The doors opened and the orcs came forward, a small figure being marched between them.
The small figure gasped as he beheld the Dark Lord.
"So it is true," the figure whispered.
"So it is, Merry. I suppose they told you what to expect. Do I look as mad as they say?" Frodo said lightly, walking down from the high throne to stand in front of him.
The orcs stepped back in the shadows and they seemed alone. Merry examined his cousin, looking for what Sam, Legolas, and Aragorn described of him. Frodo looked the same, a little paler and thinner perhaps, but otherwise he looked as he had always looked. But there was something dark, menacing, and painful in his eyes, and his sense.
Merry had been with Frodo for longer then any of them, except Bilbo. Frodo caring for him had been among his first memories, and they had been close until he had gone to Bag End. But Merry had never forgotten how to figure out what his cousin and dear friend thought and felt.
"You once told me that madness is not always reflected upon the outside," Merry said.
"I knew you were just playing the fool. You are much smarter then you act, we both know that," Frodo commented.
"I learned from the best," Merry said.
"So you did," Frodo said.
"Why did you call me?" Merry asked.
"Ahh, always strait to the heart of the matter. Good," Frodo said, then turned slightly from him.
"I wasn't joking when I said you were smart, Merry. We both know how clever you are, how easily you figure things out. You will make a great Thain one day, but wouldn't you want something bigger then at?," Frodo then turned to him, a strange look within his eyes, "I know you want power, Merry, I've seen it in your eyes."
Merry faced him down with everything within him, resisting him with the very will that made him a Brandybuck. The words hit a cord in Merry, and he knew Frodo had seen what was within him, the very desire that he loathed and locked within himself. Now it beat inside him, as if spurned to full power by Frodo's words. But he resisted, because he knew that this was not his cousin that tempted him. Frodo hated the want for power. He had seen it more then enough times in the Sackville-Bagginses, and then later in other beings. Frodo hated it, loathed it, and swore that it spurned evil in its wake. This wasn't his cousin, this was not Frodo, this was the Ring, and it was that thing that Merry denied to give his soul to.
"Why do you do this? Who are you?" Merry whispered in defiance, breaking the rapture that was held between them.
"You know who I am, Merry, and you know why I have done this. Why else would I give into the Ring, except to save our world? Don't tell me you have been so blind to what is happening," Frodo said, and suddenly Merry saw desperation fill his cousin's willful eyes.
"Perhaps I am. Tell me what is happening," Merry said.
"Our world, Merry, our world is dying," Frodo whispered, then his eyes hardened slightly, "We cannot allow it to happen. You'll help me, will you not?"
Merry turned his eyes down, then back up as new courage flooded him as well as pity, Frodo had admitted, and now he suffered for it. Merry could not allow himself to be taken and even if their world died, was it really their place to make it stay the way it was?
"All things change, all things die, even the Elves. We have no right to keep things the way they are. Aragorn, Legolas, Sam, they told us what you said, and what Legolas saw. Yes, our kind will die, yes, it will change. But we have to accept that. You always hated to be trapped by how our kind does things. You always hated that our kind wouldn't change, yet now you speak of keeping things the same. Wouldn't that just be another death? It was kill you, yet now you wish to kill everything with what you plan," Merry said softly, but unwaveringly.
"I do not wish to kill anything, only preserve it. I seem to have chosen the wrong one," Frodo's eyes turned cold, cruel, "But no matter. There is our youngest. Perhaps he will listen to reason, he has always been more opened to the world then you."
Merry turned, and horror gripped him. Pippin stood at the doors, two orcs stood next to him, holding him there.
"No," Merry whispered, looking desperately between his two cousins.
Frodo merely smiled coldly and nodded, "Take him away, and bring the other before me."
"Wait!" Merry shouted.
Frodo held up his hand, "Reconsidering?"
"No, I only now have an answer to your question. In the beginning of this you asked me if you looked monstrous. I say now, no, you only look like a soul lost in the dark," Merry said.
Rage ignited like flames in Frodo's eyes, and he nodded for the orcs to carry Merry away. As they passed the guards that held Pippin, Merry struggled briefly to tell his dear younger cousin one thing, "Don't give into him, Pip, whatever you do, don't give into him." Then he was gone, and Pippin was pulled forward to face Frodo.
Pippin looked to his oldest cousin, and for the first time in his short life, he felt fear of him. It was not what the others had said, or even Merry's warning. No, it was Frodo himself who inspired fear into Pippin.
He saw something in Frodo that none could see, not even Merry or Sam, though Sam glimpsed it from time to time. Pippin was young, merely a teen to his kind, though the quest had aged him. But he still retained some innocence, and could see the darkness that larked within his cousin's eyes, where only light had once been.
"So what they say is true. You have fallen, and my cousin is dead," Pippin said softly.
That struck a blow to what was still Frodo, and it was as if Pippin had cut his heart out. But the madness within Frodo would not let him respond, but knew it could not triphant over the young hobbit. Without a word, he waved to the orcs to take Pippin away, and returned to his throne.
"Bring me the old wizard. Its time to bring this plan into action. I shall wait no longer," the Dark Lord said as the doors closed behind Pippin.
The orcs nodded, and quickly went to bring Gandalf before the Dark Lord.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The orcs dragged the old wizard before him. Unlike the others, they did not release him, because they knew just how dangerous he was.
"Greetings, Gandalf, I trust that you know why you are here," the Dark Lord said.
"I do, Frodo son of Drogo, and I tell you now I will not fall to your madness. And that my heart grieves for what has happened to you," Gandalf said, standing tall against the darkness that surrounded Frodo.
"It is of no matter. I am tired of trying to persuade them to my side, it is time to use force. You know what I speak of, Gandalf," the Dark Lord said, and smiled slightly as he fingered the Ring.
"You would not dare to use such a method. We will fight you," Gandalf said, horror coloring his words at what Frodo proposed.
"I do dare, and I look forward to breaking the wills of the Ring Bearers. The long hidden shall now be reveled, and though you may fight me, they cannot. Their rings hold their wills and souls, though the Bearers do not fully realize how tight a hold it is. You shall see soon enough, Maia, and your beloved Elf ruled lands shall come to ruin in the fall of their lords. Watch as I call for them, and know that not even you can stand before my will for long," the Dark Lord said sharply and stood.
Unclasping the chain from his neck, the Dark Lord slipped the Ring from it, and let the chain drop to the ground. Looking once more the Gandalf, he slipped the Ring upon his finger…
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Glorfindel felt something pull painfully inside him, and stopped reading. Looking up sharply, he could tell something wrong. Glancing at the dark haired Elf near him, he noticed that Elrond stood ridged, his gray eyes staring at his hand, upon which Vilya shone in full dark glory. Sensing what had happened, Glorfindel stood, fear twisting inside him like a knife in his chest. He approached his lord slowly, watching him warily.
"Elrond?" he called softly, but his friend did not acknowledge him, but Vilya grew brighter.
"He calls," Elrond said softly, his eyes never leaving Vilya.
"Who calls?" Glorfindel asked, already knowing who it was, but needing to make complete sure.
"The Lord of the Rings," Elrond said, and his voice struck Glorfindel's soul cold by how emotionless it was.
"Then we have lost," Glorfindel whispered, his hand straying to his belt.
He pulled the dagger from its place at his side, and held it over Elrond's back. Holding back the tears that threatened to pour from his eyes, he knew he had to do this, for he was honor bound to do it.
*Make it quick,* he thought silently to himself, and then struck.
To find his arm held back by a gripe that seemed not of flesh but metal. Looking into the dead eyes of his lord, Glorfindel knew he did not have the will to over come the possessed Elf.
"He calls," Elrond said again, and with a flick of his arm, threw Glorfindel aside.
Glorfindel struck a large bookcase with splintering, and fell to the floor. Before he could react, the huge bookcase slammed on top of him. His last image before darkness took him was Elrond walking out the door.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Celeborn felt a pain within his heart as he was walking toward his wife's glade. For a moment, he stopped cold, for the feeling felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest. Fearing for his wife, he hurried on, and came to her glade, only to find his worst fears had taken form.
She stood, rigid and dark, Nenya upon her up held hand glowing like a dark star. He did not have to ask what had come to past, but knew, and grief over took him as his hand went to his belt and drew forth his dagger. Walking towards his wife, tears spilled from his eyes, as he knew what he had to do. He knew his wife would rather be dead then to serve Sauron. He knew he would die with her as well, for he could not bear to be without her. Slipping behind her, he raised the dagger, and prepared to plunge it into her. But before he could finish his task, her hand shot forth, and gripped his wrist.
"He calls, Celeborn, he calls and I must go," she whispered, her voice strained, then her eyes went dead, and she hurled him down.
He did not have time to react before his head hit upon a stone and darkness consumed him. The sound of bone snapping echoed in the glade, then silence. Galadriel turned; a single tear forced its way out of her eye, and trailed down to drop into the puddle of blood that was forming near Celeborn's head. She then walked out of the glade, and the forest darkened.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gandalf fell to his knees as he felt the call, and the responding calls of the Elven rings. He knew that the end of Middle Earth had come.
The small figure gasped as he beheld the Dark Lord.
"So it is true," the figure whispered.
"So it is, Merry. I suppose they told you what to expect. Do I look as mad as they say?" Frodo said lightly, walking down from the high throne to stand in front of him.
The orcs stepped back in the shadows and they seemed alone. Merry examined his cousin, looking for what Sam, Legolas, and Aragorn described of him. Frodo looked the same, a little paler and thinner perhaps, but otherwise he looked as he had always looked. But there was something dark, menacing, and painful in his eyes, and his sense.
Merry had been with Frodo for longer then any of them, except Bilbo. Frodo caring for him had been among his first memories, and they had been close until he had gone to Bag End. But Merry had never forgotten how to figure out what his cousin and dear friend thought and felt.
"You once told me that madness is not always reflected upon the outside," Merry said.
"I knew you were just playing the fool. You are much smarter then you act, we both know that," Frodo commented.
"I learned from the best," Merry said.
"So you did," Frodo said.
"Why did you call me?" Merry asked.
"Ahh, always strait to the heart of the matter. Good," Frodo said, then turned slightly from him.
"I wasn't joking when I said you were smart, Merry. We both know how clever you are, how easily you figure things out. You will make a great Thain one day, but wouldn't you want something bigger then at?," Frodo then turned to him, a strange look within his eyes, "I know you want power, Merry, I've seen it in your eyes."
Merry faced him down with everything within him, resisting him with the very will that made him a Brandybuck. The words hit a cord in Merry, and he knew Frodo had seen what was within him, the very desire that he loathed and locked within himself. Now it beat inside him, as if spurned to full power by Frodo's words. But he resisted, because he knew that this was not his cousin that tempted him. Frodo hated the want for power. He had seen it more then enough times in the Sackville-Bagginses, and then later in other beings. Frodo hated it, loathed it, and swore that it spurned evil in its wake. This wasn't his cousin, this was not Frodo, this was the Ring, and it was that thing that Merry denied to give his soul to.
"Why do you do this? Who are you?" Merry whispered in defiance, breaking the rapture that was held between them.
"You know who I am, Merry, and you know why I have done this. Why else would I give into the Ring, except to save our world? Don't tell me you have been so blind to what is happening," Frodo said, and suddenly Merry saw desperation fill his cousin's willful eyes.
"Perhaps I am. Tell me what is happening," Merry said.
"Our world, Merry, our world is dying," Frodo whispered, then his eyes hardened slightly, "We cannot allow it to happen. You'll help me, will you not?"
Merry turned his eyes down, then back up as new courage flooded him as well as pity, Frodo had admitted, and now he suffered for it. Merry could not allow himself to be taken and even if their world died, was it really their place to make it stay the way it was?
"All things change, all things die, even the Elves. We have no right to keep things the way they are. Aragorn, Legolas, Sam, they told us what you said, and what Legolas saw. Yes, our kind will die, yes, it will change. But we have to accept that. You always hated to be trapped by how our kind does things. You always hated that our kind wouldn't change, yet now you speak of keeping things the same. Wouldn't that just be another death? It was kill you, yet now you wish to kill everything with what you plan," Merry said softly, but unwaveringly.
"I do not wish to kill anything, only preserve it. I seem to have chosen the wrong one," Frodo's eyes turned cold, cruel, "But no matter. There is our youngest. Perhaps he will listen to reason, he has always been more opened to the world then you."
Merry turned, and horror gripped him. Pippin stood at the doors, two orcs stood next to him, holding him there.
"No," Merry whispered, looking desperately between his two cousins.
Frodo merely smiled coldly and nodded, "Take him away, and bring the other before me."
"Wait!" Merry shouted.
Frodo held up his hand, "Reconsidering?"
"No, I only now have an answer to your question. In the beginning of this you asked me if you looked monstrous. I say now, no, you only look like a soul lost in the dark," Merry said.
Rage ignited like flames in Frodo's eyes, and he nodded for the orcs to carry Merry away. As they passed the guards that held Pippin, Merry struggled briefly to tell his dear younger cousin one thing, "Don't give into him, Pip, whatever you do, don't give into him." Then he was gone, and Pippin was pulled forward to face Frodo.
Pippin looked to his oldest cousin, and for the first time in his short life, he felt fear of him. It was not what the others had said, or even Merry's warning. No, it was Frodo himself who inspired fear into Pippin.
He saw something in Frodo that none could see, not even Merry or Sam, though Sam glimpsed it from time to time. Pippin was young, merely a teen to his kind, though the quest had aged him. But he still retained some innocence, and could see the darkness that larked within his cousin's eyes, where only light had once been.
"So what they say is true. You have fallen, and my cousin is dead," Pippin said softly.
That struck a blow to what was still Frodo, and it was as if Pippin had cut his heart out. But the madness within Frodo would not let him respond, but knew it could not triphant over the young hobbit. Without a word, he waved to the orcs to take Pippin away, and returned to his throne.
"Bring me the old wizard. Its time to bring this plan into action. I shall wait no longer," the Dark Lord said as the doors closed behind Pippin.
The orcs nodded, and quickly went to bring Gandalf before the Dark Lord.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The orcs dragged the old wizard before him. Unlike the others, they did not release him, because they knew just how dangerous he was.
"Greetings, Gandalf, I trust that you know why you are here," the Dark Lord said.
"I do, Frodo son of Drogo, and I tell you now I will not fall to your madness. And that my heart grieves for what has happened to you," Gandalf said, standing tall against the darkness that surrounded Frodo.
"It is of no matter. I am tired of trying to persuade them to my side, it is time to use force. You know what I speak of, Gandalf," the Dark Lord said, and smiled slightly as he fingered the Ring.
"You would not dare to use such a method. We will fight you," Gandalf said, horror coloring his words at what Frodo proposed.
"I do dare, and I look forward to breaking the wills of the Ring Bearers. The long hidden shall now be reveled, and though you may fight me, they cannot. Their rings hold their wills and souls, though the Bearers do not fully realize how tight a hold it is. You shall see soon enough, Maia, and your beloved Elf ruled lands shall come to ruin in the fall of their lords. Watch as I call for them, and know that not even you can stand before my will for long," the Dark Lord said sharply and stood.
Unclasping the chain from his neck, the Dark Lord slipped the Ring from it, and let the chain drop to the ground. Looking once more the Gandalf, he slipped the Ring upon his finger…
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Glorfindel felt something pull painfully inside him, and stopped reading. Looking up sharply, he could tell something wrong. Glancing at the dark haired Elf near him, he noticed that Elrond stood ridged, his gray eyes staring at his hand, upon which Vilya shone in full dark glory. Sensing what had happened, Glorfindel stood, fear twisting inside him like a knife in his chest. He approached his lord slowly, watching him warily.
"Elrond?" he called softly, but his friend did not acknowledge him, but Vilya grew brighter.
"He calls," Elrond said softly, his eyes never leaving Vilya.
"Who calls?" Glorfindel asked, already knowing who it was, but needing to make complete sure.
"The Lord of the Rings," Elrond said, and his voice struck Glorfindel's soul cold by how emotionless it was.
"Then we have lost," Glorfindel whispered, his hand straying to his belt.
He pulled the dagger from its place at his side, and held it over Elrond's back. Holding back the tears that threatened to pour from his eyes, he knew he had to do this, for he was honor bound to do it.
*Make it quick,* he thought silently to himself, and then struck.
To find his arm held back by a gripe that seemed not of flesh but metal. Looking into the dead eyes of his lord, Glorfindel knew he did not have the will to over come the possessed Elf.
"He calls," Elrond said again, and with a flick of his arm, threw Glorfindel aside.
Glorfindel struck a large bookcase with splintering, and fell to the floor. Before he could react, the huge bookcase slammed on top of him. His last image before darkness took him was Elrond walking out the door.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Celeborn felt a pain within his heart as he was walking toward his wife's glade. For a moment, he stopped cold, for the feeling felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest. Fearing for his wife, he hurried on, and came to her glade, only to find his worst fears had taken form.
She stood, rigid and dark, Nenya upon her up held hand glowing like a dark star. He did not have to ask what had come to past, but knew, and grief over took him as his hand went to his belt and drew forth his dagger. Walking towards his wife, tears spilled from his eyes, as he knew what he had to do. He knew his wife would rather be dead then to serve Sauron. He knew he would die with her as well, for he could not bear to be without her. Slipping behind her, he raised the dagger, and prepared to plunge it into her. But before he could finish his task, her hand shot forth, and gripped his wrist.
"He calls, Celeborn, he calls and I must go," she whispered, her voice strained, then her eyes went dead, and she hurled him down.
He did not have time to react before his head hit upon a stone and darkness consumed him. The sound of bone snapping echoed in the glade, then silence. Galadriel turned; a single tear forced its way out of her eye, and trailed down to drop into the puddle of blood that was forming near Celeborn's head. She then walked out of the glade, and the forest darkened.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gandalf fell to his knees as he felt the call, and the responding calls of the Elven rings. He knew that the end of Middle Earth had come.