Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within.

Author's Notes: I realize that Theoden is referred to as Eomer and Eowyn's father in this chapter. Remember that I changed some relations to fit wolf structure.

Flamerule – Thank you for taking a chance with my story. Your review is very intelligent and well-crafted. In answer; Frodo is being driven instinctively into Mordor by forces unknown. He is just gifted with wisdom beyond his years, and he knows Mordor can only be beaten from the inside.

Amarth – You are the one-hundredth reviewer! Yay! (streamers and confetti go everywhere)

Thanks for all the wonderful reviews!

Chapter Twenty-Three

~         

            Forward!

            The Great Pack swept easily along the vast tundra, their long legs eating up the miles and carrying them ever closer to the gates of Mordor. But what awaited them there? Doom or victory? None could tell.

            At the head ran Aragorn. His stride was proud and certain, his head was lifted high. Wind from their speed lifted his ruff in a grand rippling pattern, rolling like an ocean and blacker than a ravens' wing. And in his eyes there was a fire of determination such as the tundra had never seen before.

            To his right was Elrond. The Half-breed was taller than Aragorn, and more slender. His legs were longer and worked at not the quite the same hasty pace as the King's; it took him less effort to travel quickly. His head turned from side to side, his eyes drifting closed occasionally as he let his ears and nose take over in guiding him.

            On Aragorn's left ran Galadriel. She moved like a queen and seemed to float over the earth rather than pound it with her feet. Golden fur glistened in the sunlight, and her long tail streamed out behind her like a banner. Her eyes were focusing straight ahead, as visions of Mordor fell out before her gaze. Her heart trembled. But then she saw Aragorn at her side, and she was heartened.

            Eomer and Eowyn traveled side by side. Their sibling bond had only been strengthened by the death of their father, Theoden, and now they depended on each other more than ever. Eomer was thinking of the battle to come; Eowyn's thoughts lingered back in the Hills of Healing, resting with a certain young wolf with a handsome brown coat. A wolf smile split her face.

            Glorfindel kept to himself on the journey. His mind wandered to distant horizons, thinking of things that were inevitably coming towards him. Suppose he should be killed? Or perhaps Elladan and Elrohir, the last of his pack? What then? Or even heavier on his mind was the question… What if Aragorn should be victorious and the Numenor wolves crowned rulers of the land? What would become of the Elven wolves then? Would they be doomed to drift from the tundra and be forgotten by all?

            Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen ran in a tight bunch. The brothers raced on either side of their sister, keeping her fenced in and using their bodies as protection against hidden guns. Black wolves in particular made easy targets against the white snow, and this they knew. Even though she insisted that they leave, they stubbornly held their position.

            It was Celeborn at the back that had absolutely no doubt whatsoever. His heart was at peace and his spirit was lifted in joy. He knew that, should he die in the battle to come, his death would be an honorable one and it would not be in vain. And he knew that, if Aragorn became the King of the Tundra and the Numenors came to power, he, Celeborn, would always have his beloved mate Galadriel, and they would always have their beautiful land to run free in before the sun set on their lives. So Celeborn rejoiced, and ran with the most confidence of all the wolves in the pack, because he knew this to be so.

             Onward, wolves! Onward, King Aragorn! To Mordor!

            ~

            A distance behind them, a moving wave of brown shuffled determinedly along the snowy earth. With their bodies pressed together and their gazes locked on the ground under their feet, the Naugrim looked like on gigantic mass of tawny fur, rolling shapelessly across the land.

            In their midst limped a tall blond wolf, his strides stilted by the wound in his leg. Still Legolas kept a proud eye on the East, straining his eyes and almost convincing himself that he could see Aragorn waiting for him on the next hilltop, or sitting down the next slope. But the Great Pack was much farther ahead, and even the keen eyes of the Elven wolf could not see him.

            Pippin tumbled along on a level with the Naugrim, a bouncing ball of curly brown fur that was constantly trying to initiate a yipping conversation with his travel mates. But the foxes ignored him, although Gimli spared him a bark or two about how unnatural his boundless energy was. Pippin took it as a compliment.

            It was an awesome sight; this crawling horde of muddy bodies driving always towards the East, a single, large pale figure walking right in the middle of them. Still they moved relentlessly forward, and still Mordor drew closer.

            Forward, Naugrim! Forward, Legolas the Brave! Mordor awaits you!

            ~

            Snap!

            Frodo's eyes flew open with a yelp. The nightmare had been more terrible than he had ever thought a nightmare could be. He had seen death and destruction. He had glimpsed a land of Armageddon and the Great Hunter, with skeletons walking abroad over the earth and monstrous factories belching smoke into sweltering skies. The bodies of loved companions were strewn across the tundra in a morbid display of blood and fur. The sun never rose again.

            But here he was, awake and safe, with loyal Sam sleeping at his side and the sun just coming into the sky. The rays of warmth were hindered, however, by the actual clouds of smoke that wound their filthy tendrils across the sky. Frodo sighed deeply, suddenly wishing that he had never left the Shire at all…

            A slinking form at the corner of his eye arrested his attention.

            Gollum loomed ominously less than three feet away from him.

            But before Frodo could sound a warning bark of alarm, the scrawny wolf had vanished like a ghost; the only sign of his presence a dust cloud he had kicked up that now hovered uncertainly on the air.

            As if sensing Frodo's fear, Sam awoke and smacked his jaws together noisily. He clambered to his feet and stretched long and hard, before standing up and shaking the sleep from his ruff.

            Frodo still lay curled on the ground, the Ring pulling down on his neck and irritating him to the point of pain. A thin whine escaped him, a whisper of agony that did not avoid Sam's notice. The beta sat down heavily next to the pup and whimpered useless comforts.

            And still the sun climbed higher in the sky, warning them that their journey was not over yet…

            ~

            So began the march through Mordor.

            Their pace was agonizingly slow; Frodo could barely move at a fast walk, let alone a run of any sort. Even though Sam did his best to walk slowly, the pup would still gradually lag behind until they had to stop entirely that he might rest. Always he was pawing at the Ring, and always it stayed as firmly clamped around his throat as ever.

            There was no food and no water. They ate what patches of dirty snow they could find in hopes of relieving the insatiable thirst that clawed at their parched mouths. The hunger that plagued that plagued them was not as easy to remedy. On their third day of travel, Sam spotted a scrawny rabbit, and after a desperate chase they feasted on the carcass.

            Their speed diminished with every day, until at last they were hardly moving at all. Sam tipped his head up to the sky and squinted. The sun was all but completely hidden now. They were dangerously close to the factories. They simply could not be dragging themselves at this pace; it kept them too long in unsavory territory.

            Turning back to Frodo, Sam circled around and came up behind him, sliding his stubby nose under the pup's body and lifting him up onto his back. A paw that came near his face he grabbed lightly in his teeth, steadying the alpha in his place. Sam then set off at a more determined pace than ever.

            Frodo rode silently on Sam's back for two days. It was as tragic and moving as a picture as one could imagine; the weary and starving beta still trotting unstoppably onwards, driven only by his inner strength and need to complete the task that Frodo had set himself on.

            And always lagging a distance behind them was a scrawny bag of bones, a mere skeleton now with grey fur bagging off the impossibly thin frame. But this one could not be stopped; he was indomitable until death, and the fires of insanity burned in his huge yellow eyes, which bulged grotesquely out of his gaunt face.

            On the three went, until at last their journey came to a climax.

            ~

            It was on the fifth day of their travel. Two days of carrying a pup on his back and with nothing to eat. The sun was gone. Night had come. Hope was lost.

            Sam drew himself to the top of a dirty hill and collapsed, utterly spent and unable to go on.

            But as if by some hidden power, Frodo rose to his feet and stood, electrified, staring straight ahead at some awesome and hidden sight.

            Following his alpha's example, Sam came up behind him and could only stare.

            Before them loomed the awesome and terrible factory of Orodruin. It clawed at the sky and a monstrous, shapeless black hulk, spewing pollution into the air and roaring with the fury of a thousand furnaces. It was from this source that the Hunter drew all of his power. It was from here that every single gun and every single airplane was given the strength to function.

            So it was this wretched place that they were bound to.

            And even as Frodo stumbled resolutely down towards the entrance, Sam followed with a breath held in disbelief.

            How?

            ~

            The Great Pack slowed to a stop like a train trying to put on the brakes too suddenly. Three days of running and they all slid to a halt very ungracefully, but managing to keep their dignity.

            Aragorn nodded his head solemnly. Elrond closed his eyes and sighed. Galadriel's ear twitched. Eomer and Eowyn leaned into each other. Glorfindel shuddered deeply. Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen clustered into a bunch. Celeborn wagged his tail once but remained silent.

            They stood before the Black Gates of Mordor.

            They were closed.

~ To Be Continued