The elven host saw the firebomb explode, turning the dark sky into day for a brief moment. Galadriel raised her sword aloft, and the army began to advance across the dead plain. 

Glorfindel could barely make out the shape of Hadar waving a torch to and fro atop the ramparts, before he disappeared amongst a horde of orc warriors. His heart quickened in anticipation of the battle to come... The battle that would end the war, one way or another. 

He rushed through the gates with his elven brethren, cutting down any orc who stood in his way. His bright blade soon became stained with the black ochre of the enemy, but he did not falter as the bodies of the dead orcs began to pile up all around them. 

Through the chaos of battle, he could clearly see the keep of the dark fortress, stark and menacing now that they were close to it, and knew that they must reach it if this battle were to end. 

"To me! To me elves of Rivendell and Lorien! To me!" He cried, prying a banner from the hands of a dead elven warrior and rallying his allies with it. They gathered about him, strengthened in their resolve at the sight of the legendary hero who, to them, had stepped right out of myth and onto the battlefield. They let out a cry that froze the hearts of the orcs with fear, and as one they rushed headlong into the fray once more. 

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The rangers' footsteps pounded on the pavestones as they fled the flaming monstrosities, intent only on escaping. Gerithor quickly beheaded one of the creatures that had caught up to them, not slowing his pace as he continued after his companions. 

Suddenly, one of the creatures leapt down from a nearby wall, landing atop the other ranger. He cried out in pain as the burning hands of the beast clawed at him, rending his flesh from his bones. 

Gerithor dropped his bow and fumbled for his sword, his hands shaking with fear. Just as he drew it, an arrow pierced the creature's head and it fell to the ranger's side, dead. Gilian fitted another arrow to her bowstring and ran over to the ranger. 

"Dead," she said solemnly, her voice quivering in fear. Gerithor grabbed her arm and they began to run again. 

"Quickly, there's no time!" He exclaimed. He looked over his shoulder to see several more of the burning creatures following them. He could now clearly see that they were goblins, but they had been drenched in oil or some other sort of fuel and then were lit aflame. The thought caused him to shudder with revulsion. 

As they ran, they quickly gained distance from the creatures, some of which plummeted from the walls behind them as the flames consumed them. Over time, the screams slowly faded until they were alone once more. They looked around nervously, certain that another ambush was only seconds away. The sound of their heavy breathing was the only thing to pierce the silence that now seemed to surround them like a thick veil. 

"Did we lose them?" Gilian asked uncertainly, casting a fearful glance at Gerithor. 

He nodded slowly, adjusting his grip on the sweat-saturated hilt of his sword. "I think we lost them." 

"You lost them, perhaps," A seductive voice called out, echoing on the empty walls of the hallway. "But you found me." 

Zaskia emerged from an alcove in the wall, clad in black armor and wearing a crowned helm of black steel. She looked like a spider who had caught her prey in her web. 

"Your time has come, witch," Gerithor said, his voice resolved. "The end is near." 

"Oh yes," she purred. "The end has indeed come. But it is you who near your end, and all your ilk. For as we speak, the Dark Lord is reclaiming what was once his."

Gerithor's eyes widened and she continued, a smirk forming at the corners of her lips. "You know of what I speak. The One Ring returns to Mordor. You have seen it, as have I. A Dark Lord, reformed and reborn, with the Ring to rule all Rings upon his finger." At this she raised her hand, and two shadows formed behind her. 

"Nazgul..." Gerithor whispered fearfully, taking a step backward. "We do not have the strength to face them." 

Gilian drew her bow back, aiming at Zaskia. "It is your end that comes, not ours!" 

Zaskia laughed, a cruel, evil noise that filled the rangers' hearts with dread. "Brave... For a little girl." At this she produced a dagger from her sleeve, and with blinding speed threw it. Gerithor barely had time to duck, the whoosh of the blade mere inches from his ear. Gilian let loose her arrow, but the sorceress blocked it with her staff. The two Nazgul advanced forward, turning into visible spectres both terrible and royal to behold, cast in a ghostly blue light. One wore the ancient helm of a Numenorian, and the other wore a dark hood and scarf that obscured his face, but his garb was that of a Ranger. 

"Gurz katu, Mabram-Gajal," the second wraith hissed, raising his sword aloft and bringing it down in a swift motion that Gerithor just barely managed to block. As he recovered he saw a third wraith arrive out of the corner of his eye, dressed in long flowing robes and the armor of a Gondorian soldier. 

They could not face three ringwraiths, this much Gerithor knew. But there was no retreat now. They were surrounded. 

Gilian fired her bow once more, the arrow barely missing Zaskia. The sorceress advanced and drew a jagged dagger, its blade wreathed in fire. Gilian dropped her bow and drew her own sword, running to meet Zaskia with a shout of determination. 

Gerithor went on the offensive, knowing he had to buy time in the hope that allies would arrive. The hooded wraith retreated under the blows, his haunted eyes narrowed. 

Gerithor knew he had made a fatal error as soon as he struck. His blade missed and he overshot, leaving himself wide open. The wraith drew a dagger and sliced quickly, leaving a shallow but painful cut in Gerithor's side. He bit his lip to suppress a cry, spinning to counterattack. The wraith leapt back with surprising agility, flourishing his blade and wielding the dagger in his left hand. 

From out of nowhere a white flash of light appeared, blinding wraith and ranger alike. When it faded, Glorfindel was there, his keen blade dancing to and fro. The Nazgul fled upon seeing him, returning once more to their dark-cloaked forms as they ran away. Zaskia screamed for them to come back, but it was almost as if some invisible power drew them away, for they seemed to neither hear nor see her as they ran past. 

Glorfindel stood tall, his blade at the ready. "Not so brave now that you're the one who's outnumbered, are you?" He asked, a dangerous smile forming on his lips. 

The sorceress turned back to them and glared. "I still wield more power than all of you!"

"Oh, is that so?" Another voice said from behind the rangers and Glorfindel. They parted as Galadriel strode forward, an elven blade in her fair hand. Zaskia visibly paled, taking a fearful step backward. 

"You have no power here, in the darkness," Zaskia spat, her lip curling in revulsion. "Your only power is light, and none can be found here!" 

"How far you've fallen, Zaskia of Arthedain," Galadriel replied, a hint of sorrow in her voice. "You were a trusted friend, once. Now look at you. Nothing but a shadow of Sauron, a puppet for him to manipulate as he wills." 

Zaskia scowled. "Do not speak as if you know me, she-elf. The Zaskia you knew is long dead." 

Galadriel shook her head, her eyes closing for a moment before fixing on Zaskia with a deadly glimmer. "Then it will not sadden me to end you." 

She drew a vial out of her cloak, and from it a bright light emanated that filled the hall with a peaceful glow. Zaskia raised her hand, and a darkness began to come from it that pushed back the light. 

"My sorcery has far surpassed yours, Witch of Lothlorien. While you've hidden in your forest, I have been learning spells long lost to the ages," she growled as she pushed back the light until it was a mere dome around Galadriel and her companions. 

Galadriel fought to push back the darkness, but it was suffocatingly powerful. "Gerithor, quickly! Go out into the darkness and face her! You're the only one who can!" 

Gerithor looked back at her uncertainly. "How? If you cannot, how am I supposed to?" 

Galadriel's icy blue eyes locked onto his. "Remember. Remember everyone you have lost, ranger. And remember who you still have to fight for. Remember the warrior from your visions." 

Gerithor closed his eyes, and as he did the elven warrior appeared in the mists of his mind, clad in his silver armor and blood-red cloak, his fair hair blowing in the wind. 

"Help! Now is the time you spoke of!" Gerithor shouted desperately. The warrior turned and approached him. 

"Yes, it is. You have remained true, and the end of all things draws near. Draw near now, and wield my power!" He suddenly rushed forward, seeming almost to run through Gerithor. 

The ranger opened his eyes, and he felt a power he had never felt before. It was greater than the rage he had felt at the death of Flicker, greater even than when he had seen the life leave the eyes of Khanar the Easterling. 

He let out a mighty cry, and as if it were thin glass the darkness shattered into a thousand pieces and gave way to the light. His eyes glowed with blue fire as he strode forward like an ancient king of old, his sword held aloft. 

"This is your last chance to surrender," he said menacingly. At that moment, it was not his voice speaking, rather it was that of the elven warrior of old. 

Zaskia's mouth dropped and she backed away in fear. "No... It's impossible." 

"Ah, so you remember me!" The voice replied. "It is indeed I,  Eärendil, father of Numenor and slayer of Ancalagon the Black. Look upon me and despair, for your death is at hand." At this, even Galadriel seemed surprised. 

Zaskia fell to her knees, her hands held in front of her and her demeanor changed from that of the victor to that of the loser. "Please, m'lord, show mercy!" Her voice was desperate, and she was shaking in fear. 

"Mercy..." Gerithor mused, his voice still that of  Eärendil. "Ah, but that is a foreign term to your tongue, witch. You would have us show mercy only to turn on us the moment we turn our backs. But," he continued, striding forward until he was mere inches from her. "I will show mercy." 

Her eyes brightened, and she looked up. "Thank you, my lord. I will forever remember that-" 

She trailed off when Gerithor drew his dagger, the distinct sound of the blade unsheathing reaching the ears of Galadriel and the others. "For your crimes against the people of Middle-Earth, and your crimes against my people in the past, you are sentenced to death." 

"B-but you said-" Zaskia protested, scrambling back on her hands and knees. 

"I said mercy,"  Eärendil snapped back. "But I never forgot your alliance with my enemies. And the people of Middle-Earth will never forget your alliance with theirs. Death is a mercy, compared to the alternative." 

"No! You cannot! I will-" Her pleas were cut short by the dagger's piercing embrace, and her body fell to the ground as her life left her. As it hit the pavestones, the dark stormclouds seemed to disappear, and the sun shone down upon the fortress. The darkness fled the halls of Dol Guldur, and gave way to a light that they had never before seen. The orcs fled in fear as man, elf, and dwarf alike took heart at the sight of the sun and attacked with renewed effort throughout the fortress.  The fire behind Gerithor's eyes faded and he fell to his knees, dropping his dagger. 

Gilian ran to him. "It's over... It's done." 

Gerithor looked up after a moment, his eyes rimmed with tears. "Finally..." It was over. Against all odds, he had succeeded in his quest. The thought filled him with peace. His family had been avenged. They could rest now.

Galadriel stood over the body of Zaskia, but a faint smile lit up her eyes. "It is indeed over. The Ring has been destroyed, I can feel it. Like a burden being lifted from my heart." She held up her hand and looked at her own Ring as if for the first time. 

Glorfindel joined them and let out a joyful laugh. "After all these years... Sauron will never return." 

In the distance, the cheers of elves, men, and dwarves could be heard as the news reached them as well. Never before had such happiness been heard in the cold walls of Dol Guldur... But as a new age dawned, it would certainly not be the last time.

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