Eight: All That We Are


Talion rode with the caravan the next day, leaving Daerwen to fly as she wished, watching behind and scouting ahead and hunting for snacks to tide her over until she could go fishing in the Sea. The Ringwraith did not expect any trouble, but he asked her to stay nearby, just in case. It never hurt to be prepared.

There were only four other renegade Ringwraiths: Khamûl the Black Easterling, lieutenant to the Witch-king; Riya and Yukka, the Nazgûl sisters from even further east than Khamûl; and Adûnaphel the Quiet, once of Númenor like Suladân. The first three would seek him out in their own time, when it became apparent that they would have to throw him down to secure their own power; it was the last that he would have to actively hunt for. Adûnaphel was a skilled sorceress, not to the level of Akhôrahil but far more insidious than her once-teacher. Unlike the other three, she actually knew the meaning of the word 'subtlety'; instead of overthrowing a kingdom somewhere and installing herself as its ruler, she was far more likely to set herself up as the power behind the throne and rule through a puppet king, casting evil spells on the people and unleashing horrors on the land, keeping herself hidden until it was too late to stop her.

She was going to be trouble. She had been trouble, such that the Witch-king had kept her on an even shorter leash than Talion, who had been notorious for "creatively interpreting" or even actively disobeying his commands, despite having finally fallen under Sauron's dominion.

The Ringwraith briefly fingered the Rings on his necklace, thinking, then jumped down from the cart and sought out the Feral Tribe Orc who was managing the caravan's hell-hawks. "Send a message to the Rangers of Ithilien to pass on to Idril as soon as possible," the necromancer told him. "Tell her to be on the lookout for any new advisors at court, especially ones who seem to have an undue amount of influence over the king. If anything seems off, I want to hear about it. Send the same south to Serka, if he's still around, and to the Fan clan in the east."

"Understood."

The Haradrim in question leaned out of one of the covered carts nearby. "You have concerns, Talion?"

"About one of the remaining Ringwraiths, yes. She is… not like the others."

He explained, and Masego grimaced. "Bad enough that we had to deal with Sauron at a distance; it will be worse to have one of the Nine in our own lands. Give me the message before it is sent, and I will add my seal to it."

That would give it legitimacy - provided it was not intercepted and altered. Just as Serka and Masego and their people had fought against Sauron, even secretly in the guise of mercenaries in his employ, there were those who were loyal to the Dark Lord to the point of fanaticism, even now. "I'll emboss it as well. Hopefully the two of us together will lend some gravity to the situation." He could infuse a certain amount of necromantic energy into the seal to ensure only one of Masego's blood could open it. Serka no longer took the field - like his brother, he was no longer young - but the Haradrim had other kin left behind in the south, and they had fought as fiercely for the resistance as he had.

It would also alert him if any of the other Ringwraiths broke it. Each of them had their own specialties, and death - and undeath - was his. Adûnaphel outmatched him in sheer breadth of magic, but thanks to Isildur's Ring, there was no necromancer anywhere who could equal him. It also helped that, like her teacher, she considered necromancy to be a filthy, lowborn skill better suited to the gutter than the high golden halls of sorcery where she practiced her art. Maybe when it finally came to a fight, she would also have few defenses against it.

"Hope springs eternal," Talion murmured, then jumped high and caught one of the handles on Daerwen's harness as she swooped low over the carts and wagons, flipping up into her saddle as agilely as an Elf despite his thicker build and heavier armor.

The caravan moved slowly to accommodate those still wounded, but neither Talion nor Daerwen could see any signs of potential ambushes anywhere on the road ahead, all the way to Graveshadow. Skoth waved at them from the foot of the tower, and Daerwen dipped her wings in acknowledgement but kept flying, swinging back around to retrace her path.

They made it to Núrn without trouble to find that more ex-slaves had come out of the woodwork, taking up residence in haphazardly constructed barracks built outside the walls. Sharkhburz was apparently full - or had the remaining rooms reserved for the recent arrivals from Cirith Ungol - but the Architect had crawled out of his hiding place at last. Talion could see him directing other Orcs, ripping down the older patchwork barracks and building more solid constructions of stone, engineered to be something like the townhomes that had once housed Minas Ithil's merchant class and their contractors and subordinates.

Good. If it came to a fight in the city, stone would stand fast where wood would splinter and burn. Knowing Riya and Yukka, they would want as many casualties as possible in a display of their might, no matter what consequences might come after.

The fields looked in considerably better health, even after only just a week or so. Carnán and the Avari must have lent their aid - yes, there was Tamnaeth walking back toward the fortress with Mozû. They must have spotted Daerwen. Yet… was Mozû - nervous? No. Not exactly… So what was-?

"Ah," said Talion, eyebrows climbing towards his hairline. "Well. Alright then."

Daerwen distinctly snickered.

The Ringwraith gave her a light swat, knowing it would not harm her. "Don't laugh at them. If an Orc wants to pursue an Elf, let him. I trust Tamnaeth to handle herself and make it very clear if his attentions are unwelcome. But unless my eyes deceive me - well. We'll see how it goes."

The drake snickered again and projected her thoughts through their bond.

"Hey now. Even Gerdi and Pushkrímp knew they would end badly; they weren't in it for the relationship. - Well how was I supposed to know that dwarves and Orcs could reproduce? It's certainly never happened before! At least not that I've heard. - Goblins are not crosses between Orcs and Men! They're just a different strain of Orc!"

"Arguing with Lady Daerwen again, huh, Gravewalker?" Mozû only half-asked with a sharp grin as he and the Elf drew near.

"Always," Talion replied, but it lacked heat. He scratched the drake's jaw, and she nuzzled him with a happy purr. Turning back to the Orc and the Elf, he said, "Bring us up to speed."

Everything seemed to be progressing smoothly. There were a few conflicts between old enemies, but the training grounds and arena were open and under watch at all hours for exactly that reason. The harvest would be ready on schedule, and thanks to supplements from Graveshadow and Coldharbour, their supplies would last until then. People with goods and skills were setting up shops, buying and selling, and news of Sauron's demise must have already reached the east and south, because the first requests for renewing trade treaties were trickling in, a trickle that promised to become a deluge before long.

"So in other words, we might just make it - this year, at least," Talion sighed, leaning back against Daerwen's side. "Everything seems to be under control, but I'm wary of reopening trade across the known world with four Ringwraiths still on the loose."

Then he tensed, the hair on his neck rising.

"Make that two."

He whirled to throw a ghostly hammer, only narrowly missing Yukka as she slammed to the ground close by. She was forced to abandon her first strike in order to dodge, and the grunt Orcs scattered, sounding the alarm as they went. Riya was right behind her sister, and she took an arrow in the arm and snarled. Tamnaeth glared right back at her, already nocking another, Mozû half in front of her as a living shield, axes in hand.

Other high-level captains had seen them come down, and in moments there were a dozen of the most powerful gathered around with weapons drawn, including the Overlords. Maglor was at Talion's side only a second after that, sword out and ready and shining with Elven magic.

"Well, well, well," one of the sisters purred. "We see you've begun reclaiming your pets. We'll gladly leave you to it - but we'll be taking those Rings off your hands. We have empires of our own to build."

Urfael vanished from its sheath and reappeared in his hand, already glowing sickly green with necrotic energy. "If you want them, come and claim them - if indeed you can."

Both women snarled and lunged at him, their kusarigamas' weighted chains snapping out to ensnare him. Maglor caught both of them on his sword as Talion dodged, and the wraith flipped up off the Elf's back with Eagle's Eyrie, then launched into Talon Strike to close the distance between him and the other Ringwraiths. He hit the ground hard enough to stagger them, then jumped again. Daerwen whipped her spiked tail at their legs, knocking them off their feet.

The necromancer dove for one of the other wraiths' Ring-hands, but she kicked him away before he could get a grip, whipping the blade of her kusarigama at him in a vicious swipe. The edge passed so close to his throat that he felt the disturbed air against his skin.

Fine. Disable the wearers, then cut the Rings free.

Talion whistled sharply, a short burst of warning - a particular string that his allies knew. The Orc captains scattered to avoid the splash from his attack, and the Ringwraith called Aeglos to his hands, the Elven spear gleaming sickly green. He stabbed one of the sisters through the chest too fast for her to block, then swung her around like the head of a hammer to slam into the other sister, sending both flying.

But he didn't let them get too far away, closing the distance once more with Shadow Strike. The sister he hit - he thought it was Yukka - recovered enough to swing at him again; he only just caught the blade of her scythe on his armguard's spikes before she could take off his head. The sister abandoned her weapon rather than let him retaliate, then called the kusarigama back to her hands when he was forced to respond to Riya, who darted in to defend her sister.

Maglor was there a moment later. He took over with Riya to let Talion focus on Yukka, and Horza arrived, coming close enough to give a mighty swing of his halberd at Yukka's ankles. Nakrá was right behind him, already lining up the sights on his crossbow to assist Maglor.

Yukka hissed and lashed out. Horza blocked the hit with his shield but staggered under the power behind it, only barely keeping his feet. Talion covered for his slip, laying open the other Ringwraith's back with Urfael's edge, draining some of her life away and earning a shriek of agony. She whirled on him, but he flipped back out of range, got his feet back under him, then shoulder-charged her, bearing her to the ground. He reared up-

And plunged Urfael to the hilt in her chest, her scale armor splintering. The strike drove the air from her lungs so suddenly that her breath was gone before the pain hit. Yukka bucked and writhed in agony, letting out terrible choking gasps as she frantically tried to fill her lungs again, her ribs crushed under the crossguard, her eyes wide with true fear. Talion was hard-pressed to keep her pinned long enough to figure out which hand the Ring was on, let alone draw Acharn and cut it off.

But Horza covered him the same as he had covered the Orc. Talion slammed one of Yukka's arms to the ground in time to have it severed at the wrist by the orc's halberd. She choked in fresh pain, still unable to breathe, but she didn't dissolve.

The other one it was, then.

She tried to slap him, claw at his face with armored fingers, but that just gave him and Horza the opening they needed. Talion pinned her other arm, and Horza cut that hand off as well.

Her gasping cries rose to a scream, sending Orcs and Elves alike shying away at the pitch and volume, and Talion watched as she broke apart under him with sounds like chainlinks shattering. In the very last second, her expression changed, went from fear and agony to relief and peace, and he saw the light of the Farthest Shore reflected in her eyes.

And then she was gone.

Riya screamed, her voice rising to a Nagzûl shriek, and she lunged for Talion. Any kind of coherent fighting style vanished under her rage at the death of her sister, which let him maneuver her into place, but there was still something like a pattern in the wild swings of her scythe-

There.

He caught her blade on Urfael's, carrying the stab through to hook the scythe on the crossguard and tear it from her hands. Then he kicked her, hard, and sent her staggering back into Daerwen. The drake whipped her head down and bit, not crushing, not yet, but with more than enough pressure to keep Riya from getting free.

There was no time - the other wraith started gathering power, preparing to throw Daerwen off and maybe do her real harm - so Talion darted in and grabbed a hand, uncaring of which one, and cleaved it off at the wrist, Maglor doing the same on the other side of the drake's great head.

And then she was gone too, shattering to pieces and following her sister to the Farthest Shore.

Daerwen spat out the Ringwraith's remains before she dissolved completely and sent her disgust through their bond - the decaying remains tasted like rot and ash, lying heavy on her tongue.

"Go take a dip in the Sea, sweetheart," Talion told her, "and be sure to wash your mouth out before eating or drinking."

She hummed and took flight, leaving her rider to collect the sisters' Rings. They did not match, but Eltariel had told him that the sisters had slain the previous wraiths, whoever they had been now lost to time, and seized the Rings for their own. Sauron had apparently found Riya and Yukka skilled enough to keep them on instead of replacing them, like he had with whoever preceded Helm Hammerhand. Talion knew he had lived some three hundred years ago in Rohan - unless, of course, there was more than one 'Helm Hammerhand'. It was not unusual for kings further down the line to take the same names as their predecessors - Gondor had more than a few of those in its long and storied history, and stewards too - but if there were two different people named 'Helm Hammerhand', he had never heard of the first.

But it was pointless to speculate. Whether one man or two, the Helm Hammerhand once under Sauron's sway had departed the world at last, and his Ring hung around Talion's neck with the others, purring quietly like a caragor at rest.

He knotted the twine around the two new Rings, vowing to look for an actual chain with a strong clasp that he could repurpose, even just for a time. With every Ring that was added, it became that much more dangerous to trust a bit of string with so much power.

Talion dismissed everyone to go eat, celebrate, and rest. They went easily, already eagerly recreating a blow-by-blow account of the battle that would no doubt grow with the telling - but not even the Elves noticed the spider crawling up his leg, hidden under the silver-embroidered hem of his cloak. He felt the small pricks of its claws even through his armor and held perfectly still to let it finish its ascent unimpeded, though he did shiver when it stayed under his cloak and climbed up into his hood, its long spindly legs raising goosebumps on even his skin.


All at once he was in Shelob's tunnels, slick rock coated in thick and treacherous webs, bitterly cold water dripping slowly somewhere in the caves. The Spider Queen was still in her great form, many legs sprawling, many eyes watching, but in the vision at least, she seemed to be whole again, no longer wounded by the halfling's Elf-blade. Some of her brood skittered around her, whispering in the dark.

'Six of the Nine…' she hummed, counting Ring after metal Ring dangling from the twine, pedipalps smoothing over her fangs with obvious pleasure. 'All that remain are two which are mostly unimportant, and your own. What will you do when you have retrieved them all?'

The wraith tilted his head, his brow furrowing. He would have thought it was obvious, but perhaps there was more to her question than was immediately apparent. 'What do you mean?'

'I can walk the web of fate; this you know.' The spider prowled a little closer, barely acknowledging Daerwen when she followed their bond into the vision, settling behind him. Her fangs clicked together in faint irritation, though not at the drake's presence. 'My power is great indeed, but even then, some knowledge is beyond me. This I do know, however: You will find Khamûl the Black Easterling and Adûnaphel the Quiet where they are hidden, cut the Rings from their hands and throw them down from their dark pedestals, sending them on to the Farthest Shore like the others before them.

'But then you will have a choice to make. And like the choice of the Half-Elven, it will be a decision from which there is no return; regardless of which path you take, once made, your choice cannot be unmade.'

Pure foreboding welled up inside the wraith, stronger than anything he had felt in years. Even so, Talion forced himself to ask, 'And what is this choice?'

'When the time comes and you have the other Eight in hand - will you go with them into the fire?'

Talion went still, the deep, cold stillness of a Nazgûl in wait.

Shelob had never lied to him. Withheld information, yes, or manipulated him, given out only so much as to make him misinterpret - but with what she had said, she had never actually lied.

I am Shelob - and I deal only in truth.

He knew that if he threw himself or even just Isildur's Ring after the other Eight, he would die, and be released. True death, with no possibility of resurrection - no Elf-wraith would steal this end away. But if he did not cast his Ring into the fire, if he chose to continue this half-life for as long as all his people needed him-

'I am but a mortal Man-'he began, but was cut off.

'You were a Man,' she returned, seeming almost amused at his protest, 'and now you are something else. Ranger, Gravewalker, Dragon-Tamer, Ringwraith… Lord of Mordor. You have passed through deep shadow and come back to the light, and no one returns from that journey unchanged. You may resist the comparison for more reasons than one, but did not Eärendil and Elwing do the same?'

'Eärendil was a child of Gondolin the Fair, Elwing the granddaughter of Lúthien Tinúviel, and even in those two things alone they already exceed all that I am or ever was,'Talion replied sharply. 'Though they knew it could cost their lives, they defied the Ban of the Valar to seek aid for Middle-earth and all those who suffered under Morgoth's rule. Though I do not approve of how Elwing chose to cast herself and the Silmaril into the sea rather than surrender it and save the lives of her people - and her own sons.' I would have surrendered it in an instant for my son, he did not say, and did not need to. He would have done a great deal more than that for Dirhael and Ioreth - and had done so. 'Lucky for them Maglor and Maedhros stayed their hands and took them as their own.'

'Just so,' Shelob nearly purred, fangs clicking again, 'but you also traveled through the darkness to the dawn for the sake of others. You refused the Ringmaker, who would have crushed all of Middle-earth under his heel, and with him you refused all the power he could have given you in exchange for your aid. You sacrificed your life, your death, your own soul to buy time for the West to break Sauron's power such that he will never recover, not even when his master Morgoth returns to fight the Last Battle. You saw that the Orcs could be more than what the Dark Lords have made them into, and have guarded and sheltered them and shown them a way to lift themselves up out of the dark. And you did it all not for power, not for fame, not for glory or bloodlust or wealth or the promise of other rich reward. You did it because you thought it was the right thing to do.'

'It was the right thing to do. It still is.'

'But no one else did it. No one else would have done it. And so, because you did, you have a choice to make, Talion of Gondor. Your future lies before you.'


The vision faded as swiftly as it had come, and Talion offered a hand to Shelob's child, set it down and let it scurry off into the long grass. Only then did he turn towards Sharkhburz - but no. He could not yet join the others in celebration. He needed time to think.