He found Rathien in the throne room, kneeling at Denethor's chair and looking up at him with more admiration than he had seen Rathien look at anyone, even Unongleal or Anna. Denethor was talking, something Hedregon had never found interesting, but Rathien seemed to find it fascinating. Rathien saw Hedregon and excused herself, walking over to him.

"Your father is amazing," she said.

This thought had never crossed Hedregon's mind. Ever. Denethor was just his father, and that was that. He was glad, though, that Rathien liked him. He still wanted to do something special for her . . . something with the sandy ashes of her old weaponry. Just as Rathien turned to go back to talking to Denethor, Hedregon got the idea that he would use the sand to make her a new weapon. What kind of weapon would be made of glass, though? Glass was all that Hedregon could turn the sand into, and it would break if she tried to use it.

Then again . . . it could just be for ornamental purposes. Did Elves even own things for ornamental purposes? Probably not, but Hedregon was already attached to his new idea. It would be a knife, for that was Rathien's favorite weapon choice, and he would carve a wooden hilt with wood from the white tree of Gondor.

He had no idea how to do this; Hedregon was never able to make things the way he wanted them to turn out. All the same, he wanted to try this; for Rathien.

Shaping the blade was easier than Hedregon thought it would be. In fact, it turned out perfect to Hedregon's eyes. It was a clear glass blade, somehow sharp and symmetric. The handle also turned out quite beautifully, white and clean next to the crystal blade. The hardest part for Hedregon was that he wanted to write something on it for Rathien; it was easy to compose for him, but less so to translate. He didn't know Elvish, yet wanted to have the inscription written in it. Hedregon stayed up all night with books of all sorts, translating the simple phrase he had written.

When he was done, Hedregon stood back to admire his work. Somehow, miraculously, it really did look perfect. Too perfect; Hedregon decided that he should give it some fault or it could rule over Rathien and himself. He tried to indent the wood with his fingernail. The knife slipped, and cut Hedregon on the finger. A single drop of blood fell onto the knife and sat for a moment before seeping into the glass blade. Impossible, yes, for blood cannot seep into glass no matter what the circumstance. And yet, the blade was no longer clear. Inside the glass now seemed to be a cloudy rose-tinted fog, circling around as if the inside was hollow. Hedregon chose to ignore this, and in his defense, the knife never physically harmed him.

Hedregon carefully plotted out giving Rathien the knife. He caught her that night on her way to bed, sneaking up from behind her and putting one hand on over her mouth and one hand over her eyes.

"Let's go," he said, and so their minds escaped to Hedregon's utopian Dreamworld.

The very first time Rathien had entered Hedregon's Dreamworld, they had seen a beautiful gazebo made solely from intertwined branches, leaves and twigs from the surrounding trees. They had stopped short of the clearing it was in, and talked, then forgotten about it. Now Hedregon led Rathien to the same gazebo, this time leading her under its canopy as well.

Rathien played along, wondering at the magical twinkling of the moon as he shone through the leaves in little specks, which reflected on both of their faces.

"Rathien," Hedregon said, all of a sudden nervous, "I have something for you." He reached into the large pocket of his coat and produced the knife, knowing that it had not broken. The drop of his blood that had entered the knife had fulfilled the promise of the inscription. Rathien's eyes opened wide.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, then read the inscription out loud, "Love is ours and ours alone; like this knife it cannot break. And if tomorrow we both die, I will still love you, forever and ever more until its blade lies in shards upon the sand."

Rathien didn't say anything; she just stared at the knife. She stared at it for what seemed like hours, and then a tear ran down her cheek.

"Hedregon," she dared, "I love you. Do you love me? And I do not mean I- love-you love. Do you really love me, to the point where you would give anything for me?"

"I would give you my life if you asked it of me," Hedregon said honestly. He meant it, "I love you Rathien, and nothing can stop me, not even you. You read the inscription on the knife; even if I die, I'll love you. No force on earth can stop me, not hate, nor war, nor death."

Rathien nodded, satisfied, and another tear graced her cheek.

"Why are you crying, Rathien?" Hedregon asked.

She looked up at him and smiled through her tears. "Give me your hand," she said, trying to keep her voice clear through the tears choking up her throat.

Hedregon gave Rathien his left hand. She took the knife, which Hedregon thought was not functional, and cut a shape into his palm. He flinched, and tried to pull back his hand, but Rathien held it firmly until she was done cutting. Hedregon looked at his palm; the shape was that of two circles, forever linked now in his skin. His hand was throbbing, but Rathien did the same to her right hand, her now many tears diluting the blood on her hand.

She took her bloody hand and the same of Hedregon's, and lined them up against one another, pressing her hand into his. Before Hedregon knew it, he was pushing his hand into Rathien's also, and their feet were no longer touching the ground, literally. They were suspended a foot above it, in fact, and the iridescent glow which always seemed to be hovering around Rathien was being sucked away.

They fell to the ground together, and Hedregon looked at Rathien. He couldn't figure out what had just happened, but she no longer shone as she did when he had first seen her. Quickly correcting himself that Rathien was just as beautiful, Hedregon realized that she was almost more so, for now, without the glow surrounding her, Hedregon could see Rathien without any reflection. He could see her eyes and her cheeks and her lips.

Hedregon waited for nearly thirty minutes before Rathien's eyes fluttered and opened. Her tears were now dry, but as she struggled against her weight to sit upright, another tear fell.

"What just happened, Rathien?" Hedregon asked.

Rathien gave him a bittersweet smile. "I am mortal," she said.

And as two mortals finally allowed themselves to make sweet and eternal love to one another, back in Middle Earth the spiritual world was colliding with the living one. Bevolen was killed by Boromir, but he was not through with what his intense hatred wanted to achieve. He pushed for hours and hours until the barrier between the two worlds was broken, although only for him, and his spirit entered Minas Tirith once more.

He could see only blurs and shapes above ground, but beneath it where the bodies of those no longer living resided he could see as clear as day. Bevolen's spirit searched until he found his two young disciples, Gediwer and Rojwer. The boys had annoyed him in life, but now he needed their bodies. Not strong enough to fully control one of them, Bevolen found that he had to use both of Hedregon's young friends in order to obtain physical form. Thankfully, his imbecile friend Sircyn had used poison to kill them, and so they were entirely intact.

With two new bodies and a more determined spirit than ever, Bevolen hid deep in the forests near Minas Tirith and set to work. He had much to do.

I OWN NOTHING HERE THAT YOU THINK CONNECTS TO TOLKIEN. GET IT? GOT IT? GOOD! Oh, and I posted a review to answer any questions that were posed.