, though he did not lose his footing. Instead he used his momentum to twist his body and kick her hip sideways, throwing her across the yard in a series of rolls.
This time Varilerin returned his gesture, this time throwing her minute shiv at her opponent and successfully scratched his cheek. She did not smirk with satisfaction, for her hip was now throbbing in pain as a result of Vrasari's powerful kick—as expected from the strength of Elf's bones. It didn't seem he broke any bones though, so Varilerin finally brought a smug smile when she saw that her opponent was also affected by her attack earlier. Although insignificant, she could see him losing a pinch of concentration and balance. It should have knocked out an ordinary person, yet it only tipped his focus slightly.
She had expected Vrasari to be as skilful as this, yet she was still surprised. Never had she encountered a warrior as strong as him, minus perhaps Legolas. But Legolas was not a person trained for close combat. He was perhaps the greatest archer in existence, but not the greatest swordsman. Perhaps in this circumstance Vrasari would even give Legolas a difficult fight.
Varilerin shook her head of such thoughts, never wanting to show her enemy that her focus could falter. Over such short confrontations she had discerned his fighting style well, and from such judgement she confessed internally that Vrasari had the upper hand in this one. The battle had drained her strength considerably, despite her fighting in her best condition, and it was an undeniable disadvantage for her part. Yet she could still hold her ground for Vrasari showed a fighting style somehow similar to her. Before she encountered him in this journey, she had faced a man with this style of swordsmanship. It was fierce, never sparing the opponent a second to breath, and consisted of brutal stabs aiming at the large blood vessels of the body such that he would die from profuse bleeding.
She pursed her lips, trying to recount who this man was, as she received Vrasari once more. This time his blows were faster and fiercer than before, perhaps because he had studied her moves as well. Varilerin's focus returned back to her opponent, who now seemingly switched his style to one which aimed to disarm the enemy. It was a change too fast for her, and his attacks ended up disarming her from one of her short swords. She gasped when the weapon was separated from her grasp, thrown to the air like a feather. It landed on the ground just as another sound of a horn shook the air, distracting both from their battle momentarily.
Rohan riders had managed to drive most of the Orc armies away from the city, leaving still a huge number threatening the city. Their success proved nothing more when Varilerin saw a line of Oliphaunts marching against the Men. Haradrims hid above their beasts, sounding horns to deride the Rohan riders which reformed their ranks against the impending army. Varilerin's breath hitched—to think Sauron would go this far in ensuring his victory.
"It seems Sauron the Deceiver has never failed his task in blinding people," Varilerin spat, returning her gaze to Vrasari. He was smiling contently, clearly pleased by the arrival of his reinforcements. This time Varilerin stole a second of his pride to steal sprint to his blind spot. She didn't waver as she entered his range of attack—a manner which could cost her own head—and she decapitated her opponent from one of his sword. Vrasari instantly answered by thrusting his other weapon to her stomach, merely creating a small slit as Varilerin threw herself back. She landed on the ground harshly, compelling her body to roll to reduce the impact. She grunted, though without a sense of victory, for she now saw herself in an equal ground with him. They now had only a single sword, the other beyond their vicinity to be reached. "It seems we are now equal," she teased coldly.
"That was a clever trick," Vrasari mocked.
"Intelligence outweighs power," Varilerin replied, receiving a scornful scowl from her opponent. "Whatever cards you have, whether Haradrims or Orcs or even dragons… Men shall not be defeated today."
"You will," Vrasari retorted with a grin," for I have enough games. Pray lastly."
Mental preparation was not enough to prepare her for Vrasari's next attack. Under a ludicrous speed Vrasari lunged at her, almost pinning her down with his sword if it wasn't for her quick retreat. He struck again, his movement imperceptible despite Varilerin's trained eyes. His attacks became uncanny and unnerving, like relentless blasts of wind against a lone tree. It dawned to her that he indeed had been playing games since they started their battle. Now he showed his true skills, Varilerin was entirely overwhelmed by his ferocity and ultimately succumbed to inevitable slashes continuously grazing her skin.
Varilerin stuttered back, gathering her breath as she wiped a small blood marring her cheek, Vrasari's strikes taking toll of her movements. She gritted her teeth, cursing herself for being overwhelmed by such a man. She had trained for hundreds of years and yet she could only do so little against the man now twirling his sword gleefully. It was a small chance that his blade was not poisoned as well, the pain of her injuries aching heavier as a result. Panting, she punched the largest injury to ease the pain and clutched her sword, struggling to keep it in a strong clutch.
She stole a glance at the battlefield, watching the Rohan riders confronting the Oliphaunts and met their fates like ants threatened by giants. In a short time her battle had become one-sided, just like the one below. Gritting her teeth, Varilerin readied her sword once more, believing that like those riders she had equal determination to oppose her enemy. Exhaustion finally crept down her spines, weighing her already sore feet with pain and tiredness. She shook her head, sharpening her senses and convincing her body to endure before she charged at her enemy once more.
Vrasari moved as fluently as he had been, receiving her strikes almost playfully and with ease. Varilerin compelled her body to move faster, this time switching her slashes into stabs Vrasari had used on her. She succeeded in catching him with surprise, though she could only leave a small slash along his upper arm. Vrasari cursed in Black Speech and burnt with rage—clearly not accepting the small wound he had received—and she pushed her with his own sword. His weapon locked with hers, and they glared at each other with equally steadfast spirit.
Varilerin cursed internally, feeling her body being pushed back by his menacing tenacity. It was clear he would win in brute force, though Varilerin found herself unable to escape their lock. Vrasari would certainly defeat her if she were to release herself, for now her injuries had started to numb her nerves and would subsequently prevent her from dodging his next attack.
Yet a small voice in her heart persuaded her to release her force on him and let the risk threaten her life. Varilerin closed her eyes, questioning that voice for reasons, though she herself was the one who answered. She drew a deep breath and loosened her sword from Vrasari's, retreating only a stutter of steps before Vrasari entered her blind spot and disarmed her from her only weapon. Her opponent smirked with joy as the short sword flung from her hands, enabling him to defeat her once and for all. But Varilerin did not falter, a grin forming on her face.
He was a fool of a warrior to think her swords were her only weapon in close combat.
Purposefully Varilerin let his right sword graze her right shoulder before she drew her last blade. In a flash she unsheathed her father's dagger, which glinted under the light of the eyes, and she swung it against her opponent's face. Her ears caught the sound of clothing torn with her blade. A painful scream followed, with blood trickling from the scar Varilerin had just made for the man's face. She grimaced, holding her own bleeding shoulder, and paced back. Her eyes wide observed the man's reaction as he grabbed his face, writhing in pain.
Varilerin's heart throbbed in anticipation, for she knew her ears could not trick her. The sound before his scream was of his mask torn apart, the only veil concealing his true visage.
This is it, Varilerin thought brokenly. This is where I shall see the face of the man I have failed in the past. This is when I should face my dark past once more.
Vrasari slowly returned to his composure, slowly lifting his face to confront the gaze of his opponent once more. First Varilerin saw bloodshot eyes, a slit running down between them towards his right cheek. Varilerin's breath hitched when finally Vrasari uncovered his face, the man wiping off the blood on his palm to his sword. Next she saw was his pale skin, and the complexion of a fair ellon. Varilerin froze, eyes focused on his face and desperately studying it along with its details. Brown strands of hair which she had just noticed and the shadow of his hood obstructed his features, yet Varilerin's eyes could not deceive her.
Yes, her eyes could not be deceived by such familiar face.
Do not tease her, Ellain. She has gone through much.
Varilerin's breathing stopped, her hands trembling. She screamed without her voice, pleading to the Valar so that what she was seeing was not true.
Have you seen dwarves before, Varilerin?
Her muscles stopped moving entirely, rendering her paralysed with horror and shock.
No, not in a million years. She is more like a bothersome sister to me.
She pursed her lips, tears flowing from her eyes. Memories flooded her soul like poison, tearing her heart apart.
Who will accompany Lady Arwen when you die?
No, Varilerin chanted repeatedly internally. She wanted to look away, but she could not. She wanted to deny all she was seeing, yet she did not deserve such thing. And when he looked back at her, the warm eyes now cold and full of hatred, she finally dropped her weapon. She shook her head, her throat swelling with words she would soon compel to say. A name which she wanted to forget, the only brother she had ever had.
"Ruindoldir?"
A/N: Hello guys! It's been quite a quiet time, hasn't it? Yes, that's slightly a pun, and It's intentional because I've been wondering why the reviews have been silent lately. Perhaps life has started to catch up with you guys as well (lol) and I absolutely understand if it is what causing you to be so quiet these days. Whatever the reasons you guys have, I still miss your thoughts and comments dearly.
Andddd... I feel very guilt right now, as if I am the main antagonist of my own fiction. Yep, Vrasari is revealed to be Ruindoldir. This is the crazy idea I have been plotting since the start of the Two Towers, and I have planned Vrasari to be Ruindoldir-as such, filling the plot hole far back in the story. And his reveal marks the start of the climax of Varilerin's story, as well as my indecisive writing of how should she react henceforth.
And that's what I have to say for this chapter. Now that I've finished it, I suddenly realise that the story's end is nearing... Not very fast, but close enough. So thank you for reading since the start of this fic, and please rate and review! I'll see you in the next chapter as always!