Thirteen: Silence of Sleep

Daerwen streaked over the wreckage of the Gate only a few minutes later, heading dead north, and Talion watched it recede into the distance, a shallow ripple of trepidation running through him. He could not remember the last time he had left Mordor for more than a few days or so - not while his mind was his own, at least. Mining in Moria had always been a race against time, and when he had reached out to make allies in other lands, he had sent trusted representatives to speak on his behalf - too risky to go himself, if Sauron and the other Eight noticed his absence.

No longer a problem now.

Stars wheeled overhead. In a few hours, Daerwen prodded him through their bond. The southern edge of Mirkwood resolved out of the haze, and Talion scanned the area, then perked up. The drake angled a little west to take them closer, though she stayed high enough that no arrows or spells could reach them.

Oh. It looks like the Elves have sacked Dol Guldur.

The fortress looked even worse than the last time he had seen it in the palantír. Its age-old tower had collapsed into the forest much like the Gorgoroth Haedir had, and huge sections of stonework looked like they had exploded from within, akin to when the miners in Gorgoroth had hit a pocket of gas that ignited in moments from a stray spark. The forest itself looked sad and broken around the ruins of the fortress, once ancient and mighty but now rendered to splinters and kindling, and further from the shattered walls the trees seemed to lean away from the devastation, as if they wanted to pull up their roots and flee from it. Talion looked through the Unseen World and saw tendrils of burning white light - Elf-magic - lingering over the battlefield, searing the earth.

And not just magic.

Take us back east, to the very edge of the trees, the Ringwraith told her, and if you hunt in the forest, use the utmost care; there are Silvan Elves and Woodmen about. Hopefully we will be far enough away, but so much has changed with the end of the war…

Daerwen huffed, letting out a quiet rumble that he felt more than heard. I will keep a sharp eye, and fight only to escape if they come upon me.

Thank you, sweetheart.

"I never truly considered it before, but you're actually speaking with her, aren't you?"

Talion did not start; he had known that Boromir was awake from the moment he stirred. The Ringwraith looked back at him, where he was attached to Daerwen's harness by a personal harness of his own, bundled tight in a blanket to keep off the chill from the flight. He was pink-cheeked but clear-eyed and well-rested.

"Yes, I am," he answered.

"How? I always thought that drakes were just - well, beasts. Not like the shrewd and cunning dragons of old, as she seems to be."

Daerwen had snorted sharply at being called a beast but seemed mollified by the comparison to the dragons. Talion petted her scales and said, "I have forged a kind of spirit-bond with her, same as all her predecessors, and it lets us communicate mind-to-mind. Some drakes are, as you said, just beasts, but I can tell you that Daerwen is definitely not, even if she can't speak in a way everyone understands."

Yet.

Talion raised an eyebrow at her but ignored that, same as he had ignored Maglor insisting that she was actually a full-blooded dragon from the moment she broke the shell. He was certain the Elf was overreacting; no dragon he had ever heard of would tolerate being a glorified pack mule and transport for a Ringwraith, even with the closeness of their bond and all the power and freedom and affection he had given her. Besides, where was all her treasure? Dragons hunted gold like it was their only salvation, hoarded it like it was the very blood in their veins and the breath in their lungs, but Daerwen barely looked twice at it. She did like things that shined and glittered and glowed, but it never seemed more than a passing fancy - unless it was something Talion himself presented to her.

She hovered just beyond the edge of the woods long enough for the wraith to scan the area in the Unseen World, then landed smoothly in the long grass. Normally his agents camped deeper in the trees to avoid being seen on the plains, but with the whole world still thrown into disarray, they would have to risk it; they had no true allies among the Woodmen or Silvan Elves, only those who would not attack on sight.

Talion jumped down from the drake's back and let Boromir and Horza sort themselves out in favor of calling Hogrim from the Halls. The dwarf's spirit stepped out of the fading night in an instant, nodded to the Ringwraith, and then vanished again, speeding north to Dale and Erebor. The strain of maintaining the shade's presence increased the further he went, but it was nothing Talion truly struggled with. In truth, he likely could have sent Hogrim north from the Gate, but not without greater effort. They were in what could be called enemy territory, since they had no allies here; best to reserve his strength to defend his people.

By the time the sun rose they had a small camp set up: a canvas lean-to for the living strung between trees in case it rained, a small smokeless fire, athelas tea steeping in a small metal pot, and dried fruit and meat from a few rabbits for food. Talion sparred with Horza while everything warmed, then sat in utter stillness as the other two ate, staring blankly north until Daerwen returned from her hunt.

The drake was carrying a whole deer in her mouth, clearly dead but mostly intact, and he took it from her, cut off the head so she did not have to worry about the antlers, and then butchered the rest of it to make it easier to eat. Even though she liked the crunch, she was not fond of eating hooves, claiming they stuck in her teeth and were impossible to pick out.

Boromir practiced his own sword forms - Talion was briefly amused to see that absolutely nothing at all had changed about Gondor's training since his own tenure in its army decades ago - then carefully sparred with Horza, both of them using tree branches cut to size in place of their actual weapons. It was a close match; Horza could take anything Boromir dished out on his shield, but it was hard to attack in return, since the Man was much more maneuverable without the Warmonger's heavy shield. But in the end the Orc's endurance won out, and he dumped the Man on his rear before offering a hand to help him back up. "Not bad, not bad. Keep that up, and maybe someday you can take on the Gravewalker and last more than a minute."

"I will be an old man indeed before that day comes," Boromir replied with a laughing huff. He had seen the spar that morning, including Talion completely disarming the Orc and knocking him to the ground with his blades at his bodyguard's throat. The whole fight had only taken a minute at most, and then they had done it again and again as training.

"I'll go easy on you," Talion said dryly. "For now, get some rest. We'll be arriving in Dale tonight, and I don't know what we'll need to do to get you settled before first light."

Hogrim returned in the afternoon, while the other two slept. "Emilie says she's glad to hear from us, and they'll be happy to take Boromir in. Erebor and Dale both lost a lot of people in the fighting, including King Brand and King Dáin, and they are still recovering, even with help from the Woodlands."

"Good. Well, not good, but it's good to hear from her and that there's space for him. Thank you, Hogrim. Were you able to speak with your granddaughter?"

His spectral face softened on a smile. "Aye. She is well, and I have a great-grandson now - Frerin. A strong lad already."

"I'm glad to hear your family is doing well. Rest easy, my friend, and know that they will be safe."

The dwarf nodded and faded back into Aulë's Halls.

Talion waited until the connection withered to a whisper like all the others before saying, "You can come out now. Don't bother trying to hide; I know you're there."

There was a long moment of silence. Then a Silvan Elf stepped from the trees, female, with red hair so long that it would have reached her knees if it had hung free instead of being tied up in a knot. She wore the well-worn uniform of a Ranger from Thranduil's kingdom to the north, woodsy greens and browns to blend in with the forest, and she had her bow in hand, though all her arrows were still in her quiver.

Daerwen lifted her head, lips up a silent snarl and fire flaring bright in her chest. Talion pressed a calming hand to her scales, and she subsided reluctantly, smoke hissing through her teeth, though she never took her eyes off the Elf. "You've been watching us for the better part of an hour now but haven't attacked or run off to report," the Ringwraith said quietly. "What is it that you want?"

She hesitated, her hand briefly going tight on the handle of her bow. "You… you are a necromancer."

"Among other things, yes." No point in denying it, given she had seen Hogrim's shade.

"What… what would the price be, for you to summon a spirit for me?"

Talion raised his eyebrows briefly. A strange Elf asking him to use his Ring-granted power for her at their very first meeting was decidedly not on his timetable for the day. Still, he answered, "I do not ask for material payment, only that if the person will not come, you must accept it, and go in peace. A necromancer I am, but I do not summon the unwilling."

She seemed surprised at that as well, but nodded her acceptance.

"Very well. Who would you have me call?"

"Kíli, son of Dís," she answered.

He knew the name. "The nephew of the Oakenshield?"

The Elf nodded again, though she seemed a little nervous now.

Talion's eyebrows climbed again. But there was a chance to get out of this without fighting, and he intended to take it. He closed his eyes and reached for the quiet of the tomb, his Ring's power spilling into his empty veins.

There was a "back door" of sorts to both Aulë's and Mandos' respective Halls, which let him enter without going through the Valar themselves. He found the threads connecting him to Hogrim and the other dwarrows who answered his call, then followed those threads to the "door" that the deceased dwarves passed through upon their deaths. The wraith stepped into the Halls, careful not to let the door shut behind him; it would not hurt him if it did, and none of the dwarves' spirits would escape, but it would slow his return considerably. Since his powers dealt with the realm of death, it was much harder for him to retrace his steps through the Unseen World using his bonds with the living - even Daerwen.

The Halls of the Smith resolved into view around him. Massive chambers of marble and granite and basalt in every shade and hue, carved into long halls and soaring galleries, alcoves of statues and walls of bas-reliefs, every room filled with the things the dwarves would need to live there someday when Arda was healed. But for now nothing moved, no one stirred save Talion himself, walking silently through countless rows of benches and couches and chairs and thrones, every dwarf who had ever lived seated still and silent as if carved from the same stone as the Halls themselves, eyes closed as if only sleeping, waiting for their appointed time.

Kíli, son of Dís, he murmured into the vast darkness - darker even than Moria, though he could still see as if it was daylight - and felt a flicker of a response. He followed it through the glorious halls to a side chamber.

It looked like an assembly hall, or perhaps even like the throne room of Minas Tirith if the space where the court stood had been filled with rows and rows of benches carved of the same green marble, shot through with gold. Most seats were occupied, dwarves of all shapes and sizes sitting shoulder to shoulder, still and silent. Three thrones of black stone and hammered gold stood at the front of the hall, all filled, and Talion walked up the main aisle to stand before them.

The Ringwraith had never met Thorin Oakenshield in life, though he had seen images of him from afar wrought by the dwarves of Erebor. They were good likenesses, though stylized by dwarven craftsmanship, which tended more towards straight lines and distinct angles than more natural curves and circles.

That meant the dwarrows on either side of him were his nephews and heirs. Kíli, son of Dís, the wraith said again, and the dwarf to Thorin's left stirred, turning his head just a little in Talion's direction. He had died young, younger than Talion expected; though he was a dwarf grown, he had no beard, only Mannish scruff, unlike even his brother Fíli.

The Ringwraith approached, then went to one knee in front of the throne, stripping off a gauntlet to make skin to skin, spirit to spirit contact. Kíli, son of Dís, he said a third time.

…what…? Who…?

I am Talion the Gravewalker, a necromancer. There is one among the living who would speak with you, if you will allow it.

Who is it?

An Elf of the Woodland Realm, tall, with red hair and green eyes. I did not ask her name. Connected as they were for the moment, Talion was able to put the image of her in his mind.

Kíli came awake at once. Tauriel! he cried. She's alive! Yes, yes - I would speak with her!

The wraith caught the tail end of a memory in his mind - pain exploding in his chest, a fatal wound, but all his thoughts bent to the same Elf just out of reach, bruised and broken from a battle, shocked tears already spilling down her cheeks. He infused the dwarf with a bit of his power to loosen the bonds holding his spirit to the Halls, then drew him up from his throne, leading him quickly back through the Halls and out through the door to Arda.

Talion opened his eyes back in his body just in time to see Kíli appear before him, and he pushed a bit more power into the shade so the Elf, Tauriel apparently, could see him, too - and touch him as well, if she so desired.

Kíli had appeared facing Talion, as the spirits always did, but the Elf recognized him anyway and dropped her bow with a gasp. The dwarf whipped around at the sound, then froze. "Tauriel…"

"Kíli," she choked out and hurried to embrace him.

The Ringwraith sat down against Daerwen's far side to give them some semblance of privacy, but he still could not help but overhear.

"You're all right, you're all right," Kíli was saying. "I was so worried he would go after you when he was done with me."

"Yes, I'm all right. Bolg is dead and gone, the fight was won, and Erebor belongs to your kin once more. It's all right, Kíli."

The dwarf breathed a sigh of relief. "And you? How have you been since? It's… how long has it been?"

"Too long," Tauriel answered softly. "Almost eighty years."

Kíli choked, and Talion turned his mind elsewhere, watching the horizon and letting the Stillness settle over him, as if he had temporarily taken Kíli's place in the Smith's halls. It seemed like only a few minutes before Daerwen nudged him, her scaly cheek scraping over his own. He blinked and came out of the haze just in time to see Kíli and Tauriel coming around to find him. The two of them did not look happy, exactly, but they did seem more at peace. He rose to meet them.

Tauriel came to a stop in front of him and looked him in the eye. "Thank you," she said. "This means… more than words can say."

"Agreed," Kíli added. "I think I will finally be able to rest in true peace now."

Talion inclined his head. "Good. I am glad to have given you both some comfort, however small it may be."

The wraith released Kíli to return to Aulë's Halls, and Tauriel returned to the forest, which she informed him had been renamed Eryn Lasgalen, the Forest of Green Leaves, now that all Sauron's power and forces had been driven from it. "Quite a change from Mirkwood," the wraith said.

"In more ways than one," Tauriel replied, and departed soon after, though not before shooting a wary glance at Horza. The Orc had woken during the conversation but had not done anything aside from shooting a raised eyebrow at the Elf. Then he poured a bit of oil into a pot on the fire, and threw some dried meat and root vegetables on after, mixing in a few spices from the east. Boromir had not woken, and when he finally stirred, they said nothing of their encounter.

A few more hours of quiet flight brought them to the southernmost edge of the Long Lake, and Daerwen swung around to the eastern side, to avoid being spotted by any patrols on the edge of Eryn Lasgalen.

There was a group of hills that formed a small ring east of the mouth of the River Running, where it flowed out of the Long Lake and went south towards the Sea of Rhûn. The hills were crowned with trees, uncleared and encouraged to grow wild and rocky save for a narrow path through the thick trunks, nearly invisible unless one knew it was there. It kept strangers from knowing that the valley within was empty of trees, instead hosting a large spring-fed pool and several acres of wild food-plants to feed the agents of Mordor stopping over and prey for their drakes. Emilie was waiting for them there with two horses, hobbled and blindfolded at the edge of the trees. She rose when Daerwen descended out of the night, and Talion saw her shoulders sag in relief when she saw his dark outline.

He had not been as close to her as he was to Idril and Baranor and their family, exchanging many letters even if they had never met face to face before now, but they still counted each other as friends.

Even though she was wearing trousers for easier riding, Emilie still curtseyed to Daerwen, who dipped her head in reply, and lightly bonked heads with Horza, both of them grinning widely. Then she moved to embrace the Ringwraith as he swung down from the saddle. She swore under her breath in Khuzdul and hugged him tight enough that his armor creaked, and he returned the embrace, though not quite as tight. At last she stepped back and looked up at him. "Thank the Valar you've returned," she said. "So many of us feared that with you gone, all our progress towards peace was going to be undone - we would have to start over from the beginning. Or our descendants would, at least; I doubt we would have made any significant progress in our own lifetimes."

"Perhaps," Talion said. Emilie and her mother and others had been working for years to make peace with the many peoples of Rhûn, though the darkness had lain heavy on them for generations uncounted. Alatar and Pallando had made some progress before, creating secret societies dedicated to resisting the evils of the Dark Lords, but they had had an entire world to cover; they were not Eru, and could not be everywhere at once. "But I have returned, and now both Morgoth and Sauron are banished from this world, together with the worst of their supporters. Perhaps you will begin seeing more progress than ever."

"Perhaps," she agreed. "Still, we are glad to have you back.

"This is the one Hogrim spoke of?"

"Aye. Boromir, son of Denethor, the late Steward of Gondor, both great friends to the now-Free Peoples of Mordor. Boromir, this is Emilie, granddaughter of Tilda, herself the daughter of King Bard of Dale, first of his name."

The Man bowed respectfully. "Well met, my lady."

"Well met, good sir, and welcome to Dale." She curtseyed in return. "I wish that you had time to rest after the flight, but I'm afraid we must be off if we are to reach the city before dawn, and so avoid calling undue attention."

They hurried to move Boromir's scant belongings onto the horses, as well as the small trove of mithril to get him established in Dale. When that was done, they bade each other farewell with one last tight hug and a promise to write once the message routes were reestablished. Then they all set off, the horses weaving through the trees and Daerwen winging still further to the north.

The Ered Mithrin came into view just as the first grey light of dawn touched the horizon, soon gleaming gold through the low and distant peaks of the Iron Hills. Daerwen ascended into the mountains before the sun cleared the horizon, then began her descent to the Withered Heath. It was quiet for the moment, but Talion could see tell-tale signs that spoke to the presence of dragons, or at least drakes: rocks recently scarred with claws and fire; loose scales mixed in with scree, still colored and not yet ash-grey with age; splinters of bone from prey but not yet desiccated with time.

He trusted Daerwen to find Tinnaur - or whatever was left of her - and after a moment she did, tilting her wings and angling west, where the two great arms of the Ered Mithrin came together in a spur of high mountains.

She alighted at the mouth of a particular cave. The roof towered above them, so far overhead that both statues of the Argonath could have fit comfortably inside without scraping their stone heads on the ceiling. If she had been of a mind to, the drake could have flown into the cave, but she respected Tinnaur's claim to the territory and waited outside, folding her wings and crouching low, tail twitching.

In the quiet that descended after Daerwen landed, Talion heard the old dragon's breathing, like the rush of a great bellows. He swung down from the saddle, murmured, "Stay here," to both drake and Orc, and walked into the dark.

Tinnaur had grown a little since he had seen her last, but even she was still dwarfed by the size of the cave she had chosen for her home. The great flame-red dragon was curled up to one side of the cavern, still in sight of the entrance though the cave itself looked to go much further back into the mountains. Talion walked around to find her nose, then knelt in front of her to wait for her to catch his scent. He had long since learned his lesson about waking sleeping dragons.

It was not long at all before her breathing changed, shifting briefly to short snuffling before she let out one long gust and started to uncurl. Talion stood and stepped back as she blinked in the dim light before peering down at him. "Gravewalker."

"Great Lady Tinnaur," he said, bowing respectfully at the waist. "I have returned."

"Good," she said, and stretched widely, claws digging deep gouges into the floor of the cave. Her joints creaked loudly in the early morning quiet. "What news? Is the thief Sauron truly defeated?"

"He is," the Ringwraith confirmed. "The One Ring has been destroyed, and with it he has been rendered utterly powerless."

"How delightful," she nearly purred, sinking back down and peering at him with a great golden eye, clouded with age and half-lidded with lingering sleep. "And you? Have you claimed dominion over Mordor?"

"In a manner of speaking. But we came to tell you that if you wish to return there, the path is open, and no payment will be asked of you."

"If I were a young thing again, I would accept without hesitation," the dragon sighed, curling her tail back around her body, "but I am not. My time comes swiftly; I have days, if that."

He did not doubt her for a moment, and had thought that it would be so. "Then with your leave, we would remain with you until your passing," the Ringwraith said, "and I would go with you to the border."

"To see if it is possible to call even my kind back, yes?" she said with a shrewd look and a sharp grin. "Even so, I will welcome the company."

They set up a small camp not far from where Tinnaur slept. Daerwen flew south with a few other drakes to hunt in the far north of Eryn Lasgalen, and returned with a large elk for the old dragon, which she devoured to the last bone. Then the drake curled up against her ancestor's jaw, purring and rubbing their scales together to mix their scents. Tinnaur must have been acutely feeling her mortality and wanted the comfort, because she allowed it without a word of protest, blinking slowly in the light that filtered through the cave mouth.

She must have been waiting for them, even unknowingly, or perhaps just for news of Sauron's destruction. The ancient dragon passed later that day, the sun sinking below the horizon and taking her life with it. Talion sensed her soul depart and went after her at once, sending his fëa into the void.

The place she went was distinctly different from where the shorter-lived races went, or even the Elves and dwarves, but he was able to follow her out into eternity. A wine-dark sea flashed away below with every beat of the great dragon's wings, now young and strong again, and Talion climbed up Tinnaur's back to take a look at what lay ahead.

The sea gave way to a rocky shore at the foot of a range of tall mountains that pierced the clouds high overhead. Dozens of tiny dragons and drakes wheeled like seabirds over the surf, plunging into the waves and coming up with gleaming silver fish clamped in their jaws. They squawked in alarm when Tinnaur streaked overhead, the great dragon circling around to land on the beach. The rocks ground against each other and split under her immense weight, granite dust mixing with the salt-sea air.

Talion slipped from the dragon's back and landed on one of the bigger boulders on the shore, then stood and breathed, memorizing the feel of what was apparently the dragon afterlife and the path they had taken to get there. Perhaps through Tinnaur, he could make connections with other drakes and dragons and call them back in time - if required, and justified.

It probably would be. Even a small army of spectral dragons would go a long way against Adûnaphel, and spare the living at the same time.

The Ringwraith turned back to the dragon in question, whose eyes were closed and head tilted back to enjoy the breeze coming off the sea. "If you have no need of me, Great Lady, I will depart."

The dragon opened her eyes and looked down at him. "You do not intend to call any of your children to you, to see if they can hear your voice?"

He did want to. However, "I did not think you would appreciate being swarmed when newly arrived, my lady. I can return another time to see them, and test my limits."

The dragon hummed in acknowledgement and nodded. "You may go. Wind guide you."

"Be at peace, Great Lady." Talion bowed and followed the thread of his Ring and his ties to the living back to Arda, blinking back to himself in the dark of the cave. Daerwen was still leaning up against Tinnaur's body, rumbling sadly together with the other surviving drakes. Horza had started a fire, though the Ringwraith thought he was better off not knowing what the Orc had found to burn, given the desolation around them. The firelight flickered over the drakes, all of them now gathered together in a mourning, writhing mass, letting the former Ranger see that there were several hundred survivors, including at least a dozen that were recent crosses between dragons and Black Wings.

Good. He was not sure if drakes became aberrations the same way other animals did if they bred too close, but fresh blood could only help - especially since these seemed to be the last drakes in Arda without dark Ainur to create more.

The Ringwraith stood and stepped through the masses to press a hand to the dragon's scales. Her kind ran many times hotter than the races of Elves and Men, but already she was starting to cool. After a moment he gestured the drakes away and set her body ablaze with balefire, the poison green turning vivid red mere moments after it started to burn.

It took only minutes for the last dragon in Middle-earth to turn to ash and be carried away on the wind.