‘They come to the Gray Havens. Frodo and Bilbo depart over Sea with the Three Keepers. The end of the Third Age.’

-Appendix B

-The Return of the King

-J.R.R. Tolkien

The long dark years were finally over. In the end, good had triumphed over evil, but at a great cost. Many lives had been destroyed in Sauron’s attempt to regain power. The One Ring was gone, destroyed. Frodo had carried his burden to the slops of Mount Doom, and failed in his task. It took a slinky little sneak to cast the ring down into the fire, unmaking all that Sauron had striven for. By mistake Gollum was the savior of Middle Earth, and when he fell to his fiery death, he took the One Ring with him. With the passing of the One Ring, so had the three rings of Elvish power faded, their sway over Middle Earth now diminished, heralding the end of an Age. The rightful heir of Isildur sat on the throne of Gondor, bringing forth the Forth Age, the Age of Man.

~~**~~

He left his children on the shores of Arda, to face whatever fate was in their future. How was he going to explain to his beloved that their children did not travel with him? That he had left them on the shores of Arda? His Evenstar chose a mortal life; her time on earth was now tied to that of her mortal husband. Once he succumbed to the long march of time, Arwen would fade. The twins made the decision to stay behind; the siren song of Middle Earth still called to them. If and when they traveled West across the sea, no one could tell. The only saving grace was that their grandfather, Lord Celeborn, still dwelt in Middle Earth. He too was not ready to travel, even though his wife, the Lady of Light, sailed without him.

Elrond stood on the bow of the white ship; a fine sea mist clung to his clothing and ebony hair as he watched the seagulls float on the air currents. The morning sun was just breaking over the waves, coloring the sky in a wide variety of pinks and blues. He had stood there and watched the passing of the sun, and now he watched as it rose over the gently rolling sea. His heart was heavy as he thought of his family, the ones left behind and the one awaiting his arrival.

Celebrian, his silver-haired lover, had been journeying to Lorien, when she was attacked at the Red Horn Pass. Captured by the Orcs of the Misty Mountains, the foul creatures had dared to lay their hands on his wife. She was forever changed by the time she spent in their company. Elladan and Elrohir had traveled to the Misty Mountains and found the den of the Orcs. They rescued their naneth but the wounds she suffered were too great. No longer could she find peace or joy and the decision to sail West was not one she made lightly. It was in the year 2510 that he watched her get on that ship and sail away, never to see her again until his time on Arda was finished. After her rescue it taken less then a year before they made the journey to the Gray Havens. Watching as she stepped upon the deck of the white ship had been one of the most difficult things he had done in his already long life.

Elrond had reluctantly agreed with her decision. He knew if she did not go to the Undying Lands, then she would eventually fade, the sadness and grief overcoming her will to live. At least with her sailing he would have the chance to be reunited with her in the future. But now she waited for him, and he did not know how he was going to tell her about the children.

To tell her of the time the twins spent riding out against the Orcs. They never really told him what they had found in that dark cave, but whatever it was it affected them greatly. They were never the same after they had ridden into Imladris bearing the wounded and abused body of their mother. The light in Elrohir’s eyes had dimmed a little that day. Elladan had changed also; no longer was he the laughing carefree Elf that he once was. The serious Elf that his son became was so unrecognizable that Elrond almost did know his own child. Both had refocused their energies, intent on one thing. They made it their life goal to rid Middle Earth of as many of those foul creatures as they could. There was not a thing that Elrond could have done to deter the twins from their course. They vowed not to stop until either one of them was dead or it came time to sail. They spent more time with the Ranger’s in their quest than they did with their own family.

“Why do you weep? What are these tears upon your face?” Asked a gentle voice from behind him.

At the sound of that voice, Elrond started. He raised his hand to his face and wiped the tears from his eyes. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he did not realize he had been weeping.

“My lady,” he greeted his mother-in-law. “Forgive me. I did not realize anyone else was up this early.”

“What troubles you this fine morning?”

“What troubles me?”

“Yes, Elrond. What troubles you? Why do you weep?”

“I have spent the night standing here, thinking of how I will tell Celebrian about the children.”

“What is there to tell?” asked Galadriel. “They are old enough to make their own decisions. Each one knows the consequence of the choice of the paths they take.”

Elrond gave her a weak smile before he answered, “I feel as if I let Celebrian down.”

“Why do you say such a thing?”

“The last thing she said to me before she boarded the ship was to ‘watch over the children’. I have allowed the three of them to make a choice that may sunder them forever from their family.”

He turned his head, unable to look into the piercing gaze of Galadriel. The Lady of Light had many talents, but she did not need to use any of them to understand her son-in-law. The emotions the grieving Peredhil radiated were what had made her rise from her bed. His sadness had so manifested itself that it covered the ship like a heavy shroud.

Galadriel did not know what to do for her fractured family. Each had made their own decisions. Celeborn, lover, confidant, friend and her husband of countless years had decided to stay. He had told her he was not ready to go. When he had told her that he was not ready to go, the feeling evoked was like that sunny afternoon when Celebrian had come to her and informed her that she was sailing. Celebrian’s daughter, the beautiful Arwen Undomiel, married her scruffy Ranger. Aragorn had gained the throne of Gondor and made Arwen his queen. Marriage bound the two closely together and when he died, then Arwen was sure to follow. The twins decided to stay: they said it was to watch over their sister. As if Estel would allow any harm to come to his beloved. Galadriel knew that was only an excuse. Elladan had told her before they left Minas Tirith that they were not ready to face their mother just yet. It had been over five hundred years since her capture, and Elladan and Elrohir still felt guilt at not coming to her rescue sooner.

Galadriel closed her eyes at the sight of the silent and grieving Peredhil. She put an arm around his shoulders and led him below deck, to his cabin that had yet to be slept in. She guided Elrond to the bed and pulled the covers over him as he rested his head upon the pillow.

Placing a hand over his eyes, she murmured a few words of rest. Removing her hand she stared into her son-in-laws stormy eyes before continuing.

“Rest your weary soul. Two days from now we will reach the shores of Valinor and all will be well. Celebrian will be awaiting your arrival.”

Elrond did not answer, for he had already fallen asleep. Galadriel smiled at the sleeping form of the dark haired Half-Elven. She closed the curtains around his bed and left the room. Glorfindel met her in the hallway. The golden haired Elf, ever the trusted counselor and faithful friend, nodded his head in respect to the Lady of the Wood before speaking.

“He sleeps?”

“Yes, but I fear it will not be an easy slumber. His heart is heavy.”

“Milady, I will stay and watch over him.”

Satisfied that Elrond was left in capable hands, Galadriel went above deck to find the Hobbits.

 To be continued...

Disclaimer: The events and characters represented in this story come from J .R. R. Tolkien and his brilliant mind. I am only borrowing them for a short while and will return them in the same condition I found them in. This is a entirely for fun and an non-profit endeavor on my part.

“For we shall ride with you far on the road, even as far as the country of Rohan. In three days now Éomer will return hither to bear Théoden back to rest in the Mark, and we shall ride with him to honour the fallen.”

-Aragorn, ‘Many Partings’

-Book Six, Chapter Six; The Return of the King

-J.R.R. Tolkien

~~**~~

He was king. How had it come to this? He was not the one who was supposed to be on the throne. Théodred was the one who should have had to bear the heavy crown of Rohan, not him. But Théodred was dead, killed during an Orc raid. The foul Saruman targeted the heir of Rohan, believing Théodred stood in the way of his plans to defeat Rohan. Hoping to weaken Théoden-king, Saruman set his Orc army against Théodred’s éored. The forces of darkness proved too much for the heir of Rohan. At the Fords of Isen, facing an overwhelming force, Théodred went down, fighting one of the huge creatures. Saruman was most pleased for in the end, what he set out to do was done. Théodred was dead and now Rohan was left without an heir. Or so he thought.

~~**~~

Éomer shifted in his saddle and looked over his shoulder at the long funeral cortege behind him, the last ride of Théoden. He was taking his uncle home, home to the land of his forefathers. He still could not believe it had come to this. Éomer had not expected to survive the battle of the Pelennor Fields. None of them had. Helm’s Deep had paled in comparison to the Pelennor. At the Battle of the Hornburg, they had faced the army of Saruman, that had numbered well over ten thousand strong, but that was just a drop in the bucket compared to what Mordor had set against Minas Tirith. The armies of Sauron were vast and numerous, but they were not victorious. Facing insurmountable odds, the forces of Gondor and Rohan had won the battlefield, but it had come at a great cost. So many had perished during the battle for the Pelennor: Halbarad, a Ranger from the North, Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, although by his own hand and not upon the battlefield, and Théoden, the seventeenth ruler of Rohan. These names were but a few of the long list of dead. The one name that was not added to that list was Éowyn, Shieldmaiden of Rohan.

When Éomer had come upon her still form on the battlefield, all hope had left him. Théoden-king was already dead, crushed beneath the body of his mount, Snowmane, when he had found his sister. Not realizing she still breathed, he had rushed headlong back into the fray. It was only after the battle that he learned of her riding disguised as Dernhelm and her victory over the Witch-king. His blood still ran cold at the thought of her facing off with the Nazgûl lord.

Firefoot shook his head in irritation as the grip tightened on his reins. The sound of his horse’s tack jingling brought Éomer back to the present.

“Sorry, boy,” Éomer said as he leaned forward to pat Firefoot’s neck.

Straightening in the saddle, he gazed at the banner of his homeland, snapping in the afternoon breeze, the white horse of Rohan standing out sharply against the green background. For fourteen days the banner rode at the head of the procession, and after one more day, they would arrive at Edoras. Once there, Théoden would be laid to his final resting-place and Éomer would announce Éowyn’s betrothal to Faramir, current Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien, to the people of Rohan.

Éomer bowed his head in respect as the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien passed him. They were but two of the contingent of Elves that rode with them. Lord Elrond rode with his twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir. The sons of Elrond had stood with them before the Black Gate, and cheered as Sauron was defeated for the final time. Their sister, Arwen, wedded to Aragorn, was now Queen of Gondor.

“My friend, you are lagging behind,” softly spoke a voice beside him.

Turning, Éomer saw that Aragorn had come up beside him. Pushing a piece of blonde hair behind his ear, he answered the King of Gondor.

“Just wandering the path of my thoughts.”

“And what thoughts would those be?” Aragorn asked the younger man.

“That over long did I linger in your realm and it is time to return to my own. That it is time to start repairing the damage done to Rohan during the war. That it is time once again for the horse herds of Rohan to flourish and thrive upon the lands.”

Many of the Rohirrim and their mounts had been lost upon the fields of the Pelennor. That, in addition with Sauron’s Orcs stealing horses for their own vile purposes, the herds had been reduced. As king, Éomer was determined to see the proud horses of his people racing once again over the grass plains of Rohan.

“Aye, that would be a fine thing to see. You have a formidable task ahead of you.”

“It is one that I gladly accept.”

Éowyn and Faramir rode past them, talking quietly between themselves. The light of love shown brightly on the Lady’s face.

“It is good to see your sister recovering from her wounds.”

“I think Faramir had a lot to do with that.”

“Hrmp,” was the only answer Aragorn gave the King of the Mark.

Éomer grinned before he said, “Well, that and you, my lord.”

Éowyn had spent several days in the Houses of Healing recovering from her encounter with the Witch-king. Her broken shield arm was easily set, but the Black Breath that settled over her had almost claimed her life. Only by Aragorn’s intervention, and with the aid of athelas, was her life saved. She had met Faramir during her stay at Minis Tirith, and the love between the two had grown. Soon, they would be joined as man and wife.

“She will make a fine bride for the Prince of Ithilien, do you not think?”

Both men turned at the sound of the gently spoken words. Arwen, a few paces behind them, raised her eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

“My love, how do you know such a thing?” Aragorn asked his wife.

“Call it a woman’s intuition.” Arwen moved her horse around the two kings and continued along the path to Rohan.

Éomer was speechless for no one had yet been told of the betrothal. Turning with a confused look on his face, he asked of Aragorn.

“How?”

“My friend, I long ago gave up trying to understand her,” he replied.

Soft, upon the breeze, the Queen of Gondor’s laughing voice could be heard.

“Éowyn and I have ridden together for many a day. Do you not think we might have talked?”

To be continued...

A/N: I would like to dedicate this chapter to a woman from work. Mary shares my healthy (or is that my unhealthy?) appreciation of Éomer and Karl Urban. I also promise not to sneak into her office and change the wallpaper on her computer from Éomer to Gríma Wormtongue ever again.

‘Long after, but still very long ago, there lived by the banks of the Great River on the edge of the Wilderland a clever-handed and quiet-footed little people. I guess they were of hobbit-kind; akin to the fathers of the fathers of the Stoors, for they loved the River, and often swam in it, or made little boats of reeds.’

-Gandalf, ‘The Shadow of the Past’

Book One, Chapter Two of The Fellowship of the Ring

~~**~~

Long ago he had crawled away, crawled away and hid in the Misty Mountains. From his shelter in the mountains he could hide from all. He had forgotten the taste of food, the feel of a warm summer breeze, or a cold winter evening. Could not remember his home. Even his own name was lost to him. He had become one of the things that crawled in the night. The only thing that remained was his Precious. But even that was fleeting.

But at one time he had a home, had a name. Sméagol was his name and he had lived by the banks of the Great River.

~~

“Deágol! Deágol! This is the place!”

“What are you going on about Sméagol?”

“Look at the things growing on the bank! I wants to see what grows underneath.”

Deágol turned from his seat in the boat to see what had caught the attention of his cousin. Tall yellow irises, some nearly the size of a man, dotted the edge of the river. He sighed as he turned the small reed boat towards the shore, knowing that their planned day of fishing was now ruined. The hobbit knew from past experiences that it was not the gently swaying flowers that caught the attention of his companion but rather what might be underneath them. Ever since they were young, Sméagol’s eyes had ever been turned down towards the ground, towards what might be underneath. He enjoyed rooting around growing things and burrowing deep under the grassy mounds that littered the countryside around their home. Sméagol’s own grandmother had called him a Dwarf upon several occasions for all the digging and tunneling that he liked to do.

“Sméagol, be still before you tip us over!”

“Hurry!”

“You’d think you never saw flowers before. What’s the rush?” Deágol asked, irritated that the day was going to be ruined.

Not bothering to answer, Sméagol kept his eyes on the shore, curious to see what was underneath the golden flowers. The day was turning out to be a good birthday after all. He jumped from the boat before it had reached the shore, anxious to start rooting around the tall plant, his cousin all but forgotten.

Deágol sighed once again as he rowed to the center of the river; another day spent fishing alone. Little did the hobbit know of the history of where he had decided to drop his fishing line. Had he known, it is doubtful that the choices he made that day would have remained the same.

~~

Sméagol glanced up from his digging when he heard Deágol’s exclamation of surprise. He watched as his cousin was pulled over the edge of the boat and into the water.

~~

Holding his breath, Deágol held on tightly to his fishing pole as he was dragged through the water, determined not to lose whatever was on the other end of the line. Deágol could see the silvery flashes of light as the sun reflected off of the scales of the great fish. A fish of such a size would do nicely in the marketplace, or on the dinner table.

It was becoming harder to hold his breath; it appeared that the fish had no plans of giving up. Deágol was almost ready to turn loose when a flash of light caught his eye. There it was again. Letting the pole go, he swam to where the flash of light had come from. Reaching out with his hand, he scooped something up from the riverbed. Clutching his prize in his hand, Deágol swam for the surface.

~~

Sméagol ran to where Deágol was exiting the water. He could see that his kin held something golden in the palm of his hand.

“What’s that?”

“It’s mine. I found it.” Deágol replied, holding his hand behind his back.

“What is it?” he asked again.

This time Deágol held his hand out. Nestled in the palm of his muddy hand was a gold ring. A gold ring that was whispering to Sméagol.

‘Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatual, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimatul.’

Sméagol tilted his head to the side, the only one hearing the voice.

“Give it to me.”

“No! Why would I do that? I found it!”

“Give it to me, precious. Give it to me for my birthday present.”

“No, I already gave you your present.”

Sméagol’s face twisted in anger as Deágol turned from him. Lunging at the smaller hobbit, he knocked Deágol to the ground. Sitting on top of his cousin and dearest friend, he demanded one more time.

“Give it to me!”

“No!” gasped Deágol.

‘Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatual, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimatul.’

With his hands around his throat, Sméagol slowly squeezed the life from Deágol.

‘Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatual, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimatul.’

~~

Gollum never really gave much of his time to thinking back on that fateful sunny afternoon. Never gave much thought as to where he hid the body. Deágol was never found. He carried that secret with him as he slipped over the edge of the cliff he was standing on. Gollum held onto to his Precious as he plummeted to his fiery death, deep within the bowels of Mount Doom. Even still the One Ring whispered:

‘Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatual, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimatul.’

The End

A/N: I was really not to sure about this chapter. I hesitated even posting this. 

Ash nazg... / One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the Darkness bind them.