The Shadows That Remain Rating: PG-13
A Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, The Silmarillion fic - CHAPTER07
To the eyes of one, there was no sign of the two people in the bed that they were dreaming. Dreaming of their former lives, dreaming as they had never dreamed before. No, this was a vivid dream, a dream so surreal that it was real. It was the work of Lorien, the Vala of Dreams, Master of all dreams.
For Alec, who had been sleeping peacefully, one of his arms draped across the nightgown covered back of Anna, his dreams started just as peacefully ...
“That is Weathertop,” said Strider. “The Old Road, which we have left far away on our right, runs to the south of it and passes not far from its foot. We might reach it by noon tomorrow, if we go straight towards it. I suppose we had better do so.”
“Frodo has been touched by the weapons of the Enemy,” said Strider, “and there is some poison or evil at work that is beyond my skill to drive out. But do not give up hope, Sam!”
“Why do you fear the past? You are Isildur’s heir, not Isildur himself. You are not bound to his fate ...”
Aragorn looked stricken as he stared at his love with pleading eyes, “The same blood flows in my veins; the same weakness!”
“Your time will come. You will face the same evil and you will defeat it ...”
“I choose, a mortal life ...”
“You cannot give me this!”
“It is mine to give to whom I will ... like my heart.”
Alec turned over once in his bed, a soft murmur of nameless words coming from his mouth as the dream continued on ...
“It is over. The world of men will fall and all will come to darkness, and my city to ruin ...” Boromir gasped as he laid there dying with three arrows embedded in him.
“I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you. I will not let the White City fall. Nor our people fail!”
“Our people ... our people ...” Boromir gave a ghost of a smile until pain coat his eyes once more. He was going fast, Aragorn knew it as he handed him his sword once more ... for him to die like a warrior who fought bravely. “I would have followed you my brother ... my Captain ... my King.”
With those last words, Boromir, son of Denethor, a son of Gondor died.
“Be at peace, son of Gondor.”
“Farmers, farriers, stable boys,” Aragorn shook his head as he dropped a useless unsharpened sword and made his way to where Legolas was standing, watching all the men and boys walk by, some with clueless eyes. “These are no soldiers.”
“Most have seen too many winters,” Gimli sighed, a bit troubled.
“Or too few,” Legolas’ voice was full of contempt and a touch of sorrow, “They’re frightened. I can see it in their eyes.” Aragorn stared at the Elf incredulously as silence reigned in the armory. “Boe a hyn: neled herain dan caer menig (And they should be. 300 against 10,000).”
“Si beriathar hyn ammaeg na ned Edoras (They have a better chance defending themselves here than in Edoras),” he reasoned, trying to calm the Mirkwood Elf down.
“Aragorn, nedin dagor hen u-‘erir otheri. Natha daged dhaer. (They cannot win this fight. They are all going to die!)”
“Then I shall die as one of them!” he shouted back, startling Legolas before he brushed past him in anger.
Then the King welcomed his guests, and they alighted; and Elrond surrendered the scepter, and laid the hand of his daughter in the hand of the King, and together they went up into the High City, and all the stars flowered in the sky. And Aragorn the King Elessar wedded Arwen Undomiel in the City of the Kings upon the day of Midsummer’s, and the tale of their long waiting and labours was come to fulfillment.
Alec woke with a start, his breathing coming in short gasps as he stared at the white ceiling of his apartment. For a moment, he saw that he was smiling at the beautiful face of Anna, her dressed in a brilliant white gown, her grey eyes sparkling and her porcelain skin kissing all the rays of the sun. She was smiling at him ...
Shaking his head violently to clear the image away, he turned to see Anna’s peaceful sleeping face in an upturned smile. Her chest rose evenly, and for a moment, Alec could see her in that white dress, that white wedding dress ...
Wait ... he had been there, watching her in that wedding dress. He had been married to her ... but ... who was he again? Ara-something ... no, Aragorn son of Arathorn, or Elessar Telcontar the King of the Reunited Lands, the King of the Dunedain and of Gondor. He was Aragorn.
No! He was Alec. Alexander Estel Richard, the son of a widow, one of the finest NYPD officers. He wasn’t Aragorn ... was he? Alec blinked once more as the realization settled in ... he was Aragorn ... only he was Alec too.
Turning to his side, he watched Anna for a few seconds before tentatively speaking the first words that sounded so familiar yet so foreign in his mouth. “Arwen?”
Anna’s grey eyes opened slowly and they bore into his. The flash of recognition in them was complete as he began to see the sparkle of love that once bonded his beloved to him so many Ages ago.
“You’ve returned, Elessar ...” Anna smiled faintly and sleepily then closed her eyes once more and went back to sleep.
* * * * *
In the mostly quiet office of the police station, Benjamin Greens was asleep over the holopad and papers of death notices that he was filing for the deaths of the seven officers and one Vernomage during their raid that night. He had worked himself to exhaustion and he didn’t want to inform anyone else that they had died.
His previous conversation with his father, David Greens, the commissioner had turned into a disaster fest. Commissioner Greens had accused him for being so foolhardy and said that his brother Franklin would have done better than he had.
But his sleep was not pleasant all ... his sleep was full of nightmares ...
The pain of the first arrow was so surprising that Boromir gasped a bit and fell to his knees. No, he couldn’t fall to his knees he had to get up and fight! Fight! Struggling up, he brushed away the first sword of an Uruk and then hacked at another. Slicing to fight he turned slightly ... only to be thrown back as another arrow embedded itself within him.
The pain was so great now and he felt himself falling to the soft earth once more. No ... stand up, he willed his wooden feet to stand, just in time to parry a sword from one of the Uruk who was trying to take a pot shot at him. He must save the hobbits ... he must ... he couldn’t let Frodo down ... he couldn’t give into that evil temptation again.
He knew what he had lived his life for ... he had gone through the evils and back into the light again and he willed himself not to fail.
By this time the pain was so great that he didn’t even feel the third arrow embed itself within him. He only glanced down in hazy wonderment as he saw that blood flowed from the third arrow. He watched with lazy eyes as his knees buckled underneath him and he sank to the ground, too stunned and too full of pain to even realize that he was dying ...
Everything was so white, so far away. The war cries of Pippin and Merry were so far away, but Boromir watched with slight disinterested eyes as the Uruks took them away. Were they important? Why was he here, he wondered as he glanced once more down at the wound.
Booted feet with sharp spikes rolled into his vision and he looked up, blinking against the harsh sunlight. Ugly, was the word that came to his mind as he stared at the face of an Uruk. Was this the one who shot all those arrows in him?
Suddenly it was as if someone turned up the volume everywhere and he heard the fine tune of the birds chirping in the back ground, the rustle of leaves, the fading feet of the other Uruks running away ... the scrape of the draw of a bow and an arrow loaded ...
The bow and arrow pointed at his face by the Uruk who wore a malicious smile ... he was going to die ... he knew it ... he was ...
The sudden war cry startled Boromir as he watched as Aragorn flung himself on top of the Uruk, knocking the creature down away from him. Then all became white ...
Ben started and sat up quickly in his chair, knocking his head painfully against the back of his chair. Stars briefly danced in his vision; he could feel his heart beating at least a mile a minute ... the pain ... it was so real ...
Scrubbing his face he felt day old stubbles and reached for his mug on the side of his table. Without bothering to glance at the contents of the mug he downed everything ... and promptly spit the contents of the mug out. It was coffee ... but it tasted like blood. The coppery metallic tinge of flavor was still haunting him, but as he glanced down at himself, he wasn’t bleeding ... was he?
For the man who was Benjamin Greens ... and the man who had been Boromir son of Denethor, the transition of Reincarnation wasn’t too pleasant at all.
* * * * *
Elizabeth Ruthersfield prided herself on keeping her cool, even in the face of eminent danger. She laughed in the face of danger, but she also welcomed it at times, as her brother Edward was so overprotective at times and also with her fiancé, Franklin Greens.
As she curled up in the blankets of her bed, in the apartment on the East Side that she shared with her future husband, Liz knew that her cool was about to be lost ... for weird things had been happening ...
Out of the wreck rose the Black Rider, tall and threatening, towering above her. With a cry of hatred that stung the very ears like venom he let fall his mace. Her shield was shivered in many pieces, and her arm was broken; she stumbled to her knees. He bent over her like a cloud, and his eyes glittered; he raised his mace to kill.
But suddenly he too stumbled forward with a cry of bitter pain, and his stroke went wide, driving into the ground. Merry’s sword had stabbed him from behind, shearing through the black mantle, and passing up beneath the hauberk had pierced the sinew behind his mighty knee.
“Eowyn! Eowyn!” cried Merry. Then tottering, struggling up, with her last strength she drove her sword between the crown and mantle, as the great shoulders bowed before her. The sword broke sparkling into many shards. The crown rolled away with a clang. Eowyn fell forward upon her fallen foe ...
Elizabeth Ruthersfield, woke up screaming bloody murder, startling Franklin who was had fallen asleep on the couch watching some late night program on the holo-vid. She kept staring at the image of a horrifying black mask ... a mask without eyes, a mask and body with angular armor that was as dark as the night. She had killed it ... hadn’t she?
Liz didn’t realize Frank was calling her name and shaking her shoulders until she reacted to her name.
She started then looked around her room wildly. The black shadow was gone, and she was here, in her room, in her bed ... she was safe ... Her wild eyes found Franks and saw deep concern in them. “Faramir?” she whispered then shook her head ... “No ... Frank?”
If Franklin Greens noticed anything unusual he hid it behind a carefully controlled mask. “What happened Liz?” he asked gently and Liz suddenly felt weak all over.
She curled her knees to her chest and started to cry. “Oh ... it was horrible ... I saw myself in some world ... I ... think I died or something ...” she tried to stop the tears from flowing from her face, but they couldn’t seem to stop.
Frank gently knelt down next to her and wrapped his arms around her, “It’s okay Liz ... just cry ... just cry.”
The shield-maiden of Rohan was born once again.
* * * * *
For both the Reincarnations of Eomer son of Eomund, Edward Ruthersfield, and Gimli son Gloin, George Griston, they kept a strict watch on their own patrols. For they were already reborn, and had been for the last thirty years or so of their lives.
On the back of a robotic horse designed for skirmish attacks, Edward Ruthersfield looked up into the starry night on the outskirts borders of Massachusetts and New York. In his heart he knew that the time was near ... the timing was near for the forces of evil to rise once more. Heeling his horse he turned and trotted back to the rest of his men and women, a rebel company of former United States soldiers who dealt with rogue Mages. Turning the trot to a gallop, Edward knew that he had to hurry.
In the dusty moonlit halls of the once pristine Museum of Natural History, George Griston looked up from his current project, cataloging some new minerals he had found during his last recent trip to Egypt. He stared at the almost full moon, his eyes darkening. It was time ... something inside of him told him. It was time for him to act.
Putting down the magnifying glass he held in his hand, he walked over to the door of his office and opened it. Ducking slightly beneath the archway of his door (being at least over six feet didn’t really help the fact that the doors were quite low), he headed to a particular painting and removed it.
Pressing a button underneath the painting, a panel slipped out and George grabbed the gun that was inside of it. Flicking off the safety and he loaded the gun and stuck it into his pocket. Closing the panel and setting the portrait back to where it had been, he walked back and returned to his work.
Tomorrow was to be an interesting day ...
* * * * *
“They are so peaceful when sleeping yet so violent when awake,” a soft-spoken simple voice said, but the voice that belonged to the person wasn’t so simple at all.
“It is the ways of humans, the former race of Men, Lorien,” Gandalf said, leaning on his white staff, watching four humans sleep in their beds in the four-room dorm. Indeed they did look peaceful, and they were peaceful even if they were former hobbits. But they had all grown in this day and age as regular sized humans, not the short Halflings they were back in the Third Age.
Gandalf turned his head to look at the Vala he served, seeing Lorien’s bright pale green eyes staring at them, unblinking and unmoving. Though he was standing next to a floating being that radiated a bright light, bright enough to shine as a beacon on the foggiest of nights, he knew that his master had a human form too, much like he had. He suspected that if Lorien were to walk on the Earth as a human, than he would probably be dressed in white, with silvery-white hair and sharp green eyes.
“The others have awakened, Olorin, and tomorrow they will gather together,” Lorien said, “but the hobbits though, they have much work yet to be done.”
“Then will you continue this process through tomorrow?” Gandalf asked as one of the former hobbits, Merry or Matthew as he was known at this moment in time, rolled over in his sleep, murmuring something.
“No ... I will do what I can for tonight, but I will speak with them tomorrow to finish the process,” Lorien said in a calm voice then turned his pale green eyes on him, “you will tell your students that I come to speak.”
“As you wish,” Gandalf gave a small bow with his head then returned his gaze onto the sleeping humans. His eyes paid close attention to the human named Fredrick, or Frodo as he was Reincarnated. He didn’t know what part Fred had to play, but he knew that as a former Ringbearer, Fred would be vital to the outcome of this war.
“And so it begins,” Lorien whispered into the quiet night.
* * * * *
The ride back from the Golden City to the Black City was very quiet, as Legolas was immersed in his own thoughts and Haldir was just staring blankly across the skyline that they were crossing. Even the twins, hyper from before, were sober now, both wearing serious expressions, expressions that he had never seen since the Battle of Therin’s Hill in the Nano Wars.
“We’re going to drop the two of you off where we landed before,” Elrohir called back to him and Legolas nodded, pulling himself out of his thoughts. He had been thinking of what Gandalf had said and what about the dreams the Reincarnations were to have. He hoped that Lorien was successful, but even though he didn’t really doubt the powers of the Vala, he was still reluctant to believe anything that resembled a god of sorts.
Standing up, he grabbed hold of the handle bar inside of the hover-copter just as a fierce wind knocked the copter around slightly. But with Elladan at the controls, the copter righted itself and hovered a few feet off the ground. Legolas nodded to Haldir and his friend stepped out first. Turning around he waved a quick goodbye to the twins who saluted and Elrohir grinned.
Turning back around he jumped out of the copter and landed lightly on his feet. The wind the blades of the copter blew up, swirled his hair around, but as the copter rose into the air once more and flew back towards the Golden City, the wind died down leaving the silence of the city that was only echoed by a few distant crashes, signs that Mages or the summons of Mages were still prowling around.
“Come on, we’ll head back to my place to stock up before we pick the Fellowship up tomorrow morning at the police station,” Legolas gestured to Haldir who nodded and the two of them set off, both wary of any type of attack that was to come their way.
But in the midst of their watchfulness, they did not notice a pair of blood red eyes staring at them from the shadows ...”It isssss ... time,” the owner of the red eyes whispered.
* * * * *
High above in his lair that was the former Empire State Building, now the rebuilt tower of Barad-dur, Sauron closed his fiery eyes and sent one thought to his slaves. Kill ...
For a young boy staying in an apartment on near the East Side, he heard the command and his smiled cruelly. His small hands were already stained with the blood of his most recent kill, the fresh entrails still dripping down his fingers, but he stared out into the night of New York City and opened his mouth ... unhinging his jaw to the point where his mouth was as large as he could swallow his own head ...
David, the young boy Alec saved, screamed ...
The shriek of the Witch-King.
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