Disclaimer: I don't own Tolkien's characters or settings. sigh Mel is mine though.

A/N: Okay, this is the last chapter.

Thanks to all of you who have followed and reviewed the story, it meant a lot to me (since I thought this was going to be a 15000-word fic and it ballooned into this monster).

We tread a long path together and I am in a way sad that we must say good-bye now.

Although I have been asked to write a sequel, I don't think I will and I think that having read the end, you will agree with me. But who knows, never say never, right?

I'd like to know how you found the ending, if it's what you expected and if it is fitting. Many thanks again!

Namarie!

~ Chapter 17 – The Gateway ~

I have never felt like this before.

It is a completely altered state.

The loudest noise is the beating of my own heart. All around, shapes are wrapped in a gray patchy mist and as I start to swim towards the waterfall that I can now barely distinguish, I can hear a rhythm, a monotonous drone that becomes more and more part of the gentle lapping sound of the water. And it occurs to me that it is the sound of my own pounding blood. It seems to have a mind of its own, a soft voice that murmurs something that I can neither distinguish nor wish to pay attention to., because I know who/what it belongs to and because I have no intention of succumbing to It.

I have to concentrate on swimming, on ignoring the heaviness that weighs down my hand that wears the Ring. Will it be my fate to be dragged down in this depth and drown before I even have the chance to reach my destination? It is so close, yet it suddenly occurs to me that it is nearly impossible to reach.

I swim several feet and I feel it: surges of energy far beyond I have ever experienced. And I cannot help it but ask myself if it is because of the legendary healing power of the water, or if it is the Ring's promise and this is happening to me because I am wearing it?

Mel…

A whisper, a promise, then….

An image crashes on me out of nowhere and for all my blurred vision, this vision is crystal clear and yet I know that it is not real and I know where it comes from: it is an image of my world.

You are the hand of every mugger robbing an unsuspecting couple on a hot summer night as they make their way home from a restaurant….

I see it, I am in the mind of the criminal yet I cannot do anything to prevent it from happening…

You are the whip of every slave driver that curses the slow-paced workers in the oppressively hot sweatshop at the end of their sixteenth hour of work…

Why are you saying this?

You are the hit-and-run driver whose car is smeared with the blood of the innocent pedestrian it knocked down minutes ago before racing on into the night…

How can you know anything about my world?

You are the hand of every child abuser stretching hungrily in search of ever-younger flesh…

I don't want to hear it!!

You are the friendly neighborhood drug dealer, selling false dreams to high-school kids looking for a kick…

Leave me alone!!!

You are the bloodied knife of the murderer who strikes again and again in a frenzy of annihilation…

Stop, please stop…..

You are the bomb of every terrorist whose single ideal in life is blowing himself up together with a busload of civilians

Noooooo!

Memories of my world, at long last returning to me, assailing my mind from all directions, like physical blows and I recoiled, sinking under water and resurfacing again, but to no avail.

My memory was coming back, all at once, all too terrible.

Is this the world you want to go back to? Is this the world you want to take the Ring to? Isn't there enough evil already without you bringing more of it?

But Gandalf said…they assured me…

Yes, and what would you have done in their place? Their mission was to get rid of the Ring. They've done it before, lying to you…Using and deceiving you were a means to an end, no matter how attached they got to you in the process.

Oh, no….

You cannot take the Ring across!!

Your world is too high a price to pay for saving this one!

Mel pushed herself up on her hands and out of the water, failing to climb onto the platform in the first attempt. The second time, she kicked the water powerfully and managed to haul her body up on the flat surface where she lay still for a while, face down on the cold rock while her broken sobs echoed in the cave and her body trembled violently from shock.

With immense effort, she flipped herself onto her back and forced the Ring off her finger. More than anything, she wanted to fling it aside, to see it swallowed by the cloudy water where not even the servants of Sauron would find it. But she knew she could not.

Could there be an ounce of truth in the terrible visions she had seen?

Would the Ring bring destruction to her world?

Was there the slightest chance that Gandalf had lied?

The seed of uncertainty and doubt had been planted in her head…

All of a sudden, a terrible fear gripped Mel and she curled on her knees, whispering to herself.

'I can't do this! How will I ever know that it is a lie! I can't take that chance…'

But if I stay in Middle-Earth….she toyed with the idea…

Her eyes flitted to the cave ceiling. She would have those walls torn down, the healing waters of this pool made freely available to everyone in Middle-Earth…she would be a savior, a healer. She could even heal Sauron of his terminal stupidity of having believed that something trivial like a Ring could embody his power. No one would need the ring when harmony would prevail. Healing and harmony… and she would initiate that, and yes, the thought even appealed to her…

Life thousands of years beyond the lifespan of her race, absolute freedom and someone like Legolas to share it with. Was it too much of a fairy tale? Could she choose not to believe that it was possible, no matter how far fetched it sounded? Could she choose to ignore the incredible energy and vigor coursing through her body this very moment, returning her strength and giving her vitality way beyond she had ever felt in her life?

'I have no right to gamble away the fate of my world!' she said aloud and her voice echoed in every last corner of the cave.

She stood up, feeling the energy course through her body, from her toes to the tips of her fingers up into the roots of her hair. She turned towards the waterfall and regarded the water seeping down silently.

'I cannot go across' she finally whispered to it. 'I must stay here and take my chances.'

At that precise moment, the curtain of water cracked down the middle, the sound of crumbling rock sending reverberations in all directions. Strong golden light trickled through the hairline fractures, like sunrise through a screen of clouds and Mel shielded her eyes from its brightness. The whole cave was lit from within with a warm pale glow, like that of early morning. With amazing speed, the curtain of water dispersed, giving way to a tunnel at the end of which a portal was clearly distinguishable. A portal to her own world..

The tumult of bustling, darting feet wrenched her back to reality and, to her utter dismay, she saw three figures approaching from the mouth of the tunnel, two shorter ones and one unmistakably tall one: the Nazgul. The cave carried the sound of their foul voices to Mel's ears.

'How are we going to get back?' One of the orcs was saying, clearly terrorized. 'Those three fiends are killing everything that moves. It's a wonder we slipped past them…'

'If we don't find the Messenger, we're dead anyway, so why worry about those three now?' another voice replied.

In spite of finding herself in a hard spot, in full light and a perfect target for the orc's arrows, Mel smiled inwardly, silently thanking whoever was protecting her friends. They were alive and giving the enemy the hell they deserved.

Two orcs scurried beside the wraith and stopped short of edge of the pool, eyeing her, sneering and fingering their bows.

The wraith turned its head towards Mel's dark figure against the background of powerful light spilling from the portal. He sensed her and the Ring were close.

Mel stared back, knowing exactly where the wraith's eyes were inside the empty hood and locking her gaze with him.

'Should we shoot her down, my lord?' one of them asked and Mel clearly saw the wraith's dark hood nodding assent.

She could not afford to wait for the orc to arch his bow. Out of pure conservation instinct, she dived headfirst into the portal even as the arrows zipped past her, and she was inside the passageway. The last sound she heard was the terrible shriek of the Nazgul as it saw the Messenger and the Ring being consumed by the blinding light that radiated from inside the gateway.

And just as quickly and noisily as it had opened, the gateway froze shut, the light died out and the cave was returned to it's original obscurity, denied the light it had been blessed with for a transitory moment.

Mel rose shakily to her feet, the energy from moments ago dissolved.

Sheer chance had made her plunge into the portal and she knew there was no way back now.

She stood motionless, weighing her options: to go across the tunnel of light and take her chances on the other side of the portal or to lie down here and die in the no-man's-land between worlds. How long would it take for her to die here: hours, days? And would she have the strength and willpower not to crawl through the portal, delirious from hunger and thirst, hoping for salvation?

A burning sensation shifted her attention to the Ring in her palm and as she glanced down at it, she realized she had the answer.

In fascinated awe, she watched as the ring started turning red, crimson light exploding through the Black Language markings and felt it scorch her hand as it grew sizzling hot. She clenched her fist around it until she felt that it might burn a hole clean through her palm yet she did not let go.

She might have laughed had the excruciating pain not frozen her voice.

She might have cried in utter anguish for the loss of the beautiful trinket dying in her hand

But she recognized it now for what it was: it had all been a lie, a final, cruel deception of the Ring trying to brainwash her into staying in Middle-Earth, the only place where it could wreak its havoc.

Did the Ring somehow achieve sentience, otherwise how did it know that once out of Middle-Earth it would disintegrate, its life force depleted, it's capacity to corrupt finally at an end?

It must have, since it was now screaming it's final, dying song into Mel's ear, overflowing her whole being with it, twisting in agony as it melted in her palm, seeping into her bones, at long last drawing a guttural scream of pain from Mel.

Amidst rising nausea and shock, she watched the sweltering skin of her palm blacken and sizzle audibly as the remains of the Ring pooled in her palm in a hideous star-shape and trickled through her fingers, mingled with her tears as she wept bitterly for the dying splendor of it.

She was free to go back to her world now, she knew, but the pain was insufferable, it pounded in her blood and took over her whole body in an instant, rendering her unable to take another step.

Mel crumbled to her knees and stretched her arm out painfully toward the portal to her world. It was beyond her reach and the thought of dying in the absolute silence inside the no-man's-land between the worlds scared her no end. She wilted as darkness descended on her but she was not aware of it as she collapsed, her arm still reaching out.

~~

The sand on this beach is so fine it prickles my skin when the wind blows, like an invisible yet gentle whip. Today a strong breeze swirls the waves that are big enough to please any surfer. I sit beside the surfboard and bask in the warmth.

I haven't thought about the ring in a long time now. It ceased to haunt my dreams although it's taken me many years to chase away it's lingering shadow.

Memory is something I wish away these days. It is not a gift to possess a mind that remembers everything in the finest detail. It is a downright curse.

That is why I remember the events that took place in Middle Earth with such precision, in spite of the many years that have passed since I returned.

I remember with vivid clarity how the Ring tried to cloud my mind into thinking that I would destroy my world if I brought it here.

How it had lied to me promising me power and telling me all that I wanted to hear, if only I would not leave.

And how, by sheer chance, dodging the orcs' arrows, I had found myself inside the gateway. Had it not been for that, I know with certainty I would have not been able to leave of my own accord and I would have completely fallen into Its dark spell.

Jerry had explained that my saving grace was the virus he had successfully uploaded into the game, the same virus that had made possible my brief meeting with Tamara on that beach. From that point onwards, the game had started to unravel and it's link to the parallel world that was Middle-Earth was slowly broken.

But beyond that, there had probably been other forces at work, I like to believe, since the 'otherworldly' experiences had not ended with me being released from the game.

I often find myself wondering what cruel twist of fate has granted me life beyond any of those dear to me and the invariable conclusion is that the healing waters of Gollum's cave might have had something to do with it.

Since the day I emerged from the coma, I have not been sick a day in my life, in fact I could venture to say that I was healthier than ever before.

Yet what I cannot understand was why, when I had resigned myself to never again belonging to either world and the Ring had just gone into oblivion, I woke up in the hospital room where I had apparently been in a coma for months.

The doctors could not explain my sudden revival the same way they could not explain the horrible burns on my right hand. They said that the closest comparison they could make was to holding molten metal and had launched a thorough investigation into which hospital staff member could have been negligent enough to let that happen to a coma patient. Molten metal… They never had an idea just how accurate that was. Many bone replacement and skin graft operations later, I have almost regained the full use of my hand.

It had taken me months to resume the semblance of a normal life after I had woken up and I returned to running the law firm together with Tamara.

Except that when my lack of aging had begun to look suspicious, I decided to leave.

I moved to another city, then another, then another, trying to bury memories and to start a new life each time. Each time knowing that I left yet another illusion behind, only to replace it by a fresh one….

I soon learned that I could not stay in one place for longer than ten years. Friends that I made aged, their children grew up and I would be unchanged and unaged… so I moved on yet again.

I spent years and large amounts of money on charitable projects, trying to prevent or diminish the exact sort of calamities that the Ring had shown me in those last terrible moments in Middle-Earth. I felt it was the least I could do.

Much as I wanted to, I never married or had any children since I felt that I could not impose this curse upon a husband nor could I make peace with the idea of one day looking younger than my own children. Yet, I am keeping a discreet eye on Tamara's grandchildren, unbeknownst to them, in memory of my friend who was there for me every step of the way through my recovery and who could never really get over the guilt of having changed my life.

I often remember Tamara. She had known my secret all along and had been heartbroken when I left the firm. For the rest of her life, she would often fly out to whatever place I had moved to and we would catch up with each other for a few days. She died an old woman and I have come to terms with the fact that I will never have another friend like her.

But that was years ago and this morning I discovered a sign that greatly comforted me: my first white hairs. A sign that my body is aging, considerably slower than natural, yet it is happening.

A heartening thought indeed, since I am now one hundred and fifteen years old and look not a day over thirty-five.

Yet for all my good health and somewhat rewarding but lonely existence, I cannot help but feel immensely exhausted at times. It happens more and more often lately and I wonder if this is a sign that I am maybe fading at last.

And the thought is welcome, like no other…

I often wonder what has become of Legolas, Aragorn and Gandalf and I like to believe that dreams are a good means of communication. I only had three dreams about them throughout my life.

The first one was of Aragorn and a beautiful dark-haired elf woman, no doubt his Arwen, surrounded by a multitude of children of all ages. He looked aged but kingly, the same nobility mirrored in his face.

My dream of Gandalf placed him in a green paradise where he looked younger and more vigorous than I remembered him.

Years later I had a dream of Legolas looking out at the sea with a longing look on his face. He stood by the shore where a beautiful grey ship was being built and he looked not a day older than I remembered him.

I love coming to the beach and I make a point of choosing a city by the sea each time I move around. I am now in my sixth year in this city and I will be sorry when it is time to leave yet again, for the beach here is amongst the most beautiful that I have seen. The ocean is cold and dark blue, its surface littered with the colorful attire of surfers. The sand is so fine it is unparalleled and it stirs a distant memory of a strange blue beach I had strayed upon a long, long time ago…

A place of rest, my fondest memory…

I have long ago given up on it, yet now, as I pick up the surfboard and stroll towards the ocean, I see it with my mind's eye and certainty swells in my heart. A gentle breeze upon my face, playing in my hair, inviting and warm and I know now, beyond a doubt, that which I have waited for my whole life…

One day soon, I will see it again.

~ THE END ~