PART ONE: ANACHRONISM
Chapter LXXVIII: The Farewell That Should Never End
Cold fingers were at my throat, scratching and grabbing. My left hand curled around the locket, while my right, still clutching the Sword Breaker, tried to stab at the backs of his hands. But it was as if the Witch-King felt no pain, and when I brought the blade down, it seemed to pass, undisturbed, through the wraith's pale skin. Where his bone-cold skin touched me, it sent chills down my spine and made me want to throw up the contents of my stomach—anything to purge the feeling of corruption that seeped from his ghostly flesh.
His fingers reached for my face. I pushed away from him, lost my balance, and rolled down a mountain of gold and silver. I tumbled down, stretching my arms out to stop the fall, but finding nothing to grab. The ringing of metal on metal filled the air, coming to an end only after I reached the bottom of the mountain and slammed onto the stone ground.
The shock of the impact vibrated through my bones. I lay there for a second before twisting onto my back. The Witch-King stood over me, his black cloak swaying from side to side. (Somehow, despite our fighting and the Skipping, he managed to keep his hood up. Looking back on it, I can't help but be a little impressed.)
I screamed and scampered away as fast as I could, but the Witch-King leaned down and grabbed me by the back of the shirt.
A long, deep growl filled the hall. The Witch-King and I froze in place: I was on all fours trying to crawl away and he had, using one hand, half lifted me from the ground.
The pause gave me time to register where in Middle Earth we actually were. The grand hall. The mountains of gold and silver. That sleepy growl.
Shit. We were in the Lonely Mountain. And not just any time in the Lonely Mountain…we were here when Smaug still ruled over the treasure hoard.
From behind the piles of gold, silver, and gems, emerged the massive head of Smaug. He was the same as always. The same blood red scales. The same fierce yellow eyes. The same large teeth…
I screamed.
The Witch-King dropped me on the ground.
"Ouch!" I landed on my stomach, right where my surgery had been.
The Witch-King stared down at me from beneath his dark hood. His pale hand moved towards the blade strapped to his side.
I swear, if Smaug hadn't noticed us right then, the Witch-King would have killed me on the spot. Thankfully, Smaug stood upright, filling the entire room with his massive body.
I glanced up at the Witch-King. He didn't seem frightened by the presence of the dragon. It was hard to tell with his hood up, but rather than afraid, he seemed amused by Smaug, as if it was a pleasant surprise to encounter the dragon.
Smaug didn't seem to take much notice of the Witch-King. His large, yellow eyes focused solely on me, and I shifted uncomfortably beneath his glare.
If the Witch-King wasn't with me, I simply would've grabbed onto the Senturiel and Skipped out of there. But, unfortunately, I had brought the nazgûl out of time, and who knew what would happen if I left him there to his own devices. I shuddered at the idea of two Witch-Kings in the service of the Necromancer.
Smaug opened his jaws, revealing rows upon rows of yellow, pointed teeth. I had met Smaug enough times to know what he was planning. I leapt to my feet and grabbed the Witch-King by the arm. Icy chills, like the stabbing of a thousand knives, ran through my hand, but I kept a firm grip on the Witch-King as I grasped the locket and opened the clasp.
Skip.
The Witch-King and I stood between the wooden wall of a tavern and the fence of a horse stable. A light rain was falling, glittering in the dim light of the tavern windows. A town. We had landed in a town, though I didn't know where and when the town existed. Was it safe to abandon the Witch-King here? I didn't know.
Still, I released the Witch-King's arm and took a step backwards. My feet shifted uneasily on the slippery ground.
The Witch-King staggered slightly, looking left to right. It took me a moment to realize that he wasn't used to Skipping, and he found the sudden change in time disorienting. I could help but smirk at the thought that I was better at Skipping than the all-powerful Captain of the Black Riders.
My boasting rights didn't last long. As the Witch-King recovered, he drew his sword from its sheath and lunged forward. The rain formed droplets on the blade. He didn't run me through with the sword, much to my surprise. Instead, his free hand reached towards the golden locket that hung around my neck.
I screamed and stumbled away from him. My left heel slipped in the thick mud, and with a squelch, I landed on my butt.
Through the metal of the locket, the Senturiel burned hot against my skin. Only now as I looked up at the pale blade of the Witch-King did I understand that the Senturiel was afraid as well. To this day, I cannot explain how I knew, but the locket was trying to convey a message to me, and somehow, I understood. The Senturiel didn't want to be taken. It burned hot as it willed me to grab hold of it. And I wanted to. I wanted to Skip away, be free of the Witch-King that was trying to kill me and steal my magic rock. How easy it would be to escape…
The Witch-King raised his sword again, preparing the behead me. And then, I did the single craziest thing I have ever done in Middle Earth: I rugby-tackled the Witch-King of Angmar.
Skip.
Tree roots dug into my back as I lay sprawled on the forest floor. The weight of the ringwraith pressed down on me, and the places where his icy flesh touched me sent the feeling of cold knives and death through my body. Every inch of my revulsed against the nazgûl's touch, and pushing the Witch-King away, I rolled over and vomited all over the forest floor.
As soon as I finished retching, I felt an icy hand touch my throat. I tried to push him away, but the Witch-King held on tight, slowly tightening his gasp so that my breaths became smaller and smaller.
The Senturiel blazed against my chest, calling out to me, telling me this was my fault. I could've avoided all of this if I had only abandoned the Witch-King when I'd had the chance.
I remember thinking that it was the end. I'd done my best, but it just hadn't been good enough. And now, I was going to die alone and forgotten underneath the trees of Mirkwood…
You'll be happy to know that did not happen. And you want to know why? Spiders. Yes, that's right. I survived the Witch-King's attempt to strangle me because of frigging spiders. One moment, I was not-so-peacefully dying at his icy fingertips, and the next, a pair of giant spiders had dropped down from the trees onto the Witch-King's back.
Huge, hairy, leathery, leggy, black spiders.
The Witch-King's grip on my throat disappeared, and I dropped to the ground. Black legs were everywhere. In my face. On my arm. In my hair. On my back. I screamed and thrashed about, lashing out at anything within reach. I think I actually kicked the Witch-King in the shin in my desperate struggle to get away from the spiders.
I rolled over and over again until I no longer felt the hairy touch of the spiders' legs. I sat upright and looked about. The Witch-King had drawn his sword. However, he wasn't using it on the spiders. Instead, he held out his left hand, palm facing the sky, and the spiders scurried backwards, their heads inclined as if bowing to the Witch-King.
I didn't have much time. I sprung to my feet and, with a running head start, jumped onto the Witch-King's back.
Skip.
The Witch-King staggered under my weight as we arrived in rolling hillside scenery that stretched out under a cloudless blue sky. I would've loved to collapse into the soft grass and take a long nap…let my troubles fade away…
Unfortunately, my troubles had recovered from the Skipping and was now reaching up to pull me from his back. The Senturiel burned at the base of my neck, while icy shivers ran through my body as my pressed against the skin of the ringwraith's neck. The two opposing sensations made my head spin.
"Why can't you work with me this once?" I shouted at the Senturiel. "Skip me to sometime around the Battle of Five Armies and then we can be rid of him."
Skip.
Mountains. I was standing somewhere in the mountains with pale rocks on either side of me and the steep slopes jutting out to form a valley. I almost swore when I saw that the Senturiel hadn't listened and brought me to the Battle of Five Armies, but then, my gaze landed on a bearded old man with a pointed gray-blue hat.
"Gandalf!" I cried just as the Witch-King grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and threw me to the ground.
Something crunched as I landed, but I didn't have time to worry about broken bones. The Witch-King had drawn his sword.
I rolled across the rocky ground, ignoring the stinging pain in my left arm. I tumbled and turned until I reached Gandalf's feet. The wizard had already drawn his sword, which I was pleased to recognize as Glamdring, which meant I was in time somewhere after the Company found the troll cave.
"Why have you brought this foul being to the White Mountains?" asked Gandalf, pointing his staff at the Witch-King.
The Witch-King raised his left hand, translucent palm facing towards Gandalf, and I wondered if he was trying to cast another spell.
"He grabbed hold of me," I gasped. "At the Battle of Five Armies, he caught hold. I need to drop him in the right time. Gandalf, has the battle happened yet?"
The Witch-King released his spell in the same moment Gandalf raised his staff. A booming noise, like the deep, bellow of a horn, rung through the valley. The sound built and built until I thought my head would break from pressure. I raised my hands to my ears and let out a scream. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the pressure faded, and I collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.
"Leave, Ana," said Gandalf. "You are no match for the nazgûl."
"Is it safe?" I asked. "The Battle of Five Armies…is over? Is it safe now?"
Gandalf looked down at me, an unreadable emotion in his blue eyes. "Yes, Ana. It is safe now. You may leave him to me."
I nodded and raised a trembling hand to the locket.
Skip.
I was lying on my side, my knees halfway pulled up to my chest, on a floor of ice. Pain laced through my arms and my back. Everything hurt so much that I didn't even mind the scalding cold that touched my bare skin. I had been thrown, I had been strangled, I had nearly had my body skewered through on multiple occasions. I deserved to lie on this floor of ice and not move for a week at least. Or not ever again. That would be preferable.
But, of course, I needed to move. I'd managed to rid myself of the Witch-King, but there was still one more thing I had to do.
Thorin. I needed to find Thorin.
"Senturiel," I said, my eyes still closed, "if you didn't drop me off near Thorin during the Battle of Five Armies, I will kill you. I don't care if you're a magic rock. I will find some way to murder you."
A pause, and then… "Ana, is that you?"
I opened my eyes and stared up into the familiar blue eyes of Thorin Oakenshield.
The Senturiel had finally gotten it right.
"Are you hurt?" asked Thorin, his deep voice filled with concern. "Last I saw, you had disappeared with the shadowed figure."
"The ringwraith," I said. "He wanted the Senturiel. But I stopped him. I left him with Gandalf some time after the Battle of Five Armies. So no need to worry about that guy for awhile."
Thorin stared at me for a moment and then extended a hand. I took it and, despite the pain that echoed in every inch of my being, let Thorin pull me to my feet.
We stood on a frozen-over river surrounded by fog. In the distance, I could see the shadow of a ruined watchtower. I took a deep, shuddering breath and said, "We're on Raven Hill, aren't we?"
Thorin looked over at me but didn't bother answering such an obvious question.
"Have you met Azog yet?" I asked.
"I am searching," said Thorin, and I noticed that his eyes were constantly scanning the surrounding mist, hunting for any sign of the pale orc. "He is hiding in the mist."
A shiver ran down my spine. I glanced over my shoulder, but there was no sight of Azog. I took and deep breath and said, 'Thorin, I have to talk to you."
Thorin's gaze remain fixed on the mist as he said, "We are talking now."
I ignored his pitiful excuse for a joke. "How do you know?"
At this, Thorin paused and glanced at me. "Our mouths move, and sounds in the form of words are heard. Is that not 'talking'?"
His jokes were getting less funny by the second. "How do you know that you have to die, Thorin?"
He returned to searching the mist.
"Why do you have to die?" I asked. My hands were shaking even as I curled them into fists to make them stop. "Is it because of this prophecy? Because that's a load of crap and you know it."
Thorin's face was grim. "You have saved my life once already, then. I told you not to, did I not?"
My head jerked back. "How do you know that?"
Thorin chose not to answer.
I opened my mouth and then closed it. My chest had never felt so tight. I thought my ribs were knitting together, pressing down on my lungs.
"What—?" I had to stop and force myself to take a couple breaths. "What does this prophecy say, Thorin?"
It took him a long time to respond.
"That I would be the one to reclaim the Lonely Mountain, not my father, but that I would not live to see it restored. I would die defending my homeland from the pale orc."
I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Why?"
"The prophecy is not wrong," said Thorin. "You have seen it yourself. You know it to be true."
My eyes snapped open. "What are you talking about? What do you know about Frodo and Sam?"
"I know you do not," said Thorin, "but I believe in the prophecy foretold. Believe me, Ana. Believe that I would not choose death if there was another way."
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. He had decided. I had thought I'd decided to. But now that I was here, standing in front of Thorin, the thought of just letting go… No, I couldn't do it. I couldn't. I had to. I had done this before. But God, something like this should never be easy. Why did I have to make this choice a second time? Why would the Senturiel do this to me?
"I want you to stay here." My voice was thick with unshed tears. "Who is going to make sarcastic comments whenever I say something stupid? Who is going to carry me when we're running away from orcs? Who is going to give me majestic therapy whenever all this Skipping starts to be too much? I've lost so much already, Thorin. I can't lose you too."
Thorin stared at me. At last, in a low voice, he said, "You are speaking nonsense again."
I gave a little sniffle. "I know."
His gaze shifted back to the icy river and shadow of the watchtower, scanning, searching for any sign of Azog. He wasn't looking at me when he said, "We do not have much longer."
It was like he wanted to make me cry. "I don't want to hear that."
At the break in my voice, he reached out a hand and rested it on top of my head. It felt warm and comforting, which of course caused the first tear to trickle down my cheek.
"You should not watch this, Ana." He spoke gently. In a tone I'd never heard before.
"What?" I tried to catch hold of his arm, but Thorin removed his hand from my head and stepped away.
My hands were shaking. They had been for a while, I just hadn't realized until right then. My whole body was shaking. I wanted to reach out, grab hold of him, and clasp the locket around my neck. We would disappear from here forever. We would Skip back to Earth and go live in the Bahamas or something. In a house on the beach. In my happy place.
"Do not even think about it," said Thorin.
I managed a weak smile. "You know me so well."
He looked over his shoulder. "You should go."
I blinked. For second, I didn't understand what he meant. Then, I glanced down at the locket.
"No. I can't. That would be awful. I can't leave you. I can't." The tears were coming in full force now. "Don't ask that of me. Please. Don't."
It took Thorin three steps to cover the distance between us.
His left arm came around me and pulled my head down against his shoulder. His metal of his armor was icy against my cheek. I didn't care. I just wrapped my arms around him and held on.
"Do not cry," he said. I could his voice reverberate through his body.
"Did you really think I wouldn't cry?" I asked.
"No."
My tears were subsiding a little at least. His left hand was resting on the back of my head, and while it wasn't much, it gave me some comfort.
"Become an incredible woman, Ana."
"I will."
I stepped back. My hands clung to him for as long as they could, touching his back and then his arm until, finally, he was out of my reach.
It was feeling I would never forget for the rest of my life. I have prayed and hoped and begged since then that I, or anyone else for that matter, would never have to feel something like that again. Of course, the Skip has never been that kind.
"Careful!" Thorin grabbed me by the wrist and yanked be backwards just in time to avoid the black spikes of an unfortunately familiar mace.
I stumbled to the ground, my legs giving out beneath me, and I stared up at the pal orc that stood on the frozen river, facing Thorin and me.
Azog bared his teeth. "We meet again, shatraug agh Torin undag Train-ob."
Thorin raised Orcrist. "Come. Îsh kakhfê ai'd durugnul. This is a battle that has long waited its conclusion."
The words were too familiar. The positions were too familiar. The scene was too familiar. I had been here before, and I knew how this would end.
Azog made the first move. The sound of their swords meeting echoed through Ravenhill. I remembered it. Oh God, I remembered every hack, every slash, every dodge, every parry…I had seen it all before.
There was that damn slight, two-foot drop in the rocks, and I watched as, once again, the weight of Azog's blow sent Thorin tumbling backwards. When he hit the ground, Thorin fell to his knees, and he had to roll backwards to avoid Azog's sword. I watched as, once again, Thorin kicked Azog's leg from under him. Thorin stood above the pale orc, slicing Orcrist down in a sharp arc. Azog raised his sword to defend himself. Then, in a flash of movement, they were both standing upright again.
I had seen it. I had seen it all before. I had changed the ending last time. But this time…I couldn't I knew I couldn't. And yet, still, I found my hand going to the Sword Breaker. I held it in front of me, my hands shaking violently, even as I knew that I couldn't use it. I couldn't save him. For the sake of Middle Earth, I couldn't.
Thorin's sword arm was bleeding, just as it had before. He was favoring his right leg again too. Azog had a long scratch along his cheek, and a gaping wound in his abdomen. Despite their injuries, they continued to fight with. Azog wore that same maniacal grin that I had come to hate.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to Skip away, but I couldn't. I could never do that. A part of me knew I had to be here. Until his very last.
I saw Azog's sword raise high above Thorin's head. Thorin was distracted by Azog's metal hand.
Azog's sword went through Thorin's chest at the same time Thorin brought his sword up. Blood fell onto the ice. Azog opened his mouth, but only a broken gurgle came out.
Thorin wrenched Orcrist out of Azog's throat. For a moment, they stood their facing each other. Blood dripped from Azog's throat, and Thorin placed a hand on the blade of Azog's sword, holding it in place. Then, Azog's eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body started to twitch, convulse, contort. He released the hilt of his sword and collapsed backwards onto the froze river.
Thorin stood still. His blue eyes fixed on the bloodstained body of his enemy. Then, slowly, he raised his gaze to meet mine.
No sound would come out. I was still holding the Sword Breaker uselessly in front of me. I took a trembling step forward and then another.
Thorin smiled.
And then he collapsed.
I screamed. My legs gave out beneath me, and I knelt on the ice. It hurt. Everything hurt. What had I done? How could I undo it? It wasn't worth it. None of it was worth this pain. Let me go back. Take me back so that I could undo it, so that I could save him. I'd do it a thousand times over if it meant he could live. I'd die instead if I could. Just not this. Let me go back.
I heard the sound of footsteps behind me, and I raised a trembling hand to the locket. I didn't know if they were friend or foe approaching, and to be honest, I didn't care. I didn't want to see anybody right then. I wanted to go somewhere far away where not even the Senturiel could find me.
Skip.
The rocks of Mount Doom were blistering hot, and the air was sweltering with volcanic heat. Sweat dripped from my skin, and my body was burning. Still, I felt cold. It was as if I was still kneeling on that frozen river with the bitter winds of Ravenhill causing the mist to swirl around me.
The world shifted around me. Sometimes I could see the red mouth of the mountain clearly, and sometimes it grew hazy and all I could see was shades of red and black. Then, the world would snap back into focus and saw two small figures running from the mouth of Mount Doom. I watched them leap onto one of the jagged rocks, climbing upwards. And then, the world faded again.
When I came to, I was lying on my back, staring up at the black sky. The world was shaking around me, and I thought I saw rocks and fire flying above me. I heard the shrill cry of a fell beast.
I closed my eyes. The world was burning. The very air was melting around me. The nazgûl were dying around me, their fell beasts howling as they plummeted to their deaths. The mountain was trembling and spewing out lava. It surrounded me, and I had the vague sense that I was trapped on my rock.
But I found myself plagued with the inability to care.
I was done.
So done with this shit.
I reached up and grasped hold of the locket. Slowly, carefully, I lifted the locket up, over my head, the burning chain hot against my neck. I held the piece of jewelry in my hand and stared down at the crafted gold chain. The flat locket was crisscrossed with silver so that I could see the red of Senturiel beneath, glittering as red as the mountain fire.
I took a deep breath.
And hurled the fucking thing into the bubbling lava.
It rested on the surface for a moment and then it disappeared from my sight. Gone.
I had never felt so free.
Skip.