Last chapter...!!! Well, then there's gonna be an epilogue. Anyways, longest chapter yetttt! (10,000 words!!)

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Legolas froze horror-stricken by the sight in front of him. Amid the chaos, more chaos had ensued—the honor guard had fallen.

Every member of Aragorn's vanguard had fallen to the uur rauko, screaming in agony and fear on the ground. The demons had pounced, trapping their prey on the bloody rock surface with their claws, fiery tongue melting flesh. Some of the soldiers, a lucky few, had managed to stick their sword through the rib cage of the demons on top of them, the gleaming point of the sword shining with black blood. But those who managed to do so could barely roll the demon body off them before blacking out or moaning in pain, waiting for death to claim them. The breath in Legolas' chest vanished—Gimli was one of the victims, an uur rauko on his chest.

It's Dol Guldur all over again.

He blinked, seeing Casdir and all the other elves who had been tortured pass before his eyes. The soldier's screams pierced his elven ears as blood welled underneath dark talons, as flesh boiled.

Aragorn stood in the center of the attack, his soldiers screaming in pain around him as he was helpless to do anything. But he wasn't looking towards them, or even towards Gimli bellowing underneath the jaws of an uur rauko.

His gaze was ahead, eyes on a figure armored in black, stark white hair flowing in the breeze.

Legolas' knees almost buckled.

She was smiling.

Malice lit her eyes. Her pale skin had bruises, blood spattering over scabs. Even though he could see the familiarities; the scab under her eye, the light scar on her neck, the curve of her nose, the lone freckle by her right eye—she was a stranger. The curve of curls in her hair was gone, her once soft hair instead hung in sad limps. Her once pink lips were now chapped and had signs of bleeding. And the fun, caring woman he knew was gone. Instead, a monster had taken her place.

"Isildur's heir," she mused, that taunting smile still in place. She placed the tip of her sword—Gorthaden—in the blood-spilled dust and leaned slightly on it. "You didn't fall to the ring, yet this is all you can muster? Your ancestors are turning in their graves, Aragorn. I suspect they'll want to have a discussion with you once someone I know sends you to meet them in a short while."

Legolas didn't breathe as her unfamiliar green eyes turned to him. "And a prince of a falling realm again unable to save his friends from the Dark Lord, just like all those years ago. A murderer."

Casdir flashed before him. He tasted blood.

Satisfied, she turned to her monsters. Shadows danced on her fingers, vibrantly alive. She raised her hand, that darkness wreathing her wrist and up her arm, and motioned aside. Through the dancing blackness, Legolas saw a black ring, a glimmer of something alive to it. He knew immediately what it must've been.

The uur rauko did as she silently told them, backing away from their victims. Although they followed her whims, they trembled, some even managed to take a step towards those who lay unfinished from their mutilations. Yet that unfailing smile on her unhealthy lips never faltered.

Some of the fallen soldiers were silent and unmoving, others were moaning or screaming. Gimli was one of the silent ones. Whether his friend had blacked-out from the pain or had met an even worse fate, Legolas and Aragorn didn't know. But blood spilled from his shoulder where the uur rauko had held him in place with claws and the side of his face and scalp were raw and bleeding from the demon's burning tongue, his skin boiled beyond recognition.

The black demons reluctantly, many of them seeming to fight against the hold over their mind, formed a circle around the small perimeter of fallen soldiers. Encasing Aragorn, Legolas, and Lumornel in. A black wall; all-encompassing.

Her leafy eyes flickered across the landscape, her being as tall as an elf enable her to somewhat see over most of the battling bodies. Undoubtedly, trolls blocked her vision, as did the elves and some of the taller men and women. She saw whatever she was looking for, her gaze returning to Legolas.

"Now that I have you isolated..."

Legolas shifted his stance, but he sheathed his knives. I won't hurt you.

She cocked her head and a different kind of smile lit her face. She sheathed her sword—and then raised her shadow covered hands. Those shadows whirled in fury, dancing in delight on her arms, her shoulders. They wreathed her, they clothed her. They followed her command.

With an evil grin, she pushed those shadows outward, sending them to engulf Legolas.

The elf lunged to the side, desperately trying to evade the evil coming from the woman he cared deeply for. The black engulfed the area he was just in, and noticing its prey wasn't in its clutches, it convulsed in anger. The darkness expanded like a storm cloud, fast as the wind, rolling over itself like smoke.

Crouching, Legolas saw that he had nowhere to go. Looking to and fro, he only saw the barricade of uur rauko, the fast approaching darkness, Lumornel, and Aragorn. Aragorn stood bewildered and terrified, clutching Anduril tightly. The white tree of Gondor stood out brightly against his black leather surcoat. His black cloak billowed slightly in the violent tainted wind. The darkness didn't touch him.

Aragorn shuffled hesitantly. The darkness shifted away at his every move...

'I suspect they'll want to have a discussion with you once someone I know sends you to meet them in a short while'... 'Now that I have you isolated'...

She's not going to kill him, she's leaving that to Sauron.

"Aragorn!"

The King looked over, seeing Legolas trapped as the darkness pursued him—and understood. He ran to Legolas, the smoke-like shadows parting easily for him, and engulfed his friend with his body.

Lumornel screamed in anger.

"Aragorn, bring me to her."

"What?" Aragorn shouted. "Are you mad? She'll kill you!"

"You see that ring on her finger?" Legolas noted. "I suspect Sauron is controlling her that way. I must remove it from her. I must try. It's what she'd do for me."

                It is what she did for me, with the ring. I must do the same for her.

"Let me do it. That evil won't touch me—"

"No," Legolas shook his head. "I can reach her, the real Lumornel. It can only be me."

Aragorn hesitated, then nodded resolutely. "I'll get you as close as I ca—"

Aragorn cried out in alarm as he was grabbed roughly and thrown backward. He landed with a grunt—and an uur rauko pounced on him. But it didn't attack. It only gripped Aragorn with its claws, blood coating its feet, while threatening Aragorn with growls and a jaw glowing with heat.

Lumornel grabbed Legolas by the tunic, forcing him up. She held a dagger in her other hand.

"Using your friends as shields?" She sneered. "I didn't think you could get that low."

"Lumornel," Legolas pleaded, searching her tree-green eyes for anything familiar. "Come back to me."

Her eyes flashed. "No."

Lumornel's dagger went for the plunge—Legolas jerked, causing the dagger to go off its original trajectory. Pain bloomed in his torso, the blade having gone through the skin, hopefully missing major organs. But blood began seeping through the green of his tunic, pain as hot as fire.

"This isn't you. You don't kill people, Lum."

Legolas gasped as she pressed her hand to his wound. "Lum—Lum—this isn't you. Think about your mother, your father, they're waiting for you at home. Sunngifu is waiting for you, you have yet to discover her child's name. Braiglach wants you to read her letter, not kill people. And I'm here, waiting for you to come back to me, Lum. Meleth, come back to us."

Her malicious eyes shone. "Are you begging for your life, murderer? Begging like those elves of yours did?"

"Lumornel, please, I don't want to hurt you."

"Good," she mused. "That'll make killing you so much easier."

Legolas sighed remorsefully, almost angrily. And then swept his leg out, unbalancing Lumornel. She stumbled, and taking the opportunity, Legolas tackled her to the ground. On the way down, he grabbed her hand, trying to force off the ring on her index finger. But it wouldn't budge. His wound screamed as they landed, she screamed.

"I'm sorry," he gritted. "Goheno nin."

He quickly pulled out one his white knives—and Lumornel froze. It seemed terror went deeper than control, defying all the authority that was placed over her.

And before Sauron's might was placed over her again, he sliced off her finger—ring and all.

*********

I screamed, agonizing pain making me double over and hold my hand to my chest.

"Lumornel," a voice said softly, nimble fingers caressing my hand, my wrist, trying to gently tug it to them. "Lumornel, Im nathlof. Im nathlof."

I opened my eyes, heaving for breath as pain rocketed up my arm, setting my blood on fire.

Legolas studied me with careful, worried eyes. His left sleeve had been torn off just below his pauldron, the green fabric in his hand.

I began crying at the sight of him, began crying and gasping in agony. I wanted to leap into his arms and bury my face in his shoulder. To feel him hold me as I allowed myself to finally feel safe after my time of horror with Sauron.

But I couldn't, I couldn't push past the shock and pain of losing a finger. Couldn't push back the panic of battle around me, of the screams, and terror, and smell. Through my gasping, I turned my head to the side, feeling dirt and blood mingle in my hair, to see my finger with a black ring encompassing it. It was too surreal, too shocking to see my own finger laying next to me—not attached to my body. It lay in a small puddle of dark, shinning blood that the ground was already absorbing, I could even see the bloodied bone in the middle, the skin and tendons around it cut clean on one side, ragged and torn on the other.

Bile began rising in my throat—

Rough hands gently grabbed hold of my hand, expertly addressing salve and wrapping my finger-stub in bandaging cloth. The fabric pressed into my raw skin and tendons, forcing another scream to rip its way out of my throat, louder than before. I sounded like the other fallen soldiers.

"No need to worry," Aragorn stated, talking to either me or Legolas. "There is no major artery in the finger, blood loss shouldn't be a problem as long as I clot the wound. The only thing to worry about is infection setting in, although I applied a salve to ward off bacteria."

He then held aloft a few leaves in front of my face. "Eat this, it'll help with the pain."

He didn't need to tell me twice. I quickly shoved the leaves in my mouth—with my good hand—grimacing at the bitterness.

"Aragorn," I gasped, taking in his bloodied face and ragged dark hair once I swallowed the harsh herbs. "How do you have healer supplies—with you?"

He smiled. "A healer is always prepared, especially in battle."

But his smile vanished.

"Gimli." With that, he left. What? Gimli—

He lay still in a puddle of blood, next to the other fallen honor guard members. The right side of his face had been burned and boiled, warped into something terrible.

I felt sick. I had done that, I had ordered the uur rauko to attack.

Repulsed by the sight and at what I had done, I turned to Legolas—

"You're hurt!" I struggled to get up—Legolas quickly helped me to my feet. Immediately, I moved my hand towards the blood on his torso—flashes of what the evil in me had done came back. All breathing in me stopped.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I—"

Legolas took and steadied my hands. "It wasn't you. It was Sauron."

"But you're hurt. You're bleeding."

"I'm alright. It's only a surface wound."

I gritted my teeth, feeling wetness well in my eyes. Clenching my fists, feeling little crescent moons of pain being cut into my palms, I forced myself to look back at the prone dwarf. As I did so, Legolas moved a little closer, so I could feel the warmth of him against my side.

Leaning into him, I watched as Aragorn placed two fingers on Gimli's neck, searching for life. Aragorn's shoulders dropped, his chest rising heavily. He turned around, hope written all over his face.

"He's alive."

Legolas let go of the breath he was holding. "Thank Elbereth."

"Without proper medical attention, he'll die."

Grim silence settled over the three of us.

Legolas then glanced around, assessing the battle around us, seeing all the obstacles and people we'd have to get through to provide Gimli with proper treatment. He became worried—well, worrieder.

"We have something more worrisome than infection," he said bleakly.

The uur rauko were now attacking freely with no one to guide them. They were killing as many orcs as they were Men and elves. But that also meant we were still vulnerable to them unless I used the darkness—which I never, ever wanted to wield again.

"Edhil, tolo!"

Aragorn glanced up from where he assessed Gimli's wounds. Legolas' command soon had the surrounding elves—which weren't many—parting from whatever fight they were entangled in and coming to us. They all looked battle-worn; bloodied and fatigued. But they looked to their prince nonetheless. The gazes of the elves glanced at me but quickly left. Many of them moved closer to their prince.

"Anfang boe nestad. Ti berio an nestadrin echad." Legolas motioned to Gimli and Aragorn.

They nodded and reluctantly—casting their hostile and uncertain gazes towards me—went over to Aragorn and Gimli. One elf carried the dwarf while the others surrounded the two—plus Aragorn—brandishing swords, fighting their way through the chaos of battle.

I turned to Legolas, barely able to breathe. I held my injured hand to my chest, feeling it throb in time with my own heart. "I caused so much death. I killed people."

The elf let his comforting eyes settle on me for only a moment before brandishing his bow and nocking an arrow. His guard was up again, as it always should be during battle.

"You were being controlled—twas not your fault." He sighted his arrow on a target.

"But—But I failed them. I-I've lost their trust. Your elves didn't even trust me." Their gazes had kept going back to me, wondering whether or not it had been worth the consequence to kill me right there.

Legolas shot an uur rauko bounding towards us, but the arrow simply bounced off. It didn't fall until he shot it once more in its open, hot mouth. The monster yelped in pain, scrambling to somehow get the arrow from its mouth.

I fumbled, unsheathing Gorthaden but ended up staring at the blade in horror. Red blood stained it.

"This is their blood. The blood of the very people I'm trying to protect."

I remember their screams and pleads for life as I killed them, even though it had been through a haze. Their very blood is speckled on my cheeks.

"Lumornel." Legolas didn't shift his eyes towards me, not while an orc had spotted him. "Think about it later. Make up for it now and fight for them."

I nodded—not stopping moving my head up and down until I recognized that I was hyperventilating, mostly because Legolas risked setting his hand on my arm. Forcing myself to breathe normally, I adjusted Gorthaden in my bloody grip and gritted my teeth as an orc engaged me in battle. I tried focusing on the way I held the sword's hilt, trying to make up for the balance lost from the missing finger—think about it later. It's just a finger. I drew in a deep breathe, finally falling into my center of calm.

Protect them. It's been your mission since the very beginning, Lumornel, to bring Middle-Earth back to its glory and rid it of evil.

To fail would mean death. To fail would mean all my efforts had been a waste.

I have to do this.

I must protect them.

Raising Gorthaden, I put my strength behind my blade, showing to these people that I hadn't abandoned them.

Their prophecy-written is here, and here to stay.

*********

They were being hopelessly overcome. Already, a third of Leofwyn's squadron had been slain, their bloody corpses growing cold under orc feet. The remaining few alive had been pushed back well past the point they had originally started at.

Leofwyn was failing. Try as she might, she and her group of rohan soldiers were being defeated. She pushed and she pushed and she pushed against the enemy forces, but their line held. The raven-haired female elf had left this side of the battle—but the male elf with shoulder-length dark hair had taken her position. Now, with the male-elf commander, the orcs fought with a renewed ferocity.

"Don't give up!" She yelled to her soldiers. But the hope in them was already waning. They had lost friends right before their eyes while they were near-helpless to doing anything, their most powerful ally—the prophecy-written—had betrayed them, and the enemy was succeeding in their flanking maneuver.

If they weren't able to push back the enemy forces, the entirety of their allied armies would fall to Sauron.

Leofwyn thrusted her sword forward past an orc's scimitar, right into its gut. Twisting the blade, she pulled it out, along with the thing's entrails. It looked confused as its weapon dropped from its hands. Then, panic filled its face as it desperately grabbed its own innards. The thing wouldn't die immediately, but neither would it be able to fight long enough to kill somebody. Perhaps it'd fall to the ground from lack of blood and be trampled by its own species.

She panted, stray bits of her brown hair plastered to her forehead and nape by sweat. How long had she been fighting? Hours, she knew. But it felt like days. Her limbs were heavy, their movements slowing, even her mind started to lag. Water... she needed water. And food. And rest. She wouldn't get it though. Not for a long while yet.

Dever fought by her side, too strong to be taken down. His own brown hair was plastered to his skin, a cut above his brow bleeding into his eye. He kept blinking, trying to get the sting of blood out. Orcs still fell to his weapons—they had to, otherwise, he'd be dead—but he too was tiring. Not even her warrior brother could last forever in battle.

"Dever," she panted in between parries, "after we get out of this war, I'll take you up on your offer to go to that pub you always wanted to—" she grunted "—take me too."

The corner of Dever's mouth lifted but fell. He knew what she was doing. He had handed out scraps of hope himself during his time in eoreds. "About time, sis. I know just the right drink for you."

She grimaced, no doubt it'd be strong and bitter.

Time passed in which more of their men fell, more blood coated their blades and splattered their faces. Back to back they mostly fought, having long ago forsaken their wedge positions. Too many of their soldiers were dead.

The sun's heat was too much, the sun getting ever closer to the horizon and sometimes blinding her.

"Dever," she breathed as she missed a parry and the tip of the orc's blade cut a line in her leather armor. "We..." she breathed heavily, "we need to retreat to the bulk of the army."

A muscle in Dever's jaw twitched and he ground his teeth as he defeated another orc. Behind him, an orc with a long spear stalked up with her unaware brother in its sights. "Alright," he finally ground out. "Pass the message—"

"Dever!" The orc behind him raised his spear. And threw.

Leofwyn's brother ducked just in time. The bloody spear soared over where Dever ducked, through the space Dever had just been—

—and into Leofwyn's torso.

Her armor did nothing to keep the weapon away, the sharp spearhead shearing through all protective barriers.

She grunted, stumbling a step. Her longsword thumped to the soil, her hand cold without the hilt safely in her palm. Leofwyn grasped at the thick wooden shaft protruding from her gut, warm red coating her hands.

Leofwyn gazed it wide-eyed, in disbelief.

And that's when the pain hit.

It was unlike anything she had experienced before. Fire ravaged her, her blood like liquid heat as it spilled and soaked her clothing. Touching the spear lodged in her was like setting off explosions inside her—but she wanted it out. But it hurt too much.

"NOO!"

Dever frantically caught his little sister as her legs gave out, his terrified face filling her vision, a yellowing sky framing his chocolate hair. She suddenly felt... weightless.

"Dev—Dev..." her bloody hand searching wildly, finding his sturdy shoulder and holding on tight. "It's okay... it's okay..."

The face she always found so comforting, so familiar, became unfocused in her eyes.

"Leaf—no. You can't go too—" He broke off, his shoulders trembling.

Leofwyn smiled, showing bloody teeth. "... I'll tell Ma and Da you said hi."

Her hand fell.

"No—no!" He became angry then, face going red.

"Don't you dare leave me, Leaf! I'll—I'll—"

Dever grasped the spear embedded in her stomach, but her muscles had already clenched around it. His now bloody hand came back to cradle his sister to him.

Leofwyn smiled.

The sky, it's so beautiful...

It's just like when they were little, Dever would always hold her when she awoke from a nightmare or when she'd skin her knee.

She felt safe in her brother's warm embrace...

... and she could finally relax.

*********

The darkness still ran underneath my skin. I could feel it as I swung Gorthaden, as I breathed, as I dodged blows. Like silken scarves in the wind, it traveled just beneath the flesh, itching to get out.

I clenched my teeth and tried and tried to bring the light forth to smother the dark. But the light wouldn't come to light. The darkness was still too strong, Sauron's little piece of spirit still rebelled. Killing all those innocent lives... it brought it strength. Even killing these orcs brought it a little bit of pleasure.

Just like in Mirkwood, when I had brutally killed that orc.

Everything made so much sense now, that I just wanted to sit down and think about it all.

The reason why I had always felt tainted, why I wasn't an elf? It was Sauron's spirit. The reason why the darkness always felt like another entity? It didn't belong to me, the darkness belonged to Sauron—

I cried out, ducking as I saw a blade swing for my head. I moved just in time to feel the flat side of the blade pass over my head.

Bewildered, I stood quickly, readying to strike—

A gondorian man stood before me, terror and hate in his eyes. He pointed his sword at my heart.

"I didn't—I—I—" Gorthaden went limp in my hands, letting the blade's tip hit the ground. To show that I wasn't going to harm him.

The soldier's eyes moved within his helm, snapping to my sword hand. He adjusted gauntleted hands on his sword, while his jaw clenched so tight I thought it'd snap off.

He didn't remove his sword. I looked down the length of the bloody weapon, wondering if he was going to kill me already.

"Soldier! Lower your weapon!" Aragorn burst through the fray, having returned long ago from dropping Gimli off at the healer's tent.

The soldier glanced at his King, a battle of his own shinning behind his eyes.

He shook his head, eyes beginning to water. "She killed my brother!"

"She was not acting of her own accord. Sauron had control over her mind, but he does not control her anymore, nor will he ever." Aragorn had a hand out, as if in warning or to stop the soldier.

"Lower your weapon," he repeated. "She won't do you nor her fellow soldiers any harm. She doesn't deserve this."

The soldier gritted his teeth, a tear rolling free down his cheek as he again adjusted his grip on the sword pointed at my heart. He spoke his words softly, angrily. "She deserves death."

The breath left my lungs. But he's right. Maybe I do.

"Soldier," Aragorn said, shaking his head, "Don't you see the orcs she has slain, their dark blood on her blade? No malice shines in her eyes now, the ring that had been controlling her has been cut off."

His eyes wandered down to my hand, where a bandage had been expertly wrapped, blood starting to seep through the cloth.

He shook his eyes, squeezing his eyes shut before shaking his blade again. "But what about those demons? They still run rampant!"

"I don't control them anymore," I said quietly, making him flinch. "But they are wild and crazed. The only thing they know is to kill. I was only directing their violence."

"I can't believe that! You could be tricking us! You'll turn on us any moment and slaughter more innocents!"

"I won't," I pleaded. "I'm going to protect all of you."

"You still killed my brother. You still killed my friends!"

My lips trembled. "I'm sorry."

"That's not good enough." His shoulders shook as he said the words through clenched teeth and finally, he dropped his blade. "I hope you meet your end here today."

With that, he walked away, raising his sword to kill more orcs.

The clanging of metal rung loudly directly behind me. Spinning fast with Gorthaden ready, I was met with Legolas parring a blow that would've killed me.

"Lumornel, perhaps it'd be better if you'd sit this battle out. I worry that one of our soldiers will succeed in killing you," he said, then stopped in thought. "Several of them could kill you, with a combined effort."

I shook my head. "I have to protect them."

"But you may be slain by one of those that you're trying to protect."

"Then so be it. But before that happens, I'll have protected at least several."

"Lumornel," he begged, dark brows creasing. He wouldn't force me out, I knew that.

I shook my head again, preparing a stance as I saw an orc spot me. "I can't. I'm sorry."

I didn't leave the battle just because I felt the need to protect, but because of that sorrow that had followed me silently all my life. That sorrow for Middle-Earth. The sorrow that drove me to join the fellowship, just so Middle-Earth would have a chance for survival and peace.

Reluctantly, Legolas nodded his head. "As long as you're staying, I'm staying by your side."

I nodded back, although he probably couldn't turn to see through the midst of battle.

"Alright. So, what do we do? Besides fight, I mean."

"Protect Aragorn and hope to drive back the orcs."

I nodded, despite feeling overwhelmingly hopeless. Drive back the orcs? What? With our ever-dwindling army?

The darkness still lived just below the surface and with it there, the light wouldn't be able to break through. But the shadows were a little less active... with enough time, the light could come back.

There wouldn't be any time though. That's the thing with battle; timing is everything. If you don't raise the sword quick enough, you'd be dead. If you didn't move your feet fast enough, you'd stumble and fall. And with my light, if it didn't return in time, the results could be cataclysmic.

I may get in a bind—a group of orcs or soldiers could gang up on me all at once. I wouldn't be able to fight them all with a sword, but with my star-light, I could live. I could use it to slaughter large amounts of orcs—like I did at Helm's Deep—but wield it too late and our army could be so defeated it wouldn't have mattered.

I could only hope it'd return in time to be of any use.

Trusting Legolas to protect me, I stopped and shielded my eyes against the near-setting sun. I was on a raised part of the field, so the hill gave me a vantage point. It was impossible to tell through the carpet of people fighting to the death, but I knew that the ground was littered with hazardous rocks. Already, I knew that many had tripped on such a mere object. A sizable number of corpses had met their demise because of a simple thing of nature.

But I wasn't looking for rocks. I was looking for the enemy, analyzing their ranks and where the most important were. Sauron could easily be seen standing tall all the way at the back of his ranks. The dying sun hit his armor in just the right way, making the light reflected back and making it hard to see him. Yet the fear emanating from him, even from here, was far too potent to ignore. The fear he inspired would make his enemies tremble, make them too scared to be courageous. He'd remain in his spot though, not wanting to risk his corporeal form. Sauron was a coward, but a smart one.

Throughout the large mix of armies, I could see several orcs who appeared to 'lead.' They were all big and muscular. All ugly—well uglier. And they all had a large number of orcs rallied around them. One particular orc with sallow skin raised his sword high, screaming out a roar, and lead a number of orcs into a small number of rohans. Within a matter of moments, the majority of the rohans were dead.

Then to the north, the orcs were successfully pulling off their flanking maneuver. Soon, the armies representing hope for the west would be caged like a wild animal for slaughter. At the head of this large, terrifying group of orcs was the commander. Sauron's first lieutenant general. Alagosson.

I didn't know where he had come from or if Sauron had seduced him into his ranks or whether or not Alagosson had joined the Dark Lord's ranks on his own accord, but it looked as if he was in his element. Alagosson was vibrant with the adrenaline of battle, dark, short elven hair pulled back behind his head. His broadsword gleamed in the sun's light as it hacked into the people I was trying to save, splatters of blood flying off the blade. He was killing, and by the Valar, he was good at it.

Towards the south, but far nearer to us than Alagosson, was her.

A lady of death.

Duvaineth.

Seeing her made me want to tremble. I was reminded of waking up to death, having a knife placed at my throat. Reminded of a dream. She's mad, truly. To work with Sauron willingly, she surely had to be crazed.

Her night-like hair wasn't pulled back, but instead, she allowed it to flow freely. With the setting sun glowing, it looked like her flying hair was raven feathers, floating in the breeze. Yet, she was anything from bird-like. She was corded with muscles and her movements were more feline than anything. She pounced quickly, snarling, before plunging her sword into someone's heart. As I watched transfixed by the horror rising in me at the death she created, she switched her weapon to knives. She ripped an elf's throat out with them.

How had this lady of death possibly have traveled with Legolas and me? How did we not sense this evil and insanity in her?

She was so close to us that I could see the redness in her cheeks.

"Legolas," I breathed, feeling myself begin to panic. And yet, strangely, that receded and cool acknowledgment and acceptance flooded me.

He didn't answer until he could talk without risking his own death. "Yes?"

"I love you."

He stumbled, his knives missing their prey, causing a scimitar to graze against his cheek. I realized then that I should have probably not have said anything in the middle of battle but... I needed to say those words. I had to say them before it became too late.

"Sorry," I squeaked, seeing the small amount of blood well up on his face. "I didn't mean to distract you—"

A snarling orc behind me suddenly had me forced into a sword fight. Well , sword-scimitar fight.

My fingertips hummed with adrenaline and nerves. I kept wanting to glance over at Legolas, who was also inevitably engaged in battle but refrained from doing so.

"Lumornel," Legolas' fingers grazed my arm—yet I couldn't feel the touch through the black armor.

Anything he wanted to say was cut off by a grunt and a clash of metal. I resisted from closing my eyes. I wouldn't get that cheesiness and affection I had always dreamed of from when we first told each other our love, not in the middle of battle.

So instead of forcing the both of us into a stunned, yet yearning silence filled with stunted words cut off by sword parries and thrusts, I journey slightly further away.

Legolas stayed close, of course, but he couldn't stop a few battling pairs from getting between us.

The next parry I ended up blocking was an elf's.

Just like with the Gondorian, his elven eyes shone with fear, yet instead of hate, there was determination.

"I don't want to hurt you," I pushed, not moving my sword away from the parry, lest he attack.

The ellon didn't listen, instead, he attacked.

"No," I pleaded, gulping and taking a step back at the amount of skill he exerted. "Sauron had control over me, he no longer does now."

His glinting eyes were sown through with mistrust, the blood speckled on his face showing a weariness and yet a determination to protect. He swung his sword hard, the clashing of our two weapons reverberating up my arm.

"I'm trying to protect you," I urged, voice wavering as I didn't know whether to keep fighting or to stop and risk my life. "I'm trying to protect all of you."

The ellon was a maelstrom of fury, every action forcing me to take drastic measures. As I ducked underneath a swing, I tried evading him. Yet, as I tried to get lost amid the battle, he cut me off.

I wouldn't be able to avoid hurting him.

"Please," I begged, fingers trembling. "Don't do this."

"You destroyed a tenth of our armies," he said, face calm despite the sword in his hands and the blood on his body. "I have to do this."

I winced but believed him. He'd kill me.

So, I breathed deeply and centered myself. He stood in my way of protecting the majority of those who needed protection, therefore he'd have to be cut down.

My feet moved lightning quick, Gorthaden striking like a snake. The ellon swiftly deflected my blade, his sword closing in on my chest. Yet, I twisted away, bumping into an orc. The orc barely noticed for it was engaged with a warring elleth.

The ellon took advantage of my mistake, however, and swiped for my neck. Jumping back from the deadly blade, it only managed to graze the skin, a small amount of blood coming forth.

As soon as the ellon finished his stoke, he followed through by hacking for my shoulder. I dodged, not being able to do anything else. The ellon made offensive strikes, one after one, leaving me with room only to dodge and evade.

Finally, I was able to parry his strikes. We twisted our wrists at lightning speed, trying to keep up with the turning of our blades. We both thrusted at the same time, the length of our blades skimming each other, deflecting only slightly. His blade skimmed the top of my armored forearm, my blade hit his golden-brown armored shoulder.

Then we were back to exchanging defensive blows, sparks wanting to appear as our metal swords clashed.

As I gritted my teeth, focusing everything on trying to stay a step ahead so I could survive, I felt the light returning. The darkness must've sunk a little more beneath the surface, letting that far vaster light peek through. The energy around me began to hum and I could start to feel the motions of everyone around me through the life buzzing through the air.

It gave me renewed strength—not because of the energy finally returning, it hadn't returned enough yet to be able to give me any actual strength, but because the familiarity of it gave me the power of relief; of hope.

Through the golden helm the ellon wore, I could see his teeth gritted, his eyes darting everywhere from the blade to my arm to our feet.

You're not winning, not yet.

With that returned hope ignited within me, I felt lighter than before. Lighter with the feeling that I could win. Maybe even survive this battle.

The ellon saw an opening to strike, his hand and sword went over his head, then coming down in force towards my neck—

I caught his wrist in midair, and with my other hand, I swung Gorthaden while trying to compensate for the heavy weight of the blade towards the unprotected part of his waist.

Gorthaden struck true.

I let go of his wrist, pushing him out of my range. He stumbled, his face expressing utter surprise as his had felt the blood beginning to pour out of him. His gray eyes widened as he took in his wound, then wandered up to me in complete shock. But then a muscle in his jaw twitched and rage entered his gaze.

His raised his sword, seemingly forgetting the large wound in his side. And yet, he wavered, a stalk of grass bending to the wind.

Wincing, I strode forward and cut off his head.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, cringing at the sight of a headless body. A corpse caused by me. My words were lost to the chaos of battle. Meaningless, falling on no ears, not even my own.

I leaned down before someone else took it upon themselves to kill me and placed his hands upon his goldenly-brown armored chest, right over his sword. An orc saw me, however, before I could place his head atop his bleeding neck.

The ellon I killed was pushed to the back of my mind, for I had to choose between focusing on battle so I'd live a little longer or thinking about the death I caused to someone I was supposed to protect, therefore causing my own death. Yet, I still felt tears dampening my cheeks. All the while, I could feel the light growing, coming closer to the surface.

In the eon of time that passed, and in between slaying orcs, a rohan woman and gondorian man each separately came and fought me. I was able to convince the roharian that I didn't want to kill her, but the gondorian was more adamant. He didn't see me for an extended period of time at Helm's Deep, like the woman did, he didn't see me risk my life for a thousand people. I had to leave his corpse behind.

It was battle of thousands against one.

Maybe I should've stayed closer to Legolas. I could see his golden head several paces away but getting to him would involve weaving between swinging weapons and engaging in even more battles. I decided he looked as if he was holding his own relatively well and stayed where I was.

But soon something caught my eye as the sun started to bleed into the horizon, turning the sky blood red.

Duvaineth caught Aragorn in her sights.

Sauron had sent her to kill him.

And then I knew that Aragorn wouldn't be able to beat her one-on-one, even if he was the greatest swordsman in Middle-Earth. Even if there was a possibility he could beat her, it wasn't worth the risk for him to die—or become gravely injured.

Aragorn noticed Duvaineth as well and ordered his new makeshift honor guard back. A few protested, but eventually succumbed to the will of their rightful king.

Just then, the earth shook violently, furiously. My eyes were pulled to the volcano, to where it was spewing lava.

An explosion burst loudly, brightly in the distance, an invisible force washing over everything—I stumbled, struggling to stay on my feet. A burst of red illuminated the land over Mordor—announcing loudly of Sauron's end. Sauron was finally destroyed beyond repair.

A great weight was lifted from my shoulders.

Sam had done it, he destroyed the ring!

But the orcs around us still continued fighting.

I saw Alagosson rallying the orcs, taking command.

And then Duvaineth burst forth from the fighting, orcs cringing away from her—earning them death from those who fought them. A menacing smile was plastered on her face, the blood of her enemy splashed upon her. There were a few strands of her hair, black as death, that was stuck in some of the sticky blood that had been splattered on her cheek.

Aragorn gripped Anduril in his hands, stepping forward—I laid my hand on his pauldron.

He spun—nearly taking my head off.

"Lumornel! Goheno-nin, I thought you an orc!" Aragorn swiftly gave me his hand, pulling me up from my crouch. His grey eyes kept darting over to Duvaineth. He looked exhausted though—I was too, we had been fighting hours. Where was the sun when Sauron and I had entered the battlefield? I couldn't recall—most everything when I had worn his black ring felt like a haze. I could remember things—but almost like I was looking through a curtain.

I squinted against the setting set, we had less than an hour of sunlight left.

"Aragorn," I breathed, still breathing heavy. "Don't fight her. It's not worth your life. The ring is gone, Sauron's gone."

Aragorn ground his teeth, eyes glancing at the grinning Duvaineth. She watched the exchange with interest, not yet ambushing him while he conversed. The rest of Aragorn's new honor guard acted as a barrier, keeping blood lusting orcs at bay.

"I thank you for your concern, but she'll find one way or another to meet me on the battlefield."

"Not if I battle her first." I met his eyes, showing him I meant it. That I wasn't backing down.

He sighed. "Legolas would kill me himself if I let you battle her in the state you're in."

I ignored that last part, ignored the painful throbbing in my hand. "Legolas had expressed to me that he thinks I'm a wonderful warrior. Now, please, let me save your life."

Aragorn shook his head, stray strands that had escaped his half-up hair hitting his cheeks. "I must do this, it is a thing of honor."

"Screw honor!" I shrieked, looking at him so intently I thought my heart would burst. "Letting me battle her so you can lead Gondor is the honorable thing to do! Aragorn," I pleaded, "be selfish for once and save your life."

Aragorn swept his gray eyes over the honor guard protecting us, then over the battlefield. His people were dying. If they were to survive this, it could only be him that leads them to stability. He was seeing sense, he was agree—

"No, saving the prophecy-written's life would be the honorable thing to do."

I stared at him in disbelief. Did I dare believe he thought my life above his own? He was the hope of Mankind. Not me. I'm just the mystic figure who'd protect them in times of need. Which is right now! I'm supposed to protect their Hope!

And then I realized, that maybe this is what I was meant for all along. Protecting Aragorn—Estel—Hope—so he could bring peace to the people.

Aragorn adjusted his grip on Anduril. "I'm sorry."

Then he smiled. "I wouldn't mind a thanks when this is all over."

You mean when we're standing around your corpse.

Gondor's heir then turned, with one last glance at his people. At me, standing in disbelief, at Legolas, who battled only a short distance away, at Gimli, who lay alive or dead in the healer's tent far off, and then finally up at the volcano, where Sam, Merry, and Pippin were hopefully retreating to safety now that their task has been completed.

Aragorn strode for Duvaineth, Anduril glinting sharply in the light of the dying sun.

I won't let him die for me, I won't let him die and leave his people in despair.

My legs pumped into action of their own accord, moving before my mind could even tell them to do so.

I grabbed Aragorn by the shoulder, tightly.

"Save our people, mellon."

Then I pushed him back towards his honor guard.

"Lumornel! No!"

He tried making his way back, but his honor guard gladly surrounded him again and orcs swallowed the space in between us.

I turned to Duvaineth, gulping down my fear.

Her lips were already turned up in an evil grin as she stood several inches taller. Was she always this tall? Suddenly, my armor felt insignificant compared to her, to her strong sword—her knives nowhere to be seen—and to her muscles. She did wear dark armor, but hardly any. What armor she did wear was simply black leather.

"Finally!" Her dark eyes went alight. "Last time you evaded me, but now, now I can kill you."

"You can try," I voiced, forcing out all the fear and pushing forth my courage.

She set her feet apart, bending her knees slightly.

"I'll do more than try," she snarled. "When I'm done, I'll have your blood spill all over the rocks, bathing all those you love in your death."

My eyes widened, but I bit my tongue as I rose Gorthaden.

She pounced. Her longsword flew in an overhead arc. I barely had time to block the blow, and when I did, causing a loud clang to add to the noises of chaos, my knees almost buckled under her strength.

Her dark eyes bore into mine as she continued pressing her weight down on the sword. I couldn't push her sword off! I couldn't—my feet were starting to slide on the rocks—

She leased her pressure, drawing her sword back into a defensive position.

Wha—?

Duvaineth lashed out, her blade a glinting silver banner—a sting slashed across my cheek.

I gasped, stumbling back. She only grinned, her eyes dancing with sinful glee. Almost as if she was playing a game...

She's going to kill me slowly, taunting me.

I gritted my teeth, focusing on finding my center. Focusing on beating the unbeatable. Braiglach's advice flitted through my mind. Focus on her footing, what does she protect the most, go for wounds, chinks in armor, use trickery only when absolutely needed.

I soon became frustrated. She only moved when I attacked, but she parried my blows too easily. She wasn't limping and didn't seem to be protecting any wounds. There were plenty of places that weren't protected on her—and with a strong blow, my blade would cut right through that leather—but her defensive was so good, it was almost like fighting a very effective wall. I'd slice, but it'd be deflective. I'd twirl, trying to get around to her back, but she'd block me. I could try tricking her but those eyes followed my every move and seemed to know what strategy I'd try to perform.

>>>

My feet moved quickly forward as I struck her blade, our arms moving in sync to hit the other side of our blades. Then Duvaineth pushed forward and her blows became quicker—she disarmed me, Gorthaden flying through the air.

No!

Duvaineth took a step back, not cutting off my head like I expected her too. Instead, she put her sword down and watched me with the slight upturn to her lips.

I breathed heavily, my eyes wide. My fear couldn't be hidden now. Not anymore. And yet, she didn't move. Didn't strike me dead.

Cautiously, I slowly inched toward my fallen sword, keeping my eyes on her. When I finally bent down to pick up Gorthaden, she giggled. Giggled.

I bit my lip hard, feeling my face scrunch up as my eyes started to mist.

Gorthaden became a familiar weigh in my hand, but it didn't give me comfort. Not with Duvaineth standing confidently before me, not while she sheathed her sword—and took out a knife.

I started crying.

I gritted my teeth so hard against the irrational fear that blossomed and ignited in me as salty tears flowed into my mouth. My chest already began hurting as she dashed forward gracefully and held me by the shoulder.

The flat side of her knife pressed against my cheek. The metal wasn't cold, it was warm. Warm with other people's blood.

"I've heard you don't like knives," she mused. "Must be torture every time you see one."

I whimpered, my shoulders shaking as I gasped, tears running down her small blade.

She tsked, and slashed her knife down my face, cutting my brow-bone, skipping over my eye and continuing to cut down my cheek.

Then she quickly cut the straps to the armor protecting my chest. The black armor fell around me, clattering against the dusty, rocking ground. My chest immediately became cold, even though I still had an under-shirt on.

"Please," I found myself whispering, begging. "Please."

"The prophecy-written? Begging?" She quirked a brow as she grinned wider. "What a delightful turn of events."

Her dark eyes flitted around us and her eyes narrowed. She saw something she didn't like.

She sheathed her knife back onto the side of her sword scabbard. Then, she once again pulled out her sword, pointing it at me. A dangerous, determined light glinted in her eyes, the sun's red, setting rays reflecting on her blade.

I raised Gorthaden shakily.

Come on, Lumornel. Fight to protect these people, it's your duty to protect them—to help save Middle-Earth.

It's all you've ever wanted.

I gritted my teeth, though tears continued to fall and my fingers shook in terror.

I thought I had accepted this.

My fingers gripped my sword's hilt tighter to hide their trembles, even though it would only hinder me while fighting.

Where is my light? Why isn't it here yet?

Finally, I breathed in and—attacked. My blade met hers in a flurry of sparks and silver. Duvaineth was forced back, going into the defensive.

Sweat and blood dripped into my eyes, but tears washed them out as I kept advancing. I missed the next parry—instead ducking underneath her swing to get within her reach, where a sword would be useless; except the move I took involved using a knife, and I had no knife—

—she expected this.

Duvaineth again grabbed me by the shoulder and twisted me around—

—and plunged her sword through my back.

Horror-stricken, I gazed down at the bloodied sword sticking out my chest.

I had known this event would happen, I had seen it in my dreams every night for the past several months, yet seeing the blade shoved through my chest still surprised me.

She twisted her blade, bones cracking, muscles and tissues ripping. I screamed, clutched at the wet sword, only to cut my hands.

Duvaineth let me go, letting me stumble forward, grasping at the blade uselessly. Pain screeched in my lungs and back as I coughed, blood coating my lips warmly.

My feet stumbled and as I teetered into a turn, Duvaineth slashed her knife across my throat, then turned me around quickly and pulled the sword out of my lung and chest. It left me gasping, blood slipping through my fingers.

She brought her mouth to my ear, her lips whispering against my skin. "Thank you, Dead-One, for the delightful exchange."

I felt her warmth leave my back and heard her eerie humming growing more distant until I eventually could no longer hear it.

Warmth spilled down my neck, red quickly staining through the white of my shirt.

The buzzing in my veins fled, instead true agony spread like wild-fire within me. Battle continued around as I pressed against my throat and chest, yet that did nothing to staunch the flow of blood, the viscous liquid only slipped through my fingers.

And then I saw the sun, its blood seeping across the sky, dying along with me

Vanishing just like my light, failing me when I needed it most.

My limbs became too weak to hold the living pain in me, and I wavered. I fell to my knees, dust flying up in a small cloud as rocks bit into my flesh—but that pain was barely noticeable. I tilted my head back, searching for stars—yet there were none to give me hope.

I toppled backward, still searching in vain for Varda's hope.

Warmth pooled beneath me, not comparing to the fire burning in my chest and throat.

Through the chaos I heard a roar—a cry of anger and fear.

Legolas's fair face appeared above me, so much fear and worry etched into his face as a few stray golden strands reached down and caressed my cheek.

"Lum?"

I felt myself crying again, knowing that I failed in my only duty to protect, to save the good in the lands. Knowing I was about to leave my love in unimaginable pain.

"Legolas?" Yet the word was unrecognizable through all the blood in my throat, in my lungs. I gurgled—then coughed. Then pain flared, along with more blood in my mouth. I felt a drop of that red warm escape my lips streak down towards my ear.

The pain—it hurt so much. I frantically tried grabbing hold of Legolas—but I couldn't feel anything. I couldn't touch—I couldn't—I—

I'm so scared.

"I don't want to die. I don't—"  I wasn't speaking. My words were lost in gurgles, lost as I began choking on blood—suffocating in its warmth. I could barely even feel warm tears streaming down my face.

Legolas was speaking, saying something to me. But I couldn't hear his voice, nor the battle raging around us.

My body felt cold. The blood beneath me and pooling on my chest the only warmth.

My prince began screaming then, screaming for me to come back or for help, I didn't know. I could barely even feel his hands pressing on my chest, uselessly trying to stop the blood.

The face I found so beautiful went out of focus, and so my eyes went to the setting sky.

The sky went dark, just as life left me.

*********

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

Legolas turned back to her, to her blank, green, green eyes.

"Lum?!"

She didn't answer.

Nor did her chest move up and down with life. Blood still spread across her white shirt, the pool of blood widening until the crimson touched his knees.

A singular tear escaped her eye, the last one rolling free, mixing with blood.

Quickly, holding his breath vainly, he took his hand from her chest wound and pressed bloody fingers to the skin just underneath her jaw.

He couldn't feel a heartbeat.

A sob shattered through Legolas's chest. "No," he cried, the word escaping through clenched teeth. Tears flooded down his cheeks.

"No!"

Pain like he hadn't ever felt before ripped inside of him, something warm and alive being torn away from his fea.

He gasped, pain and grief tearing through him as more and more tears escaped his eyes.

The battle still raged around them, but at that moment he didn't care. Grief crippled him, for his Heart was taken away.

He gritted his teeth against the pain in his fea and against the grief crushing down on him.

"No," he whispered, the word barely audible.

Legolas gathered his other-half in his arms and pressed his forehead to hers, Lumornel's life-blood spilling on him.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

Not so soon.

They were supposed to live out her mortal days after they completed her mission of saving Middle-Earth.

But it was not to be.

He gripped her tighter, determined on never letting her go.

"Goheno nin," he cried, for it was his fault she had died. If only he had stayed closer to her in battle.

A firm hand landed softly on his shaking shoulder. Legolas didn't look up, only tried willing his love back to life with his grief.

"Ion nin."

Finally, Legolas gazed red-eyed at his father. Yet, he still held her dead, lifeless body.

"We must leave."

Legolas shook his head, setting his forehead again against hers. "I won't leave her."

Thranduil gazed sorrowfully at his son and at the lifeless woman in his arms.

"Legolas, a force ten-fold ours approaches from Mordor's gates. We need to lead our peoples to safety."

But kneeling, the prince stayed, not wishing to live in a world that wasn't enlightened by her joy.

He didn't want to live at all if it didn't mean she could not be with him.

His pained tears mingled with her still-warm blood.

"Legolas. Come, we must leave." The prince didn't know how his father had been able to leave his mother behind when she had been slain when he was just a mere child.

The sound of war cries, pounding feet, and rattling armor met their elven ears through the ending battle. The brash tongue of black speech assaulted his ears. The pounding feet of the second orc army shook the ground.

"Goheno nin," his father whispered, then wrenched his son away from the dead woman. Thranduil had tears swimming in his eyes. Not just because of the mortal he himself had started to grow fond of, but because of the heart—no soul-wrenching agony his son was facing. Of the pain that would never fade but grow and strengthen. Thranduil knew that in time Legolas would fade from grief, perhaps even leaving him to sail to the shores of Valinor.

"No!" Legolas cried. "I will not leave her!"

She was afraid of being alone—for that's when memories assaulted her. Her wouldn't leave her now. Not when she needed him most.

She had been the one who learned of all those tortured elves he blamed himself for—and had not blamed him nor called him a murderer. She had caught his heart and had never let go.

Until now.

And he realized the woman he loved, so much stronger than he, would not have wanted him living in pain. Would not have wanted her duty to go forgotten and unfinished.

So, with a guy-wrenching sob, Legolas took the bow that she oh-so-loved from his back and placed it on her chest, in her beautiful hands, along with his arrow-filled quiver.

And perhaps it was selfish of him to do so, but he leaned down and pressed a stolen kiss to her still-warm lips. His tears fell on her cheeks, making it look as if Lumornel herself was crying. Teeth gritted through his cries, he swept aside her hair, away from her face so her body could gaze up at Elbereth's hopeful stars.

Before rising, he whispered the words he never got to return. Words to a soul who no longer resided in Middle-Earth.

"Gi melin."

And he rose, fleeing with his father and the armies.

Leaving the savior of Middle-Earth behind.

*********

"And sometimes you didn't want to know the end... because how could the end be happy?"

—Samwise Gamgee

Im nathlof—I'm here

Edhil, tolo! — Elves, come!

Anfang boe nestad. Ti berio an nestadrin echad — The dwarf needs healing. Protect them to the healer's tent.

Yrch—elves

Gi melin—I love you

...

Sorry—

*protects myself from your assaults*

*fails*

*but is secretly grinning*

Anyways... did you see her death coming????? I left TONS of foreshadowing.

And tomorrow I shall post the epilogues part 1 and 2. As well as the acknowledgments.

Novaer, mellyn
~Phoenix~