Hello! Again, I am sorry that I haven't updated soon. But first there was my English paper, and then ff.net wasn't working, and then school finals . . . yeah, I've had a busy couple of weeks.

I've decided that this might not be the final chapter. A rabid plot bunny attacked me, giving me an idea for a sort of Epilogue chapter. I'm not sure if I'll follow through on it. Tell me if you think I should.

The rabid plot bunny also brought a lot of his friends. I now have a lot of ideas for new stories. I have a sequel for His Rose in mind, as well another overlooked Silmarillion story. I'll be busy writing for a while, I think.

I wanted to thank the people who have been really encouraging throughout this story. They include Sigil (Go read her stories! Especially Kinsinger and Kinhunter! Go read them!), racavende18, and loveofthering. As this story is not very happy, it's been kind of difficult to write. These people were really encouraging and I'm not sure the story would have turned out as well without them.

Well, on to the final, (or not so final) chapter! I just want to warn you, this is the most morbid chapter of all. If you don't like that, turn back now. If you do, enjoy!

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Thus, Gorlim was ensnared; and taking him to their camp, they tormented him, seeking to learn the tidings of Barahir and all his ways. But nothing would Gorlim tell . . .

(Silmarillion, Of Beren and Luthien)

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Gorlim awoke to darkness.

Too weary to open his eyes even the slightest, he simply reached out to the feeling in his limbs, to find himself sprawled on a smooth floor. Smooth? Where was he? What had happened? He could not even remember leaving the world of wakefulness. The last he recalled, he had been in the hateful clutches of orcs. Where was he now? Where were they?

Now, as he slowly drifted back, so also did the pains from his beatings. His chest, pressed as it was onto the hard floor, burned from the flaying it had taken from Gardug's whip. He tried to shift himself and lessen the pressure on his open wounds, but other bruises and hurts screamed in agony, until he simply let himself flop limply back down.

Breathing hard from the effort, he soon discovered that the air was curiously difficult to breath. It was thick and heavy, almost as if it was some sort of smoke or fume. Yet it did not sear his lungs when he inhaled. Although, he did notice that it made him dizzyingly lightheaded, resulting in an unexplainable feeling of . . . emptiness. Again, he asked himself the question: Where was he? Finally, he opened his eyes.

He saw darkness.

He saw a darkness that was nothing.

It was an impenetrable darkness.

He could not even tell where the strange stone floor on which he lay met the thick air.

It was all dark, all empty.

The empty feeling in his heart deepened uneasily.

(Welcome.)

The word floated into Gorlim's mind unbidden. Where did that come from? He hadn't heard it . . . not with his ears anyway. It just . . . came, and his mind told him someone had spoken. Was he imagining he heard voices? Gorlim parted his chapped lips and called out softly.

"Who's there?"

No one answered.

Gorlim curled himself up, shuddering nervously. He wasn't alone in this strange place. He knew it. Somewhere, in this leaden blackness, someone was there. He could feel eyes peering through the shadow, regarding him with a predator's gaze.

(Get up.)

Again, the words appeared in Gorlim's mind, and this time he could feel them formulating at another's will. Someone was speaking to him through his mind. Gorlim could "hear" the words meant to be spoken, but he could not discern any voice that spoke them. Nothing could he determine from the words. Except for the fact that they were directed at him with scornful contempt.

Unwilling to anger this, as yet unknown, other being in the darkness, Gorlim once again tried to pull himself up from his position on the cold floor. This time, with more of an incentive to drive him, he succeeded.

"Who are you?" Gorlim called out uneasily, straining his eyes uselessly into the darkness.

(I am shocked that thou dost not already know.)

Confused, Gorlim almost inquired what he meant by this, but then stopped suddenly. Remembrance of Gardug's final statement slammed into him. 'Our Master, Sauron the Great.' A new horror built up inside.

(Yes.) The words came in response to his thoughts. (Welcome to Tol-in- Gaurhoth.)

Gorlim gasped heavily, trying hard not to fall unconscious once more, and shivering uncontrollably. So that's where he was. The fortress of Tol-in- Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves.

(I hear that thou wouldst barter with me.)

Gorlim did not respond. He was still trying to quell the sudden chill that had frozen his nerves.

(That is what I've been told, but perhaps I may be mistaken. What dost thou have to say?)

Still, Gorlim did not break the silence of the darkness.

(I have spared thy life, and not one word dost thou send from thy lips!) An undertone of irritated impatience could now be detected. (I ask again! Wouldst thou . . .)

"I . . . I would not." Gorlim spoke weakly, interrupting the flow of words.

(Art thou without doubt? Thou canst veil the tremor in thy voice.)

Gorlim sighed dejectedly. 'No,' he thought to himself, no longer concerned with the fact that all his thoughts were open to the other. 'I suppose I cannot.' Refusing defeat, Gorlim straightened himself up, and stated more firmly, "I would not barter with you."

(Thou hast courage to speak so. Yet, I must wonder if thou art aware of the consequences of thy decision? Thou must know that thy own life hangs in the balance as well.)

Gorlim shook his head. "I know now that it is unlikely that I will escape with my life at all."

(Indeed.) The other seemed surprised at his prisoner's control. (Thy own life, as well as the lives of thy companions and thy beloved. That is what troubles thou so. Am I wrong? Such a choice thou hast to make. Thou hast been awarded my pity. Pity is a weakness you don't often find in one as myself.)

Gorlim bit his lower lip disgustedly. He could not deny what the other was saying. The choice between his friends and his wife tore at him from the inside, eating its way through him like an acid. If only there were some way . . .

"What would it take," Gorlim began hesitantly, "to alter the choice?" No words formed in his head for a moment. Then they came back full force with a new tone of disdain.

(Thou wouldst wish for me to alter thy choice? Thou wouldst flee from the path that has been laid before thy feet? Thou art more a coward than I first perceived.)

"Why not just kill me?" Gorlim shouted suddenly and desperately. "Kill me, a warrior of Dorthonion which your Lord ordered you to kill! Destroy me, and release my wife, who is of no value to you."

Any hopes for his wife were dashed at the sense of silent mirth coming from the other. (Thy wife is of value to me, for thou art of value to me. Thou art the key to opening Dorthonion to the rule of Lord Morgoth. Thou art a fool to think even for a moment that I would destroy the key that leads to the other eleven of thy companions.)

Gorlim's frustration rose in a black surge of anger ready to swallow him whole. In a mocking tone he replied, "Are you so weak that it takes someone like me to destroy a small band of men? I would have thought that someone held so high in your Lord's regard . . ."

He was cut off as a sudden blast of strength crushed him back to the floor. So great was the force, that upon being thrown to the stone floor, he felt ribs snap in his chest. Gasping, he tried to regain his breath. Through the murky haze of anguish clouding his mind, Gorlim sensed the other hurling savage words at him.

(Hold thy tongue! Lest thy insolence leads to the end of my temper!)

Somehow, Gorlim found the strength to retort, "And what would happened then? Would you kill your key?"

Even though his eyes could not pierce the darkness, Gorlim could still imagine the smug expression on the other's face. (A battered key will still fit the lock.)

Once again, the blast of intense power rammed him down. His only thought was a prayer for it to stop. Heedless of his agonized cries, it went on, seeming to be never-ending. Finally, when it let up, Gorlim was left collapsed on the smooth stone floor, groaning softly. 'I can't let my heart rule my head.' Gorlim told himself. 'No matter how much I love Eilinel, she cannot compare to the many lives that would be lost if Dorthonion were taken.' Steeling his resolve, Gorlim glared into the darkness, regardless of the fact that he had no idea which way to direct his gaze. He spoke fiercely. "I will tell you nothing!"

(I wonder what thy wife would say were she in thy place, and thou in hers?)

Gorlim shut his eyes tightly, refusing to let the words weaken his tenacity. "You try to use my feelings against me!"

(Dost thou think thy heart can resist?)

Gorlim faltered. What if the words spoke true? Was his love for Eilinel was too great, that any refusal of that love was vain? In this instant that Gorlim doubted, his enemy seized his chance. That instant was all that was needed.

The silence of the darkness was broken by the sound of familiar weeping. Gorlim lifted his head. There! A light appeared in the darkness, like a beacon drawing his gaze. But that light illuminated something that broke the last shreds of defenses that Gorlim had built around himself.

There chained to the floor, was Eilinel. She lay on her stomach on the cold floor, her hair hiding her face like ragged curtains. She trembled, moaning in pain, for blood created little rivulets on her arms and hands, splayed out on the stone.

A cry wrenched itself from Gorlim's throat. "EILINEL!" With great effort, he lifted himself up to feet, intending to run over to his beloved. However, he managed only two steps before his strength gave out and he collapsed brokenly.

(Thou art letting thy emotions get the better of thee.)

Gorlim snarled viciously at that hated voice. "Free my wife at once!"

(Thou art forgetting the bargain.)

"I don't care!" Gorlim screamed frantically, any evidence of control completely vanished. "Let her go! Take my life instead!"

(My dear human, have we not already had this discussion?)

Just as Gorlim was once more going to grate his voice on useless pleas, Eilinel whimpered loudly and called out in tormented suffering, "GORLIM!" The cry burned into Gorlim's heart. He clenched his fists in despair.

(She calls thy name. Wilt thou go to her, or to thy untrusting companions?)

Tears streamed out of Gorlim's eyes, like water leaking from a breaking dam.

(Only one thing must thou say, and then thou may go to thy wife.)

Sobs wracked his shoulders. There was no rationality left. Through clenched teeth, Gorlim whispered, "Can I have your word on that?"

(Thou hast my word, on my honor.) If Gorlim had been more coherent, he would have noticed the predatory satisfaction accompanying the voice. (I may be thy enemy, but I would not go back on my word. What is thy price?)

"That I should be with Eilinel again and with her be set free." Gorlim answered without hesitation.

(That is a small price for so great a treachery. So shall it surely be. Say on!)

Gorlim took a deep breath. He wanted nothing more than to have his Eilinel in his arms once more. Delaying no longer, Gorlim let the fateful words pass his lips. "You will find the warriors of Barahir . . . at Tarn Aeluin."

A sudden laugh ripped through his thoughts. (I give to thee my thanks! Many have been harder to break!)

Taking no thought to the last remark, Gorlim yelled angrily, "You said you would keep your word! Let me go to my wife!"

The laugh took on a wicked manner. "Thou art a fool! Thy wife is already dead!"

Gorlim felt the words stab him in the heart.

His voice shaking with uncertainty, Gorlim shot back at the hateful voice, "No! That's not true! I've seen her!"

(You mean this creature here?) Gorlim's eyes were drawn back to the bloodied figure chained to the floor. In his innermost thoughts, he began to see his fault. (She is naught but a phantom devised for thy deception!)

"No . . ." Gorlim moaned hoarsely, shaking his head. "No . . ." he repeated, refusing to believe what the other so cruelly told him.

His Eilinel was dead.

He had been tricked.

He had doomed his friends.

All was lost.

As the despairing emotions reared up, threatening to drown his wretched soul, his enemy laughed once more. (Nonetheless, I will grant thy prayer, and thou shalt go to Eilinel and be set free of my service.)

Before Gorlim could react, he felt a cold and excruciating pain pierce his stomach. Looking down, he could see a long, rusted sword stabbed into his midsection. His gaze followed the blade . . . to the hilt . . . to a bloodied hand . . .

And then into the face of his doom.

Frozen and expressionless, was the face of the phantom. Yet, it pained Gorlim more than the sword that had cut into him to see the semblance of his fair Eilinel. Only one thing was different. Her eyes were not the clear blue of a summer sky. They were black.

They were darkness.

A darkness that held nothing.

With one swift pull, the phantom tugged the blade from his body. The sudden agony seeped through his veins, snapping the cord that held him to life. Gorlim fell forward, onto the cold, stone floor. His body slowly faded into numbness. The emptiness inside him flared up, engulfing him.

He felt the darkness reaching up to take him.

He felt the darkness all around him.

Gorlim became the darkness.

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Then, straightway they brought him to presence of Sauron . . .

And being at last worn with pain and yearning for his wife, he faltered . . .

Then Sauron laughed; and he mocked Gorlim . . .

Then he put him cruelly to death.

(Silmarillion, Of Beren and Luthien)

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The End.