In the end, my escort brought me to a chamber near the top of the great tower. I saw a severe place, unwelcoming and very dark. A single window looked out over the distant vale of the Anduin, letting in night air and a trace of pale moonlight, but there was no other illumination. Even the sickly morgul-light which haunted most of the city below did not reach this place. I could barely make out the shapes of a work-table, two heavy chairs, and a few other furnishings. Otherwise, I saw nothing but ghosts and shadow-shapes.

I shivered and touched the hilt of my sword for comfort.

After a silent moment, my escort stirred beside me. "Here's the tark, boss. Unmarked, like you said."

"Thank you, Názkûga." A shadow stirred by the window, and I could suddenly see that it was a Man, or something Man-shaped at least. A pair of eyes gleamed in the dark, an uncanny yellow-orange in color, but aside from that they had the look of human eyes. The voice, rough and hollow as it might be, belonged to no Orc. "You may leave us."

"You sure, boss?" The big Orc-warrior shook his head uncertainly. "He's still got his blade, and who knows how many holdouts. We didn't search him, like you told us."

"Don't worry, Názkûga. This Man and I have nothing to fear from one other."

Muttering to himself, the Orc left the room, closing the heavy door behind him. The shadow remained, watching me in the darkness.

"Tell me," said the shadow, after a time. "Am I what you expected, for the commander of Minas Morgul?"

"I'm not sure what I expected," I answered. "The men of Gondor believe that this fortress has been held by some of the Nazgûl, ever since it was taken. Yet you do not seem a wraith."

"No, I am not. Not yet."

The shadow moved forward, and I could see more of him, tall and sturdy, wearing mail and wrapped in a tattered cloak. His face was barely visible in the shadow of his hood. It might once have been handsome, but now it seemed ravaged by disease: corpse-pale, the eyes sunken in dark pits, and with discolored veins crossing the skin. His eyes burned yellow, and fixed hungrily upon me.

"I have heard of you from time to time," he said. "A Man out of the north, rough and grim, who served loyally in the courts of Thengel, King of Rohan, and Ecthelion, Steward of Gondor. Your campaign against the Corsairs was a remarkable thing. Now you come to spy out the ways of the Enemy. Thorongil is the name I have heard."

Almost against my will, I bowed courteously. "It is good for one's name to be known, even to his foes."

"For the moment, I am not your foe." He shook his head. "Has anyone here lifted a hand against you, since they approached you in your place of concealment in Morgul Vale?"

"No," I admitted. "Some have been quite courteous, in fact. Not at all what I might have expected from Orcs."

"There have been no great Orc-raids into Ithilien since soon after the fall of Minas Ithil, is that not so?"

"I take it we have you to thank for that?"

"Yes. I took command here . . ." He faltered. "I cannot now say when. The years begin to slip past me, so that I cannot any longer keep them in order. A year after the fall of the city, or perhaps two? Ever since, I have held this place and fought a war across Mordor, using Sauron's own methods, his own servants, to keep him at bay."

Slowly, I nodded. "I know who you are, I think. You are the one they call the Grave-walker."

The other smiled, a ghastly thing, as if he had forgotten what mirth ought to look like. "Has that name reached Gondor, then?"

"Only as a rumor, a whisper of uncanny events behind the Mountains of Shadow." I peered into the gloom, watching his eyes. "I have spoken to a few of the Men who once lived in the borderlands of Mordor, and who fled before Sauron's first onslaught. They speak of a Ranger of the Morannon, the last who survived that ill-fated garrison. One who was somehow robbed of the Gift of Men, and who long fought a lonely campaign against the Orcs."

"The tale is stranger than you know," he said, turning away from me, his eyes vanishing in the darkness.

"The tale I have heard is strange enough." I braced my shoulders, shaking off the temptation to lose myself in grim wonder at this encounter. "May I ask your name? The one you bore before all this happened to you?"

He seemed to ponder that question. "Strange," he said at last. "I had to think for a moment, to bring it to mind. I have played so many parts, for such a long time, that I can barely remember simply being called by name. Talion, it was. Captain Talion, of the Rangers of Gondor."

"Then, Captain Talion of the Rangers of Gondor, why am I here?"

"Ah. You come straight to the point." He turned back to me, taking a few steps to one side to sit down in a heavy chair. One hand gestured to the other, inviting me to be seated as well. "Do you wish some refreshment? My Orcs lack refinement, but a few of my captains and allies are Men. We get the occasional shipment of wine from Dorwinion."

I stood where I was, folding my arms, and watched him in silence.

"Still behaving as if I were your enemy, eh?" He shrugged. "I suppose I would do the same, if I stood in your shoes."

"Perhaps I might have a cup of wine with you, if you would answer my question."

"Very well. You are here, so that I may find out who you are."

"You seem to know that already," I pointed out. "I am a Man out of the North, who came to serve King Thengel for a time. Later, the King sent me on to Gondor with a recommendation, so that I might enter the service of the Steward. I fought many battles and earned some coin and honor in both of their courts. My name is Thorongil. That is all."

Suddenly, Talion's fist slammed down on the table beside him. "That is not all!" he hissed, and his eyes suddenly burned all the brighter in his ravaged face. "You may look shaggy and unshaven, your clothing may be travel-worn, your gear may be that of a simple mercenary. Yet you are not a mere sell-sword out of the North!"

"What do you believe I am, then?"

His sudden rage departed, as quickly as it had appeared. "Your history argues against what you would seem to be. You have no look of the Northmen about you, and you do not speak of any homeland."

"You have efficient spies," I remarked.

"It is a necessity in my position." Talion watched me closely, assessing what he saw. "Then there is your age. By all accounts, you came to Rohan already a seasoned soldier. You served both Thengel and Ecthelion well for over twenty years. Yet you took no wife, you bought no land, you sought no wealth, you did none of the things a rootless sell-sword might normally do. As if you knew that you had plenty of time for such things. Now here you stand, a Man in his middle forties at least, who has lived a hard life . . . and yet you have not a speck of silver in your hair, and no signs of age rest upon you."

I smiled. "I am no Elf, if that is what you suspect."

"No. I have known Elves. All too well have I known them. I think you are something even more surprising. I think you carry the blood of Númenor, but you are one of the Dúnedain of the North. Descended from the forgotten kingdom."

"Men say those people died out long ago."

"Men say many things out of ignorance. Do you deny it?"

I thought quickly. This strange creature, this not-yet-a-wraith, was venturing perilously close to matters that must remain secret. The time was not yet come for the Enemy to learn that an heir to Isildur yet lived.

Yet something moved me to trust Talion, just a little. I decided to reveal part of the truth, something that Sauron would have no difficulty learning on his own. "Yes, I am one of that people. There are a few of us left in the North, wandering in the wild, making our way as best we can. What of it?"

"Only this. If you are one of the Dúnedain, and yet you are no Man of Gondor, not beholden to that kingdom, then you may be of some use to me as a messenger."

I frowned, unsure of his meaning. "What have you against Gondor?"

Talion relaxed and leaned back in his seat, his eyes no longer so bright. "Nothing at all, Thorongil, if that is truly your name. Gondor is my home and my heart's country. It is the Men who lead Gondor, by the supposed right of their blood, whom I abhor."

"I have known many honorable Men in Gondor."

"As have I." His face twisted in distaste, or in regret. "One finds honor and nobility in many places where one does not expect it. I have known many a Man, with no exalted blood or station, whose honor shines as bright as the stars. Simple folk, who desire nothing more than to live their lives and provide for their families in peace. Once, I was one of them. For my part, I carry not a drop of the blood of Westernesse. My own ancestry is out of the North, from the peoples of Rhovanion. My family has lived in Gondor for centuries. Farmers, craftsmen, soldiers. Even so, the noblemen of Númenórean blood despise us, calling us Men of Darkness, treating us as servants at best."

I felt the urge to object, but then I remembered things I had seen at Ecthelion's court. I held my peace.

"It was a nobleman of Gondor who assaulted my wife," he said bitterly. "When I slew him in her defense, it was my word against that of his noble family, and so I was fortunate to avoid execution. Instead, I was exiled to the Black Gate. There I saw how the noblemen of Gondor treated the outcasts and exiles who lived on the margins of Mordor. Then Sauron came. The Morannon was overwhelmed, and Gondor did nothing. Minas Ithil was beseiged, and Gondor did nothing. Thousands of men, women, and children slaughtered by the Orcs. And Gondor – did – nothing."

I nodded slowly. "I cannot defend that. There were reasons for it; the Rohirrim had their own troubles at the time, and Gondor faced a series of raids out of Umbar that demanded all its attention. But you will call those excuses, and so they are."

"Indeed. There is something rotten in the heart of the West, Thorongil, and nowhere is it plainer than in the corruption and weakness of powerful Men. Do you know how this city fell to the Witch-king in the end? The captain of the garrison, Castamir himself, turned traitor. Another nobleman who failed to live up to his vaunted bloodline."

"I understand."

"Good." Talion rose from his chair once more and went to the window to look out. From there, I knew he might be able to glimpse the White City of his birth, far away on the other side of the great valley. "From all I have heard, there is still strength in the North to resist evil. The dragon of Erebor was slain, and the Orcs of the North defeated, and now all the Free Peoples stand strong together there. Sauron was driven out of his fortress in Mirkwood, before he came here. I think, if you return to the North, you may be able to speak to some of the powers there. If, indeed, they did not send you in the first place."

"I came on my own account," I told him, "but you are right. I might be able to bring word to where it would do the most good."

"Then take this," he said, turning away from the window to lay a hand on a packet from the work-table. He pushed it across the table toward me, as if he was reluctant to give it to me in his own hand. "Here are the notes I have taken, ever since I took command here. This tells my story, along with everything I have learned about Sauron. His plans, the ordering of his force, something of his sorceries."

I stepped forward and took the packet. I knew I could not read any of it in the gloom, but I glanced inside and saw a tightly bound sheaf of papers, covered with spidery writing. "This is a kingly gift."

Talion shrugged. "I suspect much of it may not be news to the Wise. I know for a fact that I am not the only one working as a spy in Mordor. Still, every morsel of knowledge may be of use."

"I had planned on spending some time," I mused, "spying out the ways of Mordor. Now I think it might be more important to depart at once, to convey this to . . . some of my friends."

"That is up to you, Thorongil. So long as none of what you now hold falls into the hands of the Enemy. Not that anything in it will surprise him, but carrying it would mark you as his foe, and he would not hesitate to put you cruelly to death for it."

"I fear I am already so marked, but I take your meaning." I put the packet away in the depths of my pack. "Thank you, Talion."

He nodded in silence.

"I wonder . . ." I hesitated. "Captain Talion, why do you not return to Gondor? I assure you, such service as you have done, holding back the Enemy for so long, it would win you great honor there. And surely there would be some good to be won by closer alliance."

"Really?" Now his voice was heavy with scorn. "Tell me, Thorongil, when you look at me, what do you see?"

"I see a Man who has accomplished remarkable things."

"Perhaps so. Yet I have only accomplished those things by using the very tools of the Enemy against him. See here."

He drew the glove off his right hand and held it out in the dim light for my inspection. There, on his index finger, I saw a heavy ring. I could not tell of what metal the band was made, but it bore a great red gemstone in the setting. After a moment, the stone seemed to gleam with a strange light.

"Do you recognize this?" he asked me.

Suddenly, with a sick sensation in my heart, I did. "That is no ordinary ring."

"No. It is a Ring of Power, Thorongil. One of those made ages ago by Celebrimbor and his Elven-smiths, with Sauron's aid. Taken by the Enemy and given out to warriors and kings of old. This is one of the Nine, taken from the hand of one of the Nazgûl, just before I was betrayed and left with no other way to continue my war."

"Then you are one of the Nazgûl."

"As I said, not yet. Few of the Men who have worn any of the Nine have succumbed to Sauron's will at once. Sometimes the process takes many years. For now, my mind and my will are my own, and I choose to use this power against its maker."

I stared at him, feeling a cold wind down my neck.

"Can you imagine what this Ring might do, if I took it with me back to Minas Tirith? If I followed my heart, and went to die at last in the land of my birth, rather than become what I am fated to become? Men would kill for this Ring, for the power it brings, especially in the dark days which are to come. Any Man who took it, in the end, would become only another tool in the hand of Sauron. The Rings of Power are perilous, and I will not carry this one to the White City."

Then I heard it, a whisper in the back of my mind. The Ring on Talion's hand, calling to me. Promising me the power I would need, to attain my heart's desire. For a moment, I almost listened.

"You see?" Talion put the glove back on his hand, concealing the monstrous thing from me once more. "Tell your friends in the North. Tell the Wise. I will hold this post so long as I may, perhaps for years to come. While I remain in command of myself, Sauron will not burst forth from Mordor. Yet there will come a day when I can no longer hold the line. On that day, I will become one of the Nine, and there will be nothing left to restrain Sauron from the war he has long planned. I hope and trust that the Free Peoples will have found the means to stand against him by then."

"That is also my hope." I hesitated, and then decided it would be safe, and might even do some good, to give him a hint. "I will do everything in my power to make it so."

"Thank you." Talion made a half-bow. "Now, I could offer you my hospitality, but I suspect you would be better pleased to be far from this city by daybreak."

"I would indeed."

"Then let me wish you safe and swift travels. Along with my hopes that you and I shall never meet again."

I can travel very swiftly when I wish to, even on foot. By dawn I was indeed out of the Morgul Vale, hoping to catch a few hours of sleep in some sheltered dell of Ithilien. If the weather held, I would soon be able to cross the River at Cair Andros. Then I would be as safe as anyone might be in those times, and well on my way to haven in Lothlórien. The lady Galadriel, I was sure, would want to see Talion's testament. So would master Elrond, and my good friend Gandalf.

Still, some foresight came upon me as I strode along in the light of a late summer morning. I knew that one day, I would meet Talion again. I wondered if he would remember me by then. Certain it was that I would remember him, always.

Author's Note: In the canonical timeline of Middle-earth, we know that in 2980 of the Third Age, Aragorn left the service of Gondor and was last seen journeying toward Mordor. Yet in the same year, he turned up in Lórien, where he met Arwen again for the first time in over twenty years. That always seemed like a very short scouting expedition to me. Yet in the alternative Middle-earth we see in the Shadow games, it occurred to me that there might be a very good reason for Aragorn to cut his journey short. The notion of Aragorn and Talion meeting, even if it was only a brief encounter, proved irresistible.