Frodo wasn't quite sure what was happening. He'd been sensing something approaching for some hours, and when he'd finally brought it to the others' attention, Gandalf grew alarmed and sent the palace into a flurry of activity. It had been active already, preparing for Aragorn's coronation, but now there were guards going to the still half-ruined walls.

And then the first scouts reported back, and the activity turned to confusion at the reports. The hobbits managed to eavesdrop and heard that there was a single strange Orc on the road to the city, riding an equally strange Warg-like beast and leading a string of almost a hundred horses - from Rohan, by the looks of them.

Frodo didn't know how he managed to convince Merry and Pippin to get him and Sam up on the walls with them and Aragorn and the rest of the Fellowship, but he did, and they were when the Orc finally drew near.

The Orc was strange, strange and fell; here, at last, was what he'd been sensing. It wore no weapons, only light armor with the orange Eye of Sauron struck through with a mark of blue, replaced by a hand in the same color, and a - fire drake? - in red. The Orc's eyes glowed green. "Necromancy," Gandalf murmured, "That Orc is dead, but I do not know who controls it."

When it was in bowshot of the wall, the Orc lifted the broken shaft of a spear. A banner of white fluttered from the end. "I have not come to fight," the Orc rasped, its voice warped by the dark magic that had called it back from the grave, "but to parley with the kings of Gondor and Rohan, if they will hear me."

Aragorn and Éomer exchanged glances over the hobbits' heads, then nodded to Gandalf. The wizard leaned forward and said, "We are listening! With whom do we speak?"

"Wise though you are, I doubt even you will know my name, Mithrandir," the Orc replied, "for I was no one even before I Fell. Still, some among you might know me by the title Gravewalker."

That caused a stir, especially amongst the Rangers of Ithilien by Faramir's side. At the Steward's direction, one of them leaned in and said to Aragorn, "If he is who he says he is, then there is no need to fear, my lord. Before he Fell into darkness, the Wind-Rider - that is, the Gravewalker - was a friend to Gondor and gave aid to us, though in secret."

Gandalf hummed, then said, "Very well. Why have you come?"

"I am the Last of the Nine," he answered, "and new Lord of Mordor, but now that my mind is my own again, I have no desire at all to continue Sauron's endless war against the West. I seek peace on behalf of my people, and as a show of good faith, I do return all the horses Sauron had stolen from Rohan. And also…" He shifted the broken spear to his other hand, unwrapped something in his lap, and held it up, glittering in the sunlight.

Elrond inhaled so sharply he almost choked, then cried, "The Sceptre of Númenor!"

"I know not how it came into Sauron's possession," said the Nazgûl, as whispers exploded along the walls and through the streets, "though given the end Númenor came to, I do not think it will take much to guess near the mark. On behalf of Mordor, I return these to their rightful owners, if you will accept them from us."

Again, there was another glance between Aragorn and Éomer, before the former leaned forward and said, "We will!" To one of the many soldiers nearby, he said, "Open the gate, permit him entrance - but keep a close watch."

The man bowed and departed. As they descended from the wall, the Fellowship and their companions heard the temporary gates grind open, and the clopping of hooves on stone. They came forward to meet him, and the Orc swung down from the back of his beast, then pointed at the ground. The creature laid down at once and put its head on its paws, though it watched them all with bright eyes.

Éomer and several of his Rohirrim came forward to take the leads of the horses, which the Orc turned over without hesitation. But it wasn't only men; Éowyn was there as well. When she noticed the Orc's eyes on her, eyebrows climbing, she said, "What is it? Have you never before seen a woman?"

"That is not why you caught my gaze," the Ringwraith answered, "I see the fading echoes of the Witch-King's power on you - you faced him in battle at least once. Are you also the one who slew him?"

"I am," she answered warily.

The Ringwraith did not seem the least bit surprised that a woman had defeated his leader in battle, saying only, "By what name are you known?"

"Éowyn, daughter of Éomund."

"Éowyn of Rohan," the Gravewalker said, "Mordor will remember your name for as long as we endure." Then he bowed to her as one would a lord of great power.

Then he straightened and turned to Aragorn as the man approached. He held out the Sceptre, which seemed almost to glow with an inner light. When Gandalf nodded that it was safe, the Man stepped forward and took it.

The gems distinctly flared, then settled, the Sceptre accepting him as its bearer and the Heir to the throne of Númenor. The Man sighed in relief and said, "Thank you."

The Nazgûl nodded. "We have many other artifacts of Gondorian origin, from the days while she still held Mordor after the War of the Last Alliance, but none as valuable or important as this. If you wish, later we will return them as well."

But then there was a shout through the crowd. "Where is he?! Coming through, stand aside!"

The Gravewalker blinked, then grinned. "Ah. I know that voice, too."

The crowd parted, and a woman in Ranger gear emerged into the open, a man in similar attire right behind her, with others behind him. She blinked too, then scowled and pointed imperiously at the Orc. "You!"

"Shorty!" the wraith said brightly, "I had wondered where you were, but I haven't had time to ask your mother."

"How dare you!" she shouted, rushing him even as he laughed, "I was four days away from being certified! Four days! And then you Fell, and Mother and Father sent me away to Gondor!"

Much to everyone's surprise, she didn't attack the Orc but instead threw herself into his arms, wrapping him in a tight hug, an embrace the Nazgûl returned just as strong. "I missed you, Grandfather," she said into his neck, still loud enough to be heard.

"I have missed you as well, Granddaughter."

"You two are kin?" Aragorn said, shocked. The rest of the Fellowship - and indeed, many people present - were equally surprised. No one had ever really thought about the Ringwraiths even having friends, much less family.

"Not by blood," the Ringwraith answered.

"I am Angreth, daughter of Idril," said the woman, leaning back to look at her king, "herself the daughter of Castamir, of House Rían."

"Castamir of Rían? The general of Minas Ithil before her fall?" Faramir only half-asked; Idril was a distant cousin of his, as most of the noble houses of Gondor were interrelated.

"The very same," Angreth replied, "and also the one who betrayed the city, and surrendered her to the Witch-King right before my mother's very eyes. That was before Grandfather Fell, before he was even cursed to become one of the Nine, but it had not been that long since he had lost his own family to the dark tide of Mordor." She looked up at the wraith. "I am told that once, when he was being what she referred to as 'excessively protective'-"

"Rude. I was just the right amount of protective for Mordor at the time."

"-she said, 'Yes, Dad,' and he called her 'Daughter' in response, and then they never really stopped. And I have always called him 'Grandfather.'"

"Likewise," said the man with her, approaching with a wide smile. Angreth stepped back so her brother Hithaer could hug the wraith as well. There were others with them who knew the wraith as well but hung back, grinning just as wide. "It's good to have you back."

"It's good to be back."

"How is Mordor?" Angreth asked intently.

"Beginning recovery. The fall of Barad-dûr was neither quiet nor easy."

"We're coming back with you. We want to help."

"I don't think that-" But they had already vanished back into the crowd with their fellows, heading off to retrieve their gear. The Nazgûl sighed loudly, then called after them, "I'll inform your parents then."

"Yes! Do that! And tell them if they send us away again, they'll have to tie us up and drop us at the gates of Minas Tirith themselves!"

There were cries of agreement, fading into the distance, and the Nazgûl sighed again.

"Have they always been like that?" Pippin asked him.

"Oh yes," the Gravewalker answered dryly, "Actually, this is tame compared to some things they've done. When Angreth says she was four days away from being certified, she means as one of the drake-rider corps. One of the ways some of the younger riders would prove themselves is they would jump from the backs of their drakes into the Sea of Nurnen and try to swim to shore."

"That's dangerous!" Sam cried, pale as a sheet.

"Which was exactly the point. The belief was that the higher you could jump from and the further out you could make it back from, the better you were. I knew I could never actually stop them from doing it, so after the first few deaths, I mandated that no one could go completely alone. Everyone had to have a partner with them to pull them out if they looked to be struggling, even the older and more experienced riders."

Then Frodo perked up. "'Drake riders'?" he repeated, "There are other people who ride them?"

"Only about a hundred, and about the same number of drakes."

"There was one we saw - the one in the Morgul Vale," the hobbit said, briefly looking at Sam before turning back to the Nazgûl, "Sméagol called her 'the Dreadful Woman'. Do you know her?"

The Gravewalker smiled. "I do indeed," he said, "She's mine. At first she was named after my late wife, but Sauron's forces captured her and tortured her, and she got quite nasty as a result. The Orcs took to calling her 'the Dreadful Woman', so that became her name. Daerwen, in Gondorian Sindarin."

"Then you're the one-!" Frodo quickly told everyone what had transpired in the Morgul Vale.

"Ah, so I did sense something," said the wraith, "Daerwen's always been unusually smart for a drake. I'm glad she had the sense to hide you, and I'm also glad you survived Mordor."

"We're glad you survived as well," the hobbit replied, Sam nodding in agreement, "From the way Sméagol spoke about you, we thought you must have been a good man once."

That made the Nazgûl snort. "I don't know about that, but I do try."

Angreth, Hithaer, and their fellows returned not long after, and the Orc put his fingers to his lips. His whistle echoed strangely, and summoned up a dozen or so phantom beasts like the one he rode. Despite their spectral nature, the men and women mounted up as if they were flesh and blood, and the Orc did the same on his own living beast. "Mordor wishes all of you well, and success in all your endeavors," he said to them, "and may we someday reach a lasting peace between East and West."

"The same to you," said Aragorn, "Go in peace, and may the Valar watch over you."

The Orc bowed to him and to Éomer, and they all galloped through the gates and were gone.