Collection of One-Shots

》returned

Lossel glanced over her shoulder and found that Talion's back was against hers. A second wave of Uruks came. A certain thrill swelled within her. It had been weeks since she had a decent fight.

She spun, driving her blade into the belly of an approaching Uruk Defender. Talion let out a savage grunt, having cleaved one of the creatures in two.

It was by chance that they had run into one another in the vast wasteland of Mordor. She had been hired by one of the Haradrim, Serka the Unkillable, to track a Marauder Captain and reclaim a stolen artifact. He and his mercenaries called the desert of Lithlad home, with its red stone and sand and were-worms.

Thus far, her search had led her across the burning plains of Gorgoroth to Seregost. It was there that she found him, pinned beneath the gnashing jaws of a ravenous caragor. Lossel had picked up a stray spear and drove it deep into the beast's neck. And so it came to be that they were now the last two surviving rangers of the Morannon.

Lossel wielded her dual swords with deadly proficiency. She moved with grace, dancing almost, an ode to the elven blood of her mother. With one sword she blocked an incoming blow, with the other, she dispatched another Uruk. Talion turned, seeing the heap of bodies that lay around her feet. It almost outnumbered the bodies that lay around him.

"Just like old times," she mused, flashing her teeth in a large grin that made him stumble on his feet. He remembered loathing her when she was appointed to his ranging party. Lossel would make a game out of killing Uruks, she delighted in it, even when she intentionally put herself in danger. Though now, Talion was quite pleased to have her fighting at his side, he lowered his sword and returned her smile with a worn smile of his own.

He saw the archer from the corner of his eye and knew that she had not. Talion gripped onto her forearm and twisted her around, putting himself in the line of fire.

Five poisoned bolts from the crossbow were in his chest, buried deep within his flesh and armor. Blood filled his mouth and lungs as he fell to his knees. He could taste the poison, bitter and sweet. "Talion!" She cried, shocked.

It took her a quick moment before she spotted the archer, reloading a set of bolts into his crossbow. Lossel pulled free her dagger and threw it as hard as she could manage, not even watching as it was embedded into the archer's eye socket. She knelt next to him, hands hovering over his chest, in disbelief. There was a thick lump in her throat.

Talion gripped onto one of the bolts and ripped it free from his body. His face twisted into a pained grimace. She tried to stop him from pulling the rest free, but he would not heed her pleas. It would make his death come quicker and his resurrection.

Biting down on her lip to stay the tears, she pressed down on the open wounds, but his blood seeped between her fingers, warm and red. "Listen to me," Talion said, gripping onto her forearm, "you must go."

Lossel shook her head. "I can't leave you," she refuted. It was one of the oaths she had taken as a Ranger, to never leave anyone behind. She wouldn't break faith today. Talion slipped his fingers into her hand and squeezed.

"You must. Go to the Barrows," he told her in a voice that was pained and fading. She didn't want to be alone in this world again. "On your feet, Ranger," she commanded, but he shook his head and his soft chuckle turned into violent coughing.

He fell silent and a moment later, his hand fell slack. "No," Lossel murmured as she slipped her arms around his unmoving body to hers.

She did not know how long she stayed there, holding his body against hers. Her eyes burned, her lungs heaved and yet, despite when she felt like there were no more tears to shed, she could not move. His blood had cooled, had seeped into her clothes and stained them, yet she could not let go. "Don't go," Lossel whimpered into the crook of his neck. She laced her hand with his, stiff and frozen.

Lossel laid him back and leaned forward, hesitant at first, she placed a soft kiss upon his cold lips.

It was a long trek across the frozen lake, one that she did not enjoy making alone. Her swords' sheaths had been lost. The points dragged against the ground and ice, leaving a set of footprints and two thin lines as her trail.

The sky was darkening and the cave was darker. A single rune carved into the stone wall told her that she had arrived. She lifted her bloodied hand to the stone doors of the ancient barrows and muttered the words that Talion had given her. "Nan iChîr Gelair." Lossel stepped back when the stone cracked and open.

Despite being a cavern, lanterns and enchantments provided light, but not warmth. She stepped into the Barrows, footsteps echoing, though what resounded the most was when her blades slipped from her hands onto the stone. The doors shut behind her.

She had nursed her own wounds and now laid back against one of the fallen pillars an attempt to rest. Though after having beheld Talion's unmoving body, she didn't think it would be possible.

His body had reformed in the Barrows. Coalescing in a puddle of melting snow. He shot up as air filled his lungs. The taste of poison lingered in his mouth. Even after all this time, Talion could not grow accustomed to the sensation of dying and waking up hours, maybe days, later.

He turned, seeing that Lossel had listened to him and returned here. Celebrimbor appeared as a wraith standing next to him and looked over at the woman with disdain. To the Ringmaker, she was a distraction, a hindrance in his pursuit to dominate Sauron. Talion paid him no mind and he disappeared into a cold silence.

He laid his hand on her shoulder and she jolted awake, reaching for a dagger that she no longer had. Lossel's eye adjusted in the dim light, though she still believed they were playing her for a fool when she saw who was now before her.

"Talion?" The Ranger stood there before her, clad in the same outfit, the same weapons, the same body that she had seen broken and bloodied and dead not hours before. He showed no sign of wear or injury, despite having passed away before her very eyes, and she looked upon him with wide eyes, mouth agape. "Talion!" Lossel exclaimed, throwing herself into his arms.

She saw the warmth in those silver eyes, ever so piercing and bright. She knew those hands, rough and large. She knew him. He looked upon her, as though a heavy weight were on his shoulders. A thousand questions came to mind, and thousands more drowned those out.

Eventually, he broke the silence. "I suppose we must talk," he said, quietly, "I...have not been entirely truthful with you."

In her travels, she had heard of a man, half wraith, half demon, whom they called the Gravewalker. She had found the tales too fanciful to believe. "What the Uruks say? It is true?"

Talion nodded. "I have been banished from death and bound to the elven-smith, Celebrimbor." He raised his hand to her cheek, fingertips ghosting over a long silvery scar that ran from her temple to jaw. Lossel's eyes slipped shut. "But I am glad to have found you again," he said, pulling her softly into his embrace, he held her tight against his body, caressing her hair.

The Ranger unclasped his torn cloak and draped it around her shoulders. It would be a cold night and he would not need it. Lossel met his tender gaze and it seemed that they both knew what came next. His lips brushed over hers with the same hesitancy that she had shown earlier, but Lossel pulled him closer, her hand on the back of his neck.

Talion parted and sat back. "Rest, we must depart in the morn." She gripped onto his wrist when he moved to stand. With a smile that he tried to hide, Talion laid back next to her and she nuzzled into his side.

Across the Barrow, Celebrimbor stood, displeased. His host was distracted and he would see that his attention returned to the quest at hand, even if it meant that sacrifices had to be made along the way.

Translation:
  Nan iChîr Gelair. - I am the Bright Lord.