𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖒 𝖔𝖋 𝕾𝖆𝖚𝖗𝖔𝖓

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔖𝔦𝔵𝔱𝔶-𝔖𝔦𝔵

"What's the deal with these mountains?" Gimli asks.

"It is a cursed place Gimli. It is a horrid place. They were called to fight but when Gondor's need is most, they fled into the mountain. So... they were cursed. Never to rest. Never to see the sun." Legolas says.

"Well... that's frightful." Gimli says. 

I grip my sword. I am Aragorn son of Arathorn. I am the rightful king of Gondor. I have to reclaim the throne. I have to summon up an army greater than any army of Mordor. My heart pounds. The weight of the world feels like it's on my shoulders. I feel terrified but I know what I must do.

But it terrifies me. For so long I sought to escape my frightful destiny. I never wanted to be a king. I never wanted to be an elf lord either. I wanted to be one of the rangers. A Dunedain. I never wished for a destiny so great. I jump off the horse.

"We must go quickly but where we're going the horses will not be able to follow." I say.

Legolas nods. He releases the horses. 

"Gimli come." He says.

We approach a archway. A door. I grip my sword. I light a torch and grip it. There is some inscription. Old. Ancient. Not Sindarin or the black tongue of Mordor. I examine it. I hear a hollow voice from the cave.

"The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead. The way is shut." Legolas translates.

"I do not fear death." I charge into the cave.