Rivendell, 7 days after the Reclamation of the One Ring

Elrond took attendance of the assembled council of the Free People. Less than half of those he had called upon sat around the place of meeting, the same hall where council had been taken to discuss the fate of the One Ring so many months ago. Elven emissaries from Lindon on the coast and Dwarves of the Blue Mountains sat across the circle from each other, grumbling amongst themselves angrily. Between them were Albador, the newly elected chief of the Dunedain, and Glorfindel, an elven lord of great renown, chatting glumly amongst themselves. To his side sat Galadriel, and to her side was an empty seat where her husband, Celeborn, was meant to be. Their realm of Lothlorien had been surrounded by forces from Dol Guldor and Moria. The Orc host had not entered the Golden Wood but no one had been allowed to leave the bounds of the trees. The same fate had befallen Thranduil, king of the Woodland Realm. His forest kingdom was under siege from Dol Guldor and the Wainriders of the East. Erebor and Dale had been conquered by the Khaganate. Rohan was in such chaos that Elrond did not even know who to contact. The last vestiges of freedom in Middle Earth were in shambles.

"My friends," he said, trying to dreg up any gravitas he could manage, "You have been summoned here to answer the doom of Mordor. The One Ring has been reclaimed by the Dark Lord Sauron. His forces grow ever stronger while our own begin to wither. Gandalf the White is dead. The banner of the Eye flies above Minas Tirith. The Heir of Isildur is gone. The Dark Lord is bending all his will against we who are here today and our allies who could not escape his blockades. Before any of us may take action, we must come together to answer one question: Are we to abandon this world and leave Sauron to his devices with those we leave behind, or are we to fight against an insurmountable opponent and perish with honor?"

There was an impenetrable silence amongst those present. The question was one that no one wished to address, for of both answers were accursed. After many agonizing seconds, Albador, a grizzled man with a grey beard and sunken eyes, stood.

"What choice do we have? The West will not take us. The realms of Men and Dwarves are at Sauron's mercy. But we Dunedain will die resting him."

"We stand with ya', Ranger" the emissary of the Blue Mountains chimed in, "We've 'eard that our kin in Erebor and the Iron Hills have been enslaved by the Easterlings, along with the Dalish and the like. We will do whatever it takes to keep our people free, and save our brothers under the Mountain if we can."

"So, the Mortal races will oppose the Enemy," Elrond said as a sad smile crossed his lips, "What say the Noldar? Will our kin in the Grey Havens stand? What of the Galadhrim?"

"We may not speak," Galadriel said, "until we know the intent of the Elves of Rivendell. You now stand as the greatest general of our time. You alone amongst us have stood against Sauron at his mightiest. What says the general of the Elven host?"

Elrond was momentarily speechless. While Galadriel was his close friend, he had always believed her the stronger and wiser between them, and he did not doubt that now, yet he had never expected for her to show such admiration for his own wisdom and martial skill. "I…We will join the Dunedain and the Dwarves against Sauron."

"Then the Galadhrim will fight alongside you."

"And so will I," said Glorfindel, "though I fear that this war will bring ruin to the last of our people. I saw the fall of Gondolin, so many years ago, and though it may seem that I might see another great fall of elvendom, I will fight to my dying breath to keep that fate from coming to be."

"Forgive us my friends," said Galdor of the Havens, "but we cannot help you. Cirdain plans on sailing to Valanor as soon as he might. Corsairs have been reported sailing north and time is short for us. Our people need not die fighting. And if we were to make it to the White Shores, we could alert the Valar as to our plight and possibly send aid then. I am sorry, but we will not die needlessly."

"I understand," said Elrond, "Do what you need to do for your people. Now, for those that will stand, a plan of action must be made. I believe that, until reinforcements from Mirkwood could pass through the Misty Mountains, the best we could manage is a strong defensive line. If we were to hold the Gap of Rohan, the north would be safe for a time and plans could be made for the breaking of the blockade around Lothlorien. I…"

Suddenly, the bellowing of trumpets filled the air. Elrond stood, fearing the worst.

"My lord, my lord!" cried a watchman, "a rider comes forth!"

"Is he friend or foe?"

"Foe my lord. A messenger from Sauron himself. He stands beyond the gate, calling for you and the lady Galadriel."

Already fearing that Sauron might be moving against them, Elrond stood, beckoning for Galadriel to follow him. They strode out from the hall of meeting and through the winding paths of the Last Homely House. The air there, no matter the season, was always the perfect mixture of soft warmth and cool mist, yet the air now had a sickly sharpness too it, as if the heat and the chill were at strife. They descended the flight of stone stairs and into the first courtyard. From the courtyard extended a long bridge, overshadowed by the guardhouse and, the end of the bridge, stood a man, clad in black and crowned in dark iron, astride a similarly attired horse. His mouth seemed to twitch as if dark words danced behind his cracked lips.

"Why does a servant of the Enemy come so boldly to the gates of Rivendell?" Shouted Elrond from the courtyard. "What madness would drive Sauron to send you here?"

"Lord Elrond," said the messenger with a cold, oily voice, "I see that you are as gracious a host as the tales say. Will you not come closer to me so that I may impart my Lord's gift to you?"

"The same gifts that brought Ereigon to ruin?"

"The exact opposite, my friend. Come, let us talk."

Elrond, completely unswayed by the messenger's attempts to lure him, was shocked when Galadriel began to cross the bridge with a confidant stride.

"What words will the Second Dark Lord impart on us?" She said with confidence, "I do not expect them to be of any wisdom, so I hope they will make me laugh."

The messenger's expression changed from an unwelcoming smile to a grimace, clearly angered by the insult to his master.

"I would not speak so rudely, Lady of Golden Wood. My Master is willing to offer you a fighting chance in this war of ours, and I doubt He would be so gracious if He knew that you spoke so low of Him."

"What do you mean?"

"My Master wishes to grant you and all the people to the north of Rohan and west of the Misty Mountains one year of peace. He will not send forces beyond the Fords of the Isen and will make sure that no orc nor man under His Will passes the bounds of Mirkwood or Lothlorian."

"And at what price would this unguaranteed peace come? The lives of our children? All the secrets of the White Council?"

"No, nothing so valuable. He simply wishes for you to impart to me the remaining two Elven rings."

"What?" burst Elrond, aghast, "We might as well slit our throats here and now!"

"Tell me, Lord of Rivendell, what do you lose? You cannot use them against my Lord nor can you destroy them. And what does my Master gain? He simply wants the entire collection. I think you must understand, my Master is quite fond of trinkets and pretty things. He already has one of the three, and now He desires the rest."

"And yet we still have no assurance that we will not be betrayed. Why would Sauron waste a year for these 'trinkets' as you call them?"

"Despite our victories in Gndor, the forces of Mordor have suffered greatly. Of the one hundred thousand orcs that marched from Minas Morgul to Minas Tirith, only ten thousand remain, far too few to launch an assault upon your realms. Even the full might of Harad and Rhun could not stand against you without the support of Mordor. My Master is not wasting a year; He simply has no reason to fight you until His armies are restored. However, if you were to refuse, He could still cause great damage to your realms, and Mirkwood and Lothlorien would fall."

Elrond could not reply. If he and Galadriel did not give the rings over, Sauron's forces would shatter them before any defenses could be set up and, thus, lose all hope. And yet, if they were to surrender them, there was no guarantee that Sauron would honor his truce and he had no clue what dark devices the rings might be used for. Surrender them. As clear as day, he heard Galadriel's strong voice in his mind. I sense no lie in him. His will is that of his master's, and he is honest that we will have a year. A sharp tinge of anger stabbed at his heart. He hated when others could know what he could not, such as the minds of foes. He needed to hear the sincerity with his own ears before he could choose either way. Elrond, trust me. He is telling the truth. With a resigned sigh, Elrond bowed his weary head. He beckoned for his protégé, Lindir, to come forth.

"There is a ring upon my desk, a band of gold embedded with a sapphire. Bring it to me."

"A wise decision, Lord of Rivendell. My Master will be most pleased with your decision."

Elrond, hoping beyond hope that the wisdom of Galadriel had not failed, stared dead-eyed into the hidden face of the messenger.

"Tell your damned master that, if he betrays our trust, the wrath of a father of a lost son will fall upon him with the strength of the lance of Gil-Galad one-hundredfold. Tell him that Elrond will have his vengeance."

The moment the two rings had been imparted to the messenger, he had fled with great haste out of the valley of Imladres and away south. Despite the council of his captains, Elrond did not send scouts to keep tabs upon his movements. He had seen no point, for nothing short of a miracle would preserve peace if those rings were taken back by the elves. Once again desiring solitude, he had found himself in the high meeting place of the White Council. The moonlight-washed pavilion had seen many meetings of the wise to discuss the dark goings on in the world. He looked down upon the stone table where so many lost friends once sat and laughed. In his mind's eye, he could see Gandalf, clad in raggedy grey robes, smiling to himself about some matter of the Shire that none but himself cared about. He saw Radagast the Brown absentmindedly whispering to a squirrel that had crawled from somewhere beneath his dirt-stained coat. He saw Glorfindel and Cirdain laughing about old memories from an age long past. And he saw Saruman the White, when he could still be counted as a friend, desperately trying to bring those assembled into order and then resigning himself to a glass of wine. Elrond could not remember what that meeting had been called to address, but he could still recall every joke and kind word that had been spoken that day amongst them. He coughed up a bitter laugh, realizing how few of the council would remain. Gandalf was dead. Rumor claimed that Radagast had been cut down by the Nazgul of Dol Guldor while trying to protect the creatures of the forest. Saruman had fallen to the lure of the Ring, and had betrayed the council and attempted to destroy the kingdom of Rohan in a mad grab for power. He had been defeated, but his whereabouts were unknown, meaning that he was likely dead. Cirdain was leaving for the White Shores, never to return to Middle Earth. All that would remain were Glorfindel, Galadriel, and himself. Only three to stand against the strength of Sauron. All was doomed.

"It is fine to grieve, my friend."

Elrond turned to see Galadriel, clad in a stunning white dress that shimmered silver in the moonlight.

"There is no time to grieve yet," Elrond replied, fighting against the lump in his throat, "Many more will die before the end."

"Your daughter knows that, and yet she still finds it in her heart to grieve for one man."

"Arwen is blinded by love. She gave her heart to a man who was doomed to die."

"And yet it was real. Was her love for him too far removed from our love of the world? Whether it be by the hand of Sauron or by the decay of time, this world will end while we carry on. It will die, yet we still fight for it and we weep for its hurt, no matter how fleeting."

Elrond turned away, looking up to the brilliant moon.

"I only wish to see the people of this world free and happy. Sauron desires neither, and it is the duty of the wise to keep him at bay."

A long moment of silence passed as Elrond became absorbed in the stars hanging in the black sky.

"If I were to ask you for something, would you give it to me?"

"Of course, my lady."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

"Sleep with me."

Barad-Dur, Mordor: Fourteen days after the Reclamation of the One Ring

In the vast, ashen plains of Gorgoroth, beyond the fiery mountain of Orodruin, stood the dark tower of Barad-Dur. It rose into the red sky like a terrible spear. Within its walls were pits where Orcs bred and dark iron was forged into cruel blades and twisted contraptions. High towers rouse out of the gorge of molten stone, the tallest of which was the citadel of Sauron himself. Ornate designs, incurring feeling of pain, scaled the long distance of the tower. High within the tower rested a large circular chamber. Stone marble seats surrounded an ornate stand, holding a large black sphere. The crimson cushioned seats were filled with allies and commanders of Mordor, and at their head was the throne of Sauron himself.

"Assaulting Rivendell before a defensive line can be formed across the Gap of Rohan must be our next move." The Witch-King of Angmar clenched his fist in frustration as those surrounding him seemed to ignore his words. He stared with fury at the lesser men who had headed the Dark Lord's call for council. Only three of his Nazgul brethren had been able to make the trip to Mordor. Khamul and the other Easterling Nazgul were caught up in the Iron Hills campaign, and the Brothers of Harad were wrapping up the Rohan campaign. The other delegates that had arrived were disappointing to say the least. The Khan of Rhun, Hith-Shagi had arrived, along with two skeletal members of the religious council. While he was a competent general, he clearly was suited more for the world of books than the world of blades. The glorified cultists that made up the council seemed to be under the influence of a rather strong incense. The disgustingly bloated Shah of Harad had somehow managed to climb the long flight of stairs leading to the council room along with the brutish high-commander of the Southern legions. The Shah was disgusting, privy to foul tastes and pleasures, and he clearly held a certain degree of contempt for both Sauron and the Nazgul, serving them solely out of obligation. The diminutive King of Umbar sat next him, and beside him were the Horde-master of the Khands and the King of the Varags. Gothmog, orc general of the Gorgoroth army, stood silently in the shadows. His deformed visage was covered by the dark, clearly wishing to avoid the eyes of his superiors after the disastrous failure of the first stage of the Battle of Minas Tirith.

"Will none of you fools hear me out? Elrond of Rivendell called a meeting to organize a defense of the North and we can only assume that they plan to prevent any crossing of the Isen. If this blockade is formed, our siege of Lothloian could be broken, uniting the greatest threats to the sanctity of our newly acquired territories."

"What's the need?" moaned the Shah.

"Excuse me?" hissed Arvedul.

"We've done that's been asked of us. The Gondorian devils are crushed under the might of our armies. Let us revel in our spoils. I, for one, have a caravan of slaves headed toward Karna, amongst which are many girls to be escorted directly to my palace."

"Do you believe that we are done with you? The legions of Mordor are weakened. We cannot continue the campaign without the full backing of the men of Harad."

The two priests of Rhun stood with startling speed.

"The forest devils but be banished from this world!" they chanted in unison.

"Excuse them," said the Khan, head in hand, "It is a common belief amongst our people that the Elves are demons, servants of the goddess of death. I do however, agree with your sentiment, Nazgul. If the elves of the west were to unite with those in Mirkwood, they could pose a genuine threat to my own people's hold on Rhovanion."

"But what does this campaign have to do with the people of Harad," groveled the Shah, "or Umbar for that matter, or the Varags, or the Khands? We need not do anything more, is that not right, Hantur?" His general grunted in agreement.

"My Lord," Arvedul pleaded to his hitherto silent master, "Will you say nothing to quench this inferno of idiocy?"

Sauron, staring intently at the faintly radiant band across his finger, chuckled softly. His sharp laughter rose into a cruel chortle. The sound of his laughter was like the crackling of embers and silenced the words and minds of those who heard him.

"We need not worry about Elrond and his pitiful allies." Sauron lifted himself from his dark throne. He stood like a god above those that stared at the majesty of their dark lord. "I have already destroyed the north. I have sown the seeds of the fall of Rivendell without a single blade or a single spy. Only the windows of my will, so well and so foolishly guarded by the elven lords, were my tools. Conduits for the dark desires I wish for them to wish for. What virtue destroys a home faster than fire? What action has started more wars than any other? What secret can never be kept for too long? Promiscuity. Why should we send legions of Mordor to destroy Rivendell, when the king of Lothlorien will send his own army to do so for us? Why else would I have offered Elrond a year of peace? None of you will have to step across the Isen, will you? I have already won."

With a swing of his arm, the smooth stone behind his throne tore apart, revealing a gold-trimmed staircase spiraling up into the unknown chambers of Barad-Dur.

"My Lord, will you hear a lowly request?"

Sauron stopped with a sudden jerk. Dead silence filled the air as the dark lord turned, looking down upon the man who dared speak to him. Hith-Shagi stood before him, his crimson robes standing sharp against the billowing black of the Dark Lord

"Who are you to speak to me," he growled, "mortal? What madness would drive a being such as thee to speak to me with such confidence?"

"Not madness, your majesty, but curiosity. This fortress is a masterpiece of wisdom and genius. I would be a most blessed man to read but a single tome from your library. My realm has just expanded thrice-fold, and most of my…excuse me…our subjects are unwilling victims of conquest. If I were permitted but one week to peruse your library, I might devise new methods of enforcing our dominance."

Sauron stared down at him, silent and cold. After an agonizingly long moment, a low laugh issued from beneath the dark lord's helm.

"You are quite bold for a creature such as you, and quite charming. You are free to explore my citadel as you wish. Now, leave me be. I have matters of my own to attend to."

Once Sauron was through the stone passage, it closed behind him, leaving the assembled council to themselves. Ignoring the inquisitive stares, Witch-King rose angrily and began to stride out of the chamber.

"Where do you think you're going?" said the Shah

"To plan for war. I may not be able to bring ruin to the North, but there are quite enough enemies south of the Isen to entertain me for now. The Ents still hold Isenguard. Men of Gondor and Rohan still resist. And I may just find myself an ill-contented bastard to dethrone." The Shah shivered as the Witch King's empty eyes penetrated his soul, "This war is just beginning, and it is I that will end it."