Author's note:          Ouch, I am getting slow!  I'm so sorry that it's taken so long to get this part out, but that's what happens when real life gets in the way of fantasy.  Well, I'll stop talking now and let you get to the story, since I know that's why you're here.  As always, please let me know what you think!

Where the Shadows Lie

A Tale Of The Ring

"…the Istari or Wizards appeared in Middle-earth.  It was afterwards said that they came out of the Far West and were messengers sent to contest the power of Sauron, and to unite all those who had the will to resist him; but they were forbidden to match his power with power, or to seek to dominate Elves or Men by force and fear."

Chapter Twenty-Two: Time

Immortal and timeless though he was, Elrond the Half-elven could not sleep.  Countless stores and years of wisdom he possessed, but not one of them helped him now.  Darkness haunted his mind when he tried to rest, and Vilya felt as if she were burning upon his hand.  Something was happening – he could feel it in the air – and Vilya was trying to tell him what.  Long years of association, though, did not help him to fathom what his ring was trying to tell him, but he understood enough.  She knew

Sighing, he threw back the covers and rose from his bed.  Sleeping in Barad-dûr was strangely easy; the Dark Tower seemed dark no longer.  There was in fact great luxury in Sauron's former abode, despite what he would have thought from inhabiting its dungeons.  Because of that, Barad-dûr had been surprisingly easy to become comfortable in.  Elrond slipped his feet into the sandals that awaited him beside the bed and shrugged his silken robe on.  Tying its sash around his slender waist, he opened the door and stepped from the room.  He knew not where to go, but Vilya would lead him.

His unplanned path through winding halls led him outside, once more to the battlements overlooking the army of the Second Alliance.  The camp was quiet and still, save for the pickets and the occasional scout; nothing there was amiss.  A chill ran down Elrond's spine, though, looking upon that; he remembered a time when he stood very close to the spot he now occupied, held fast by two Ringwraiths and sure that the world was about to end.  He remembered the fear he'd felt then, his terror for the peoples of Middle-Earth, and remembered how it all ended, and a new fear had begun.  Only a few yards away from him was where Gandalf had claimed the One Ring, destroying Sauron forever.  Only a few feet away, the wizard now stood, his back to the Half-Elven, silent and shining in the moonlit darkness.

The Maia's staff was before him, and his two hands rested upon its smooth white wood.  Both Narya and the One glowed there, beacons in the night – just as Gandalf himself was, bright and pure.  Despite Radagast's words, Elrond could never have imagined Gandalf as the Black.  Unlike the other Maia, Elrond had known Gandalf of old, and knew his heart.  The whiteness of his garments, the glow of his presence in the night – both were not simply color; they were symbols of his good and pure heart.  Even with the Ring, Elrond could not envision a future ruled by an evil and dark Gandalf the White.  Suddenly, the wizard spoke without turning.

"It is time, Elrond," Gandalf said softly.  He seemed to glow brighter in the darkness for a moment in a sudden but brief flash of light, but then he faded back to normal.  "It is time."

"Time?" the elf repeated gently as he moved to Gandalf's side, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Time," the wizard confirmed.  His head bowed briefly and he seemed to take a deep breath as his forehead came to rest upon the staff.  Still as death, he was, for a moment, until his head came back up.  "The Ring must be destroyed… Soon, it will be too late."

Elrond had known it, had not even wanted to deny it.  Yes, indeed, it was time, for the longer one bore a Ring of Power, the more ingrained it became in their selves.  The longer Gandalf held that cursed Ring, the harder it would be for him to destroy.  He did not hesitate, and asked, "When?"

"I leave for Mount Doom at dawn," Gandalf said heavily.  Watching his face, Elrond saw his eyes darken briefly, then shine in pain.  The burden of the Ring had proved too heavy for Frodo to bear…and having claimed it, Gandalf had taken that weight upon himself.  It had to hurt him, now, as the Ring fought to be preserved – it had fought destruction for centuries, corrupting first Sauron, Isildur, then Gollum, Bilbo, and Frodo.  Would Gandalf be the next, or the last?  Had even the wisest of the Maiar the strength to destroy the One?

For a brief and self-honest moment, Elrond thanked the stars that it was not him.  "Alone?" he asked quietly, feeling a cold chill worm its way down his spine.

The wizard nodded.  "Yes."

"I would counsel against that, old friend," the bearer of Vilya replied.  Oh, he could feel Gandalf's determination, his belief that the Ring had to be destroyed – Vilya and Narya were still linked despite the interference of the One, and Narya believed her bearer, but Elrond had to doubt.  He knew the power of Sauron's dark Ring, knew the potency of its call.  And Gandalf heard it far stronger than he, the Lord of Rivendell knew, for the wizard had opened himself to its power.  He had dared to use it, and thus offered the Ring a path into his very soul.  The only remaining question was if he could resist the One far into the bowels of Mount Doom.

Gandalf finally turned to him, and Elrond say the shadow of doubt in his eyes.  "I cannot ask any one to follow me, Elrond," the other replied in a haunted voice that came barely above a whisper.  "I know what will pass if I fail…and I cannot that to happen."  Determination suddenly glittered in his powerful eyes.  "And I cannot allow any of you to stop me."

"Stop you?" Elrond echoed, but even then he felt a blackness enter his heart.  Gandalf had promised to destroy the Ring, but even the wizard had admitted that was nearly an impossible task.  The One would fight desperately for survival, but Gandalf's coldly decided voice told the half-elven that he would do whatever it took – even sacrificing his own life.

He realized, then, that the wizard's eyes were focused upon him, watching his comprehension with detached calm.  As their gazes met, Gandalf only nodded.

"You cannot…" Elrond whispered almost against his will, a premature and keening sense of loss rising within him.  The world would seem empty without Gandalf, whom he had held as a friend for more years than all men had days in their lives.  He had been their true and faithful guiding light throughout the War of the Ring, even back in the days when no one believed that the One could still exist.  To lose him now seemed unthinkable, but the Maia seemed to know his thoughts once more.  He smiled gently.

"We all do what we must, Elrond, Lord of Rivendell," he said softly.  "And as for me – I was the Enemy of Sauron.  Now he is destroyed and this Age is coming to an end.  The Third Age was my age, old friend.  Soon my time on Middle-Earth will be done."

"But not like this."  Despite himself, and his inner strength of old, Elrond could not help but plead.  He could withstand Sauron's torture and Sauron's temptation, but quailed at the thought of loosing still another friend.

Again, the gentle smile.  "It matters not how," Gandalf said softly, but then his voice grew hard.  "The Ring must be destroyed."

There, Elrond could not fault his logic; besides, he knew the lure of the Ring.  It would grasp at any within reach at the moment of its destruction and struggle to find a new bearer that it could corrupt.  Therefore, the only way to prevent that would be for Gandalf to make the journey alone – but that would also give the Ring more of a chance to win a second Maia over to its will.  Either way, defeat felt so near...which made Gandalf's willingness to sacrifice himself all the more meaningful.  He knew that he might not be able to defeat the Ring.  "I understand," he said softly, finding the words hard to speak.  "But I beg you, do not go alone.  There are those who would willingly share the risks, even knowing what it may cost."

"Are there?" the wizard whispered, his eyes focusing on the horizon, which, in a few short hours, would glow with light and set him forth upon this last and perilous journey.  "Are there those who trust themselves in this matter with which I do not even trust myself?"  Then he suddenly turned back to Elrond, decision in his eyes.  "The light of Middle-Earth has not faded so much as the Valar fear, then, I think.  I would be honored, Elrond, if you were to come by my side."

For a moment, the half-elven was startled, but within seconds, he understood.  Gandalf trusted him, for Elrond, like he, was a fellow bearer of the Three and bound to destroy the One.  Elrond, like Gandalf, could never be free while the One still existed.  Still, though, he feared the temptation of the Ring, especially in the face of the fires of Mount Doom in the place of its creation.  He feared that, in the last and crucial moment, he would not be able to resist its call, and thus make Gandalf's sacrifice meaningless in the end.  He feared…just as his companion did.

"The honor would be mine, Mithrandir," he found himself replying.  "I will come."

"You know what I am asking?" Gandalf whispered softly.

Elrond took a deep breath.  You are asking me to slay you if you fail, aren't you, Gandalf?  You fear yourself as a Dark Lord.  You know what I can only guess at; you know your power would put Sauron to shame.  "Yes." 

"As do I," a clear and musical voice interrupted their private conference as Galadriel stepped into the light.  "Elrond can not leave you any sooner than I can, Gandalf.  This burden is not yours to bear alone."

Slowly, she moved forward, seeming to float over the stone of the battlements like a beautiful and white ghost.  She was one of the oldest and wisest of their kind, but still her offer startled Elrond.  She had to fear it, as he did, and yet she would take the same risks.  Her courage, as always, was astounding.  Looking into the wizard's eyes, she laid a gentle hand upon his arm as she reached his other side, speaking once more.

"If you will take me, I will come."

"It would be fitting, for the bearers of the Three," Gandalf replied without hesitation.  He bowed his head ever so slightly.  "I would be honored."

Dawn broke over Barad-dûr, slowly lighting the sky with beautiful majesty, and Aragorn awoke to shouting.  Suddenly, without warning, Éomer burst into his chamber, his hair disheveled and his armor hastily donned.  "They are gone," he exclaimed.

"What?" Confused, Aragorn sat up in bed, his head still reeling from the dangerous and dark dreams that had haunted his slumber.  He had thought that assuming the crown of Gondor would ease his sleep, but it seemed not to be the case.  Oh, how he longed for Arwen to be at his side, but he knew that would come soon enough. 

"Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, and Gandalf have left," Théoden's heir explained breathlessly.  "There are riders on the horizon.  They head for Mount Doom."

In a flash, Aragorn was out of bed and rushing for the doorway, heedless of his bare feet, only thinking that he could not allow Gandalf to face this alone.  Isildur had doomed Middle-Earth in his taking of the Ring – it was only right that one of his line help carry the burden to destruction.  It was his duty.  He bolted past Éomer, grabbing his blade as he went, taking the shortest path to the stables where his mount would await him.  He could still catch them, if he moved quickly enough.  He could still catch them.

"Aragorn, no!"

Arwen's voice reached him suddenly, even as he rushed down the hallway, mindless to obstacles or men and guards leaping out of his way.  Vaguely, be became aware of Boromir and Faramir fast approaching together, but his head snapped around to face his love even as he skidded to a stop.

"You cannot!" she cried, hurrying to his side and grasping his hands with her immortal strength.

Anger whipped through him.  He demanded hotly, "Why not?"

"I have seen it."  Arwen's voice dropped to a whisper.  "I know not how or what, but you must let them go alone!  If they fail or succeed is out of our hands."  Her desperate words, though, had little effect on his heart, for he could not bear to abandon Gandalf now.  But Arwen's beautiful eyes bored into his, and as always, she knew his mind.  "Aragorn, you must not go," she said forcefully.  "I have dreamt of disaster and of death, and I know that the only chance is for them to face this alone.  Do not doubt me now, after all this time."

Her last words finally broke through his barriers built of worry and anger, and as Aragorn looked into his love's eyes, he knew she spoke the truth.  The quest was out of his hands…the burden was not his to bear.  There was nothing he could do now but hope and pray.

Taking a deep breath, Aragorn closed his eyes and prayed.