A/N: CAN YOU TELL THAT I'VE FINALLY FINISHED MY MASSIVE HALO FIC
Frodo was beginning to panic. The more he and Sam struggled, the tighter the web bound them, and he could hear footsteps drawing near. If they were caught - he didn't want to think about what would happen if they were caught by the orcs - to them and to the Ring, and by extension, to the rest of Middle-earth.
It hardly needed the prompting, but the Ring called up the visions he had seen in Galadriel's mirror - the Shire burning, the hobbits in chains with leering orcs looming over them. He struggled harder.
But what entered the tunnel was no orc. It was a woman, strange and sinisterly beautiful, with pale skin and long dark hair and wearing an equally dark dress. She held up the odd werelight she was using to see by. "What have we here?" she said softly, her voice like silk on the edge of a knife, "Halflings? And so far from home, too." She paused, and her eyes lingered on his neck.
Frodo looked down, and saw that in his struggles, the Ring had slipped free from his shirt, the gold band glinting in the werelight. He looked back up just in time to see a smile that sent shivers through him vanish from her face. "Come now. Let's get you down from there."
The hobbit didn't see what she did, but it was the work of only a few moments for her to have them free and shivering on the floor of the tunnel. "There. That's better, isn't it? Although I must confess, I am curious; what brings two halflings to the borders of Mordor? And alone, too."
"Beggin' your pardon, my lady," Sam said, blushing and looking away, "But we're hobbits, and we're not alone. Or we wasn't anyway - we lost the friends who were with us."
"Lost?" she repeated, slim eyebrows climbing skyward, "By death? Or were they simply misplaced?"
"We don't rightly know - perhaps both by now."
"Hm. That is a problem. Perhaps I can provide you some new ones. Come with me, little hobbits."
The woman led them deeper into the tunnels to a small side cavern thick with web. She put the werelight in something like a sconce in the center of the cavern, said, "Wait here. I will return soon," and vanished into the dark.
Frodo and Sam hovered close to the werelight, which held steady even without her there to sustain it. An indeterminable amount of time passed, time the two hobbits used to pull web off of each other and eat a little of the remaining Lembas from Lothlórien, bolstering their strength.
Then there were footsteps again - two pairs this time, and a faint golden glow. The woman returned - with an Elf. She was as bright and bronzed as the woman was dark and pale, her armor light and sleek with two long daggers sheathed over her back. She was the source of the glow, and though she was clearly dangerous, her presence set both hobbits at ease.
"Well met," she said with a slight smile, "I am Eltariel. I will take you to Idril, so we can see what might be done for you."
Frodo found his voice at last and introduced himself and Sam. The Elf seemed to know his name, at least, because her eyebrows briefly flicked upwards in surprise and sudden understanding. But then the expression was gone just as fast as it had come, and she bowed to the woman before leading them away by the light of a stone held to her palm by a few twisting wires.
Frodo looked back as they went, to the woman with the werelight. The werelight went out, but by the light of Eltariel's stone, he saw gleaming fangs and long segmented legs in the dark.
The tunnels were a tangled mess, many covered with web, but with Eltariel leading the way, they soon left those behind. The new tunnels were natural, it seemed, some low such that the Elf was bent almost double to get through, and others so narrow that all of them had to shuffle along sideways like crabs to get through. They sidled through one such crack and emerged in another wider tunnel, this one clearly roughly worked to allow beings more than twice the Elf's height to pass without even scraping their heads.
"This way," she said, and led the way down one branch of the tunnel. Frodo was completely turned around; he couldn't even say where they were, let alone where they were going, but Eltariel seemed to know exactly where to go. "Now, I must warn you before we arrive, what you will see will seem… strange to you - and to most of the West, for that matter - but no one means you any harm. On the off chance that one of them does, you have my word that I will defend you. Fair?"
The hobbits looked at each other, then back at her and nodded. She nodded back and pushed their way through several layers of rough, thick cloth hanging across the tunnel.
They emerged in a wide cavern, dim light streaming through holes in the roof high overhead. The cavern itself was filled with structures of all sorts, wood and metal and stone and packed earth, some reaching up toward the skylights overhead, their upper levels connected by crisscrossing bridges anchored into the roof. A river snaked across the floor far below, turning half a dozen wheels and providing water for the city.
There was activity everywhere and - orcs, orcs and Men, working together to maintain the underground city. Frodo was not ashamed to say that his mouth fell open in surprise and awe, and Sam was in a similar state.
Eltariel ignored it all with ease born of long familiarity. "This way, Master Baggins, Master Gamgee. Stay close."
She led them into the city. The orcs and men called greetings to her as she passed, which she returned, though she did not stop to talk. Frodo saw more than one person gazing at them in surprise and confusion, but they just shrugged and kept working.
All of them were armed and armored - which made sense, since they lived on the border of Mordor.
They arrived at a wooden structure almost directly below the largest opening in the roof, offset just enough to be intentional. Eltariel nodded to the three orcs and the one man guarding the main door, which they returned, before heading inside, the hobbits close behind.
Half a dozen short halls, and she opened the door to a meeting chamber and ushered them inside. Here there were more men and orcs and even two dwarves, all leaning over a map and throwing out suggestions for what seemed to be battle plans. There was another Elf, too - just the one, but he looked almost like Lord Elrond, though his eyes were a bright blue rather than dove gray. When Eltariel entered, all of them looked up - including the woman who must have been the leader. She was stern-looking, with golden hair just starting to gray pulled back into a messy twist at the back of her head, and a straight but wicked scar across her forehead and another along her jaw. But she wasn't unkind, her clear blue eyes softening when she spotted the half-frightened hobbits huddling behind the Elf. "A moment, if you please," she said to the others, and they all shuffled out.
Most of them, anyway. An old - very old - dark-skinned man remained, sitting next to the woman. His hair was completely white, and his face was almost as wrinkled as the Mûmakil they had seen on the road south.
"This is Idril, and her husband Baranor," said Eltariel to the hobbits, before she turned to the woman and man. "These are Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee of the Shire."
Both of them seemed to know the names, too, because Baranor blinked sharply and Idril straightened, eyebrows climbing the same way Eltariel's had. Yet there was both relief and grief in their expressions. "You have it, don't you," Idril said to them, "That thing that he seeks. Have you come to destroy it or return it to its master?"
"Destroy it!" Sam protested at once, "We ain't no servants of darkness!"
"Good," said Idril, "At long last, our fight is almost over. We will help you as best we can."
"All of you?" Frodo said.
She seemed to understand what he was questioning, because she gave him a soft, amused look. "It seems strange, I know. I thought the same when I was first - brought in, shall we say. But yes. All of us."
She called the others back in. "Change of plans," she told them, "There is something we must do. Torz, how swiftly can we organize a push on Gorgoroth? We need to take that fortress, but we also need to be ready to leave it quickly."
The orc looked confused, briefly glancing at the hobbits, but none of them questioned it, only supplied numbers and ideas. They debated for some time before apparently hammering something out, because the meeting broke not long after that, everyone scattering to get to work. When they had gone, Idril turned back to them. "Gorgoroth is the closest fortress to Mount Doom," she told them, "We can take you that far, disguise your approach - to the Dark Lord, what are two more ants among thousands? - and Eltariel can escort you the rest of the way while we hold the attention of the Eye.
"Get some rest, hobbits. We have a long march ahead of us."
Eltariel brought them to her rooms elsewhere in the building and let them take her bed, standing guard while they rested, as tireless as her kin.
Frodo slept, but it wasn't really restful; he woke almost as tired as when he'd gone to sleep, the Ring weighing heavy on his mind.
It was the middle of the night, but the silvery light of the moon shone down clear through the skylights when he got up to wander, the Elf close behind, leaving two Men to guard Sam as he slept.
There was something like a garden behind the building - the headquarters, he assumed - with an unusual monument at the center. It was a block of some kind of soft stone, with a dark sword embedded in it to about halfway up the blade. There was a dagger in front of it, also driven into the stone, with a bloodstained white scarf tied around the handle.
He frowned at it, but then he noticed that he and Eltariel weren't alone. There were benches scattered through the rows of plants, and Idril was sitting on one of them, face turned toward the monument but eyes closed as if she was praying. He was reluctant to disturb her peace, but he was curious, too. Frodo padded over and asked both women, "Who is this memorial for?"
After a moment, Idril opened her eyes and answered, "My father, though not by blood. He lost his family to the dark tide of Mordor, and so did I. He took me in - raised me better than my blood father, in some ways - and made all of this possible." She waved her hand around at the buildings and the few people still moving around. Most were asleep, resting in preparation for the march to come, and the battles after.
"And what became of him?"
Frodo sensed he'd touched a sensitive subject, because Eltariel shifted behind him and Idril was silent for a long time. At last she said, "He fell into darkness, though not of his own will. He's one of the Nine now."
The hobbit tensed. The Nine - the Ringwraiths. He remembered the long robes and shadowed hoods, distant shrieks and cries, calling for the Ring. He'd seen their faces while wearing it, before he'd been stabbed on Weathertop, but only five of their number; there was no way to know which of them he was, if any, and the hobbit had no desire to stir up any more pain. "...I'm sorry," was all he could think to say.
Idril shook her head. "It's not your fault," she said, finally looking away from the memorial, "He made the choice to defend the West for as long as possible, even at the cost of his own soul. He fought with strength and courage for as long as he could, and though he is a Nazgûl now, I am still honored to call him my father." She got to her feet. "If Eru is merciful, he will die quickly when the Dark Tower falls, and be reunited with his wife and son and be at peace at long last."
The caverns and tunnels honeycombed this section of the Ephel Dúath, the Mountains of Shadow. One such tunnel let them out north past the fortress at Cirith Ungol, which had been reinforced in an attempt to stop them from coming through and raiding. In reality, those reinforcements had only served to keep the one known as the "Spider Queen" and her brood well-fed, doing essentially nothing to halt the comings and goings of the rebels.
As they marched alongside them, Frodo learned that these orcs were originally outcasts from Sauron's armies, left on the fringes for one reason or another. Some took no pleasure in fighting the way their kin did, even though they were good at it, and so were ostracized; others were better at fighting with their minds than their bodies, the thinkers and planners who had no place in the Dark Lord's ranks, inventors of things that had no place in war; still others had once been born as slaves but were released, and now fought to do the same for their siblings still in chains. It was similar with the Men; most had once been slaves of the Dark Tower, freed by Idril's fallen father, now turned against the Maia who had held them in bonds. But some - some were from Gondor, the last survivors of Minas Ithil before it fell and became Minas Morgul, along with Rangers of Ithilien who worked with them in secret. They were a patchwork force compared to the armies of both Gondor proper and the Dark Lord, but they held tight to each other and were fiercely loyal.
And they weren't alone. They had a great many creatures with them, too: Warg-like cats called caragors, great troll-like beasts called graugs, and a number of dragon-like fire drakes. Some of them seemed more like pets than war-beasts, the caragors and drakes rubbing up against their riders and purring. Of these last, there was one who seemed to be their queen; she was not quite twice the size of the other drakes, red as blood, with blazing golden eyes and a form full of wrath. She wore a leather and metal harness like the others, but hers was dyed black, unlike the simple brown of the rest.
"Her name is Daerwen," Eltariel said when she noticed Frodo eyeing the red beast, "She belonged to Talion before his fall, because she's too vicious for anyone else to handle, hence her name - Dreadful Woman."
Talion. He was probably the strangest of the lot. He and Sam heard his story from the army itself; once a Ranger of Gondor, he and his family were ritually murdered on Sauron's orders, but thanks to the timely intervention of an Elven wraith, he survived and launched a crusade against the fallen Maia. In the beginning, it was just the two of them slaughtering orcs and captains, but after an accidental orc rescue, they started accumulating strays - both Men and orcs - that grew into an army great enough to challenge Sauron for control of Mordor. After Minas Ithil fell, the surviving forces were eventually added to the whole, and they took the land's fortresses one by one.
No one else had been there when Talion, Eltariel, and the Elf-wraith - Celebrimbor the Ring-maker, if the rumors were to be believed - marched on the Dark Tower. At least, no one who still lived and witnessed what happened; both Talion and Eltariel refused to speak of it. But the Elf-wraith was lost - some said stolen - and Talion had freed one of the Nine and been doomed to take his place. He had kept up the fight as long as he could - almost fifty-five years after being cursed.
And then… he fell.
"That was ten years ago," said Mâku, who told them the tale in full instead of snatches overhead while eavesdropping, "He was the strongest of all of us - I seen him fight off all the other Eight once, including the Witch-king. We couldn't hold Mordor without him, his power protectin' us, and his death-arts raisin' Sauron's side, turnin' them against him, and he knew it, too. But the only place we gave up without a fight was Minas Morgul, cause that was where he was and he'd'a slaughtered us like pigs when the Eye finally took him."
"To the Boss," said Ishmoz, lifting his pint of grog, "The best damned fighter I ever saw, and the finest tark that ever walked in Mordor."
There were cheers all around, more pints held high, and from there they descended into war stories, tall tales about all kinds of things that Talion had supposedly done during his long tenure in the black land. Some were so outlandish that they were clearly made up, spinning Talion to be some kind of Maia, a servant of Mandos, or even a God of Death, but others had a grain of truth to them. If even a few of them were true, he deserved every bit of praise his people heaped on him.
Frodo, Sam, and Eltariel broke away from the main force as they drew near the fortress at Gorgoroth, heading instead for the slopes of Doom not too far away. They weren't alone, however; packs of caragors and drakes lanced out from the army, hunting enemy patrols and giving them additional cover.
They saw the battle begin from afar. Such as it was; the leader of the fortress emerged on a high platform overlooking everything, but before the orc could even begin to speak, there was a roaring shriek overhead. Daerwen streaked down from the clouds above and snatched the leader up in her claws, then ducked her head and ripped him apart, sending body parts raining down on the fortress below.
Then the war-graugs charged the fortress walls, ripping huge holes in the metal and stone, and the force of orcs and Men swarmed inside.
"Come," said Eltariel, "we must hurry."
They followed her as fast as they could, having to sprint as best they could to keep up with her jog. Their group still encountered some enemy orcs on the way, and Eltariel dispatched them with the speed and precision that had helped her survive so long in Mordor.
And then they were climbing the slopes of the volcano, following a road cut into the rock. Yet as they went, the Ring grew heavier and heavier; it took everything Frodo had to keep his feet, even when Sam pulled one of his arms over his shoulder to take some of his weight. But he kept walking, kept putting one foot in front of the other - until Sam cried a warning.
Gollum snarled and lunged for Frodo and the Ring, but Eltariel was there in an instant, glowstone flashing and driving him back. "Go, hobbits!" she cried, whipping out her daggers and flipping them into position, "Run!"
Frodo found the strength to obey and raced for the Cracks of Doom with Sam at his side.
What followed was mostly a blur - at least right then. But after his long struggle - like Talion's - the Ring finally claimed him. Or he claimed it; it wasn't very clear. Yet for all that he'd tried to kill them or get them killed - at least twice - Gollum was his saving grace, biting the Ring from his hand, even though he took the finger with it.
But he was precariously perched on the edge of the platform, and it was so easy to push him off.
Frodo felt it the moment the Ring was undone, unmade. It broke something inside of him, but also set him free. He wanted more than anything to let go, to follow the Precious down into the fire, but he couldn't do that to Sam. He threw his hand up to catch the other hobbit's - and Eltariel's when she appeared, bruised and bleeding heavily from a gash on her temple; it looked like Gollum had tried to smash her skull with a rock.
She pulled him and Sam back through the doorway as the lava rose behind them, and they raced out onto a spur of rock, just out of reach of the red hot rock rolling past.
"It's gone," Frodo gasped, feeling like he could breathe for the first time since setting out on the quest, "It's done."
"Yes, Mr. Frodo," Sam agreed, falling down next to him, "It's over now."
Eltariel seemed similarly relieved and exhausted, ripping part of her tunic to bind her head and slow the bleeding.
In the distance, there was an echoing whistle, followed by the answering roar of a fire drake.
Frodo wasn't sure how long it took before the heat started getting to him. He fell back to lie next to Sam, who was already unconscious, and through blurred vision he saw that Eltariel was still up, looking around, her glowstone at the ready to signal for rescue if anyone drew close enough to see.
His mind blurred again, but a flash of golden light called him back. He lifted his head and saw the Elf assassin was on her feet, arms outstretched. A moment later there was a rush of wind, and a great red mass landed at the base of the spur, just barely above the lava flow. It hissed.
Daerwen, Frodo realized, but there was a dark shape on her back, glowing eyes peering out from a shadowed hood.
But then his vision went dark, and he knew no more.