AN: I'm an asshole, yes I realise it. I also know that this chapter is a bit longer than usual, so that might make up for (I know it doesn't). The end of it feels to me a bit rambly, but hopefully you'll like it anyway.
The Start of the End
The blue-haired woman stumbled out of her room about ten minutes later, cursing and fumbling, finishing the last few buttons on the bottom of her shirt, slightly surprised at its more modern design. Aragorn must've asked them... that's nice. She smiled at her friend's gesture as she hurried along identical marble corridors. Her smile quickly turned to a frown. "Why do they all look the same?" The woman wondered aloud, spinning around and dashing back down the corridor. This isn't it. Crap, pull it together Rosalie. Think: Éowyn showed you the way last night!
Rosalie's anxiety levels dropped as she recognised a particularly odd portrait involving a man, a horse and what looked like a tower of dwarves? The rest of her friends had made themselves comfortable in the Great Hall when Rosalie finally sprinted in, Aragorn and Éomer's deep conversation paused for them both to look up at the woman, the former looking a little more amused than the latter. The elf making her blush pink in his presence and forcing her eyes to the ground, stared almost dreamily out the window, while Gimli straddled an ornate, jet-black chair raised on marble steps, legs lying across an arm in a way that Rosalie's mum would've scolded her for. Gandalf smiled wryly at her. "Thank you for joining us, Rosalie." The woman blushed deeper.
The wizard cleared his throat, and the men and Legolas drew closer though the dwarf remained spread over his chair. "Frodo has passed beyond my sight." Gandalf told them gravely. "The darkness is deepening." Éomer's face paled, and Aragorn jumped to explain to the man.
"If Sauron had the ring, we would know it." The ranger argued and Gandalf sighed heavily, running a hand over his face.
"It's only a matter of time." He wandered over to the balcony, staring over the war-scarred plains. "He has suffered a defeat, yes, but behind the walls of Mordor, our enemy is regrouping."
Gimli snorted, lighting his pipe. "Let him stay there." He snarled. "Let him rot. Why should we care?"
Rosalie nodded along while the wizard's frown deepened. Why should we? Everything was over for them – the war, the fighting, and the bloodshed. No more killing, no more nightmares. The end of a chapter, a book for her that she could now close and never open again. No more blood, gore, swords, and ringing ears. She could relax and breathe, close her eyes and not see someone's lifeless face there.
Gandalf put his head in his hands. "Because now, ten thousand Orcs stand between Frodo and Mount Doom. I've sent him to his death." The wizard's sombre words left a bitter taste in the air. A rough, calloused hand slammed down on the table but Rosalie was the only one to jump.
"No, there is still hope for Frodo. He needs time and safe passage across the plains of Gorgoroth." Rosalie didn't like where she thought Aragorn was going with this. "We can give him that."
"How?" The dwarf questioned, and the woman felt she knew Aragorn's answer.
"Draw out Sauron's armies, empty his lands." Was the ranger's confident response. "Then, we gather our full strength and march on the black gates."
The silence was even worse this time. Rosalie leaned back, and crossed her arms, glaring down at the table. She could already hear the marching, the ancient drums of war.
"We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms!" Éomer protested, and Rosalie almost nodded, but she sensed it wouldn't change the cogs turning inside her friends' heads. Aragorn turned to the blonde man.
"Not for ourselves, but we can give Frodo this chance if we keep Sauron's eye fixed upon us." He explained patiently to the Rohirrim leader. "Keep him blind to all else that moves." Aragorn tried to meet every person's eyes, failing with the woman, who kept hers on the table or the floor. His eyebrow's quirked, but he moved on. Legolas' eyes lit up at the ex-ranger's speech, but Rosalie missed it.
"A diversion," the elf breathed, and the woman sighed quietly, closing her eyes, hearing the resolution in his voice. Even Legolas is on board, now it's definite – then again, he'd follow Aragorn anywhere; he's proved that already.
"Sauron will suspect a trap; he will not take the bait." Rosalie prayed Gandalf's disagreeing words may stop them, but his voice was faint and passive compared to the fire that roared in Aragorn and Legolas.
"Certainty of death, small chance of success, what are we waiting for?" Rosalie's head fell forward, like a prisoner at trial, noticing how the fire had spread into the dwarf's gruff voice. Back into the fray we go, she thought, and her hands curled into fists, shaking gently as her sentence was served.
The cool air was refreshing on the open balcony, but it did nothing for her. Fingers dug into the rougher underside of the marble railing and she let out a breathy laugh. How could I think it would end that easily? "I thought you might be out here." That voice killed her laughter painfully. Legolas walked over to the railing and stood beside her. "Shouldn't you be making preparations?"
"Shouldn't you?" She shot back, and regretted it. Gone was the ice blade in the elf's voice that used to attack her every time he spoke. Now it was her that was being rude. Legolas didn't seem too fazed though.
"Would you like to talk?" He asked, and Rosalie had the strangest sense of déjà vu.
She feigned ignorance. "About what?"
Legolas glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "You don't have to come tomorrow."
The woman shook her head. "Yes I do."
"No, you don't." His gentleness had ended and he spun to face her directly. "No one will think any differ-"
"I will!" She shouted, and her eyes darted around, looking for sneaking eavesdroppers in her paranoia. Me and my big mouth... How could I tell him? Legolas crossed his arms and stared at her impassively, but not unkindly. Rosalie licked her lips. "The men, they dealt with Helm's Deep, and then yesterday, and now tomorrow. And me..." Her bottom lip quivered, eyes tinged red and swollen.
"I can't. For some reason, I..." She sighed. "They already look down on me, and I don't want another reason... And then, whenever I try, I try to sleep I..." She threw her hands up in the air and turned around. The elf stayed where he stood.
"You can't forget them." His calm voice snapped her out of her frantic haze, he, poised still, graceful and ethereal to her hysterical, sweaty and anxious pacing; the statue and the unstable. "The faces, the eyes, the expression, you know they were out for your blood but it still stays with you. It grows and grows like a puddle to a lake, but Rosalie, you cannot drown." Suddenly, the platinum-blonde drew closer, stepping inside her personal bubble, closer than he'd ever done before. The anxiety turned to butterflies. Gently, Legolas reached out and ran a hand down her cheek. Those butterflies grew steel wings. "It will get easier," Legolas promised, eyes clear and sincere. "You get used to it."
The anxiety inside trebled and Rosalie's shoulders slumped. "I don't want to." She whispered roughly and the blue eyes in front of her widened. Her head rolled forward, hitting Legolas' shoulder and below her she felt the elf stiffen. Why'd I do that? She screamed mentally. And why don't I care about it as much as I should? She didn't expect to get an answer. Because it feels nice.
Tentatively, arms wrapped around her, and she let out a sigh, burying her face deeper into his shoulder. It was hard, muscles pressed into her face uncomfortably, but it was satisfying and reassuring deeper inside, the closeness, the intimacy and the companionship. But companionship isn't just what you want. She tried to ignore the truth in the voice. So, they stood together, a silent and warming embrace before their impending war, the city below already ablaze with preparations. Legolas shuffled his head, and hot air rushed past Rosalie's ear, making her flinch a little. The elf paid no heed. "Do not fear for tomorrow, Rosalie. We are all there for you, and I will not let anything happen to you." He vowed, and despite herself, Rosalie smiled, happiness filling her soul and peace settling inside her.
The woman wandered back down the open-air halls of the citadel, along the edges of the King's House, looking for another door to take her back inside. Éowyn had invited her to the bath houses, which according to a passing worker was inside the King's House; it was just deceptively hard to get there. If I get there, she thought, holding her wash bag tighter. Think of it like American Universities in movies and TVs, lots of rooms, one shower block – Take clothes with you or someone's gonna have a heart attack. Or something worse could happen to me. The woman shivered at the thought, drawing her limbs in closer to herself, as if to protect herself, though brightened noticing a portrait on the wall. Didn't Éowyn say it was the door next to the painting of the red-head with the blue and green flowers?
She grinned proudly, ripping open the door confidently. The smile died and froze in its place. Inside, the voices de-muffled but stopped altogether, male faces peering up from inside a large communal bath, the water steaming and rising to form a gentle mist. Rosalie turned phone-box red, eyes wide and jumping to the ceiling. The men blinked at her; she recognised a few as Rohan riders, and friends of Éomer. Rosalie had another strange sense of déjà vu. Twice in one day. "Wrong door," she gasped, refusing to remove her eyes from the ceiling.
"Try the next door," a deep voice from the back offered, a smirk playing through his voice, and the blue-haired woman nodded frantically, wrenching the door shut behind, and tried to ignore the raucous laughter from the bathroom. Éowyn looked strangely at the gasping woman who'd burst through the bathroom door, a few Gondorian ladies paused amid their chatter to mull over a new chunk of gossip. Rosalie shook her head, fumbling over whispered words but the blonde noblewoman followed enough of it to blush with the woman and giggle incessantly at her mistake. Éowyn led the slightly shell-shocked woman through to a smaller private room at the back. "I think you need to relax after that... ordeal," Éowyn laughed and Rosalie tried to as well, though her mind had tacked on the words 'and for your plans tomorrow'.
This time when someone knocked on her door, Rosalie was dressed and waiting. "You can come in," she called, her dark mood filtered through her voice. The door opened, but the elf she saw, hesitated and instead lingered at the doorway. She sent him a small smile, fiddling with the final strap of her arm guard as she walked over to him.
"Are you ready?" He asked, gently pushing her hand away so he could re-fix the fastening. Rosalie refused to look at him. Like it matters, she thought sourly.
"I don't think this can be postponed just because I'm a wuss." The woman responded wryly. Legolas frowned and drew his hands back after he'd finished.
"I do not think you are a... wuss," he said slowly, the colloquial term rolling awkwardly off his tongue, and he looked dissatisfied with it. "It is natural to be scared." Rosalie tried to smile back. Not that helpful honey... She immediately blushed scarlet at her own thoughts, earning a curious gaze from Legolas Did I just call him honey?! He's not your any kind of condiment! The woman lowered her head and followed the elf out into the quickly-filling courtyard. Horses were being dutifully led to expectant riders and nobility while Rosalie dutifully followed Legolas to her new horse, a dirty off-white coloured one.
The elf watched her clamber on top of her horse, and patted her hand soothingly. "Be brave," he whispered, loud enough for her to hear it, but only her. With a gentle smile, he backed away a few steps, closer to his horse who had been led out. Just before he mounted, he leant over to whisper in Aragorn's ear. Rosalie's grip on the reins tightened, her stomach dropping as her paranoia rose up again. No, he wouldn't tell... Her stomach dropped further when the ex-ranger peered at her over the elf's shoulder, face impassive, but melting into concern when their eyes met. Her bottom lip threatened to quiver, but she bit it – hard. No... He had told Aragorn.
The horses shuffled forward in unsteady lines as they marched, the black gates looming higher into the broken sky with every hoof-fall. Rosalie had kept her mouth shut since they left the city, the gleam of Minas Tirith's white walls glowing behind them, not sparing a glance at Legolas or Aragorn. Gimli, Éomer and the two Hobbits had all picked up on her stony mood, none mentioning it though Pippin had to be nudged by Gandalf not to. Arod whickered from just behind her, and the woman fought the instinct to turn and check. At the thought of Arod's rider, betrayal pooled inside her, and she grit her teeth. How could he tell Aragorn? I opened up to him, and he betrays him?! He... She pondered over it angrily. Actually, he never promised he wouldn't. Does that mean he was planning to tell Aragorn about my weakness all along? He wouldn't of, would he?
The land below them began to dip, and the army came to a natural stop, lined along the gentle ridge, leaning down towards the Black Gates. They stood tall and proud, symbols of Black Death amidst beige rock face, the border of Mordor and Gondor. Despite her anger towards him, Aragorn had cleaned up the night before, his hair grease-free and straight, unlike the uncombed straggles he had a few nights ago. The worn, torn, scratched leather armour had been traded in for dark glossy armour, a painstakingly detailed silver tree stitched onto the front. Gone was the grubby ranger, and from his ashes rose a polished Knight, with the grace, nobility and serenity of a fairytale King. Rosalie had to admire the new, different kind of strength the man now possessed. Plus he looks great when he washes his hair, the woman thought.
All fell silent, even the horses, the slow wind calming down as the army waited. Pippin looked between the last members of the Fellowship, his armour whistling as he shifted. "Where are they?" He whispered, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Aragorn frown. Touching his heels into his horse's side, he began to lead them forward, waving a hand at a banner boy to follow him. Rosalie pushed her horse to follow them, Gandalf and Éomer doing the same further down the line.
A pale, slim hand shot out and grabbed her reins. Steeling herself, Rosalie lifted her head proudly to glare at Legolas. The elf didn't flinch; only stare unwaveringly at the woman, though Gimli did glance up at Legolas from his seat in front of the elf.
"You shouldn't go," he murmured, hands still tight on her horse's reins and Rosalie wanted to rear back and slap him. Shouldn't go? SHOULDN'T GO?! Who does he think he is! She snarled mentally, and with every furious heartbeat, the rest of the parley party trotted further from them. Around her, she could feel the eyes of the men watching their exchange, judgement cementing in their minds. Icily, she tugged the reins from the elf's grip forcibly, frightening her horse to step sideways a few times before Rosalie regained control and steadied them, and dug her heels into the horse, leaving Gimli, and more importantly the elf, in her dust.
"Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth!" Aragorn shouted, startlingly his horse enough to kick up black sand. "Let justice be done upon him!" The Black Gates whined as if in pain at Aragorn's words, and ground open only enough for a sole rider to squeeze through. Rosalie gasped with Pippin and Merry, covering her mouth quickly, while Éomer inhaled sharply. Gandalf was the only one not to cringe. Oh my God...
The rider was grotesque. Dressed in a thick black tunic, buttoned all the way up to his chin and gloves, the only skin visible was around his helmet. It was a mottled white, black blood dripping down the rider's chin. Thin lips were peeled back, large yellowed teeth coated in oozing blood, brown flesh and green slivers of something Rosalie didn't want to think about grinning at them. Strips of rough, bubbled steel fitted together perfectly, the gaps too small to see the rest of the rider's head. If he has one, Rosalie shuddered, and her horse skittered back, bumping flanks with Arod. The spikes on the rider's helmet pointed high, like Sauron's crown in the mural outside her room in Minas Tirith.
Sauron's envoy pulled sharply on his reins, his horse rearing, though his rider seemed at ease. "My master Sauron the Great bids thee welcome." It hissed, and Rosalie's eyes widened to the size of saucers, almost comically. Holy crap... He... It... God... Holy crap. Legolas and Aragorn glanced at each other, visibly repulsed at Sauron's representative, but didn't cringe back like the rest of them had. "Is there any in this rout with the authority to treat with me?" It asked and Gandalf cleared his throat. The helmet turned to stare unseeingly in his direction.
"We do not come to treat with Sauron, faithless and accursed. Tell your master this – the armies of Mordor must disband!" The wizard demanded, "He is to depart these lands, never to return."
The grim smile didn't leave its face; it only grew more demented as it laughed horribly. "Aha! Old Greybeard! I have a token I was bidden to show thee." It pulled out a shirt. A familiar silver chain metal shirt. Rosalie's heart dropped as the sunlight shattered on the links.
"Frodo!" Pippin screamed, and the woman bit the inside of her lip, closing her eyes. She wasn't as close to Frodo as Merry, Pippin, Gandalf and possibly Aragorn had been, but she missed his quiet presence. And if Frodo was dead, most probably so was Sam with his seriousness tucked into that Hobbit mischief and infectious laughter that Merry and Pippin had as well. She'd had enough, enough of friends dying. The rider tossed the shirt to the ground, dark sand clenched amongst its metal folds. "Frodo!" Pippin screamed again, and Gandalf shook his head.
"Silence," he muttered, never breaking eye contact with the rider, and Merry's face scrunched up.
"No!" He wailed, and the wizard turned to glare at Merry, sparks swimming in livid eyes.
"Silence!" Gandalf hissed, and Sauron's rider began to laugh horribly, spit flying from between its rotten teeth.
"The Halfling was dear to thee I see. Know that he suffered greatly at the hands of his host." Rosalie blinked back tears but the wizard didn't hold them back. "Who would've thought one so small could endure so much pain?" The rider asked, "And he did Gandalf, he did." The woman bared her teeth at his sick promise.
Aragorn urged his horse forward as the rider continued to laugh, the gap between them closing. "And who is this?" The rider asked, blood seeping from small cuts in his gums, dripping down over his disgusting teeth. "Isildur's heir? It takes more to make a King than a broken Elvish blade." He never got a chance to finish his speech as the man let loose a snarl, unsheathing his new sword, bringing it up in one swift seamless movement, the rider's head falling as his sword rose. Rosalie raised an eyebrow at the head as it bounced a few times, the rest of the body crumpling a few seconds later, a little perturbed not by the gory act, but by her lack of emotional response to it. How come I don't flinch when I watch Aragorn lop off someone's head like a demented Henry VIII? Jesus, I'm turning into a psychopath. She thought, mildly surprised at the bright scarlet colour of his blood, expecting instead oily-black goo.
Gimli was the first to react. "I guess that concludes negotiations." He said casually, not bothered by it, though Aragorn turned to them all, breathing heavily.
"I do not believe it." The man panted, "I will not." The Black Gates began to crank angrily as if hissing at the loss of one of its own. Could actually be for that reason. The man shouted something along the lines of retreat, and the small party fell back, watching the Gates grind open slower than they had before, a heart-wrenching beat of marching, and the woman's heart rate sped up. Here we go again, Rosalie chanted inside her head.
"Hold your ground! Hold your ground!" Rosalie didn't notice how Aragorn's eyes lingered on her now-paling face as she watched the advancing army like a hawk. "Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers!" That got her attention briefly and he sent her an apologetic look, but continued speaking. "I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship." He called, pausing dramatically. "But it is not this day. An hour of walls and shields when the age of Men comes crashing down. But it is not this day!" He shouted, and Rosalie was unsure if anyone was listening – she was too busy watching the Black army approach, almost at the Gates which were now fully open, laying the land of Mordor out for them all to see their doom.
"This day we fight! By all that you hold dear, on this good earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!" He ended on a roar, "for Frodo!" And began running forward, followed closely by Merry and Pippin. Rosalie jabbed her heels into the horse's sides when the rest of their somewhat shaken line began to charge, fumbling a little with her sword and hoping nobody saw it, not seeing the blonde elf who had witnessed it.
Despite her fumbles, Rosalie felt surprisingly calm, facing down ten thousand Orcs as Gandalf had pointed out, which worried her. Why am I so calm? When on earth did I become suicidal? She wondered, and another part of her consciousness answered back. Because there's an angel watching us, it cooed, dreaming up an image of Legolas. The woman scoffed immediately, embarrassment filtering through her. Angel? That's so cliché, gross. Plus we're angry at him for being a tattle-tail, remember. A snarl rippled from in front of her, startling her horse, and throwing the woman backwards. She managed to stay on her feet, stumbling as her horse bolted and the Orc closed in for the kill, licking his lips. Then it squealed, clattering to the ground, narrowly missing Rosalie, a very well-known arrow stuck in its back, cleaving the armour in two. Legolas stared down at her, still on Arod though Gimli had disappeared into the fray, lowering his bow only enough so it wasn't aimed at her face, blue eyes full of storm clouds. She blushed, remembering why she'd lost concentration, praying fervently that he didn't. Don't be ridiculous, he can't read minds... I think. Oh, just focus on this Rosalie, not that hot elf that just saved your life. Her internal monologue wasn't helping.
Metal screeching had everyone's eyes jumping upwards as grey-scaled dragons descended, plucking human riders from their saddles, razor claws slicing through skin as the Nazgûl's dropped them back down to the Earth, lifeless. Jeers echoed from behind enemy lines at their sudden advantage, and Rosalie gulped, ducking as one swooped too close for comfort in her vicinity. A slightly lower toned scream drew eyes to the other side of the sky, a flurry of brown feathers flying overhead. Are those... Giant Birds? Pippin corrected her.
"The eagles, the eagles are coming!" He shouted, and Rosalie watched as the eagles snatched a Nazgûl, its black-hooded rider tumbling to the ground and the waiting soldiers pounced. The jeering from Mordor's army stopped, and this time the woman grinned, stabbing an Orc to the left of her. This time was far different from the fight a few days ago; her fear did not hinder her, only powering her this time, suddenly conscious of the elf. Do it, do it for him. Fight. Rosalie lunged forward, carving through an Orc inches from Merry, the monster towering over the little Hobbit.
A strangled hiss echoed across the battlefield, and the fighting hushed, both forces turning to the single tower in Mordor. The burning eye had turned, the pupil widening as if in fear to stare at Mount Doom. Suddenly, the Nazgûl took off, speeding back towards Mordor, Orc and Man alike watching as they went. The Eagles stayed, circling the battle, diving down into Orc clusters, crying angrily.
The earth shook as an enormous troll appeared in front of Aragorn taking of the situation. The woman's heart leapt to her throat. Legolas had noticed the troll too, throwing himself through the throng. Meanwhile, the troll swung a massive, dirty mace at the man's head. Aragorn's senses kicked in, and he fell back. Rosalie lost sight of him, and let out a scared, frustrated scream, swallowed by the noise of war. The troll kept drawing closer to where Aragorn had fallen. The elf was still too far away. So was she. The troll raised its foot high, a half-smirk stuck to its smug face. Oh God, it's going to crush Aragorn.
The crushing never came, as the eye began to scream, shivers shooting down her spine, like nails down a chalkboard. Many of the Orcs moaned and shrieked, and then there was chaos. The eye was wailing, spitting fire while Nazgûl screamed in the distance. Most of the army of Mordor had turned to watch, as magma plumed from Mount Doom and the eye quivered atop its tower. Grey stone crumbled, the tower falling, the Eye blinking out of existence. Orc bands scattered from the plains, Éomer, Aragorn and Gambling shouting quickly for archers. As the last of the debris tumbled to the grey lands, the earth shivered, a rippling wave scurrying towards them, and the woman's eyes widened. What the... It hit the Gates, and they began to sink, cracks running up the walls, and the splintered and fell to the ground. The Orcs who hadn't already ran started, but the fissure crept forward from the Black Lands, separating the armies of Men and Mordor, and they disappeared into the depths of the Earth.
The air was filled with cheering and laughter, and Rosalie's spirit soared, the skies still grey under dark clouds, but it was all sunshine for her. Now... Now it's really over. I can move over, I can move on. She didn't notice how Merry took a few cautious steps closer to the new cliff made, staring out towards the mountain, lava slipping down the sides, and belching black ash into the atmosphere.
"Frodo?" He whispered, and the soaring freedom in the woman, shattered, shot out of the sky. No... No, no, no! Not after all that! "Frodo!" Merry screamed painfully, and an eagle screeched an answer, darting off towards the Mountain, diving down to fly very close to the lava, talons almost brushing along the surface. It swung back, a little small shadow trapped in its claws. Merry laughed tearfully, and Rosalie joined him, craning her neck with the Hobbit to watch the eagle's path below the clouds, dropping off the Hobbit-sized package, wrapped in a Lothlórien green cloak, a second eagle carrying Sam in ripped, sooty clothes. On impulse, Rosalie picked Merry up, gripping him in a tight hug, spinning them both around, hair flying out, laughing and crying all the while. She let him go, the Hobbit strangely quiet and bright red, and a chuckle erupting from Gandalf when he saw.
Legolas walked past her leisurely, not stopping to lean into her. "Told you," he whispered, and Rosalie's traitorous face split into a smile brighter than the sun. The end: it's finally here.