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

Hith-Shagi, Emperor of the mighty Rhunic nation and Lord of the Holy Mount of Art-Kulm, had found himself in quite a predicament. He had lost a page of an ancient text beneath a towering mountain of notes. The library of Barad-Dur held ten-thousand years' worth of knowledge and theory, and the Khan could do little against his impulsion to absorb it all. Tomes recovered from the first age fortresses of Uttumno and Angband, stolen histories from Eregion and Numenor, and accounts of every battle across the long history of Middle-Earth could be found in the black shelves that circled around a shining sculpture of the world of Arda. Hith had found that his famed knowledge, surpassing all his superstitious people, had been limited to the basic histories and religious legends of his own xenophobic ancestors. An entire world had opened to him, revealing the faults and the strengths of every race and every nation. The elves were not demons or malicious spirits, but a deeply flawed, tormented people trying to hide their nature under a vale of civil purity. The people of Gondor were not an indestructible legion of barbarians, they were a cold, dying nation teetering on the edge of the abyss. The dwarves of the north were not filthy maggots that stole and ruined, they were masters of art and production that would always be hampered by their greedy nature.

Hith learned how to tear all his enemies to the ground, and yet, he was far more interested in the sketches and plans for machines and mechanisms that were scattered about the histories. He found hand-drawn designs for automated mining devices, self-fueling furnaces, and beast-less chariots. Some seemed to be ancient, from the elven first age he assumed, and described a contraption that spewed fiery stones that could tear down the thickest of walls. Others were made within the past months and contained plans for massive industrial complexes to be manned by the slaves of conquest. By the author's estimate, one factory of his design could process more materials in a day than a current Mordor facility could produce in a month. Other notes were dedicated to the arts, detailing masterful concepts for statues and monuments of the war and restructurings of the fortresses and palaces of Middle-Earth. Hith was mesmerized by the delicate pen strokes of the pieces, and barely noted when heavy footfalls echoed through the chamber. Only once the figure was within his direct field of vision did Hith look up from his notes. Before him was Sauron himself, clad in heavy black robes without his typical suit of armor, looking through the shelves.

"My lord," Hith gasped, dropping several pieces of paper as he fell to his knees.

"There is no need to grovel." Sauron said apathetically through his twisted mask, "I am here for a tome that I seem to have misplaced."

"You and I share a problem, your majesty."

Sauron continued to run his gloved fingers over the books.

"Have you found The History of the Elvish People vol. 12 in your studies?"

"The book that describes the Fall of Gondolin?"

Saruon nodded.

"I skimmed through it yesterday. I believe it was indexed between the Lay of Gondolin and Victories of the First Age in the third shelf down."

Sauron strode over to the shelf and quickly found the book. Taking it up, he began to leave the chamber.

"May I ask why you desire it?"

Sauron looked back over his broad shoulder. "You seem to have a habit of interrupting my departures. I have two reasons. Elven strategy has not changed much since those days, and I am curious as to how the those we now move against will respond compared to their fore-bearers. There is also a beautifully described moment of the battle in this tome that I wish to put to canvas."

"You paint?" Hith said, slightly amused by the idea that this being who took the mantle of a god would partake in the arts in such a way.

"Of course, why wouldn't I? In fact, some of my pieces have ended up across the world. I believe that one might even hang in Rivendell. Fools. I hope to reclaim it before all is over."

"I would like to thank you again, my lord, for giving me access to these records. They have proved enlightening."

"I hope not too enlightening," the dark lord's voice took a sudden turn towards hostility, "Do not forget your place, Shagi."

"I will not, my master. I do have one question regarding a weapon used in the siege of Gondolin by the armies of Angband. My own people have some devises to manipulate fire to our advantage, yet this weapon seemed to use fire to propel a piece of stone or metal with great force. Is there any information on the details of this…cannon as it is called?"

"No." Sauron snapped, "You are forbidden from pursuing any more information regarding this device or any other firearm of the sort. Do you understand?"

Hith nodded, surprised by the dark lord's reaction. Without another word, Sauron exited the library, vanishing into the deeper shadows of Barad-Dur. His curiosity stoked by this sudden restriction, Hith began to discreetly copy every word and drawing related to the cannon. Maybe there is something he fears. Maybe I have found the key to our freedom from this false god.

Rivendell, Eighteen days after the Reclamation of the One Ring

Elrond sat alone, ignoring the morning light as he wrote letters of command to the various elf and Dunedain commanders. He tried to fill his mind with battle plans and defensive strategies, but feelings of guilt and self-hatred still seeped into his thoughts. Albador needed to set up ranger encampments close to Isenguard. How could he have let it happen? Glorfindel needed to choose those that would accompany him through the Misty Mountains. Why was it so easy for them to be unfaithful? He needed to send emissaries to Bree, Dunland, and the other mannish settlements to recruit troops and find suppliers. Could he trust Galadriel anymore? He dropped his quill, spilling ink over his half-finished letter, and clutched his head in his hands. Everything had fallen apart. Every friend was leaving or gone. He felt a darkness already looming over the hearts and minds of every elf, man, and dwarf. It was as if the spirit of Sauron already held sway over the entire world, and it was only a matter of time before he held it through martial power as well. Elrond found no solace in solitude any more, and nothing but his occasional talks with Bilbo brought him any semblance of peace. His old friend, despite his own sorrows, still kept the contented spirit of the Shire in his aging heart. If only he had not realized the fate of his little hamlet of a homeland once all was said and done. The sound of an approaching presence brought Elrond out of his contemplation. He turned as Lindir entered his study, a gloomy expression across his fair face.

"Lindir," Elrond said, trying to summon a leaders confidence in his voice, "Have you done as I asked?"

"Yes m'lord," he replied absentmindedly, obviously preoccupied with some other matter, "Lady Arwen has been sent with the Elves of the Grey Havens."

"And is Glorfindel readying his company for their mission?"

"Yes, they have already left."

"Good," Elrond felt two slight weights lift from his shoulders, "It is of the most importance that they reach Lothlorian. Seeing as the Gap of Rohan is most likely being watched for any breach of our agreement, they must find a passage through the mountains."

"My Lord," Lindir sighed, clearly dreading having to impart the news that he carried, "It's Master Baggins. He…passed away last night"

The facade of confidence that Elrond held up fell away instantly.

"What…" His shock drifted away into a small, weary voice, "How did he die?"

"Peacefully, in his sleep."

"Good." Elrond turned away, staring down at his ruined letter. "Arrange for a ceremony. Something simple, poetry and songs, just as he would have liked."

Lindir nodded and walked away to do as he was ordered. Elrond, having already shed every tear within him, simply stared down at his desk. He felt the dull pain of regret as he realized that he had not talked to Bilbo on the day before his death. Their last conversation was a debate on how to describe the color of Lissuin flowers. Bilbo claimed that they were a bright, radiant pink while Elrond argued that they were closer to a heavy lavender. While the argument was a completely friendly distraction, it had remained unresolved and would remain so. That lack of closure was what stabbed at his heart the hardest. Elrond stared blankly at his black-stained paper. Lissuin flowers…his last words with his only confidant were about Lissuin flowers. Elrond's eyes began to glisten. Bilbo would never finish whatever poem had to do with Lissuin. He felt his throat began to tighten. Bilbo would never finish his book. His face fell into his arms as he began to sob. All shall fade…

Ost-in-Edhil, Eregion, Eighteen days after the Reclamation of the One Ring.

Glorfindel found himself standing alone atop one of the ruined towers of the old capital city of Eregion. Ost-in-Edhil, despite its sacking in the second age, had become the center of the new Alliance of the North. He looked down at the fields of tents and makeshift living spaces scattered around the ruins. Rangers clad in dark green cloaks practiced with their long bows along the borders of the encampment, while elven commanders shouted orders at their soldiers who moved in perfect unison as they followed them. The elven forces of Lindon and Rivendell could be easily distinguished by their armor. The elves of the Grey Havens who had headed the call of war were clad in green-gold armor overlaying deep blue tunics. They wielded lances and carried short blades upon their belts. The garrison of Rivendell wore suits of shining bronze armor over their deep red cloaks and carried long spears or curved swords. A small battalion of Dwarves had also arrived from the Blue Mountains. Their heavy suits of steel gleamed with a slight blue tint, and they were all armed with battle-axes and shields. It was a rather impressive sight to see these people come together, even if it was under such terrible circumstances.

Glorfindel felt the rush of cold wind blow over him, causing his golden hair and white cape to billow like a radiant flag. He called up memories of the city in its era of prosperity, before Annatar, the lord of gifts, had brought ruin to this place. It was here that all but one of the Rings of Power were forged by the hands of the most skilled elves in all the world, and the greatest among them was their king, Celebrimbor. He had forged the Three Elven Rings in secret, and hid them so well that it took Sauron thousands of years to find them. He payed quite dearly for that betrayal. His city-state was torn to the ground, he and his kin were taken to Mordor in chains, and his mutilated corpse was atop a pike leading the armies of Sauron several months later. Those that had returned from the Halls of Mandos since had claimed that his soul had never reached the deathless realm, meaning that it was lost amongst the shadowy world of the wraiths. Glorfindel pitied the pour king, despite the evils he must have imparted to be trapped in that world, for that unnatural state of being was a fate of great torment.

"Are you ready to depart?"

The soft yet commanding voice drew Glorfindel from his reminiscence. He turned to confront an elven maiden, clad in a black satin cloak that obscured her face.

"Yes, I am. But what of the others?"

"The Southron is waiting beyond the camp, and the Ranger is currently having his blade sharpened, but is prepared to leave when it is finished."

"Good, I will grab my things and we will be off."

"Are you sure that we can trust them? I do not wish to have my presence known to anyone but this company."

"I trust the Ranger with my life, and I trust the Southron with my gold. He is being payed handsomely for his services and he is one of the most renowned mercenaries in the world. We were quite fortunate that he was north of the Isen before the blockade was formed, otherwise he might have been swayed by Sauron's coin rather than our own."

"He has earned my complete trust already," the woman said sarcastically and with more than a hint of spite.

"I hope so, because he might be our saving grace if we are to make the trek to Lothlorien in one piece."

He and the maiden descended the tower and made their way toward the east borders of the camp. Passing the dinful smithy, a man clad in the dark tunic and green raiment of the Rangers of the North approached them.

"Gliron," Glorfindel called to the man, "do you have our supplies?"

"Yes, sir" the young man replied with a strong, crisp voice, "They are with the mercenary waiting for us."

"Good. Now, let us be off. We must make the journey to Caradhras within a week and I do not wish to get caught up with well-wishers."

"Neither does the mercenary, Bur-Fateel I believe his name is. He was already prepared to leave at day-break."

"Well, then let us not keep him waiting."

The group managed to leave the camp without hindrance. They ascended a hill to the north-east, where Fateel awaited them. He was clad in a veritable collection of various clothing items and bits of armor. He wore a long, tattered leather coat beneath a light elven chest-plate forged of bronze yet appearing closer to a light-green hue due to its age. He wore a tight helm that covered the majority of his face, and beneath his visor he wore a black mail veil. At his belt was a long, curved blade along with knives, bottles of blasting powder, and bones. He was greeted cordially by the company as they arrived, yet he only replied with a cold nod. Ignoring his apathy, the company took up their burdens and braced themselves for the journey ahead.

"I believe that some words should be spoken before we depart," Glorfindel announced, "We go on a journey that might save us all from the doom of Mordor. Lady Arwen, I believe that you should speak for us."

Throwing back her black hood, Arwen, daughter of Elrond, looked to her comrades. "What can I say that has not been said? We face the end of the free world. Only a small few stand against the power of Sauron, and the greatest of those few have been slain. I do not hide that the man I loved was amongst them, and I do this deed to avenge him. I will do what I can, even if it is but a small blow against the enemy's plans, and I hope you three will do the same."

After a series of approving nods, but little more, the party began their trek to Redhorn the Terrible, and the pass therein.

Surprise! New chapter only two days after the last one! I hope you all liked it, even if it made you a little sad or mad or glad. Have a nice day, and thank you all so much for the support!