Author's Notes: Well, it's done. It is my sincere hope that my characters and story have seemed a fitting interpretation of Professor Tolkien's world. Scenes and lines that are similar to the book or movies are, for the most part, deliberately so, because in explicitly alluding to them I have created a story that does not neatly fit into a fixed place within the larger context. That is, in fact, the primary purpose of the frame I put around the story; it allowed me to deliberately take some liberties with space/time things, which are among the most easily distorted in the repetition and spread of a tale. Just as my own conception of the tale evolved over the two and a half years that I've been working on it, so too does the presentation allow me to treat the story as something that has changed over time.
Many thanks to those who have read and reviewed this; I hope that you had as much fun (if it can be called that) reading it as I did writing it.
Dragon-of-the-north: Thank you so much. Your reviews have been a great encouragement to me. I dunno; for some reason, I've always been drawn to powerful downer movies, so I suppose it's no surprise that I put all my effort into writing an apocalyptic fanfic. Take comfort, at least, that Caldrion didn't end actually end up as a sacrifice (or at least his soul didn't); he truly dreamed of his own end in Chapter XIV.
Lady LeBeau: Thank you for reviewing and for being a good friend to chat with. What can I say? This fic was never going to have a happy ending, although the nature of it changed when Caldrion, asserting the independent will that most OCs have, shifted the focus of the latter part of the story to him rather than Graldor, thereby changing my intentions for the story (making it far less ambitious) and necessitating a chapter outside the frame narration to tie up the outstanding bits of foreshadowing.

Wings of the Storm, Epilogue- A Storm is Coming

So here I am, an old woman sitting by the fire, fighting a losing battle to keep my feet warm. Often, when my grandchildren are engaged in other pursuits, usually taking my own children with them, I find myself thinking of days long past, events that happened so long ago and so far away that they would seem to have occurred in another world, save that I could remember seeing them. Sometimes I wonder if I could have done things differently, if I could have changed the course of history. But then I remember how it began long before me, and will likely continue long after me. All I did was move it along, and if I had not done so another certainly would have.

And if I will not allow myself to regret my effect on the large things, then I cannot worry about the small ones. Even had I Walame's skill, I doubt I could have kept Eadgla from succumbing to the fever that consumed her. Even were I as skilled with a blade as my father, I would not have been in a position to save either of my brothers. No tears now, and no regrets. It is done, and soon I expect to join them all.

Even now, after so many years, I can still remember them with surprising clarity. Sirgo. Betlin. Hrethere. Halin. Walame. My father. All the ghosts of Aratur. And Frealine and the dead of Hillguard. And those who survived the wreck of that country, even if only for a short time. Eadgla. Eodryn. Mom. Dunev and Aelia. My beloved Aeschen. I shall see all of them soon. Maybe even Graldor will be there, and I can finally ask him why he acted as he did, why he led his people down a road from whence few escaped. I do not doubt that it was his evil decisions that brought that orc army against us.

In addition to the small band that my father sacrificed himself to save, Dunev had managed to get almost a dozen women and children out of Hillguard unnoticed by the orcs. Eodryn, brave and foolish as he was, had determined to ride by Hillguard and see that it too was no more than a burnt mark on the ground. One of the women saw him from their hiding spot, and so Dunev and the only known survivors of Hillguard joined us in our journey.

And so we went north, always north, and the shadows lengthened. I have forgotten most of that expedition, for it was long, arduous, and painful both physically and emotionally. The only real exception was the unlikely but increasingly beautiful relationship between Dunev and Aelia. After Eadgla died, they were the ones who kept the rest of us from giving up. When we settled, they and later their children would remain my closest friends.

Only one specific incident stands out, because it was both an end and a beginning. Eodryn was riding ahead of our column, as was his habit, when a ragged band of eight orcs came down on him. He killed three of them before taking a deep cut to his thigh that dismounted him. The orcs advanced on the rest of us. Inconveniently, the women behind Eodryn were unarmed. Mom and I were dashing forward, as were Dunev and Rievlyn from their positions in the rear, but we would not come in time to prevent further bloodshed.

Two of the orcs were pierced by arrows, and when the other three hesitated they too were brought down in rapid succession. It was a timely rescue. At roughly the same time as I made visual acquisition of our ally, Aeschen, nine more orcs attacked the column's flank. Luckily, the two other men in the group plus my mother and myself were in position to engage them, and these orcs did not have enough confidence or experience to save themselves.

Eodryn bled to death in our arms. Our only solace was that no one else joined him. Of course, that little victory would have been impossible without Aeschen. Since my father had told me that he lived, I was not as surprised as the others, but my outlook on life was forever changed: if I had believed in coincidences before, I certainly did not afterwards. It could not have been mere chance that brought him to me, after my father had saved him from otherwise certain death.

Aeschen and I had been friendly, though not exactly close, in Aratur, but on the road north we fell in love. As it turned out, he had feelings for me that predated my fight with my cousin, feelings that my father at least suspected. It was to my great surprise that I began to have feelings for him, feelings of a kind that I never expected to have. I do not even pretend to understand it; love just happened, and it made both of us inexpressibly happy in the midst of such sorrow. He was largely responsible for convincing my mother not to give up after losing the third of her children. He related to us many things that my father had told him about us on their last campaign together, and somehow those memories restored her.

In time, we came to populated lands between the great forest and the river. The peoples, rivermen to the west and woodlanders to the east, were gruff and initially distrustful but they eventually allowed us to settle on fertile lands between them. They proved to be good at heart, and they let us maintain something of our own identity in this town, which was dubbed Frumgar by Aelia's and Rickens' little son Rickam. There Aeschen and I were married. There we raised our children, teaching them as much as we could of their heritage and passing on the skills of horsemanship that were completely foreign to our neighbors. One of our sons married a daughter of Aelia and Rickens, but the rest took spouses whose parents had long lived in this region, and their children, my grandchildren, would call this land home.

But it is not. The blood of Numenor runs in our veins, though we live in the north. Neither is our home, for our home is in the Plains and, one day, we shall return.

-

The hustle and bustle of orc activities continued, but he paid them no heed. They were not his concern, and probably would never be his concern. Of more importance to him was the power. He could feel it flowing around him always. It emanated from the Master, like an endless wave of flame, but it made a dark echo through his being, progressively stripping his essence bare and wrapping it in shadow. Not that he particularly cared. As long as his desire for power, a hunger he never knew he had, was continually fed, all was fine.

He went forth, reveling in the freedom of movement. In this service there was no routine, no training, no form to the day. It seemed inappropriate to even refer to 'days' anymore, since the only definition he had came from the Master, who provided only that which was needed, neither more nor less. Thus he could not remember the agony of physical torture, the humiliation of losing his mental autonomy, the pain of fading, and the torture of losing everything but his thirst for power. Those had served their purpose, and now were nothing more than the unidentifiable ghosts of memories. Neither he nor any of his brethren knew their purpose, or even of the need for purpose, except that they would be kept hidden as long as possible, until the Master needed to wield them.

So he ventured forth, thrilling as his mere presence caused a new wave of fear to flow through the world. He might have smiled, save that he could not remember how. Not that it mattered. He had not felt such pride in ages, since his first kill… or perhaps his first woman. But he was far beyond such petty things now. He was part of something greater, something that would conquer the world. There was great pride in being a ringbearer. If he had still possessed a heart, it would have swelled. He was one of the storm, the Ring Lord's storm, and he was out testing his wings.