Thalion Faer, Doltha Hún

Saying goodbye to Faramir, knowing well that I would not return, was harder than accepting my end. I could not bring myself to explain the vision I had seen. All I could do was hold him tightly, apologize for everything, assure him that I loved him with all of my heart, and lie that I would return soon. He was not well enough to fight and I was glad for it, wanting him tucked safely out of harm’s way until the very end. I made a promise to Eowyn when I left to look out for her brother. She said a prayer in the language of her people, a blessing meant to protect me.

Feredir had been waiting for me in the stables, pacing back and forth with anticipation of what was to come. I went through the all-too familiar practice of preparing him for a ride; the last ride. I whispered to him in elvish, commanding him to come back to the city when I told him to. I would not allow him to remain at the gates when the battle started. He was a horse, not a shield; I refused to let him be used as such.

Merry sat before me on the saddle, fingers absently twisted into Feredir’s mane as the combined forces of Rohan and Gondor marched on the Black Gates of Mordor. They were giant and ominous in the distance before we even came to Osgiliath, the entire land rife with thick smoke and darkness. In its current state it was impossible to believe that these lands had once been a part of the kingdom of Gondor; that they had served as a place for anything other than fire and war and evil.

Legolas had found me before we departed, coming in and silently helping me into the armor that in the end would make no difference. I sheathed my sword and slung my daggers over my back. He helped fix my hair and placed a kiss on my forehead before slinging his bow over his shoulder. It lightly clanked against the quiver full of arrows. As he turned to leave I reached out and stopped him, holding his hands gingerly at first before meekly wrapping my arms around his middle. He held me back and did not ask what was wrong as a few tears fell from my face and stained his tunic. I explained in a choppy voice how greatly I need him in my life, how I would never have made it this far without him, how I owed him and his father my life for taking me in.

“You speak as if this is the last time we will meet.” He laughed, tilting up my head so I would look at him. “You underestimate your skill in battle.”

Feredir walked alongside the horse Legolas had been given, and I glanced over at him now and again. I spent hours convincing myself that I had made the right decision in not telling Legolas and Faramir about the vision. They would only have tried to stop something that was meant to be. The last act.

We followed Aragorn as he led us through the lands of Gondor and watched as the grounds around us slowly shifted to fit a more sinister land. It was very clear when we entered the outskirts of Mordor; ashes flying down from the sky like snowflakes. The air became thicker and tasted of burning oil and death.

Rounding a bend we came at last to the Black Gates. They were cast in steel and were of such a density that four cave trolls were needed just to open it. They stood chained to their posts atop the metal where they would likely die, their small forms growing larger as we approached the gates, completely unchallenged.

There was no army waiting to slaughter us, not a spec of life outside of the gates. Aragorn motioned for the company to stop and the sound of horse hooves against dirt slowly faded to silence. We stood, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement from Mordor—but none came.

“Where are they?” Pippin asked anxiously from his place with Gandalf. After a few more minutes Aragorn motioned for some of us to follow him. Gandalf, Éomer, Legolas, Gimli, and I went with Aragorn closer to the main gates.

“Let the Lord of the black land come forth!” Aragorn bellowed. “Let justice be done upon him!”

As the last word left his mouth the gates began to creak open. We backed up a few paces as a soldier on a black horse slowly came towards us. He was no orc, that much was clear. His armor covered every inch of his body save his mouth; it was a horridly overgrown and garish thing, the skin around it veiny and cracked, the teeth dirty and sharp. If he had any eyes they were covered, yet still when his head turned my way I felt his gaze pierce me.

“My master, Sauron the Great, bids you welcome. Is there any in this rout with the authority to treat with me?”

“We do not come to treat with Sauron, faithless and accursed.” Gandalf said sternly. “Tell your master this: the armies of Mordor must disband. He is to depart these lands, never to return.”

“Old Greybeard.” The messenger said with a smirk horrible enough to leave children with nightmares. “I have a token I was bidden to show thee.”

He held out the silver mithril shirt that Bilbo had given Frodo in Rivendell. The sight of it caused the hobbits to cry out. We watched as the shirt was thrown to Gandalf, who inspected it before demanding silence.

“The halfling was dear to thee, I see. Know that he suffered greatly at the hands of his host.” The messenger said, smiling. “Who would have thought one so small could endure so much pain? And he did, Gandalf. He did.”

Although I knew that in the end Frodo was successful, I knew not if this messenger spoke the truth or if he was merely trying to break our defences. It was very possible that they had captured him, tortured him, and that he had managed to escape. But what of the ring? Surely they would have found it, and if that was the case we would know it. What of Samwise? There was no word of him and he would not willingly abandon his friend. I placed my hand on Merry’s shoulder, certain that this was not the truth. The messenger laughed aloud at our reactions and Aragorn slowly rode up to his side.

“And who is this? Isildur’s heir? It takes more to make a king than a broken elvish blade.”

Without a moment’s hesitation Aragorn raised his blade and sent it flying through the messenger’s neck. The force severed his head completely, and it flew through the air before crashing onto the ground. The body went limp before slumping backwards on the horse and then toppling into the dirt. The horse, frightened by the gesture, began to back away from Aragorn as he turned to face us, blade dripping black blood.

“I guess that concludes negotiations.” Gimli muttered smugly, as if decapitation was the only desirable outcome he had in mind.

“I do not believe it!” Aragorn said strongly. “I will not.”

No sooner did he stop speaking then the gates began to open wide, presenting the full force army of Mordor we had been expecting. In the distance stood the tower of Barad-Dûr itself, atop it the flaming eye of Sauron. The sight struck a panic in me that set my heart racing. Aragorn ordered for us to fall back to the rest of the company and we obeyed, the marching of the enemy looming closer every second. When we finally fell back into position Aragorn began to ride in front of the company, his voice booming louder than the war march of the enemy.

“Hold your ground! Hold your ground. Sons of Gondor! Of Rohan! My brothers! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the Age of Men comes crashing down—but it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, Men of the west!”

It was a speech that sent chills through my body and nearly brought me to tears. Here we were: a small group of men, an elf, a dwarf, a woman, two hobbits, and a wizard: all of us, ready to die. This was the spirit of middle earth. This was the unwavering nature of creatures that are good. This was why, no matter the odds, good would always triumph over evil. There will always be people more desperate to preserve something than there will be to destroy it.

The enemies started to surround us and there was no end of their forces in sight. I dismounted Feredir and helped Merry off, saying goodbye to the horse for the last time and sending him away. The rest of the horses were sent back; none of us wished to send them to the slaughter. I took deep breaths, weaving my hand into Aragorn’s as the armies came upon us. I had never seen so many orcs at once.

“Never thought I’d die fighting side by side with an elf.” Gimli remarked lightly. Legolas smiled, looking down at him.

“What about side by side with a friend?”

“Aye, I could do that.” Legolas placed his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder and looked ahead.

“Gimli, my friend.” I called above the growing din, eyes watering.

“Yes, lass?”

“When this is over, will you take me to your city?” I asked, staring forward. “I wish to look upon the cities below the ground.”

“So long as you bring a healthy appetite, my lady.” He laughed, and a smile broke across my face. Gimli’s city, Frodo’s return home, the child in another life—these were things I could hold on to. Things to get me through until the end. The armies stopped and we waited for our signal. Aragorn’s hand slipped from mine as his eyes locked onto the eye of Sauron. He took slow steps forward, as if in a trance, before shaking himself out of it and turning back to face us. He looked at me, eyes watering, and gave the command.

“For Frodo.”

He lifted his sword and released a battle cry, charging at the enemy. I immediately followed after him, wielding my daggers and preparing for the last stand. The hobbits were the first to follow after me, the others coming soon after. We spread out in all directions and met the impossible enemy head on.

It felt as if every enemy I’d ever fought, every hour I’d spent training and every skill I’d learned, it was all meant for this battle. Everything was a precursor. There were a dozen hits I should have missed. Twenty times I should have been hit. It just wasn’t the right time.

My body was unphased by the fighting, no sweat forming and no shortness of breath. I could predict all of their moves, I could block them before they even decided which direction to strike from. Any angle, any move, it was futile on their part.

Then the Nazgûl came, the remaining eight swarming down on our little army without mercy. They clawed at the soldiers, the wraiths’ screams piercing the air and penetrating our ears like a thousand needles. It was difficult enough standing our ground against the orcs, but being attacked from above made it nearly impossible.

“The eagles!” Pippin cried nearby. “The eagles are coming!”

He was right. The legendary eagles were soaring towards the Nazgûl and I struggled to watch as they collided mid-air. They tore at the Nazgûl and cut them with precision no marksman could ever mimic. The eagles took the battle higher in the sky, drawing the enemy away for the moment.

The cave trolls began to smash closer to me and I managed to slip away, taking down two orcs in the process. The Nazgûl had distracted me, put me out of my focus, and now the exhaustion of battle was starting to catch up with me. I felt my limbs begin to go numb but I ignored it, I refused it.

It wasn’t until I heard Legolas cry out Aragorn’s name that I lost focus again. I looked around for him, my heart dropping as an armoured cave troll went stomping towards him. I rushed to fight my way over to him as he tried to block the troll’s attacks. In one swift movement he kicked him down, the massive foot pinning him to the ground. I decapitated three orcs who stood on my way as Aragorn pulled out a dagger and jammed it into the beast’s foot. He howled in pain and I used the moment of distraction to jump, using all of my strength and weight to cut at the troll’s shoulder. The blade almost severed the thing right off and he turned, releasing Aragorn to give me his attention. It wasn’t until it looked at me that I realized this was what I had seen, the vision. The end. The troll looked at me with fury only a life in Mordor could fill one with before reeling back his uninjured appendage.

The giant arm collided with my chest, flinging me backwards into the abyss of the battle. I felt the spikes of his armor delve deep into my body, blood rushing to the surface as I struggle to make sense of things. The pain does not come, for the numbness takes its place for a few blessed seconds. I crash against the hard ground, grey dust flying up above me in a cloud; others noticing me only to avoid me. The numbness fades and I realize how silent it's become. Time seems to slow down, my mind going into a frenzy of recollections of the past.

Boromir, Elrond, Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Sauron. Sauron. In the distance I picked up on crumbling; and in my heart I felt he was defeated. Defeated like I was. In unison we'd reached our ends; collapsing into ourselves and sliding down into the grip of death. The coldness came over me in a tingly shiver; taking time to reach every part of me.

The world as I knew it flew in and out of focus; my breathing raspy and my heart in a fury. Frodo, they called. Frodo, Frodo. He'd done it, he'd destroyed the ring. I wished I could see him, one last time. But I knew that hoping and wishing did nothing like in the fairy tales of my youth. No Elf-Queen would come grant my wish, lead me to the grey havens, save me.

I smiled; a faint gesture that would no doubt take up all the energy I had left. In my mind and in my heart I had finally accepted it; finally lost my fear of death. And what perfect timing; at the beginning of the end. I wondered if I would see them now, as I did in my dreams all those years. Had my parents aged? Had Boromir changed?

My love for them all would never disappear; wouldn't fade like my memory would. I would hold onto the memories, the images and emotions and scents and sights, I would attach them to my soul and keep them forever. The coldness grew with the darkness, and I wished I could just hear Aragorn’s voice one last time. The world seemed so far away...

Everything, the whole world around me faded out of existence. I could feel myself sinking, as though I was falling onto a bed of feathers. There was a peacefulness to the nothing I was in. The coldness was gone and the dark was more like a dimness; like a warm blanket wrapping around you in the winter. It was the feeling of the sun against skin and the grass on bare feet and a fresh bath after a long trip and the return to familiar surroundings.

Somewhere, a light. It evolved into every colour imaginable and felt the way moonlight does on a night when time is no issue. I felt myself turning over and over, gently though, as if unraveling. Breaking apart into whatever I was made of and scattering across the realm of the in between. I could not tell if a life time or a heartbeat had passed, but it was not a subject that bothered me. There was comfort, here, and peace that nothing could touch. It was quiet, so very quiet. My spirit began to spin, winding around something and beginning to barrel upwards.

Forever and eternity, up, up, up.