One Ring. One Ring to rule them all. One Ring was all Sauron needed to regain all his power, to spread his shadow from Mordor to cover all of Middle-earth.

And he got it.

At the lair of Shelob, a giant spider of old, Frodo and Sam fell into a trap, and Gollum took his precious back.

The Ringwraiths overcame him, and the Ring was united with its master.

Darkness came. Night fell.

The very Earth cried out in terror. The sky darkened. Black rain fell. The sun turned red. And all but a few fled before Sauron's wrath.

Aragorn, son of Arathorn was last seen as he faced a sea of orcs, grim and grieved and with death in his eyes.

All seemed lost.

Men were cut down as they stood weeping, robbed of hope and purpose. Smoke rose from Minas Tirith, the White City red with blood.

All seemed lost.

The leaves of Lothlórien turned black and fell from the trees. The elves wept, turning their faces towards the sea. Even the sea itself seemed darker, reflecting only the black sky.

All seemed lost.

But even in the darkness there are stars – tiny glimmers of light. All was not lost.

Frodo and Sam lived.

Morning could still dawn for Middle-earth.

*******

Orcs.

Orcs in her beloved Lothlórien, forever tainting its beauty. She would weep if she was not crying already, cradling the body of Celeborn. His eyes stared up at her, empty and robbed of hope.

The Eye was in her mind, gloating, triumphant, but she felt too numb to care.

And when the a orc stumbled into the clearing, looking viciously at her, she did nothing but stare back. Death was welcome. Death was better than what other fate Sauron had in mind for the beings of Middle-earth.

She stood up, closing her eyes and waiting for the cold steel to take away her pain.

"Galadriel!" came the musical voice of Legolas, and she opened her eyes to see the orc dead by her feet, and the Elf and the Dwarf Gimli, bloodied and dirty, but alive.

Legolas's face fell as his eyes came to rest on the body of Celeborn, and for a moment the elf almost reached out to touch her. Looking down at his bloody hand, he seemed to notice it for the first time.

"Aragorn," he whispered softly. His face was so saddened she did not need to read his mind to know what had happened.

"We must go," Gimli insisted. "The Nazgûl are coming."

"Let them come," she answered flatly, throwing back her head. Defiant, she stared into the Eye, fighting hard not to recoil at viciousness in it. It wanted her, wanted her to scream before It and possibly even become a wraith under It, weak and tormented.

'Never!' she cried out silently.

And as her mind focused on Mordor, she came across a small awareness, faint, but undoubtedly alive. She nearly staggered in surprise.

Frodo.

Frodo was somewhere in Mordor, still himself, still alive.

~
She stood on by the fires of Mount Doom, the looming shape of the Dark Lord before her, lifting his weapon to strike at her. But Frodo was there, small and forgotten, until he lifted his sword and cried out.
~

A tremor went through her body as the vision vanished and she felt a hand take hers. Looking down, she saw Gimli's tear-stricken face. His eyes seemed cold and hollow, but a glimmer of defiance shone as well.

"I will not let you fall," he said, his voice as grim as death.

"Nor will I," Legolas echoed, and even as he said it, he spun around and released an arrow at the coming orc. Within a heartbeat, two more laid dead, their black blood spilling onto the green grass, forever staining it.

Gimli clutched his axe closer, but he did not let go of Galadriel's hand, and she could feel her mind clear. The grief was still there, but felt dimmer.

Was it possible that there was hope still?

Bending down, she picked up the sword by Celeborn's side. It shone in her hand, the light of Lothlórien still within it. The light of Celeborn, beloved beyond words. Kissing his brow and closing his eyes, she let one single tear fall onto his face.

"Namárië," she whispered.

Death would come soon enough and reunite them.

| Part I |
| Index |