(Talion)

No one spoke of the Black Hand. No one knew of the Black Hand.

To them, he was a passing agent, a fiend of Sauron, the most secluded of the three servants. Each bound to his own purpose.

When Talion slaughtered the Uruks patrolling the camp, blood of black and crimson breathing a foul odor in the air like rot from decay, he interrogated a few with the bright powers of the elf wraith, the cold light delving deeply into their foul minds like ice freezing a river vein…and found practically nothing of value. He did get brief glimpses of distant memories of the Tower, and much more clear recollections of the Hammer, the most ill-tempered, like a red and pale embodiment of flame and rock under iron and steel, his pale mouth in an enraged grimace and his eyes two golden orbs of eternal loathing.

And he appeared to be the overseer of this part of Mordor, over the sieges of Udun. But when, where, and with whom…the information was lacking. Either these Uruks were very ignorant, or very idiotic.

But idiocy or not, ignorance or not, memories were captured images both remembered and forgotten, however fleeting and unimportant. The wraith had spoken true: thoughts cannot lie. But it wasn't enough if all the orcs, including the slaves, knew next to nothing other than rumors or passing glimpses they have seen, or even background sounds they have heard. None of them were pretty.

Talion was getting very frustrated. While assured that it was not all for nothing, having rescued and released some surviving slaves, allowing them to flee along with their injured brethren, and clearing a safer path for his daughter at the same time, he was no closer to his wife and son's killers than before. Once he was sure there was not a living enemy left alive in this place, he would have call over his waiting daughter, empty-handed. And then it would probably be best if they started seeking out Hirgon's camp. If she was even still back in her hiding place, waiting for him to give the signal for clearance...

'She's safe, Talion…for now. It appears we will not get our answers here. If we could just track down Gollum...'

'That creature might guarantee your answers, but not mine. It's my turn, wraith. The longer Gollum is out of my sight, the more I can think clearly.'

'Oh, yes, yes, and the more I'm imposed to tolerate those thoughts. Out of all the vessels I'm forced to share, it had to be someone so imprudent and hard-headed! It's no wonder that girl is such a nuisance!'

'Hold your tongue, wraith!'

'Oh, my apologies. I was merely thinking aloud.'

'…That necklace…You also had a daughter once. The visions were clear. It belonged to her, didn't it?'

'…So it appears…'

'…Elanor would keep it safe for you. If it had any sentimental value to you, you would best...'

'I will worry about my own personal affairs, as you will worry about your own! The only objective we have in common is the Black Hand of Sauron…!'

"Ranger!" A gravely voice interrupted the thought exchange. Talion turned, his silver-blue eyes roving over the dead bodies, past the rows of posts occupied by rotting or freshly mutilated corpses of orcs and slaves…until eventually landing on movement. Tied up against one of the posts, arms fastened tightly over its head at an awkward angle, the speaker called out again, "Ranger! Come close if you want the Black Hand!"

At the mention of the Black Hand, Talion's (and the wraith's) interest perked. As he approached, the imprisoned Uruk smirked, now that he got the Ranger's attention. "Those slave scum are pouring poison in your ear. Oh, but you cut these ropes…" He jerked his head toward the knots securing his wrists, "…and Ratbag will tell you everything."

"Hm…" Talion pondered the Uruk cool observation. Like any other orc, this "Ratbag" had green, grimy flesh with a pointy crooked nose pierced with a hooped ring, large flappy ears, black dreadlocked hair pulled back, squinty red-rimmed yellow eyes, and crooked jags for fangs protruding more from the jutting lower jaw. His arms and legs were bowed and hunched, but compared to most of his kind, he was rather small and scrawny, his ragged skins for breeches hanging loosely around his crooked hips, only pinned together by what looked knuckle bones and thin rat ribs.

A weakling.

Talion drew his dagger. "Now what would you know," he murmured, circling the prisoner with the blade's tip dragging delicately around his neck, "that all these other dead orcs didn't?" If the Uruk was lying, then he was an idiot for attempting.

Ratbag's smirk shifted from fear to forced anger in a span of seconds. "Go ahead, you bastard!" he yelled. "Do it! I'll die, and you'll know nothing!"

Talion grinned, his cold eyes narrowing with a mixture of disgust and amusement. "Maybe I'll grant your request," he said lowly, pressing the blade against the soft pulse of the orc's throat, "end your miserable life."

And just like that, Ratbag's bravado shattered into panic. "No, NO! No, no, no! I was jesting! Look, those slaves are no match for the orc army! Their scheme's as rotten as barrel fish! But Ratbag can teach you the ways of the Orc…" He gave Talion an ugly grin, though wavered nervously, sweat rolling down his neck. "Ratbag here can make your plan work!"

So we have another liar and a coward, thought Talion, eying the Uruk with growing disgust, who would rat out his own race. Perhaps the name 'Ratbag' suits him in more ways than one…even if he were telling the truth...

Talion leaned over Ratbag, tilting the blade deeper, making the Uruk gulp.

"We're going to find out what you know," he uttered in a low form of menace toward the creature.

If the orc was lying, it would be his throat. If he was telling truth…there was an easy way of finding out.

When his hand grabbed the Uruk's gaunt face, a bright white light poured from his eyes and mouth, causing the victim to squirm and gag.

Images flowed through his mind. Uruks guarding fortified dens filled with blood thirsty caragors. A captain named Gorgoth guarding the den.

Once it was over, Talion and the wraith had the information they needed, including the truth from Ratbag's words. Satisfied, and quite reluctant, Talion raised his dagger-Ratbag flinched in fright-and brought it down. The Uruk fell loose to the ground, the ropes in tatters.

Grinning, Ratbag began to stand up as the Ranger turned to leave. "Your problem, Ranger, is the Warchiefs," he said. Talion paused. "Strong leaders, they are. Now if something were to happen to them, then they wouldn't be able to stomp your little insurrection, would they?"

Talion scoffed, barely glancing over his shoulder from behind the shadow of his dark tresses. "I would hunt them down."

This Uruk was wasting his time…though he did have a point.

Ratbag raised his brow. "How?" he questioned. "They're not very popular around here. And they know it."

"But you can find them?" Talion was skeptical. While it was apparent everything this orc was saying was true, though not without some hidden scheme that would benefit himself, he almost wanted to laugh when this vile creature was even suggesting that they become allies. Anyone with a good conscience would sooner eat their own shit than team up with an orc. And what decent person in this history of Middle-earth has ever attempted such a thing?

No one.

At least, he hoped not.

"Oh, yes." Ratbag nodded, the glee in his tone unmistakable. He was confident that the former Ranger captain would accept his terms, the sly devil. "Ratbag'll show you the way. You help me…" He placed his hands on his chest, "…I'll help you." He gestured in offering toward the Ranger, wriggling his brow.

Now Talion almost did laugh in disbelief, both at the Uruk and at himself for what he just heard. Him, team up with an orc? An Uruk-hai? The same race that slaughtered the entire Morannon guild? Who assisted in murdering him, his wife, and son, and then tried to kill his daughter? The very race that the rest of Middle-earth and the gods who have made them have been fighting for many thousands of years, since perhaps the beginning of time? The very race he swore his vengeance upon from beyond the grave?

Then I must be damned, Talion thought, his mouth curving into an enraged grin that felt more like a snarl, mostly at himself, if I had fallen so low as to even consider accepting an orc's terms. His dagger whipped quickly back under Ratbag's chin, glaring into the nervous Uruk's yellow eyes in warning. "Do not make me regret this deal," he growled.

Ratbag only grinned, lifting his hands. "Marvelous!" he praised. Then nudging the broken sword away, he turned around and beckoned. "Now let's stop faffin' about, eh? First I need to take care of a certain Captain. And a few Caragors," he added, before walking away. "Come with me, Ranger."

Talion sighed, breathing through his nose to exercise patience, and followed Ratbag.

He was only grateful that Elanor wasn't here to see this, and better yet that Ratbag knew nothing about her. He did however, against his own will, wonder about Ioreth, Dirhael, and Hallas, if they could see him now.

Everything I do, that I will do, is for them, he reminded himself. This might get me closer to seeking their justice. And to keep Elanor safe.

(Elanor)

I lay curled up against the rocky wall of the cave...or rather, the crevice of one, my knees brought close to my chest for warmth beneath the wide comfort of my cloak.

Alone. In the darkness. That being said, we could not build a fire, since the light would more than likely attract enemies or unwanted strangers.

It was the first time in days, since waking up outside the Black Gate, without my father, even without the wraith, that I was truly by myself.

Though exhausted from a long day of walking endlessly across the unknown, the soles of my feet worn with grit and blisters even as I massaged them after finally peeling off my boots, the lines becoming apparent under my eyes, it was impossible to close my eyes, let alone sleep. The thought was too terrifying.

While meant to keep me inconspicuous before my father came back to fetch me, sole for the purpose of keeping me safe while I slept, instead it felt as though I were pressed in a corner, trapped under a marsh of drowning anxiety, with no where else to run or hide. Much like the internal labyrinth of the Morannon.

This crevice was not that deep, much less that wide. Father and I could fit in it together, enable to use its shadow to shroud us from the open, but the back was narrow and enclosed, the entrance our only exit. It was a trap as much as it was shelter, if an Uruk or two lingered by, caught my scent, and...

Shuddering, I hugged my knees closer, my cold toes digging into my cloak's extra fabric, my breath shaking as I let out an exhale, realizing I had been holding it in.

Time was difficult to track, and it felt like an eternity since Father had left, even though an hour could not have passed yet. I knew what he meant to do, which was why he didn't bring me along.

But it did not quench my frustration. I hated this. I hated all the hiding and waiting and not knowing!

All the helplessness and obedience when I should be our there hunting down vile, monstrous creatures that destroyed my life!

I should be out there driving my knife into the throats, ripping out their eyes with my nails with my heels crushed their bones-

My hand unconsciously fingered my mother's star pendant, which slipped out in the open alongside the heavier piece of jewelry. Brow furrowing, I picked up the latter for closer inspection.

Fiddled across my fingers, rough on the edges while my thumb brushed the rounded surface of the jewel, the emerald was larger than my eye, circular with cutting edges while framed in a thin rectangular metal that shimmered with a vague mingling of silver and gold. Turning the jeweled necklace over and over like a rotating plane, there was a faint glitter of tiny calligraphy scrawled along the edges.

Squinting through the darkness, I tried to read it, but even without this difficulty it was impossible, after recognizing the ancient foreign lettering. My Sindarin was barely educated, let alone my knowledge of Elvish handwriting and their alphabet.

Perhaps if I showed the wraith when he came back…I huffed grudgingly, feeling my face blaze at the thought of him.

It was just as well that I had to rely on him again. He who had to rely on my father to stay around, for some mysterious reason.

That same mysterious reason that we were trying to uncover.

He had a family. My bitterness faded, remembering with sorrow the bloodied images of a fading illusion…of a woman and a little girl, both elven. The little girl, who was wearing the pendant I held in my hands…whose rough edges were likely still crusted with her blood. My stomach lurched, tears blurring my vision.

For whatever that reason, they were the answers that we needed…to find out who the wraith was...

…to find the Black Hand…

...and kill him...

"You will remain here."

I looked up my father. "What? Why?"

Father paced around the hollowed crack. The walls were rugged and narrow, glistening with mildew. "The Outcasts' encampment would likely lead a fair enough distance from the Uruk-hai, but close enough for undercover passage. Hirgon's people would need a faster route through the tunnels in the mountains. But before we find it, there is another Uruk encampment full of possible leads to the Black Hand." Father turned to look at me. "It's late in the night now, the orcs will be more restless at this hour, and you will need sleep. We cannot watch you while the obstacles have increased."

"We" as in he and the wraith.

I shook my head, fighting off the fatigue. "But I can keep up. How can I sleep when you can use my help finding the Black Hand? And what about Gollum? What about this necklace?"

"Gollum can be the one you will keep an eye out for." The wraith appeared. "There may be more clues that he would seek out for us."

"But for now, Elanor," Father placed his hands on my shoulders, shifting them so that I could look up and meet his gaze, which were serious with a hint of pleading, "you must use this time to regain your strength. I will scout ahead and take down as many Uruks as I can, to clear our path if not gain answers. "You are going to need all the energy you can muster if we are to continue forward. Do this for me, and I will be back before you know it."

"Father, I-"

"You will not be much use to us as dead-weight, child," said the wraith coldly, causing my head to snap toward his glowing form with a sudden burst of anger, but he continued unfazed, "With all your mortal fatigue and lack of sustenance, your puny body will be as slow as your wits, with or without the use of your blades."

"Silence, wraith!" growled Father, but was ignored as the elf wraith stepped closer, glaring down at me with fathomless white eyes. The closer he came, the weightier the chill in the air became between us. I shivered, thankful for my father's hands on my shoulders or else I would have backed away, further demonstrating my lingering fear of this phantom.

"You, a child who is clearly not trained in the art of militia, though native-born on the borders of Mordor," he continued in a low tone, "the deeper we venture into the heart of enemy territory, the more we cannot afford to spare our every attention on your safety when dragged into the heat of combat. I will not soften my words with false assurances or petty promises, child, and do not expect me to care for your thoughts about it. They matter not. If you wish to follow, you will listen and obey, and then you better be damn well ready to defend yourself…because the time may come that even with your father and myself combined, we may not be able to save you again. Rest well and keep your mouth shut until we return!"

"You-!"

As he dissipated in a flash, both my father and I stared speechless in the spot where his glowing form stood just moments before. For myself, my face was blazing with mortification. If it was possible, I was more than ready to strike him across his hideous skeletal face. If only I was able to touch him...

That snobbish, cynical, pig-headed-!

"Never you mind him, Elanor," Father said in a tight voice, his anger secured under gritted teeth. His hold on my shoulder tightened, holding down my own festering temper. "This is merely a fraction of what I have to listen to inside my head."

"Then you have my deepest sympathy, Father," I muttered lowly. He chuckled and patted my cheek.

"I won't be long," he promised, pressing his forehead against mine. Like his hands, the contact of his skin was unnaturally cold. The new silver-blue of his eyes held my own green-blue, somehow rooting me in place with their icy effect. Both ghoulish and comforting, in opposition to the former hazel-brown that I greatly missed. "Try to get some sleep, hm? Do not leave these shelter unless you have to."

As if I didn't already know that. It was like a sequence we now followed, every night. He would remind me to stay out of sight when he took care of the battle, while I wanted nothing more than to fight alongside him.

While there no doubt that the wraith was powerful, as he had helped keep my father and I alive thus so far, there was still the matter of trusting him, which only went as far I could touch him.

"I'm more worried about you," I said quietly, and swallowed the growing lump in my throat. "Father, I'm worried that you'll be killed, that something will go wrong and I won't even know it. I don't want to lose you, too…I can't…"

He pulled me close into the safety of his arms, cushioned near his broad chest, and pressed his lips on top of my head. After a moment's pause, he murmured, his deep voice rumbling against my ear, "If there is one thing I know for certain…they won't be able to kill me. And I will always come back for you. I swear. Do you trust your father?"

After another moment's hesitation, I shut my eyes and finally nodded stiffly against his chest.

His grip briefly tightened on the back of my neck before he released me and stepped away. "Remember to not make a sound," he said. "

When I watched him leave, his form disappearing in the shadows, it was then I realized that something had been wrong when he hugged me. When what should have felt completely natural and comforting in his embrace, felt like the shadow of something that was no longer the same.

My skin crawled when my mind processed the reason behind my tension, which was followed by a sinking pit of confusion and…fear.

When he had held close, my ear was pressed against his chest so that I would listen to comforting sounds of his heart beating.

Except…I didn't. My breath hitched.

I couldn't hear his heart beating.

With a hitch of breath, my eyes flew open, momentarily realizing I had drifted off in mid-thought-

-only to find myself face-to-face with luminous, bulging, frog-like eyes, on a sunken face with large ears and a grimacing mouth stretched widely over nine cragged fangs in a gurgling hissssssssss-breath smelling of rotten fish-

-long, pale fingers crept up along my neck-

"WAGH!" I cried out. "AAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"WAHHHHH?!"

The creature also screeched in startled surprise when my hands flew up on their own accord, my own screams of fright bursting free in the desperate attempt to shove the horror off and away from me, blindly kicking my legs out for good measure, though my back was trapped against the cave wall.

As my palms made contact with the small, wriggling body, which felt frail and light with bare flesh as grimy and dry as a waxen corpse that still breathed and screamed, my stomach turned over in a sickening motion, threatening to hurl. Yet I managed to catch his thin-ribbed, white chest with my foot and with a shove flung him off me so that he hit the wall across from me, landing unceremoniously on his bony knees and wide-spread hands.

Overcome with panic, I shuffled backward against my own side of this small space of a cave, fumbling desperately for my knife. The smell of the cave was instantly stuffed with the nasty smell of bog and raw fish!

"RAAAH!"

With a lurch, Gollum spat angrily at me, his mouth gaping wide and the silver irises of his bulging eyes shrunken into predatory slits. In an instinctive response, I whipped out my knife, holding it out in front of me, my heart racing with pure terror. My panting came out in high-pitched whimpers, like a cornered animal, but ready to lash out if he so much as moved-

Wait, there was a glitter tangled between the his fingers... a flash of green and gold. My eyes widened. My hand flew to my neck, finding it deprived of its accessory items. "Wha…?! No-!" I gasped.

And with a final rasping bray, Gollum twisted around like the snake he was and bolted out of the cave.

Along with the emerald necklace and my mother's pendant!

Something in me snapped.

"NO! NO!" Before I knew it, all logic and reason was abandoned when in a stumble of arms and legs boosting themselves into a launching position, I scrambled out of my hiding place and was soon sprinting free-style into the wide-open night of the wild after the small, pale form of the thief. His heavy, raspy breaths could still be heard, his choking gurgles a distinction between stress and mocking giggles. Wicked little monster!

"STOP! Get back here! Drop them!" I hollered, my voice a high-pitched shriek to my own ears as I pumped my arms to maintain speed, struggling to keep my eyes locked on the galloping shape of Gollum's wretched silhouette slithering in the night. "Drop them NOW!"

Those necklaces…

My mother's pendant…It was all I had left of of her!

"GIVE THEM BACK!"

TBC