Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.
"Thank-you" goes to Celeblas, Silver Leaf for her review. Yes, Eldarion is his real name; to teinesamoa. Aren't we all glad to be finding out some stuff about her?
"She can what!" Gimli was practically screaming, refusing to believe what his ears had just told his brain. Sam and Merry had looked doubtful while Frodo and Pippin believed instantly. Legolas just flat-out didn't seem to want to believe it. "How could she make another Ring? Wouldn't that take a certain amount of skill which just so happens to be in limited supply?" Gandalf rolled his eyes towards the ceiling in an exasperated manner, clearly irritated at the hint of impertinence in the elf's voice. "Of course it would. That's why it's a feat in and of itself."
Aragorn had not yet left her side, still trying to drag whatever information he could out of her. He instructed had Faramir to scrounge up something with which write, lest anything they learn be forgotten. Arwen had summoned Elrond to her side when Eldarion's face suddenly developed an itchy, red rash. When asked why he opted for curing what could have been a mere case of eczema, he answered, "Grandchild before mysterious mute," and ran off to calm his own hysterical offspring.
"Gandalf, how would she make another Ring? I thought the dwarves did that," asked Merry. "One need not be a dwarf to forge a Ring." He answered. "One need only understand how to do so; and if she did understand and still does, then our troubles far exceed what we previously thought."
Pippin looked confused, a common look for him, and asked simply, "Why?" Gandalf looked at him incredulously. Merry looked annoyed. "Oh, Pip," he muttered bitterly. Pippin almost shrank back and tried to defend himself. "I mean, if she hasn't made a Ring yet, why would she now?" Frodo murmured to Sam, "He does have a slight point there."
"The problem," Gandalf explained, "is that she could. Sauron only recently fell from power; the Ring was not long ago destroyed. The opportunity to take the Dark Lord's place of power has not presented itself until now. She would have no rivals. And if she cared to, she could turn Middle Earth to ruins.
"Even if she never makes another Ring, she is an inconvenience, a danger, to all around her. You have seen how her mere presence attracts the orcs, and the chaos they cause. As long as she remains, they will continue to come."
Whatever monologue the wizard had prepared, he didn't get a chance to finish. A middle-aged man poked his head through the doorway with news that was anything but pleasant. Another swarm of orcs had attacked a small village. They had already left, but the damage was far from small. When he left, Gandalf sat down and put a hand over his eyes. "Case in point," he muttered darkly.
The scene was a certified disaster area. Corpses littered the ground, building were smoldering, and the disgusting smell of warm blood and burnt flesh hung in the air. Aragorn silently eyed the surroundings with nothing short of pure, unadulterated rage. He watched four men carrying the bodies of an older couple. A few feet off, a man and two children scanned the carcasses. They paused at the remains of a woman, and the man knelt next to her, staring in horrid disbelief. He made a choking sound in his throat and leaned over her, holding her close to him. He rocked back and forth while his son sobbed and his daughter, barely older that a toddler, shook her by the shoulder, screaming, "Mama! Mama!"
Aragorn watched the procession of events and other unfolding around him, shaking with violently with fury. He suddenly turned and kicked an orc helmet, yelling furiously.
"Aragorn!" He turned to see Legolas. The elf continued softly, "You will break you foot if you continue to do that." The human man ignored him and looked again at the gruesome activities that surrounded him. His elfin companion joined him, staring miserably. Gimli wandered by. "This was no ambush," he said. "This was a massacre!" He had worded it perfectly.
"You mustn't be angry with yourself," Legolas murmured, but Aragorn refused to be comforted. "We could have prevented it." The elf looked at the man, saying still quietly, "You had no way of knowing." "We could found out!" Aragorn's outburst silenced Legolas, but the king's own grim thoughts soon came into the light. "…This can't go on."
Faramir, looking desolate, approached him from one side with the death tally. The vast majority of the town would have to either to relocate or bring in others to rebuild the shattered community. The whole time Aragorn listened, but did not look at him. After several moments of silence, Aragorn spoke. "Faramir, write to your brother-in-law to be ready to send an army to Mordor if needed."
This statement caused several heads to turn immediately in his direction, all shocked. "Mordor?" Faramir asked. "Whatever for?" "We're going to rid ourselves and Middle Earth of the orcs permanently." He turned and walked away, Faramir following closely behind him. "What's brought you to this decision?" "If the orcs are dead, they can't attack anything." This simple answer didn't seem to satisfy Faramir. "If riots are your concern, why don't we just station more guards? And if you think that that girl thing is causing it, we can rid of her."
"And what then?" Aragorn asked, rounding on Faramir. "The orcs don't come because they're drawn in. They attack because they are alive, and will continue to do so until there are none left. They will never stop. And as for our young friend with no name, I doubt that she's done anything more than throw our predicament into the light.
"It will take time, planning, and effort, but there exists no doubt in my mind that if we attempt it, we can exterminate the orcs forever. What say you?"