The Other Ranger [ Lord Of The Rings x Silmarillion ]

At The Crossroads

They reached the crossroads on the fifth day of their traveling through Mordor. Always to their left, to the North and West, was the huge mountain of Orodruin, Mount Doom. It was inactive, or at least had been since the destruction of Sauron, but it was still an awe inspiring sight to behold. Its dark silhouette loomed up before the blue skies behind it. Míril enjoyed looking at it more than the surrounding sights.

While most of the bodies of both men and orcs had been disposed of by the gondorians sent to Mordor for clean up, there were places you could tell had been piles of dead bodies. It reeked of death everywhere. Death and suffering.

No one was much inclined to speak, so sobering was the world around them. When they at last reached the large crossroads, they made a camp for the night. There was no wood anywhere to use to make a fire, so they merely wrapped their cloaks around themselves and started to eat what meager food they had brought.

"Sauron certainly took after his master," Maglor sighed as he volunteered to take watch for as the only full elf he had little need for sleep. "This reminds me very much of the kind of destruction caused during the Nirnaeth Arnoediad."

The Battle of Unnumbered Tears. Míril recognized the title the elves had given to that fateful battle. Thousands had perished, including the then High King of the Noldor, Fingon the Valiant. Killed by Gothmog, Lord of the Balrogs, even as he battled several others of those cursed Maiar. Mighty indeed had been Fingon.

Míril had always aspired most to Fingon. She had loved studying him in Rivendell. It occurred to her that Maglor had known Lord Fingon. Personally!

She looked in awe upon the elf lord. It really was sinking in how much of her favorite stories this elf had seen first hand. It intrigued her so much that when Elladan and Elrohir had both drifted off to sleep, Míril was still restlessly tossing and turning, endless questions about Fingon on her mind.

"What keeps you awake?" Maglor eventually asked her, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the twins.

Míril started, surprised that Maglor had sensed her wakefulness. She sat up slowly and wrapped her cloak around her tighter for the chill of Mordor was potent. She glanced at the twins. She had to be quiet.

Getting up, she tiptoed over to where Maglor sat on a large boulder and sat down on the ground beside it. She bristled from the cold and wondered how Maglor wasn't chilly.

Elf, she reminded herself, He's an elf.

"You knew Fingon the Valiant," she said, trying to mask her excitement.

Maglor stiffened. "Yes. I did."

"What... What was he like?" Míril asked curiously.

Maglor sadly looked out across the desolate plains of Mordor. He was remembering all too vividly the battle that saw the all but absolute destruction of the Host of Beleriand. Of the people who fought, only the host of Turgon had survived with enough substance to continue for another day. Everything but that which was protected by the Girdle of Melian had been razed.

"He was a master at the sword," Maglor said at last. "Gifted with a bow as well. He was one of the most honorable elves I've had the privilege of knowing. And he was my brother Maedhros' closest friend."

"What about your brothers? What were they like?" Míril looked wistfully out into the dark of Mordor.

"All were filled with a fire that burned too hot." He sighed. "But they were my brothers. They -we- fell victim to our own pride and rashness. I like to believe we are not evil, yet corrupted and tricked by it into emulating the very thing we swore to destroy."

He paused and hung his head for a moment, looking at a ring on his left hand. She could not get a good look at it and she wondered what it was. But his face and tone said it all.

Miril noted the regret in his voice. "You miss them."

"Of course I miss them," he bit back. "I am all the remains of my family!"

Míril looked at him sadly. "No. You are not."

Maglor looked at her face, puzzled, before he realized what she meant. She was family. For a moment he saw in her eyes the eyes of his mother, of his father, of his brothers. She had a spark in her, a spark of fire. A spark that they shared. Maybe he wasn't so alone.

"You would be wise to be afraid of sharing blood with a kinslayer," was all he murmured as he turned away and watched the gloom around them.

Míril sighed inaudibly but nodded. He was right. She had to be careful of her emotions; she had to keep them in check. They were very strong in all regards. As she lay back down to sleep, thoughts and imaginings of what the Elder Days must have been like filled her mind. Bright banners of blues and reds and whites and golds. Brilliant armor that shone in the sun and moon. All the glory of what she imagined these days to have been like flooded her dreams.

When she awoke in the morning, the others were getting out food. Elrohir tossed her her breakfast of bread while Elladan fed Bill. Meanwhile, Maglor was examining their map, trying to make sure they were at the correct junction.

"It should take us another three days of travel if we continue to stop and rest each night," the elf told them as they finished eating. "We could potentially walk through a night or two."

"We can decide when the time comes." Elladan shrugged. "For now it is enough to know that we will soon be crossing into Nurn. That land does not belong to us, but is a free country. The former mannish slaves have set up there."

"It may very well be perilous to enter," agreed Elrohir. "But we must. We need to trade for more water and food and firewood."

"We will be fine," Míril insisted. "The will of the Valar is with us."