Chapter 21

Near the caldera of the Turrialba Volcano one hour later…

The camp was lit dimly by generators powering lamps that struggled against the darkness which surrounded those within it. Those human mercenaries within it, some from Europe, most from Central America, shivered frequently at the unnatural chill in the air which they just couldn't shake. The stench of volcanic gasses hung heavy in the equally unnatural mist, but that was nothing against the stench of the rotting corpses which the black robed bosses insisted be brought back. For all of these men, it was the worst job they had ever taken, and only the seemingly endless supply of money kept them there.

And the fact that those who chose to quit hadn't been heard from since.

No one ever saw the faces of those who paid them. They were always hidden deeply under their grim reaper like robes and cowls. They had no idea what nationality they might be, or where they came from. All they knew was that they did pay, and they paid well; five thousand US dollars a day per man for the last month paid every morning before dawn. For those men who stayed on the job, that was all that mattered. They'd put up with and worked for petty would be dictators, drug lords who had no trouble dining next to freshly bleeding corpses, pimps who needed their whores tracked down, and other employers who could only be described as "evil" before this. Creepiness aside, these bosses were no different except they paid better and on time.

And for the most part, they had been paid for doing nothing but guarding the huge hole in the earth which formed the mouth of the volcano. Sure, they'd had to take care of some locals and some tourists, rough a few people up, dispose of a few bodies, but it wasn't anything too taxing. Five thousand a day for sitting on their hind ends for several weeks and putting up with some freaky employers who even greased the palms of the local police and military to look the other way? For many of them, it was the easiest job they'd ever done, if not the most comfortable.

The camp was situated at the end of the road which snaked up the living green of the mountain from the town. They had a few guys, maybe twenty at most patrolling around the areas of the caldera's rim which had no road access, but the bulk of their people were there at the end of the road making sure no one got near the mouth of it. Why anyone would really want to was a mystery to everyone but the bosses, but they were explicit in their orders. No one got near the mouth of the volcano that wasn't one of them. The same was true of the caldera at Turrialba's twin, Irazu.

The headlights of a lone vehicle could be seen coming up the road towards the camp. Those in the camp weren't expecting anyone. The mercenaries and guards stood up and cocked their weapons nervously in response. As the vehicle drew closer, they could see it looked like an old Toyota Hilux, the kind of truck with which many if not most of them were very familiar. It tended to be a favorite in third world countries because it had a reputation for being nearly indestructible, and easily repairable with parts available no matter where you were in the world. The high beams and fog lights were both brightly lit as it rounded the last corner and turned directly for the camp.

The intense bright light blinded the guards whose eyes had become accustomed to the low light the bosses insisted on. They couldn't see anything as the truck revved its engine and increased in speed directly for the middle of the camp and the mouth of the volcano beyond it. Men began firing their weapons wildly and blindly in the general direction of the speeding vehicle until it crashed into a helicopter which had been sitting idle for some time, pushing it back until the landing struts collapsed and the helicopter's body hit the ground. The helicopter brought the vehicle mostly to a halt as the entire camp went into an uproar at the commotion and mercenaries began running towards the crashed truck.

The next thing many of them knew was a fiery intense pain. The truck exploded in a massive fireball, setting off the helicopter's fuel as well, causing a secondary explosion which rocked the mercenary camp sending everyone and everything in it into confusion.

And then came the gunfire as the entire perimeter of the camp erupted with automatic weapons fire and the mercenaries who had been sitting guarding the mouth of a volcano found themselves under heavy attack from well armed and well coordinated enemies all around them that they couldn't see at first for the heavy darkness and the temporary blindness of the explosions and the damnable truck's bright lights.

Just west of the road near the mercenary camp…

Jim and Sam hazarded a look at the camp once they themselves stopped rolling from having jumped from the back of the Hilux alongside the Lady Arwen who herself landed in the brush and earth much, much more gracefully than the two Englishmen. Eltariel had been the last to vacate the vehicle after ensuring that it would reach the center of the fortified encampment. She had jumped from the driver's seat with the remote detonator in hand, landing on both her feet, but ducking low and out of sight quickly in a way that only Elves really could. As soon as the helicopter broke the truck's momentum, she hit the switch which set off the explosives and containers of gasoline which had been placed in the truck's bed and rear cab.

In a way, Jim was sorry to see the Hilux get destroyed. It had become almost a member of their party itself. But, he supposed, if they had to lose it, there was no finer way for it to go out than fighting. He bid the truck a quiet and heartfelt farewell before turning to his best mate and asking, "Are you alright?"

"Fine. And you?" Sam asked.

"Just some scrapes and bruises, nothing that won't heal up." Jim responded.

Jim checked to make certain he hadn't lost any of the gear they might need for reaching the volcano's mouth. The ropes, grapples, and everything else he carried were all still there. Sam did the same and found everything right where he left it on his person. The two elf women carried similar kit, but for some reason they seemed to carry it… more elegantly and gracefully. The book shop owner didn't even know how that was possible, but there it was. He and Sam both felt a little ruder and clumsier in their constant presence.

"Are you both alright?" Came the Lady Arwen's genuinely concerned voice followed by her maternally concerned expression. She herself looked no worse the wear, and didn't even appear to have been winded by the exertion.

"We're good to go." Sam responded for the both of them as Eltariel joined them once she was certain the camp was in a complete uproar.

"Good. Stay close to me the both of you." Arwen told the two Englishmen. "As long as we're together, Nenya can protect us all from any harm."

"Right." Jim affirmed, having no intention of letting the Elven matriarch out of his line of sight.

"We'll have to get around closer to the back side to avoid the fighting." Eltariel told them, pointing with her hand. "That way."

"Lead the way." Sam remarked.

In the encampment…

Estel and Sofie fought side by side and back to back as they moved through the encampment expertly, gunning down any resistance they encountered. Their trip up the mountain had been in the back of a four wheel drive pickup truck running with its lights off as it took the gentle slopes of the mountain in stride. It had been the same with the rest of their kinsmen, using whatever vehicles they could to reach their rendezvous point within the time frame they had been given. It was dangerous offroading to be sure, but it was also the only way for any of them to take the mercenaries within by surprise.

Anyone who raised a weapon against them was shot without warning and without mercy. Anyone who dropped their weapons and surrendered was left where he or she was. The fires from the initial explosions began to spread, and these were encouraged. Estel had given explicit instructions to spread the fires and cause new ones to spread over any corpses they created or encountered. He didn't know how quickly the wraiths could raise their wights, and neither did he want to find out. The flames also gave them a tactical advantage over the wraiths themselves who could not bear them.

They had lost another twenty three kinsmen before their forces vacated the town for the journey up the mountain, whether to the wraiths in the town or to the undead they were hunting was unknown to him. Father Adalbert had not met them at the rendezvous, and neither had Gondeg nor Autharan, both whom were like brothers to him. Sofie's father, Amdir had not arrived either. Their losses were tempered into the cold anger which drove them to continue their assault, moving through the mercenaries efficiently and effectively.

The original plan had been to launch an attack on both camps to keep the wraiths guessing as to which volcano they were attempting to use. They had come up with that after the Mass had ended and before the patrol, but a nazgul on the loose in pitch black darkness forced them to concentrate on the one. Darkness was the nazgul's own element and natural environment. He had to get his people moving and away from it to a theater of war more favorable to themselves. Of course that left the people of Turrialba without anyone to defend them that night, but Estel was gambling that once the wraith realized they and the ring were heading towards the camp that it and its undead minions would follow and leave the townspeople be.

Around them gunfire went off adding to the light from the fires as they continued to move through. On Estel's orders, the second helicopter was exploded with a grenade even as the pilot attempted to start it up. This was carried out by those in the frontal assault who had either military training or had been taught the arts of war by Arwen and others at Cerin Amroth. Those who had next to no experience with such things came behind to clean up and watch those who had ostensibly surrendered.

They moved swiftly through the camp. The wraiths' mercenaries were skilled, and several put up a reasonable, well trained resistance. Sofie mentioned a few times that she recognized one or more of the mercenaries from her time in Afghanistan. They had been hot headed thugs employed by the American company Blackwater, and despised by her own German superiors especially for their brutality and cruelty against anyone they targeted as a terrorist. This had been most of the Afghan people. She had a cold look in her eye as she dispatched them.

"How much longer do you think?" She asked Estel.

"I don't know. It depends on how many of them are still around the perimeter of the caldera." Estel responded, knowing to what she was referring. "At this rate, I don't expect this firefight to last much longer."

"It's not these thugs that concern me, your majesty." Sofie returned. "It's their fresh reinforcements from Irazu. With all the noise and this light show we've created, they have to know what's happening here. They have to be able to see it. I'd estimate their ETA to be less than one hour."

"I know, but for now that is Radagast's problem to deal with." Estel told her, having worked out the math for himself. "I am more concerned for the wraiths that are here."

"Speaking of which, why haven't we seen any? I would have thought they would have engaged us right away." Sofie observed.

Estel considered the question even as they both took fire from their right and had to find cover quickly behind some burning wreckage. They both returned fire on their attackers until a spray of gunfire from another direction caused their attacker to fall silent.

"Because they're not here." Estel then answered her, realizing that there was at least one down in the town, possibly two. Both would be headed back up the road if they hadn't have followed the Hilux on its way. The scouts had seen four in either camp. That left two more in this camp assuming they weren't with their fellows down in the town, but there was no trace of them to be seen.

"Then where are they?" His kinswoman questioned.

A cold shiver of fear crept up his spine for the party of four headed for the caldera.

In the caldera of the Turrialba Volcano…

It had taken the four nearly thirty minutes to get around the camp and into a more gentle, sloping entrance to the volcanic ash, rock, and dust of the volcano's caldera. In the fiery orange light of the blazing encampment above them, the outlines of the caldera and the mouth of the volcano could be decently seen, if not completely clearly. The truth was it appeared and smelled as close to hell as Jim ever wanted to be. It was ironic because the photos he had seen of it online on the journey to Costa Rica were actually quite spectacular, and he could understand then why it had become such a tourist spot. But in the dead of night with no moon, no starlight, the volcano's continuous belching of smoke and gasses, and only the light of flames and the sounds of gunfire and terrific explosions in the back ground, tourism was not what came to mind.

They hadn't needed to use the ropes and grapples like they thought they might, though Jim wasn't sure about the way back out of the caldera. The loose volcanic debris still made it treacherous to walk down the slope into the crater. Still, they pressed onwards towards the rising smoke and rocky cliff where the mouth was located.

Dark shadows played across the crater as they went, and loose rock was everywhere, but the way forward for them was surprisingly clear and straightforwards. Briefly, he thought of how much easier of a time than his predecessor he was having it. Frodo and Samwise were dehydrated, starving, and exhausted by the time they reached Orodruin and its internal pool of magma. While he couldn't say he wouldn't have welcomed a good night's sleep and warm English meal, he was no where near as worse for the wear, and neither was Sam. Neither did they have an escort of Elven women not unskilled in the fighting arts, one of whom had personally dispatched each of the nazgul in turn; more than once.

All things considered, their odds at accomplishing their mission were surprisingly far higher than those two Hobbit heroes of the third age. And for some reason or another, Jim felt a tinge of guilt or shame at that fact. He had been given this grand adventure where his own life really hadn't been at serious risk in any part of it. Even the ring he carried had not been so malevolent as to attempt to possess him as Frodo's had. He felt under no compulsion to keep the ring at all and his only hesitancy at disposing of it was because it meant the end of that grand adventure and a return to his quiet, ordinary routine. The ring Frodo bore nearly took his life.

I could have only wished that your journey would have been as easy as mine has been, Mr. Frodo. Jim thought.

They crossed the tiny desert of volcanic soil and drew close to the mouth. It was really quite strange because Jim would have expected it to have grown warmer near the mouth, but instead he felt a kind of chill as the temperature around him seemed to drop rather suddenly as though a bubble of frigid air had just appeared around them.

"Why's it gotten so cold all of a sudden?" Sam asked, confirming Jim's own senses on the matter.

Eltariel and Arwen then went rigid, their own senses alert and heightened as the Lady told them all, "Switch on your lights."

Jim pulled his hand torch from where it had sat on his belt and switched it on. It was one of those black, aircraft aluminum torches that boast it could throw a beam of light for miles. Sam and the two Elf women did the same. They cast wide beams, lighting up the path ahead of them.

Immediately three black robed creatures two dozen yards ahead of them screeched as though in pain. The ring wraiths had been waiting for them, swords out, and now stood in between them and the black abyss into which they intended to cast Celebrimbor's ring. Their free hands went up to their faceless hoods to block the beams of light being cast at them, but they held their ground, not moving from where they stood in spite of the obvious pain the light from the hand torches was causing them.

"GIVE US THE RING!" They screeched at the four.

Jim was still trying to process the fact that three actual nazgul were standing in the way when Arwen drew her own Elvish blade and called back in a challenge, "Your master is no more, and you will soon join him! If you want it, come and get it!"

At the same time, Eltariel drew her own blades of distinctly ancient Elvish make and assumed a fighting stance with them, yet she remained close in proximity to Arwen. They both stood in between Jim and Sam and the nazgul as a shield.

"Foolish Elf girl!" the lead wraith returned, not moving. "You thought we would not realize why you wanted to come here! You thought we would not remember the fall of Barad-dur!"

Behind them could be heard the sounds of shuffling feet.

"You thought you could dissuade us with your artificial light!" the nazgul then told them. "Did you really think you could win this time? Mordor will rise again, beginning here in this very place, and there is nothing you can do to stop it."

Jim then slowly turned his light to look behind them and wished he hadn't. At least two dozen walking corpses had emerged from the shadows and were heading straight for them. "Oh dear." He muttered, turning back to his companions.

"Jim! Sam!" Arwen called to them even as she nodded without speaking to Eltariel who tightened her grip on her weapons. "I need you to trust me and do what I say when I say it!"

"What?! Yes, of course! Anything!" Jim replied.

"Yeah, what Jim said!" Sam concurred as the zombies drew closer.

"Take my hand, put on the ring and call out the enchantment on it!" Arwen told him.

"What?! You want me to put it on?! Now?!" Jim asked in disbelief as the three nazgul waited expectantly for their minions to finish them off.

"Yes! Put it on and call out the Elvish inscription on it!" Arwen told him.

"I don't remember it!" Jim told her. He could in fact recite Sauron's original black speech inscription by heart, but he knew that was not the Elvish Celebrimbor had inscribed inside and out on this ring.

Then Eltariel called out the words clear enough for him to hear them, "Er Corma ilyar turien, Er Corma tuvien te, Er Corma tucien ar ancalimasse nutien te." They were not the Sindarin he had come to hear so much of in these past months, but the more ancient and somewhat more sacred seeming Quenya, the ancient language from which, according to Tolkien, all languages appeared to descend. She repeated them once more, and as she did, he felt a surge of energy and power emanating from the piece of jewelry.

Then he understood, or at least thought he understood what the ancient Elf Lady was up to. Jim removed the ring from its chain, took Arwen's right hand in his own so that she faced the nazgul and he the undead behind them. He then slipped the ring on his finger and the world around him changed. He could see the undead, but also saw there was a deep darkness which was animating them, a foul energy that moved them, but there was no trace of their souls. Those had long since fled. He also knew instinctively that the nazgul could see him quite clearly now even with his back to them, and they were being whipped into a frenzy.

He could feel the power of the ring he now wore once more, but for the first time, he didn't fear it. He knew it wouldn't consume him as he had no intentions of keeping it and he was intent on seeing it destroyed. No mortal should ever be tempted with the power he now wielded. He felt as though he could command armies, move mountains, even bring down the heavens themselves with such power.

Feeling Arwen's hand in his own he then heard her voice clearly cry out "Now, Jim!"

He began chanting the words loud and strong, putting power and force behind them and was amazed at the amount of power which began to emanate through him as he raised the ring high and cried out, "ER CORMA ILYAR TURIEN, ER CORMA TUVIEN TE, ER CORMA TUCIEN AR ANCALIMASSE NUTIEN TE!"

In that moment, in that second of power, his voice was no longer his own but sounded like a thousand thunders echoing across the caldera to his ears, like the crashing waves of the ocean, like the power of the Greek gods of old had come upon him. In that moment he knew what it meant to be the Lord of the One Ring.

Then, almost simultaneously Arwen held up her left hand, the hand that bore Nenya and cried out as though speaking both a prayer and a spell in her own tongue, "A Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel, le nallon si di' nguruthos! A tiro nin, Fanuilos!"

And in spite of his ignorance of the Sindarin language, he knew what she said, and to whom she was crying out, the ancient consort of Manwe, Varda Elentari, the Vala called the Queen of the Stars. It was an ancient Elvish plea of deliverance from death to the Valar, and was somewhat similar in tone to the Roman Catholic "Hail Mary..."

From Jim's own memories came other prayers and other invocations from his nominal time spent during his childhood in the Anglican Church. A similar line known through the Christian faith regardless of denomination escaped his own lips, enhanced and driven by the power of the one ring, "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil; for you are with me…"

Around him Jim could feel the power building and combining with the power of the protective ring Arwen wore, the one feeding the other until he would have sworn there was nothing in heaven or on earth which could challenge the two of them. And then a last and final cry escaped his lips, one likewise in Quenya which he knew by heart from Tolkien's works, "Aiya Earendil elenion ancalima!"

And then the whole crater exploded in pure, holy Light. The protective barrier of holy light which Nenya afforded pushed outwards like a tsunami, powered by the one ring which Jim bore. It slammed into the undead, burning and incinerating them until nothing remained. He did not know what the result was behind him which Arwen was viewing, but he could not have imagined the nazgul fared well from the intensity and force behind the light which now flooded the caldera.

Then he heard Arwen's voice cry out to him and Sam, "Now Jim! Sam! While they're down! Get it to the mouth and destroy it!"

It took him a moment to process her words. It took him another moment to follow through. The power he felt was intoxicating. He need never go back to his book shop. He need never go back to being ordinary. For just a moment, he was tempted.

And then he thought of what his aunt and uncle would say to him if he gave in, and he couldn't bear the thought.

He pulled the ring off and was immediately transported back into the caldera. Sam and Eltariel both had backed away several meters from he and Arwen, and both had looks of both awe and fear on their faces. When the ring came off, he felt small again. Powerless. Ordinary.

But he would be able to answer his uncle's voice honestly, "I didn't give in."

He turned to face where the nazgul had been standing to see three black shapes on the ground, white flames erupting from their robes, but they were still moving.

"What are you waiting for?!" Eltariel shouted at him. "We'll finish them off! You two get going!"

Jim looked at Sam who had recovered himself. Sam nodded.

"Right then." Jim said. "Let's go, Sam."

"Right. Let's end this." Sam responded, and the two men sprinted for the mouth of the volcano, leaping over the black forms of the wraiths on the ground. Celebrimbor's ring was held tightly in Jim's hand, and he couldn't wait to throw it into the black abyss of the mountain's heart. Strangely, the smoke and gasses which had been nearly constant for years had ceased for the moment, as though in anticipation of their arrival. They reached the gaping maw, and Jim flung the ring into the abyssal darkness, achieving the culmination of months of research, travel, and pursuit. He and Sam both then waited for a response, any response from the mountain to be sure.

Behind them, Eltariel and Arwen had wasted no time in seeing to the three nazgul. The two Elf women leaped on them with their swords even as the creatures of darkness began to rise from where they had been overwhelmed and tortured by the light.

Jim and Sam continued to wait.

"Nothing's happening." Sam said, concerned. "Do you think we did it right?"

"I don't know. How far down do you think the magma is?" Jim asked.

Behind them, the nazgul began to recover, though still weakened. They turned to see the two Englishmen at the mouth of the volcano and let out a terrifying cry of anger and dismay even as the Elf warrior women began to lay into them.

"Why aren't they dying?" Sam asked. "They were supposed to be destroyed once the ring was destroyed!"

"I don't know!" Jim responded, frustrated and anxious.

Did he do it right? He wondered. It was true that he couldn't see any magma. Maybe there wasn't any at the bottom? Maybe the ring just hit stone and was sitting somewhere down there? Still, better down there than up here, but that didn't fix anything and the deathless wraiths would have no qualms about going down there to fetch it themselves once they had dispatched the rest of them.

Damn! He swore internally. There was only one way to find out what had happened.

"I've got to go down there." Jim told Sam as he took off his climbing gear and began to fix it for a descent into the volcano.

"What?! Are you mad?! That's suicide, Jim!" Sam told him.

"There's no other choice. We've got to be sure the thing is done or else they'll just go down and retrieve it." He gestured to the black robed wraiths who were now fully engaged with Arwen and Eltariel and were trying desperately to get past the two Elf women to reach the mouth and pursue the ring.

"You'll die! Just from the volcanic gasses alone! You'll never reach the bottom before you pass out!" Sam pointed out, panicked for his friend.

The thought had of course occurred to Jim, but he knew it needed to be done. He needed to be sure. "That's a chance I'm willing to take then. If Frodo and Sam could cross Mordor and nearly kill themselves to see one ring destroyed, the least I can do is to risk my life to make sure this one is."

Sam then began unpacking his own climbing kit and fixing it for a descent. "Then I'm coming with you, Jim. Like you said, Frodo and Sam. We started this together, and we're going to end it together."

Jim never truly appreciated the depth of the friendship he held with Samuel Ogden before that moment in time. A lump formed in his throat, and tears nearly came to his eyes. He didn't want Sam to die any more than Sam he, but if they were going to risk their lives and probably kill themselves, he couldn't think of any other person he'd rather have at his side.

"Together then." Jim acknowledged.

They wrapped the ropes around themselves for rappelling just like Estel had shown them back at the church before nightfall. Both were certain they weren't doing it right, and hesitated just a bit before climbing over the edge, but climb over they did and miraculously, the ropes held and they hadn't splinched themselves in the process. Both took a measured breath and then began their descent into the abyss, their torches fixed to their belts providing the only light they had.

At the encampment…

The fighting lasted longer than Estel had hoped when the nazgul arrived. The remaining mercenaries weren't going down easily. The creature had ridden up the mountain road on the back of a motorcycle no doubt acquired in the town like some modern version of Death riding on a pale horse. It ignored the rest of the combatants and somehow found him specifically in all of the chaos. The wraith's face was indistinct, mere outlines in the darkness as though it had nearly faded from the mortal world entirely. The black robes of the wraith were tattered and burned in places as though someone had dumped a vessel of acid on it as it came to stand before the Numenorean and his kinswoman, Sofie.

Or a font of baptismal water.

"This is between you and me, Dunadan." the wraith told him, a Russian accent heavy in its speech. "Don't look surprised. I know what you are now. I know what all of you are." The wraith drew two long, serrated, wicked looking blades from within its damaged robes and adopted a fighting stance

"And I know what you are, ringwraith." Estel responded, drawing Anduril from his back.

Sofie drew the short sword she carried like everyone else, but she felt much less confident with it than she did with her rifle. The fear the creature was emanating was not lost on her either. She'd run through this lot of paid thugs without blinking. She'd spent several years in Middle Eastern hell holes. She'd watched friends die right in front of her. None of that elicited the feeling of dread which the presence of this nightmarish creature of darkness did.

"The ring? Yes, it calls to me. Oh, you've no idea how it calls to me. But the ring can wait." The wraith's voice answered. It was higher pitched, wheezy, and otherworldly. "I have already taken justice for my brother's death from among your relatives down in the town. Especially that one who ambushed us in Brussels. You've no idea how I enjoyed cutting him open like a pig. Now, I will do the same to her, before I end your life as well."

The wraith pointed at Sofie threateningly with his left sword tip.

"You will have to go through me first, demon." Estel answered, stepping in front of her and assuming his own fighting stance appropriate for the ancient weapon he wielded. He would be damned before he let this thing kill another of his people. He would die before that happened.

The nazgul shrugged as it responded, "If you insist."

The wraith rushed at him and the sound of swords clashing rang out across the burning encampment, joining the sporadic gunfire. They both hit hard and fast, blocking, striking, parrying, and thrusting. Estel fought without thought, without fear for himself or his own life, his actions and reactions faster than any pure blooded human could move, and faster than most eyes could see as the Elven heritage he bore as one of Arwen's descendants began to make itself known. The one thought in his mind was, no more of my kin will you take from me today.

The wraith's own strikes were equally fast, unnaturally so as he met strike for strike. It was not the wraith's first fight with the Numenorean, but it was determined that it would be its last.

Sofie wanted to help her king, but they were moving so quickly and ferociously she saw no opening to exploit. She knew that bullets would have no effect on the creature that was deathless. She too was of the blood of Numenor and a descendant, she knew, of the Lady Arwen, but she had not the same skill or training with this kind of blade. If she was off by even a little when she struck, she could end up hurting Estel instead or creating an opening for the wraith to kill either of them. She wasn't foolish enough to do that just yet. She watched intently and waited for that moment when she could strike.

Within the Turrialba Volcano…

Jim and Sam continued to descend into the depths meter after meter. Both began to feel lightheaded, but whether it was from the fear of what they were doing, volcanic gasses, or just the physical exertion they didn't know. Nevertheless, they stuck to it and continued downwards until the barely visible opening to the outside world was no longer visible at all.

Neither spoke as they rappelled downwards. It took all their concentration to attend to it and not drop too fast or too suddenly. The ropes hurt both their legs and their hands as they continued into the heart of the mountain, but they wouldn't give up.

After they lost sight of the opening completely, Sam looked down expecting to see nothing but more darkness. Instead, he saw the glow of a bluish white light like a lantern perhaps coming from the bottom, which didn't appear as far away as he had thought it would. Then he thought it might have been the ring, resting on a stone floor.

"I think I see it, Jim. There, not far below us. Maybe about nine or ten more meters." Sam told him. "It's glowing in the dark down there."

"Are you sure?" Jim asked, looking downwards. He too saw the light, but couldn't be certain it was coming from the ring. Of course, if it wasn't the ring, then what was it?

"Not until we get down there, of course. But what else could it be?" Sam responded.

"I don't know." The book shop owner replied.

They continued downwards until the booted soles of both men's feet hit a hard, smooth stone surface. The light they had seen was coming from a side chamber. How there could be a side chamber and not a raging pool of magma was anyone's guess, but there it was. The side chamber was marked by an archway that Jim would have bet anything was carved with depictions of dwarves and inscribed with the Angarthas runes of Tolkien's world. The archway wasn't small either. It was made for the passage of someone at least ten times their height.

"What is this? How did this get here of all places?" Jim asked.

"I've no idea, mate, but the light's coming from in there." Sam replied pointing into the chamber where the archway led.

The two Englishmen passed through the entry into what appeared to be a vaulted chamber the size of Victoria Station in London, or the images of Grand Central Station in New York that Jim had once seen on the tele. The chamber was lit by meticulously cut crystals which glowed with a bluish white light that were set into the intricately carved stone walls. Around the chamber were what could only be described as rivers of molten rock and metal crossed by sturdy stone bridges and platforms upon which were giant anvils, tables with hammers, tongs, molds, and grinding stones, and furnaces that appeared to blaze so hot they might have been mistaken for small suns.

And in the middle of the chamber stood a muscular bearded man not too dissimilar from the dwarven captain they had come to know. This was true except this particular man glowed with a pure light all of his own, and he stood easily five meters tall. He wore a heavy leather apron of the kind blacksmiths wear, and heavy gloves resistant to heat. In the fingers of his right hand he appeared to be holding something very small, looking it over with an appraising eye appreciatively.

Jim's heart nearly stopped when he realized what the giant was holding. It was Celebrimbor's ring.

Without turning, without physically acknowledging their presence at all, the giant's voice boomed across his workshop, "Please, come in. I've been expecting you two for some time."

It was Sam who took a tentative step towards the platform where the massive blacksmith stood still eyeing the ring they had tried to dispose of. "You've been expecting us, sir?" He asked more politely than he realized. "Who- who are you?"

"You seek out my forge, and then don't know who I am, Samuel Ogden? I thought you brighter than that, lad." the smith replied, turning his attention to the two Englishmen for just a moment.

"Aule?" Jim asked, his voice full of disbelief and wonder. Here was standing before him a living vala, one of the great immortals tasked by Eru Iluvatar to govern the aspects of the world's creation.

"Ah, the smart one." Aule replied before returning his attention to the piece of jewelry between his thumb and index finger.

"We- we meant to destroy that, sir." Sam then said. "You see-"

But the vala cut him off. "Aye, lad. I know why you've come. It really is a shame, you know. Celebrimbor was such a gifted craftsman, even in death. That he should create such a magnificent piece out of his mistaken pride… Och, what a waste. But needs must I suppose."

Aule then casually tossed the ring into one of the flowing rivers of magma where it sat for just a few seconds, resisting the heat and the pressure until finally the metal could handle it no longer and it dissolved. Around the massive chamber, the forges appeared to glow brighter and hotter than they had been as the power of the ring released into them. And then they died back down, the energy expended harmlessly in the forges of the valar.

"It took real courage to seek me down here knowing what it might cost you, lads." Aule told them. "I held off on tossing the ring to the fires just to see if you'd do it. I just wanted to see if you had it in you. I'm glad to know you didn't disappoint those counting on you. Neither of you. You did well, lads. The both of you."

"Excuse me, Mr. Aule, sir." Sam then asked, more in awe than ever. "Are we… Are we in Valinor now? The True West?"

"Aye, in my forges for a brief moment of time. It won't hurt anyone, and it keeps those people in that town from getting run over by the lava flows that ring would've caused otherwise." Aule replied. A mischievous expression came over his face and he said with a grin, "I won't tell Manwe if you won't, eh?"

"So that's it then?" Jim asked, the realization coming over him that it was done and over with. "It's over?"

"It's over." Aule confirmed. "And I've got one other request of you, if you don't mind that is."

Jim blinked several times. It wasn't every day a powerful immortal being asked a favor of you. "Of course. What is it?"

"When you get back to the surface, tell those elves and Aiwendil that I'll be keeping this portal open for them for another few hours. That should give them enough time to say their farewells. Be sure to send them down here when everything's been wrapped up. I'll see they get to their proper places after that. Actually, Yavanna's been looking forward to having Aiwendil back to look after her gardens." the blacksmith of the Valar told them both. "I guess he's pretty good with them."

"Send them down… down here. Right then." Jim replied. "And how are we to get back up?" He asked, not looking forward to a climb he wasn't sure he could make.

"Oh. That's the easy part." Aule told him.

The next thing Jim and Sam knew a great gust of wind surrounded them and blew them back up the shaft they had just descended.

In the encampment…

The battle around them had begun to die down, but the fight between the nazgul and the king of Gondor-in-Exile didn't let up for a heartbeat. Neither combatant yielded any ground as their blades clashed again and again. The ring wraith's ring of power and unholy energy fueled his limbs, while the thought of how many of his people had died at this creature's hands kept Estel's arms from weakening and kept his strength steady.

Sofie continued to watch the dance between the two. She knew no human being could keep it up for much longer. She'd heard of such fights as might last for hours, but those were largely legendary and heroic fantasy. This duel had gone on for nearly thirty minutes, and neither party had relented or appeared to grow weary. She worried for her king and kinsman. She knew the threat which the nazgul had made against her, and knew he was fighting in this moment to protect her life like he hadn't been able to protect the others.

She shifted her short sword to her left hand and drew a six inch knife from a leg sheath to hold blade down in her right. She wasn't experienced in sword play, but she had been well trained for a knife fight and knew how to handle herself when she had run out of ammunition. She'd had to do it once near Kabul. The Taliban man didn't walk away.

Estel kept fighting, kept swinging and blocking, but he felt his arms getting stiff and sore. He didn't know if the nazgul even could experience the same, but in spite of his distant Elven heritage, he was still mostly human. He swung again, but his strike was too slow and the creature deftly parried it with one blade while going for the kill with the other. He commanded his body to respond to block the strike as he had an innumerable amount of times before in what seemed to be a never ending clash.

But his body refused to respond. His arms locked up and the sword suddenly felt as if it were a hundred pounds heavier. He saw the nazgul's blade thrust for the kill and could do nothing about it. The wraith was just too fast and didn't seem to tire one whit. Estel's legs buckled and he went down, waiting for the blow he couldn't keep from landing.

The next thing he saw was a short sword deflect the blade downwards and the nazgul stand up ramrod straight as though stunned from the back. Then the female hand holding the shortsword spun, taking advantage of the situation to deliver a slice to the back of the wraith's neck intending to decapitate. Even as he saw Sofie perform the maneuver, he could see her holding her right hand as though it had been burned and he knew what had caused her to do so.

But before the sword blade could finish what she had started, the nazgul recovered itself enough to deflect her killing stroke and turn its sights on her. As it turned to face her, Estel could still see Sofie's knife buried up to the hilt in its back. Her face was a cold mask of focus and concentration, knowing that she had nowhere the skill that the man she now fought to protect did with a sword. Still, she would not show her fear to the monster. If it killed her, it would have to work for it.

The creature raised its jagged blades and prepared to begin its lightning fast volley of strikes which she knew she had no hope of defending against.

And then it stopped as though stunned once more. The death dealing blades it had been wielding dropped to the ground as its black gloved hands reached for its own throat. A gurgling sound could be heard escaping as dark black blood began to seep down from where its neck should be and across its chest. The nazgul fell to its knees holding its own throat, and then its torso collapsed to the ground motionless.

She waited for just a few more seconds to ensure the creature had stopped moving and then, holding her right hand under her arm, she ran to Estel's side to tend to her king and the man who spent every last ounce of strength he had to keep her from dying at the end of a nazgul's blade.