Rising Star, Falling Darkness: Part X
by Camilla Sandman
-----

Warmth.

Warmth surrounded her; she was wrapped in it, like a blanket as light as a feather. For a while she just revelled in the notion, for it was far from unpleasant. She had been cold for so long, a cold that had nothing to do with weather or season.

Opening her eyes, she found herself looking into the sleeping face of Faramir. His breath tickled her cheek, like a gentle spring breeze. For a moment it was enough to look at him and remember the softness of his lips.

Had she dreamed it? No, one could not dream sensations so vivid. He had pledged himself to her, and so she would lose him. For nothing good could last in a nightmare.

Perhaps, if she willed it, the moment could last forever. Perhaps she could never fully wake, sleeping in his arms. Dawn would never come, so why would they awaken?

"Gandalf!" She heard an excited voice next to her, and she looked up without thinking. One of the halflings had spoken, but she could not tell which one in the dark.

Gandalf was there. She could see his white garment shine in the dark, like a weak reminder of what light was.

"What is it?" Faramir whispered in her ear, and she turned her head back to face him. He looked tired, but there was a look on his face she refused to acknowledge.

"Gandalf has come," she replied, untangling herself from his embrace and sitting up. He merely nodded, as if he was expecting it.

"It is time then," he muttered gently, taking her hand as he sat up also. "Yet, I will go to my doom with hope in my heart."

"Speak not of doom," she urged, a sudden fear overtaking her. "Not yet. Not yet."

He looked at her curiously. "Éowyn, you spoke of doom last night."

"I did. I wished only for death. I." Her voice faltered, and she leaned her forehead against his.

"I am afraid to speak it," she murmured, taking in the smell of him. Even with the stench of death that was on them all, there was something comforting about it.

"You need not. Your eyes speak of it; I need no words."

Her eyes seemed to water, and she willed the tears away. She could not cry, could not feel. Nothing awaited them but death, yet. Something warm was in her chest still, and against all reason she felt a wish rise in her mind. A wish to watch a sunrise by the side of this man.

She wanted to live. Even here, when her people were dying and her brother lost, she wanted to live.

"If - If beyond this darkness there is something other, I will pledge myself to you," she promised.

He pressed her hand to his chest, and she could feel his strong heartbeats under her palm.

And for Éowyn, it was no longer a fight to die avenging those dead. It was a fight to live.

******

The cave darkened. The flames shot higher.

And Sauron stepped forward.

His shape was humanoid, only greater than any human or elf. Where the shadow ended and his shape began was hard to say. Even the air around him seemed darker, as if that too would bend to his will.

Fear beset Frodo, and he could not move. He could hardly breathe, but the Dark Lord seemed to scarcely notice him.

Galadriel too, seemed frozen. Her sword fell with a clatter to the ground.

Come.

If Sauron spoke the word or merely will it was hard to say. But they all heard it, his order to Galadriel to come to him. To give in.

Come!

Even as she shook her head, she took a step forward. Her whole body trembled, and for a moment Frodo thought she might give in. For a moment her light faltered and she seemed but a shadow.

Then silver flashed in her eyes and she stopped dead in her tracks.

"No!" she flung out. "You will not have me! By Celeborn, you will not have me!"

A strange silence fell, measuring only a heartbeat, yet also an eternity.

"No," she repeated, quietly this time.

A terrible anger besetting Sauron and the Ring began to shine with an overwhelming light. He saw only her denial of his power, and in rage he lifted his weapon and strode towards her.

Gimli moved, but Legolas was faster.

Legolas did not even consider his options, his mind instructing his body even as he was taking in the situation. Forward he leaped, his knives gleaming.

Galadriel closed her eyes, expecting the blow. It never came to her.

It hit Legolas, smashing into his side with a sickening sound of bones breaking. His eyes widened and for a moment she looked right into his soul. There was pain and devotion, but most of all there was spirit, a spirit not even Sauron could completely break. She had not been wrong about Legolas.

"LEGOLAS!" cried Gimli, as the Elf was flung into the air and battered against the rocks. The Dwarf wasted no time running to the slumped body of his friend, his heart in his eyes.

And Sauron towered before Galadriel, dark and menacing, his whole mind set on her. He lifted his weapon, but Galadriel only smiled.

Sauron did not see Frodo reaching for Sting, nor did he hear the hobbit's small cry until it was too late.

Sting flashed through the air.

It hit its mark perfectly, severing several fingers of the shape Sauron had taken.

Frodo stared in amazement as a band of gold fell down and he instinctively reached for it.

The Ring fell into his hand. It was warm, the letters gleaming with a red glow. It was his again, his Ring, his precious.

His eyes fell on Legolas, slumped on the ground, and Gimli kneeling by the elf's side. For a brief, brief second, Frodo felt his mind regain clarity.

The Ring had caused this.

The shadow of Sauron still loomed, reaching for him. But in one fluid movement Frodo threw out his arm, lifting it over his shoulder. The Ring left his hand, falling over the edge, falling, falling, falling.

Falling.



| Part XI |
| Index |