Chapter Eleven: Allies in Mordor

A/N: Hello. It's been a while. :) Planning out and rewriting Two Towers is going to take some more time, BUT there's still a whole host of characters from Shadow of War that exist who have been working in the background of what's happened in the fic thus far. They'll all hopefully play a part in, I guess what you would call "Act III" of this fic once we hit Return of the King material, and maybe a bit before as well. Let's catch up with all of our lovely allies, warchiefs, etc. in Mordor, shall we? References to the Desolation of Mordor DLC near the beginning.

Minas Morgul had been strangely quiet for some time. The orcs knew this, as did the creatures and peoples of Mordor. The ones who took the most notice, however, were the Nazgul. After being routed from the Ford of Bruinen they had returned to regroup and once again set out in search of the One Ring, retaking control of the fallen city. Hostile orcs and Uruk-hai seemed encouraged by this, and slowly but surely the shaky state of peace Talion had established throughout Mordor seemed to crumble from within. Attacks on strongholds, raids of small towns and cities, imprisonment of innocent civilians, the reforming of enemy warchief ranks… The atmosphere of hope seemed to evaporate in the blink of an eye.

But the Gravewalker never worked alone.

XxX

"You know, it's been some time since I've had this much firepower in battle! I like it!" Baranor looked over at his brother, Serka, leader of the renowned and vicious mercenary group called the Vanishing Sons, with a raised eyebrow, deftly dodging a nasty looking spear from an Uruk-hai.

"Don't let it go to your head, brother! There is still a battle to be won here!" Baranor told him over the roar of battle. A drake zoomed past overhead, spitting a plume of flames along a large group of advancing orcs just outside of Gorgoroth's fortress. The two held their ground above the front gate, keeping an eye out for any more waves of enemies while still at a good vantage point to see the rest of their surroundings. Serka ducked as Baranor's blade swept his direction, beheading an orc approaching from behind. Steel bolts flew from the Numenorian device on his arm, multiple headshots taking down a small approaching group. Serka rolled forward, shoving a very unfortunate pair of orcs into the flames below before turning back towards the inside of the fortress.

"Looks like your overlord needs a bit of assistance!" Baranor turned and followed his gaze, surprised to see Bruz down on one knee, surrounded. It was a rare sight to see the unbeaten Olog as wounded as he was. It wouldn't be long, however, before a storm of arrows rained down on the hostile party, a lithe, agile figure swooping down to kill the last enemy with a sword through the skull. Baranor grinned, and Serka looked between them in confusion. "Who's she?" Baranor didn't answer, grappling hook allowing him to quickly maneuver himself back to the ground. "Hey! You're just going to leave me up here?!" Serka looked around for a ladder down, finding one halfway across the courtyard. He huffed. "Lovely. First we're back to working with more orcs and now this…"

"Hold down the courtyard! The main waves are over, but there's no telling which other warchiefs will try to take advantage of our current state!" Her armor was a bit more battleworn, eyes a bit sharper, a small scar across her right cheek, hair dirtied by soot and ash, but Baranor would recognize her anywhere. She turned to him, pleasantly surprised, sporting an equally as excited grin as he landed in front of her. "Baranor! Judging by the Numenorian technology and the well armed men, I take it your mission was a success?"

"Idril," Baranor greeted her warmly, pulling her into a brief, but tight, embrace before pulling back. "It was." With help, might he add. Torvin, as he learned the dwarf's name was, had been responsible for the Numenorian technology and a fortunate rescue after wyrms had devoured his men at the start of his journey in the desert. And, of course, Serka and his mercenaries. "Shindram is no longer a threat, what's left of it, anyway." Idril's men dropped down beside her, greeting Baranor kindly. Baranor greeted them kindly in return before his eyes swept his surroundings.

Corpses, both man and orc, littered the courtyard and upper levels of the fortress, pools of blood and abandoned weapons beneath them. Wooden structures smoldered from drake fire, wounded allies being tended to, caragors being wrestled back into their cages. The air was thick with even more smoke than usual, the air almost painful to breathe at times. The always dark sky seemed even more ominous and disheartening than usual, if such a thing was even possible when Barad-dur wasn't too far from their current location.

"It seems you and your men have seen your fair share of battle," Baranor observed. "How goes the fight within Mordor?" Idril brushed some stray strands of hair from her eyes, sheathing her sword with a sigh.

"Not as well as I'd like. While Nurnen's beasts have kept most orcs at bay, Cirith Ungol and Seregost have come increasingly under attack. It's now to a point where orcs are attacking faster than we can rebuild and rearm, in growing numbers. Without Talion, our numbers drop as the enemy's numbers rise. Udun is all but a lost cause now, and…" Her gaze hardened at her next statement. "The Nazgul have returned to Minas… Morgul." Baranor's face fell at that.

Word had reached him on his way to the desert outskirts of Mordor that Talion had left in search of the fabled One Ring. Everyone knew conditions would only worsen in his absence, but no one could have predicted it to happen so quickly.

"So because your Gravewalker friend decided to go chase an old warrior's tale we're outnumbered and unprepared?" Serka piped up, appearing at their sides with a frown. "The way you described him, he sounded like some sort of hero of legend." Idril regarded Serka with a piercing stare.

"And who's this?" she asked.

"This is Jagai, my older brother," Baranor introduced. "Known as Serka among the Vanishing Sons."

"And you trust him?" She regarded Serka warily, and he fidgeted under her sharp gaze.

"With my life," she received in response, expression softening as it fell on Baranor again.

"Good. We're going to need all the men we can get, if you're still with me." Baranor nodded.

"Always."

"There have been attacks on towns and cities in addition to the strongholds. They've taken many prisoners. There's word of an orc camp hidden in one of the cave systems where some of them have been taken, with others scattered across every region of Mordor." Serka looked between the two in bewilderment as they discussed their plans of rescue, realizing he wasn't going to get a say here. He sighed. More insane adventures, it seemed.

"Since there's no talking you two out of it, fine. Then where are we going?"

XxX

"The Black Gate," Skak murmured to himself, pacing restlessly on the ledge overlooking the stronghold's interior. He hadn't been the most eager orc when Talion had asked him to be the overlord of Nurnen's fortress, not too fond of the bright and lively surroundings, but he'd come to almost like it now. He looked below him. Minor repairs were going on, catapults in need of rebuilding, medical station in need of a renovation, rotting and charred wooden structures in the process of being replaced. The Nurnen stronghold was the most well fortified and prosperous stronghold in Mordor, and so attacks were much easier to fend off when one had all the toys, traps, and creatures they could ask for, who did a marvelous job of devouring enemies, might he add. He paused, looking up at the green land around him and smiling. This always was Talion's favorite place.

But back to the issue at hand. He'd received reports that there had been a massive shift in hostile orc numbers towards the Black Gate as of late. The enemy's supply seemed endless. How in Middle-earth could there be so many attacking the fortresses with even more gathering away from them? Perhaps the numbers seemed greater because their own were dwindling. Or perhaps he was overthinking it? He scratched his head, arm bumping the axe lodged in the other side of his skull. Well, he never was quite the same after dying the first time, though he was never the brightest orc in the bunch to start…

He hummed in question as his dire caragor appeared, gently and sleepily headbutting his side. He reached down to scratch behind her ears with a half smile, but it disappeared from his face as quickly as it came. Speaking of greater numbers…

Communication from Amug indicated a rise in orcs attacks at Cirith Ungol, but he'd received no word from Ur-Edin in Seregost, so he could only assume they were suffering the same there. He understood trying to take over the strongholds, but why were troops migrating west? What was so important about the Black Gate that an army was amassing there? Mordor wasn't kept in the loop regarding the outside world, so he didn't know what could possibly be causing the change. What he did know was that whatever it was was setting everyone on edge.

He had such a way with beasts that they never saw fit to harm him: caragors, Graugs, or drakes. Because of Talion's influence most beasts left their forces and the human populations well enough alone, keeping to themselves. Lately, however, beasts had become more and more hostile, never attacking anyone, but seemingly one wrong move from doing so. Even Carnan, as weakened as she may be at the moment, was wary, the forest feeling even less inviting than usual. Morale was low, and he grew more concerned and restless by the hour. And, of course, who could forget the blood-curdling screeches of the Nazgul that echoed throughout the air and made even the bravest of Uruks and Ologs cower in fear?

Whatever it was Talion planned to do with the One Ring, and wherever he was, Skak hoped he returned, and soon, before things took another turn for the worse.

XxX

The tunnels beneath Cirith Ungol were quiet. Too quiet, as they had been for some time. With orcs busy swarming fortresses and heading towards the Black Gate, hardly any had passed through her domain in longer than she could remember. Most days she attempted to rest without much success, occasionally catching a small meal in her webs. She was surviving, but only just. When there was no rest in sight she contemplated the ever changing visions flashing beneath her closed eyes. Great battles, tests of trust, deception, greed, sorrow, illness, injury. Death. Destruction. It was a never ending cycle. There were, at least, a few images that stayed fixed at that point in time. This gave her a modicum of comfort.

Shelob knew that things couldn't keep going like this. She would have to do something eventually. As much as she despised leaving, she might have to consider it if circumstances didn't improve. She lay on a suspended bed of webs instead of her throne, mind quiet and clear for the first time in days. Perhaps she might finally be able to sleep. The notion was quickly dismissed as one of her children crawled up to her. She held a hand out for them, palm face up. Upon contact she saw a flash of images.

The Fellowship of the Ring, separated, overwhelmed, struck a staggering blow. Arrows piercing Talion's armor as he shielded Boromir, son of Denethor, from certain death. Talion's final breath before he entered the cycle of death and revival once again. Boromir carrying him as he reached the opposite shore at Amon Hen…

Her eyes snapped open, dulled and tired, but still just as sharp and piercing as usual, hand now empty. Her children were scattered far across Middle-earth. There were, in fact, a few stragglers in that area if she could only reach them. Her magic had begun weakening with her body, but she still had enough left to do this. She closed her eyes again and concentrated, reaching out with her magic until she found who she was looking for. Through another child's eyes she saw an exhausted Boromir, lying in a heap near the edge of a treeline, Talion's lifeless body sprawled out a few feet ahead of him. Crawling over and onto him she reached for his fea, distorted and dim and hardly resembling that of a mortal. At first there was nothing, no response, no consciousness detected. Then…

XxX

Celebrimbor awoke, mind fogged and vision hazy, in a dark nothingness, as he always did. The fight against Sauron only ever paused in moments like this. While Sauron was indeed more powerful than him, Celebrimbor's will would not be broken, would not be shaken. He endured every moment of pain and mental and physical agony, dishing it back out in kind when the advantage was his, the tide of battle turned in his favor. Sauron's was equally unshakeable, and so when their fea were at their limit, when they were just at their breaking point, both of them succumbed to blissful nothingness, awaking to their pain and injuries healed, only to fight again when next they met, spirits more and more drained each time. They might wander for mere minutes, for what seemed like days, Celebrimbor didn't know. He had no concept of time here. What he did know was that they always found each other again, always drew their weapons again, always fought to kill… And never could.

As Celebrimbor wandered, feet dragging slightly, body lethargic and heavy feeling, he sometimes saw glimpses of memories old and new. Some he knew to be his. Others… Others belonged to Sauron. It made sense, bonded as they were, however unwillingly, that they would share memories much like he and Talion had. He looked up at one of his own memories, watching himself and Talion camping out under the stars in Nurnen, before the New Ring, early in their friendship. Talion lay back in the grass at the edge of a cliffside, staring upwards, as Celebrimbor sat cross-legged by the fire he had made.

"There is something strangely calming about a clear night sky such as this," Talion told him, eyes less haunted, but colder, consumed by vengeance. "It eases my mind, halts my more unpleasant thoughts." Celebrimbor saw his past self look to Talion with an unreadable expression in his eyes. This, he realized, was one of the first nights he'd ever felt that there was something significant, however small of a thing it may be, they shared.

"It does," Celebrimbor agreed after a moment of hesitation, gaze drifting upward. "Such a simple thing, stars in a dark sky, and yet…" He felt Talion's eyes on him, surprised silence following, but gaze most likely curious. "It feels… Hopeful."

"A light in the darkness," Talion elaborated. Celebrimbor gave a small smile. His exact thought.

"Yes," he agreed, meeting Talion's gaze. Something seemed to change in the air between them, a small sense of comfort and understanding breaching the normally tense and indifferent atmosphere.

Celebrimbor pulled himself back to the present with an ache in his heart. There was so much he missed, longed for, regretted, wished he could change. There was so much he had to apologize for. There were things he should have said and done, things he shouldn't have in turn. He shook his head, attempting to rid his mind of such thoughts. It would not do to be caught reminiscing on simpler times by Sauron. His thoughts centered themselves back around just Talion…

Celebrimbor realized he could hardly feel him. He got no response when he tried to reach out, their bond within the New Ring cold and lifeless—Ah. As awful as it may sound, Celebrimbor was surprised Talion hadn't died much sooner. Deaths had occurred less and less as time went on in their time together, but they still happened, even in the lead up to the attack on Barad-dur. Leaving Mordor, braving Caradhras Pass, navigating Moria, all held more than enough risk for a death to happen. One wrong step, one well timed swing of an enemy's sword, one perfectly aimed arrow or crossbow bolt… He worried. The last time he and Talion had spoken was at the Gate of Moria, and the last time he had reached out had been when the Fellowship had emerged from the ruined city. What could have happened? He couldn't access Talion's memories when he was like this.

He tsked in frustration before he felt a pair of eyes on him, burning with hatred. Celebrimbor looked up to see an equally bone tired, yet determined Sauron in his elven form. Their eyes met, and in an instant adrenaline and unbridled fury rushed through them both. They drew their blades, not wasting another moment after as they moved with unbelievable speed, the clang! of metal on metal reverberating through the space. Their eyes glowed with magic, fiery and dangerous. And so the vicious cycle began again…

Closing A/N: A bit short, a bit clunky, but a snapshot into what's going on in Mordor while the Fellowship is split. Don't know quite when the next chapter will be up because of one small decision on the fallout of the split, but it shouldn't be too, too long? I shouldn't make statements like that, but fingers crossed. We shall see.

Also, I hope that everyone has been doing alright and staying healthy and safe with all of the craziness going on in the world right now. There have been a lot of rough and heartbreaking days, and I know there's a lot of fear and negativity in the air. Sending positive vibes and some air hugs to anyone that might need them right now! :)