Fo.A 2, September 4th

Gimli looked down at the babe in his arms as it cooed and played with his beard; it seemed strange to him that such a happy baby could come from so unhappy a mother; a murderer at that.

He'd grieved for his brethren when they had found them, throats slashed and beards shorn. Disgraced. Their blood was on his hands.

Breniriel pulled on Gimli's mustache, causing him to wince and eyes water. He held the elfling out in front of him, scowling at it. "You elves have no respect for beards," he grumbled, cradling the baby once more. "You'll learn, though, Mahal help me."

Hours later, Gimli sat before the hearth in his private chambers, the babe swaddled in a crèche in the next room, sleeping peacefully. He puffed thoughtfully on his pipe as he replayed the dream he'd been having since Tauriel's escape. Always the same; the dragon, whispering softly as it starred without blinking. Names, so many names. And a lass, too far away was she for him to get a good looking at her, and she ran whenever he called out to her.

Gimli blew out a puff of smoke, watching it rise towards the ceiling. What did it mean? Smaug had been the last of the great fire-drakes of the north, or so it was said, yet this dragon was different: it bore no wings on its scaly back.

He would need to look into this further and consult the elders of his race to glean what wisdom he could. Until then, he would rest for the-

A cry came from the other room. Gimli sighed, pushing himself out of his chair, grumbling to himself. "You ate not two hours ago, so how in the name of Durin can you be hungry again." Gimli shook his head. "Elves."

<><><><><><><><><><>

Ninel awoke with a start, screaming. She lay in a forest, blackened with age and burned; a body lay beside her. She looked in all directions and saw no sign of anyone else.

Her body was shaking, and Ninel held up her hands, a scream dying on her lips as she saw the blood. She looked at the boy next to her lying face down on the dead grass, two holes in the neck slowly trickling blood.

Reflexively she lunged for the droplets, licking them up, then recoiled and vomited. Tears began to stream down her bloodstained face, and she wailed aloud, confused and alone.

"Ninel?"

The voice was soft, gentle, and warm. It was everywhere at once and yet far away. Ninel looked around but saw no one. No one could find her like this! She was a monster!

"Ninel." The voice was firm now, speaking with an authority she did not quite understand. She wanted to run to it, lose herself in it, but that would mean that they would see her for what she was...whatever she was.

"Tul- na i galad."

Ninel's eyes flew open, a terrified cry tearing at her throat and suddenly choked off by overwhelming emotion. She felt arms wrap around her, and she buried herself in them, realizing after a moment that they belonged to Legolas. She heard him whispering something in his elven tongue as a deep warmth washed over her, and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

Legolas looked at Aragorn, worry creasing his face. "Her nightmares are getting worse, and I cannot find a reason. There is a hungering darkness plaguing her, that is all I can tell."

Aragorn rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I will speak to Arwen and see if there is an elvish medicine that would help her. For now, stay with her and watch over her."

Aragorn left, and Legolas turned his attention back to Ninel. He'd lived a long life, and he had learned much of Age's past. He'd seen the look in her eyes, the wild hunger that had lasted but a moment. It couldn't be possible, not with her. She was too young.

Legolas laid his elven knives on the ground next to him and settled himself on to the mat next to her bed. He folded his hands over his chest and let his mind wander; he would need to keep a close eye on her, for her protection and others.

<><><><><><><><><><>

It was a dream, a horrible dream. He wasn't here. She wasn't here. It wasn't true, couldn't be true!

Yet here he was, chained to a pillar of stone in the bowls of Carn Dûm by his former wife; no, not his wife...something else.

Údar stared into the inky blackness that surrounded him, praying that it would all be over, that she would just let Amarth kill him and be done with it. Údar knew better, though.

A flapping sound echoed off the walls of the underground chamber like the sounding of drums. It was large, whatever it was. He heard it land a few feet away, felt the gust of air hit his face. If only he could see!

Údar flinched when a finger traced his cheek. "Hello, my love. Comfortable?"

Údar gritted his teeth and steeled himself as best he could. He hated feeling so powerless.

"No warm greeting for your once beloved?" Nalwen asked, almost pouting.

"You're not my wife!" Údar snapped.

Nalwen laughed. "Oh but I am, Údar." She placed a hand, or was it a claw, on his chest and pushed him against the wall, her voice husky and low. "I've missed you."

"Get your hand off me," Údar growled.

Nalwen leaned in, licking his neck, and he fought the gorge rising in his throat. "You never read my letter," Nalwen whispered, still close. "We could have been a family. You, me, Ninel...Tachion."

Údar's heart jumped into his throat. What?

Nalwen chuckled lightly. "Yes, my love, we have a son as well. Not to fear, though, Dalion wasn't yours. Sadly, he was a failure in all areas."

Údar's mind spun, his head felt light. A son? He'd left behind his children with this...this thing?

"You're lying," Údar said numbly.

Nalwen laughed again, clearly enjoying herself. "Oh Údar, why would I lie when the truth is so much more painful?"

Údar could feel her breath on his cheek. "The time is almost here, my love. The fall of Gondor, and the rise of the Black Tree."

Údar swallowed hard, trying to regain himself. "You'll fail, Nalwen. Aragorn will defeat you like every other enemy he has faced, and your plan will be at an end."

Nalwen clucked her tongue. "Hear me now," she said. "Come the season of Yule, Gondor will fall, and Aragorn will lay dead before his throne."

A blast of air hit Údar, and he heard the flapping sound die away until all was deathly silent once more; then he wept.

<><><><><><><><><><>

Arabella had laid awake for hours after the nightmare had woke her, her heart and her mind racing. Death; it had been everywhere. She'd heard the world groaning under the weight of the bodies strewn about the wasteland that had been Arda, her own body among them.

Arabella wondered if life was even worth living if it were to all end as she had seen. If death was all that awaited them, why bother fight at all?

'What are we holding onto, Sam?'

'That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it's worth fighting for.'

A small smile formed on her lips as she thought about those words from the Red Book. Sam, ever faithful, had never stopped believing in the good, even when all hope had faded. Not even now after losing his eye, Rosie, and little Elanor.

Arabella decided that to grab hold of that hope. Sure there was still enough good left in the world for it to change the future she had seen, and she decided then and there that it would start with her.

She got out of bed, quickly braiding her hair as she made her way to the kitchen, stopping only to grab an inkwell and paper along the way. Tonight, she would write her vows, and tomorrow, she and Frodo would bring a small measure of goodness into the world.

It was worth fighting for.

<><><><><><><><><><>

He stood before a grand army, black sword in hand, and the true Dark Lord before him: Morgoth, hideous and fell.

At the sight of him, men's bowls were loosened, and others flung themselves into the sea.

Then the Cursed One spoke, his voice like a hundred mountains crumbling into dust. "I greet thee, Turin Turambar, foe of old. Dost thou enjoy thy form granted thee by thine goodness?"

Turin shook with the pent-up rage of Ages long past. "I curse you twice, thrice!" he shouted. "How have you done this to me?"

Morgoth laughed, the sound like thousands of torturous cries reverberating within Angband's defiled halls. "The curse I placed upon thee hath no ending, O Betrayer of Friends," Morgoth said. "For not even in death shalt thou find comfort, nor keep thee from the doom I hath placed upon thee."

Turin gripped his sword tighter, eyes narrowed. "For too long have you held sway over my fate, your doom ever at my heels. No longer shall it be! I challenge you, Morgoth Bauglir, to the death."

Morgoth's eyes shone with evil delight beneath his iron crown. "Accepted."

In an instant, they charged at one another, and as their swords met with battle cries on their lips, all faded into nothingness.

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Oh man, this was probably one of my favorite chapters! *shivers with excitment*

A shoutout to autumn_sunfire for helping me with the olde english (you rock!)

So, there is only ONE MORE CHAPTER LEFT!!! OHMYGOODNESSICANTBELIEVEIT!!!

Well...not including the Epilogue ;)

I seriously cannot believe that we're almost finished with this book, but I am so excited to finish it up!

I would love to hear what you guys think, so comment below and let me know! :D