No Beginning, No End

by Kireteiru

The king himself ordered Talion to scout Ithilien after the War of the Ring - but no one suspected what they would find there. - Another fic in Variations on a Theme.

1. Chapter 1

AN: The working title for this fic (as of 2 mins ago) was "Yet Another Shadow of War AU BASS BOOSTED" so... hope you all enjoy yet another fic of my self-indulgent nonsense.

---

The king himself chose Talion to be one of the Rangers scouting Ithilien, and of course he was proud of it, even though it meant being away from his betrothed for weeks, perhaps even months if they encountered surviving Orcs. Saelind had sworn to wait for him, and her father liked him; he did not think the man would force her to marry another in his absence, even though she had many fine prospects amongst the other noble houses of Gondor. Though a fourth daughter, she was wise and learnéd, and fair indeed to look upon; to Talion's partial eye, she could have perhaps snared even the king himself, were he not already promised to an Elf-maid.

His father simply told him to follow his commander's orders and serve well, but it was his great-grandfather who impressed upon him the utmost importance of conducting himself well before the king and in the field, that His Majesty might remember their House and call upon them again in the future, and raise them up to their former glory. While still Great, their House had been sorely persecuted by the Usurper Castamir during the Kin-Strife centuries ago and never recovered their former strength. Talion swore that he would do nothing to embarrass his family or his betrothed or her family, and set out with the other Rangers, under the command of Lothrandir, one of the Rangers of the North come down from the ruins of Arnor with His Majesty.

Ithilien was a place few men of Gondor had been in living memory. Sauron had held the eastern shore of the Anduin and Ithilien beyond for more than a hundred years, though scouts like them had still ranged there, seeking word of the Enemy's plans to bear back to the Steward. He privately doubted they would encounter many Orcs, if indeed they found any at all, but still Talion acknowledged the wisdom of sending scouts to confirm that the Enemy's armies were in flight, or better yet following the Dark Lord in death.

Their troop went north upon leaving Minas Tirith, and rode to Cair Andros, where they stayed a few days with the island town and garrison to ensure they were thoroughly provisioned, and to receive supplies that they would take on to Henneth Annûn and their fellow Rangers maintaining the watch there. Then they forded the mighty Anduin and went further still north, skirting the edges of the Dead Marshes to the ruins of the Black Gate.

A great canyon now lay where the Morannon and the Towers of the Teeth once stood, still smoking faintly and stinking of rot from the Orcish corpses carpeting the bottom. Some of the other young Rangers laughed and jeered at the remains, but Talion did not, and was glad of it when Lothrandir took the mockers to task. While the commander did so, he surveyed the area, watching for movement but also stealing glances down at the broken metal and stone below, corpses of Orcs putrefying in the sun.

His father had not often spoken of the fall of the Black Gate. Talion's blood grandfather on his father's side had died there so many years ago, cruelly slain in a night battle by Sauron's servants, and Talion had been named in his honor.

But now the Morannon was still and silent, even to Lothrandir's trained eyes, and ruined beyond any hope of repair, so they left it behind and journeyed south to Henneth Annûn, hidden in the slopes of the Ephel Dúath. There they spent the night with their fellows, trading stories and song, and gave them their supplies before setting out once more, following tracks and trails through the trees and searching for any sign of Sauron's forces lingering on Gondorian lands.

It was not until they drew near to the Morgul Vale that they found their quarry.

Lothrandir rubbed the ashes of the campfire between the fingers of one hand, then tested the half-burnt wood as well before checking the earth around the camp. "Four days past," he declared at last. "Half a dozen Orcs, no less, but they stayed only one night before heading for the Vale at speed."

"Fleeing before the forces of Gondor?" Talion asked. "Or… recalled, by something within Mordor?"

"We shall see," said the older Ranger, "but we shall also travel with greater care than before, now that we have confirmed the presence of the enemy. And-" Here he shot a sharp look at some of the younger scouts, younger even than Talion and with far less discipline. "-we will not fight unless attacked. We are too few to destroy even this small band, for as you should well know by now, if even one of them is an Uruk captain, they will destroy us in turn."

The younger Rangers grumbled but obeyed. As Lothrandir said, the Orcs were moving fast, but not so fast that the Men couldn't catch up on horseback, and were bound for the Morgul Vale. What that meant, Talion was not sure, but it soon became apparent that their Orcs weren't the only ones making for Mordor. The band doubled in size overnight when they joined up with at least one true Uruk captain and his followers, and it was clear they were all excited, elated. But not even Lothrandir in all his skill could draw near enough to listen to their conversation, and they were too wary to venture far from their camp when night fell.

"Captain," Talion said softly as they at last entered the vale, "the Uruk captain…"

"Aye," Lothrandir said grimly, just as low, so that the others did not hear, "he knows we are following him. But he has not turned back to destroy or otherwise scatter us, that he might proceed unmolested; I can only assume that he has orders to the contrary, or perhaps he does not deem us a threat."

Later, Talion could only think that those were famous last words, for that very night the captain and his Orcs captured them and their ponies without even a fight. Though vindictiveness was unseemly, he was also grateful that it did not happen on his watch, but instead on that of one of the most unruly young Rangers. The least of the Orcs knocked him senseless with a single blow, and thus they were all captured and bound around the fire, one of the Orcs throwing fresh wood on the coals.

Lothrandir shot their would-be watchman a glare that by rights should have set him ablaze, which made the Uruk captain chuckle. "I know that look," he rumbled, grinning. "Younguns are always trouble, ain't they?"

The northern Ranger huffed an only half-unwilling laugh. "Sometimes more than they're worth. By what name should we call you?"

"Olrok," said the Uruk, "Olrok the Lookout, and that's Gorfel the Wall." He pointed to a massive Uruk standing quietly half in shadow. Their names were innocuous, but their appearances belied that. On one hand Gorfel had a steel shield taller than a man, the straps looped around a scarred arm thick with muscle, and in the other was a steel halberd, sharp and wickedly curved. The weapons were clean and well cared for, and gleamed in the firelight. Olrok himself had a brace of similarly sharp javelins in a quiver on his back, but the tips gleamed wet with poison leaking slowly from reservoirs in the blades, explaining why he had used his fists to fight them instead.

"Olrok and Gorfel," Lothrandir said carefully, glancing around at the other Orcs, but none of them offered their names, if indeed they had any. "And what will you do with us, now that you've captured us?"

Olrok hummed and scratched his chin in thought. "Well, I don't suppose you could forget you ever saw us if we turn you loose?"

Talion saw that Lothrandir was surprised at the offer - so was he, for that matter - but the Ranger shook his head grimly. "No. I have my orders, same as you have yours, I expect."

Olrok sighed. "Yeah, we do. We can't kill you, so I guess you're comin' with us."

"To where?"

"Minas Morgul, to see the Boss. An' their beasties ain't for eatin', unless the Boss says otherwise." That last he directed at the other Orcs, and one in particular who had been poking curiously at their ponies.

"I weren't gonna!" the Orc protested immediately, but both Olrok and Gorfel shot him looks that said they didn't believe a word of it.

Talion smothered a grin, and saw that Lothrandir did the same. It seemed that despite the twisted cruelty of the Dark Lords, some things really were true of all people. Then the elder Ranger asked, "Who is your 'Boss'?"

"The Gravewalker," Gorfel rumbled, speaking for the first time. "You'll meet him soon enough. Get some rest, all of you. We've still got a day's hard march ahead if we want to reach Minas Morgul in time."

---

The rest of the Orcs and even the Rangers bedded down easily. Lothrandir had truly mastered the art of sleeping anywhere, any time, under any circumstances, because despite their captivity, he had scarcely laid his head down before he was snoring again. But Talion found that he was too nervous to sleep, his heartbeat steady but still in his throat. Olrok and Gorfel were Uruks, yes, but - "the Lookout", "the Wall". Scouting and defense, simple and understandable. They had obviously earned their titles, so what had "the Gravewalker" done to earn his? And they said that they couldn't kill him and his fellow Rangers - but that didn't necessarily hold true for their "Boss".

And Minas Morgul… once Minas Ithil, built by Númenor as a glittering reflection of Minas Anor now Tirith, but corrupted by Sauron's dark sorcery. Even now that he had been slain in battle by Éowyn of Rohan and the land reclaimed by Gondor, the city was still counted as the seat of the Witch-king, and spoken of with fear and dread. What would become of them when they reached it? Would they be cast into its dungeons until the lingering evil twisted them into servants of the dark? Would they be ritually slain on an altar to Morgoth that everyone said had been erected in the courtyard of the citadel? Would they-?

"Go to sleep, shorty."

Talion jolted at the quiet voice. Gorfel was leaning up against a tree nearby, watching him. "Go to sleep," the Uruk said again. "You won't be able to keep up on the march if you're tired."

He swallowed thickly, then said, "I would if I could, but…"

"Nervous?" When he nodded, the Uruk huffed, though not unkindly. "What's there to be worried about? The Boss ain't gonna kill you either, if that's what you're thinkin'."

That did put his heart at ease, at least a little. Still, if one of his fellow Rangers offended him… "With a title like 'the Gravewalker', can you blame me for being a little concerned?"

Gorfel tilted his head and considered his words. "…Huh. Guess not, if this is your first time hearin' about him. Some of the old ones say he used to be the scourge of Mordor, but I've only ever known him as a shield."

The scourge of Mordor? But the Uruk continued on before he could ask. "But you ain't got anything to worry about. The Boss's title's about him, not you - he can die, but he always comes back. Walks out of his grave, no matter what put him there. So…"

"…Gravewalker," Talion finished. That brought its own concerns - what manner of power did this Gravewalker have that even death couldn't hold him for long? - but before he knew it, he drifted off to sleep.

---

The next day, the Orcs tied the Rangers to their ponies and took the reins to lead the beasts on the final stretch to Minas Morgul. All of the Orcs had stamina for days, it seemed, even the least of them, and a ground-eating lope like that of a wolf, which they could maintain nearly indefinitely. The Men and ponies, however, could not move nearly so swiftly and were forced to stop and rest many more times.

Talion swiftly drew the same conclusion that Lothrandir no doubt had: the Orcs had intentionally slowed their pace so the Rangers could keep up, and lured them on, waiting until they were close enough to safety to turn back and take them.

Very clever. Not what he expected from Orcs, given how the tales portrayed them as dumb beasts, mindless slaves of Sauron. But - he shot a glance at Gorfel, who had taken it upon himself to lead his pony - there were many things about this situation that he did not expect. The Orcs not torturing and killing them on sight, and one of them even comforting a Man, such as it may have been…?

Minas Morgul loomed out of the Vale at dusk, the citadel still glowing with the eerie corpselight that Talion had seen on the march to the Black Gate and back. The Orcs halted as they approached the bridge over the Morgulduin, and Talion was surprised to see that the forces of Mordor were leaving the city, streaming out through the gate with carts full of supplies, pulled by great beasts like those that had attacked the White City. More Uruk captains were guarding the caravan, some riding smaller cat-like beasts with sparse fur but thick hide but most on foot with their followers. There weren't nearly so many of them as had laid siege to Minas Tirith - nearly carpeting the Fields of the Pelennor with their ranks, surrounding the city whole and entire - but still…

It would have been alarming to see them all - if they hadn't been flooding back into Mordor, fleeing the West for the safety of their homeland beyond the forbidding mountains looming overhead. Talion watched them go, until at last there was a lull in the long lines that let them enter the city.

The further they traveled from the gates, the quieter the streets became, until at last they reached the tower itself. Only a few Uruks lingered there, captains all, even the drivers of the few remaining carts, but Olrok and Gorfel did not approach them, or enter the tower. Instead they set the Rangers on their feet and tied their horses to ancient pillars still standing in the courtyard, then led the way into the ruined gardens that ringed the central spire.

A vast black shape awaited them in the greater darkness, away from the corpselight, and another Uruk with a shield and halberd similar to Gorfel's. This Uruk was distinctly standing guard, and he narrowed his eyes at them as they approached, then leaned over and nudged the shape, even as Olrok said, "Boss, we're back, and we've got company."

Talion was briefly alarmed at the sight - this vast thing was the Gravewalker that Gorfel had spoken of?! - but as they drew near, he realized that it was not the shape itself, but the person sitting on the shape, at last revealed when he stirred.

When he lifted his head, Olrok stepped forward - not afraid or deferent, but a soldier just reporting in to his commander. "Rangers, Boss," the Uruk said. "They caught our trail a few days ago, followed us in. Thought it better to bring 'em to you than deal with 'em ourselves."

"You've done well, Olrok, Gorfel; thank you."

Fresh dread poured through his veins. That voice - hollow and echoing, strangely metallic - no Orc had a voice like that, much less with such a clear Gondorian accent. The Gravewalker - was a Man?

Talion knew the stories of evil men. Like the Usurper, they were greedy and cruel, who stole and killed without care, and when they went over to Sauron, they had free rein to be so under the Dark Lord's dominion. And now here was one of them, with powers far beyond a mortal man, that he could come back from death - but was he? Was the Gravewalker evil? Gorfel had said that he had once been the scourge of Mordor before becoming a shield to the Orcs, and he and Olrok and the other Orcs had been shockingly courteous during this last stage of their journey. If they were following the example that the Gravewalker set…

The Man gestured, and the Orcs ungagged them, even as he said, "Rangers of Gondor… The king sent you, no doubt. To search for survivors of Sauron's armies."

Their would-be watchman yelped. "How could you possibly know that?! Our mission was secret!"

The Gravewalker made an amused noise and peered out of the darkness at him. Talion jolted to see that his eyes were glowing a sickly green, like the corpselight of Minas Morgul itself. "Your name?"

The young Ranger flinched to have the Gravewalker's full attention, but still forged ahead bravely, drawing himself up. "Naredir, son of Tarandir, of House Castar."

Naredir was proud of his high station, but the Gravewalker did not seem impressed. "It's what I would do, Naredir of House Castar. And what any wise commander would do. Gondor has at long last won the war against the Dark Lord, but after a hard battle that saw a great many grievous losses. She needs to be sure that the soldiers of the Enemy are not rallying for a second strike, a shattering blow while she is already weakened."

Naredir subsided with an irritated and faintly embarrassed sound.

The Gravewalker hummed, then murmured to himself, "Forges cage like kindling for shattering fire to come… great spirit of the wild, Carnán. I will need to speak with her as well, when we arrive in Núrn."

Another Orc hurried over, this one smaller than any Talion had ever encountered, the top of their head barely reaching the young Ranger's ribcage. Yet even in the deepening night, he could see that there was something different about this one. The Orc was lean and sly like Olrok against Gorfel's bulk, but far from delicate like Saelind. Even so… was - was this one a girl?

"Prâk," said the Gravewalker.

"We're ready to go, Boss," said the Uruk. "The last of it's loaded up, just waitin' on your word."

The voice was still deep and rough and growling, like all Uruks', but Talion was more sure than ever: this Uruk was female. He had never imagined such a thing was possible - but then, he doubted any Man had ever cared about the Dark Lord's forces beyond what it took to kill them, or had gotten close enough to make a study of them. He certainly hadn't.

"Then go we shall. But before that… bring me that box. You know the one."

The Uruk, Prâk, nodded and scurried off again. Talion glanced back, saw her climb one of the carts, flip back the cover, and start digging through the contents. He turned back to the Gravewalker in time to hear Lothrandir asking about him, a Man in service to Sauron, after giving Naredir a sharp kick to silence him. "A Man of Gondor, serving the Enemy," he said, and sighed wearily. "I have not been a Man for many long years, and not one of Gondor for longer still."

Lothrandir tilted his head. "Then what are you, if not a Man? You are clearly not an Orc, regardless of the company you keep."

The Gravewalker shifted, extended an armored hand out of the shadow cast by the dark shape and into the corpselight. His gauntlet was of black plate, true black even in the fell light of Minas Morgul that cast everything in shades of blue and sickly green. The armor was lame-segmented for flexibility without compromising protection, and spiked along the forearm for additional weapons in hand-to-hand, if he was ever disarmed. He also wore a curious ring over the armor, a well-wrought gold band whose jewel glowed the same green as his eyes. Lothrandir went rigid at the sight of it, like he had turned to stone.

"Nazgûl."

Talion flinched at the word, from his head to his feet, pure dread solidifying in his gut like a lead weight, but only he and Lothrandir did not reel back in horror. A Ringwraith - one who had survived Sauron's destruction, and retained even a small measure of his power - and worse, who had once been a Man of Gondor-

"You-!" Naredir burst out again. "It is one thing to be an evil man and enter Sauron's service - it is to be expected of common-born folk, to desire the power of their betters - but the Nine were given to kings of Men! You ruled Gondor once, had all the power and glory and riches of the throne, and still betrayed us?!"

Lothrandir kicked him again, harder this time, but not before the Orcs distinctly stirred, glared at him, their hands falling to their weapons at the insult to their leader.

The Gravewalker exhaled, amused, but even in that sound alone, Talion heard the quiet fury underneath. "I was never a king, though this Ring came to me from one who was. And I hope you never end up in such dire straits that taking up one of the Nine is the best option available to you."

"I've got it, Boss."

Prâk returned then, carrying the box that the Ringwraith had spoken of. It was square, simple and unadorned but stained dark and polished until Talion could see every detail of Minas Morgul's glowing tower in its reflection. It was hinged and latched also, and bound with a cord sealed with wax, but he could not see the heraldry of whoever had sealed it.

The Ringwraith rose at last, and stepped out of the shape's shadow.

Even in the dark, the Gravewalker was ghastly pale, corpse-grey and shot through with darkness that seemed to writhe like a living thing under his skin. He was indeed a Man, of Northern descent unless Talion missed his guess, and he still wore the dark robes of the Ringwraiths, though they were dissolving into smoke a thread at a time even as he watched. Under the dark cloth was a set of armor that matched his gauntlets: pauldrons, breastplate, vambraces, tassets, and greaves, all black lame-segmented plate, jagged and fell, with two sword handles protruding over his shoulder, and a dark hooded cloak embroidered with tarnished silver thread over it all.

He surveyed the Rangers, all save Lothrandir, and Talion flinched under the Nazgûl's hellish gaze. But he still stood tall and straight-backed, and did not shy away like his fellows - not even when the wraith gestured him closer with the crook of an armored finger.

"Your name?"

"Talion, son of Dirhael, of House Astirian." He was proud of himself for not stuttering.

The wraith went still, so very still that he seemed to not even breathe, and stared at him. "Dirhael of Astirian… son of Ioreth? And - and Talion?"

Then it was Talion's turn to freeze in place, blood turning once more to ice. "Y-yes? Those are my honorable grandparents, though… though I never knew my blood grandfather. He was slain in battle long before I was born."

The Gravewalker smiled, quick as lightning, but it was a tight, bitter, grim thing, not an ounce of amusement in it - only pain, and grief. "Your House is known to me," he said, "although I'm sure you wish it wasn't."

Indeed he did, and more so when the wraith reached up and pulled one of his blades from its sheath. Talion was surprised to see that it was a normal Gondorian sword, not twisted or tainted, albeit with the blade jaggedly sheared off a foot past the handle - and the Gravewalker was equally surprised, if his expression was anything to go by. But then it faded to sorrow, before vanishing, the wraith returning to business.

He cut his bonds, much to Talion's surprise, and the young Ranger rubbed his wrists as the wraith returned his blade to its sheath, then took the box from Prâk and placed it in his hands. It was heavier than he expected, but not so heavy that he could not bear the weight. "Deliver this to the king," said the wraith. "It will do no one any harm, but none but he may open it."

He looked to Lothrandir. "Mordor yields up all claim to the lands west of the Ephel Dúath, including this city," the Gravewalker said. "Tell the king that if he seeks peace, we will be glad of it, and meet him freely and without deceit to talk terms. But if he wants war… it will be up to Gondor to strike the first blow.

"But tell him this also: I am not the only one of the Nine who has come back out of the dark. We would rather be your allies against them, than enemies all."

The Gravewalker turned away and approached the shape and the other Uruk again, Prâk trailing in his wake. Talion found his gaze no longer riveted to the wraith and glanced around at his companions - only to see that Olrok and Gorfel and their underlings had slipped away while their attention was on the Nazgûl, following the last few carts rolling to the gate.

"Sweetheart, we're ready to go."

Talion looked back just in time to see the other Uruk step away to a safe distance as the dark shape moved, unfurled - and resolved into a form he knew, but only from storybooks.

The dragon stretched like a cat, back bowed deeply and forepaws fully extended, toes spread wide and claws digging into the stone below as its wings stretched high overhead, quivering. It yawned widely, head nearly splitting in two and revealing row after row of wicked fangs, then arched itself forward as well to stretch its back legs, spiked tail curling tightly, before its whole body relaxed.

Then it folded its wings once more and crouched back to the ground - and allowed the Nazgûl to climb up onto its back.

Prâk and the other Uruk climbed up as well after him, and each hooked an arm firmly through one of a dozen loops on the harness it wore, even as the wraith reached forward and gave the dragon's neck an affectionate pat. It was a young one, red like blood and relatively small - or at least not nearly so large as the legendary Ancalagon the Black, or even Smaug the Terrible who had devastated Erebor to the north - but it was more than big enough to make Talion feel weak with fear even as it purred under the touch.

The wraith looked back down at them. "Mind you do not linger in Minas Morgul long - not without a greater force to aid you. There are still Orcs out there who… prefer Sauron's way of doing things, shall we say. We will try to stop them, but they may flee us, and seek passage through the Morgul Vale and into Gondor beyond; do as you like with them.

"Let's go, sweetheart."

The dragon spread its wings and leaped, taking flight at once and gaining height with ease. Then it winged up over the city and into the mountains beyond, swooping between snow-capped peaks, and was gone.

---

They stayed in Minas Morgul only that night, and were up before dawn, readying their horses for first light. Lothrandir took them straight back to Minas Tirith, galloping at all speed back down the Morgul-Road and over the haphazard wooden bridge that Sauron's forces had erected in the ruins of Osgiliath to bring their armies across.

They reached Minas Tirith at noon on their second day out from Minas Morgul. The other young Rangers were dismissed at the gate, but Lothrandir forbade them from speaking about what they had seen, on pain of "the harshest punishment I can come up with, so help me Eru I will see the king strip you of everything you hold dear and banish you from Gondor with naught but the clothes on your backs!" They all swore that they would hold their peace and so departed to return home, save Naredir, who was ordered to report to his commander for punishment anyway, for carelessly risking his fellows' lives and his own by speaking out of turn, and rudely besides, and so angering the Gravewalker.

Talion went with Lothrandir up to the palace, the box still in hand. It was simply made, now that he could see it in the light, but still well-crafted, the strange wood fitted together only by clever joinery; the only nails used in its construction were for the hinges and latch, both of simple brass.

The wax of the seal was black as night, and the cord simple twine, but both shimmered with a hint of green from the Gravewalker's magic. The heraldry stamped into the wax was unfamiliar but must have been the wraith's, for it showed his broken sword crossed with a curious Elven forgehammer.

They chanced upon a servant immediately after entering the palace, and she directed them to the king, where he was meeting with his royal wife and a number of advisors, including Lord Faramir, in a side chamber.

His Majesty looked up from his papers at once when Lothrandir burst into the room, Talion following far more circumspectly. But the king did not seem offended at the interruption - if anything, his alarm swiftly rose to match his fellow Ranger's. "Everyone out, save Arwen, Faramir, Legolas, Gimli, and Gandalf!" he ordered.

The courtiers spilled from the room at once, already whispering, wondering what news these rough, dirty, and obviously harried Rangers brought. When the door had shut behind them, and the last footsteps died away, Lothrandir took a shuddering breath, his control finally starting to fracture. Talion felt on the edge of panic himself, now that they were safe in their king's halls, but he held himself together. He could break down in his own rooms later, and have a good long cry.

"Aragorn…" Lothrandir began, but the words seemed to pile up in his throat, for nothing else followed.

The king left his parchment-covered desk and came around to embrace his fellow Ranger, uncaring that he was in his courtly finery and Lothrandir was sweaty and unwashed, still covered in dirt and dust from the road. " Breathe, my brother," he said gently, "and then start at the beginning."

"I was born to Ornil and Lalaith in Archet north of Bree-"

The king laughed and pulled back to shoot Lothrandir a look of mock irritation, though he did not hide his grin. "How old are you?"

"I was getting to that, if you had let me finish."

The king laughed again, and so did the other Ranger; Talion saw over their shoulders that the queen was smiling as well, and Mithrandir. Then Lothrandir became sober once more, and began his tale.

The rest of them were grim as well by the time he finished. "A Ringwraith," the wizard said, gazing east through the room's window as if he could look across all the distance between them and see the Gravewalker on the move in Mordor. "They were supposed to have died with Sauron, for their power was also bound to the One. You are certain?"

"Sure as death."

"And a dragon as well," Lord Gimli growled, fingering his axe. "Erebor will not be glad of that - it may heed him now, but as it grows… But it lets him ride it, like a common steed! I know little of truly young dragons such as this, but they are all proud creatures, even straight from the egg. Smaug would never have stooped so low, not for all the gold in Erebor - and not for anyone less than the Greatest Foe."

"I gladly yield to your greater experience there, my friend," said Lord Legolas, "but what few stories my father Thranduil told me agree with you. And this wraith… he speaks prettily and promises us what we desire, but so did Sauron, and many kingdoms of Men and Elves before us have been deceived and destroyed. Have we traded one Dark Lord for another?"

The king rubbed his chin, scratching his fingers through his short beard. "My mind is also divided. Arwen? Faramir? What are your thoughts?"

"I think we should see what he has sent us first," said the queen. "Talion, is it?"

The Ranger startled at being addressed directly by the gently smiling Elf. "Ah, yes, Your Majesty."

"It does not seem to have done young Talion any harm," she said to her husband, "but as you say, appearances may yet be deceiving."

"Agreed," said Lord Faramir.

The king cleared a space on his desk, and Talion set the box down, then stepped back, deferring - but also lingering, so he could see what was within. The king raised an amused eyebrow at him, which made him blush, before he stepped back as well. "Gandalf?"

The wizard approached and laid a hand on the box, and was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his tone had gone from concerned to curious. "It is as the Nazgûl said: the binding may only be undone by the king, but there is no trick or trap in it - none outside the box, at least."

"Then I will undo it, and you open?"

"I believe that would be wise."

The king drew his belt knife and examined the stamp as Talion had before breaking the seal. The shimmering green magic vanished at once, and both wax and cord burned away to nothing in the blink of an eye, leaving only the box behind, untouched. Then Mithrandir undid the latch, which did not resist him, and lifted the lid. But no fell power burst forth from within to slay them all and devour the city beyond, leaving him free to examine the contents.

An envelope had been placed inside, which he held and examined for a moment before setting it aside. The box had also been packed with a once-fine velvet cloth, and now he parted it to reveal what it protected.

"The palantír once of Minas Ithil, now Morgul," said the wizard, "unless I miss my guess."

Talion had never seen a Seeing Stone before, though he knew Gondor still had at least one. The stone was perfectly smooth on all sides, perfectly round - almost impossibly so - and a depthless black within. It seemed that if he stared too long, he would pitch headfirst into the darkness, so he quickly looked away.

"Curiouser and curiouser," said the king. He picked up the envelope, which seemed heavier than it ought, and opened it, taking out a very short letter indeed, only half a page of spiky writing. He read it in silence, then peered into the envelope before closing it again and heading for the door. To one of the guardsmen standing there, he said, "Send a courier for Idril of House Rían, please, and tell her to attend us at once."

The guard hurried away.

The king shut the door and returned, and passed the letter to the queen. She read it also, once, and then again. "Curiouser indeed," she said. "At least he's consistent."

Lady Idril arrived before the letter came around to Talion, if indeed it would have. The blood of Númenor was strong in her, as expected of a member of House Rían, second only to the Stewards; though Talion knew she was not quite as old as his father, she was far more well-preserved, her skin marred only by the scars of war instead of wrinkles of age, with only the faintest touch of silver in her golden hair. She saluted the king as befitting a soldier of Gondor first, pressing her fist against her breastplate, before bowing as befitting a high noble. "I have come as commanded, Your Majesty. How may I serve you?"

"We have received a curious letter," said the king, reaching into the envelope, "which says you will vouch for its contents, even sight unseen, if you are shown - this."

This was a necklace of gold, with a pendant shaped like a spade or stylized arrowhead, wrought of filigree and set with a pale blue cabochon near the point of the spade. Talion blinked at it - he had seen grander work; a few Houses still retained great treasures made by Númenor Downfallen, or even the Elves or dwarves - but Lady Idril looked at it like she had seen a ghost, paling so fast that he half-thought she would swoon. But then the dark night of her nearly horrified shock faded before the rising sun of hope and care as deep and vast as the sea, and overwhelming joy on the edge of grief. She reached out, tears already spilling over her cheeks, and choked on a sob when the king let the pendant fall into her cupped hands.

Lady Idril clutched it to her chest and wept freely and without reserve for several minutes, which the king allowed, looking upon her kindly. At last she calmed herself, wiping her tears, and said, "Yes. Yes, Your Majesty; I will vouch for this letter - and its writer."

"Even unseen," the king stated more than asked, seeking only confirmation.

"Yes," she said, resolute.

The king nodded, then accepted the letter from Lord Faramir and passed it to her. She read it silently, a soft smile of great fondness blooming over her face - how Talion wished he knew what the letter said! - and when she finished, she looked up again. "Talion speaks truly, Your Majesty," she said. "Before he fell into darkness, he and I and many others resisted Sauron from within the borders of Mordor. Now that his mind is his own again, if you seek peace, you will have it."

The Gravewalker - a Ringwraith who resisted Sauron's dominion - was also named Talion. He did not believe that was mere coincidence - and, it seemed, neither did the Nazgûl who might very well be the grandfather for whom he was named, thought dead for more than seventy years.

Your House is known to me, although I'm sure you wish it wasn't.The others glanced sharply at him in surprise, and Lady Idril in confusion - until he introduced himself and his house. It seemed his grandfather had told her at least some of his history, for she knew his father's name - and was genuinely surprised to see him. "Forgive my bluntness, but isn't your lord father supposed to be dead?"

"So is he," said Talion, gesturing in the direction of Mordor.

She smiled mirthlessly and inclined her head in acknowledgement.

"It is him, then," said the king.

Lady Idril nodded again. "Talion, son of Henderch, husband of Ioreth, and father of Dirhael, once a Ranger of Gondor and last captain of the Black Gate, before Sauron returned to Mordor in shadow and flame." She shifted a little. "He did not like speaking of it, for - he believed that he and all his family were slain as sacrifices to fuel a dark ritual cast by some servants of Sauron - Black Númenóreans whom he only ever named as 'the Tower, the Hammer, and the Hand.' But instead he became banished from death through means unknown - he did not like speaking of that, either - and killed the three captains in revenge for the murders, before making war against Sauron from within the borders of Mordor together with an army of Men and Orcs and even Elves and dwarves."

Talion's brows climbed into his hairline. It seemed that the king's thoughts matched his own, for he said, "Orcs also?"

"Yes," said Lady Idril, "Some were not willing, but many more were, and wanted to 'spit in the All-Seeing Eye' for the suffering and cruelty inflicted on them, even at the cost of their own lives. The Orcs are a rough people - they must be, to survive Mordor and Sauron - but they are not of a single mind any more than we Men are. Just as there are Men who choose evil and war, and serve the Enemy, so too are there Orcs who would choose good and peace, if only they had the chance."

The king looked thoughtful, and so did Mithrandir, Lord Legolas, and the queen; Lord Faramir, Lord Gimli, and Lothrandir were more doubtful, but they did not gainsay her. Talion found that he fell somewhere between; armies of Orcs had marched on the White City to slaughter its people, but they had been under the absolute command of Sauron. And now they were under the command of his grandfather, and Olrok and Gorfel had treated him and his fellow Rangers well during their trek through the Vale. "We know who he is - or was - to others, but who is Talion to you?" the king asked.

"Adar - the father of my heart," she answered at once. Her expression went tight and grim. "He believed he lost his family, and I lost my own in truth, though for a far darker reason. It was an attempt to save my life, but even so: my blood father Castamir betrayed Minas Ithil, and surrendered it to the Witch-king."

Talion straightened sharply, eyes wide in horror, and he was not the only one to do so.

"I never learned if he actually sent for aid and then despaired when it failed to arrive, or if he saw the situation as hopeless from the beginning and so never bothered," Lady Idril continued, "but Talion came, of his own accord, and fought long and hard in the city's defense. And so it was in Mordor as well… and even after he took up the Ninth, he opposed Sauron all the way down."

"And this necklace?" This time it was Faramir who spoke, gesturing to the pendant.

"It is an artifact of Minas Ithil. As a girl I used to wear it and play pretend, as all children do, imagining I was a high noblewoman in the court here in Minas Tirith. When Talion finally fell, I bade him take it with him, that he might have something of his chosen family with him as some small comfort when he finally died, even if he did not remember us."

Then, quieter, "I am glad beyond words to see that he has not died, and instead come back out of the dark."

"And the dragon?" Lord Gimli asked, tapping the stem of his pipe against his lips.

"That is Daerwen," Lady Idril answered, "the last dragon of Middle-earth. Sauron kept a few, and crossed them with the Black Wings to create the fire drakes of Mordor. Talion had a gift with the drakes, and we used them against Sauron, but they were… more manageable if raised from the egg. He bargained with the dragons for access to their nests, paying them with gold that he got from trading the mithril he mined in Moria." She ignored Gimli's sputtering at that and continued, "When Sauron learned of their hoards, he demanded the dragons surrender their treasure to fund his war against the West. They refused, and rebelled, and the Dark Lord slew them all, but not before they gave Talion one last egg: Daerwen, no mere drake but a true dragon. She has been his faithful companion for many long years, and seems to care nothing for gold, strangely enough."

"Then what does she hoard, if not gold?" the queen asked.

"Talion," Lady Idril answered dryly.

Talion could not have stopped the snort that left him for love or money. Fortunately he was not the only one; Queen Arwen laughed, as did the king, and even Lord Gimli hid a grin in his fist. What an eccentric dragon this 'Daerwen' was, hoarding only a Ringwraith and letting him ride her like a common horse!

But then another thought came to mind, and Talion's expression fell in concern, and grief. A Ringwraith… "But Lady Idril, how did my grandfather come across the Ninth, and why did he take it up?"

"I do not know," she answered, also frowning. "There were many things he did not like to speak of, and that is also one of them. As I understand it, he conquered the whole of Mordor and held it against Sauron, but when he went up against Sauron himself… the lingering power of the ritual, which banished him from death, was stripped from him, and whether offered to him or seized by force, he had no choice but to take up the Ninth if he wanted to continue his fight."

"And he did," he sighed, and shook his head. "My father said that whatever his flaws, my grandfather was a good man, wanting only to protect his family and his people, and it would seem that still is the case."

They spoke a little more on Talion the Elder - what stories Dirhael had told of him as captain of the Black Gate, what Lady Idril had seen and done in her time in Mordor - and what had become of Lord Talion's forces when he fell into darkness. The Men had fled to the relative safety of Gondor, the dwarves east to the Orocarni or north to Erebor and the Iron Hills, and the Elves had retreated to the strange haunted forest in Núrn from whence they had come. But with nowhere else to go - nowhere that would allow them even a meager existence on the outskirts of society - the Orcs had scattered, hidden themselves in Sauron's armies to wait out the war. When Talion the Younger told her the names they had learned, she said, "Prâk is known to me; she is Talion's principal aide-de-camp. Gorfel I have met only once, but I know him by reputation; he is tough but fair, and handles his soldiers well. But Olrok I do not know; it may be that he is newly come to Talion's ranks now that Sauron is thrown down. And this other Uruk with Talion - it would have been hard to see in the dark, but did she have a scar over her right eye?"

"I was at the wrong angle," said Lothrandir. "Talion?"

The young Ranger jolted again when everyone's eyes turned to him once more. "Yes, uh - she did! It wasn't straight down, but angled slightly outward, and passed below her ear."

Lady Idril smiled and nodded. "That is Ugol the Silent, Talion's bodyguard. There are others I would be curious to hear about - most of all the Five Overlords who ruled Mordor under Talion while it was held against Sauron - but if they survived, I expect he sent them into Mordor ahead of him, to secure their regions."

For the most part, the king simply listened to them question Lady Idril, stroking his beard in thought. But at last he said, "I am of a mind to forge peace with Talion, as the new Lord of Mordor. In the very least I know I will seek a ceasefire; a true treaty can wait until the rest of the Nazgûl have been dealt with, though when that will be and how it will come about, I cannot say." He sighed hard. "But peace with Mordor - that will not be popular."

"You will have the support of my House, at least," said Lady Idril. "We are not so large as some, but what we lack in numbers we still have in influence."

"And mine as well," Talion said. "I am not sure if my lord father will be open about our kinship with him, given… everything, but I am sure he will gladly support you - if I might be permitted to inform him? And my lady grandmother?"

The king considered for a moment. "If you can catch them truly alone and ensure that they do not speak of this to any other, then yes, you may."

He bowed deeply in gratitude.

---

Talion was eventually dismissed to return to his family, for the "Smaller Small Council" would be talking late into the night about the news he and Lothrandir and Idril had brought. The king said he was glad to have whatever support they could offer, and said to call him Aragorn as well, or Elessar if it was more comfortable.

He was not certain he would ever be comfortable addressing the High King of the Reunited Kingdom so familiarly. Still, he promised that he would try, and flushed from neck to hairline when the king clasped his shoulder in friendship, much to the queen's amusement.

And then he returned home to find that it was now a stranger to him. He saw everything anew with fresh eyes: the paintings and tapestries, the statuary and adornment, even the walls and floor - even his own family.

Everyone was surprised to see him back so soon, for he had been expected to be away for another fortnight at least. Though it grieved him to mislead his family, at least for the moment, Talion said, "The weather was fair and sped our journey, and we encountered no dangers on the road through Northern Ithilien, where the risk of Orcs was greatest. When my captain sent a message saying so, the king recalled us for another purpose, though what it is I cannot yet say."

His great-grandfather praised him for serving the king well, and his lord father and lady mother also, when they learned. He was sorely tempted to speak then, to tell them about his grandfather… but his great-grandfather had never spoken well of Talion the Elder, so he decided to wait. Instead, he bathed, shaved, and redressed, and then went to call on his betrothed.

Of everyone he knew, only Saelind saw the change in him, and only she understood that he could not speak of what he had seen. Instead she simply smiled and sat with him in her family's gardens, and told him what he had missed during his time away, and he loved her all the more dearly for it. Duilin had finally wed his beloved Núneth and been seen looking even more lovestruck than before when he gazed at her. Radhruin had attempted once more to scale all seven levels of Minas Tirith and been caught by the guard; his sister had begun calling him Orodreth, "Mountaineer", in response. There were other little nothings besides, enough to fill the afternoon, and he dined with her family before returning home.

---

Talion, now the Younger, dreamed of his grandfather that night.

The Nazgûl in all his terror stood still and silent in the blackened gardens of Minas Morgul overlooking the Morgulduin, gauntleted hands resting on the balustrade, but the city was not the cold, empty thing it had been the one night the Younger had spent within its walls. No, Morgul was alive with activity, and thriving, Men and Orcs talking and working and trading and living, uncaring that their world was lit not by living flame but sickly corpselight radiating from the very stones of the city itself.

But Lord Talion did not seem to notice all the activity. Instead he gazed west to where Minas Tirith lay off in the distance, the very pinnacle of the White Tower just above the horizon, white stone reflecting the silver light of the moon clear enough to see even from such a far off vantage.

His pensive silence did not last, however, for a tiny shape darted out from under a withered bush and lanced across the paving stones to pounce on the hem of his cloak. The Nazgûl jolted in surprise, a hand flying to the handle of his sword, but then he relaxed, and smiled as the figure abandoned the hem and its glinting silver embroidery in favor of climbing his cloak to perch on his shoulders.

It was Daerwen, still but a babe in arms; her someday-strong and sharp spikes and horns were mere nubs, her someday-vast wings barely large enough to glide with, let alone fly. She spread them now to help her balance atop the smiling wraith, and chirped loudly, shoving her head against his.

The wraith chuckled and extended his arms, and Daerwen fell forward into them without a moment's hesitation, wriggling in his embrace and purring like a cat. "Are you hungry, sweetheart?" he asked, pressing a kiss to her brow-ridge, making her purr louder. "Let's see what we can find for you."He turned away from Minas Tirith and left without a backward glance, still cradling the infant dragon in his arms.

---

Talion resumed his training with his fellows the next day, awaiting the king's word, and arrived at the training grounds to find that Naredir had left the Rangers entirely. He was of noble birth and so had never endured the other's mockery, but even so he was glad that he had gone. Naredir had reserved his worst barbs for the subordinates of commanders who cared less for the common man than the nobility, but still, it had been intolerable to hear him insult more skilled soldiers over simply being born in another household.

He applied himself more thoroughly than ever to his training. Olrok and Gorfel had treated them well during their short captivity, but the ease of his capture still pricked at his pride. His superiors looked on with approval, noticing that the rest of his squad was similarly intent on improving their skills, and when he spoke with his fellows, he noticed that many of them felt as he did. Some wished to challenge the Gravewalker and throw him down and so win the favor of the king, but they were fortunately few.

Talion did not tell them that Elessar was entertaining peace with Mordor. Such news would surely have caused them to break their silence on what transpired in Minas Morgul, which would in its turn create division in the court and very possibly cause at least a few of his supporters to abandon him - maybe even more than just a few. Nor did tell them of the palantír that his grandfather had sent to Elessar, instead saying that the king had dismissed him before opening the box. They were all disappointed - they had been just as curious about the contents as he had during their swift journey back to the White City - but they subsided. They were all used to secrets; to one degree or another, they were part and parcel of life at court, and indeed in the Rangers as well.

He also did not tell them that the Nazgûl they had encountered was his blood grandfather. That would have provoked a worse reaction than Elessar seeking peace; his entire family would be lucky to escape with their lives, not just his parents, but his grandmother and her husband, his lord great-grandfather, aunts and uncles, cousins, all their children… Not a risk he could take, even if he was inclined to.

Talion the Younger managed to catch his father and grandparents alone within a few days of his return to Minas Tirith. They had grieved his grandfather quietly upon their escape from the Black Gate, but also for far longer than some had considered appropriate, given his common birth. Certainly his great-grandfather had pressured his grandmother to remarry swiftly to secure any number of marriage alliances with other noble houses.

Of all his lady grandmother's suitors, only Borondir of House Serni had asked her directly for permission to court her. When she had informed him that her mourning period was not yet over, he had yielded at once, and asked if she would perhaps be willing to consider his suit at a later time. And when she had said yes, he had apologized for the presumption, bade her farewell, and not pressed her further, or even informed his lord great-grandfather that he had spoken to her.

That had been before his birth - before his parents had met, even. For as long as he had known them, his grandparents had been happily married, and his second grandfather had no issue with the family continuing to honor his first. Indeed, when they all went to visit the monument to the Rangers, on the anniversary of the fall of the Black Gate, Borondir came also, to pay his respects to his first grandfather.

But that had been when Talion the Elder was dead - or presumed dead - and Talion the Younger was unsure what would happen, now that his grandfather had passed through true darkness and existed for a time as Sauron's creature. Would he remain a good man, and accept that all their lives had moved on, and meet them where they were now? Or would Sauron's corruption - possession, domination, enslavement - run deeper than the surface?

He was late to their small gathering. There had been an accident on the main road through the city, a cart overturned and its contents scattered, and after finishing his training for the day, he had stopped to help until the city watch got there, meaning that his parents arrived at his grandparents' house well before he did. They were all gathered in his grandmother's sitting room when he was let in to see them, talking over tea. His grandmother rose with a smile to greet him, and embraced him warmly, but she also seemed to recognize that for his part, this was not merely a social call, for she dismissed all their attendants at once and served him tea with her own hands.

When he was seated, Ioreth asked, "What troubles you, Talion?"

He took a deep breath, and let it out as a heavy sigh. "There is… news, but whether good or ill has yet to be seen. You should all set your cups down before I tell you; I do not want you to drop them." With good reason, for the set was masterfully crafted of delicate porcelain painted with brightly-colored birds and slender, leafy trees. It had been imported from the furthest east some decades ago, no doubt during the time Idril had spoken of, when his grandfather had held Mordor against Sauron.

His parents and grandparents exchanged glances, but set their cups aside. Both his mother and grandmother folded their hands in their laps, and his father and grandfather turned to face him, giving Talion their full attention. "I have the leave of the king himself to tell you this," he said quietly, "but it cannot spread beyond. No one outside this room may hear of it, not even Great-Grandfather. All right?"

When she nodded, he sighed again. "Grandfather is alive. Talion - the Elder. I have seen him."

All of them sat up even straighter than before, even his mother and grandfather who had never met him, but knew him to be dead. Before they could speak, he said even quieter, "He is one of the Nine."

Now they went pale. His mother and grandparents had not been in the city when Sauron's forces had laid siege - Steward Denethor had ordered the evacuation of the women, children, and elderly from Minas Tirith - but stories of the Ringwraiths had been turning blood to ice since Men had begun telling them. In addition… their fearful cries - the horrid screams of the Nazgûl - echoed a long way. Even far from the city, they had heard them.

"With the final destruction of Sauron, he has 'come back out of the dark,'" Talion continued. "It seems that he will succeed Sauron as Lord of Mordor, but he has already offered the king peace, and sent the palantír of Minas Morgul as a show of good faith."

That made his father and grandmother sit back, considering what he had said. "That is a good sign, at least," said Ioreth. "Does he… know of us?"

He tilted his head. "I told him who I was, and he remembered your names, and was surprised to hear them. He believed you dead, same as we all thought of him, according to one who knew him." He told them of Idril, and what she had said of their time in Mordor, which was scant but revealing all the same.

When he had finished, they all looked thoughtful. His mother, Gladhwen, took a sip of her tea to wet her throat, then said, "It seems the stories you told of him hold true even now, then. A palantír, even one long held by Sauron, is no idle gift, not when it could be used to see the movement of troops from afar, if he wished for further war. If he is willing to surrender something so advantageous, he must truly want peace." Her tone turned momentarily grim. "That, or he believes he does not need it to overthrow Gondor. But, given his history, and that this is the land of his birth and the home of his family, I will choose to believe the best of him until and unless he shows otherwise."

Neither of those things had yet occurred to Talion, but his father smiled in agreement. "As wise as ever, my love; you are, of course, correct on all counts." He sighed in relief. "I also want to believe the best of my blood father. But I am also concerned: after so long under Sauron's dominion, is he still the man we knew?"

"No," Ioreth answered with a sigh. "Time has changed us all, not just him. We will simply have to meet him where he is, and he must do the same for us." She reached out and took Borondir's hand, and smiled warmly up at him. " All of us."

The others nodded in agreement, Talion the Younger with them. "The king has said that only those who already know of Grandfather will be aiding him in making peace with Mordor, so I am nearly certain to see him again. Is there… is there aught you would have me say to him? If you do not see him yourselves before I do?"

Dirhael let out a shaking breath. "Tell him that we are well, and are glad that he is also - relatively speaking." They all shared mirthless smiles. "And… ask him to write to us, or call upon us if he can… for we have a great deal to discuss."

Talion swore that he would.

---

He sent a message to the king as soon as he returned home from his grandparents' house, informing him of his talk with his family and their request that Talion contact them. Whether their relationship continued or ended, it was sure to affect negotiations between Gondor and Mordor, so Elessar and his council needed to know as soon as possible to account for it.

A fortnight later, he and his father were summoned to join King Elessar and Queen Arwen on what was officially a quick trip to survey the ruins of Osgiliath, for neither of the royals had ever seen it, leaving Minas Tirith in Lord Faramir's capable hands. But when he looked around at the composition of their small guard, it did not take much for Talion to guess the true purpose of the journey. He introduced his lord father to the king, since he had been invited to join them, then fell back to let them speak in relative privacy.

"All right there, Talion?" Lothrandir asked, drawing his horse up alongside the younger Ranger.

"Yes, sir," he answered. "Only… a little nervous."

"We all are, I imagine," his captain told him. "Even the king. Even Mithrandir, I suspect. Our attempt at treating with Sauron… did not go well."

That was putting it lightly. Talion was certain that by now the entire city had heard the tale of King Elessar beheading Sauron's Mouth with but a single stroke of Andúril at the foot of the Morannon.

"But take heart. The Ninth reached out to us, first, and we are proceeding with caution. Do not let yourself be blinded by fear, and all will be well."

"That does give me some comfort," Talion said, "and I thank you for your concern, captain. I will take your advice to heart, for it is wise indeed."

Lothrandir nodded and moved up to the two other young Rangers who had visited the Vale and seen Talion the Elder - Himeltor and Rodnor, both common-born but also trustworthy and reliable. As he moved off, Idril took his place, wearing the necklace from his grandfather's letter. "How are you holding up, cousin?"

"As well as can be expected, I think," he replied. Then he hesitated, before quietly saying, "I… I am still not sure what to think of this. While we were in Morgul, he did nothing that made me fear for my life, and indeed will give all of Gondor a great gift if we can forge true peace now that Sauron is gone, but… My own grandfather is one of the Nine, who have been the scourge of Middle-earth since the Dark Lord gave them their Rings ages ago. They rode against Gondor at the head of his armies, in all their fear and fury, and their screams during the Battle of the Pelennor still haunt my dreams."

"As they do mine." Idril gave him a grim smile. "I knew which of them was him, when they came in force against Minas Tirith."

That made Talion sit up and stare. "You did?"

"Aye. Though the Nazgûl were the slaves of the Dark Lord in mind and body, they were still all unique, with their own powers and behaviors. I had but to look, and to watch for a short time, and I knew. He never truly used the power of his Ring against us, but when they came on the backs of their fell beasts, Talion was the most agile in the air; through his partnership with Daerwen before his fall, he understood how beasts of the wing could and could not move, knew how best to rise and fall and roll with their flight, and how to use his own body as a counterweight to allow swift changes in direction to dodge arrows and catapults. His gift with all Mordor's winged creatures is akin to the Rohirrim and their horses, in a way, although I am sure they would not welcome the comparison."

Talion tried to put himself in her place, and could not. To be in the heart of embattled Minas Tirith, encircled by the Dark Lord's forces champing at the bit to break their walls and wipe them all away, and to look out and see among the enemy forces the form of a beloved parent, enslaved in mind and body to serve evil ends, but not beyond recognition. To see them, and to know that you could not show them mercy - for they would show you none.

To know that the greatest mercy you could show them was to kill them quickly and without pain.

"And now you are glad he has returned."

"Beyond words and reason," she replied, her mournful expression breaking into a smile, "as are mine and Baranor's children - our daughter Angreth-" Here she pointed to an unfamiliar woman of at least partially Harad descent, wearing the uniform of an experienced Ranger and scanning the road and surrounds together with Lord Legolas and Lord Gimli while also looking eagerly ahead. "-and our son Hithaer, back in the city. And many others besides."

Talion blinked at her. " Others?"

"Oh yes. We have some friends among the Rangers, and more among the merchants and tradesmen, and even a few nobles. There were whole decades that Talion held Mordor against Sauron, and with him as our bulwark, Gondor traded extensively with other lands. You may not have noticed - you might have been too young - but some time ago there was a 'sudden influx' of porcelain, silks, and dyes from the east, and gold, ivory, and salt from the south - and dwarven works from the north, also. We traded things like cloth, horses, honey, wine, gems, and steel for them, and received other things besides, like new foods, spices, fine woods, art, and knowledge from all corners of the world - to say nothing of the mithril from Moria. There are many who will be eager to return to that, and not just for all the coin they stand to make from it. There are also at least a few people of Gondor I know of who traveled extensively to other lands and were trapped there when Talion fell and the roads closed, and others who came here and were similarly unable to return home."

The young Ranger hummed thoughtfully. "So there is more to gain from peace with Mordor than just peace itself."

"Just so," Idril replied.

Queen Arwen and Mithrandir moved up to join them then, while King Elessar ranged ahead with Lord Legolas and Lord Gimli. "All is well?"

Idril assured the queen that it was, and explained what they had been discussing so seriously. If the Elf and the wizard were surprised to hear that Gondorians had gone abroad in such a manner under the protection of a Ringwraith, they did not show it. Instead, they appeared intrigued. "Have you ever gone abroad as they have, Lady Idril?"

"Not so far," she answered. "I have gone into Lithlad on the edge of Rhûn in the furthest east of Mordor, and into the south of Núrn, on the other shore of the Sea there, but that is as far as I have traveled from Gondor."

"Certainly much further than I have ever gone," Talion the Younger said dryly. "What is it like there? In Mordor?"

"Núrn is the most similar to Gondor, forest and plains green with life, and rivers and the vast sea in the south. Lithlad in the east is mostly grassland near to desert, and in some places actual desert, nothing but red sand and stone as far as the eye can see. Seregost, between Lithlad and Gorgoroth, is the Mithram Spur of the Ered Lithui, and so is icy and mountainous, akin to the highest peaks of the Ered Nimrais. Gorgoroth… is a land of dead earth and everburning fire, but despite that it is bitterly cold under Sauron's eternal cloud. Or it was," she amended. "It remains to be seen if it will remain that way, under Talion's lordship."

"Do you think he will try to keep it so?" Mithrandir asked her.

"He may want to, so the people of Mordor do not have to deal with the land becoming even more hostile on top of a sharp change in leadership. But I sorely doubt he has the ability," she replied. "He may be strong, but he is merely a Ringwraith, not a Maia as Sauron was. His Ring gives him power beyond any mortal Man, yes, but not that much."

"I imagine he would agree with you, and wish otherwise," said the wizard.

The queen nodded in agreement, then said, "There is another matter I would like to ask you about, Idril. Talion the Elder and his Mordor cannot stay hidden forever, and to control the tales told about him, we will need to be the ones who draw back the curtain. When the time comes, what do you intend to say about your ties to him? Certainly House Astirian will have to be very quiet indeed about their kinship with him, since it is by blood, but yours is by choice."

She sighed. "Certainly I must say less than I would like. I am not ashamed of calling him my father, for my own blood father betrayed us all, and especially me. But… while many of my House's vassals and retainers are already aware of him, many more are not, and that will have consequences both in court and beyond. In forging peace, yes, we can be loud, and point to the grievous losses we have all suffered and say we wish to prevent further suffering, even if it means a treaty with Mordor. Though he means well for us all, Adar's titles - all his titles - overshadow the person who wears them."

"Well put," said the queen. "It is true that even the simple fact of his existence will need to be broached with care in the broader court, but I can say truly that Aragorn will not think less of your House for your kinship to him, or House Astirian. He is not that kind of Man." She smiled warmly. "I wouldn't have fallen in love with him if he was."

Talion the Younger perked up at that. "So your marriage with King Elessar is a love-match, then?" he asked. "I had believed that it was so, but there are rumors…"

"I have heard some myself," she confirmed. "Perhaps the most insidious is that he sought an alliance with the Eldar to raise an army and take the throne by force, since he believed his claim would be denied by the Steward and the Ruling Council, as it had with his ancestor, Arvedui of Arthedain."

That one Talion had not heard, likely because House Astirian had supported the king's claim from the beginning. He scowled. "His Majesty would never."

"Agreed, but I am glad to hear that you think so as well."

They spoke a little more, mostly on the possibility of telling Saelind of her betrothed's kinship to one of the Nine, so that if they still were wed, she could go into their marriage fully informed and without deceit, even by omission. She would not speak of it unless permitted, but her mother and elder sisters were notorious gossips; if they heard, the news would not stay secret for long. Queen Arwen said that she would speak with King Elessar on it when she told him this news, though she did say that the more people knew, the greater risk there was of discovery. Already there were other tales running rampant; Mithrandir said he heard one claiming that the Orcs were rallying for a second strike against Gondor under a survivor of the Nine, which surely had its start in the Rangers who had seen Talion - possibly even through Naredir himself, humiliated and dismissed but trying to save face, make himself out to be a defiant hero standing fast against those who would submit to this new power in Mordor.

Talion thought such was foolishness, but there was little they could say against it without revealing his grandfather before they were ready.

---

The sun was beginning to set as they came up on Osgiliath. The ruins looked even worse in the fading light and lengthening shadows than Talion remembered, perhaps because he was going into them at sunset instead of coming out of them at sunrise. He drew his horse up with the others when King Elessar paused and looked to Mithrandir.

The wizard seemed to do some magic that Talion could not perceive, and after a long moment of silence, he blinked and hummed curiously. "He is here," Mithrandir said, "with his witnesses. There is no army lying in wait to betray us - or else I cannot see it if there is. His dragon companion is… feasting on the corpses of the mûmakil, it seems."

"Then we shall proceed," said Elessar. "With caution, but we shall proceed."

Mithrandir murmured to his mount - the legendary Shadowfax, and Talion was still amazed to see the great Mearas stallion with his own eyes - and led the way to the ruined Dome of Stars, near the heart of the city.

Firelight flickered in the broken windows, and there were a few Orcs guarding the main door, a captain and his underlings.

A captain Talion recognized. "Gorfel!"

"Told you everything was gonna be all right, didn't I, shorty?" said the Uruk, the image of apparent ease with the blade of his halberd resting casually against his shoulder, his other arm not even hooked through the straps of his shield.

"So you did," Talion agreed, and dismounted with the others.

"Boss says you'll probably want to put your horses in this building right here," the Uruk said, gesturing to a marginally more intact structure in the shadow of the main dome. "Don't want 'em gettin' spooked and runnin' off when Daerwen comes back. There's a door inside too, so you can check on 'em or get out fast, if you think you need."

He was telling the truth about the doorway, and someone - possibly Talion the Elder himself - had found a cut of ruined stone that formed something like a trough and dragged it in to water the horses. They tended their mounts, quickly but carefully, then followed Gorfel through the doorway and through the wreckage of what had once been several walls to the throne room.

A large campfire had been lit in a bowl of broken stone, surrounded by blocks as seats, and some torches had been wedged into ancient sconces on the pillars and walls holding up the ruined dome overhead. All the light allowed them to see everyone in the room, and Talion surveyed them quickly before checking the shadows anyway, as his training dictated. When he had assured himself that no one lurked in any dark corners waiting to strike, he returned and examined them more closely.

Talion the Elder was as he remembered, armed and armored, though he seemed more deeply shadowed in the firelight than the corpselight of Minas Morgul. He was seated next to the fire on one of the block seats, leaning slightly forward with his elbows braced on his knees, head bowed and hood pulled low. He seemed to all the world like a man asleep - but he also did not seem to be breathing, sitting utterly still at the fireside.

Ugol the Silent stood over him with her shield and halberd over her back and arms crossed over her chest, eyeing their delegation suspiciously but making no threatening moves. Prâk was there also, and an unknown third Uruk of a size with Gorfel and Ugol. This third smiled and inclined his head when he spotted Idril and Angreth, a gesture they returned.

There was an Elf with Talion also, and two wizened old men. The Elf brought to mind the queen and her family, for he was fair-skinned and dark-haired like them, but his eyes were a vibrant blue, like the dome of the sky in daylight - or the heart of the hottest flame. Both of the men wore blue robes of a similar shade to the Elf's eyes, with tall staves of unknown wood in their hands. They had beards as well, one cropped like Mithrandir's, and the other's of a length to match Lord Gimli's, with a similar difference in height of body.

Of everyone present, it was Queen Arwen who stopped first, and stared in clear surprise at the other Elf. " Grandfather?"

The Elf blinked, and rose. "You have the better of me, I'm afraid," he said, in an accented but lyrical voice. "Who are you, to know me by sight alone and call me Grandfather?"

"I am Arwen, daughter of Elrond," she answered.

Something like mingled grief and joy passed over his handsome face, and he closed his eyes even as tears beaded on his lashes, glittering in the firelight. "Ah, indeed, then. Though I confess myself surprised that the line of Peredhel would still choose to claim kinship with me, given… everything."

"If not us, then who?" she replied, and pressed a hand to her heart, then extended it in greeting, a gesture the other Elf returned with a smile. He greeted Lord Legolas also, when the Sindar stepped forward to meet him.

"Maglor, counted the finest minstrel of all Elves. He is also the son of Fëanor, the Elven smith who made the palantíri, among many other treasures," Mithrandir announced to the rest of them. Then, as the two old men rose as well, he continued, "And with him are Alatar and Pallando, my fellow wizards."

"Olórin," the taller wizard said warmly, "it is good to see you, old friend."

"Forgive us for not coming back west sooner," said the shorter, "but in truth we thought you had gone the way of Saruman, given how you relied on his counsel, though now I see that we had nothing to fear."

"Perhaps if I had been more like him, shut up in Orthanc and doing naught but study the ways of the Enemy, your fears would have been realized," Mithrandir conceded, "but I have always preferred moving among the people of Middle-earth, living and breathing as they do."

They all embraced each other gladly, and some energy seemed to pass between them that reassured them, for they were all smiles when they stepped back again.

The formality of the situation gone, Idril and Angreth went at once to Talion the Elder, who seemed to be "sleeping" very deeply indeed, and had not stirred. Yet when Idril laid a hand on his shoulder, he woke at last and blinked at them, then softened. "Idril. Angreth."

" Adar," the older woman said, sounding overcome, and hugged him tightly enough that his armor creaked. Angreth did the same, when it was her turn. Then Idril looked back at him and his father, and waved them closer.

Talion the Younger hesitated. By rights King Elessar should have been presented first to Talion the Elder, before anyone else, but it seemed that the surprise of the wraith's companions had broken protocol quite thoroughly. Elessar saw his hesitation, and smiled and gestured him forward, content to wait and watch.

Dirhael stepped into the firelight and approached, slowly and carefully, as if wary of startling him. His grandfather went still and stared in disbelief, as he had in Minas Morgul, then blinked and let out a shuddering breath before climbing to his feet. " Dirhael."

" Father," he replied, sounding just as overcome as Idril had, and hurried forward to pull him into his arms.

Talion knew his grandfather was surprised at the embrace by the way he hesitated before returning it. But return it he did, squeezing his son's shoulders tight and tilting their heads together. "Hello, Dirhael," he whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the crackling of the flames and the soft rush of the Anduin below their feet. "It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you, too," Dirhael said, burying his face in the wraith's shoulder. "You have been - greatly missed."

When he finally pulled back, his face was wet with tears. His father looked back to him and gestured him closer. "My son, Talion."

"We've met," his grandfather said dryly, which made Talion the Younger laugh quietly. "Mae govannen, Talion."

"Mae govannen, Talion," he returned, and grinned when his grandfather did also, and made only a mild protest when the wraith ruffled his hair fondly. Then it was his turn to step in and embrace the older man.

His armor was cold. Not quite the biting, howling winds of winter in the high mountains, but a shivering chill nonetheless, a deep freeze, even though he had been sitting by the fire for an hour at least. The Ring on his finger was the coldest of all where it rested against his back, a frozen knot of ice felt even through his jerkin and mail and tunic underneath. But perhaps the most terrifying of all, there was no pulse in his throat, no glimpse of even a stuttering, sluggish heartbeat under his corpse-pale skin.

Even so, in that moment, Talion had never felt safer, and stepped back with reluctance.

Since Lord Legolas was introducing Lord Gimli to Maglor and Mithrandir was still speaking eagerly with his kin while the Orcs and the other Rangers looked on in warm amusement, his father presented the king. "His Majesty King Elessar Telcontar of the Reunited Kingdom."

It was technically an insult to so abbreviate the king's titles without permission, but this was not a true court setting and Talion did not think the other Man would take offense. And indeed he did not, merely stepping forward at the introduction. "Lord Talion."

"Your Majesty." The wraith bowed to him, much deeper than was required. He straightened and paused, then said, "If you would permit me, even for a moment, I would count myself a Man of Gondor one last time, and kneel before my king to offer my fealty."

Talion blinked back tears at the words, for the emotion behind them was a mirror of what he himself had felt when the king had at last ascended the throne, and he saw both his father and Elessar do the same. "Whether for a heartbeat or a lifetime, I would be honored beyond words to receive it, and you," the king answered.

Talion the Elder pushed back the hood of his cloak, then sank to one knee before him and bowed his dark head. Though no doubt it had been many years since he had even thought of it, the wraith swore Gondor's Oath of Fealty without a single missed word or phrase, as if he had practiced it, hoping for this moment, and Elessar answered him with the lord's return oath.

But instead of offering his signet to kiss, as was traditional, the king told him to rise, and took his own turn to embrace him. Talion could see the surprise on his lord grandfather's face over Elessar's shoulder. The king must have said something to him, too low for the young Ranger to make out, for even deadened by his Ring, the wraith also seemed moved almost to tears. But after a moment, he returned the embrace, mindful of his greater strength.

Then the king stepped back and said, "And now, even though you have only just given them, I release you from all your vows, Talion son of Henderch, that you might serve as Lord of Mordor freely and with wisdom and honor, and guide and guard your people into this Fourth Age of Middle-earth."

Talion pressed his closed fist to his heart, and bowed again. "I will, Your Majesty." As they all joined him and his companions around the fire, he said, "Before we begin anything, however, I do have a… relatively minor matter to lay at your feet, concerning the fate of one Boromir son of Denethor."

That made the Gondorians perk up, Talion among them. "Captain Boromir? I thought he was dead!"

"He is, lad," said Lord Gimli. He took out his pipe and lit it, and studied the wraith with interest. "What news do you have of him?"

"Some other Rangers who know us said that they found his body in an Elven boat, which had run aground on the eastern shore of the Anduin," Talion the Elder said. "They were unable to bring him back to the White City before the war began in earnest, so they delivered him instead to an Elven barrow I had told them of long ago, which lies hidden under Minas Morgul."

"So you wish to return his body to Gondor, so he can be laid to rest with his forefathers?" Lord Gimli asked.

"If that is the king's will," the wraith replied. "But also… through my Ring, I am a necromancer of some skill. His soul has not yet gone beyond my reach, and by the magic imbued in the barrow, his body will not decay while within its walls.

"He can be laid to rest, if that is your will - or, he can be restored to life."

Talion the Younger gasped sharply, and he was not the only one. But before anyone could speak, even Lord Legolas and Lord Gimli, who had been with the king in the moment of Captain Boromir's passing, Elessar held up a hand to quiet them. "'His soul has not yet gone beyond your reach,'" he repeated. "You have - reached out to him? Spoken with him?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. He lingers on what we of Mordor call the Farthest Shore, where everyone goes when they die, and I sent my fëa out to see what remained of him. There is… a point of no return there, that he has not yet crossed. He says he is waiting for the Ringbearer, to ask his forgiveness for falling prey to the One Ring - and also for you, that he might follow his king in death as he could not in life."

Elessar closed his eyes, and silently wept.

Mithrandir leaned forward in interest, and the Blue Wizards also looked at the wraith curiously. "This 'Farthest Shore'… when you go out to it, is there a great palace of sorts in the distance, built of white stone, and tall mountains even further beyond - taller than any range you have ever seen in Arda?"

The Ringwraith blinked in surprise. "Yes," he said, "and trees like beeches grow around it, though they are strange to me - tall and silver-barked, but their leaves are green on top and silver below, save in fall and winter when they turn gold. There is also a path of the same white stone that crosses a small stream - the point of no return - and leads up through a wide field of long grass to the palace gates, which are always open to admit the souls of those who have passed."

He described what he had seen of the palace in some detail - sturdy walls and tall columns and elegant arches but surprisingly few windows for its size, but if there were carvings in the walls, he had never crossed the river to get close enough to see. Mithrandir sat back again and carded his fingers through his short beard with a decidedly intrigued hum. "The Farthest Shore indeed, Talion the Gravewalker," he said in a strange, curious voice, "for you speak of Aman, and the Halls of Mandos on the western shore of Valinor."

That made Talion recoil in both shock and horror. "That - this is - Impossible. I am a Nazgûl, corrupted by the Shadow; surely of anyone here, I would be the one denied access to the Undying Lands?"

"Surely you should," the wizard agreed. "But that you are not - and indeed, that you can send your fëa so far from your hröa to follow the dead to Valinor, and then return unharmed, even as a necromancer and Ringwraith… I do not know what it means. Will you show me? Can you?"

The wraith unhesitatingly extended a hand, the one that bore his glowing Ring, and the wizard took it. They both went still - and then seemed suddenly less than they had been even just a moment ago, as if their flesh was now merely painted sculpture of peerless, lifelike quality, but with no substance - no soul - within.

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by soft breathing and crackling flames and the sigh of the Anduin below. Then, just as suddenly, they returned. "That is indeed Valinor," Mithrandir declared before turning to Elessar. "Boromir is there, waiting. If you call, he will come."

"And you will not speak against this?" the king asked, sounding both grieved and hopeful. Talion the Younger felt the same. "Necromancy has ever been one of the Enemy's arts, standing as it does in defiance of the will of Eru."

"Though in truth I probably should, I will not," the wizard confirmed. "By rights what Lord Talion does is simply impossible, even for one of the Nine; Valinor is hallowed by all the Valar, and until Morgoth himself returns through the Door of Night, nothing of Darkness may enter there. The only guess I can make here, without going West and asking directly, is that he has been given leave to do so by Mandos, who guards the dead while they pass through his halls - or perhaps even Eru Ilúvatar himself."

"I am not worthy of such an honor," the wraith said at once.

"Perhaps," Mithrandir allowed, "but perhaps not. It is not for us to decide what powers and gifts are granted to us - only what to do with them."

Talion the Elder inclined his head. "I gladly bow to your greater wisdom in this, Mithrandir. But regardless, Majesty, the offer stands: would you like me to call Boromir back?"

"Yes," the king said at once. "He is… greatly missed, by all who knew him."

"Then I will do it," the wraith said. "The only question that remains is 'when'."

"The sooner the better, I believe," Queen Arwen said, laying a comforting hand on her husband's arm and tilting her head in thought. "It will make it that much easier to simply explain away his reappearance."

"Tonight?" the third Uruk with the wraith suggested, looking between them all. "Daerwen can fly the Boss to Morgul and back in an hour, though it'll take a little bit for the resurrection to settle."

The Nazgûl introduced the Uruk as Skûn the Advisor, who served as a bridge of knowledge between the Orcs and non-Orcs of Mordor, and even between Orc Tribes. He had an unusual gift for swiftly understanding others' perspectives and explaining things such that all could easily grasp them, thus he had very quickly earned himself a place at Talion's side, even though he had barely been an Orcish teenager when the wraith snatched him up.

"That it should be tonight occurred to me as well, though I did not know Daerwen's flight was so swift," the queen said with a smile. "I should like to put this question before you as well, since Talion counts you among his wisest councilors: how would you explain Boromir's return from death?"

"The simplest is to say he was never dead," Skûn answered. "Uh - we burn our dead, but Boss says you bury yours?"

"The nobility of Gondor do, yes," said Dirhael. "Or at least, as the son of the Steward, there is a special place in Minas Tirith where Captain Boromir would have been laid to rest."

The Uruk nodded and scrubbed his chin in thought. "And where was he killed? Somewhere up the Anduin, obviously, but specifically?"

"The Argonath," the king answered, "the forest around Nen Hithoel, the lake that spills over into the Falls of Rauros. You know it?"

" Of it, yes, though I've never seen it. The Boss said the statues are impressive, even from the air," said the Orc, glancing at the wraith, who nodded. "And are there people there?"

"There were, I believe, though they were few, and scattered. That land used to be part of Gondor, though she has been much reduced in recent years. Most likely they are people of Rohan now."

"Then there's one option right there," Skûn said, gesturing. "A lot of Orcs use one kind of poison or another, but for all of 'em, the longer it's left on a weapon, the weaker it gets. There're also some that paralyze, or put people to sleep, so they can be taken prisoner. He looked dead, but only looked."

The queen caught his line of thought at once, and added her own knowledge. "The Orcs he fought were servants of Saruman, who sought to capture the Ringbearer and the One Ring for his own use; they would indeed have carried such poison with them, for ease of capture. So his seeming-corpse was left with a Mannish family there, that at least his bones might be returned to the White City and interred with his forefathers…"

"...and that family saw he was still alive, and nursed him back to health," the Uruk finished with a fierce nod. "And now that he's better, he's made his way back home, following the Anduin. You could say you met him on the way back to Tirith. If he's really as well-loved as you say, I doubt anyone will try to retrace his steps to confirm the story; they'll just be happy he's back."

"Simple, but very effective, with elements of truth," said Queen Arwen. "All the best stories are the same. Instead of explaining everything, they are a framework that lets the imagination fill in the gaps, and so seem more believable for it. You are wise indeed, Skûn."

The Uruk nodded in acknowledgement, grinning, and his fellows thumped him on the back in wordless pride and praise.

Elessar looked to Talion. "The Rangers who told you of him, can they be trusted to keep silent on the finding of his body?"

"They were the first to ask me to resurrect him, if he would come, so yes, I believe so," the Nazgûl answered. "Though you should probably speak with them directly, too. I can give you their names."

"And is there any chance of stealing your most able advisor to consult in Minas Tirith?"

The wraith snorted and grinned, and so did the Orc in question. "I highly doubt the court, and indeed the entire city, would take well to the new king having an Orcish advisor, especially so soon after the War of the Ring," he said dryly, "but if Skûn is willing to answer, then you are welcome to send messages at any time to ask for his opinion."

"Yeah, go ahead and shoot 'em my way," he said, laughing. "I'm always looking for new problems to solve, though my advice'll probably be a bit more blunt than you can use."

"Even so, having an outside view can help us see our own path more clearly," said Maglor. "Eru knows my family could have stood to have some sense smacked into us before the First Kinslaying, if nothing else."

Then he paused, and listened, before turning to one of the largest openings in the wall of the Dome. "Daerwen."

After a moment, Talion too heard the quiet thunder of the dragon's wings. She landed in a rush of wind in the courtyard beyond the Dome, then snaked her great head in through the opening, blocking the worst of the cool night with her body. " Adar," she rumbled, and nuzzled the wraith.

Proper introductions went around this time, and even Elessar bowed to the dragon, a gesture she returned without hesitation or even a hint of wounded pride at showing such respect to a Man. "Hail and well met, all of you," she said. "It is an honor to meet more people from Adar's homeland and beyond - and also his kin."

Talion the Elder tilted his head against her own and scratched along her jaw, earning a low purr. "Don't settle in just yet, sweetheart; we'll be making a quick trip to Minas Morgul tonight, if all are agreed."

They were, so the wraith rose to go. "Will you not at least eat with us before you go, even for so short a time?" Dirhael asked. Then he hesitated. "Or… is it that you cannot?"

"I cannot," he confirmed sadly. "My Ring sustains me, but it makes it so even the richest food and finest wine taste like ash to me. But Boromir will be hungry when we return, and would appreciate a warm meal if you will set some aside for him."

Of course they would. So Daerwen withdrew, Talion following her and Ugol following him, and in moments they were away, the dragon's wingbeats fading into the night. The rest of them spoke for some time while preparing their meal over the fire in the stone bowl; both Queen Arwen and Mithrandir were very curious to hear how their kin came to know the new Lord of Mordor before his fall.

Maglor was in the midst of explaining how rumors reached him of an Elven wraith in Mordor when all three wizards sat up sharply and whipped around to look east. "Talion has been attacked," one of the Blue Wizards said, "by one of the other Nazgûl."

That alarmed them all, his family most of all, but there was very little any of them could do for him so far from Minas Morgul. But after another long, tense minute, the Istari relaxed again. "He has won the battle," said the other Blue Wizard, "and cut the Ring from their hand."

"Another one down, then," Gorfel said, nodding. "That's three so far."

They talked more while awaiting the wraith's return, this time about which of the other Ringwraiths he had already slain. Not even the Blue Wizards knew their names, for they had still been off in the east and only recently returned, but Maglor was able to describe them to some degree - one had been a sorcerer that threw vials of acid and toxic potion in addition to black magic, and the other had been a master of beasts with a great warhammer large enough to shatter a man's spine with even a gentle swing.

Everyone returned unharmed, though Ugol's shield was now greatly scuffed, and Captain Boromir was with them, alive again and hale. But as his lord grandfather had said, he was also weary and fiercely hungry; the Ring's fell power had recalled him from death, but it had also taken a great deal of strength from his flesh and spirit to heal his death-wounds, and now it needed to be replenished.

But before he would eat, he knelt as the wraith had and swore himself to his king. Again Elessar was moved to tears and embraced him as a brother, welcoming him home. Talion and the other young Rangers welcomed him also, glad to have him back and hopeful that he would lead the soldiers of Gondor well, as he had before.

Then, while the rest of them ate, Elessar asked about the wraiths Talion had slain so far. "That was Suladân just now, better known by his ruling name Ar-Pharazôn the Golden," said the Nazgûl, leaning back against Daerwen's side and pulling a small mithril chain from under his armor, revealing three jeweled Rings dangling from the fine links. He pinched one of them and held it up. "When he marched on Mordor, Sauron surrendered to him, yes, and also offered him a Ring of Power as a prize, which he accepted. So in the end he fell under Sauron's sway, and Númenor with him."

"Was he not imprisoned in the Caves of the Forgotten, together with his men?" Mithrandir asked.

"I don't know what that is," the wraith said honestly, "but… we who wear the Nine are banished from death, so long as our Rings are not taken from us. It may be that he was slain when he and his armies attacked Valinor, or perhaps in these Caves afterwards, and his spirit was recalled to Barad-dûr by his Ring. It could also be that Sauron simply summoned his spirit by force, and left his body behind as an empty shell, with his heart still beating but no soul to give it true life."

Talion the Younger shuddered at the thought, remembering a moment ago when his lord grandfather had left his body to go out to the Farthest Shore. Alive in body but dead in spirit, with said spirit twisted into a slave of the Dark Lord - a horrifying prospect, even for the king responsible for the downfall of Númenor, the greatest realm of Men that ever there was or would be. Better that he had simply died than endured such a fate.

Talion the Elder dropped Suladân's Ring and chose the next on the chain. "Then there was Akhôrahil the Blind Sorcerer, what we would now call a Black Númenórean from before the Downfall. As his title says, he was a blind but powerful sorcerer who performed evil experiments on his fellow Men and even a few Elves, and fled Númenor for that very reason when he was discovered. Sauron tracked him down and gave him one of the Nine, 'to broaden and deepen his powers', which it did, but he too fell in the end.

"His primary student and possible lover, Adûnaphel the Quiet, also received one of the Nine, though she still lives where her master has been slain. Truth be told, she is the one I am most wary of, and not just because her power is greater than Akhôrahil's. Some time ago Sauron commanded her and her master to experiment on ways to turn Men into Orcs."

Again, there was a sharp inhale from everyone present, and even one of the Orcs mumbled what was unmistakably a curse in Black Speech. Skûn yelped. " Men into Orcs - Boss, you gotta tell us these things!"

"I only learned of it after I fell, and to my knowledge they never succeeded," said the Nazgûl, which made them breathe a sigh of relief. "Either way, she will be trouble - and hard to find. She has little interest in seizing thrones the way the others do; she would much rather set herself up as the power behind the throne, and rule in secret."

He dropped Akhôrahil's ring, and selected the third. "The Man who wore this Ring claimed to be Helm Hammerhand. I do not believe he was actually the legendary King of Rohan - the timing certainly wasn't right, if nothing else - but the circumstances I saw of his life were unpleasantly similar to the stories. His daughter was taken by force to be a warlord's bride, and he was badly wounded trying to stop it. Sauron came to him and gave him this Ring, 'for your daughter's safe return,' but when he went to take her back… he cut her down by accident, then flew into a rage and slew everyone present - even his own guardsmen. Then he, too, fell into darkness."

Idril dug through her pack, then pulled out a small wooden lockbox, possibly of dwarven make, for it was uncommonly fine. It was barely the size of her palm, reinforced with bands of steel on all sides, and she handed it to the Ringwraith, together with a key from another chain around her neck.

Talion the Elder didn't even have to open it. "Ah," he said, holding the box flat on his hand. "The Ring of the Witch-king."

"When I learned we were coming to meet you," Idril said, "I thought it better to retrieve it than to leave it where it lay and risk it being lost or plowed under when the Fields of the Pelennor are sown again - or worse, picked up and put on by the unwary."

Talion the Younger shuddered at that, too, and so did many others. Even the wizards looked grim at the prospect. The mere idea of a second Witch-king was sure to dwell in his nightmares from that day on.

The Nazgûl opened the box and took out a Ring that was very unlike the others, even his own. They had golden bands, and ruby-red gems in the case of the three and a possible emerald for his own (for it still shone that sickly green). But this one was of either silver or steel, perhaps even mithril, with a jewel so black that no light shone off its facets, if indeed it had any. It looked like a hole in the world, more void even than the palantír.

Talion examined it for a moment, then put it on the chain with the others. "I never learned who the Witch-king had been in life. By the time I met him, it was as he told me: I could not see inside him, for nothing of his soul remained. There was no memory of who or what he had been before Sauron claimed him.

"The other four are Adûnaphel the Quiet, already named; Khamûl the Black Easterling, former lieutenant to the Witch-king; and two others I doubt you know - Riya and Yukka, once warrior-princesses of an Easterling empire whose downfall they caused. They too acquired their Rings… second-hand, shall we say, though it was well before my time, and I never learned who they took them from."

"And your own?" Elessar asked when he said nothing further. "Both Lothrandir and Talion have said that you said it came to you from the hand of a king."

"It will not please you to hear," his grandfather replied, calmly and quietly but with such firm conviction that Talion immediately believed him.

So did the king, but even so, he said, "I would hear it anyway, if you would tell us."

The wraith sighed. "My Ring came to me from the hand of Isildur."

Talion's blood turned instantly to ice, horror filling his heart. He did not need to look at the others to know that they felt the same, though in the corner of his eye he did see Maglor snap around to stare at the wraith.

The wraith flicked the finger bearing the Ring, its glow brightening, and Talion saw the vision it granted with his waking eyes, flooding his sight like ink in water. "He took the One Ring from Sauron during the War of the Last Alliance, as weregild for the losses his family and people had suffered, and though it was not often, he did use it. Even though the Dark Lord's power was greatly diminished with his defeat, and the One's with him, it still lent Isildur strength and made him nearly invulnerable."

Orcish arrows skipped off the king's star-bright steel armor as he sprinted, sword in hand, through trees on the edge of a marsh - the Gladden Fields. His stride was so swift that he overtook even men on horseback galloping full tilt down the path, and those Orcs he encountered had no hope of slaying him, for he cut them down before they even realized they were under attack, saving the lives of many of his men in the process and rallying them to meet the enemy.

"But in the end, the One betrayed him, as it did all save its Maker."

Isildur cleared the treeline, nearly flying over the marshes and making for the river beyond, but as he ran, before his horrified eyes, the One suddenly grew in size, of its own will. It seemed to leap from his finger, and plunged into the murky water and was lost.

Where once he had been untouchable, now the arrows pierced his armor with ease and slammed home in his back.

He fell, through mist and time.

"On the orders of Sauron, whose spirit still endured with the One, the Orcs who attacked him brought his body to the ruins of Barad-dûr."

Isildur's corpse, limp and pale and bloodless, now bare of armor and weapons and wearing only a still-kingly tunic and trousers, was laid on a simple wooden table in an unfamiliar room, walled with dark stone and filled with shadows. A ghostly figure dismissed the Orcs who had brought the body, then leaned over him and almost tenderly took one of his hands, chalk-white in death.

"You will serve me," Sauron said as he slid the Ring on his finger, Talion echoing him, "for all eternity."And then Isildur took a great gasping breath, and opened his eyes.

The vision faded, blown away like smoke on the wind. Talion blinked, and again beheld the bowl of flame in the ruined Dome of Stars, and everyone seated around it. Across the fire, his lord grandfather looked down at the Ring on his hand, his face blank and cold. "I never learned who bore this Ring before him, if indeed anyone did. But I fought him on the bridge to Barad-dûr, and defeated and released him, and so his Ring came to me. And then I too fell."

At last Mithrandir asked, "And how long ago was that? When did the Ninth come to you, and when did you finally fall?"

"The years blur together in my mind; at this point I'm not even sure when I became Nazgûl in truth. But I freed Isildur soon after Minas Ithil was betrayed to the Witch-king. No more than a year, I think?"

He looked to Idril, who said, "By the reckoning of Men, it was between the summer of the year 2949 of the Third Age and winter of 2950. None of us saw you in that span, though we heard of your movements elsewhere in Mordor. And then when you returned…" She shrugged and gestured in a way that conveyed that at that point he had borne Isildur's Ring. "Your decline was slow but steady up until 3001; then you went into freefall, and passed into darkness about six years ago."

Captain Boromir drank down the last of the broth from his stew, then frowned and asked, "What happened in 3001? I recall nothing of note, at least in Gondor."

"The One Ring awoke." Daerwen rubbed her cheek against Talion's at the reminder, rumbling softly in concern, and again his lord grandfather rested a hand on her jaw in silent comfort, sighing as everyone's eyes turned to him once more. "There were flickers before then, but that year, in late summer or early autumn, I truly sensed it somewhere in old Arnor. It was not used to dominate, just worn, but it was enough. And if I had felt it, so had Sauron. He was sure to send the other Eight in pursuit, and I had to do whatever I could to delay him long enough for the One to be hidden again, or better yet destroyed. As the Orcs say, it was 'crunch time'.

"Before that day, our resistance had been… passive, merely holding Mordor against Sauron and keeping him and his forces contained. Afterwards, I went on the attack and pursued the other Ringwraiths whenever they appeared… but at a cost."

"You used your Ring more than ever before, which gave it a greater foothold to darken your soul," Queen Arwen said, a note of mourning in her voice, and he nodded.

Again, Mithrandir had a strange expression on his face. "Late summer or early autumn of 3001. The twenty-second of September?"

"Possibly. We do not keep the date so accurately in Mordor. In Núrn, there are Feral Tribes and Avari Elves that worship Carnán, the spirit of the wild; their focus is on the changing of the seasons more than the actual days, and the rest of us follow them. It was the autumnal equinox, on whatever day it fell that year." But then the wraith went still once more, and stared at the wizard. "The One's waking - you know what caused it."

He sighed, and told them of the hobbit Bilbo Baggins, uncle of the Ringbearer Frodo Baggins. The One had come to him in the Misty Mountains, years before, and he had used it that day, at his one hundred and eleventh birthday party, to disappear mysteriously and in a truly spectacular fashion from his homeland.

Talion half-expected that his grandfather would be upset that he had fallen because of such a small thing, but instead the wraith snorted. "Ha! The One Ring, the most powerful object in Middle-earth in its time, used as a party trick! Ooh, that would have made Sauron so angry if he'd heard! I almost wish he had."

Even Ugol snickered at that and shook her head, grinning.

Captain Boromir fell asleep soon after, more tired than ever now that his belly was full, and the rest of them at last moved to follow him, laying out their own bedrolls under the more intact sections of the Dome of Stars. Talion the Elder was taking the watch, for like the other Ringwraiths, he was most active at night. Lothrandir volunteered to stand guard with him, and one of the other young Rangers too, for experience.

"I will be glad of the company; Daerwen flew a lot today, and needs her rest."

"I'm not tired!" the dragon protested immediately.

"Your eyes are closed, sweetheart. You're already half-asleep."

They were indeed, and she was, and she huffed a tiny cloud of indignant smoke. But not even a minute later her breathing slowed and evened out in slumber, her wings relaxing against her back. Talion the Elder laid a hand on her neck and gave her a gentle stroke, and even in her sleep, she let out a low, rumbling purr at the touch.

Talion the Younger bedded down as well; he would be taking the second watch with Angreth and Lord Legolas, so he needed to get to sleep fast if he was to get any sleep at all. And despite everything he had learned that day, all the wonder and all the horror, he dropped off almost immediately.

He fell through mist and time, and dreamed in silence of a long bridge of black iron stretching over a rocky and half-molten land. It reached towards a sinister tower of dark stone, spires like horns reaching for the sky, all of it cast in fiery red-orange light by the setting sun. His lord grandfather was there, still a proud Ranger of Gondor, still in the armor of the Captain of the Black Gate with his blades - Urfael and Acharn - belted over his back.

But there was a shimmer over his skin - silver-blue light from within - a ghostly figure overlaying his own. An Elf-lord, for a lord he must have been with the twisting circlet on his brow, sharing his lord grandfather's flesh. Together they led an army of Orcs in a charge over the bridge, with another Elf, this one an assassin with a body of her own, golden and glittering in the fading light, clad in scale armor finer than anything he had ever seen. They broke through wave after wave of enemy forces without fear or hesitation, fighting their way to the tower.

Without warning, the sky darkened, the ruddy light turning sickly green, and a Ringwraith landed on the bridge before Talion and the Elf-lord, its mask winged like the crown of Gondor, and Númenor before her. The wraith attacked them, and Talion directed the Orcs to fall back and hold the line, prevent the Enemy's forces from crossing the bridge while he fought the wraith together with the ghostly Elf-lord and the Elf-blade.

The Orcs that fell in battle, the wraith called back. But even with all its power, it could not overcome the Man and Elves, and when they finally had the wraith on its knees, the Elf-lord's power overwhelmed it, driving the Dark Lord's power out and replacing it with his own.

This Ring slipped from the wraith's finger just like the One centuries before it.

The world at last filled with sound, just in time for his lord grandfather to say, "I cannot allow this. Isildur, I release you!" He plunged his sword into the wraith's throat, and it exploded into blue-black smoke, and vanished. "Find peace in death."

The ghostly figure of the Elf-lord appeared then, standing apart from Talion as he turned away, and cried, "He was not yours to release!"

The Ranger turned back again, angry now, brows furrowed and lips curled off his teeth. "And he was not yours to enslave."

"He did more than that," said the Elf-blade. "You broke Sauron's hold. You dominated him."

"And I will dominate Sauron," the ghost replied, his voice cold and unrelenting. "His armies will be mine."

"We are meant to destroy Sauron!" Talion protested at once.

"Sauron cannot be destroyed," the shade returned.

His grandfather looked frantically to the she-Elf for aid, but there was none. "Celebrimbor is right," she said.

Celebrimbor the Ringmaker?!

But there was no time to consider that, because the Elf-blade continued, "We fight and fight, but evil always returns. Talion, we can end this here."

Celebrimbor took a few arrogant, swaggering steps towards her, away from Talion. "We must ensure that Mordor is restored to light, not darkness."

The Ranger recoiled in shock that turned swiftly to horror. "I will not trade one Dark Lord for another. That is not the end that I have fought for!"

"But you are not the only one fighting," the assassin shot back.

"No," the shade agreed. "He is not. This is not about your petty vengeance. Or mine. This is about restoring order to Mordor. To all of Middle-earth."

Celebrimbor walked back to his grandfather, still with that same arrogant stride, and laid a condescending hand on his shoulder. "The end you fought for? You are but a vessel. And there are others."

He turned away, and pain and grief lanced across his grandfather's face, eyes falling shut. He had truly counted this Elf calling himself Celebrimbor as a friend, but now he was being cast aside without care or consideration.

"The Lady Galadriel sent you here for a reason. Together we can bring Sauron to his knees - we can finish what our people started so long ago."

He extended his hand, and opened it - revealing a Ring of Power. It was a plain silver band, very like the wedding ring his father Dirhael had given to his mother Gladhwen, but there was a ring of glowing blue script around it, shining outside and in. The Ring had once been warm, but it swiftly grew cold in the shade's hand, colder than it ought, even before the assassin recoiled, clearly already second-guessing her decision. She looked up at Talion as if to consider one last time, but he was already resigned, shoulders slumped, watching in silence.

The assassin snatched the Ring from Celebrimbor's hand before she could reconsider further, then held it up for only a moment to admire it before putting it on.

His grandfather only had time enough for a single breath before his throat opened, bright red blood spilling down to stain his breastplate. He staggered and collapsed, gasping for air - this was no quick kill in the night for silence; he had been ritually murdered, the wound meant to be slow, to make him bleed as long as possible, but no less deadly for it - and rolled onto his back to stare up at the sky, body already starting to shiver in its death throes.

The assassin took several hesitant steps to his side, then knelt and reached out hesitantly to hover her hands over him, not daring to touch. "Our sacrifices are not in vain. This is the only way."

Then she withdrew, together with Celebrimbor, and left him there to die.

It was only after they had gone, his grandfather still bleeding and panting for every breath, that the spiders came. Came crawling out of dark cracks and deep crevices - and started biting, injecting their venom into every inch of bare skin they could find, the greatest focusing on what lay uncovered by his armor while the smallest crept underneath, almost gnawing at him as they went. Talion could not fathom what good they hoped to do, if indeed any at all - but after a moment, he understood. Whatever its mechanism, these spiders had venom like a shot of battle heat - what the healers called adrenaline. His grandfather's heart was slowing with less blood to pump, but the venom was making it quicken again, forcing it to keep beating, even as something happened to his spirit. Something - some one - was speaking with him from far away, even as the spiders finished their work and skittered off.

And then Talion the Elder opened his eyes and took a fresh, fierce gasp of air, deep enough that he choked on it, and the blood pooling in his lungs. Then he looked-

Isildur's Ring lay where it had fallen not far away, its jewel not the cool green he remembered but an evil flame-red, starting to glow even as the Ranger groped for it. He shoved at the bridge, forced his body to roll enough to take it in hand, then went slack again, wearied beyond words at even that simple motion.

Then Talion lifted the Ring - and hesitated. But blood was still gushing from his throat - and his hand as well; the bones looked to have been realigned from the crushing wound that dealt them, but the flesh was still marred and mauled - so he said, only to himself, "As long as I have breath in my body, my fate is my own."

And then he put it on.

---

"Talion. Talion!"

Talion jerked awake, and found Lothrandir and his fellow trainee, Himeltor, leaning over him. His lord grandfather was standing behind them, also frowning in concern. "Are you alright?" Himeltor asked. "You looked to be having a pretty nasty nightmare."

"Yes, yes, I'm all right," he said, sitting up and forcing his racing heart to slow, his shaking hands to still. "Just a dream… or perhaps a vision."

"The blood of Númenor runs strong in you, then. Despite me," Talion said softly, careful not to disturb the others with his warped voice.

"Unfortunately yes," he replied, chagrined. "My cousins say that I received a double-dose, where they received only enough to prolong their lives."

"They would do well to remember that many Men have nothing of Númenor in them," the wraith said, doubtless referring to his own northern heritage. "But what did you see that had you so distressed?"

"You. You were on a bridge at sunset. With… a ghost?" Unlike the vision of Daerwen, which was still clear and bright, this one was already slipping through his fingers. "…I can't recall anything else."

When he said ghost, the Nazgûl went blank and still, the air around him going cold like his armor, their breath coming as white clouds in the sudden chill. Tendrils of shadow writhed on the walls, moving independently of the flickering firelight, before settling again, the warmth returning with the calm. "…That's for the best," he said finally. "It's… not a pleasant memory. One of the worst, in fact."

Talion frowned sharply - then realized. I fought him on the bridge to Barad-dûr. "That was when your Ring came to you."

"Yes," he answered simply.

The young Ranger grimaced. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to intrude, but sadly I am not Lord Faramir; I cannot control what I see, or what I do or do not remember."

Talion tilted his head. He was dead, but his mind still moved swiftly. "You've seen me before? In a vision, I mean."

"Yes." He smiled at the memory. "Daerwen was a child still, no longer than my arm, and she was pouncing on the hem of your cloak."

Himeltor snorted quietly and smothered a grin in his fist, but Talion only smiled, warm and gentle. "Aye, she did enjoy doing that, and would no doubt still be doing it if she could," he said, pulling the cloth around so they could see the intricate silver embroidery, tarnished but still fine, flashing in the firelight. "Though not nearly as obsessed with gold as her kin, she still loves things that glitter. When we're down in Núrn, she can sit for hours watching the sun shine off the waves of the sea."

Since it would soon be his watch, Talion decided against trying to fall back to sleep, and got up to make himself a cup of tea. Himeltor turned to the wraith. "You've met other dragons, then?" he asked eagerly. He had always been interested in the tales and songs of them, and had been admiring Daerwen most of the night, though before now he had been unbending on never wanting to meet one - and rightly so. "What were they like?"

"Very like the legends," Talion the Elder replied, returning to Daerwen's side. "Large, scaled, winged, very fond of gold, or at least treasure. But the ones Sauron kept could be bartered with, to some degree. Since I am banished from death, I never had any real fear of Durin's Bane in Moria or the Orcs that worshiped it, so I used to mine mithril and trade it for the fire-drake eggs they had with the Black Wings."

"Idril said that also," Talion the Younger said, taking a sip of his tea to test the temperature, then setting it aside again to cool a bit more. "She also said that Sauron unwisely tried to steal from them."

"He did, once he learned of our arrangement," his lord grandfather confirmed. "They came over to us to avenge themselves on him. The one I was most familiar with, who spoke for the others, was the Great Lady Malgalad, Daerwen's mother. She was a sharp one, with a fondness for bad puns."

That startled a laugh out of Himeltor. " Puns?"

"Oh yes. She used to say something like… 'I don't trust stairs; they're always up to something,' and when we got onto her about it, she would ask, 'Am I punishing you?'"

Even Lothrandir let out a groaning chuckle at that. Talion the Elder smiled softly. "Though traditionally the allies of the Enemy, I won't deny that I was fond of them while they were with us. They had seen and done much, and had many stories to tell."

"Such as?"

"Malgalad claimed to be a daughter of Ancalagon the Black - no mere descendant but a direct daughter of the greatest dragon who has ever lived," said the wraith. "I still am not completely convinced it was the truth, but she spoke of many events of the War of Wrath that never made it into the songs… but when I asked, Maglor confirmed they did indeed happen."

---

Lothrandir and Himeltor eventually went to sleep, and Talion the Younger woke Angreth and Legolas for their watch - though truthfully in the end, they did not do much watching. The Elf listened eagerly as Angreth brought the wraith up to speed on the latest news from Minas Tirith, mostly about what her brother and fellow Rangers were getting up to, and in turn he told them about Mordor. The young Ranger learned the names of the Overlords, who, as he understood it, were more or less the equivalent of regional governors: Akoth Slayer of the Dead held Cirith Ungol, Zâthra the Wild held Núrn, Ar-Pratu the Warden held Seregost, Krakhorn of the Blackguard held Lithlad, and Norsko the Armorer held Gorgoroth - or he had held it, before the eruption of Mount Doom laid waste to the fortress. Now Norsko had been moved south to the citadel of "Moonshadow" on the Gap of Núrn. But all had survived Sauron's dominion more or less intact, though Zâthra had been briefly called "the Burned" when a hunt for "a flame graug" went badly awry; from Angreth's reaction, Talion the Younger gathered that the Overlord had been lucky to escape with his life.

"What's a graug?" the young Ranger asked them. Few Men had traveled into Mordor in living memory, and fewer still had reported on what they had seen, so the wildlife there was almost completely unknown.

"It's like a troll, but trolls are at least halfway intelligent," his grandfather said. "They can speak and think - in some cases quite well - but graugs are… just animals. Big and dumb and mean. Though as I understand it, they're good eating."

"They are!" Angreth confirmed, then turned to the other Ranger. "Have you ever been down to that little hole-in-the-wall eatery on the first level, between the smith with the green sign and the bakery with the red one?"

He blinked and sat up. "I have."

"Have you had their spicy beef stew?"

"I have!"

"Flame graugs taste quite a bit like that," said Angreth. "Depending on the cut of meat you get, they can be tougher or more chewy, but that kind of flavor throughout. We don't eat the poison graugs-"

"Can't imagine why that would be."

"I know, right?" she said, equally sarcastic. "And the frost graugs aren't really good for eating either - at least, not right away. They freeze solid when they die, even in summer, so we have to be careful butchering them; one wrong cut, and you could end up with metal in your face when your cleaver shatters. It takes a lot more to cook them, too, but the meat keeps forever, no smoking or salting needed, so they're good for long-term storage."

His grandfather was squinting into the distance. "The place between the smith and the bakery… with the split beam in the roof? And a post propping it up that people carve their names into with their dinner knives?"

"That's the place!" Then Angreth paused, and looked at him with a mix of both surprise and sadness. "You've been there?"

"I have," Talion the Elder confirmed with a sigh, "though it was a long time ago now." Now it was his turn to pause in thought. "Ninety years? At least. I'm surprised it's still there."

"I'm pretty sure the Lower City would riot if Thurin closed up his family's shop. They've been there for time out of mind, if you remember them."

"Thurin, son of…?"

"Malvegil, son of Rodnor."

The wraith groaned and pressed a thumb and forefinger into his eyes. "For many long years, every day in Mordor was much the same, but now I really do feel the passage of time. Rodnor I remember: he was a babe in arms when Ioreth and I were banished to the Black Gate."

"Grandfather," Angreth said with a grimace. "You're old."

"Don't I know it."

Talion the Younger snorted into a fist, and grinned widely when his grandfather shot him a mock glare. Even with his terrifying appearance, there was no mistaking his fondness.

Dawn came not long after, and the others woke, and rose to break their fast around the fire. The wraith abstained from eating once more, but he did accept a cup of clean water to sip, more to join in with them than out of any real need.

Daerwen, however, groaned and flopped further onto her side, and belched. Quietly for a dragon, which still echoed through the Dome of Stars. The Orcs snorted with laughter, and Talion the Elder grinned and patted one of her scaled limbs. "Feeling bloated, sweetheart? Did you eat too much?"

"There's so much food, though," she whined, covering her face with her paw-hands, "and all in one place! I don't have to hunt for it!"

"It will have to be done in secret, under the cover of night," Elessar said, watching them with a smile, "but you are welcome to continue eating the mûmakil for as long as they last. Gondor certainly appreciates that they are not simply rotting where they fell, and poisoning the fields."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I'll definitely appreciate that - urp! - when I'm hungry again."

The ceasefire treaty was already written up, one copy each for Mordor and Gondor, and both the king and the Ringwraith read them over and signed at the bottom, and sighed in relief when it was done.

What came afterwards was the hard part: reparations, and trade. "I'm well aware that reparations must be made for Sauron's cruelty," the Nazgûl said grimly, "but Mordor has also suffered under him, and is a poor country with few riches; almost half the land is desert or volcanic plain, at least at the moment. I will not send my people from one form of slavery to another, but aside from trade routes through to the east and south… there are a few things we can offer, but nothing that would help all of Gondor while still giving us room to find our feet."

Elessar grimaced. "That is a problem," he said, "and as you say, reparations must be made; to do otherwise, or simply forgive, would sow unrest, at least among the nobility. Not wise, given how newly established our House Telcontar is, even with the blood of kings."

"Gondor does not need another Kin-Strife," Talion the Elder agreed, and Boromir nodded firmly as well. "I am familiar with how it reduced House Astirian, at least, though only in passing."

Skûn opened his mouth, then closed it again and pursed his lips, squinting. At last, he said hesitantly, "There is the mithril from Moria? If the dwarves are willing to allow you to keep mining it in what is technically their territory, and accept that as their own reparations."

Gimli hummed around the stem of his pipe. "I cannot speak for the new king of the Lonely Mountain, Thorin the Third, but I know that we do not have the strength to retake Khazad-dûm. Especially not now, so soon after the War of the Ring, and even if Durin's Bane has been slain, there is still the Watcher in the Water, and the numberless hordes of goblins and Orcs squatting there and staining her storied halls - if you'll pardon my phrasing."

Skûn waved him off. "You think we haven't said worse?"

The dwarf tilted his head in acknowledgement, then said, "But mithril - that is beyond price. If you can get it for us without us needing to muster an army and march it across half the West, I can almost guarantee that King Thorin will at least listen to your proposal."

"I will make it a good one, then - if Gondor is willing to wait." Then he grimaced and scrubbed a hand over his face. "And I will need to speak with Rohan as well - and Mirkwood and Lothlórien. Augh, we're never getting out of this hole Sauron dug."

"I can put in a good word with my father on your behalf," Legolas offered, "to at least open negotiations."

"If you're willing, we'd be very grateful."

Maglor grimaced as well. "Best not to mention me to Artanis - that is, Galadriel, the Lady of Lórien," he said. "It's been many years, but she will not have forgotten me and my family's ruinous Oath."

"If Eltariel has returned to the Golden Wood, it may already be too late."

The Elf's grimace deepened to a wince.

"We are willing to wait, though none of us can draw this out forever," said the king, to murmured agreement from the others. "But what of trade? Idril mentioned there was some before."

"There was, and Steward Denethor was aware of us," the wraith said, making Boromir perk up and blink at him in shock. "The blood of Númenor was strong in him, and he saw far indeed, even into Mordor. He and I were something like friends, there at the end, and he was… as kind to us as he could afford to be."

He got up and went over to Daerwen, digging through one of her saddlebags and returning with a flat oilcloth packet. From it he pulled a sheaf of parchment - letters, some in the wraith's own hand, some not - which he passed to the king. "I don't know what he has done with the letters we sent, or his own copies of his letters, but this is our end of the correspondence, with copies of our own letters to him. You're welcome to look through it, or wait on this as well to get his copies to confirm," he said, "but the one on top has the terms he set."

Elessar began reading, and before long he looked curious and thoughtful. Queen Arwen looked over his shoulder, Mithrandir on the other side, and soon they, too, looked equally intrigued. "There was no negotiation?" the queen asked. "This was what he offered at the outset?"

"Yes. As I said, he was as kind to us as he could afford to be. Neither of us were in a position to negotiate or drag things out for very long."

"I will need to confirm this, even if only so the court will see that I have done my due diligence," said the king, finishing the top letter and flipping through the rest, "but at least from where I'm sitting these terms are more than fair to both of us, and I am willing to continue them."

"And even if only for that alone, the Marauder Tribe will love and defend you to the last," Talion the Elder replied. "They are Orcs that love treasure, such as was permitted under the Dark Lord, and many of them became accomplished tradesmen while circumstances allowed."

"I'm glad there will be no assassins coming after me for that reason, at least. But what is this clause here? That all your wealth is to be surrendered to Gondor 'when your time comes'?"

"It may seem strange now, but Denethor's perspective is understandable there. My fall into darkness was only a matter of time, and he did not wish to allow me riches that would fall into Sauron's hands when I did. Thus I yielded it to Gondor."

Boromir got up to peer over them all, also interested. "How much was that, in the end?" Talion thought for a second, then quoted a number so high that it made them all choke. "Eru above! That explains why the treasury has been so full these last few years. Intentional or not, I suspect you funded the better portion of our defense against Sauron!"

"As Lord Gimli said, mithril is beyond price, though it took a bit of exchanging to finally make it common currency. We mined it in Moria and brought it back to Mordor to be measured," he explained, noting their curiosity, "then sent it north by drake-back mostly, and dragonback when this one came onto the scene." He patted Daerwen's paw-hand, and she let out a purring groan. "It was purified and minted in Erebor, by a few smiths who were willing to look the other way so long as we paid them with mithril for their own uses. Then we traded it for gold, for the most part, which was brought back to Mordor and dispersed. To Gondor, to the dragons, to the soldiers and workers, to the east and south as required…"

Now it was Skûn's turn to groan. "Getting it to the dragons was always a pain, 'cause they'd always start fighting over who got how much."

"You have been busy, Father," Dirhael said.

"You have no idea. But hopefully things will settle down now - or at least once the other four are dealt with."

"Do you have a plan for them?" Elessar asked.

"And do you need help?" Mithrandir added.

"Riya and Yukka will come to me in their own time," he replied. "They will suffer no rivals for power. As for Khamûl and Adûnaphel, we are laying a trap for them which is nearly guaranteed to lure them in sooner or later."

"Carnán has agreed, then?" Maglor only half-asked.

"She has - though if he escapes Seregost, it will come out of my hide," the wraith confirmed with a wry smile. To the rest of them, he said, "I don't know if she is a Maia or not, for I've never dared to ask, but after Morgoth's defeat in the First Age, Carnán, the spirit of the wild that I mentioned before, buried a Balrog by the name of Tar Goroth in the shadow of Mount Doom. He rose again and escaped - mm, seventy years ago? - and was reburied in Seregost. We are using him as bait for the trap."

"You don't plan to actually release him, do you?" Gimli asked, alarmed.

"Oh Eru no!" Even deadened as he was, he still looked horrified at the thought. "I may be a Ringwraith, but I know I have no power to master a Balrog; I'm not an utter fool. I plan on killing him, if I can, or leaving him buried if I can't, but it's the appearance of the thing that matters where the other Nazgûl are concerned."

"They will fear what they see as your growing power, now that Sauron is thrown down," Queen Arwen said, with a growing smile of realization, "and they will strike while you seem vulnerable, and Tar Goroth is yet unbound, and try to take him for themselves. Which will save you the trouble of hunting them down, and give you an opening to counterattack."

"Just so, Your Majesty."

---

They all spoke more, but moved on to lighter topics after. Dirhael himself passed along their family's message, and Elessar gave his leave for the wraith to visit his family - though under the cover of night while the moon was new, so as not to alarm the city with his presence. Talion the Elder agreed, and they arranged for everyone to meet in the palace while Hithaer, Idril's son, was on guard, so Daerwen could fly in and out over Mount Mindolluin behind the city and so keep anyone from seeing her shadow blocking out the stars.

"Baranor will no doubt wish to come as well," Idril said, but she did not seem happy about it. Neither did Angreth.

"It's time, then?" the wraith said softly.

She nodded sadly. Then, to the others, she said, "My husband Baranor was born nearly a century ago, and since he is of pure Harad descent, he is very old indeed. Since he has seen Middle-earth freed at last from Sauron's shadow, he has decided that it is time at last for him to pass on, and trust the new generation to make a better world for all those to come."

"You will walk out to the Farthest Shore with him?" Mithrandir asked.

"And call his brother Serka to meet him," Talion the Elder confirmed. "And Dirhael - the other Dirhael."

"The other Dirhael," Dirhael repeated, not even trying to hide the grin already pulling his lips wide.

The wraith sighed loudly even as Idril turned to him, also grinning. "Baranor and I named our eldest son in honor of you," she said, "though obviously at the time we had no idea you were still alive. The Witch-king killed him personally some years ago, and destroyed his body so he could not be resurrected, but his spirit is untouched, and answers when Adar calls. I'm sure he'll be very interested to hear about this."

Talion the Elder rubbed a hand over his face. "He already knows," the wraith groaned as Angreth started snickering, "and he's giving me grief for not checking once I had the ability to do so."

He glanced to one side, apparently at nothing, then flicked the hand bearing his Ring. The jewel glowed brighter, and a blue-green shade, a man very like Angreth but dressed in the armor of a Gondorian soldier, appeared next to him mid-word. "-and another thing! You didn't even look for - oh, hello, Mother!"

"Dirhael, stop antagonizing your grandfather," Idril said, grinning.

"Never," the shade replied, beaming at her.

Talion sighed again, and the rest of them laughed.

---

They left Osgiliath again with light hearts, together with Talion the Elder's most solemn vow that he would work with them at a later date on reparations, after he had spoken with the new king of Erebor. Maglor said that he intended to remain in Mordor with the wraith for as long as he could, while Alatar and Pallando said that they would continue wandering, rooting out evil; Sauron was gone, yes, but shadows still lingered in the lands where he had once held sway.

Dirhael and Talion the Younger returned home and found Ioreth and Gladhwen waiting for them, together with Borondir. They quickly retired to their sitting room and dismissed their servants. Then Ioreth looked at Dirhael and raised her eyebrows.

"It is him," his father answered, and her shoulders sagged in relief. "He is… truth be told, there is no mistaking him for anything but a Nazgûl. He has been corrupted the Shadow, and is a dead man walking in a very real sense, like those stories of the Dead Marshes that used to scare me when I was a child. His body is cold, like ice, and he has no heartbeat.

"But despite all of that… I knew him at once, and he knew me. He still talks and gestures and smiles the same. And… my sword, the one I lost when we fled the Gate? It is broken now, but he carries it still, as a dagger - and it has one of your old scarves tied around the sheath."

Ioreth smiled through her tears and said, "He is still our Talion, then."

"Yes." Then Dirhael told her of the king allowing him to visit Minas Tirith on the new moon, three weeks from then. "All of us - except Hallas - are invited up to the palace to meet him, if we wish."

Borondir blinked. " All of us?"

"Indeed. Actually, he mentioned you by name; he said he wants to meet the man who captured Mother's heart and kept it all these years."

His second grandfather was undeniably nervous about meeting his first grandfather, but when the moon faded to new, he too made the journey up to the palace. There they were presented to the king and queen, Mithrandir, Lord Legolas, Lord Gimli, Captain Boromir, Lord Faramir, Lady Éowyn, and Idril and her family.

Her husband Baranor was just as old as she had said, white-haired and wrinkled and weary but still dearly loved. His family was visibly mourning already, and Idril was dressed in black from head to toe, though she neither forbade Baranor's choice nor welcomed it. It simply was - though he himself was glad to be going before his body and mind failed him. "And I am glad beyond words to see our oldest friend one last time as well," he said with a smile, already dressed in his funeral garb. "As much as I can see, in any case. My eyesight is not what it once was."

Then their son Hithaer briefly stuck his head through the palace doors, attired as the citadel guard he was. "Daerwen has crossed the Anduin," he announced. "Grandfather won't be long."

And indeed he was not; not even a quarter hour later, they heard the unmistakable sound of leathery wingbeats. They opened the doors to see the vast shadow of Daerwen alighting in the Court of the Fountain before the palace steps. Despite her great size, the dragon landed easily, without even disturbing the leaves of the new White Tree, and folded the vast membranes of her wings, then lowered herself the rest of the way to the white stone.

Talion the Elder swung down from her back, then offered a hand to Ugol, who hopped down after him. Then they seemed to remove something from Daerwen's harness before turning to the palace and carrying it up the steps between them.

Talion the Younger blinked at the sight of it. It was a sack of roughspun with a strap on either side of the mouth, full of something he could not see, for there was another cut of the cloth pinned over the top of the sack. The wraith and the Orc set it down, then both bowed to the king before Ugol stepped back to return to Daerwen, letting Talion speak. "Your Majesty. I was informed by a reliable source-" Here he shot a glance at Idril, who grinned. "-that you needed some of this?"

He unpinned the cloth covering and drew it back - revealing a small shrub in a bed of soil, white flowers blooming bright. Almost at once, the air grew light and sweet and clear with the plant's perfume, and strain fell from their shoulders, their hearts easing. " Athelas!" Aragorn said in delight, kneeling to examine the plant as the others approached to take a look of their own. "I had no idea it grew in Mordor!"

"It does indeed, and wild, though we also grew it ourselves for a time," Talion the Elder said. "Sauron burned much of it after my fall, but Carnán kept some alive in her forest. We have three more of these, and seed also, though I thought you might appreciate having some full-grown plants already at hand." He passed the king a pouch bound with twine, small but full.

"I do indeed," the Man said with a smile as Hithaer and Ugol brought in the second of the grown plants. "Though the Black Breath is no longer a danger, athelas has many other uses - infusions for headaches and washes to cleanse wounds… Though 'the hands of a king are the hands of a healer', Arwen knows more than I do of its properties."

"I will begin writing the recipes for the Houses of Healing tomorrow," the queen said with a nod and a smile of her own. "Would you like a copy as well?"

"Yes, please," the wraith replied. "Swinsere has taught us much - he was the one who told us about it in the first place - but we will gladly welcome more."

Then, his duty done, he stepped back and looked around to his family. But he went still again almost at once, a soft, sad smile pulling at his corpse-pale lips.

The rest of them held back as Ioreth approached him slowly, studying him intently. When she was close enough to touch, she did so, lifting a hand to press against his stubbled cheek. If the cold stillness of his dead flesh disturbed her, she didn't show it, instead letting an equally soft and sad smile bloom over her face. " There you are."

"Here I am."

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms tight around him, uncaring of the hard ice of his armor, and the young Ranger saw that that embrace surprised his lord grandfather more than any before it. But he returned it nonetheless, and held her until she released him and stepped back to introduce her new husband.

Talion the Elder blinked in surprise. "Borondir of House Serni - son of Inglor?"

Talion the Younger saw his other grandfather also blink and tilt his head. "Yes. You knew my lord father?"

The Nazgûl hummed. " Knew is a strong word, but we met a few times in passing while I was still a Ranger, and he also spoke in my defense during my trial, such as it was."

That made Borondir smile. "That brings me joy to hear. I know he disliked having to set matters of justice aside in favor of politics, but I am glad he was able to offer you even some small support."

"Indeed. Ugol," he said as the Orc and Lord Boromir brought in the last of the athelas, "can you grab the…? Thank you. Though it's many years late, I've brought a wedding present for you both - though mostly for you." He gestured to Ioreth.

"You do not intend to contest the marriage?" Borondir asked.

"Oh no." The wraith shook his head at once, and also gestured a refusal. "No, if you two are happy together - and I assume you must be, to have remained together so many years - then I will simply wish you all the best, and pray your happiness continues." He looked to his former wife. "My duty now is to Mordor, and while she is beautiful in her own way, her lands are very harsh, and full of many dangers, even to those who are native to her soil. I remember well how unhappy you were even just at the Gate; I would not force you to remain at my side for what would no doubt be a short and bitter and miserable time for both of us.

"Though I will remember it fondly, always… I believe I can safely speak for both of us when I say our time is done."

Ioreth smiled through tears that had begun to fall. "I, too, will remember our time fondly. You might not be a nobleman, but you are still a noble Man, Talion, and I am honored to have been your wife."

"As I am honored to have been your husband."

Ugol returned then, carrying a small box. "Thank you, my friend. Ugol, this is my former wife Ioreth, and her husband Borondir. Ioreth, Borondir, Ugol the Silent, my bodyguard."

"It's an honor to meet you," Ioreth said, curtseying to the Orc, who bowed slightly in return. "Thank you for watching over Talion; I'm sure he makes it harder than it needs to be."

The Orc nodded vigorously in agreement, then rolled her eyes hard, which made both Ioreth and Borondir laugh quietly. Talion the Younger smothered a grin in his fist.

"Hey!"

Since the other was full, Ugol gestured with only one hand - in Gondorian sign language, which Talion the Elder must have taught her. She gave him an unimpressed look and spelled out, You're planning on fighting two other Shriekers with a Balrog. You're not allowed to complain.

The Nazgûl muttered something unflattering under his breath, in what must have been Black Speech, because Talion the Younger could not understand a word of it. Then he accepted the box she was carrying, setting it on a table nearby before opening it. The box was very like the one that had held the palantír, though packed even more carefully with cloth. He pulled the packing away, revealing a jar that would have filled the young Ranger's cupped hands, and carefully unscrewed its lid.

What lay within was a dark-colored liquid, thick and pungent-smelling even with the athelas clearing the air. "This," said Talion, "makes this color."

He pulled out a small square of cloth that had been folded up in one corner of the box - revealing it had been dyed a kingly purple touched with red, the color rich and bright. Ioreth inhaled sharply enough that it had to have hurt, and even Borondir looked stunned. "I remember how much you loved the dress you wore, that day," he said quietly, "and afterwards, when all was settled, how furious you were that Asgon had cut it to shreds, since it was an heirloom of Númenor itself, passed down in your family for generations. This is enough to dye cloth for a dozen new dresses, if you wish, or to sell and enrich your house."

"Númenórean purple?" Borondir whispered in shock, which made Talion the Younger jolt as well and listen even more closely.

"Yes," Talion the Elder answered. "The source of the dye is in the slime of a snail, which… somehow? - found its way from Númenor to the Sea of Núrnen. They are few, and dangerous to harvest - there are predators in the water, just as there are on land. It also took a great number of them to make even this small amount of dye, so like as not we will never be able to trade in it - not without depleting and devastating the Sea, in any case. But there is one among us who remembers the art of making the dye, and I had this made for you."

Ioreth embraced him again, and he her. And then, though the papers themselves would likely never see the light of day, they both signed the documents that formally dissolved their marriage.

Talion the Elder greeted his son and grandson again, and this time Gladhwen also. While Dirhael stepped away briefly to talk with his mother and stepfather, Gladhwen curtseyed to the wraith, accepting his return bow, then stepped forward to embrace him as well. The young Ranger was the only one close enough to hear his grandfather whisper, "Thank you for loving my son," and his mother reply, "That is not something you need to thank me for, for I do it gladly. You raised a wonderful man, Talion, and I am honored beyond words to be his wife."

Then it was Idril and Baranor's turn. The Nazgûl hugged his adopted daughter once more, then went to one knee to embrace Baranor as well, longer, and whispered something to him that made the Haradrim hold him tighter still. When they finally released one another, Talion remained on one knee at his side, but turned his head towards nothing and said, "Serka. Dirhael."

The air shimmered next to him, and Dirhael the Younger reappeared, this time with another Haradrim man, young and handsome, armored and attired as the Southrons had been during the War of the Ring, but finer, as a lord among men. "Little brother," he said warmly, with a playful smile, and leaned down to hug Baranor as well.

Then Baranor leaned back and settled more thoroughly in his chair before turning to Talion and offering the wraith his hand. Talion took it with a sigh, then stood once more and pulled the Haradrim man up with him.

But the necromancer's hand passed through Baranor's, his hand falling limp to his thigh. Instead, Talion the Elder gently drew his spirit free of his body, revealing a hale and hearty Haradrim youth, nearly of a height with his brother but dressed in the arms and armor of a soldier of Gondor from decades past. Baranor bade one final farewell to his family, then departed for what lay beyond-

And through the power of Talion's Ring, they all smelled the sweet air of Valinor, felt its soft, cool breeze on their faces, and saw the sun shining clear and bright on the Farthest Shore.

---

Though he did not take part in negotiations directly, Talion the Younger eventually heard from his father that Mordor had at last forged an agreement with Erebor, and then with Gondor afterwards. It was also said that once the other Ringwraiths were dealt with, they would reach out to King Thranduil of Eryn Lasgalen, King Éomer of Rohan, and Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien.

The reason he heard such was because his father came by to pass along a wedding present from his first grandfather: a fine sword of dwarven make for him ( It is mithril, but plated with steelso that it will not seem such an attractive target to thieves, his grandfather wrote. I hope it will serve you well - though I also hope you will never need to use it.) and a small pile of gold, and a lovely blue dress and several pieces of fine jewelry for his beloved Saelind, which Idril said came from Minas Ithil before her fall.

News also trickled down to him from Mithrandir by way of his second grandfather that two of the remaining Nazgûl had been slain - the sisters called Riya and Yukka, from the furthest east - and now the trap for Khamûl and Adûnaphel was being laid.

And then, just as suddenly, it was sprung. Talion the Younger was standing guard while his father and second grandfather met with the king and queen, and a number of Mordor's secret allies and trading partners - including Saelind's father, much to his surprise. He had been looking through the open windows toward the Ephel Dúath in the east, wondering if he would see Daerwen between the peaks, when Mithrandir sat upright with a gasp. When Talion whirled to look at him, he was staring blindly into the distance, rigid like he had turned to stone; for a moment, he thought the wizard's - soul? Consciousness? - had departed his body once more. But no, Mithrandir was still there, and whipped around. "Aragorn, the palantír - Talion is battling the other Nazgûl - and the Balrog!"

King Elessar rose at once and rushed to his desk, revealing that the palantír was near at hand, possibly for just such an eventuality, locked in a strongbox in one of the drawers. He drew it out and gave it to the wizard, who held it in his hands-

-and then they all saw.

Seregost was bitterly cold even now that Sauron was gone, white snow still lying heavy on the mountainsides, winds howling down the slopes and rushing over the frozen lake with nothing to slow them down.

Nothing save tall, sinister totems of bone, swirling with the fell green and black aura of necromancy.

Talion the Elder was there on the ice, crossing swords with a tall figure in dark robes and strange armor, more sinister even than the necromancer. Ugol was nowhere to be found, but Maglor was at his side, his own sword drawn and gleaming, and Daerwen was in the skies, spitting balefire at Orcs obviously allied with the other Nazgûl. Alatar and Pallando were there also, slinging spell after spell against an unnaturally beautiful woman in similar dark robes, and she was casting right back at them, more powerful and more vicious, her perfect lips curled into an ugly snarl.

And under them all, a fiery glow filtered up through the ice - and there was movement in the dark water. A great black fist with three clawed fingers and a sharp thumb reached up from below and slammed against the ice, making everyone stagger.

Ominous cracks started to spread through the ice.

There was no sound - all was silent in the gaze of the palantír - but Talion the Elder distinctly cursed, then flashed over to Khamûl. The other wraith narrowly dodged his swing, which might have cleaved him in two if it had connected - but in the process he stumbled into the path of one of Adûnaphel's wicked curses. The enemy Nazgûl snarled at each other, furious at the interruption, but they were outnumbered and had to set their enmity aside, though they still seethed internally.

Khamûl vented his frustration and swung at Maglor, trying to even the odds, but he dodged with Elven agility and grace. Talion rejoined the fight and closed with the other wraith once more. While he trapped Khamûl's sword with his own, the Elf returned with a strike of his own, laying the wraith's side open to the bone. The enemy wraith snarled again, but despite his power, the wound remained and distinctly weakened and slowed him - enough that when Tar Goroth hit the ice again and sent more cracks spiderwebbing through it, he actually lost his footing and fell.

Talion tried to take advantage of the slip, but Khamûl kicked him away, hard enough that he lost his grip on his sword. It returned to his hand in a burst of balefire even as this time Maglor held Khamûl at bay - but the necromancer did not immediately return to the fray.

Another blast sent the Black Easterling sprawling again - this time from Adûnaphel as she tried to overwhelm the two wizards. The blast at last broke the ice through to the water below, and Tar Goroth nearly lunged for the opening, his giant fists tearing at the edges of the hole, steam rising from the water.

Talion shielded himself and Maglor from Adûnaphel's spell with a wall of pure necrosis, shining with green fire as it absorbed the magic. Then he jumped - and drove his sword down through Khamûl's chest with his full weight behind it, pinning him in place with both booted feet on his elbows to keep his arms flung wide. Khamûl fought him, snarling even with the breath driven from his lungs, but could not throw the other Ringwraith off.

The Elf darted in behind and cleaved one hand from its wrist, then rolled over Talion's back to sever the other as well, sending a Ring of Power skittering free over the ice. The wraith abandoned his sword to pounce on it even as Khamûl withered and died at last with its loss, dissolving into mist, and he tossed the Ring to Maglor without even looking before reclaiming his blade and whirling on Adûnaphel.

Her thoughts were clear on her face - perfect red lips twisted into a sneer of disdain at Khamûl's defeat - but now that her one-time ally was gone, she no longer saw any need to hold back. She threw out another spell, stronger than the last, which blasted Talion, Maglor, and the wizards back and shattered the ice for a dozen meters around her, right up to the ring of bone totems, now inert but still ominous.

The instant the spell's echoes died, the necromancer flashed across the water to Adûnaphel's ice raft, plunging his sword into her stomach. She snarled and threw a spell in his face, but he ducked it and spun, pulling the blade with him. They stumbled apart, to opposite ends of the raft, and then stopped, not daring to move too much lest the raft tip and send them both into the water.

But then both Nazgûl froze for only an instant - before dissolving into mist, black smoke shot through with sinister green light. They whirled away even as one of Tar Goroth's great clawed hands lanced up from the dark water below to seize the ice raft and crush it in his fist.

Adûnaphel slammed back down onto the ice and threw her arms out, staff raised as she began chanting a spell. An evil red aura unfurled around her, tendrils of dark power shooting out to coil around the Balrog's wrist. Tar Goroth roared and fought her, but even he could not escape as the spell began creeping down his arm, carving fell symbols into the crust of his skin.

Maglor called up a ghostly bow of magic and shot an arrow at her from full draw - but when it hit the aura, it splintered into a thousand glittering shards. Alatar and Pallando's spells followed the arrow but to similar effect. Adûnaphel grinned evilly but continued her chant, the Balrog thrashing in her grip even as the Elf fired another arrow and another-

But then Talion appeared behind her, his sword glowing sickly green. The necrotic magic rotted through whatever protection the aura gave her - and the blade itself cleaved through the wrist of her Ring-hand. The last remaining Nazgûl caught her Ring even as it fell, then whirled around with a ghostly hammer in hand-

He vanished an instant before Tar Goroth exploded up through the ice, crushing what remained of Adûnaphel in one of his great hands.

The Balrog climbed over the ice, away from the watery opening where he had emerged, then stood and roared loud enough that avalanches fit to bury cities started flooding down out of the mountains in torrents of ice and snow.

Talion and Maglor tumbled over the ice. The wraith had used some magic that had moved him to the Elf in an instant, at the cost of sending them both sprawling. But they scrambled back to their feet even as Tar Goroth called up a long and cruel whip of fire, white with heat that made the ice flash instantly to steam.

The Balrog lashed out at the enemy wraiths' few remaining Orcs, incinerating them at once, but when he rounded on Talion and his allies, lifting his whip again, another dragon plunged through the clouds overhead. This one was the vibrant green of new growth, made of branch and vine with great wing-membranes of leaf, and it followed Daerwen down as she dove for the Balrog.

Tar Goroth whirled his whip, building up for an attack against the wraith and his allies, but before he could strike, the dragon used her body as a battering ram, slamming into him and knocking him flat, sending great fireballs careening wildly into the air instead of killing everyone as they had the Orcs. The Balrog snarled and hurled Daerwen free - she disappeared into a snowdrift bigger even than her on the shore of the lake - only to have the vine-dragon, Carnán, swoop in. Instead of fire, she spat a great stream of ice over Tar Goroth, freezing him to the surface of the lake - though only for a moment.

But a moment was all Talion needed.

Whether wise or foolish, the Nazgûl had donned all nine Rings of Power and wielded them now against the Balrog. His fire dimmed and guttered, his great whip fizzling to nothing, and long spiked chains, thin but strong and blacker than night itself, burst up through the ice. First a few, binding the dark Maia at wrist and ankle, but then more - chaining elbow and thigh - and still more - snaring horn and tail.

Daerwen burst free of her snowdrift, and inhaled as much as she could before spitting a long stream of white-hot fire over the Balrog. No - not over him - over the ice under him. It melted in moments, and the black chains dragged him down into the water once more.

Or they tried to, but even bound as he was, Tar Goroth still managed to dig his hands and feet into what ice remained. Daerwen had focused her fire on his torso, so the extremities still lingered. The dragon snarled, but Talion gestured for her to cut her fire; she obeyed at once.

Carnán came barreling down out of the sky once more, this time in free fall, great leaf wings folded, branch limbs pulled tight to her tree-trunk body. She slammed into Tar Goroth with enough force to send them both plummeting into the depths - and also to send enormous waves rolling through the lake, shattering what was left of the ice.

Talion shouted to Daerwen, again unheard in the palantír, and she took flight at once, swooping low to snatch up Maglor and the wizards before their ice rafts overturned. But the wraith himself did not look for rescue, instead diving at once into the water after the dueling Maiar.

Now unimpeded, the chains dragged Tar Goroth down into the depths even as he fought them, but Carnán, too, kept him bound. With the water and the Nine suppressing his fire, she had no fear of him and tore at him freely with fang and thorn, biting at his face, battering at his hands - holding his attention.

One of the chains shot upwards towards Talion; had he lost control of the Rings? Were they seeking to wound him, break his will and seize his body? But no, it fell short, went slack - and then he caught it, coiled it around his wrist, and let it pull him down after the Maiar faster than he could possibly swim. When he landed on her back, Carnán changed from distracting Tar Goroth to truly ripping into him, tearing open his chest armor to reveal his still-glowing innards.

Talion climbed over her shoulder, dove the last few meters to Tar Goroth - and then plunged the full power of all Nine like a lance straight into the Balrog's core.

Mighty though he was, even Tar Goroth could not withstand such a powerful blow directed at his most vulnerable part. The magic of the Rings blasted him apart, his torso shattering in an explosion of molten rock, and the rest of him crumbled away a bit at a time, stones of all sizes sinking slowly down to settle on the lakebed.

Carnán recovered first, and caught the limp and drifting Ringwraith in gentle claws. She spread her great wings and beat up to the surface of the lake, emerging up into the air and sunlight and winging towards the lakeshore.

Daerwen had already landed and let down her passengers. The instant Carnán alighted nearby, the young dragon raced to her side, half running, half gliding. The Maia laid the Talion out in the snow, and for a long, dreadful moment, there he remained, absolutely still. Daerwen shivered, her whole body rippling in a wave of flexing spines and quivering scales, and she stretched her neck out to touch her nose to the wraith's shoulder.

But at last Talion suddenly jerked and flailed, and started coughing up lungfuls of water, and both dragons withdrew to give him space even as the Elf and wizards hurried over to join them. And there was Ugol at last, jumping down from where she had been hiding in the ruins on the shore, together with Prâk and Skûn, Gorfel and Olrok, and a dozen other Orcs. With apparently effortless ease, Ugol flipped the wraith onto his stomach and slapped his back hard to help him spit up the last of the water.

Talion staggered to his feet and gave Ugol a thankful pat, still wheezing even though he had no true need to breathe. Then he accepted the necklace chain that Maglor handed him and hurriedly stripped off the other Rings, then slid them onto the chain and clasped it.

"Talion the Gravewalker," Mithrandir said, both solemn and relieved, light-hearted, "Last of the Nine, Lord of Mordor."

---

Only three days later, a message was delivered to the palace by way of the Rangers of Ithilien, asking that the king send a trusted representative to bear witness to the destruction of the other Eight. Elessar would have gone himself, had he been able, but as the king he could not leave Minas Tirith, especially not so soon after taking the throne. Mithrandir announced that he would go, and thus allow Elessar and his council to both bear witness through the palantír and hear Talion the Elder by way of the wizard through the Elven mind-art called ósanwe.

Talion the Younger joined them, and watched as the wizard departed for Minas Morgul on Shadowfax. As strong and fleet and tireless as the wind itself, the Mearas stallion bore him across the Anduin to the still-darkened city in only a few hours. His grandfather, Daerwen, and Ugol were waiting for them, gathered around a fire in the courtyard in the Lower City, and rose to welcome them.

All the watchers looked on in amusement as dragon and horse bowed to each other, while Ugol just shook her head and sighed. But they had brought hay up from Núrn for Shadowfax, since the grasses and plants of the Morgul Vale were still withered and corrupted, and he tucked into it at once, swishing his tail without a hint of concern.

Talion the Elder gave Mithrandir a personal harness to wear while they flew; though there was no longer any danger of being attacked in the air, none of them wanted to risk falling from Daerwen's back, just in case. Then, when everyone was settled, the dragon took flight, spiraling upward and angling for the Morgul Pass and Gorgoroth beyond.

"We are glad to see you well - and you also, Daerwen, Ugol," the wizard said, passing along the king's message and nodding to the Orc. "You had quite the battle."

Ugol huffed in agreement and signed, It was. The first fight with the Balrog was before my vat-day, but I know for a fact that this one was worse.

"It certainly did not involve nearly so many Ringwraiths," Talion agreed. "Zog was less powerful, but more annoying."

"'Zog'," Mithrandir repeated. "Another Orc, we take it?"

The wraith nodded and briefly told the story of the other necromancer's myriad attempts to control Tar Goroth as Adûnaphel almost had. At the end of it, the wizard shook his head. "In all my travels over the years, I never ventured into the East, and I sorely regret that now," he said. "I am sorry, Talion; it seems to me that you could have used a great deal more aid from the West than you received."

Talion the Elder waved him off. "We can't do anything about that now," he said, "but I won't deny that I'm relieved the West won't bring the hammer down on us now that Sauron is destroyed. Without him here to drive us into madness, many of us just want to live."

Ugol nodded firmly in agreement.

"What will you do, now that the war is over, Ugol?" Mithrandir asked her, on Talion the Younger's behalf.

I plan on staying as the Gravewalker's guard, though my job is probably gonna be a lot more boring now, she signed. But I swore I'd do it until death, and I meant it.

"You don't have to stay with me if there's something you want more-," the wraith began, only to have the Orc thump him on the head with her fist.

Don't be dumb, tark, Ugol signed, scowling at him, even as the other witnesses back in Minas Tirith snickered. The wizard lifted a hand to hide his own grin. Someone has to keep an eye on you.

"And you swore it would be you?" Mithrandir asked, clearly amused.

She nodded firmly. Before Talion, I fought under Az-Tarmo, the Champion of Gorgoroth, with Gorfel; he's my blood brother. I didn't really see it for myself, not at first, but there was no stopping the stories. Even as one of the Shriekers, the Gravewalker was better than the Dark Lord. He ordered his armies into battle, yeah, but he also fought alongside them. He made sure that the Overlords looked after their troops, even the lowliest grunts; they had good food, good armor, good weapons. And Sauron didn't care if we died - he could pop a thousand more of us out of the vats in a month - but Talion made sure that if we died, it was for a damned good reason, and called us back with his Ring, if he could.

I told Gorfel and the others that we should throw our lot in with him, 'cause it would be a better life for us, but one of them snitched. Az-Tarmo cut out my tongue for 'speaking treason against the Dark Lord' and threw me out, said I should go see if Talion had any use for a mute grunt.

Gorfel left, too, and we went to find the Gravewalker. He took us in quick as, and trained us up and taught us Gondor's finger-speak, since Mordor doesn't have one. Then he led us back to Gorgoroth and helped us kill Az-Tarmo, and after that I promised I'd watch his back the way he watched ours.

"I won't deny that at the time, my thoughts were mostly on how your motivation to get your revenge could be useful to me," Talion the Elder said softly, "but you and Gorfel both have been good friends for many years, and I am glad to have you still."

Ugol reached over and ruffled his hair, making him yelp.

---

Daerwen landed on a wide, dark ridge below the Sammath Naur. Since they were not expecting trouble, Ugol stayed with the dragon, while wizard and wraith made their way over the broken rock up to the tunnel. Though the destruction of the One Ring and the eruption of Mount Doom had been nearly a year prior, in some places the lava was still fluid under the dark surface, and the rock itself was very hot. Thus they chose their path with utmost care; if they fell, the subsequent burns would have been very severe indeed.

But fortunately they reached the Cracks of Doom without incident, and entered the mountain, walking out without fear on the spur over the bright magma below. There Mithrandir confirmed that all eight Rings of Power were on the chain, with the Ninth still on the hand of Talion the Elder, before the last remaining Ringwraith threw them down into the fire.

The power of the Rings broke and rattled Mount Doom to its foundations, but unlike with the One, it did not erupt; instead it only belched great clouds of smoke and steam and stinking gases.

They returned to Daerwen and Ugol, and flew back to Minas Morgul with ease, with Mithrandir relaying messages from the wraith's allies back in Minas Tirith. He was glad to hear from them, and with the blessing of the king, he promised to reopen trade through Mordor now that it was truly safe to do so.

When they landed in Minas Morgul, though, he turned to the wizard. "Mithrandir, before you go… do you have any experience confirming the provenance of… shall we say, semi-magical artifacts?"

"Some, yes," Mithrandir answered, "though if he had not turned traitor and joined the Enemy, I should have referred you to Saruman, who was more learned in lore. What is it you think you have found?"

The wraith grimaced. "The Sceptre of Númenor," he answered. Talion the Younger sat up at that, and his father and fellow observers murmured amongst themselves in surprise, already debating the meaning of this sign even as his grandfather continued, "I know the shape of it - I daresay every Gondorian does, or should - but it might be a forgery; I have not the skill to tell."

Mithrandir gestured for the necromancer to show him, and followed him through the streets to a side gate through the outer wall, and then down a narrow track to torchlit caves under the city. "The Sceptre of Númenor… Well, Ar-Pharazôn was thought lost, and we have since learned otherwise; why not the sceptre also? How did you find it?"

"I sent a band under Lorm the Drowned, whom you have not met, to search the remains of Barad-dûr," the wraith replied, "to see if there was anything I needed to take charge of, or otherwise deal with, in the wake of the One's destruction. Mostly there were Sauron-worshippers in the ruins, paying homage to the stone of the Dark Tower, but some of the basements were still intact. Lorm found it there, and alerted me to come and retrieve it, since he said it glowed whenever they approached it. They didn't want to touch it, because they were worried it was 'the Eye's revenge'."

Talion the Younger snorted at that, but it was fair enough, he supposed; any magic in Mordor was likely to be treacherous, especially any left behind by the Dark Lord.

Mithrandir hummed in thought, and stood back as Talion the Elder walked up to what seemed a blank wall of stone in the very back of the cave. A ripple of dark power passed over him, and the wall cracked, split down the center, and opened, revealing a small hall where aged statues of Elves carved from living stone stood guard over a few crates of artifacts of Minas Ithil. "I do not know if Idril will wish to take guardianship of these once more, now that it is safe to return them to Gondor," Talion said, running a hand over one of the crates as he passed it by. "Truthfully, few are of any great value, but by rights they are Gondor's; only say when you are ready to receive them, and I will come to open the door - though there are some among the Rangers who can do so as well."

Then he led the way to another door at the back of the hall, and recited a poem that carved itself into the stone even as he spoke. When it was finished, he touched the wall with the hand bearing his Ring, and the door split open like the first, revealing a sarcophagus within, and a long wooden box atop it.

"This is where the Rangers put Boromir's body?" Mithrandir asked, peering around the inner chamber.

"Yes," he answered. "The magic woven into the barrows makes anything placed within proof against decay. In other regions, we use them to preserve food - and ice in Gorgoroth, brought down from Seregost for the summer heat."

"An unusual method, but a clever one."

Talion unsealed the wooden box and opened it, revealing a short staff of mithril. A flawless diamond larger than a goose egg formed the head of it, held in place by bands of mithril and white gold, and the sceptre itself was set with a filigree of gold spiraling down the shaft. A solid sphere of mithril at the base was set as a counterweight for the head and inlaid with a rainbow of glittering gemstones.

Mithrandir hummed at the sight of it, examining it intently without touching it, then hovered a hand over it and murmured in Elvish. The diamond glowed in response, and a ripple of light raced down the gold filigree to make the jewels in the base flare. At that, the wizard straightened. "This is indeed the Sceptre of Númenor - or if it is not, it is so clever a forgery as to be no different from the original. Also, I detect nothing of Sauron's darkness lingering inside it; it may be delivered to Gondor without fear."

"Then… will you take it with you when you return?"

The wizard listened to the words of the king, then hummed thoughtfully. "Elessar asks that you be the one to deliver it before a small court gathering, if you will come. Friends and allies, and a few trusted courtiers. There is no hope of keeping you and your people a secret forever - rumors have already begun to spread - but through this, we might make it obvious that however you may appear, you are a friend and ally of Gondor as Sauron never was."

Now it was Talion's turn to hum. "That is certainly one way to do it, and if it is known that there are already those who will vouch for me… Very well. Only tell me when, and I will be there." Then his lips turned up in a soft smile. "And it will be good to visit my family again as well."

Talion the Younger smiled at that. Perhaps, now that he and Saelind's father knew that they shared the same secret, they could introduce his betrothed as well. She had expressed interest in meeting the one who sent her such fine betrothal gifts, and she was not one to let fear get the better of her.

Maybe - just maybe - all would at last be well.

---

Frodo felt weary down to his bones as he rode at last into the Grey Havens of the Elves. Though now years gone, it still seemed that the Ring and the Morgul blade sapped at his strength and chilled his blood, and though he would sorely miss Sam for all the days they were parted, he was still eager for whatever relief the Undying Lands would bring.

The ships built of grey wood were already waiting for them, tied up at the quay, and so too were Gandalf and Shadowfax. The wizard was leaning easily on his staff, and smiled gently at the sight of all four hobbits riding alongside the Elf lords and ladies who had met them on the road, their sturdy ponies seeming simple but also more warm and earthy than the glorious and near-ghostly Elven stallions and mares.

Frodo swung a leg over his pony to dismount and tried to hide a wince when it jostled his wounded arm. But Sam saw anyway and was at his side at once, easing him the rest of the way down so gently that the only reason he knew he was standing again was that he felt the flagstones of the harbor wall under his feet.

A bearded Elf announced to them that all was made ready for them to sail; they were only waiting on some last guests of Gandalf. "To bid one last farewell on this side of the Straight Road," said the wizard.

Yet even as he spoke, Shadowfax's ears pricked. He lifted his head, turning slightly to look back east, then tossed his head and whinnied, pawing at the flagstones with one powerful hoof. Not afraid, but eager.

After a moment, Frodo heard it: the slow beat of great wings, so familiar that for a moment his heart skipped several beats, fluttering with fear in his chest.

What glided down out of the fading light was both better and worse than he feared, for though it was not one of the dreadful Black Wings of the Riders, he certainly never imagined encountering a dragon in a haven of the Elves - nor the Orc and the terrifying Man who rode it.

One of the Elves in Galadriel's retinue shot to her feet where she had been helping her fellows load the ships. Unlike the others, she was dressed in grey-green robes and steel armor of glittering scales, and her face was white with shock, but not with fear. "Talion?" she said, stunned, " Talion?"

"Eltariel," the Man answered, his voice dark and hollow and metallic like his armor but still warm and glad. He swung down from the dragon's back, and the Orc did as well, though he remained by the dragon's side where the Man did not, stepping forward to greet the Elf, clasping her forearm. "It's good to see you again, even one last time - I'm glad you survived."

While Shadowfax and the dragon bowed to each other, Gandalf introduced the Man as Talion, called "the Gravewalker", once a Ranger of Gondor but now Lord of Mordor in Sauron's wake. "Hopefully a better one - though I don't think that will be a high bar to reach," he said dryly, and the Orc snorted and rolled his eyes. Frodo found himself grinning along with his fellow hobbits at that.

Then the wizard introduced the Orc as Ugol the Silent, Talion's bodyguard against the dangers of Mordor, and the dragon as Daerwen, the last of her kind, before turning and declaring the rest of them to the Man and Orc. He bowed to the Elf lords, who returned the gesture slightly shallower, as was their right. Merry and Pippin were quite intrigued to hear that Mordor was now allied with both Gondor and Rohan, and said that perhaps someday they would come to see him when their travels took them back to their lords. Talion smiled fondly and replied, "We will wait expecting nothing. Though Mordor has some beauty and wonder of her own, she is neither an easy nor pleasant land to visit."

Then it was Frodo and Sam's turn, and the Man recognized them - or at least Frodo. "Shire," he said softly, " Baggins - the Ringbearer."

And by that, Frodo recognized him, too, though he kept silent on it, only greeting him as a friend and ally. Though Talion was one of the Nine Riders, Gandalf had not introduced him as such, and he was clearly no longer one of the faceless horrors that had harried him across Middle-earth, any more than Ugol was one of Sauron's endless hordes.

The Orc nudged the Man, then gestured with his hands in a way that must have made sense to Talion, for he turned back to him and Sam and said, "Ugol says thank you, both of you, for freeing us all from Sauron - and I do also. I know you are leaving Middle-earth, Master Baggins, and I hope that you find peace and healing in the West. But Master Gamgee, if ever you require anything at all, ask, and if it is within our power, it will be done."

Sam bowed his head in thanks - and also probably to hide a blush. Though they had all been honored many times throughout Middle-earth - in Gondor and Rohan and Rivendell and even their own Shire - he was still unused to such high praise, instead preferring a simple life of tending the gardens at Bag End.

Then as everyone resumed loading the ships for their departure, Frodo watched quietly as Talion returned to the Elf, Eltariel, who had been the first to greet him. "I am sorry, Talion," she said. "I didn't expect you to survive, so I didn't think to look for you."

The Nazgûl waved her off at once. "Don't blame yourself; truth be told, I didn't think I would survive either. Not if not for…"

His gaze fell to her hand. She wore a strange silver ring on her forefinger, and her last two fingers were golden and ghostly, glowing slightly in the fading light. The Elf tensed. "The others-?"

"The other Eight are destroyed. Don't worry, Eltariel; I wouldn't drag you back to Mordor now to fulfill your duty," Talion said with a faint smile. But then his face fell into concern. "But… Have you seen Celebrimbor? There has been no sign of him in Mordor, and I won'd deny I'm worried."

Eltariel sighed. "He is here, with me," she answered, making the Nazgûl straighten, "but he is… not well. Far from it. His time bound together with Sauron… I have never seen such wounds before, or felt them carved so deep; he hangs on by only a thread. I fear that if we do not reach the Undying Lands soon, he will be lost entirely."

"Can you bring him forth?" Talion asked. He exchanged a meaningful glance with Gandalf. "I may be able to offer some help there, though only with him."

The Elf looked dubious but said, "I will try."

She closed her eyes, and the strange golden aura around her ghostly fingers spread out to the rest of her as well.

Then the silver form of an Elven shade appeared next to her, and Frodo gasped at the sight of him. Never before had he seen an Elf so grievously wounded; though there was no blood that the hobbit could see, one of the Elf's legs looked to have been crushed at the knee and hung limp under him, forcing the other to bear his full weight. The arm on his other side was gone in its entirety almost to the shoulder, the shredded sleeve of once-fine robes pulled by unseen winds. And everywhere else that Frodo could see, he had been pierced by blades or ripped to the bone by great claws, over his back, down his sides, through his legs, and along his remaining arm. The Elf seemed more wound than person, nearly destroyed by Sauron.

"Talion," Celebrimbor gasped, even as cries of alarm filled the air around them. He reached for the Man, tried to take a step towards him - but his wounded leg crumpled under him.

Yet the Nazgûl was there in an instant, catching him gently despite the horror clear on his face. "Celebrimbor," he said, holding him close, "I'm here, I have you."

The Elf let his head fall onto the Man's shoulder, let the wraith take his ghostly weight. "Sorry, Talion," he choked out, sounding near to weeping if tears were not already falling, "so sorry - not just a vessel, never - didn't mean it, shouldn't have-!"

"Peace, Celebrimbor," Talion said, tilting their heads together. "You are forgiven. It's all right, my friend. I forgive you."

Then the Elf did weep, burying his face in the Man's shoulder, crying and holding tight to him even as he weakened further.

But whatever had passed between them, it seemed the wraith meant it when he forgave Celebrimbor, for he did not let him linger until he died again in truth, his spirit unraveling under the wounds Sauron had dealt him. Instead he lifted a hand, which bore still a Ring, a thick gold band set with a jewel glowing a sickly bluish-green. Its light brightened - and the world around them faded, turning grey and then silver, before rolling back to reveal the most beautiful land Frodo had ever seen.

They all stood on a shore of sand whiter than snow, soft and easy under his toes, the surf breaking in a low rumble behind them. Long grasses of gold and green rolled away over the hills before them, and a winding path of white stone snaked through them up to the white palace in the distance, its stone halls low and windowless but long and beautiful just the same. Mallorn trees grew tall and beautiful around it as in Lothlórien to the east, branches and green and silver leaves rustling. Here the sun was still high in the sky, shining down warm and comforting, and the salt-sea breeze that raced over the shore was cool and sweet and gentle; even the first breath alone eased Frodo's heart and lessened his pain.

And he was not the only one, it seemed, for the Elves were also refreshed, and his fellow hobbits, too - and Celebrimbor also seemed to regain some measure of strength, no longer leaning nearly so hard on Talion.

The wraith drew back slightly to look the Elf shade in the eye. "Go in peace, my friend. We will see one another again someday, here on the Farthest Shore."