Chapter 24

The Cult of the New Moon

Author's Note: Whelp! This chapter is definitely more filler than plot, but it was the best I could manage considering how busy I've been recently. Anyway, Mr. Dehr and I will be moving at the end of the month, so I'm not sure how much time I'm going to have to write going into March, but we'll see what we can see. The next chapter is more plot centric and will actually have some action in it, so I might update later than I want to. We'll see :)!

As a brief reply to everyone who reviewed the last chapter:

I'm so glad everyone's enjoying this story. I'm enjoying writing it and going back and, if everyone stays tuned, I'll be putting out an "Appendix" chapter soon regarding Athena and Thranduil and how the two of them play into my "LOTR/Consequences-verse". I've started writing the backstory and, honestly, I'm liking what I'm seeing and feel the need to share it with you all. It won't be out soon, soon, as I'm still working on it, but the "appendix" is coming along. If everyone likes it, I'll publish more along the way.

Anyway, please enjoy!

December 27th - with the Fellowship of the Ring on the road to Hollin

The Fellowship had left Imladris in the evening. There was little ceremony and no fanfare. Only Lord Elrond and Bilbo were there to see them off. Aragorn remembered the grave expression on his adoptive father's face as he moved among the company to speak with them and offer words of praise and encouragement. When he'd stopped before Aragorn he clasped his shoulder and allowed a glint of pride to leak through his otherwise severe countenance. Sitting several paces away from the fire, Aragorn allowed the memory to replay in his head, and smiled.

"You are my son in all but blood. Never could I be more bereft at your leaving, nor more proud. Your destiny is before you. Find it, grasp it, and guide it in all you do. You are the best of men, Aragorn, and you will be the best of kings. Go in strength, protect the ring-bearer, and you might have a hand in saving us all," Lord Elrond had said.

"Thank you, ada," Aragorn had replied softly.

Lord Elrond hadn't been finished. He leaned closer to Aragorn and whispered softly, "She is in Lorien. She is safe." It was as if the elf had known Aragorn had been fretting about whether they'd reached Lorien alive. After receiving the reports he had from his men in the North of an influx of dark creatures and discolored elves roaming the land, Aragorn had begun to feel the beginnings of worry settle in his heart. Lord Elrond had relieved it and allowed him to focus completely on the task ahead once more.

A log cracking startled him from his reverie and Aragorn cast a cursory glance around the camp. Once satisfied nothing was amiss, he settled back against the tree he'd been leaning against for the last three hours and continued thinking on the past, the future, and the long road ahead for Frodo. Even so, the sorrow in his heart felt at the loss of what could have been lingered and was likely to never leave. It was easy to push such thoughts to the back of his mind when the day stretched before them. Aragorn was the tracker. He guarded the Fellowship by scouting ahead for the easier paths and more secluded campsites. Where Gandalf pointed he followed and those duties kept him grounded in the here and now. Then the company would sit down for the night and begin their measly hours of rest and those thoughts returned to weigh the forefront of his mind.

It was her choice in the end. She was the one that hailed from another world. The issue Aragorn took with said choice was the allusion from those he long knew and respected that their destiny was entwined beyond their parting at Imladris. If their elders believed it possible Aragorn couldn't fathom why she didn't. He naturally had guesses and various suppositions on the matter, but he couldn't quite bring himself to settle on what he leaned towards as the most likely of reasons. Seeing her and speaking with her once again would tell the truth of her heart, yet he couldn't fathom ever doing so again. Brianna seemed convinced it wouldn't happen, that their last moment in the forrest was the end. As far as Aragorn could tell, such was the case, yet a part of him couldn't bring himself to accept it.

Crack!

The fire drew his gaze. For the rest of his watch Aragorn watched and waited for a revelation from the fire, given by the creator, so he could be comforted. No comfort was given. All he received was the heat that barely shielded the company from the icy winds of the north.

After a few hours, Gandalf rose from whatever contemplative dose he'd been in and urged the company to continue. The way was difficult for the Hobbits. Each flinched at every gust of biting wind and periodically stumbled along the rough path he and Gandalf led them on. Gimli fared a little better while Boromir moved with as much ease as a mere human could manage. Legolas, in his elven grace, did not feel the cold or the difficult terrain. He traveled at the rear of the company's line as his sight and hearing outmatched them all.

Each day passed and a weariness settled on the hobbits as the mountains steadily drew nearer. Night found each of them shivering in their cloaks unable to sleep as well as they would like. Frodo, in particular, seemed to have a harder time of it. During the hours of his watch, Aragorn observed Frodo staring into the clouded night with blank eyes that seemed to see everything and nothing. One particularly cold night prompted him to think on the burden of the ring that they so effortlessly allowed Frodo to shoulder. What sort of cowardice did the greatest among the races have to fear the ring to such an extent that they push the issue of destroying it on one so unconnected with events?

You are a coward, a voice in the back of his head thought. You are Isildur's heir! You should bare the ring to Mt. Doom, not Frodo! Not this innocent hobbit who did nothing but inherit the ring! You should have taken it.

Aragorn swallowed at the thought every time it reared its ugly head and wondered if it spawned from his concern for Frodo, or from the ring, itself. He could never tell. The ring had such an influence on the minds of those around it and not just the barer. It's will called for Sauron. As it called, it led to those around it to be tempted by it, to take it and bare it, and give in to the dark secrets it held.

It's just a bit of gold jewelry. Any power it has over its victims is completely up to the individual.

He found himself smiling despite his melancholy. Brianna's innocent fearlessness towards the ring and its power never ceases to calm him. It was just a bit of jewelry. It only had as much power as one let it. Which begged the question he'd been considering of late. How much power did Sauron truly have?

"That is the question of the century, my friend."

Aragorn blinked and looked over to find Legolas standing near a thin, spindly, ash tree to his right. The elf smiled and crossed his arms.

"You spoke softly. I doubt the others heard," he offered.

Aragorn grimaced and returned his attention to the small bundle of hobbits huddled close to the fire. Frodo's eyes were closed and his breathing even. Sleep, it seemed, had finally come to him.

"Enemies from another world seem to think the Dark Lord a worthy ally," Aragorn said softly. "It troubles me that they're here. They want something, they need something, and they seem to believe Arda is the place to get it."

Legolas's eyes, normally as cheerful as the brightest of summer skies, grew cold as he replied, "I suspect that might be an over simplification of their motives."

Aragorn waited for his friend to explain, but Legolas simply shook his head and tilted his head in the direction of the others, "Best not to worry our friends on a hunch, Estel."

He understood. Their theories would not be useful to the task at hand. While the evil infestation from earth aided the servants of Mordor and Isengard attempting to understand their motives at this time was pointless. The whole point of sending Brianna and her company to Lorien was so they could discover a way to fight that particular enemy so the Fellowship could focus on getting the ring to Mordor.

"Do you think their task is finished?" Aragorn asked.

"I would imagine not. If the situation is worse than what the queen believes then she will need to linger long enough to expel her world's darkness from Arda," Legolas replied.

Silence settled between them for a time. In this time, Legolas moved to sit next to Aragorn against the tree and both watched their sleeping companions snag the little bit of rest Gandalf would allow.

"It is strange," Legolas said softly, "to know that I have a niece from an older brother I can barely remember. Father rarely speaks of her, but when he does I sense his resentment and regret. As you know, it is common for my father to resent many people, but I've never seen him openly display regret for anyone. I wish I had more time to speak to the queen about her."

"Brianna said she was long dead, her son and grandson along with her. I doubt she ever knew her. If she did, she likely doesn't remember," Aragorn said.

"I know."

Aragorn didn't need the elf of elaborate. He understood the sentiment, the need, to know of a lost parent. In Legolas' case, his mother had taken her eldest son and heir back to Earth and left King Thranduil and Legolas behind. It was, sadly, all Legolas knew and understood. He'd been unable to linger in Rivendell long enough to speak much to Brianna and she'd been reluctant to form many connections with anyone beyond Aragorn and the hobbits.

"We should reach Hollin soon. From there I suspect Gandalf intends for us to pass into Gondor and close to Minas Tirith. I fear I will need to part from Frodo and join Boromir at the city," Aragorn said.

Legolas smiled, "Aye, and I will follow Frodo into Mordor should Gandalf think it wise for all of us to go. He may encourage you to take the younger hobbits with you."

"That is possible," Aragorn said and returned to studying the hobbits once more.

The War of the Rings… it was all coming to head. The climax of an eon long struggle between good and evil loomed before them. Aragorn closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel the weight of the worlds on his shoulders once more.

"Lady."

Persephone held out a gnarled finger while keeping her eyes determinedly closed. A thought had echoed up to her in that moment. It was filled with despair and longing and it tickled the nerves of her second sense. The thousands of years learning from the captured Fallen in hell had honed a skill she'd always had. Her ability to detect emotions and emphathize with them was unparalleled. These emotions, for a reason she couldn't quite clarify, filled her and enticed her need to take those emotions and ensnare them, twist them to her will.

At first, her estranged husband had wanted to call her a siren, but sirens could only manipulated the minds of their victims to a certain extent. Persephone was different. Persephone could turn warm hearts cold and lies into certain truths known in the bone. She could change her shape and ensnare the minds of her victims. Whatever her path through the sorceric arts had started with turned into something far beyond anything Hades ever believed she would have achieved.

Yet, none of it mattered. Persephone had never gained the freedom she'd so longed for ever since she was old enough to understand the political position she'd been born in. The bastard daughter of King Zeus of the Elves, a god of Thunder to the humans, was her lot in life. Hades had discovered such perfect pawns in his greater game. She'd learned long ago that her father had wished to marry her to Aries, her brother and nephew. She'd known the cage of war she was destined for. Hades had made himself out to be the answer to her wishes and that had turned out to only be partially correct. Her magic began to free her, now all she had to do was take it a step further and break completely free.

A long, drawn-out sigh escaped her lips and her red eyes flickered open. Behind her, she felt Eselme stand watch respectfully behind her. Before her, Persephone could almost see the location of the company of males that escorted The Dark Lord's ring to wherever they'd decided to hide it.

"What have you discovered in your travels, sister?" Persephone asked in a broken, cracked voice.

Eselme bowed and replied, "Something peculiar. It could change the course of the queen's plans."

Persephone took that subject from her coven-sister's mind. Yes. It was peculiar. They could use it. A great turmoil existed within the mind of a single member of that company. Self-doubt, a broken heart, uncertainty of the future… she could use it all. Thin, wrinkled lips pulled back into a feral smile that showed off her yellow-brown teeth.

"Prepare the coven! We cross the pass and wait for them in the mountains. The wizard's spies scout the skies. They will notice and cross a different way. It is there we wait," she said.

Eselme inclined her head and turned to bark orders at the other coven-sisters. They stirred quickly and gathered their things. Persephone began the trek down the mountainside to where the land parted to reveal a narrow pass. Soon. Soon she would be free. All she had to do was find the one who held the ring.

Maf felt the change in the very air he breathed the moment she came. It was abrupt, not subtle and became more potent when the day turned to night. He'd seen her around in the dark corners of the golden hall speaking in soft tones to Grima shrouded in her sheer veil of midnight. Tall, thin, ethereal, and with a voice that soothed a mind into seeing their worst nightmares.

The advent of Nyx, Sorcerous of Nightmares, struck the first nail into what Maf perceived as the proverbial coffin of Rohan. The king, Theoden, waned with each passing day as Grima employed whatever methods Nyx thought to teach him regarding the art of poisoning a man by means of mental debilitation. The king's son, Theodred, looked on in stunned silence at the sudden reduced state of his father's wits while Eowyn and Eomer looked not at the king's health, but at the over-eager Grima and his mysterious and beautiful companion.

"What sorcery is this?" The Lady Eowyn asked one day while she and Maf wondered the rolling hills looking for herbs for his general store.

"The kind that wears a man down and makes him pliable and perfectly ripe for something dark and sinister to move into his mind," Maf muttered softly to the gentle wind.

Dark clouds loomed in the distance on the southeastern horizon. Something evil stirred in their dark depths and Maf closed his eyes for a moment to see what those clouds were willing to reveal to him. A dark look crossed his expression as he pulled back. Lady Eowyn watched him, concern etching worry lines on her face.

"There's more to this conflict then Grima and Nyx. They came her by design to weaken our people and sow mistrust and discord. Everything that has torn my family apart was planned," she said.

Maf felt his heart clench. That expression, so innocent yet not, reminded him strongly of Brianna when she was younger. Before World War II had begun and their team had been finding signs of the darkness stretching its tendrils amongst the European and Asian populations. She'd asked the same question: "there's more."

"Yes," Maf replied gravely, "And it will get worse before it gets better."

Blue eyes, as blue as the waning sky, fixed to his and asked,"Will we survive?"

Maf shook his head. He didn't know. He didn't have much hope of the charge Ailiya placed to him. Wait for the elven queen. She was supposed to come to him, but it had been months since Maf had arrived. He'd ingrained himself into the lives of the people of Edoras and felt personally responsible for allowing Grima's existence to continue to make way for the presence of their own enemies. It was only a matter of time before Nyx discovered his presence in Edoras and saw beyond the faint guise he'd constructed for himself to pass unnoticed amongst the human populace.

He was slowly coming to the realization that moving against Grima and Nyx without Brianna's help was inevitable. Unfortunately, from the way Eowyn was looking at him with a steely determination in her eyes, he was not destined to do it without help. Eowyn, Eomer, and Theodred's involvement was likely to do more harm than good.

"It's certainly looking as if we're all going to get murdered in our sleep, isn't it?" He asked, a thick touch of sarcasm in his tone.

Before Eowyn could reply, Maf's ears, still connected to the enith gilthaes, picked up the tones of a sound both familiar and foreign. He held up his hand, stopping any response she wanted to give and focused on that sound.

"All shall come to sing like one!

"All shall come to sing the melody like one,

"Outliving history and time,

"So this melody is song to praise and glorify the one,

"Who brought the melody into our lives…"

("Melody" by Van Canto from their album, Trust in Rust)

It was too faint to hear the rest and Maf felt the song fade a few seconds later. Even so, the fact that he heard Brianna Davis belt out the lyrics to a bloody metal band took him for a momentary turn. This was the same elf who swore up and down that she would never, ever, sing for any reason ever again. Yet, here she was, somewhere in Arda, singing her heart away.

Why, he wondered, what has prompted this need to sing?

"Maf?" Eowyn asked, voice small.

The grey wizard started from his reverie and glanced at his young human companion. Eowyn's confused expression almost made him laugh at the absurdity of the general situation. He gently patted her on the shoulder and fixed her with a small smile.

"On second thought, young lady, I think we just might have a chance!" He said, suddenly feeling cheerful despite the current darkness.

The queen was coming.

Eventually.