Again, I apologize deeply for the at least year-long hiatus of this story, so extra long chapter to make up for it. Honestly, I wanted to work on it, but last year was a hard year for me and my family. My father was diagnosed with colorectal cancer and had to go through surgery. He seemed to recover smoothly and was soon able to walk around and eat normally. However, it turned out the cancer had spread to his bones. Soon his health declined quickly and he died near the end of last year. I lost all kinds of inspiration and the desire to write, and now that I have found the desire again, I apologize for any emotions over my father's death that may have leaked into this chapter. As a bonus point though, I now know where to take this story.

And please add college application and admission tests to all. My time has become extremely compressed with my mother's new job and our financial difficulties. After all, real life is more demanding than anything else. But still, I will thank the Lord. My father accepted Jesus Christ as his Savior before his death and I am confident that he now resides alive and well in Paradise. 2013 has been a rough but rewarding year.

Sorry if this chapter seems to focus more on other characters than Sauron and the Witch King. And note that I made some changes in the previous chapter. These two are now shut in separate cells (honestly, that seems more of a wise thing to do).

Many thanks to Jason 9000, Andrasma Veritas, Guest, SquirrelISDead0304, Juu50x, GoodLucifer, Lacy-Succubus, Sauron Gorthaur, Kyle, Lady Arctica, Quantumphysica, Beloved Daughter and Captain Wiggles for reviewing.

Short recap: Sauron and the Witch King are now shut in the dungeons of Minas Tirith and due to be executed in two days after the former's identity is discovered. Gandalf seems to be in deep trouble, considering that it was deduced that he knew of Sauron's identity beforehand and still allowed him into the city.

If looks could kill, the Witch King would have collapsed into an empty pile of robes and armor by now.

So thought Sauron as he glared silently at the unmoving black hooded figure sitting in the cell opposite from his. The wraith hadn't done or spoken anything since they were chained up and thrown in the dungeons. Good, for Sauron hated to be reminded of the fact that he couldn't punish his servant as he see fit. If he had his way, he would have made sure to subject the Witch King to one of his torture sessions, strip him of his rank for perhaps a few months and isolate him again at Minas Morgul.

That rebellious servant of mine, how he overthrows my plans each and every time! I should have slain him myself Ages ago and saved myself the trouble of dealing with his bull-headed foolishness. I fail to see Eru's reasoning in sending him back to Middle-earth. He should have sent him to the Void at least for a period of time before that. Then perhaps the wraith would finally appreciate me as a lenient master and place himself willingly under me.

"Stop staring at me." The Witch King's irritated tone interrupted the Maia from his thoughts.

Sauron scowled darkly at the wraith's direction and merely replied with a disdainful harrumph. Unlike his short-tempered servant, he wasn't about to fall for his trap of starting another argument. He wanted greatly to though. It was the Witch King's entire fault that he was due to be executed in two days like some common criminal.

Executed right after I receive a new life! That Eru… continues to display his extremely twisted sense of humor. Why did he send the Witch King back?! That wraith deserves whatever punishment Námo would sentence him to! If not for his foolish grudge, then I would have walked out of this pathetic place without a second glance…!

Sauron amused himself by coming up with some more creative ways to make his former servant suffer, not even caring that such thinking did little to help the situation. He could have remained in this state for several hours had not a loud scraping interrupted him yet again. The harsh grating sound was painful to hear especially when accompanied by the loud rattling of chains, and soon Sauron had to address that annoying wraith once again.

"Quit that horrendous scraping immediately!"

There was a hollow thud, and then the Witch King straightened up to face him stiffly.

"Unlike a certain Maia who sits there no doubt engaging in his daydreams, I wish to seek a way to liberate myself from this cell."

"Then do it without the sound! And I order that you free me also if you succeed." Sauron demanded.

"No, you will stay here. I have no intention of freeing Middle-earth's most detestable being." The Witch King said coldly, "Do not presume that I will follow every order you utter."

Sauron sputtered indignantly as he almost fell for the other's trap again to incite his anger. That accursed wraith! How dare he continue to test his patience so?!

"I am your master!" The Maia flung back, "You will obey my every order without question!"

The Witch King's dry chuckle was bitter and mocking, "So you think. I was released from the power that bound me to that accursed ring the moment I perished. You cannot enslave me again, not when I was pardoned by the very same deity that restored you. As much as I disagree with Ilúvatar's decision, I finally rejoice at the fact that I am no longer under your control. Rage and rant at me all you desire, Sauron. None of your words will make a difference in my obedience."

That did it. Sauron leapt up, ignoring the sudden pain of his wounds as he began to rant furiously at the wraith. He cursed the other, berating how he had never shown any appreciation when his master had granted him power beyond imagination and immortality. The Witch King had betrayed his trust again and again, and carelessly discarded the gracious second chances Sauron had given him. Completely thankless and rebellious to the greatest fault! Did he ever consider repaying him the slightest? No! All he did was to simply sit there and complain!

"Finished?" The Witch King asked calmly.

"An entire month can be dedicated to listing your many faults, you wretched wraith!" Sauron snarled, "Now be silent, and grace me not with your obnoxious presence. Maybe I can actually think of a plan to escape the impending execution without you intruding upon my thoughts."

"That may be the most reasonable comment you had uttered so far."

Sauron aimed a last withering glance at the other and withdrew deeper into his cell to sit on the ledge that served as a crude cot, dragging his chains along and trying to arrange them as comfortably as he could with his left arm in a sling.

No use trying to continue the argument with the Witch King. It is as if upon breaking from my control he has gained the confidence that I could no longer do a single thing to hinder him. Ha! I will show him that I was his master for a good reason. Though I must admit that I cannot force his obedience now, I still have the upper hand.

And now… what to do with that accursed execution? I forbid that I should be put to death like a common criminal, and I had died enough times in my life. I will be sent before the Máhanaxar once more to be mocked by those annoying Valar. I would be thrown to the Void again, and Mas― Melkor would finish what he had started. That Eru, I cannot trust that he would interfere again. Even if he did, he would just feed me his cryptic words and send me back. And so the cycle repeats… I must break out. If only I had any kind of weapon at my disposal…

Sauron stood so quickly that his ribs gave another painful twinge that made him wince. Of course! How could he forget the scythe that he had summoned back in his fight with himself? Aereînotaðehcalês was more than enough to cut through his chains and the bars of the cell. In addition, it would serve to cut down any man who hindered his escape.

The Maia eagerly swung out his good hand in an arc as he remembered the last time it had appeared. However instead of the path of light he was expecting to materialize, there was nothing at all.

No! I remember this was how I did it last time! Appear, Aereînotaðehcalês, curse you!

Again and again he swung his hand with no results. Growing frustrated, Sauron slammed his hand hard against the stone wall and received bruised fingers for his troubles. He tried to recall the moment when he had summoned the weapon, how he had been determined to defend himself against the armored figure and defeat it for its falsely uttered promises. He had been on the edge of death; his wounds had overwhelmed him. In that desperate moment Sauron had cried out for Eru's aid.

Must I do the same now? Has he actually designed my arms to appear only during when I truly need it? Eru said I must bend my pride. Is this his chief way of testing me instead, forcing me to call on him and rely on him?! I need to liberate myself first, for Arda's sake!

Sauron fumed frustratedly and sat down hard on the ledge again. The option of using his scythe to cut his way out was obviously closed. For what purpose though? The Creator couldn't possibly send him back only to be imprisoned and executed straight away.

As if on cue, the Witch King immediately touched upon the same subject,

"If I recall correctly, you had summoned a scythe from nonexistence during that battle against yourself. Why don't you spare me from your undesirable complaints by actually putting it to good use?"

"Do you think I had forgotten to try it?!" Sauron spat back, "You always fall a few steps behind in thinking. If that Eru had planned for us to get imprisoned, then he has done a very thorough work to make sure it happened."

"You are a Maia of the Ainur, Sauron formerly-named-Mairon. Is this how all Ainu regard their Creator and Father?"

Sauron's temper flared white hot at his servant's careless dismissal of his superior status. How dare the Witch King treat him like a disobedient apprentice?! The Maia had been created before the wraith's forefathers even set step on Arda.

"And you are not allowed to use that unwisely-given information against me! You know nothing about that deity; you only met him for the first time a few days ago! Allow me to enlighten you then, my ever-inquisitive servant. Eru Ilúvatar has never taken an active role in maintaining Arda since I sang the Ainulindalë he composed. Why do you think I so fearlessly continued my former master's work? Because I knew, we all knew, that the Creator and the Ainur would never interfere. 'Oh great and mighty Sauron', you might say, 'He just spoke to me some time ago and decided to send us back to Middle-earth with some cryptic half hints on what we are supposed to accomplish.' So you think Eru would start to care now just because he felt like it? Ha! I suppose he just grew tired of being a passive watcher and now wants to play the puppeteer. I bet he is watching us right now and getting a good laugh out of our sorry situation."

"You…" The Witch King's voice was hushed, but filled with disgust, "How could the Creator ever forgive such a self-centered and vicious being as you? What did he see in you?"

Sauron should have found an equally biting remark to shoot back, but instead he found himself flashing back to that grassy meadow and Eru taking on the form of that old shepherd, where he had been encouraged to share his thoughts without fear for the first time in his life. For the first time he had admitted his discontent, fear and disappointment in his former master. Though Eru had reprimanded him for his pride, which had prevented him from begging pardon before the Valar, the Creator hadn't scorned him like Melkor had done so many times when Sauron failed.

"In that case, I will leave the rest of the sheep to go looking for the lost one. And I will not rest until it is safely back among the flock."

It was what Eru had said concerning him, Sauron Gorthaur, the Nameless Enemy and the Abhorred Dread, formerly mightiest among the Maiar and the source of terror of all living creatures in Middle-earth.

First you take away my life and after that, my powers and all my dignity, Eru Ilúvatar. Yet you offer to accept me back as one of your children after my time in Middle-earth, after I incensed about every Vala in the Máhanaxar. You send me back to the world of the living with a new body, along with my most rebellious and insufferable servant, only for both of us to be incarcerated with seemly no way of escaping our execution.

"Of course, you can choose whether you want to stay against the people or not. I am eager to see what you would do there," Eru had said regarding Sauron's return to Middle-earth. Of course the Creator was interested; it must be extremely entertaining to have him thrown into his current predicament and watch how the Maia struggled along.

However that thought seemed off. If Eru had been determined to manipulate Sauron and take morbid enjoyment out of it, he sure did not act like it. The former lord of Mordor was familiar with such implications, for he had watched Melkor do so to his victims too many times to count. The fallen Vala always gained an air of gleeful malice, knowing that whatever the victims did, their final gruesome fate would always be the same.

Eru did not show such signs. He scolded me, he rebuked me, but he never debased me. He told me I had a choice, and yet here I am.

By then the long silence had stretched on in the dungeons. Sauron was so deeply pondering upon this foreign concept of mercy that he had forgotten his ire towards the Witch King for the moment. The wraith was also quiet as he sat unmovingly in the opposite cell, his unseen face betraying nothing of the relief of being spared from Sauron's furious rants.

Why am I here again? Why this second chance in life if I am only to be executed two days from now? Why did Eru decide to test me back at the Black Gates? Never before did I experience such a twisted turn of events in my lifetime. If he intended for me to perish after all I have gone through since returning to Middle-earth, he wouldn't have sent me back. What game is he playing at now?

Sauron studied his manacled arm and legs disdainfully, noting how the chains had been fastened securely to iron rings set into the rough stone walls. He tugged experimentally with his uninjured arm, receiving nothing but a cacophonous jangle and an annoyed glare from the Witch King.

"Do not bother to pull free from your bonds," The wraith said shortly, "These kind of chains and manacles are normally reserved for the most nefarious of prisoners, able to resist the pull of the strongest man. Without either of our powers, we are no more than mere inmates sentenced to be executed."

"So this is it? Eru sent us back to die in two days because he thought once wasn't enough. You would think that deity had something better planned in mind from the way he snatched us both from our prospective fates." Sauron scoffed.

"Sauron," The Witch King seemed to be struggling to keep himself from snapping back angrily, "Can you stop disparaging the Creator of Arda for once, you loathsome ingrate, and disclose what exactly he said to you. Perhaps we can actually receive a clue regarding the purpose of our return."

Arghh! How much more can I take of the Witch King's infuriating mannerism?! Sauron snarled to himself, I tried to knock reason into him hundreds of years ago while I was at my full power. Now that I only have my words at my disposal, he will rail at me until Mas- er… Melkor breaks out of the Void.

The Void… Eru had mentioned something about the prophecies of Námo just before he sent me back. That lugubrious dreamer prophesied only twice from what I remember, the first after the Kinslaying at Alqualondë and the second, right after the War of Wrath.

"The Dagor Dagorath…" Sauron murmured in realization.

"Excuse me?"

"The Second Prophecy of Námo. So this was why Eru sent us back, to see the end times of Middle-earth…"

"You are not making any sense." The rest of the Witch King's confused response went unheard as Sauron gradually understood the implication of Eru's purpose for sending him back.

He said he was eager to see what I would do with my new life, and conveniently hinted that this Second Prophecy would come to fulfillment. It would happen during my time in Middle-earth… Melkor will break free of his imprisonment in the Void and wage war against all the inhabitants of Arda once again. I would have to confront him once more…

Sauron shuddered violently as he recalled what the fallen Vala would have done to him back in the Void had not Eru spirited him away. There was no way he would willingly join the ranks of Melkor's servants as the prophecy had stated, but as long as he stayed on Middle-earth now that Eru had sent him back, he would see the return of his former master.

The cold tendrils of fear began to clutch at his entire being as his breaths quickened in panic.

No, I cannot endure another minute of service under… him. Why? Why, Eru, did you send me back at a time like this? Which would have been better? Being forced to serve again or fight against him in the Dagor Dagorath? Both choices lead to certain death!

"Of course, the Final Day," The Witch King's loud declaration effectively tore Sauron away from his growing horror for now, "The Light and Fire of the Final Dawn. So that scrap of poetry Ilúvatar uttered was related to the end times, after all."

"And now the reproacher changes into the rambler. What is this poetry you speak of?"

For once, the Witch King did not argue back as he recited a short poem in his low sonorous voice,

"Mercy of Eru Ilúvatar incarnate,

In the Light and Fire of the Final Dawn.

Upon them, they carry Arda's fate,

On their dawning the battle will be won.

The Light and Fire, seemly come too late,

Shall herald the call of the Final Day."

Hmm… I am certain Námo did not utter these words in his prophecy, Sauron thought, If this is truly what Eru had said to the Witch King, then there is no doubt that this prophecy would come to pass during our time on Middle-earth. What a bitter irony… If I ever receive the change to speak with Eru again, I have many, many questions to ask him, if I am feeling merciful that is. I ought to give him a tongue-lashing for what he did to me! Knowing full well that the prophecy is about to be fulfilled, he sends me to suffer whatever trials Dagor Dagorath will bring!

Though if Eru had not intervened, would I have remained in the Void and serve Melkor again when he returns?

At that implication, Sauron's turmoiled thoughts ceased to roil around aimlessly. Again, he did not receive a choice in this, as in almost everything he did. It was either service under Melkor's cruel hand or a role to play against him in the Final Battle.

Eru did not state explicitly that I must take part in the Dagor Dagorath. Maybe I should hide myself away and watch the two sides slaughter each other. Indeed, this is a sound plan, if only I can break out of this accursed prison!

"Although I find it an immense relief to have you silent for so long, I ask a further explanation of this so-called 'Dagor Dagorath' and the 'Second Prophecy'." Again it was the Witch King who interrupted the Maia's thinking. To his own slight surprise, he found this as a repose from his increasingly dark thinking.

"I am certain you met Námo already in the Halls of Mandos after you perished in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. The Vala who judges the slain, perpetually gloomy and wearing a frown, prophesies in that self-confident attitude of his. When the Valar dragged my former master out of Angband in the aftermath of the War of Wrath, Námo apparently decided it was an opportune moment to utter one where I could hear him."

The Vala's words had disturbed Sauron greatly, considering that he had been hiding in Angband with a somewhat enlightened mood despite wallowing in a confused daze. At first he had felt a perplexed sense of loss upon having his master taken away, though it gradually evolved into a profound and crippling relief in a way he did not understand. Námo's prophecy soon quashed that emotion as soon as "the Black Enemy" was mentioned.

"Empty darkness is stirring, ancient evil is arising,

The Doors of Night are broken, the Black Enemy escaping,

The Sun and Moon destroyed, everlasting night falling,

Upon Middle-earth, where the Free Peoples reside.

Taking up arms in imminent war, all four races unite,

Defending their land, to their deaths they will fight.

Despair shall fall upon multitudes, many battles fought amain,

Weeping shall be heard, countless tears shed over the slain,

Dagor Dagorath has commenced, hope is searched in vain.

Yet the lost shall be found, the fallen finally risen,

A crucial choice shall be made, enmity finally forgiven,

When the Light and Fire of the Final Day to the heavens ascend."

Sauron remembered the grim words well as he intoned the prophecy, even thousands of years had passed since he first heard it. Each verse held a heavy weight, a foreboding air that would immediately silence a roomful of conversing people should they be spoken aloud.

I understood it well; the first part is fairly straightforward. Melkor will return from the Void, though I had vainly hoped that I would have conquered Middle-earth by then. Even then, he would not praise me. He would demand my service again without a word of gratitude.

"My former master will return with his full potent might and power," Sauron said mostly to himself, "He will fight against the people of Middle-earth once again."

"You do not sound as pleased as you should be."

"Pleased that a Vala known for cruelty and takes pleasure in humiliating his victims is about to return right after we were sent back to Middle-earth? I may be what you so vehemently accuse me, utterly self-centered, but I am not dim-witted!"

Only when these words left his mouth did Sauron realize what he had disclosed. Sure enough, the Witch King had frozen in the middle of composing a reply. The Maia was certain that his unseen face was now wearing an expression of growing surprise.

Confound it all! I should have known better than granting him leverage to use against me!

"He treated you unfairly while you were still under his service." Was all the other said.

"None of that is your concern, wraith." Sauron replied sullenly.

"You knew what it was like to be a servant," The Witch King continued, "And you knew mistreatment and a master who was never satisfied with your obedience."

What is this, a servant lecturing his master? He knows nothing at all, and yet he behaves as if he has learned all the lore of Middle-earth! Who was the one who lived through the First Age, the one who saw the rise and fall of countless kingdoms? Who was the one who…?

Who… served… under Melkor… for an entire age… unappreciated… disappointed… fearfully?

"I am warning you, Witch King, to not pry into matters no mere mortal can comprehend." Sauron said curtly.

"I believe of all mortals I am the one who comprehends the most. You knew a cruel master, yet when the rank is passed on to you, you foolishly follow in his example," The Witch King's voice was beginning to build in anger, "I realize only now that I had served an unfair master who had been mistreated in turn! Any being would have seen the destructive consequences such an action would bring, and yet Sauron Gorthaur is blind to all. While most would have vowed to put an end to this, he instead enforces the bitterness of his own sufferings upon his own servants!"

That was it for Sauron. All the previous irritation and brief surges of anger became nothing compared to the roaring fury that reared up in him at those words. He sprang up again and stormed over to the bars of his cell, fully intent on showing the Witch King a piece of his mind.

"Do not compare me to the One Who Mars, the being responsible for all that is unwholesome in Middle-earth! I was more merciful towards you than he ever was to me, Witch King, so you have no right to accuse me of being cruel. When have I ever punished you out of spite, out of the mere desire to vent my own frustrations?!" The Maia flung back to the other.

"Had you not given me a reason to rebel I would have stayed complacent. Or shall I once against lament upon the fact that you have selected me to become one of your accursed Ringwraiths?"

"And now you place the blame upon me when the choice to accept my gift was yours! You grow ever unreasonable, wraith. If my powers were at my disposal, the first thing I will use it for is to silence your lying mouth!"

"You are free to do so, Sauron, for this reinforces the fact that you, despite each argument you have uttered, are the same as the master who once held power over you."

Why you…! I am not anything like Melkor! How dare he make such preposterous assumptions when he has never seen him before!

"Silence! I order you to be silent at once!" Sauron shouted furiously, liking nothing more than to seize the Witch King by his robes and shake hard, "You know nothing! You know nothing at all!"

By then their voices had drawn the attention of the soldiers standing guard outside of the dungeon, which in itself was a miracle since the argument had gone on for a while. Their armored forms soon came descending down the stairs, and a couple of them unlocked the doors of Sauron's cell. He flung himself at them instinctively, not caring that he was chained and had one broken arm. His rage and frustration at his former servant fueled him to once again kick and struggle against the soldiers that surrounded him, though his efforts did little to stop them from tying a gag on his mouth.

"Silence yourself. Isn't it more productive to spend your last two days alive to ponder over your transgressions instead of picking arguments?" One of them said sarcastically.

Sauron could only manage a muffled sound of anger and glared heatedly at the soldiers, who merely locked the cell again and left the dungeons without another word. A quick glance over at the Witch King's direction revealed that he had not received the same treatment.

"Few men are willing to lay their hands on an insubstantial being such as I, and you were the one who did most of the arguing." The wraith answered his unspoken inquiry with a sudden weariness as he removed his battle-helm and set it by his side, "I regret ever asking you about that prophecy. Any attempt to speak peaceably with you will end in another clash of wills."

The only sound Sauron could make was a scornful humph.

Of course. Thousands of years of festering hate and resentment on his part and irritation and frustration on my part would do wonders. He thought, Why did Eru have to send the Witch King, of all my servants, back to living? I could have had that ever obnoxious Mouth fawning at my feet, or terrified Khamûl into obeying me. But no! He had to select that one servant who dares to rebel and defy me! Then he had to send me back when the Dagor Dagoreth is about to come to fruition! Eru may have given me new life, however, so far it proves to be no better than returning to Melkor.

And I am nothing like him, never.

And so his dark thoughts simmered now that the Maia was even robbed of the power of speech. The time spent in Eru's sheep fields seemed so distant, including Sauron's first admittance of regretting his service under Melkor and his agreement to come back to the Ainur once again. Both deeds were done in the spur of the moment, for Sauron genuinely wanted out of the Void. But as he remembered the Creator's words concerning his punishment, he cursed himself once more for believing that new life was not as simple as enduring another few Ages.

"You will continue to struggle against your conscience, fear and former self, Mairon, alongside with dealing the people who will always shun and despise you. You will retain your name, always as an abhorrence and abomination to the people of Arda until the day you can bend your pride."

So it all starts with my former servant. I cannot wait to see how the rest of these pathetic lords and captains would treat me. Sauron thought sarcastically, If this was the treatment I am to receive…

Then what would have been better? Humiliation or bound servitude again?

"My lady Éowyn. Are you certain that your wound is not bothering you more than it should?" A man's voice suddenly cut through the chaotic and confused thoughts that were currently swirling through the Shieldmaiden of Rohan's mind.

Éowyn blinked, and then turned her attention to the speaker. Faramir had apparently chosen this inopportune time to visit her at her chamber in the Houses of Healing. Normally she would have welcomed his reassuring presence greatly, but now she wanted to be left completely alone as she took in this new turn of events.

"I am fine. Since I awoke from my swoon my wounds have not hindered me." Éowyn returned shortly.

"You seem disturbed this day." He caught on her agitation.

"How can I not be," Éowyn ground out as she recalled that single frozen moment when she first heard the news, "I struck the killing blow, and yet he lives."

Faramir looked fatigued as he leant against a pillar, "Yes, the wraith, the Witch King of Angmar. I once hoped that the news was false, but the panic of the city soon proved me wrong. From what I heard from Aragorn and his companions, they had also captured Sauron himself, albeit in human form and absent of any sort of powers. Both of them reside now in the dungeons on the Seventh Level. They may have been executed already, or due to in a few days…"

Should I become worried that I do not distress myself over the return of Sauron more than I should? Éowyn soon became uncharacteristically lost in her thoughts once again, The scourge of Middle-earth has been defeated permanently, and a new era of peace is about to dawn on us all. I had paid my own price to see this victory…

"King Théoden did not perish in vain, my lady." Faramir suddenly brought up.

Her breath caught in her throat as she clenched her fingers in a tight fist. Why must he bring up what is tormenting me the most at this moment?

"Then what did he perish for? The Ringwraith slew him in battle, and I returned the favor. Now it is my uncle who lies dead, and his enemy alive and well in the world of the living."

Faramir flinched visibly at the cold steely tone of her voice, and whatever words he sought to comfort her died from his lips. Éowyn appreciated his silence, for no honeyed words or assuring sentences would have assuaged the sense of unjustness of this whole situation.

A life for a life, and yet the Witch King of Angmar defies this simple rule of war. I wish this were a grave misunderstanding, news from the frayed nerves of a nearly-fallen city. But Faramir speaks right of the unease of the people in Minas Tirith. I can feel their fear and doubt permeating even the Houses of Healing.

Oh, Uncle Théoden… if only you can hear me now in the Halls of Mandos. What would you say if you saw things as they are now, that I have failed to avenge you? You fell bravely in battle, standing firm even when the Ringwraiths scattered the Rohirrim with their cries of death. The halfing Merry and I barely slew the one who killed you and escaped with our lives…

Éowyn tried not to recall her early years, in which Théoden immediately took her and her brother Éomer under his care after their parents died and raised them both along with their cousin Théodred. The king, who had become a second father to her, raised them as his own, personally taught her horse-riding skills, her letters, the many advices of being a good leader, a little swordsmanship and many others. He had been always present for any important life event, a constant supporting presence that never failed to appear. He had played with them while they were still children, spoke with them in attempts to communicate as they became older. Éowyn had loved nothing more than sitting down with her uncle in that small cozy parlor at Meduseld with a blazing fire roaring away in the hearth and a cup of hot mead warming up her hands as she told him of her troubles. Théoden would always listen carefully, his sharp gaze glinting beneath his circlet of gold, before patiently offering his advice and even attempting to lighten her mood with his wry sense of humor. His jesting often admittedly fall short, but Éowyn laughed all the same simply because he tried.

Then came Gríma Wormtongue and his whispered lies and falsehoods. No one knew where he came from or how he gained his seemly sound wisdom, but soon he was Théoden's chief advisor. Éowyn, her brother and Théodred, as well as many of the king's close officials, had noticed the unearthly effect Gríma's words had on Théoden, how they shouldn't have affected him so much that he became distrustful, bitter and most disturbingly of all, weak in body and mind. She could do nothing to stop this decline, for all her pleadings and reasonings fell on deaf ears. Éowyn could do nothing but to watch her beloved uncle descend into madness day after day. There was nothing she could have done except to reverse their roles, so now she became the one who took care of Théoden and did her best to prevent his health from declining further.

Éowyn had cursed Wormtongue silently, loathing how he always gazed at her lecherously and yet helpless again to do anything about it. By then he had gained enough power as Théoden grew weaker; he became spokesperson of the king himself. No one could act against the advisor without severe retribution, neither was anyone bold enough to try. She had considered striking him down by the sword, but as soon as she curled her fingers around the hilt of it, Wormtongue had spoken in that greasy smooth voice of his.

"You want to slay me. I can see it in your eyes, little shieldmaiden, so do not attempt to conceal your intentions any longer. But know this: as soon as you draw in my presence, I will make sure your beloved uncle suffers even further from his ailment. I appreciate a fighter, but if you hinder my plans in any way, your uncle shall not be the only one who will face the consequences."

His threat was real. The next day Théoden was delirious in a high fever that afflicted him with violent fits. Éowyn did not know what type of dark magic Wormtongue was capable of, but she backed down without protest. That night for the first time since her uncle became ensnared, the shieldmaiden wept openly beside his bed when the fever finally abated. What had they done to deserve this kind of suffering, in which she was unable to fight back against it? Her heart ached with a wrenching pain to see the once dignified King Théoden lying there looking so frail and spent. This time Éowyn cursed herself for her helplessness, for allowing herself to be cowed by that worm of a man. But she could not fight back, not without having her uncle suffering again.

And then came the day when Théodred fell in battle holding the Fords of Isen against the White Wizard turned-traitor Saruman. The people of Rohan had despaired, knowing that the aging King Théoden now left no heir to succeed his kingship, though their dismay could not compare to the sorrow both Éowyn and Éomer felt. They had grown up with their cousin for most of their lives and known him as another sibling. Éowyn did not know whether Wormtongue was also responsible for this, but she was sure he was not completely innocent. Since the day he came into her uncle's court, misfortune had been falling frequently on their the House of Eorl.

And Éowyn could do nothing about it, once again.

And so this cycle of self-blame ceased when Gandalf Greyhame came and healed the king. Éowyn had been so overjoyed to see the years fade from his countenance as he stood up straight again, his eyes once again sharp and unclouded, so much that she dismissed Wormtongue from her mind.

Then Théoden rode for the East, leaving her behind to care for Meduseld. They had not exchanged as many words as Éowyn would have liked, though he had given her the tender fatherly smile she had missed so much.

"I cannot thank you enough for your care while I was still under Saruman's control. And now Rohan needs your guidance while we are gone. Defend the people as ruler, for your fight is here, in our homeland where the Dark Lord of Mordor must never touch. Remember what I have taught you, and the people of Rohan will love you all the more. I may or may not return from this eastward march to Gondor's aid, but know this: I am proud of everything you have done for me and the country, my dear child. I could not ask for a better daughter."

Éowyn swallowed down a sob that was threatening to choke its way out, while at the same time noticing that Faramir had departed. He had left behind a bundle of folded dark blue cloth on the small table at her bedside, revealed to be a heavy cloak as the shieldmaiden shook it out and, with some difficulty due to her broken left arm in a sling, draped it around her shoulders.

I appreciate his thought of leaving me alone, as well as this generous gift. Once I might have been touched at his actions, but I cannot… I cannot forget my sorrow. Now that I look back at the time of my infatuation with Lord Aragorn, it seems to be the inane and unrealistic dreams of an innocent young maiden. I barely knew him, but Théoden I have known for my entire life. In a way I had lost both…

Théoden should not have died as he did. He should have fought to his final breath, not brought down by a single dart from that Ringwraith. I should have been at his side for his final words. Even if I hadn't, the Witch King should have stayed dead to pay for the life he took from me.

Éowyn stood, the voluminous cloak swishing behind her as she left her chambers in the Houses of Healing and made her way out into the streets of Minas Tirith. The Warden, Nimhad, tried to stop her, though he acquiesced when the shieldmaiden told him that she was only going out on a stroll to clear her mind.

If only I could hear your counsel, Uncle. I barely had any time to speak to you before the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, never knowing that I would never do so again. You left no last words either, nor a final request or instruction…

She had gone to the Hallows earlier, the burial place of the Kings, Stewards and important men of Gondor, to visit Théoden. He was still clad in his golden armor with his sword Herugrim grasped in his folded hands. Lying on the embalmer's table unmovingly, the king almost looked asleep with his eyes closed and his mouth open slightly. Éowyn half-expected her uncle to suddenly stir, sit up groggily and demand why was he lying on such a hard unyielding bed.

In the end Théoden did not, for he was gone. It was only a body he left behind, the body of an uncle who once doted on her and treated her as his own daughter.

The shieldmaiden gritted her teeth and dismissed that train of thought forcibly. If she followed it, she would break down uncontrollably in tears once again as she had done in the embalmer's chambers.

She instead recalled her brief facedown with the Witch King, how he had responded to her challenge with that soul-chilling voice of his. His presence had frozen her with terror until she mustered all her will to fight; even that alone had been difficult. The wraith was much stronger than she was, and more skilled in swordsmanship. In fact, it would be safe to say that without Merry's intervention she would have met her death then and there.

Then everything had changed.

The Witch King had been brought to his knees by that wound his leg, his mace falling from one hand as he leant heavily against his sword. He had then lifted his helm, and spoke the next two words that continued to disturb her.

"Kill me."

She could not see his face, but she heard the urgent desperation in his voice.

"Do it now."

The wraith no longer sounded unearthly, like a creature of the undead. It had been the voice of a man Éowyn had heard, a deep and weary voice that petitioned her to end him.

"You have my thanks…" He whispered right after her sword pierced his chest, before his form lost its shape and collapsed into a pile of robes and armor, once again belying the fact that he was a disembodied spirit in the service of the Dark Lord.

Why? Why did he willingly ask me to strike the final blow? Was it Merry's blade that undid him, and knowing that he had failed his master, he would rather perish in battle? Or was he a coward, seeing that there was no way out and so asked me to end it all?

Does it matter? Whether that wraith wanted me to slay him or not, he should have perished and stayed in whatever damnation his kind is subject to! I wish this was but false news, or a dreadful dream brought by the effects of the Black Breath. Perhaps I am still lying in the Houses of Healing in a deep slumber…

Or not.

Éowyn's feet had unconsciously taken her to the Seventh Level of Minas Tirith, where the House of the Stewards was built and where the dungeons were situated. It was only then when she remembered what Faramir had said regarding the imprisonment of the supposedly resurrected Sauron and the wraith she had slain.

Since I am here, I must see for myself the truth of the news.

The shieldmaiden proceeded on, crossing the wide courtyard that housed the White Tree of Gondor and the tall arching doors of the House itself. Here the winds blew more strongly than the lower levels, whipping her unbound hair into her eyes and tugging insistently at her cloak. Brushing aside the golden locks from her face, it was that moment when she caught sight of the legion of armed Gondorian soldiers standing guard outside of an iron-wrought gate set into a structure built right beside the House.

If Sauron and the Witch King are held imprisoned anywhere in Minas Tirith, it would be here.

Éowyn strode towards the guards, who immediately stood to attention and shifted their weapons to the ready.

"It is the Lady of the Shield-arm." Said one whom she recognized to be the commander from the more elaborate helm he wore compared to the others, "Hail the dauntless maiden who slew the Lord of the Nazgûl singlehandedly!"

The other soldiers repeated their "hails" in their loud and ringing voices. For a while Éowyn was slightly overwhelmed; she had forgotten that her deeds in battle must have earned her recognition and praise, though she felt no pride at the accomplishment.

"Hail no one but the soon-to-be-king Lord Aragorn," Éowyn returned without emotion, "Save your adulation until the wraith is well and truly departed from this world. He lies here within this dungeon, does he not?"

The commander hesitated, no doubt knowing he had probably offended the shieldmaiden in some way, before replying, "Indeed he does, as well as one formerly known as the Nameless Enemy. They are due to be executed in two days, my lady, so there is no need to distress yourself over their seemly improbable resurrection… Hold on, you cannot just march in there!"

Éowyn had pushed her way through the guards to move towards the iron door, which surprisingly was secured only by a solid wooden latch. That she lifted with her good right hand and swung the door open inwards with a resounding clang of metal against stone. Then the shieldmaiden was striding down the flight of wide steps into the unexpectedly well-illuminated prison area lined with empty cells on both sides.

Time seemed to slow, even as the soldiers came clomping down after her. Éowyn was able to take in her surroundings carefully, and notice the two figures held in opposite cells. Though the light that shined through holes in the ceiling did not reach them well, she could see the cell occupants quite clearly.

One was a young man with shoulder-length light brown hair, a seemly harmless inmate from his close resemblance to an elf. He had one arm in a sling, though he was bound in chains by his wrists and ankles even in his injured state. He had been gagged, but his storm gray eyes spoke of surprise as Éowyn appeared.

The other cell held the Witch King himself.

The wraith she had faced off against had removed his helm and his other armaments for battle, leaving only a black-robed and heavily hooded figure that also sat bound with chains. He had also lifted his head at her unexpected entrance, and Éowyn once again felt that familiar chill to see that he had no face beneath the hood.

Here was the unearthly spirit that slew her beloved uncle as if his life mattered less than those of the orcs. Éowyn had finally proven her worth by avenging Théoden's death, and yet here he sat, looking as if he had never perished under her sword.

Then the guards arrived, one of them laying a hand on her arm and pulling gently but insistently. The shieldmaiden suddenly lost that impulse that caused her to barge in here at the first place and allowed herself to be escorted out without another word.

But just before she turned around, she heard a low full-toned voice speak solemnly from behind.

"Shieldmaiden Éowyn."

Anything more he might have said escaped her hearing, for she was now out of the dungeons exposed to the cold biting wind again. The iron door shut behind her hollowly, and she heard no more words that might have come from within.

"That was utterly uncalled for and a pointless risk to take, my lady. Though the two of them are incarcerated securely, there is still a chance that you might have met a nasty end going in there alone," The Gondorian commander was visibly distressed, "I will dispatch two guards to escort you back to the Houses of Healing."

"That will not be necessary. I have seen for myself that the news is true; my purpose here is finished." Éowyn's dignified audacity had returned, "I will escort myself."

With that, she was off, walking back towards the Houses with long sure steps until she was out of sight and well down in the Sixth Level. Only then did the shieldmaiden slow down, wrapping her cloak closer around her and glancing upwards.

What was I thinking back then? She thought, In a way I already knew this to be true. Nothing else would have unsettled Minas Tirith like this. There was no need for me to abuse my privilege of been released under the healers' care to stir up the two prisoners.

Was that truly the Dark Lord of Mordor? He looks more of an Elf than a being of great evil, though I understand his appearance may be deceiving. They say he has lost all his powers. This is certainly true; he would have never allowed himself to be bound and gagged. He would have destroyed the city first before that happened.

A sudden chill coursed through her, and Éowyn shivered a little as she continued to recall now that everything had calmed down.

What of the wraith then? When I saw him, I did not feel that irrational fear that assaulted the Rohirrim and me in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. He has somehow lost his terrible aura of despair. In fact if I faced against him in his current state, I might have had a greater chance of triumphing over him, not to mention my uncle possibly surviving the battle. The wraith is now but an ordinary being in all but appearance…

Why did he call me by name? I remember declaring it to him when I saw the irony of his claim that no man may hinder him. But he has no cause to remember it, or simply intone it after seeing the enemy. I should have been greeted with curses or threats.

And that voice… is the same that spoke the petition for death. It is the voice of man. If I had closed my eyes, I would have seen a mortally wounded soldier asking me calmly to free him from his suffering. If he had been Gondorian or of the Rohirrim… but it had been one of Sauron's greatest and most terrible servants who had asked it…

Éowyn soon entered the Houses of Healing once again, crossing the grassy courtyard that surrounded the outer colonnade. She spotted a tall cloaked figure carrying a helm with a white horsetail on its peak leaning against one of the pillars, who turned around as soon as she stepped onto the stone pathway.

"I am glad to see that you are well enough to be up and about," Said her brother, Éomer, "The Warden told me you should be back shortly, though I did not expect so soon. How is your arm?"

"It is mending. The healers said it would be months before I can use it fully though." Éowyn was glad of his asking, for it served to distract her from her thoughts.

"Until then, I shall assist you whenever you need it. For the meantime, you must not go wandering off in Minas Tirith without an escort. You have heard how the march onto Mordor had yielded a captured Sauron. Until he is executed, we cannot be sure of what mischief he is able to cause." Éomer said worriedly.

He has grown more fretful as of late, though I appreciate his concern. What is this war doing to all of us?

"There is nothing to worry about, Brother. I have seen the Dark Lord."

Éomer stared at her in shock.

"And the wraith I slew on the Pelennor Fields."

"You… you…" He recovered enough to sputter, "Tell me you did not go near the prison on your short 'walk'!"

"I did. I entered it myself and saw the two prisoners with my own two eyes. The Dark Lord was injured and bound in chains. If he had been planning something nefarious against Minas Tirith, he would have executed it already without hesitation, and you, I and everyone in the city would be dead. I believe Mithrandir's words to be true, that Sauron has lost all of his powers." Éowyn said a little more forcefully than she liked, for Éomer now looked as if he were about to launch into a long lecture about her risking her life so blatantly. In the end her brother sighed instead and shook his head wearily.

"I do not understand why would you wish to do so. You almost met your end at the hands of the wraith. Have you forgotten how the Witch King slew our uncle and nearly you also?"

"You too, brother? Do you not worry yourself over the resurrected Sauron more?" Éowyn realized with a start.

The other grimaced, "I am aware of my seemly misaligned priorities. Each of the races of course holds enmity against the Dark Lord, and I know that the Battle of the Pelennor Fields was of his doing. But the wraith killed King Théoden personally, and I saw him about to allow his foul winged beast to devour his body. He has wronged the House of Eorl too many times to be forgotten."

The shieldmaiden winced as she tried not to delve into her regrets and doubts once more, though a renewed wave of sorrow swept through her at the mentioning of Théoden. Suddenly none of it mattered to her, neither her troubled observations nor her absurd comparisons of the wraith to a man.

My visit to the dungeons has accomplished nothing, other than reaffirming the fact that he is alive and unsettling my thinking. So what if the wraith either survived his wound or was brought back from the dead? He is now powerless as well, and it would not be difficult to end him a second time, or even a third and fourth time if necessary. I will slay him as many times as it takes for him to stay dead.

Uncle Théoden, you deserve to have complete vengeance for your death. This is what I can do at least.

"Éomer, when is the execution to be carried out?" The shieldmaiden suddenly asked coolly.

"Two days from now, although I would have liked it much better if Lord Aragorn did it straight away. There is no sense in waiting," Éomer was a little taken back at his sister's coldness, "Why do you ask?"

"Please go to Lord Aragorn on my behalf, and ask him to allow me to wield the executioner's sword. I will strike the Witch King's killing blow."

Éomer did not respond straight away at her foreboding request. He let out a small sigh and closed his eyes, his face carrying an expression of heavy pain. But in the end he did not advise against her nor convince her out of it, and for that Éowyn was grateful.

"Very well. I do not like to see my little sister as an executioner, but considering your heroic deeds in the battle, I have no right to deny your request. May Lord Aragorn grant it, and may you finally avenge Uncle Théoden's death." The Rohirric marshal finally gave in.

As quickly as her icy determination came, it faded away when Éowyn saw how weary her brother now looked. The burdens of the momentous events in the past few days must be taken their toll on him greatly.

Éowyn gave him a wry smile, "I am no longer the young lass you grew up with and play-fought with toy swords. How many times must I remind you that I can handle most things by myself?"

"You are still my sister, my only living kin now that Théoden is gone. I will never forgive myself if I willingly allowed you to risk your life and died as a result. Once is enough for me." Éomer replied solemnly, "If your request is granted and should you feel overwhelmed when you hold the sword, I will take over."

"No, I will do it, for Rohan, and for the memory of Théoden Ednew," Éowyn said firmly, "When my blade descends upon the wraith, he shall regret the day he ever chose our uncle to slay."

It was now nighttime in Minas Tirith, and most inhabitants of the city had retired back to their houses and prepared to rest. None of them would sleep easy though, knowing that how close their home had come to be destroyed by Sauron. The front gates were still in ruin, though another legion of Gondorian soldiers and the Rohirrim were stationed there.

It was during this watchful night that Gandalf made his appearance at the entrance of the dungeons. The prison guard had been doubled in the chance that the two would attempt something foul in the shadows. But many of the soldiers were a little displeased at this point, having stood guard since the early dawn. Some had already sat down on the cold stone ground with their weapons laid beside them as they conversed over pints of ale.

"If Sauron and the Witch King actually had the powers to break out of the dungeons, you would have all been dead by now and Minas Tirith burning into ash." The Wizard spoke reprovingly, "Iorem, you must supervise your men more strictly."

Most of the guards sprang up in alarm, scrambling for their weapons. They soon relaxed when they spotted the White Wizard. The commander whom was addressed as Iorem immediately came forward.

"Many apologies, Mithrandir. My men are weary, and I do not have enough soldiers to set a system of watches. Nevertheless, rest be assured that it shall not happen again."

"And it would not," The Wizard promised, "You and your men may take a short rest now that I am here. I need to speak with the prisoners."

Iorem looked uncertain at this, but agreed when Gandalf told him that it would not take all night, and that the guards would still be present at their stations as they rested.

Soon Gandalf was in the now dark dungeons, where no one had taken the liberties of lighting a lamp in the inky blackness. So he lit the top of his staff with a whispered command and descended carefully down the steps, his makeshift lamp casting a stark white glow in the entire underground chamber. There was the sound of rattling chains on both sides as he approached.

"Gandalf." The Witch King's voice called out on the left, "Why have you come?"

The tall hooded figure had stood up in his cell along with his heavy manacles, the low ceiling forcing him to stoop.

"I have come to receive answers." Gandalf answered simply, "Seeing that no one is about to find out on their own, I have come to hear of the circumstances concerning your return. Where is Mairon? I wish for him to speak also."

"Mairon? Is that not…"

"His preferred name, of course. No one would wish to be called an abomination, and I feel that he would answer more easily should I show goodwill towards him."

"He would not be able to answer you in the opposite cell. The guards gagged him in the fear that his complaints may bring down the roof." There was bitter sarcasm in the other's voice.

Gandalf raised his staff and peered intently into the depths of the other cell. A rather bedraggled-looking face greeted him, though the other Maia's gray eyes burned with the intensity of his unspoken words trapped behind the coarse rag tied around his mouth. No doubt Sauron would erupt into a rant of all the unjustness he had suffered so far. The Wizard had always known the other as a verbally-inclined individual, not to mention haughty and self-confident.

Sauron did not show any of it outwardly as he allowed Gandalf to reach through the bars to undo his gag. It was always when he opened his mouth when he betrayed his festering anger.

"The nerve of those Gondorian dogs! How dare they-"

"Here, you must be hungry by now," Gandalf interrupted, producing a loaf of bread and bottle of mead somewhere from within his robes, "Eat first, then feel free to speak afterwards."

Sauron gave the Wizard a scathing look, "I do not require human sustenance, nor do I desire to partake in it, considering the quality of food prisoners are given."

There was suddenly an audible rumble.

"I am afraid it is no longer so, Mairon. You have gone far too long without a physical body to know the basic needs of one."

So Sauron took the food with a dark glower on his face and retreated to the back of his cell. Gandalf was slightly surprised that the defiant Maia had apparently given up without much of a fight before remembering that Sauron, though constantly refusing any sort of submission to another's will, still sometimes gave in when he saw it more beneficial.

"Did the heir of Isildur send you, or did you come of your own volition?" The Witch King asked.

"I was indeed sent." Gandalf turned to face the wraith.

"Why are you helping us? I saw how you delayed telling the truth to prevent us from being executed straight away, apparently giving up your companions' trust to keep the enemy alive. Were you informed to do so?"

"Of course he was informed," Sauron's disgruntled voice sounded muffled, "That is Olórin the Maia you are looking at. I would imagine that he also went before the Valar or a certain Creator of Arda sometime in his life. Should I be thankful, or expect something more?"

To trust that the former Dark Lord would be informed so extensively about the events beyond his realm. Sauron must have somehow received news of Gandalf's demise after he slew the Balrog of Moria, seen the revived Wizard at the Black Gates and put the two and two together.

And so Gandalf told them. His departed spirit had been summoned before Eru Ilúvatar himself instead of returning to Valinor, where he would become Olórin the Maia of Manwë once again. Eru had been pleased with his work in Middle-earth and had promised a rich reward when his task was finally done. At this Gandalf had asked confusedly if he had indeed finished his work, though how unfinished it may seem.

"Not yet. There is still much in store for you and Middle-earth. For this reason I am sending you back as the sole emissary of the Valar. You shall see the downfall of the one you were to defend the free peoples against. Continue to aid them, and this time you shall be allowed to unveil your power as a Maia to better stand firm in the midst of trial and difficulties." Eru had spoken in that assuring fatherly voice of his.

Then they had spoken long. Gandalf expressed his grief and disappointment over Saruman's betrayal, his doubts of the quest and told of his worries for the members of the Fellowship. Eru interestingly enough did not speak as much as the Wizard would have expected; he listened, offered a little commentary here and there, sighed and was often silent as he thought. However in the end just as Gandalf was to depart, the Creator had seemly broken into a wide smile and bid him those words,

"Worry no longer, Olórin. Just as I have watched over the Fellowship when they set out from Rivendell as one group, so shall I look after them should they happen to scatter. Your quest shall succeed, though many cannot live to celebrate it in the mortal realm. Yet I shall gather them in the Timeless Halls where they shall live forevermore in my presence. Therefore, go in peace, my child, and continue to aid the people of Middle-earth, especially those who have called upon my name."

Gandalf certainly did not disclose the details of his conversations with Eru; he only spoke of Eru's bidding right before he found himself lying battered but alive on the peak of the Celebdil. The Wizard had not pondered on it further, for few in Middle-earth remembered the name of the One Who Is. It was only when the Witch King spoke the forgotten name that he recalled this strange addendum, and the later appearance of Sauron cemented its meaning. His earlier pity for his fellow Maia and subsequent actions to save him from his severe wounds had only been the beginning.

Because Gandalf now knew what he had commanded to do, absurd and disregarding the hard-won victory it may seem.

Both occupants of the dungeons were silent after his short tale.

"A groundless order," Sauron scoffed, "I do not see why you should heed it when Eru spoke in that vague and perplexing manner of his."

The Wizard frowned slightly at the other's blatant disrespect towards the Father who had given life to the Ainur. However, his insight reminded him that the fallen Maia had been estranged from Eru since Melkor descended into Eä and constructed the fortress of Utumno. It must have been a long time since Sauron had experienced any semblance of mercy or kindness from another.

"That may be. However, you must remember that he does not speak any excessive words. If Eru asked me to pay marked attention to those who have uttered his name, then I shall, even to the Dark Lord or his servants. Now tell me your stories, both of you, so that I may decide how I may best aid you." Gandalf replied firmly.

Sauron was again silenced, presumably unsure to make of this new turn of events. But the Witch King, who had been watching the Wizard carefully for a long while now, finally spoke,

"You gave up much of your credibility and earned the hostility of your allies for the preservation of the enemy. If you continue to help us in any way, there may be little chance that you may regain it."

Gandalf ignored Sauron's disbelieving protest to mull over this valid fact. Indeed he had been pained by the distrustful looks he had been confronted with when he explained that he would get to the bottom of the whole situation. When he remembered his conversation with Eru though, he found that he could reply, however contradictory his answer may be.

"Which is more important, seeking the approval of men or of Eru? Should I choose the latter, I shall trust that the former will come in time. For Eru does not leave those who listen to him without recompense."

Gandalf did not expect them to understand this fully. But he said it all the same, since he had a hunch that the two would be facing the same dilemma soon, perhaps repeatedly.

I apologize if this chapter seems to differ in style or plot content, since it's more of a filler than actual plot progression. Reviews for the stressed-out author please; I shall try to crank out the next chapter after I'm done applying for college.