Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within.

Author's Notes: I can only apologize for taking so long to update; I will not make any pathetic excuses, merely beg for your forgiveness. This is not the last chapter of the story; there will be an epilogue after this. ^_^

Chapter Twenty-Seven

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            Even as Aragorn thought he looked upon the world for the last time, as the barrel of the gun became everything and anything he could see, his vision unable to venture past that gleaming rod of steel as though it had hypnotized him…

            Even as Elrond lay gasping on the ground, his blood pooling around him and his eyes glazing over, straining to rise, wishing to rise, but unable to get to his feet to aide his companion…

            Even as Arwen lurched forward, desperate to do anything to intervene, anything to prevent the Great Hunter from claiming her love and her father in the same brutal and vicious blow…

            Gollum plummeted off the bridge.

            The earth shook beneath their feet. Aragorn pressed his ears against his head and flinched, but decided to stand and face death with courage. He waited for the moment, the moment when the bullet would go right between his eyes, the moment when darkness would claim him for all eternity.

            The moment never came.

            Sauron's finger closed on the trigger to no avail. A hollow clicking sound was the only sign he had even done anything. Orodruin had been stalled, the factory had ceased to produce energy, and all around the battlefield, guns sang with an ever-decreasing hum as the power drained from their systems.

            For all machinery employed by the Great Hunter and his minions were powered by that one awesome machine, Orodruin, the thousand of gears pumping and whirring and pulsing out energy in inexplicable waves. This was a fatal tactical error on Sauron's part – all his power in one source? – but perhaps forgivable; who could have foreseen the amazing events of recent days?

            Either way, the thunder of the final bullet never fired.

            It took Aragorn a long moment to realize this. When he remained conscious, when he did not feel any lead slamming into his skull, he used up an instant of precious reaction time thanking anyone who was listening for whatever had just happened.

            Then he sprang.

            Up into the air, launched like a rocket by sheer adrenaline and need to finish the conflict, his whole muscular form came completely off the ground. Black fur shining with the blood of battle, emerging through the smoke of earlier gunfire, teeth and claws itching to imbed into the flesh of an enemy…

            And this weapon of flaming determination was soaring right at Sauron's heart.

            For his part, the Great Hunter proved an admirable combatant to the end. Flipping his rifle around in his hands, he now held the barrel and swung the handle around as a club, smashing right into Aragorn's side. The wolf was knocked from his flight, but pivoted swiftly on his paws the moment they touched the earth, launching back up again and giving Sauron no time to pull back for another swing.

            What Aragorn hadn't counted on was a knife flashing from Sauron's belt.

            The blade ripped across his face, just missing his left eye and instead carving a mark just above it. Blood flowed down across his vision, blinding him physically, while the pain blinded his senses. He staggered backwards.

            Mind over matter, Legolas had apparently forgotten his leg injury when he bounded and pounced, lifting up into the air and landing squarely on Sauron's back, sending him sprawling to the ground. Straddling the Hunter, Legolas threw his weight down, too busy avoiding the knife to maneuver a killing blow, instead striking uselessly at Sauron's body armor.

            The few moments Legolas bought with his reckless attack gave Aragorn the sufficient time to recover well enough, and he shook his head violently, sending the blood splattering but clearing his vision.

            Lunging forward, he sank his teeth into Sauron's neck, jaws crushing down with more power than any wolf before him had ever exhibited, punching right through the armor of the neck and pressing relentlessly on the windpipe.

            With life ebbing away, Sauron fought like the devil himself. It took the combined weight of Aragorn and Legolas to hold him down, until at last all air had been used up and his body could struggle no more. It was not until he had lain still for many minutes did the wolves stalk away from the corpse in disgust.

            Sauron the Great Hunter was slain.

            There was long moment as the wolves studied the remaining hunters, a long, suspended period of time in which the world of Man and the world of the Wild was almost touching, holding each other in a bizarre sort of respect. The tense silence was broken by a single, united yell that rose from the humans, as they turned and fled for the remains of their factories.

            The wolves danced lightly after them, speeding over the carcasses of Orcs and Wargs, flying into the air, lifted on the wings of victory, slamming into their opponents and snuffing them out with all the brutal efficiency the men had used themselves in their murder of the wolves. The hunter became the hunted.

            Within minutes, the war was over.

            All was silent.

            ~

            At the moment when the first shot from Sauron was fired, Gandalf the great eagle was already far, far away. He ripped through the sky at a breakneck speed, splitting apart the clouds in his haste. A blur of white he became, screaming through the air until at last Orodruin came into view.

            He saw the factory shaking, heard the death howls of Gollum as the gears sucked him to his death. A catastrophe was imminent; the entirety of Orodruin was shuddering under unimaginable strain.

            Sam came rocketing out of the door, Frodo's scruff clenched defiantly in his teeth, the pup lifted proudly in front of him even though he obviously knew the end was near. Gandalf's heart leapt into his throat at the sight of the two Hobbit wolves, alive, victorious, and he gave a cry of joy.

            Head snapping up wildly, Sam's eyes met Gandalf's. He could have wept with relief. And though the world was about to go out, he was glad to be with Frodo at the end of all things.

            He hardly felt Gandalf's talons lifting him by the scruff, was hardly aware of the sensation of flying as they soared into the air. He only knew one thing; hold on. His grip on Frodo's scruff was merciless and unstoppable, and so he carried the pup with him as he rose into the sky.

            Orodruin erupted beneath them, blasting into a thousand pieces in an explosion he hadn't seen since the destruction of the Balrog in the ravine. Masonry hurtled into the air, blown like cannonballs by the force of the rupturing generators.

            Then for Sam, everything went black, as unconsciousness claimed him at last.

            But he did not let go of his alpha.

            ~

            Rain had begun to fall.

            Aragorn staggered through the carnage, stumbling on the bodies, reeling from shock and the absolute draining of adrenaline and energy from his body. He saw what he was seeking, he raced to it…

            He and Arwen met, their bodies pressed side by side, heads resting on the others' back, breath heaving in their chests and sighing out in relief. The rain matted their fur, washing the blood from their coats and leaving them a glorious shade of ebony, black as night.

            Gimli exploded through the battlefield, scrambling for footing and at last tumbling to a stop next to where Legolas had collapsed, exhausted, his wound troubling him double-time after the exertion. The fox nuzzled his large companion gently, reassuringly, and the golden tail thumped on the ground in joy.

             Celeborn sprang into the air, lifting into flight as if on wings, barreling into Galadriel with practically a scream of thankfulness at finding her alive and unscathed, the regal pair falling end over end with the force of his leap, her face soon covered with sloppy kisses of adoration.

            Pippin trotted numbly through all of the death and suffering, his head hung low and his eyes strangely glassy, not feeling anything at all. He missed Merry, wished his older friend could be there to help him cope, to explain everything to him. But Merry was miles away.

            Glorfindel was broken. His eyes could not tear away from Elladan's body, riddled with bullets, or Elrohir's lifeless form, slashed at the throat. He stood there trembling, a once-great alpha reduced to a bleeding wreck. His coat of golden fire had dulled to a flat yellow, his fur was matted and clumped. But worst of all, the flame in his eyes had gone out.

            He was the sole surviving member of the Imladris pack.

            A little head rested against his foreleg, and he glanced down to see Pippin rubbing his face against it, sighing deeply in loneliness and despair. Bending down, Glorfindel gave the Hobbit wolf a rough lick over the top of the head, the gesture of a father to his pup.

            And all turned as one to where Elrond had fallen.

            Aragorn was the first to reach him, dropping his head to touch noses with the Half-breed, urging a reaction from him, desperate for him to move, to breathe, to reassure them all that it was nothing serious.

            In response, Elrond opened his eyes, his tail wagging in a weak effort to pretend that everything was all right. But the pain punched through his system like a sledgehammer, and he groaned, allowing his head to rest on the ground in defeat. His eyes, however, remained locked on Aragorn, speaking into his mind for undoubtedly the last time.

            -Aragorn… I only wish our time together in victory could have been longer, that I might have lived to see you and my daughter run side by side as King and Queen… I place her in your care now; you are the only wolf I would trust with such a treasure. Take care of her, Aragorn. That is all I ask of you…-

            His breathing became rapid and erratic, hitching in his throat, his eyes fogging over so that his voice dropped to nothing but a whisper.

            -The tundra is yours… your kingdom now. Rule well, my King. May the sun always shine on you, may the wind be at your back, and may you have good hunting for the rest of your days…-

            And in the rain, surrounded by the family he was pined for all his life, Elrond passed on, and his heart stopped beating, his feet striking a rhythm of eternity as he raced on to join Boromir in the stars.

            Bitter was his passing that should endure beyond the ends of the world.

            At last, Aragorn threw back his head and wailed in grief, and the others joined him also. The song was slow and painful, yet also sadly triumphant, for Elrond had lived to see the fall of the Hunter, and to see his daughter mated to the King. Yet no amount of singing could bring him back, until at last the requiem faded away…

            …into silence.

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