This is the last chapter folks! Thankies to all who reviewed the story, y'all are great! I'll start thinking up ideas for a sequel!

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The army of men hit Sauron's army like wave onto rock. Despite the small size of the Rohan/Gondor army, They seemed to be prevailing against the Orcs. Gandalf's white robes were torn and stained with the blood of the Orcs. Legolas didn't have a scratch on him (And even if he did, we all know who would take care of him later winkwink), and neither did Gimli or Aragorn.

Berethor had a cut to the arm that was a slight distraction, but not something that completely marred his train of thought. Idrial, being as quick as she was, was able to avoid most jabs and slashes made at her. Elegost had a slight bruise on his cheek, and Hadhod's helm was dented, but they were all right. Eaoden's cape had been torn off, but in all honesty, he was more interested in keeping his head than looking for it. Morwen had a slash mark down her stomach that hurt like nobody's business, but she didn't let it bother her- she just grit her teeth and took it.

About twenty minutes into the battle, a terrifyingly familiar screech echoed through the field. Berethor's breath caught in his throat, as did Morwen's and Idrial's. They all knew the screech of the Nazgul when they heard it. "Gandalf! The Nazgul!" Morwen cried, turning to the wizard. He too had heard the shrieks. He paused, his sword Glamdring raised in defense.

But just then, a small winged creature fluttered past his face. Morwen thought it was a moth, but saw that it was far too big. Gandalf smiled at the little creature, and then looked towards the descending Nazgul again. Curious, Morwen also looked up. Without warning, a large eagle came from nowhere and caught one of the Riders as it was about to attack!

Idrial gasped. "The Winglords!" She cried. The soldiers and even some of the Orcs looked up to see what she meant.

"The eagles!" Pippin cried. Several giant eagles came soaring through the clouds, tackling the Black Riders in mid-air and killing the Fell-Beasts.

"Finally!" Elegost screamed in a very un-Elegost fashion. "A stroke of good fortune! The tide is turning!" But he soon bit his tongue. For off in the distance there was a high pitched keening, and many turned to see… The Eye of Sauron, whirling around to look at Mount Doom. The Nazgul shrieked hysterically and immediately turned tail and fled back to Mordor.

Berethor was shocked and amazed. Could it be? Could Frodo have gotten the Ring to Mount Doom? Was Sauron only minutes away from total defeat? Berethor could not ponder this long, seeing as how an Orc came by and attempted to decapitate him. Gandalf seemed to sense Sauron calling to his servants, as he was bent over in pain, a hand on his head.

Nearby, Aragorn had just slaughtered another Orc when he heard a stomping sound. Behind him was a giant Troll that had adorned black, spiked armor. It roared and swung at Aragorn with its crudely made sword. Aragorn grunted from the effort of blocking the blow, swinging Anduril back up to meet the troll's sword. He swung at its neck, and then parried as it struck again.

Just then, a blow from behind knocked Aragorn to the ground. Legolas, Idrial, Gimli and Berethor saw this. Legolas cried out and tried to fight his way to his friend. Aragorn felt the rumble in the ground as the troll approached, intending to kill the King. "ARAGORN!" Legolas cried. Idrial, Gimli and Berethor were also fighting furiously, trying to make their way to the troll and keep it from murdering their friend. But they were unable to.

The troll pinned Aragorn to the ground with its foot on his chest. Aragorn pulled his knife from his belt and stabbed into the troll's leathery skin. It roared in pain and raised its foot away, but then prepared to bring it down. "No! Aragorn!" Gimli yelled, hacking away at an Orc blocking his path, but to no avail. When one Orc was killed, another moved in to take its place. The troll raised its foot to stomp Aragorn into the ground and kill him.

"NO! ARAGORN!"

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

A violent, high-pitched screech echoed through the fields. Everyone in the battle, even the Orcs, stopped dead in their tracks. All turned to the Tower of Barad-Dur. Atop the menacing tower, Sauron's eye was sizzling erratically, its pupil fiery and black. Without warning, the troll turned tail and ran off into the crowd before he could kill Aragorn. The King jumped to his feet and whirled to look at the tower. Gandalf slowly turned to look as well.

Idrial lowered her sword, and Morwen dropped her battle-axes to her side. Elegost's hands were at his side as well- his bow in one hand, an arrow in the other. Eaoden ripped his spear out of a dead Orc. Hadhod and Gimli froze, the sudden wind ruffling their beards. Legolas, his knives in hand, just stared. There wasn't silence, but the noise died considerably. Everyone's eyes were on the Eye of Sauron. Smoke curled around Mount Doom and the Tower of Barad-Dur, just above Sauron. His eye fizzled wildly, and then, a miracle occurred.

The Tower of Barad-Dur collapsed. Sauron's all-seeing eye exploded as soon as it hit the ground.

The Battle was over. The race of men had won.

Frodo had succeeded.

The War was over.

"FRODO!" Merry cheered, overjoyed, raising his sword to the sky. "FRODO!" Gimli cheered wildly, and he and Hadhod embraced in brotherly spirit. A backlash of energy rippled across Mordor and the Pelennor fields, destroying any Orc it touched. The grounds of Mordor collapsed into the earth. Behind him, Berethor could still hear Merry and now Pippin cheering "FRODO! FRODO!"

Morwen was shrieking in disbelief, and she flung her arms around his neck. "It's over!" She shrieked. "It's over! My parents may rest in peace knowing that their murderer is dead!" In a moment of blurry excitement, Idrial copied Morwen's movement and threw her arms around Legolas' neck. Naturally, the elf did not object, hugging her back in happiness.

The Orcs ran screaming from Mordor, attempting to get away before they could be caught in the implosion. Even Gandalf cheered as the towers on the ends of the Black Gate fell in on themselves. Then, Mount Doom began to explode, a plume of lava spurting into the air. A part of the mountain broke off and slid down. Mount Doom was imploding on itself.

The cheering stopped immediately. Merry looked shocked, his eyes wide as he saw the Mountain collapse. A tear slid down Gandalf's cheek. Aragorn stared, mouth open, sorrow plain in his gray eyes. Frodo was dead. There was no way he could have survived in the explosion. Bits of debris crashed down, striking the Fell-Beasts and killing them.

"Frodo," Pippin was on his knees, no longer cheering, but sobbing. "Frodo…" Morwen knelt down next to him and put her hands on his shoulders. "Frodo…" He sobbed. Berethor turned to look at Gandalf… but the wizard was gone. There was a screech that echoed through the fields, but this one did not inspire any terror. This was the cry of the Winglords, or the giant eagles. And on the back of the largest eagle… Berethor could have sworn he'd seen Gandalf.

"What is he doing?" Idrial whispered.

"I think… He's looking for Frodo." Legolas whispered, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. All could see the eagles soar above the wreckage of Mount Doom, and then, they appeared to hover in one place. Berethor saw them swoop down… and pick something up. Not just one thing, but two. His heart caught in his throat. Dare he think it? Dare he believe that Frodo was alive?

The eagles swooped back, and didn't tarry above the fields. They went straight for Minas Tirith. Berethor watched their flight, and saw Aragorn come up next to him out of the corner of his eye. Maybe another miracle had occurred.

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Four days later…

Berethor was finally at peace.

Four days after the ending of the war, things were falling back into the old routine. Very nearly a year ago, Berethor had been uprooted from Minas Tirith and asked to find Boromir, the son of the Steward. He had been pulled into a journey unlike any other. He had made new friends, fought in memorable battles, and he had seen more of Middle Earth than he had ever cared to see.

An hour ago, Aragorn had been crowned the official King of Gondor. Berethor was in attendance with Morwen, who had actually decided to adorn a dress for once in the spirit of the celebration. Elegost, Eaoden, Gimli and Hadhod were there as well. Elegost's arm was in a sling from a wound he had received during the battle, and Eaoden had a bandage on his face from where he had been cut, but otherwise everyone was all right.

Idrial was right up there next to Legolas. Berethor noted the elleth's attraction to the ellon, and wondered if maybe it were a good thing he'd chosen to stick by Morwen. The ceremony was beautiful- white petals fell over the courtyard of the citadel. It was a fairy-tale-ending to a long and fantastic story. Now, Berethor was seated in the dining hall of the castle, Morwen at his side. Aragorn was up dancing with his intended wife, an elf named Arwen.

Elegost was seated across from him, along with Eaoden. Hadhod, not yet drunk, came over and sat down as well. Soon Idrial joined them. The small company sat in silence for a moment. Because they had achieved the goal of their quest, there was really no reason for them to stay together. But even though they knew this, it would be a hard parting.

Finally, Elegost broke the silence. "So," He said. "What happens next?" There was a pause.

"I plan to stay in Gondor," Berethor said. "I will resume my duties as a soldier and guard of the citadel here." He glanced at Morwen. "And… Morwen had decided to stay with me." Hadhod snorted into his mug.

"Surprise, surprise," he mumbled. Elegost chuckled and elbowed his friend. Morwen laughed.

"I have no need to return to Rohan," She explained. "I have nothing left there. My family is gone. My home is destroyed. Perhaps I shall find a bit of both in Minas Tirith." Eaoden nodded.

"I am returning with Lord Eomer and the remaining soldiers of Rohan," He said. "I will, like Berethor, resume my duties in my homeland. I serve my new King now." He was, of course, referring to Eomer. After his uncle's death, since Theodred was gone, Eomer was next in line for king.

"I, for one, will be returning to Eregion and continuing my Ranger duties," Elegost said. "Of course, this means you could expect a surprise visit from me… if I'm in the neighborhood."

"Or the country," Idrial said. Elegost nodded.

"Or the country, yes." There was another group chuckle, and then silence again.

"What about you, Hadhod?" Berethor asked.

"I must return to my home as well," He sighed. "I need to confirm to my people about Moria. Perhaps an army will be sent down to exterminate the remaining goblins that dwell there. I suspect that the mines are a bit safer now, without the Balrog lurking in the depths of the mountain." He took a sip from his mug. "I will probably travel with Elegost, if he wishes to bear me as a burden."

"You are a welcome burden, my friend," Elegost said, clasping Hadhod's shoulder. The dwarf grunted slightly.

"And what of you, elf? Where do you intend to go now that this marvelous quest is over?" Idrial tapped her fingers on the table for a moment.

"It is likely that I will return to Lothlorien," She said. "But even then… I will not remain long. My people are leaving Middle Earth." Eaoden choked on his ale and stared at the elf, surprised.

"Leaving? To where?" Idrial looked down.

"Valinor," She said. "The time of the elves is over. The race of Men now had dominion over Middle Earth." There was a sad silence. It was heartbreaking to know that one of their number would be leaving for good. "But," Idrial said. "If Middle Earth appeals to me… I may decide to stay."

"What happens if you stay behind?" Berethor asked softly.

"I will gradually become a mortal," Idrial said. "If I stayed, I would still be alive when even your great-grandchildren have gone to their graves, but in terms of my own existence, it would be a short life." Berethor suddenly stood up, and picked up his mug. Everyone looked at him. The Gondorian took a deep breath, and then said,
"We have endured so much. We have fought every creature imaginable, from Orcs to Uruk-Hai, and trolls to Balrogs. We have fought in the same battles, seen the same horrors, and felt the same fear. We are a Fellowship in our own terms." He raised his mug, and his friends caught the gist. They quickly stood up, pulling up their mugs as well. Berethor swallowed.

"To friendship. If in life we are destined to be parted, then may we meet again in the heavens." He knocked mugs with his friends.

And in their own eyes, they were truly a Fellowship.

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And all will turn to silver glass

A light on the water

Grey ships pass

Into the West

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Fin