PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter LVIII: A Frigging Legomance

"We are not engaged," said Gimli. His gruff voice seemed small in the vast cavern halls. The rock walls ascended into the blackness above out heads, the ceiling unseen. The only light that illuminated the darkness came from the pale green ghost king and the flickering torch that Aragorn held.

I gasped. "Honey, how could you say such a thing?"

This was probably the stupidest thing I could've said in that situation. Gimli was already on edge about being in such an eerie, unnatural place that me directing Ráoulidor's attention onto Gimli only made the situation worse.

Gimli pointed the sharp, curved blade of his axe at me. "No, do not give this ghost any more ideas. We have entered no such agreement, and you have lost your head."

Still unable to understand the seriousness of the situation and having way too much fun to stop, I continued with my charade. I turned to Ráoulidor with a sniffle. I buried my face in my and tried to hold back a sob. "Can you believe this? My fiancé. He doesn't love me anymore. I gave my heart to him and he throws it aside like it's a piece of worthless trash. He kicked it and stomped on it and put it in the dump with all the rotten banana peels and old tin lids."

"That swine!" cried Ráoulidor, rounding on Gimli. "I will tear out his beard and give his flesh for the ghosts of Dunharrow to feast upon so that he may join our cursed ranks."

I wiped the fake tears from my eyes. "That's a bit extreme."

"A bit?" Gimli's grip on the axe tightened. "I am going to be eaten by ghosts!"

"Control your admirer, Ana," said Aragorn, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Am I the only person who is impressed to learn that Ana has an admirer?" asked Legolas.

"Stupid elf," I muttered.

"Gimli is being the better man," said Legolas. "He has rejected your marriage for the sake of your greater love."

"Who is this greater love?" asked Ráoulidor. "I can feed him to the ghosts as well. They do not pick and choose who they devour, all flesh tastes the same."

I squeaked. "He was joking! Joking!"

"I was referring to you as her great love," said Legolas with a wry smile.

Ráoulidor was immediately satisfied. "Then you can remain here a little longer without having the flesh eaten from your bones."

Gimli nodded earnestly. "I hope you two will be very happy together."

"The halls of the dead will make a lovely abode," said Legolas. "I am sure Ana will come to appreciate it over time."

I made violent motions behind Ráoulidor's back at Gimli and Legolas. How dare they abandon me to a life with the ghost king like that! Then again, I had tried to throw Gimli under the bus with my jokes…

Ráoulidor's green light glowed even more intensely than before, casting ghastly shadows across the smooth stone floor. I watched the edges of the light extended until they reached the edge of the abyss. And then, I saw the faded faces of the dead. They were not fully visible, the lights they emitted were dimmed and pale, but the hazy shape of their features could be seen in the distance. Men, women, children, they were all rotten, slowing drawing closer.

"What has caught your eye?" asked Aragorn.

"I see dead people," I murmured.

"Does that happen normally?" asked Gimli.

"We all see dead people," said Aragorn. "A ghost king is standing in front of us."

"I see more than one dead person," I said, still staring off in the distance where the eerie faces watched me. "Also, you guys suck. You can't even recognize a The Sixth Sense reference."

"Reference?" asked Aragorn. "What are you referencing?"

"Tragedy," I said, shaking my head. "Such a great movie. A real tragedy you haven't seen it."

"Does she do this often?" asked Ráoulidor.

"Yes," said Legolas. "It is rather irritating."

"You become accustomed to it after a while," said Gimli.

"Aw," I said, clapping my hands together and beaming at Gimli. "My hubby has learned to tolerate all my bad habits."

"Hubby?" repeated Ráoulidor, his eye sockets flashing with a menacing green light.

"She is joking," cried Gimli, gripping his axe as if it could protect him from a jealous ghost king.

Ráoulidor's green light grew more brilliant and more violent. The mold on his face grew more pronounced, and I could see the bone beneath his translucent flesh even more clearly. Ráoulidor opened his mouth and let out venomous hiss. And those faces. The faces of the dead that watched us from afar. They suddenly became very vivid. I could see everything—from their eye sockets to their bones—they were real. And they were moving forward, all in unison, like the march of an army.

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli must have been able to see the dead as well now, because their faces went pale, their eyes scanning the faces of the dead and searching for the exit. I took a step back so that I would half-hidden behind Legolas.

As the horror sunk in, to us, a crooked smile crossed Ráoulidor's face as he watched. "We have grown hungry over the years. Be it dwarf or elf or man, we will devour him."

I let out a little yelp. Legolas said something in elvish. Aragorn drew his sword. And Gimli… Poor Gimli. It was only then that it occurred to me that my joking around had set an army of the dead on him. The dwarf swore in Khuzdul and raised his axe—not that the weapon could do anything against ghosts.

The army rushed forward, their faces distorted with rot and their translucent weapons raised. The three men closest in rusted armor raised their swords; they were going to slice Gimli's head off. My heart twisted. My ex-fiancé was going to die. It would be all over. No more short, elf-loving dwarf. No more arguments about who killed the most orcs. No more scathing side-comments. No more dwarves in bridesmaid dresses. And it would be my fault, because I lacked common sense.

Thank God for Aragorn.

He raised his sword, careful to display the writing on the side. I was shocked to realize that I recognized the sword from my visits to Rivendell. It had once been the shards of Narsil, which had been placed in front of a statue in Rivendell's halls, but it seemed that now the sword had been remade.

Aragorn stepped forward and swung the sword at Ráoulidor. Ráoulidor did not know what hit him. Which makes sense. I don't think ghosts expect to be threatened with a sword. Nevertheless, the blade of the reforged Narsil pressed against Ráoulidor's throat, and Aragorn's hand gripped the ghost king's shoulder.

The ghost army froze—a sword inches away from tearing off Gimli's head. Legolas and I stood to the side, gasping for breath and gawking at the perfectly still ghost army. And there, in the middle of all the chaos, was Ráoulidor with Narsil cutting through the rotted flesh on his neck.

"What is this?" choked Ráoulidor. "Who dares to strike the King of the Dead?"

Aragorn gritted his teeth and dug the sword deeper into Ráoulidor's ghostly throat. "One who will have your allegiance."

Ráoulidor snarled. "The dead do not suffer the living to pass."

"You will suffer me!"

I coughed. "He does kind of have a sword pressed to your throat."

They ignored me.

Ráoulidor spoke in deep, haunting tones. "The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead and the dead keep it. The way is shut. Now you must die."

Aragorn pressed the sword even closer to Ráoulidor's throat. The ghost coughed and spluttered.

"You cannot kill me," said Aragorn. "I am Isildur's heir."

A heavy silence filled the halls.

"That line was broken," hissed Ráoulidor.

"It has been remade." Aragorn pushed the ghost king backwards. Ráoulidor stumbled but managed to remain upright. Aragorn lifted his sword again so that Ráoulidor and all the other ghosts could see it's blade "This is Andúril, Flame of the West, forged from the shards of Narsil. I am Isildur's heir. Fight for me, and I will hold your oath fulfilled. What say you?

A kind of stillness filled the Halls of the Dead. The ghosts had stopped trying to attack Gimli and were now watching their king in helplessness. Gimli had taken a few nervous steps backwards and was trying to avoid the ghost's attention by copying me and hiding behind Legolas. And me? Well, let's just say I was back to my old majestic-adoring self.

"Aragorn, when did you become so kingly?" I asked, peering around Legolas's side. "You're almost majestic. Can I take a picture and bring it back to Thorin so he can see what he has to compete with?"

I swear Legolas rolled his eyes.

"Majestic?" repeated Ráoulidor. "You call this ghost-threatening ranger majestic? He does not have any majesty in comparison to Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór."

"How do you know who Thorin Oakenshield is?" asked Aragorn.

"And why do you consider Thorin Oakenshield majestic?" asked Legolas.

Ráoulidor ignored Legolas's question and instead answered the man with a sword that could hurt him. "Thorin passed by this way once. He had questions concerning a stone."

"It's always a stone," I muttered from my shelter behind Legolas. "When are dwarves not obsessed with stones?"

"For once," said Legolas, "I agree with you."

I gasped. "Oh my God! It's a sign of the apocalypse! The beginning of the end!"

Legolas nodded grimly. "Who knew the world would end in such a way?"

Ráoulidor and the rest of the ghost army were staring at Legolas and me in confusion, or at least, they looked confused. It was hard to tell with ghosts.

"It's not supposed to turn out like this," I explained for the dead's benefit. "Legolas and I are supposed to be polar opposites who hate each other and disagree about everything." I gasped. "I'm having an identity crisis!"

Legolas froze, a sudden look of horror crossing his flawless face. "Maybe I am not actually an elf."

"You'd better not be a dwarf!" I shrieked. Gimli nodded in agreement.

"I am too tall and too fair to be a dwarf," said Legolas. "But perhaps I am a man."

"Really?" I asked. "I always thought you were a woman."

Aragorn whacked me lightly over the top of the head with his fist. "Do not confuse Legolas any more than he is. Legolas is most definitely an elf."

Legolas breathed a sigh of relief. "We will keep our agreement to a one-time occurrence, then, Ana."

I nodded. "Agreed."

We both paused, breathing sighs of relief. For a moment, ours worlds and everything we believed to be true had come crashing down. Thankfully, Aragorn had been there to keep us on track. Really, I don't know how any of us would have made it through the Halls of the Dead intact if it hadn't been for Aragorn.

Deciding that changing the topic was the safest course for everyone, Aragorn turned to face Ráoulidor and said, "We are here to discuss the fulfillment of your oath."

However, Ráoulidor was not paying attention to Aragorn. Instead, the ghost king was watching Legolas and me. He was trembling with rage, his bones rattling as he looked on with a silently burning anger. He ground his yellowed teeth together, making a dreaded grating sound that sent shivers down my spine.

"What?" I asked, spinning around to glare at Ráoulidor. "What's your problem?"

"So," said Ráoulidor in his deep, menacing voice, "your true lover has revealed himself."

"True lover?" I repeated. I glanced at Gimli. Gimli shook his head. I glanced at Aragorn. Aragorn shook his head. I glanced at a ghost. The ghost shook his head. Slowly, I turned to stare at Legolas. Legolas was staring at me. I shrieked, leaping away from Legolas. "What kind of things are you imagining? Me? And Legolas? I'd rather die!"

Legolas shuddered. "I would rather marry a dwarf."

"I'd rather marry a corpse!" I cried.

"Do not pretend," roared Ráoulidor. "Your lovers'-spat was on display for all eyes to behold. My ghosts will rip your elven lover to shreds and you shall spend an eternity in these halls until you age and turn to bone."

And then, Ráoulidor unleashed his ghostly army upon us.

A green light filled the Halls of the Dead, illuminating the carved stones and jagged walls. The ghosts opened their rotting, boney jaws and raised their sharp weapons. Their march began again as their drew closer, raising their swords and axes.

I screamed.

"Run!" roared Gimli. He grabbed me by the arm and dragged me away from the ghostly army.

Legolas led the way to the back of the hall where stone steps ascended into a carved rock face. Legs pumping. Our chests heaving. Gasping for air. Sweat dripping. Oh, we ran like an army of ghosts was after us. (Which it was.) Aragorn and Legolas took turns taking the lead, changing directions frequently, while Gimli and I brought up the rear.

"Why?" gasped Gimli, "of all the Middle Earth peoples who could have fallen for you, why did it have to be the ghost king?"

"It's not like I get to pick and choose!" I cried.

"This was our only hope of victory," said Aragorn, jumping over a fallen boulder. "Our way hope of defeating the armies of Mordor."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"The Dúnedain came south," said Aragorn, taking a sharp right as the passage turned. "Bringing with them a message from Elladan and Elrohir. They told me 'The days are short. If thou art in haste, remember the Paths of the Dead.'"

I remembered hearing something about that during my stay in Rohan.

"I sent the Dúnedain who came south with King Théoden to arrive at Gondor first," said Aragorn. "I promised that I would bring an army of the dead, the Oathbreakers, the men of Dunharrow, for they owe me their allegiance."

"'Who shall call them from the gray twilight, the forgotten people?'" murmured Legolas. "'The heir of him to whom the oath they swore. From the North shall he come, need shall drive him: he shall pass the Door to the Paths of the Dead."

"What is that?" I asked.

"It is a part of the prophecy spoken by Malbeth the Seer a thousand years ago," said Aragorn.

I blinked. "Why does everyone have prophecies about them? First Thorin, and now Aragorn. Maybe being the subject of a prophecy is also a requirement of being majestic."

"It does not matter now," said Aragorn softly as he let Legolas take the lead again. "I have failed them."

"Sorry!" I cried almost tripping over that very same boulder. Gimli caught me at the last second and practically threw me over the rock. When I righted myself, I started running again. "It wasn't on purpose—if you want, I can still try and seduce the ghost king into helping you!"

"I think we have passed that point," said Aragorn. "He now thinks you and Legolas are lovers."

Legolas and I looked equally repulsed at the idea.

"No," I said. "Just no. There are many twisted and demented things I can tolerate, but a frigging Legomance is not one of them. Who does Ráoulidor think I am? Some teenager named Fíothiel Cartel Autumn who drools over Legolas's elven ways!"

"Can I refer to you as Fíothiel from this day forth?" asked Legolas.

"No!"

"Where are the ghosts?" asked Aragorn, coming to a sudden halt. Legolas came to an easy stop behind him, and Gimli managed to prevent himself from running into the other two. I, on the other hand, tripped and slammed into Gimli's back, knocking him over into Legolas.

"Watch where you are going, Fíothiel," snapped Legolas as he used a stone wall to support himself.

"Where are the ghosts?" asked Gimli, looking behind us. "They are not following us anymore."

I picked myself up off the ground. We were no longer standing in a dark, narrow tunnel but on the ledge of a deep, wide pit. The sheer rock walls on either side of the pit descended into darkness, the bottom far out of sight. I took a step away from the ledge and pressed my back to the rough wall on the right—as far away from the certain death as I could get.

"Where do we go from here?" asked Gimli.

"The exit must be near," said Aragorn.

Legolas stiffened, his head tilted slightly to the side. "I hear something."

"What is it?" I asked, my voice unnaturally high-pitched. "Is my fanboy back?"

Legolas' light eyes flitted left and right. Then, in a low voice, he said, "The dead are here."

"Don't say such creepy things," I groaned.

Aragorn raised Andúril again. "If they are here and they are not attacking, the perhaps they are willing to listen. For the future of Middle Earth, we must try once more."

Gimli and I exchanged miserable glances. I wanted Aragorn to succeed, I wanted him to bring an army of the dead to save Minas Tirith, I really did, but I didn't want to spend a moment longer in the Dwimorberg than necessary.

Aragorn either didn't notice our discomfort or thought it best to ignore us entirely. Raising his sword, he shouted to the ancient halls, "Keep your hoards and your secrets hidden in the Accursed Years! Speed only we ask. Let us pass, and then come. For I summon you to the Stone of Erech!"

"The dead are here," said Legolas. "I see shapes of men and of horses, and pale banners."

"Why must everything you say be so creepy?" I asked, burying my face in my hands. "Is that really necessary or are you just having fun with this?"

Aragorn started walking to the end of the hall. Gimli and I followed tentatively, hoping that Aragorn was leading us to the exit and not deeper in to the Dwimorberg. Legolas brought up the rear, murmuring in that oh-so-comforting voice of his, "The dead are following."

As Aragorn led us through more passages, Gimli finally asked, "Where in Middle-earth are we?"

I was glad someone other than me asked.

We stepped out of the mountains onto a grassy slope, the inky night sky stretched overhead, a sliver crescent moon staring down at us.

"Erech," said Legolas. "The stone that lies here is a symbol of Isildur's house. The King of Dunharrow swore his allegiance to Isildur upon this stone, and it is here that the oath will finally be fulfilled."

On the hill sat a black orb made of stone. It was half-buried in the ground, but if it'd been dug up, it would have been almost six feet in height. I wouldn't call it the prettiest rock I have ever seen—I think you and I both know what the prettiest rock is—but the Stone of Erech had its charms. However, the mere fact that it was connected to the dead meant that I wanted nothing to do with the stone no matter how pretty it was.

"Oathbreakers," said Aragorn, placing a calloused hand on the smooth surface of the black rock. "Why have you come to Erech?"

The air beside the stone shimmered, and Ráoulidor appeared. His green light glowed not so brightly under the moon, and he looked not as horrifying, his rotting flesh faint. He was much calmer than we'd last seen him, and I wondered if some of his ghostly advisors had calmed him down while the dead had chased us through the Dwimorberg. "We do not like you, heir of Isildur, and we like the elf even less." He sent a murderous glare in Legolas's direction. "But we want peace. We have come here to fulfill our oath and have peace."

"The hour has come at last," said Aragorn. "When all this land is clean of the servants of Sauron, I will hold your oath fulfilled, and you shall have peace you seek and depart from this world forever. For I am Elessar, Isildur's heir of Gondor."

I decided I shouldn't say anything about Aragorn's majestic potential at this point. Pretty much every time I appreciated another being, Ráoulidor got jealous—which was not good if Aragorn wanted to recruit his army of the dead. For the sake of Middle Earth, I realized, I needed to shut up.

Ráoulidor bowed his head. "The dead shall follow." He glanced over at Legolas, and then pulled back his lips in another one of his terrifying smiles that sent shivers down my spine and set a bad feeling in my stomach. In his grating voice, Ráoulidor said, "But first, a gift for the elf."

For a second, none of us knew what was going on. Then, the walls of the mountain began to shake, a deep rumbling filling the Hill of Erech. Legolas slowly looked to his up, his eyes following the slope of the rock face. I looked up too and saw Ráoulidor's "gift".

Skulls.

Thousands and thousands of skulls came tumbling down the steep mountain slope. They were an army of their own, bouncing and tumbling, rumbling like the sound of heavy rainfall, and they fell down towards us, ready to knock us off our feet and send us rolling down the side of the hill. The skulls would not kill us, of course, but they were icky and gross and awfully inconvenient.

"Hold on!" roared Aragorn, digging his feet into the ground and bracing himself against the oncoming skulls.

Gimli buried his axe into the ground, and Legolas grabbed onto Gimli's shoulder.

I was, of course, less competent. "Hold onto what?"

One of the skulls bounced off the side of the Stone of Erech and hit me perfectly on the forehead.

Skip.