#theoretically in sae's main verse i planned for corunir to be here too but again. it would be Too Long

[sweetearthandnorthernsky]

29, 55, 84? :D

29. Stars, 55. Silence, 84. Shout

So! Spoilers for Chapter 14 of Minas Morgul and also it's. really long so it's going under a cut lmao.

Barad Curon shines in the starlight, and Saelinriel gazes up at it – melancholy aching in her chest. Even taken and corrupted by the Enemy, it’s still beautiful.

Karazgar’s mask is heavy in her hand, and she passes it to Morinel, who nods, slipping it onto her face.

“This ends tonight,” Saelinriel says, and pushes open the doors.

Morinel plays her part well, shepherding her and Culang before Gothmog - as Idhrin creeps through the shadows to hide behind a pillar, and 'flees' and shuts the doors with a bang that echoes up to the throne room.

Saelinriel squares her shoulders as Gothmog laughs once while he comes down the stairs of the dais, appearing from the shadows with unnecessary flare and dramatics that she's come to expect from him.

“I did not expect you to be so bold!” 

He wears the guise of Mordirith here and a laugh, born of an emotion she doesn’t know the name of, bubbles into her throat.

“Then you do not know me as well as I thought you did. A pity, considering how long we've known each other.”

Gothmog's illusions are stronger somehow than they once were, and it takes every ounce of strength she has, even with Culang's help. 

Saelinriel thinks it might be over when Gothmog crumples to the ground, but his body melts and he climbs down from the dais again – blue flame on his pauldrons –  laughing as he raises his hands. 

Then, he brings them down with a percussive movement, and fire leaps up from spots in the tiled floor.  

Saelinriel only just has time to pull Culang away from a geyser of flame, when they have to move again, and again. She’s getting dizzy by now, and she doesn’t want to think about what would happen if either of them falters. 

Lightning arcs from the wings, and she feels a wave of relief wash over her. Morinel has returned, just in time -- Saelinriel and Culang are tiring, and she doesn't know how much longer they could've managed. 

On that signal, Idhrin looses arrow after arrow, but they bounce off the wraith’s iron crown. He turns and the next arrow catches him in the shoulder. 

“Who have you brought to their deaths this time, Saelinriel?” Gothmog snarls. “Did I not say come into the light?” 

Fire bursts from the wings, and a horrible thud makes her heart leap into her throat.

Culang whispers that they must find a way to weaken him somehow, and for a moment she wonders how then she remembers. 

“You have not won,” Saelinriel says, through gritted teeth. 

Isildur and Anarion and Elendil's memory and legacy are a double edged sword, and she uses it like one.

Her own blade glitters like starlight in the dim throne room, and she feels the words and the courage coming to her and strengthening her heart. 

Gothmog growls, and she continues, holding Narmeleth's and Golodir's triumphs over his head, and he throws a pillar of flame at her. 

She dodges. 

Another pillar of flame lashes up from the ground, and it almost knocks her off balance, but Culang keeps her from falling into it.

Gothmog's anger fills the room like thunder and the flames cease as he storms down the steps and he brings his sword down on hers, hard.  “Your words are empty!” 

She blocks it, and goes for her own strike. 

It is just like dancing, she thinks, a little hysterically. Only with several partners instead of one, and any misstep might be their last. “Elendil faced the greatest evil of the Age, and he didn’t cower beneath it. He didn’t betray his kingdom or his people–” 

Her limbs grow heavier and heavier with each moment but she channels everything she has into her sword. 

“The White Tree flowers in the Court of Kings – Gondor flourishes once more.”

“Those victories mean nothing to me,” He shouts, bringing his sword in a wide arc toward your head. 

She sidesteps the blow and it glances off her shield instead – the blossoming white tree on a black field. 

There's a quarter of a second where Gothmog freezes and arrows come flying out of the darkness to catch his shoulder. 

Idhrin has braced herself against a pillar, and blood drips down from above her eyebrows and her silver hair is darkened with blood. 

Gothmog hisses and begins to close the distance between them and Saelinriel tries to step between but he swats her aside like a fly and she goes flying and lands with her back on the hard tile. 

It’s suddenly impossible to breathe and she lays there, gasping and the whole time she's shouting at herself to get up–

Finally, as lightning streaks through the air again, she does, sheathing her sword and pulling her spear from her back.

Idhrin shoots an arrow that finds its way into the darkness of Gothmog's hood. He staggers backward, bringing a hand up to his unseen face. 

Saelinriel doesn't know what comes over her but she tightens her hold on her shield, adjusts her grip on her spear and takes a breath. 

Then, she runs.

Her shield slams into Gothmog's chest with more force than she thought possible, and he staggers again, snarling and seeming disoriented.   

The elven-steel of her spear gleams in the half-light and she channels every ounce of her strength into jamming it into the space just between his chestplate and his hip armor as hard as she can. 

He lets out an agonizing cry and falls to the ground with a mighty crash.  His sword slips from his hand, and she kicks it away from him, toward Culang.  

Morinel comes from the shadows, and rushes toward where Idhrin slumped to the ground moments prior.   Saelinriel stands breathing heavily, looking down at a now wounded Gothmog who clutches his abdomen. 

Words shatter the uneasy silence.

“I sense the presence of my bones, Saelinriel! They are nearby!”

She almost screams but calms herself as Isildur's shade materializes beside Saelinriel, and there is an urgency in his voice that in some way surprises her. “I can see the chamber where my bones must lie, for the Oath-stone stands there too, 'neath the beacon!”

She sighs, slinging her spear over her shoulder and begins the climb to the beacon tower.

“This is not the Minas Ithil it was from my own days,” Isildur says, his voice echoing strangely off the empty walls once they make it to the beacon-stone that cuts through the mist that shrouds the city. 

Saelinriel bites back a sarcastic reply then frowns.

 “What was it like back then?” She asks, as she looks through the nooks and crannies of the room, because there are precious few that she can ask. 

Gothmog is not an option, and Faramir son of Ondoher might be able to tell her but she knows not where he wanders now. But Isildur stands before her, and he’s answered her many questions before.

“It was a beautiful place,” he says slowly then stops.  She doesn’t press him, and after a while he speaks again.

“The moon cast silver light throughout the courtyards and streets, and reflected off the marble walls, so that it seemed to shine. It held great houses of lore salvaged from the wreck of Numenor…” 

He sighs wistfully and then he tells her of the gardens of the Circle of Wisdom, and the melodies and plays from the Lindalire, and it hurts that she can match each location with the twisted parody.

“I am sorry,” she says numbly, after a while, and they sink into an contemplative silence.

Finally, she finds a silver tarnished casket that is not so large, but something ghosts over Isildur's face when he looks at the dust with in and he remains silent as she walks down back to the throne room.

“I swore to bring Sauron's Ring to Rivendell, and though that weapon came in the end to that valley, I did not. But now…” Isildur says finally, solemnly, "The casket of dust gives me hope. Bring me earthly remains to Rivendell and I shall at last know peace.'

Gothmog laughs weakly, despite his wounds. "Peace? What peace does this shade think to find? What peace does he deserve? I remember the tales of Elendil, and of Isildur and Anárion. We were told they were great men, valiant warriors from an age of heroes.”

“And I was told tales of the same sort about Eärnur too,” Saelinriel says viciously, months of anger and hurt that she thought she’d handled bubbling up from her core. They are cruel, maybe needlessly so, but she doesn’t care. “Sometimes our heroes disappoint us.”

Gothmog takes no heed of her words and continues to rail before finally trailing off into silence. 

Culang calls out that someone is approaching the throne room from the outside. Morinel looks up, hands freezing as she pauses in bandaging Idhrin's head.

A few moments pass and then--

The doors bang open and part of her is thrilled to see Annoth alive but – he is carrying himself far too stiffly, and there is a wild look in his eyes – something is wrong.

Saelinriel nearly drops her shield as Ugrukhôr storms into the throne room, looming over Annoth. He stands nearly as tall as Gothmog and towers head and shoulders over her. There are four orcs with him as well, though they don’t scare her.

When Saelinriel doesn't provide an adequate enough answer as to the location of Karazgar, Ugrukhôr roughly shoves Annoth to the side, and he crumples against the floor. 

He pushes past her and Culang, shoving them out of the way, and he sees Idhrin and Morinel where she is still using her runes to try and fix the damage done by Gothmog. “It may cost you your life, or the lives of more friends. Is that what you want?”

Her heart lurches as she opens her mouth to say no, but Ugrukhôr is faster, and he sends her – accompanied by an Uruk – to the top of the tower to search for Karazgar.

The last thing she see before she no longer can is that the others are surrounded by two guards apiece below. The thought hits her like an anchor being sunk into her chest: all of them are hostages against each others’ good behavior.

“Is that really Gothmog?” Lûrkh says, as they pass the fallen wraith. "He looks dead to me. How about that?”

They go up the endless set of stairs to the Beacon-room before finally reaching the top.

“I don't see any sign of Karazgar. Maybe he's gone.” Lûrkh looks at her sidelong, and blood rushes in her ears, and she prays that he has not figured out her ruse yet. “Or maybe he never came up here?”

Thankfully, he is quickly distracted by the broken Oathstone, and orders her to clear the room out of any merrevail that lingered in the shadowed corners of the room. 

She does, quickly and quietly as she can, and he is still pondering if some valuable piece of it might be chipped away and kept as treasure.

Any noise from the throne room is nothing more than a vague rumble and Saelinriel takes her chance.  Lûrkh is too surprised to offer much resistance, and he falls to the ground.

No one comes running up after her guard falls and she sneaks back down as quietly as she can.

She can’t see Idhrin but Morinel’s hands and ankles are bound, and she is pale and unmoving and there is no orc guarding her. 

A thrill of fear races through Saelinriel’s veins. What did Ugrukhôr do to her?

Culang catches her eye as she creeps closer to crouch low behind the giant pillar on each side of the throne’s dias.

She unsheathes her sword as quietly as possible and he nods. 

“Now, Saelinriel!”  

By the time Saelinriel makes it down the dias, Culang manages the two on either side of him, but there is a third behind and Ugrukhôr is too near him and he hits the ground hard. She manages the third guard, along with the one next to Idhrin.

“So that is the way of it, then?” Ugrukhôr asks as he goes to stand in the center of the throne room.  “Come, Saelinriel. Can we not settle this as equals?”

Ugrukhôr’s treatment of Annoth and of the Thandrim before him throws doubt on any promises he might make, even if she was inclined to believe him to begin with. 

But she's the only one standing between him and her friends, and she will not allow him easy access to them when she can do something about it.

So, she climbs slowly down the steps of the dias, head held high. She passes Culang, who is curled around himself, and she sees Morinel’s rune satchel flung across the room, and Idhrin is hiding his face, and Saelinriel can’t tell whether she lives still or not.

“You are alone, Saelinriel.” Ugrukhôr says as if he relishes this fact. “You came to this tower with allies, but they have abandoned you. Your Rangers may find success in the woods, but in towers of stone they die the same as any others. They cannot save you.”

She raises her head higher.

“The Thandrim crossed me, long ago, and they are all dead. The only man who remembered them will have no vengeance. I gave him death instead, and none now will wield his sad sword or bear his broken shield.”

He draws his swords with a flourish as if daring her to come up against him and, despite herself, her grip on her own sword falters.

“Saelinriel!” He bellows. “Do you dare test your will against Ugrukhôr, the Captain of the Pit? Did I say we were equal? I see now I was wrong! You are no equal of mine, for I am Gúrzyul... and I am your ending!”

She raises her shield to cover her torso and plants her feet as he comes to charge toward her.

“Prepare to join your friends in death, Saelinriel!” He sweeps his sword into her shield hard and the impact sends her scrambling backward but other than being a little dazed, she's fine.

She follows the rhythm of the fight: thrust, block, parry, and everything else fades to the background.

“The Thandrim sought mercy. They were fools. You will have no mercy from me,” he says as he brings his sword in a wide arc toward her head. 

“As if I would seek mercy from you,” Saelinriel says, as she steps to the side and raises her shield a little higher. The blow glances off her shield instead. She aims for a blow at his torso, but he deflects it, sending her backward.

He stalks forward and she doesn't manage to completely block the blow, and stumbles, nearly going to her knees.  

Instead, Saelinriel reaches for her horn, and the sound echoes off the walls and pillars, a challenge that rings and bellows, like the shout of many voices beneath the high vaulted roof, that stuns Ugrukhôr for a few moments.

Those few seconds are more precious than gold because they allow her to bring herself to her feet, regroup, and use her sword to cut a deep gash on the inside of his upper arm.

He turns – far, far faster than he should be able to for his size – and raises his sword high over his head and Saelinriel only just manages to put her shield between herself and the blow.

Her arm breaks from the force behind the blow as it pushes her down and it is all Saelinriel can do to not scream. 

Between pain-sharpened heartbeats she watches as he pauses and looks down, examining the gash on his arm that drips dark blood onto the polished floors.

“You have drawn blood, Saelinriel,” Ugrukhôr says mildly, “For that you have my respect.”

She looks up in an attempt at defiance, though she's certain the pain must show on her face and she struggles to bring herself to her feet, but it is nearly impossible as he advances on her, laughing.

There is nothing else for her to do but raise her shield again despite the pain. 

Ugrukhôr, for all he has said of hating Gothmog, pays no heed to where he lay still on the ground.

She peers up at him from the rim of her shield.

Saelinriel can only just see his head, all the rest of him is blocked by the – somehow unbroken – metal of her shield.

She hears someone picking up their sword, and for a moment she thinks it is Culang but he can barely stand and she’s forced to conclude whoever it is, they are no friend of hers.

When Gothmog comes into her sight, something heavy sinks into her chest.

What was it she’d told Corunir before they came into this cursed place when he asked her about her plan for dealing with Gothmog?  

One of us will not leave that tower.

It seems that she will not be the one leaving. She tries to steady her breathing but then– 

“At last you will know death, Ugrukhôr!”

Before she has the time to register what is happening, Gothmog drives his sword deep into Ugrukhôr’s back, and he slowly begins to tip forward.  

She only just has time to stumble out of the way (making the pain in her arm a hundred times worse) before Ugrukhôr falls face first into the ground with a resounding thud.

She's not sure what just happened, but Gothmog falters too, dropping the sword to the ground. 

Upon inspection, it’s not Gothmog’s sword at all, but Annoth’s. 

So the Captain of the Pit is undone by the sword of Annoth, wielded by Gothmog, and now both Gothmog and Ugrukhôr are undone, Saelinriel thinks to herself as she manages to unbuckle her shield to cradle her arm the best she can.

Then she goes to check on her friends.

Isildur reappears, hovering over his bones but he is stony-faced and silent.

Morinel is responsive and Saelinriel brings her the rune satchel before using the dagger strapped to her boot to slice through her bonds, before they go to kneel beside Idhrin.

She seems fine enough, all things considered, and Morinel goes about picking up from earlier with her runes as if she hadn’t just been tied to a pillar and unconscious.

"I am all right…” Culang says with a cough, when she comes to stand over him, as he uncurls and brings himself, unsteadily, to his feet.

“Are you certain?” Saelinriel asks, and he nods. 

He looks to where Annoth fell, and sighs. 

“He has achieved the vengeance he sought, though it arrived not in the manner he sought. Let him rest now, and may the Thandrim for whom he grieved find peace with the death of Ugrukhôr.”

Culang’s words echo her own thoughts, and she desperately wishes for the peace of the Thandrim – wherever they are. 

He sees Gothmog and Ugrukhôr and shakes his head.  “Is that not the nature of evil? Treacherous even to its own. None shall mourn for either of the slain.”

Death has come to Barad Cúron and claimed two of the masters of Mordor. How many countless others have perished in this throne room over the years? Saelinriel wonders to herself, turning away from them.

“By the waters of Nenuial!” Culang says suddenly, and she turns to face him – and the pain in her wrist spikes. “Gothmog clings to life. He tries to speak, Saelinriel and we should listen. Is it not said that dying men rarely speak falsely with their last breath?”

“Men maybe. A man he is no more,” Saelinriel mutters, but goes to stand above Gothmog anyways. 

It takes him a while to begin speaking again.  

 “Mordor should have been ... should have been mine. No one endured... what I have endured. A curse on them all... but I levy my worst upon Isildur who could have prevented it and did not! He calls me coward? He knows nothing of the torments that made me! From that crucible of evil I was born anew, the greatest creation of Angmar! I was to usher in a new age!”

The fire in Gothmog's eyes flickers and burns low and he looks up at her, and he looks particularly pitiful.

“Why could I not, Saelinriel?” He sounds so broken, so far from the imposing wraith she’s known through the past year, who haunted her nightmares and killed and tortured so many of her friends. 

“There were so many chances, but... the Ranger and the Elf-maid…”

Gothmog stares at the floor, his life's essence departing. 

“Narmeleth,” He says her name quietly. "I think Narmeleth knew the same torments as I. How could she fight... longer than...?”

He falls silent, and it seems as if he will speak no more.  As Saelinriel is about to turn and leave, he reaches out to her and grabs onto the hem of her tunic near the hem at her knees, a trinket held in his clenched fist.

“Listen to me, Saelinriel,” He says urgently, tugging at the fabric.  

She should have stepped back and yanked it out of his hands – there is barely any strength to his grip anymore – but there is something that stops her as if she’s bound to that spot. Saelinriel doesn't know what it is, but she thinks pity might be the closest thing to it, though she doesn't want to admit to it.

“There was a Morgul-slave who knew the secrets of this place. At my Master's command... he forged a key. ‘Only this weapon cannot be overcome,’ the dwarf said to me. I spent the time I could... seeking it... but it eluded me.” 

The fires in his eyes burn lower than before and suddenly she knows that he is dying, for good.

“I give it to you, Saelinriel.” He looks up at her, desperately. “If Mordor cannot be mine... let it be no one's! Find the weapon and use it... against all who seek to master the realm that was denied me!” 

Gothmog presses a broken key into her hand.

Then, he dies at last.

There is still, stunned silence in which none of them speak or move for  a long, long while.

“Even with his last breath he raged against Gondor, and shamed his people!”  Isildur stares down at Gothmog’s corpse with a look of disgust on his face, throwing soft blue light over the ancient walls.  He floats away from Gothmog and comes to her, with something somber behind his eyes. 

“He should have resisted Saelinriel, and died as Eärnur. My brother Anárion would have fought the torments of the Lord of the Nazgûl, and embraced death rather than succumb to such evil. So too would I. But instead, he became a tool for evil, and he died as Gothmog.” Isildur’s eyes flash.  “Let him rot where he lies.” 

He floats over to the wrought silver casket once more. “I do not want my bones to remain here any longer.”

Saelinriel nods as she sinks to sit on the steps, cradling her wrist. 

Eventually Morinel finishes with Idhrin and comes to splint her arm, temporarily, and the four (is it five, if they count Isildur’s bones?) of them stumble back to Barad Arthir.