The properties of Middle Earth: shadow of mordor and war, Lord of the rings, and the Dragon Age seiries don't belong to me. Please support the official release.
What was once the unimaginable had finally happened: The One Ring had been destroyed. By two hobbits no less. They had somehow crept into the black lands of Mordor, all the way to Mount Doom to cast it into its fires and had gone by, mostly, unnoticed by the watchful eye of Sauron. For Talion, he was especially surprised that neither he nor his fellow Nazgul had found the hobbits. Especially since he had known they were looking for them, long before he had used the Rig he had taken to prolong his own life had corrupted him.
He had felt it suddenly: the moment when the Ring was plunged into the fire that helped create it, causing the mountain to erupt into flames. Exploding form the inside and out, sending the flaming debris soaring through the air. The scorching rubble was hurled towards him and his Fell Beast he had rode, knocking them both into the ground as chaos ensued around them...
It was the last thing he had remembered before all went dark.
How much time had passed since he crashed down? Since he had laid there? For that, he could not say. And he could only wonder if he should curse or thank the minuscule chance that he landed on a tall spit of land that wasn't covered by the now cooling lava. He expected to die there when the Ring was cast into Mount Dooms fires, he was sure of it. And despite his previous expectations of his final death, Talion did not wish to die in Mordor if he could help it.
Opening his eyes, he looked up to see the first pale grey sky in a long time. Such a scene was uncommon but welcomed over the usual dark skies riddled with ash that he had become used to over the years. The sun was still blocked from sight by thick clouds, illuminating the land but a little, but it was preferred to the heavy smog and poor visibility.
His body ached from lack of use and being pressed into the stone for so long a time. He began to wonder as he stared up at the heavens just how far he'd have to travel to leave this accursed land, and whether his body would fail him, and the thought alone made the throbbing in his muscles worsen. Slowly, and with some effort, he sat up and began rubbing at his weary eyes before they lay on the carcass of the Fell Beast he had been previously riding some feet away. Judging from the decay about the monster, he had been there for some time indeed. At least a week, perhaps even more he gathered from the flies buzzing about the corpse and the considerable amount of flesh missing from the awkwardly outstretched leathery wings. The sight was enough to cause his stomach to knot and to feel nauseous, so he was not about to go any nearer to the creature to look for more solid signs to the length of time he had been laying there.
The former Ranger rose steadily but sluggishly, and felt as though his legs could give out on him from the feebleness he had felt from the constant ache, but yet he persisted. He felt it was for the best to take a moment to learn of his surroundings before walking on unsteady feet. He prayed that the frailness he had felt would quickly pass as he looked about his surroundings.
The black craggy rocks were a familiar sight, jagged and dangerous in appearance as always, and yet he had never seen them so scorched and so empty. Mordor was just as barren and lifeless as it had always been, but somehow it looked more desolate than ever now that the land was emptied save for a few remaining Orcs who skittered about whilst trying to find passage to escape and avoid the patches of still burning earth, staying on the blackened earth beneath their feet which lacked the usual fell blood-stainedhue.
He might have laughed at the thought of Mordor being more charred in the past, then at the sarcastic comment of his former Wraith companion that would come soon after.
The sudden thought of the Wraith left his mouth dry and his chest tightened from the grim remembrance of Celebrimbor. While he felt the shadow in his heart had indeed faded, it still weighed on him heavily. Whether the shadow came from the betrayal of Celebrimbor or the corruption that the Ring had instilled on him, he was again, uncertain. Although he suspected that it was a bit of both. The continued thoughts of the Elf lord caused Talion's mood to sour further and grow more dismal as he relived the memories of the cunning treachery of Celebrimbor.
But Talion didn't let his thoughts tarry for much longer on the Wraith. For him, the pain of Celebrimbor's treachery was still too near and he had brooded enough for possibly two lifetimes. Instead, he focused on whether he would be able to leave Mordor now that everything had come to an end. It was then that he had realised where he was, and he began what would be a slow trek towards the Black Gate in the north. Fortunately, when he had been knocked from the Fell Beast, he had landed relatively close to the border of Mordor. He was not more than a few days out, and since the land seemed devoid of save but a few Orcs, Talion was certain that his passage would remain unhindered. Thus, he was grateful that his journey wouldn't be too long for he was truly weary. Already he had wandered for too long in the Land of Shadows.
It took all his strength at first to force his legs to hold him and walk. Their vigour returned slowly, much more so than he had become used to, but Talion persisted although the feeble feeling was still very much present and persistent, sending pins and needles up and through his legs.
As he came upon the Black Gates days later, Talion began to wonder if he really was as bound here as the Wraith had first said while he stared at the land beyond the blackened walls and the stark difference between the lush grass before him and the scorched earth behind. He breathed in deeply, then, with some hesitation, he crossed beyond the borders of Mordor, first expecting some unknown force to hinder his way. But with great relief, he found himself stepping on the soft grass as he left Mordor once and for all.
Talion continued, though without any real destination, savouring the crisp chill of the wind and breathing in the fresh clean air while unfastening his cloak and bracers. Running his fingers through the strings and making quick work with the metal clasps and then removing his long sword, Urfael, and dropping it to the damp ground with a soft thud before reaching for Acharn to do the same. He gave the broken blade of his fallen son a last solemn glance before allowing it too, to fall to the ground. He felt lighter, knowing that his war was over. The War of the Ring had been won. His fight for Middle-Earth was finally at an end and he could perhaps rest in peace, if it was allowed of him. There was still some doubt in his heart, but a faint smile rested on his lips, and he finally felt the bitterness begin to leave him as the pains of what he had endured began to dissipate as he walked towards the calming light of the sun rising in front of him. To what he knew would be the end of all things he had come to know and suffer in this life.
For a moment, the world became too bright and Talion could no longer see. Shielding his eyes with his hands after closing his eyes and finding that his lids did little in the ways of protecting his eyes. But eventually the blinding light receded, fading into a light blue glow that reminded him briefly of the Wraith and how the world around him would seem to change into something more ethereal when he'd make himself known, allowing Talion to see into the Unseen World as he had so called it.
Talion continued through the thick haze, spotting shapes that resembled pillars in a large hall in the growing darkness that surrounded him. It reminded him of his youth in Minas Tirith when he'd be wandering through the green boulevards of Gondorian nobles, weaving between the white stone work of the villas and their lush, green gardens. Deep within his heart, he had hoped that he was in that familiar city. His home. For it was the place where he had hoped he would die.
The pathways from his memories were very old, standing even when the city was known as Minas Anor. But these columns were older still and were not crafted in the typical style of the Númenóreans. Instead, they were more akin to Elvish architecture with their flowing designs, yet there were differences still. Though none of which Talion could name, for in truth, his experience with Elvish construction was limited at best, having only Celebrimbor and his trinkets and barrows to refer to. All he has was the feeling that it didn't seem to match. The corridors also felt far older than anything the Elves could have built. There was so much emotion contained within, sadness, remorse, anger, torment, happiness and peace. Talion could feel in his heart that this was a place that housed something or someone of great power.
He pressed on still, for while the halls weren't as familiar as he had once thought or hoped they were, there was nothing threatening or menacing within them. He had felt calmer now than he had in many years as he wandered through the sobering stillness. But he felt as though the peace could be broken and shattered into fragments in but a moment. The only thing about these pale blue corridors that had left him with a slight feeling of unease was just how empty they were and the weight of being alone could be felt heavily.
Judging by the sheer size, and for how long he had been walking now, Talion felt like he should have run into someone by now or at the very least heard someone or something. But there was nothing to be heard in the calm silence. Not even the scraping of his remaining armour as he moved through the seemingly infinite pathways. He had thought to call out and break the silence but feared that his voice would be swallowed but the darkness should he try to speak.
He quickened his pace as a chill washed through him. Talion felt like he was being watched, but there was nobody and nothing around him. Although he wanted nothing more than to either find someone or something, so that they could tell him where he was or how to leave this place all together.
"You cannot leave, Ranger. None leave without my say." a soft but ghostly voice called out to him, solemn and terrible. As if it read his previous thoughts.
Talion turned, attempting to locate the disembodied voice. At first it sounded like it was behind him, but there was nothing. He turned back, intending to continue the path he had been on with haste.
However, his path was blocked by the tall, dark figure loomed over him and the hairs on the back of his head stood on end.
Thankfully, he sensed no evil from the strange being despite its similar appearance to that of a Nazgûl with its black garb. The long, ornate robes were a deep shade of black with subtle but elegant patterns of deep purple and made the figure too fair. Moreover, there was no lingering sense of dread surrounding it for it to be mistaken for one of the Nine.
Pale strands of hair wrought of pure silver fell from the inside of the hood, though the face of the stranger couldn't be seen from under the shadows of the cloak. Despite all the mystery surrounding the figure it remained fair in both appearance and feeling. Though this did not ease his worry, for Talion knew this being possessed more power than he could ever hoped to fathom.
"Who are you?" Talion croaked out at last, and his voice sounded hoarser than he had remembered it.
Said figure did not answer his question immediately and with a simple but elegant gesture of his hand, he gestured the former Ranger to follow him deeper into the halls. Talion complied, albeit with some hesitation but knew that there was not much he could do, so he followed the figure none the less.
Talion had walked with the mysterious being for some time in the never-ending ways when the form finally spoke, "I am Námo. To thee and thine folk, I am called Mandos."
Talion halted, surprised from the revelation and the thought of standing before one of the many Valar who had a hand in the creation of Arda. His inability to speak at first had lead Mandos to believe that Talion was lacking knowledge and began to explain his role in the world with notes of disappointment ringing through his voice.
"When Men and Elves perish, they come to me for a time. Elves remain for a time but are bound to Arda. For thee and others such will depart. To where is uncertain to me for only The One truly knows. Tis not oft my decision when concerning the fates of Men beyond their coming here. But thy death, and thy tale is of great import in regard to this. Thus, thou willst speak with me, and tell me all."
Talion heart felt heavy as he nodded. Watching Námo extend his hand once again in the same manner as before to bidding him to follow the Vala deeper into his dark halls and for him to finally face his judgement.
For what had felt like an eternity they walked, and despite the time spent, Talion still felt unready and unwilling to begin the tales of his time in Mordor. The faint calm could no longer be felt, and his heart sank to the pit of his stomach the more he thought about what Námo wanted to know. It felt as though it could do more harm than good, and even knowing that he had lived most of his life doing good and trying to be a man of honour, he could not deny that some of his deeds in the Land of Shadows were of a foul nature.
That knowledge was made even more substantial in the presence of who was about to judge him and his soul. It was by this point, too late for him, and he knew there was nothing left that he felt he could do to redeem himself. But it didn't stop Talion from praying silently to himself to be reunited with Ioreth and Dirhael.
The Ranger even wished that Celebrimbor would find peace, despite his betrayal and the deep hurt he had instilled upon him. But Talion didn't understand why he'd wish such thoughts for Celebrimbor deserved naught but suffering. Talion, however, suspected it had been the fear of his own fate that had brought him to think of such a forgiving fate for the Wraith.
Námo stepped ahead of him, positioning himself in the middle of a large circle of stone surrounded by elegant statues that Talion assumed were of the other Valar. In similar fashion to Námo, they were all cloaked and had a very sobering feeling surrounding them. Some held wooden torches of blue flame which illuminated the surrounding rock in an eerie glow, whilst the others' hands rested upon their breast as if in prayer. In the still darkness behind the statues, Talion was able to see the outlines of bare tree branches and upon stepping unto the same platform as Námo he could feel a faint breeze. Crisp and clean, untainted but chilled in the faint glimmer of the starlight. Behind Námo was a great stone arch, tall and round with a reflective surface in between the rocks and made Talion uncomfortable with its existence the more he stared at it.
"Art thou ready to tell of thy tale?" Námo's solemn voice broke his thoughts and after realizing that they were about to begin, Talion took a step forward, trying to show more courage than he had felt in his very being.
"As ready as I will be, I suppose." The former Ranger murmured.
It was then that he gave a full recount of his tale in Mordor, even though certain parts seemed to tear his being apart, which caused him to feel the phantoms of the agony he was forced to endure.
He told of his family and their slaughter by the Black Hand of Sauron. His meeting with the amnesiac Wraith who would be later known as Celebrimbor and their plan which had them at war with the Dark Lord. Dominating the Orcs and using them against Sauron. The forging of their own Ring of Power. Celebrimbor trying to dominate a Nazgûl and Talion's refusal to do so. Which had lead to his betrayal by the Wraith and all the years that he wore one of the Nine Rings that had been gifted to the race of men. How he had fought off the corruption for as long as he could to protect Middle-Earth and how he had eventually succumbed and no longer had possessed the strength to fight it.
Námo had stayed soundless all throughout the account as well as motionless. The lack of humanity displayed by the Vala when hearing his story caused even more unease. Nevertheless, Talion kept to his story, remaining as faithful as memory could to every detail until he came at last to his tale's end. The bitter sting of his failure left him with his head cast down in shame as he waited for Námo to speak of his fate. However, Námo stood there much the same way as when the tale had first started. For a long while, he remained there, and it was by this point that much time had passed, and all had fallen silent. Talion feared he would go mad before learning of his sentence.
Yet the pause continued for more time still; Námo remained quiet and motionless while Talion had no guess as to when the Vala would speak again. He wasn't even sure if he was contemplating what Talion had told. The silence made him shift anxiously from one foot to another and he began to pick at the skin surrounding his dirty nails until they were raw and bleeding in a few places in the corners.
"Thou hast been honest with me, and to that I am glad," Námo spoke at last, his voice louder this time, but just as sombre as it had been and Talion could have sworn he had jumped from his skin.
"It does thee well and proves that thou art not so corrupt as once thought. But I cannot deny, and nor thee, what thou hast done. A shadow once was thee and banished from here thine fate should be."
Talion's heart fell, and he too fell to his knees and the tears immediately began to fall. Wordless he stayed there for a time, unable to voice the despair he felt. He knew it would come to this, but it didn't stop his heart from aching at the realisation that he would never see his wife and child.
'We will be together, my love. Soon! Forever!'
Those final words of his beloved continued to haunt him, chilling his bones as he sobbed quietly. He waited for what felt like an eternity to be sent away from the Vala's sight for all he had done.
But," Námo continued, and Talion looked up to him weakly, "Passed the test have thee, so Eru and I gift thee a final chance to meet again with thine wife and child. For this, thou must complete a task."
Hope should have kindled within him, but Talion sensed the chance given to him, the task he was to accomplish, would be not so easy. He was already so weary and wanted nothing more than to rest. But that was not his fate.
"What am I to do?" Talion questioned and Námo said nothing and remained where he stood. For the briefest of moments, he thought that he had suffered enough already, and wanted to plea to the Vala to just let him go. But he knew there was no hope in this, so he held his tongue. The Vala turned his body gracefully and gestured towards the archway that had given Talion pause.
"Make thy choice. Go now and complete thine task, or be banished to nothingness," the coldness and the absolute nature in Námo's voice told Talion he would receive no more information. He was to take up this task without knowing; having to find it first wherever it may be.
Nodding, Talion moved passed Námo and with great reluctance to the archway, taking note that it appeared a mirror of water, but standing upright. Placing his hand upon the surface, he found it was terribly cold but not solid, so when he pushed his hand further against the chilled surface, it sunk in. He pulled his hand back once he felt a burning frost against his fingertips.
Well, this is hardly going to be pleasant. He thought, before taking a deep breath and striding through the biting cold. He found that as his body became weightless and felt to be floating. But he could not breathe, and the air was pushed forth from his lungs. Desperately and on instinct, he kicked his feet to swim, as his body felt it was truly in water. The substance was enough so, if not water, that the motion produced the desired result.
His lungs burned, and his blurring eyes focused on the pale silver light in front of him. Growing ever closer as he frantically swam. Knowing that no matter what harm came to him, he could not die brought no comfort to him. The act was still agonising, and he felt all that no living creature ever should. Námo would not let him die here, but that was not what caused him panic. It was the feeling of his lung filling with liquid when he could no longer contain his breath within him and exhaled only to inhale again. Drowning was not one of the many ways in which he had died previously, and a new terror at the torment that came with drowning overtook. His throat shut, and he began to convulse, and writhe in suffering until all faded away from sight and the world turned black.
And that's the end of the first chapter!
That took me a while, and I'm glade I was able to get through this. Please let me know what you think and I'll ask as many questions as I can.