Okay, I take it back about this whole scene being only an opening scene for Elanor. Well, it is, and then it isn't. I'm just going to flash it and just start the story:) Enjoy!

P.S. I'm basing the timeline off the movie for the War of the Rings. Instead of 3018, I'm making 3005, because I don't think twenty years have passed since Bilbo left the Shire and Frodo went on his quest. Frodo just looks the same age as last time and Gandalf made that trip to Minas Tirith right away to read the scrolls.

So that would mean the War of the Rings (in this fanfic, at least) took place four or five years later from Shadow of Mordor.

(Elanor)

I remember falling.

Sliding, tumbling, and speeding through the dark channel, unable to stop, even as my fingers clawed at the sandy stone forming narrow walls around me. My throat was dry, hoarse from my seemingly endless screams. Screams for my brother, who was the last face I remembered seeing before darkness swallowed me. I was sliding...blinded...fear my strongest companion...

He had shoved me...why...

My eyelids were heavy, glued shut from unconsciousness that seemed to last an eternity. With painful effort, they managed to flicker, cracking slightly open. A faint light seeped through my lashes. By the smell of the air, thick with fumes of fire and smoke and...something of decay...it was already clear that I was outside of the chute, but the air as I remembered it-the beautiful, clean winds of the outside world I savored from day and night-was gone. Overcome with soreness, I couldn't move my body, feeling heavy as the wall I lived in. My head felt even heavier, as though weighed down by mounds of stone being pounded by dwarfish hammers at the base of my skull.

Eru, it hurt. Did I break something? I couldn't think...or distinguish any other feeling in my body.

Was I dead? Obviously not, since I still hurt. You are not supposed to feel pain in death. Right?

A faint groan escaped my parted lips, which were coated and cracked with dust. My parched mouth tasted acidic and coppery.

Right...I must have hit my head when having landed...

...hard...

...on the gravel...

...Ow...

I remember feeling horror.

Seeing a nightmare unfold before my eyes...my head pounded furiously, threatening to pull me back into the dreamless void.

There was no telling how long I was out...had it been raining? It stopped. The air that was full of fumes that floated with heavy vapor, thick as a fog.

I felt like crying. My throat burned when choked up. Wetness escaped the corners of my eyes, stinging with heat from the pain and fear that devoured me within the weight of my haze.

Mother...Father…help me….everywhere...hurts...want...to…sleep...

Forgive me. I love you, little sister.

Dirhael...

I knew no more. Only darkness.

(Talion)

He woke with a rush of icy cold filling his entire being, burning deeper than the coldest winters into the very marrow of his bones. The shock sent him to his feet, but his legs easily gave away from sudden pain. Shadows and immaterial shapes surrounded his worldview, crossing and vibrating through the darkness like wild turrets in a river. They bellowed through his ears and into his brain so loudly it made him dizzier, threatening to drown him in all its chaotic phantoms.

What happened? Was this death?

Fear spiked through his core. He remembered. He remembered...who and what he was…..what had happened. He remembered….dying. There had been three wicked, inhuman figures, their clawed hands trapping his arms in vice-like grips that could bend metal…..he remembered feeling the hot blaze of the blade slowly slicing his throat, his watery vision becoming peppery with black dots as the blood began to pour. Then everything grew cold. So cold. He remembered feeling pain. More pain than he had ever felt in his life….and that had been before his throat had been cut.

Then he remembered….his fear was not for his own wellbeing. Only for the few people who made up his heart. His whole world.

My name is Talion.

I am a Ranger of Gondor.

A Captain of the Black Gate.

Husband of...Father of...

"Ioreth!" he cried out for his beloved wife, his voice coming out hoarse and raspy. It strained his lungs to speak; his hand coming up to brush the base of his throat that had not been whole before. Swallowing and gasping with anxiety, unable to stand, he found himself crawling in desperation.

"Dirhael!" he screamed for his son. His proud, courageous son...

This is a nightmare. It has to be. Oh, gods, please...please, no...not them...not them...I cannot live without them…Am I even alive? Are they?

He looked around wildly, the ghostly shapes of this strange void making him sway from their plundering illusions, their distorted shapes lashing out in shattered whirlwinds. The shadows were as bleak as whatever courage he clung onto...but it was failing.

"Elanor?" he whispered for his precious daughter. His voice became small.

His wife. His son. His daughter. Where were they? If he was in the place where they should be, then why have they not come forward yet? He did not understand. If he didn't find them soon, he feared that he would go mad. He needed them. All of them.

It was not long before the shadows began to part once he maintained balance and sharpened his vision.

Through the void, he spotted a motionless form lying on the ground, ten feet away. Perhaps it was the cold essence flooding his being in raging turrets, but he felt himself go numb as he stared at the body. Finally managing to stand, wobbling on weakened knees that were on the verge of giving away, he found himself slowly moving forward, fearing of what he may find. His feet were heavy as they dragged across the ground. He couldn't breathe.

Blood pooled around the body, already dried like a dark, inky stain over the rugged stone, bled out from the long deep gash across the body's chest. Mouth parted and glassy hazel eyes half-opened beneath the tangle of dark hair strands...

Dirhael.

Talion fell to his knees. All the air left his lungs with a whoosh, as though he had been impaled through the chest. His eyes were wide, misting up with tears that threatened to break in the midst of his shock as he stared at the bloodied body of his firstborn.

Silent, his breath shuddering from this horror before his eyes, he lifted a trembling hand. It felt heavy while hovering over the body of his son. When his hand finally rested on the boy's head, his long tousled hair still soaked from the rain and stiffened from his own blood, the touch of stillness became too much. Too real. A soft, strangled sob escaped Talion's mouth.

His fingers ran gently through Dirhael's hair, hoping beyond hope that his love would be strong enough to bring life back into his child, or at least have him wake up so that he would greet his father. Talion felt his jaw tremble and shut his eyes, shuddering as he struggled with all his might not to shatter. When he opened them again, his son was still dead. His precious son...one of his reasons for life...gone, before his very eyes...

With another gasping sob, the Ranger closed the lad's eyes and kept caressing his face. "Oh, my son," Talion choked, a hot tear escaping his eye as he ran his hand across Dirhael's cold face, the outline of his jaw still hinting a growth of hair. He brushed the hair strands away, just as he had always done when Dirhael was a child….or when he needed comfort. "My brave, brave boy," he whispered with a tremor. "My young warrior. Forgive me. I have failed you, my boy. I failed you..."

With his eyes now closed, Dirhael looked like he was sleeping. The peace on his features, despite its gruesome end, made him look younger. Like a child. Talion's child, with no cares in the world and all the love that he could ever receive. Longing desperately to hold that precious child of his again in his arms, Talion found himself lying over the body of his son, his arms wrapping protectively around the shell that once held a life that had yet to begin, and buried his face in Dirhael's tousled hair, letting himself get lost in his tears.

For a long time he lay like that, whispering to his son as though he were heard, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you, Dirhael. I am so proud of you. So proud...Please come back to me. Please...please...oh, my boy...my boy..."

When there was no such luck, when time seemed to pass slowly, Talion had grown silent as he kept hold of his son a moment longer. He felt so lost that no words could describe the pain he felt delve deeply into his soul...but he had to get up. Dirhael would be put to rest, but he had to find his wife and daughter.

Finally, Talion moved his head and pressed a kiss in his firstborn's hair, breathing into his scent one more time. I will come back. I will not be long. I love you, son.

Reluctant to leave his son, Talion forced himself to get up. The Ranger managed to sit up in a kneeling position, taking a deep breath. Looking down, he was surprised to find Dirhael's sword lying there at his knees, having been left unnoticed until now. The blueish-gray blade that had once been longer than the average man's arm was split in half, the edge narrowed into a sharper tilt.

Grieved to see his son's first and only weapon in such a state, Talion found himself picking up the damaged sword in both hands, staring at the steel's unusual color, remembering a time when the blade had not seemed sharp enough...but his son had been too proud and determined to care...

Talion examined the long sword in both his hands, his fingers tracing the blade, which had a tint of blue in its silver. He could sense Dirhael waiting eagerly in the background, already wearing the holster for his sword. Though now a young man of twenty, his son still had that boyish spark in him. One that he hoped would never go out. Talion smirked in amusement.

"It is a perfect swing," he announced, tossing the sword back to his son, "for killing chickens."

Dirhael scoffed, his eyes glittering mischievously. "Wouldn't want to hurt you." They clashed their swords, instantly beginning their practice.

Talion smiled at the youth. "It'll take a lot more than that," he said.

Dirahel took a light swing at him, but his father easily stepped aside and hind-kicked him, causing the young man to stumble in surprise. Talion let out a booming laugh. "Dirhael, the mighty chicken killer! Come on." He beckoned at the lad, readying his own sword. "Come on. Show your father what you have."

"Make sure you don't cry when I best you," teased Dirhael, letting his sword hover with a mock threat.

Talion tilted his head. "Humor me."

Dirhael grunted and swung his sword, which Talion blocked easily. "You'll have to hit harder if you want to best your father."

The young man swung again, the blade ringing loudly from the clash. "Hard enough?"

As they continued clashing swords, Talion tutored his son as he continued pushing the youth back. "Parry, son. Don't forget to block."

"Perhaps you should not forget to hit!" his son shot back, frustration seeping his tone.

"Stay alert, Dirhael. Your enemy will not always be as he appears."

As they fought, Talion easily blocking his son's moves, Dirhael was tiring, but had become more aggressive. His playful efforts became more edged, his smile twisted into a frown, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. For a moment, it seemed like the young Dunedain forgot whom he was fighting. With a growl, the young man swung again, but Talion blocked it with a narrow arc. He was no longer smiling. "Easy, son," he murmured. "You're not a soldier yet."

Dirhael's aggressive look faded, recognition returning in his eyes. Lips pressed, his son stepped back and lowered his sword, looking away. "I will be, though," he mumbled. "I'll get better."

"Dirhael, look at me," Talion said softly. When Dirhael looked up, depression in his gaze, the worried father continued with a small smile, "This was just a test, not a training field, and you are already doing so well. I know you will get better, son, but it is of the utmost importance that you have patience. These are not the wooden swords we have used our whole lives; these blades can cut through flesh and bone with just one careless swing. I have told you this before."

Dirhael nodded and bowed his head. "Yes, Father."

"Good lad." Talion paused, and then went to place a hand on his son's shoulder. "And...I need you to know that I am proud of you, Dirhael. No matter what you choose to be." Dirhael smiled a little, but his father continued solemnly, "Son...I need to know, and I need you to tell me honestly."

"Father?"

"Is this truly what you want?" asked Talion, softly. He gestured around him. "All of this. To become a soldier of the Black Gate. To swear an oath to guard it with your life until your oath is released...Is becoming a soldier truly what you want, or is it because you believe it's what I want for you?"

Dirhael looked surprised. "I...I do," he stammered, sounding insistent. "I do want it. It's what I have always wanted."

"It is what you have always known," replied Talion, firmly. He sighed. "You were born here, you know. Both you and your sister, because your mother and I were sent here for...for what I did."

Dirhael nodded. He had already learned of this a while ago, along with Elanor, who had been only a small child back then.

"Your mother and I had little choice but to be here, and even now our choices have limits. But Dirhael…I never want you to feel imprisoned. You are free to choose whatever you want to be. You have a long life ahead of you, and I don't want you to waste it for the sake of someone else's wishes. Not even for your grandfather. Not even for mine. I want you to be sure, son. I want you to be happy."

"I..." Dirhael avoided his gaze, looking unsure.

Talion kept observing his son. Dirhael was nearly as tall as his father, already broad in the shoulders, dressed in a green long-sleeved tunic padded with leather, furred leather boots, and fingerless gloves that had once been Talion's. He had brown hair in the lighter shade his mother's had been when she was younger, but was tousled and shoulder-lengthened like his father's. His young face held the first signs of a stubble, making him truly look like an adult (bearing a close resemblance to his father), except for the shine in his hazel eyes that revealed the lack of life experiences that would yet unveil in his future. In shorter terms, it was innocence, but not as close to the look of what his daughter still had.

But when Talion saw the rage appear in Dirhael's expression, it was not the first time that the Ranger Captain felt that flicker of worry and doubt that has haunted him since the day Dirhael was born. It was the same rage that Talion had recognized in his own many times before, though not quite as deadly. Remembering many years ago of what he and his wife discussed about their little boy, Talion wanting him to train as a warrior and Ioreth wanting him to choose a peaceful future, it seemed so long ago that Talion was starting to wonder if he ever wanted this position for his son. He knew that Dirhael would have to grow up eventually, but now that it was happening, Talion suddenly wished it wasn't.

More than anything, though, he wanted to make sure Dirhael...that both of his children...knew what they wanted and would be happy with it in the end. He wanted them to have good lives. He wanted them to be free.

He squeezed his son's shoulder. "Whatever you choose to be, I will support," he said again. "You are becoming a man now, Dirhael. The choice will be yours, and I would have it be one that is a part of who you are. You have no need to prove yourself."

"Thank you, Father," said Dirhael, softly. Then the lad took a deep breath and looked his father fully in the eye with a boldness that bested his age. "But I do want this. I want to guard and protect. I want to learn how to fight like you, and I want to gain a similar position as yours. Maybe there had been a time when I was doing it because I thought I was expected to...but now I know that I want this. Truly."

Talion nodded. He never had the heart to reveal to Dirhael about the talks between him and Ioreth. He already knew of Dirhael's protective nature, mostly around his little sister, Elanor. Though the siblings had different perspectives when it came to making decisions and how they viewed the unknown world outside the Black Gate, they had similar natures that ran in their Dunedain blood: to guard and protect. His children truly were a blessing from the Valar. Even when they could get out of control, sometimes.

Talion forced a small smile and then patted Dirhael's neck. "Training starts in the morning, then," he said. "Go find Elanor. I'm sure her boredom has driven her to mischief by now. She'll need her brother."

Dirhael nodded and smiled, looking genuinely happy at the mention of his baby sister. "Thank you, Father."

When his son turned to leave, Talion added, "Sheathe you sword first."

Dirhael chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Father, I know."

His long sword shined blue in the sunlight before it sheathed itself back into the holster with a loud ring. Talion watched fondly as his son walked away, but was left with a heavy heart.

He only hoped he had done the right thing...but as usual, if Dirhael did join the guards of the Black Gate, Talion would look after him. His son was becoming more like his father every day, in ways that even Talion himself recognized...a fact that sometimes worried the Ranger Captain. He would protect the boy with his life, just as his son vowed to protect his little sister with his life.

Talion rarely prayed...but he did now, for Dirhael and Elanor. Keep them safe.

Talion stared down at the broken sword in his hands, the only remaining object of his son he had left. It had only been a year ago when he had started Dirhael's training, the day when his son admitted his desire to become a Ranger of the Black Gate. Talion had sworn that day that he would do everything in his power to make sure Dirhael would have the long life he deserved...and he had failed. He wished he were the one who died instead.

But….did he already? The question remained.

"Am I dead?" His voice trembled, his grief and fear still raw.

He never expected an answer, from anything or anyone, but it came with the deep voice echoing quietly from a brisk wind that swept over the void, shimmering with ghostly shadows that flickered between life and death. The sweep of light passed through the shadows, making Talion jump to his feet, holding Dirhael's broken sword at ready, his heart pounding wildly.

He felt the newcomer…..but could not see him.

The voice echoed briefly, so quickly it barely escaped Talion's knowledge, "You are banished from death."

TBC

I thought that I would split the introduction of the story into parts. There wasn't much of Elanor in this chapter, nor will there be in the next, but she will come up soon. There is going to be a lot of flashbacks in this story. There may be past and present scenes flickering back and forth in each chapter, regarding important characters. Just planning.

This was mostly Talion and Dirhael's chapter. I decided to add a bit more to this plot than what happened in the game, like Talion's talk with his son as well as his grieving. Just emotional stuff. Hope you liked it!

Part II is for Talion and Ioreth. Love those two:) Review, please!