Crossroads of Farewell

When Faramir awoke, he had no idea where he was. For long minutes, he stared up at two white ceilings floating in a dark room. He blinked and the two ceilings superimposed into one, only to separate again when he lost focus. He wanted to rub his eyes to chase this double vision, but his arm felt as heavy as though it were tied to the bed beneath him.

His last conscious memory was of fighting Orcs on the third level of Minas Tirith in a world on fire. As his sword worked and corpses piled around him in a ring, a winged shadow passed overhead, emitting a terrible screech that turned his blood to ice and cast a mantle of fear over what remained of his hope, like rainwater dousing off the flame of a candle.

Nazgul claws dug through armor and flesh as one of the wretched creatures seized him up into the air. The wind howled all around him as the pungent beast gained altitude. When it flew higher than even the highest tower of Minas Tirith, it let Faramir drop.

He fell for a time that seemed both forever and an instant as the fiery grounds below crackled like a smiling monster beckoning his descent. He landed on top of a burning tree, smashed through the brittle branches and rolled to the floor below. The impact broke three of his ribs and his left arm.

He almost passed out then.

Almost, but not quite.

For the shadow of the Dark Lord Sauron loomed over him as he lay dazed and bleeding on the ground.

The Dark Lord in the flesh.

Faramir could feel the waves of heat emanating from the physical body that Sauron had long last regained. The Ring burned bright at his finger in a band of fire, and the markings on its surface danced on Faramir's pain-stricken face.

The Man couldn't see Sauron's eyes behind the dark depths of that black helmet, but he could feel his malice slithering out like invisible but deadly snakes. Under Sauron's scrutiny, Faramir writhed on the ground as his insides burned as though he had swallowed acid.

He welcomed death then, for it was preferable to the sight of that Dark Terror. But Sauron did not take his life, only his broken body. After that, everything had become a long nightmarish sequence of torture and pain.

In fact, he now wondered whether he wasn't finally dead and delivered from the pain of living, for the room in which he lay was basked in a comfortable and safe glow he thought to be already gone from this world.

A young voice pierced through his hazy mind, "Are you awake?"

It was a voice he had heard before, but where?

His eyes rolled towards his bedside and the face of a young boy with green eyes under defiant eyebrows floated into focus. He tried to speak, but only managed a gargling sound.

The boy turned away and screamed in a voice that seemed to pierce his eardrums, "Lady, the Man has come to!"

A rustling of robes, and then a woman's face entered his field of vision. Pale green eyes in a freckled face framed by golden hair. "How are you feeling? Are you in pain?" she asked. He heard her words a second after her lips stopped moving.

Since his voice still deserted him, he shook his head instead. No, he could feel no pain; but neither could he feel relief. Numbness seemed to have taken hold of him.

Relief flooded the woman's face at his gesture. She started fumbling with something on his chest, and it was only then that he noticed the thick layers of bandages wrapped around his torso. He grimaced at the memory of black claws piercing through flesh.

The woman lifted the linen and studied the wounds beneath with a concentrated frown. "Your wounds seem to be healing well, and now that you have regained consciousness, I think the worst has passed."

Faramir looked at her, mesmerized by the light that bathed her face. Her complexion was pale, like winter snow. Even though her voice was gentle, sternness loomed behind her guarded eyes, which reminded him of the sharpest of blades. More than anything, he wanted to know her name.

"Who…?" he managed to say.

The woman marked a moment of embarrassment. "Pardon my discourtesy. I am Lady Eowyn, of Rohan." She seized the curious boy by the shoulders. "This boy is Gritt Castamiri. You owe him your life, my Lord."

Faramir blinked. Now he remembered where he had seen that face. The Orcs had taken him from his cage and trapped him inside a tree trunk by the river. This boy, Gritt, had been the one to find him. Faramir tried to warn him of the presence of the Orcs, but beyond that he knew no more. He was glad the boy had survived the trap.

"Thank you," he croaked.

Gritt studied him with an impenetrable look on his face. "Saving you almost got my father killed. Perhaps I should have left you."

"Gritt!" Eowyn chastised him, "Don't say what you don't mean!"

She helped Faramir up to a sitting position and brought a cup of water to his lips. Faramir drank slowly, sipping the water like an old man. When he finished, he turned his head away and grimaced as Eowyn laid him down once more.

"Thank you, my Lady," he said in a clearer voice.

His eyes found those of Gritt. "Yes, perhaps you should have left me. I am no better than a living corpse, with no home nor people left to protect."

"Not everything is gone," Eowyn said. "You are the son of the Steward of Minas Tirith, are you not?"

The title weighed Faramir's neck down like a boulder. "Indeed. I am Faramir, son of Denethor," he echoed in resignation.

Eowyn gave him a curt nod, indicating she already knew his name. "There is someone you should meet. Not everything is yet lost."

Faramir closed his eyes, feeling weary all of a sudden.

"We are in Meduseld," Eowyn pursued, "This is the Golden Hall of Rohan under the protection of my Uncle, King Theoden. My Lord, war is coming to our very doorstep. This is the last stand of the Free Folk of Middle-earth."

Faramir remained with eyes closed, and Eowyn could see that darkness threatened to close its fist around his heart once more. "I will bring more of the athelas herb," she announced as she picked up her dress to stand, and then walked out of the room.

Gritt threw a last glance to the Man before following after her, leaving the door ajar.

Faramir thought he was just resting his eyes, but he must have dozed off, for he was back in a nightmare. Claws black as death closed around him as a smell of putrefaction spread across the spaces around him. He snapped his eyes open and saw that the smell came from his own chest where the wounds had festered, angry red in some parts and rotting black in others. Green pus oozed out, staining his bandages.

Then, the image dispelled. A fresh scent invaded the room, fought and then won over the smell of rot. Faramir's breathing evened out and deepened. When he opened his eyes again, the face of a Man appeared in front of him. It was a face he had never seen before, and yet seemed familiar, like that of a long lost brother.

Black hair framed piercing and clear gray eyes. The Man murmured soft words with a warm hand to his feverish forehead. The scent of athelas seemed to flow out of the Man's palm and into Faramir's nose.

Faramir breathed in deeply and felt a wave of serenity wash over him. "Who are you?" he asked in his clearest voice yet.

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn," the Man said. "Rest now. You will no longer dream of Him."

It took Faramir several seconds to remember the meaning behind the name Arathorn.

"The son of the King," he whispered with renewed awe. "You are a descendant of Isildur."

He tried to reconcile this information. Even though Minas Tirith as he knew Her was lost forever, the descendant of Isildur now stood in front of him, alive and in the flesh.

"All that is lost can be found again, albeit under a different form," Mithrandir's voice suddenly resounded in his mind, bringing back memories of cool summer nights in the courtyard of Minas Tirith, when he was a young boy full of curiosity and Gandalf the wisest of all his teachers.

Faramir had a million questions to ask Aragorn, but he knew not how or where to begin. As he struggled with his words, he noticed a familiar face behind Aragorn. His eyes lit with joy and wonder.

"Frodo!" he exclaimed.

Frodo approached the bed and shook the hand Faramir had lifted. "Well met again, Lord Faramir," the hobbit said with unbidden emotion.

"And where is Sam?" Faramir inquired. "Is he well?"

"Here I am, Lord Faramir," Sam's voice rose from the back of the room. Aragorn smiled and made some space for the gardener.

Sam took Faramir's hand in both of his. "It is certainly good to look upon your face once more, Captain. You must be blessed with many lives!"

"We managed to save some of the people of Gondor, but not nearly as many as we would have hoped," Frodo reported with a sigh.

"It was a desperate measure to say the least," Faramir replied. "My gratitude would have remained equal had you only saved one life. And where are they now? The Lady Eowyn was just informing me that war is coming."

"The common folk of Rohan and Gondor have started to head to Dunharrow to take refuge," Aragorn explained. "Dunharrow above the valley of Harrendale; it is a safe haven for the Rohirrim, and an easier site to defend than Edoras."

Faramir's traits fell again at the prospect of war, but then his eyes met those of a woman Halfling standing a few steps back. She was clad in Riders' clothes that seemed initially intended for Rohirrim children. There was something odd about her. The wild and untamed aura of her stance and gaze contrasted with her attire, as though she were a child plucked from the wild and clad in human clothes.

She had stayed silent during their exchange, but her eyes were penetrating as she returned Faramir's gaze.

Frodo noticed their exchange and smiled at his companion. "Why don't you introduce yourself to Lord Faramir?"

The woman Halfling glided forward lithely. "I am Allie Brandybuck. Well met, Lord Faramir. I have heard much about you from Frodo."

"Likewise," Faramir replied, easing himself up.

The way Frodo looked at her left no doubt in his mind that she was the one who had weighed so heavily upon the hobbit's mind when they had first met in Osgiliath. Frodo did manage to find her again. Faramir was glad on his behalf.

"Well, I suppose we should let you recover your strength," Sam spoke into the silence, always the mother hen worrying about the health of the ill.

"That would be wise," Aragorn agreed. "We have much to do. The trenches will not dig themselves. Come now, hobbits. It's time to go back to work."

As Aragorn and Sam left the room, Faramir caught Allie looking at him in a peculiar way. "Is anything the matter?" he asked her.

She blinked, a bit embarrassed, as though unaware she had been staring. "I didn't mean to be discourteous, but you really bear semblance to Boromir."

They had the same earnest brown eyes and the same sandy hair, although Faramir's was longer than his brother's. Faramir had a wistful smile. "As children, we were even harder to tell apart. We have always been more alike in physique than in character. Boromir's always been the child prodigy father has always wanted. He is… was, the most skilled at a blade while I have always held little interest in weaponry. Once, Boromir stood in for me during one of my sword lessons. Admittedly, the sword-master was often drunk enough to be unable to differentiate a rock from a cup, but the fact that Boromir could stand in for me still testified to our physical similarity."

Faramir had a small laugh, which soon turned into a grimace when his healing ribs gave off a painful warning.

Frodo had also stayed behind to listen to Faramir's story, but his eyes turned sad at the memory of Boromir's wolf body strewn about the cold stones as people stepped over him in their rush to get to the tunnels.

Faramir settled down into his pillows wearily. "Frodo, I'm aware it was madness outside the Tombs when I left you with my brother's body, but I hope you did not leave it there for the Orcs to mutilate?"

"I sent him off properly," Frodo reassured him, "I burned his body like the Kings of old. May he rest in peace."

"He gave his life for mine. I hope I will be worthy of it. I must not let his death be in vain. Now that Gondor's true King has returned, we must defeat the Enemy and take back the White City."

"It is what he would have wanted," Allie said. "He always feared his city might fall, a fear intensified by his own actions under the influence of the Ring. He must have told you what led him to become a wolf?"

Faramir gave a small nod. "What made you turn him?" he asked her, his brown eyes full of pain.

Allie was thoughtful for a long time. "Back then, it was simple instinct. Instinct and respect I've grown to have for Boromir. Still, many nights after that I wondered if I'd done the right thing. Aragorn told me I can't save everyone. But that wasn't just about saving your brother's life. As he lay broken and dying under that tree near the Fall of Rauros, I saw guilt and regret in his eyes. Guilt for giving in to the Ring, and regret his actions will lead to the ruin of his city. No one should die with those feelings weighing over their last breath, least of all Boromir. He was a good and honorable man."

"Aye," Faramir agreed.

Her pale eyes found his. "In any case, now that I have met you, I no longer doubt I did the right thing." She smiled at his puzzled expression. "A long time ago, I had an older brother too. Something happened that made me lose him for a time. When we met again, he was changed, and he was dying. I wished so ardently to be able to have one last peaceful moment with him, shared one last meal, had one last good laugh together. But by then it was too late."

Frodo looked at her, astonished she would talk about this painful episode so openly. Allie sighed. "Saving a person is not just about that person, but about his or her loved ones, too. I'm glad you got to have those moments with Boromir after he went back to the White City, even though at the time you didn't know they would be your last ones."

"Yes," Faramir spoke through the pain in his chest. "I even had a dream Boromir would not return, so my heart was filled with joy on the day he came knocking on the gates of the city, alive and well."

"Most importantly," Allie said, "he did not die in regret. He died fighting for this city and for you. I don't think any other death would have been more meaningful to him."

"Indeed," Faramir murmured. "May our lives leave their mark on this earth, however small it may be; and may we die with no regrets."

Frodo rested a hand on Allie's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "May we die with no regrets," he repeated.

Faramir's face was more at peace when he rested his head down and turned clear hazel eyes toward the two hobbits. "Thank you for your visit and for your words."

Allie gave a nod.

"Rest well," Frodo said as he made for the door.

Allie walked with him, but at the door she paused. "I will be with you in a minute, Frodo. There is one more thing I would like to discuss with Lord Faramir."

Frodo was puzzled but did not inquire further.

Allie gently closed the door behind her. Faramir watched her come back toward him first with astonishment, and then dismay when Allie went down on one knee beside his bed and placed a fist against her heart.

"Lord Faramir, please accept my deepest gratitude for all the help you have given Frodo when he was at his lowest. Truly, I thank you from the bottom of my heart."

Faramir lifted himself up on one elbow, the pain of his injuries for a moment dulled and almost forgotten at the sight of her kneeling with her head bowed. Awkwardly, he took her by the arm and pulled her up on her feet again. "Please, I did not do much. I should thank him instead. My people would have perished if not for him, Samwise Gamgee, and the grey wolf."

"That may be true, but you have to know that you saved him. By entrusting him with the lives of your people, you gave him your utmost trust when he did not even trust himself."

Faramir smiled. "Then let us agree our meeting was mutually beneficial."

Allie extended her hand. "If there is anything you ever need from me, just say the word."

The Man of Gondor held her smaller hand in his and shook it gently. "Likewise, Allie."

She made to leave, but then paused again. "I hear they will move you to Dunharrow in the afternoon."

Faramir's brow darkened. "Cursed is the day when the Enemy comes to end us, yet I am unable to face him in the battlefield."

Allie squeezed his shoulder. "Place your faith in us, Lord Faramir. The darkness shall not prevail, this is what I choose to believe."

She hesitated for a second, but then took an envelope out of the inner pocket of her vest and handed it out to the ailing Man.

Faramir eyed the envelope, but didn't take it. "What is this?"

"A letter," she murmured more to herself than to him. "The first letter I have ever written. And probably the last."

He scrutinized her. "A letter for whom?"

She looked down at it, her fingers playing with the yellow corners of the paper. "For Frodo." A wistful smile played on her lips. "He's the one who taught me how to write, so it's only fitting that my first and last letter be addressed to him."

She pressed the letter into Faramir's hand. "If we manage the feat of defeating Sauron, if Dunharrow still stands and you still live, and Frodo still lives… will you give him my letter? Will you do that, Lord Faramir?"

Faramir looked at her for a very long time. "No," he finally said. "Why are you forsaking your own life?"

Allie shook her head. "I am not forsaking it. I intend to do my utmost to stay alive. But even so, there may come a time when I can't give him this letter myself. Will you do it for me, then? Please?"

Faramir studied her gleaming eyes and the stubborn line of her mouth. Without a word, he took the yellow envelope from her hands and looked down at the writing in ink adorning the paper. The letters were big, awkward and childish, but clear and readable. To Frodo, it simply read. Faramir gazed upon the doleful look on her face with a heavy heart. "If all the circumstances you listed come to pass, I will make sure this letter reaches him."

She took in a deep breath and managed a smile. "Thank you," she said, and then quietly left the room.


Edoras had changed much ever since Atariel brought the news of Sauron's imminent arrival and his strategy of three armies. Several garrisons of Men and Elves had already left for Dunharrow in order to fortify the refuge against Sauron's coming. Dunharrow was a cliff-top hidden in the White Mountains, a fortified fortress designed to withhold a prolonged attack.

The cliff-top overlooked the valley of Harrowdale through which the Snowbourn River coursed. The only way to reach Dunharrow was through a steep and winding path the Rohirrim called the Stairs of the Hold. The Stairs led up to a grassy area serving as site of encampment for the mustering soldiers. Dunharrow offered a strategic advantage to those defending it from above. The stairs were steep and narrow, only permitting passage to two horses at a time walking abreast.

Thus, a few hundred men could hold off an entire army, but only until provisions lasted. Dunharrow could easily become a death trap if the enemy were to set up siege down in the valley. Theoden knew this, and so he decided to hold the fort of Dunharrow himself. He wished to destroy his enemies before they could start a siege.

The garrison of Elves from Lorien and Rivendell, and a quarter of Rohirrim soldiers had already departed for Dunharrow, pulling catapults and war engines after them and setting traps in the Stairs of the Hold.

Merry, upon pleading with King Theoden, had finally been given the position of Squire of Rohan. He wanted to be useful in this war and to fight alongside his friends. Sam tried to talk him out of it, but Merry's eyes had been burning with a fire no words could douse. As a Squire of Rohan, Merry was given the task to guide the remaining women and children to Dunharrow. They would be safer there than at Edoras, which was open to the grasslands on all three fronts. The White Mountains at the back of Edoras were the only real protection.

With Sauron's coming a mere two days away, King Theoden held a last War Council in his Hall. The main representatives of all nine Free Peoples sat with him. Aragorn for the Men of Gondor, Halbarad for the Dunedains, Legolas and Elrohir for the Elves, Gimli for the Dwarves, Allie and Atariel for the wolves, Errol for the Corsairs of Umbar, Frodo for the hobbits, Gandalf for the Wizards, and finally, Eomer and the King himself for Rohan.

"Why not forsake Edoras?" Halbarad said what many were thinking but dared not point out.

"The Dwarves are on their way," Gandalf replied through a puff of pipe smoke. "I have been kept informed of their progression. They will come to Edoras on the third day. But if we lose the city to the enemy before the Dwarves arrive, an army of hundreds of thousands of Orcs will stand between them and us. If that should happen, their coming would be of no aid. We have to hold the Snowbourn open for them at all costs."

"The Snowbourn?" Allie asked.

The White Wizard said, "The Dwarves are travelling by ship, lent to them by the Men of Esgaroth. A War is brewing in the North, so Laketown could not afford to send their own Men to our aid, but at least they've given the Dwarf army a swift means of transportation down the Anduin."

"Then all the more reason to hold off the Orc garrison that means to cross the Snowbourn in secret," Aragorn pondered.

"We will take care of it," Errol said with brows furrowed deep. "Our ships are docked to the Snowbourn and ready to go at a minute's notice. The pirates and the wolves will deny passage to the Orcs. You can count on us."

"And I will hold Edoras!" Eomer's voice boomed beside him, as the captain of the Riddermark stood in all his height with a light dancing in his eyes. "We are Riders of Rohan, horse-lords and horse-masters. We know every ridge, every rock and every dale of these plains. May our banners fly high one last time. May our horns echo through these hills and fill our enemies with fear!"

"Aye," Theoden agreed. "I will entrust Edoras to you, Eomer. You have to hold it until the coming of the Dwarves."

"I shall stay with Lord Eomer," Allie said in a soft voice. "Wolves will be useless to you in Dunharrow. We kill at close range with our fangs and claws. We will fight best on these open fields."

"But I shall go with King Theoden," Atariel decided. Her white hair was braided and fell on her right shoulder. For only garment, she wore a white cloth around her quivery frame. When the assembled people looked at her, it was not her aged face they saw, but her eyes as clear as the skies of a younger Middle-earth. "My magic can be of use in case of a siege," she continued. "And you Mithrandir, what shall you do?"

Gandalf exchanged a short glance with Aragorn. "I will be where I am needed most," he simply said.

Eomer turned to Aragorn. "Will you ride with me to battle, Lord Aragorn? Let the banners of Rohan and Gondor fly together one last time!"

Aragorn's face was forlorn, and for long minutes he stayed silent, pondering. Finally, he shook his head. "My path lies beyond Dunharrow."

Eomer arched an eyebrow. "There is no path beyond the White Mountains."

"No paths, but one. The Paths of the Dead, Dimholt under the mountains."

A chill fell over the assembly. "The Paths of the Dead?" King Theoden exclaimed with a fist on the table. "What madness is this, Lord Aragorn?"

Aragorn's face was grey and weather-beaten, but the determination in his eyes didn't waver. "It is a path that is mine to take. I don't ask any of you to accompany me."

"But we will," Legolas said and stood up. "I will go with you, my friend."

Gimli exchanged a puzzled glance with Legolas, but then furrowed his brow. "So will I."

"And I," Halbarad echoed.

"This is madness!" Eomer echoed his King's words. "There is nothing but death under those mountains. It is a haunted and dreadful place. Why do you walk toward a foolish end and certain death on the eve of the battle that will decide our fate? Have you lost all hope of victory? Is that why you seek death?"

"It is death I seek," Aragorn agreed, "But not for me."

King Theoden shook his head. "If you must go, then make haste. The last contingency of Rohirrim Riders is leaving for Dunharrow this afternoon. You should ride with them if you must go."

Aragorn bowed in silence.

"What about Sauron?" Allie asked. "We still don't know where he will strike."

She glanced at Atariel, but the Wizard's blue eyes held no answers.

"Will he even come? He might direct his army from the shadows and just watch," Gimli grumbled.

"He will come," Aragorn spoke with certainty and said no more.

Allie tried to meet his gaze, but Aragorn crossed his arms across his chest and stared forward. Allie knew what he had done. She saw him the night before, speaking to Sauron through the Palantir in Gandalf's room. He showed Sauron the sight of Narsil reforged. Sauron now knew Isildur's heir was in Edoras. He would come to finish what he started three thousand years ago.

"A dangerous enterprise, but necessary," she agreed. She gave Aragorn a brief nod.

"Then I shall also stay in Edoras," Frodo decided. "I will take the gamble that Sauron will come to Edoras instead of Dunharrow."

No one contested his decision.

King Theoden stood to preside over the assembly. "Our forces will thus be split in two. I will direct the defense at Dunharrow, and Eomer, I put you in charge of Edoras. Protect the Hall of our fathers! Let every able-bodied man take his horse out to the grassland. I want every hole of Edoras filled with archers. All the catapults ready along the walls. And the trenches, are they built?"

"All finished and ready, my liege," Eomer answered.

Theoden turned toward Allie. "And hold the Snowbourn. It's our last hope, if we may still speak of hope."

"It shall be done," Allie assured him.

Theoden looked at Aragorn once more, begging him to reconsider, but the Dunedain didn't yield. He knew what path he must take, and he would not apologize for making this decision.

And thus the last War Council of the Free Alliance came to an end.

Merry and Sam had been hiding right behind the doors, eavesdropping on the conversation, but they hadn't heard much across the thick wooden doors. As they saw Allie and Frodo coming out, they rushed to them and urged them to spill the secrets of the meeting.

When Allie started summarizing the meeting for them, Frodo caught Gandalf beckoning him from the shadow of the Hall. After throwing one last glance at his friends, he went to the Wizard.

"It is time," Gandalf spoke gravely, and Frodo understood at once what he meant.

Throwing one last glance at Allie, who had not noticed his departure, he followed Gandalf to his quarters and to what awaited him in the gloom of the closet.

Gandalf opened the door without a word and handed the bottle wrapped in cloth to Frodo's extended hands. Frodo fought the urge to remove the cloth and peek inside the package. Instead, he wrapped the cloth tighter and put the cursed object inside his bag.

Gandalf leaned heavily on his staff as he peered down at Frodo. "Do you know what you have to do?" the Wizard asked.

Frodo nodded. "Do I just have to break it in front of Sauron? Will it even work?"

"Ideally, Sauron should come into contact with it. If you ever find yourself close enough to pour the content onto him, then do it. But Frodo, my lad, few people have gotten that close to the Dark Lord and lived to tell the tale."

For the first time since Frodo knew Gandalf, he saw fear in the Wizard's eyes. The hobbit forced his face to stay impassive and his hands to stay relaxed around his bag. "It is what I must do."

Gandalf leaned close, his eyes piercingly serious. "Whatever happens, don't let Allie near it. If the Blood ends up becoming Sauron's ally, Allie will turn against us. Which means the wolves will turn against us."

Frodo understood the terrible implications of that. Allie had assured him she would not let the Blood take over again, but some things were outside of her control. He nodded, gulping down his nervousness, wishing such a cursed thing as the Blood had never existed.

Wishing Sauron had never existed.

That afternoon, Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas and the Grey Company of Dunedains all left for Dunharrow and the Paths of the Dead. Before they left, Allie came to bid Aragorn farewell.

"You will come back," she told him.

Aragorn's eyes were tired, but he smiled nonetheless. "Yes, and you will be holding Edoras when I do."

Thus they made the unspoken pact they would meet again.

Allie searched his neck for the Evenstar, but the chain of the necklace was no longer there. "Have you bid farewell to Lady Eowyn?"

"I have not seen her as of late," Aragorn said. "If you do, send her my regards."

When he mounted his horse and rode away, Allie knew how much it pained him to have caused such distress to Eowyn. But it was what it was. Life could be merciless, and love even more so.

Atariel also came to bid her farewell before leaving for Dunharrow with her pack of white wolves. The last Rohirrim riders looked on in wonder as their horses gave a wide berth to the pack. The Men murmured among themselves that they were fortunate these creatures were on their side.

Allie studied Atariel for a moment and handed her the wolf collar encrusted with the white gemstone. "You will need it in battle," she told the Wizard.

Atariel's smile made her look years younger. "Do you trust me now, Glor Bereth?"

She shrugged. "Trust is earned, Queen of Rhovanion. Please help our allies hold Dunharrow. All the women and children are there. Dunharrow cannot fall."

Atariel remained smiling, but her clear blue eyes held a glint of steel. "I will do what I can. Good luck on the battlefield. May we meet again in better times."

"It might be best if we don't," Allie murmured under her breath.

Atariel was already riding away on the back of a pale wolf with red eyes. Allie followed the sway of her silver hair until she disappeared behind the mountains.

She then turned her gaze to what remained of the Mustering of Rohan. Seven thousand Rohirrim Riders or so, and her own two hundred wolves. A pitiful army, truly, against such an overwhelming Enemy. Their only hope was to bring down Sauron and the Ring, without whom these Orcs would crawl back to the mountains whence they came.

With the setting of the sun, the second day since Atariel's arrival drew to an end. Instead of the vibrant red of so many sunsets Allie had seen before in the wilderness, this one was tainted, as though marred by a dirty veil.

Her eyes traveled east and a rock set in her stomach. The sky was pitch black, like the bottom of a deep well. Darker than storm clouds, darker than a flow of crows, it was the darkness of Mordor that had taken shape and threatened to engulf everything in its passage. Shadows ate away at the land under that black mantle. The trees, the rocks and the streams lost their shapes and became nothing but misshapen monoliths of death.

She ran on top of a boulder and looked east from above the sea of Rohirrim tents. On the horizon line at the edge of the plains, at the far end of the Great West Road, small dots crawled forward like maggots on a piece of rotten flesh. Sauron's army of Orcs and Trolls and creatures of the night! No, she knew it was too soon to see them. Those moving shadows must be a figment of her imagination or an illusion cast by the enemy to instill fear in their hearts.

She was not the only one to have noticed the approaching darkness. Several Rohirrim riders were looking east as well with pale faces. The eastern wind was cold on their skin and carried the scent of Mordor, the scent of death. A lone wolf from her pack howled despairingly, and several others echoed its cry.

"They are coming," the voices said.

"Shut up," Allie murmured.

"Tomorrow, the sun will not rise."


The next day, Allie awoke to a grey dawn. The shadows had reached Edoras over night, covering the grasslands and Meduseld castle in darkness. From the room she shared with Frodo, she looked outside and swallowed audibly at the forlorn sight of the grey landscape. Dark clouds swirled overhead, masking the sun. They were not storm clouds, for no lightning flashed in their midst and no thunder boomed. Instead, the darkness seemed made of ashes and detritus a volcano had vomited upon the world.

The wind from the night before was gone, allowing a dead stillness to fall upon the land. The trees did not sway, the birds did not fly and even the hundreds of horses gathered on the plains were quiet. The silence seemed almost physical as the world held its breath and waited.

Allie looked over at Frodo's bag hanging from the back of a chair. Something white glittered from its depths. Quietly, she undid the latch and opened the flap of his bag, revealing the Mithril chainmail Bilbo had given him in Rivendell.

Something else lurked beneath it. She gritted her teeth.

She closed his bag in a hurry when the sound of rustling clothes arose in the dark behind her. She jerked back, but all was dark in the room. She vaguely detected Frodo shifting on his bed, moaning under his breath.

Allie's hand felt the surface of the night table until her fingers encountered a candlestick partially covered in melted wax. The candle it supported was not all finished yet. She struck a match to light it, and in its weak and wavering glow, she made out Frodo thrashing on the bed. His forehead was drenched in sweat, and a broken string of hushed words fell from his moving lips.

She hurried to his side and took his hand. His nightmares were getting worse with the approach of the Shadow. She remembered that bleak day on the plains of Gorgoroth when Frodo had claimed the Ring for himself to order to force the Nazgul to fly back down with Hunter. Shortly after that, a winged shadow had jumped out of the Eye and had struck him where he lay, invisible to everyone but to the specters of the dead. Allie didn't know how Frodo had managed to keep his sanity after literally being ripped apart by Sauron's shadow. But somehow he had made it out alive.

Frodo thrashed again, jerking his head this way and that. "Frodo…wake up," she said and shook him gently.

Frodo let out a cry that reverberated within the walls of their room. He sat up straight and panted for breath with a hand clenched where the Ring used to be.

Allie pressed his head against her chest. "Easy," she whispered in his ear. "Easy, Frodo."

He turned two bewildered eyes toward her and for a moment he saw not her, but the remnant of his nightmare. In the flickering light of the candle, his face seemed pulled back by sheer terror.

But then Allie's features took form in front of his wild eyes and the image of the flaming Eye vanished from his mind. He wiped at his face with a hand. "Did I wake you?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

She shook her head as she brushed a soothing hair through his hair. "I was up already looking out at this semblance of a morning. Was it the Ring again?"

Frodo blinked as though there were cobwebs in his eyes. "I see it so clearly in my dreams now," he confessed in a low voice. "Its circular and polished surface… its golden glow as it twirls in the dark… and when I reach out to touch it…"

He looked down at his fist and forced himself to relax its grip. Instead of the Ring, he had been clenching the half-moon pendant.

Allie's fingers continued the reassuring work of combing through his dark curls. "Soon, it will be over," she told him. "For better or for worse, it will be over."

He wrapped an arm around her waist. "Yes, I know."

"If by some miracle we steal the Ring back, will you be able to destroy it?"

Frodo paused, and then pulled back to look at her face. Her grey eyes were frank, but not accusing. She knew it was a touchy topic, but didn't back off from it. "Will you be able to?" she repeated.

Frodo allowed himself to gaze back just as frankly, and in doing so his sight seemed to finally clear of cobwebs. "I don't know," he confessed. "It might use some devilry on me, but if I hesitate, you know what you must do."

Allie bit her lip. "We will cross that bridge when we come to it." Her eyes shifted to the door as a smile lit up her face. "Get dressed. I hear company coming!"

Indeed, a few seconds later, a knock came at the door. Frodo struggled to don his armor, but Allie opened the door even though he yelled at her to wait. Merry, Sam and Pippin stepped in to see Frodo pulling his trousers up one leg as he hovered precariously on the other.

"Allie, you evil brat!" Frodo shouted, blushing furiously. He tried pulling his pants up all the way, but only managed to get himself more stuck.

Merry and Pippin burst out laughing, and even Sam was pinching his lips to suppress a smile. "Need a hand with that, Frodo?" Merry gave him a clap on the back that made him fall back on the bed with the trousers half worn.

"Merry, grow up!" Frodo said with cheeks flushed red. He quickly slipped his other leg in his trousers and finally pulled it up to his waist. He meant to direct his anger toward Allie, but she was already conversing with Pippin.

"Why are you back to your hobbit shape?" she asked.

Pippin shrugged. "Being a hobbit one last time. According to Councillor's calculations, the Ent water won't work on me again after this time. Don't worry, I will turn back into a wolf before the thick of battle."

Allie's eyes softened as she engraved his hobbit face in her memory: his shabby blonde hair and vivacious green eyes so full of life. She touched his cheek gently. "Nice to see you, Pippin."

Pippin's smile wavered and he hugged her to him without a word.

"Be careful, Frodo, or Pippin is going to steal her from you," Merry cackled beside him.

Frodo rolled his eyes. Pippin overheard his friend and couldn't help a feral smile from coming onto his lips. He swept Allie up in his arms. "Yes, I just might, Frodo. After all, I am a wolf warrior and she is my lady Queen."

Allie hit him on the head, laughing. "Stop joking, Pippin!"

Frodo returned the smile in kind and threatened to unsheathe Sting. "You dare put your hands on my lass? Fine, let's settle this with a fight."

Pippin let go of Allie and beckoned to Frodo. "Come at me anytime, brother!"

Merry considered them solemnly. "I shall be the arbitrator. May you fight fairly."

Allie laughed and sat on the bed with legs crossed. "All right lads, don't get too hurt on my behalf."

Pippin and Frodo circled around each other in the cramped space of the room.

"And what is the price of victory?" Pippin inquired sweetly.

"A kiss from the lady," Frodo replied.

"Oh? Are you sure?" Pippin nagged. "A kiss from my lips will make any lady's heart waver, so you better be prepared for the consequences of defeat, Frodo Baggins."

"You cannot bet on the lady's heart, Mr. Frodo!" Sam exclaimed. "It's not proper! Let the prize be this box of Shire salt, the best there is!"

Merry rolled his eyes. "Can you believe this fellow? He actually packed salt to go to Mordor! What did you expect to use it on, rabbit stew?"

"It could have happened!" Sam protested.

Frodo hopped on the spot, drawing all eyes back to him once more. "I am not betting on my lady's heart, Sam, for I know where it belongs. And second, I am confident in my victory, so that kiss shall be for me."

Merry was about to yell, "start!" when Allie suddenly went to Sam. "What's wrong, Sam?"

Sam dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief. "Nothing, don't mind me."

The other three also stared at him in puzzlement.

"Are you feeling ill?" Merry asked, worried.

"No! No… don't mind me," Sam repeated and dabbed at his eyes more furiously. "I'm all right. Don't mind me! I don't know what has gotten into me. I don't know why I'm crying when this is such a joyous moment."

His teary eyes traveled across Frodo, Allie, Merry and Pippin's faces and he smiled shakily. "I never thought the five of us would meet again and be how we used to be. But now here we are, just like before, and not even the darkness outside can dampen our spirits. When I think about how hard we each had to struggle to stay alive 'til this day, 'til this moment… But ignore me, I'm just being silly. Oh, and now I've gone and ruined the mood."

Frodo clapped Sam on the shoulder with affection, his eyes also a little moist now. "No, Sam, you're not being silly."

Allie also squeezed his hand in understanding.

"This might be the last time we are together like this," Merry said.

Pippin wanted to protest, but no words came out, because Merry was right.

"When are you leaving for Dunharrow, Merry?" Frodo asked.

Merry looked outside at the dark skies and his spirits fell. "Soon," he whispered. "In a few hours."

The fighting game now forgotten, silence enveloped the room as the five hobbits stood silent and forlorn except for Sam's sniffing. They all thought about the war ahead and of their impending separation, this time perhaps for good.

Pippin was the first to shake off the darkness that threatened to close around their hearts. "Allie!" he said. "I have something to show you. Come!"

Allie gave him an inquisitive once-over, but Pippin was already halfway out the door. "Come!" he repeated with a playful grin. "Oh, and you can come too if you want," he finished in direction of the three others.

"Very nice of you to let us come along as an afterthought," Merry grumbled but still followed after his cousin curiously.

The hobbits, led by Pippin, made their way along the gloomy hallways. Lamps usually lit the way at regular intervals, but several had turned dark with no servants left to tend to them. Almost all the common folk had already departed for Dunharrow. Only a last group remained, and Merry was to depart with them in a few hours.

Pippin led them to a small courtyard at the back of the castle with full view of the White Mountains behind Edoras. On a beautiful summer day, one would see white snow gleaming silver on the summit. Now, the gathering darkness hid it from view, allowing only the barren mid-section of the mountain to loom over the castle like a stone giant.

Allie stepped into the courtyard. It was small but well kept. Plants and flowers were planted along its edge, already invaded by growing weeds. Several wooden chairs, painted white, circled around a stone table. Allie would have thought the place deserted, with everyone gone to Dunharrow, but today the chairs were almost fully occupied.

Allie covered her mouth in astonishment when she recognized them.

Hunter the Haradrim was sprawled on one the chairs with both elbows on the armrests and one ankle crossed over the opposite knee. He was clad in brown trousers, but his chest was bare except for the dozens of white scars etched onto his dark skin. The muscles of his chest and abs were well delineated, bulging every time he drew breath. His long black hair was braided and fell down his right shoulder like a whip. He wore a black eye patch over his scarred eye, but his other blue one considered the newcomers' shocked expressions in mild amusement.

On the second chair sat Councillor in his Elf form. He wore his Rider's clothes and sat still like a carved statue, with his hands on his lap. Small braids adorned parts of his fine and silky brown hair, and his polished features were serene. His deep brown eyes were full of benevolence as he smiled at the hobbits.

Lastly, standing against a tree, stood Informant the Corsair, a vision in black. He wore his pirates' clothes, dark vest over dark trousers. The vest was open in front, revealing tanned skin underneath. Black boots clad his feet. His black hair tumbled about his head with the wind, and his sharp and wolf-like features were present even on his human face. He grinned at the hobbits, but his eyes remained as cold as the wind blowing about.

Allie looked over at Pippin, who had gone to join Hunter. Pippin's shaggy blonde hair was almost shoulder-length now. His vivacious green eyes sparkled at her from a face beaten by sun and wind. He was as she remembered him from her childhood, but hints of wilderness peeked from his once innocent features.

Historically, the key members of her wolf pack were finally reunited under their true forms. If they had not become wolves, none of them would have ever met in this lifetime. She felt blessed to know them, and was moved by Pippin's gesture of holding this meeting. They had all drank the water one last time for her. Even Informant.

She barely felt Frodo's hand against her back, urging her to go forth.

Hunter uncrossed his leg as a momentary lapse in composure allowed his feelings to show in his eye. Allie did not miss it; she went to him first. When she reached his level, he stood in front of her, a giant towering over a child. But then he knelt before her and bowed his head. She lifted his chin with one finger to look into his proud face.

"Hunter", she whispered as she caressed his scarred cheek, struggling to etch his real face into her memory.

"Allie," Hunter replied, for once leaving out her title.

She ran a light finger over his bandaged eye. "We have been through so much together. After Barad-Dur, I was hoping to see your real face, one last time."

The Haradrim let out a short, breathy laugh. "My real face? It is strange, but my wolf self is more real to me than this human body ever was or ever will be," he murmured. "My years with the pack are more real to me than my days as a Man. Days which I barely even remember now."

Allie knew what he meant. "Thank you for your loyalty all these years."

"I chose someone worthy to follow," was all he said.

From the entrance to the garden, the other hobbits looked on in awe, trying to assimilate the fact that all the people in front of them were only a mirage of their past selves.

"Are those the wolves?" Sam asked in an undertone.

Frodo nodded. "We should give them some privacy."

The others followed his suggestion, and one by one, they turned away and left Allie and her wolves alone in the courtyard.

When Informant remarked the hobbits' departure, he pushed away from the tree. "Let's not turn this into a dramatic reunion with tears involved. Protector said we should meet like this at least once, so we are meeting, but I don't have much time. I need to go back to my fleet in preparation for this damning war."

Pippin strode to him and stepped on his boot. "Oh, stop being such a downer! You are happy to be here too, so let it show for once."

Allie turned toward Pippin and hugged him to her heart. "Thank you, Pippin, for organizing this. It is the most wonderful gift anyone could have given me."

Especially under these circumstances, she thought to herself.

Pippin smiled against her hair. "I knew you would like it!"

Informant sighed again. "Well, I have seen all of your faces more than I care to. Can I go now?"

Allie beckoned him to approach, and Informant did so cautiously. "You are not going to hug me too, are you?" he said with a hint of threat.

"No, it would be too much for your obstinate pride." She flicked him on the forehead instead and smiled as he backed away with a curse.

"Learn some respect towards your elders, girl!" Informant bellowed as he tried to catch her, but she eluded his reaching fingers by a hair.

"Why?" she retorted as she ran from him. "You never respect Councillor, and he is the oldest by far."

Councillor cleared his throat. "You make me sound ancient. I am still young by Elf standards."

"You are more than four hundred years old!" Pippin exclaimed. "By hobbit standards, you are a fossil."

"Well, by Elf standards I am but a child," Councillor struggled to keep his voice calm.

Allie was laughing openly at their exchange now. Hunter grunted something and Informant sighed again, but a smile finally tugged at the corners of his mouth. It was indeed good to see that old wolf at a loss for words. Councillor was always on his case spewing words about wisdom and prophecies when he didn't want to hear any of it.

"No prophecy to light up these dark skies lately, old wolf?" Informant asked with a grin. "Now would be a good time to hear that the future can still be bright."

Councillor regained his seriousness and shook his head. "Only two prophecies have visited me in my lifetime. The first one concerned our previous Queen. She was to be dethroned by her own mistake. The second one spoke of Allie. She is the Daughter of Sun who will be both the salvation and destruction of our race. Alas, no other prophecies have visited me since then. I am as blind to the future as the rest of you."

Pippin frowned at Councillor's second prophecy. "Allie would never do anything to hurt the wolves. She loves us too much. Don't you, Allie?"

He frowned when Allie's gaze remained downcast.

"Allie?" he insisted with a frown.

Allie's eyes were haunted when she finally looked at the four members gathered before her. She couldn't lie to her wolves; not when this might be the last time they were all together like this.

Without a word, she reached inside her vest and pulled out an object wrapped in white linen.

A shiver ran through the other four even though the object was masked. As a veil of dread descended upon the core of the pack, all signs of playfulness vanished from the assembly.

"Queen!" Councillor hammered in unease. "You took it from the Wizard?"

Allie's grey eyes focused on the Elf. "Gandalf intended to give it to Frodo. I know for what purpose. But it is not going to work with just this piece in the bottle. The Blood told me…"

"The Blood spoke to you?" Hunter towered over her with fists clenched. "When? How could you not tell us right away?"

Allie raised a reassuring hand. "We only talked briefly. I hesitated in telling you this, but you have a right to know. Every wolf has a right to know." But under their insistent gazes, the words she was about to speak died in her throat. She did not know how to tell them.

"Queen!" Hunter insisted with a hint of menace. "Please speak."

Allie's gaze snapped up from the ground when Pippin put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "After all this time we have been together, there is nothing, no piece of news, we can't handle. We have faced worse than this together."

Allie forced her jaw to relax. Pippin was right. She had to share this while she still could.

When she finally started speaking, each word felt like a knife on its way out of her mouth. "The Blood told me of the fate of the wolves if I put Him back together. To put it simply, the wolves as Middle-earth knows them will cease to exist. You all know how the transformation process works for us: you get bitten, you run a fever, you die, you resurrect as a wolf. Well, I don't know what we are, but we are not creatures alive by our own devices. It is the Blood that allows us to remain sentient creatures with a breath and a heartbeat. Without the Blood… the breath, and the heartbeat will remain, but not… us. Not our souls, not anything that defines us as individuals. We will become simple wolves, the animals that we were before the Blood ever came into contact with Mother."

The silence that followed her words was as heavy as though the courtyard had transformed into a tomb.

"So we are dead men walking," Hunter concluded with a bitter laugh.

"We all died a long time ago indeed," Councillor seemed unusually shaken. The notion of death had been foreign to those of his race ever since they were born into the world. Death was a concept he did not know how to grasp, and now he had to accept it had already happened to him hundreds of years ago.

"I don't feel dead, thank you very much!" Informant snarled and hit his chest with his fist. "My heart is beating too strong for someone who's dead! Do you hear this? I hear this! I'm alive, and I don't plan on dying during this senseless war either!"

Allie let out a weary sigh and sank on the nearest chair. She rubbed her eyes. "I don't want to die either; I don't want to put the Blood back together. But if it comes to either that or Sauron winning, then I will do everything it takes to end him, even if we must end with him."

Deep gray eyes looked up at them. "I know this is not just my decision. I know this is not fair for you four, nor the two hundred souls under my command."

She pushed her rebellious blonde curls behind her ears and slowly knelt on the cold stone of the courtyard in front of the other four. "Wolves, if it comes to it, will you give me your lives? This is not a command from your Queen, but from your friend. Today is the day I beg you to forsake everything for me."

Hunter picked her off the ground roughly and put her back on her feet. "Do not ever kneel before us, Queen. You are our leader. You are the heart and blood of our pack. Your decision is our decision."

"Yes," Pippin agreed wholeheartedly. "If Sauron wins, he will kill us all. I would rather die fighting him than live to see him destroy the world."

"But it's not that simple, is it?" Councillor asked Allie.

Allie crossed her arms and shook her head.

Informant frowned and approached the table. "What do you mean, old wolf?"

Councillor laced his long fingers together. His brown eyes flickered to the wrapped bottle and then back to the hobbit lass. "That is not the last piece of the Blood."

"No," Allie admitted. "It is not."

"It is not?" Pippin echoed, incredulous. "There's more?"

Allie shuddered and looked east, towards Dunharrow. "One more."

She watched as understanding dawned on Pippin's face, followed by horror. "The Queen of Rhovanion," he whispered with a hand to his mouth.

Hunter stood like a statue, and Informant's face was dark. "She is the last Queen other than Allie. So she must die for this to work. I see."

"No!" Pippin exclaimed with a stride forward. "We cannot take the life of an innocent ally. She has nothing to do with this. We cannot stab her in the back, after all she's done for us!"

"What if it's her life against that of Middle-earth?" Councillor probed.

"We barely know her," Hunter grumbled uncertainly. "She's nothing but a stranger to you, Queen."

Allie frowned. "I am of a mind with Pippin. Why does it have to come to this? I have done my fair share of killing, but nothing was ever like this. This is cold-blooded murder."

Councillor walked up beside her and ran an appeasing hand through her hair. "You have always been honorable, child. But there is no honor in death, only death."

Hunter groaned in agreement. "Whatever your decision is, we shall respect it. None of the wolves will think less of you, no matter what you choose to do."

Pippin knelt in front of Allie. For once his green eyes were entirely serious. "You know you can't kill an innocent wolf, Allie. Atariel got involved in this war because she wanted to help us. There must be another way."

"The Queen of Rhovanion got involved because she has no other choice," Informant rebuked from behind. "This concerns her too. If Sauron wins, she won't survive for long in spite of all her cunning."

Allie's mind was as torn as the feedback she was receiving from the wolf leaders. She did not think there was another way; the Blood had made it quite clear. She flashed a shaky smile to Pippin. "I will try my best not to go down this route. It doesn't appeal to me more than it appeals to you, Pippin."

She lifted conflicted eyes upon Councillor, the Elf. "Any advice?"

The Elf's brown eyes were inscrutable. "There is no good choice, I'm afraid," he finally said. "You will have to decide according to the events. Killing the Queen of Rhovanion goes against my principles as well. Perhaps another way may present itself to you yet."

"You are confusing her," Hunter snarled. "It's simple to me. Our Queen will do what she must. Even if she has to kill the other Queen, all of us would know she had no other choice. None of us is in any position to judge her nor the hard decisions she has to make." His singular blue eye found those of Allie. "You only have to say the word and I will follow you 'til my last breath."

Moved, Allie gave the Southron a nod.

"Do not fear for us," Councillor added. "When all is said and done, perhaps it is right for us to cross to the other side. We died long ago, after all. Our departure from our wolf bodies would be simply the continuation of our journey."

"Speak for yourself, old wolf," Informant muttered. "I am not crossing anywhere just yet." His stern eyes traveled to Allie. "You have always done as you please, so stop agonizing over this matter. If you have to kill her for us to live another day, then that is the obvious choice to me. Maybe you will find another way, maybe you won't. Whatever you have to do, do it without hesitation."

Pippin looked at Informant and Hunter, and even Councillor, in disbelief. "You are really all encouraging her to kill an ally and a friend? Well, I stand by my initial conviction. You cannot kill her Allie, even if it is for your own sake. Will you be able to take a life so easily if it were Sam, or Merry, or Frodo?!"

"But she is not one of her Halfling friends," Hunter snarled.

"Yes, she is. Her life is as valuable as theirs!" Pippin retorted without backing away.

The Southron towered over the hobbit, his body irradiating anger. "What is this?" he growled. "On whose side are you? You are supposed to be our Protector, not the Protector of the Queen of Rhovanion!"

"You don't get it, do you? I'm saying this fully for Allie's sake. You are all encouraging her to murder in cold blood. Do you know what murder does to a person?"

Informant let out a cackle. "Well, if everything turns out horribly because she didn't kill the Queen of Rhovanion, none of us will live long enough to experience remorse."

Allie pushed Hunter and Pippin apart. "Enough! I have heard enough of your opinions on this matter."

Her gray eyes glinted like steel as she considered the other four. "Since you are as divided as my mind is, I will have the last say on this matter when the time comes." She let out a sigh as her features softened. "Let us not fight when this might be the last time we stand together like this. You have been my family over the past twenty years. We have been together through thick and thin. We will be able to weather this last storm together like we have always done. Do you have faith in that?"

Hunter knelt in front of her. "I do. I have had faith since the first day, and there was never a moment since that I had to question it."

Slowly, Councillor also went down on one knee in front of her, his smooth brown hair rippling down his shoulders. "You are the one that the Prophecies spoke about. I have faith in you."

Pippin mimicked the action of the other two, but kept his green eyes lifted toward Allie. "I know you will do what is right, Allie. As your dearest of friends, that is what I hope for you."

Informant stood behind the three others. He nodded to her but did not kneel.

Allie went to Hunter, to Councillor and to Pippin. She kissed their foreheads and whispered a few words in the ears of each.

And then the bells on the outer walls of Edoras were ringing and a horn sounded three times in alert.

Three times meant sighting of the enemy.

Sauron was here.

"I must go now," Informant said. "I must go to my ships."

Allie looked at their faces one last time. "Thank you," she said with unbidden emotion.

Pippin hugged her again with tears running down his cheeks. Councillor shook her hand and deposited a light kiss on her head. Hunter lifted her off the ground for one last bone-crushing hug.

"Does Frodo know of your plans?" he whispered in her ear.

She tensed in his arms. "No, and you are not to tell him. He still thinks he holds the Blood and he is to keep thinking that. Don't ever tell him what was said today, and that is an order, Hunter."

Hunter put her down, nodded wordlessly and strode out of the courtyard after Pippin and Councillor.

Only Informant remained, watching the shadow of the mountain with his hands clasped behind his back.

Allie walked up to him and together they watched the dark landscape in silence. When seconds stretched into minutes, Allie turned toward him. "You said you had to go to your ships."

The pirate turned to face her, his features stark and forlorn in the gathering darkness.

"Were you ever scared of me, even for a second?"

If Allie thought this was an odd question to ask given the circumstances, she didn't let it show. "Of course. The first time you appeared in front of me in that clearing of the Shire, I thought my last minute on earth had come."

Informant grinned his wolfish grin, the one Allie had come to know well, and to love.

"And you? Were you ever scared of me?" she asked.

Informant's grin diminished but did not disappear. "Of course," he admitted in a low voice. "Ever since you became Queen, I feared for the future of this pack. It seems my fears were not unfounded. Perhaps I always knew you would lead us to this fate."

Allie swallowed. "Do you regret not killing me when you had the chance?"

He snorted. "I never had the chance. You made damn sure I could never kill you."

Before Allie could react, he knelt down and drew one arm around her shoulders. She found her face pressed against his vest, which smelled of smoke and blood and musk.

"You made damn sure when this day came, I would go against all my convictions and choose you."

Informant caressed her hair shortly with his other hand. So brief was his touch that Allie thought she had imagined it. She held her breath, a swirl of emotions washing over her.

"Farewell, friend," the pirate whispered in her ear. And then without another word, he rose and strode away, leaving her alone in the courtyard. Allie listened until the sound of his boots clicking on the stone floor grew faint and then disappeared altogether.

She was alone now. The wind was blowing again, a cold and eastern wind that reminded her of winter and desolation. She crossed her arms across her chest and shivered. Far away, the horns of Rohan were like a cry for help in the dark.

A single tear rolled down her cheek. Taking a deep breath, she put the bottle of Blood back inside her vest and left for war.


Well, it definitely feels like five years since I last uploaded. Heck, it's probably really been close to five years. At this point, all I can promise is that I will finish this story. It doesn't matter how long it takes, I will see it done. At this point, I owe it to the characters to have their stories told to the end. So even if I can't really say when the next update will be, I can promise you, dear Readers, that there WILL be a next update. And a next one. And a next one. Until the epilogue.

Not sure how reassuring that is, and not sure how many of you out there are still reading, but if you are, a big thank you from the bottom of my heart :)