Fo.A 2, December 24th

"The fifth circle is overrun, my king, we must leave now before it is too late!"

Aragorn stood rooted in place, unable to comprehend what was taking place, unwilling to accept it. "No, Faramir, it is already too late," he said numbly.

The two men stood in the throne room as the Tower Guard rushed to barricade the doors and outside protect the courtyard where the White Tree was now covered in black fungus. Faramir shook his head and pointed towards the doors. "Those men out there will die to save you, we must leave!"

Aragorn shook his head, blood dripping down from the gash there. "No, Faramir." He looked at his friend. "This will not end until they have killed me, and I will not risk my people coming to more harm by running." Aragorn walked over and place the crown and scepter in Faramir's hands. "Take these north to your brother. Guard them with your life."

Faramir could barely hold back his anger. "And what of your wife and child?"

It felt as if a knife pierced his heart, but Aragorn remained firm. "I am doing this to give them both a chance to live, Faramir. I don't ask you to understand or respect it, just that you will follow my orders."

Faramir bit back a reply, there was no use fighting him at this point.

Aragorn took his silence as his acceptance. "Good, now take them through the mountain passes. It will be dangerous, but you must go as far away from the city as you can before coming down. Do you understand?"

Faramir face looked pained, but he nodded. "I understand."

"Now go," Aragorn said.

Faramir turned and was followed by several guards. Aragorn shouted. "Wait!"

Faramir stopped and turned as Aragorn walked up, placed the Evenstar in his hand. "Protect her, Faramir, and do not let her come back here."

Unable to speak, Faramir nodded and turned on his heel and hurried off. Aragorn could almost make out Arwen's anguished cry echoing through the halls over the clamor of battle outside.

Aragorn stood looking up at the throne before ascending the steps. He'd fought so hard to lead his people these past years after the War had ended; he'd bled for them more than once, and still, they were so easily overcome with greed and evil intent. The screams of the women, children, and young men carried upon the wind as they were slaughtered in the streets below.

Aragorn reached the top, drew his sword, and sat, hand on the hilt. He'd made a vow to Boromir that he would not let the White City fall, and yet, it would happen regardless. He would try and stop it, but he feared that it would be like trying to stop the wave as it crashes on the sand.

Cries came from outside the door and terrible shrieks. The guards by the door, those who had not sided with the Black Tree, leveled their spears at it, ready to defend their king to the death. And they would die, Aragorn realized, every one of them.

A pounding came on the door, and after three hits it burst into thousands of pieces, skewering many of the guards, as a woman of terrifying beauty stepped over the threshold, followed by a mob of people. She wore a long black dress, and her long dark hair hung to her waist. She walked barefoot, her eyes as black as night as she walked towards Aragorn seated upon his throne.

"Greetings, O great king," said the woman, smiling, revealing two sharpened teeth.

Aragorn said nothing, and could only watch in stone-faced horror as the mob killed the guards, and beat the bodies of those already dead. He looked at the woman scornfully. "Why have you done this?"

The woman laughed, hollow and mirthless. "Because a new age is coming, little king. One in which darkness will reign and the light be snuffed out." Her black eyes locked onto his. "And it starts with you."

Suddenly, wings spread from her back and she flew up, landing behind him. Aragorn tried to move but found his limbs would not obey. Her voice came again, now harsher and filled with hunger. "Aragorn," she whispered, in his ear. "Where is your wife? I would speak with her."

Aragorn felt the unseen power release his mouth, and he forced the words out with great effort. "Far...away from here."

He felt a clawed hand dig into his shoulders, and he cried out in pain. "That is not what I wanted to hear," growled the woman.

"Who...are...you?" asked Aragorn through the waves of pain.

The woman walked out from behind him, only her body was hideous and hairy, the wings larger than before and bat-like. Her face, though, was untouched, and eerily beautiful. Two fangs protruded from her mouth as she smiled wickedly. Do you not know of me, little man?" she asked. She leaned in, smelling his neck, then nibbled on his ear, drawing blood. "I am Thuringwethil, and I am your doom."

Before Aragorn could cry out, she plunged her fangs into his neck, drinking deeply until there was no essence of life left in him. She stood, transforming back into her human self and wiped the blood away from her face. It had been so long since she had tasted of the blood of kings, and oh, how marvelous it was!

Thuringwethil shoved Aragorn's crumpled form from the throne and watched it rolled down the steps onto the floor. She eased herself into the chair, crossing her legs, and running her hands through her hair as she looked out over the throng before her. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, enjoying the after-taste of his blood on her tongue. When she opened her eyes again, she smiled, raising her hands. "Long live the Queen."

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At these words, the whole of Arda trembled and groaned. From every corner and by every race, both above and below, was it felt.

Mandos hurried from his halls to find the others, for their time was growing short, and surely this was enough to convince them.

He found them atop Mount Taniquetil, already in council with one another, trying to uncover what could have caused the Great Tremor.

"I warned you," said Mandos, voice cutting through the noise of the others. "But you did not heed me, just as you did not heed me in Ages past. Now our doom is at hand!"

All eyes turned to his way as he continued. "I told you that one day Melkor would return and seek his revenge, but you would not listen. Therefore I tell you this: Three Great Tremors shall there be before Melkor breaks the chains that bind him and he returns to Arda in wrath." His voice became low as he pronounced their doom. "If we do not prepare, our destruction is assured."

The End.

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Nope, not kidding, this is actually the end of the book. Aragorn is dead, Gondor has fallen, the fate of Arwen (and their unborn baby), Faramir, Eowyn, Ninel, and all of Middle-Earth is in question.

Thuringwethil now rules as Queen, and the Black Tree has risen.

This book (started back in April I think) has been a work in progress and took may surprising turns along the way. 

There will be a break in between this book and The Forgotten One so I can catch up on some of the books in my library, do some book r