Forgotten Queen

33

Mordor, such a vast and barren dark land full of orcs, and they came to oppose it only with a couple hundred of men and a dozen elves.

The foul air and sun hidden by the clouds of darkness was almost like staring at Barad Dur all those years ago.

Shrieks of fear. Screams of agony.

Turning around, the faraway look in the eyes of her warriors told the Queen they were all thinking the same. All of them, save for Astar and Isilyá were involved in the Battle of the Last Alliance. They all saw the horrors a war such as that offered.

They all knew of the heartbreak.

"We will survive this." Onethea encouraged, her hand coming to rest on Dainir's shoulder.

She could not promise their survival of course, they all knew they would probably die unless the Valar smiled upon them. But the words needed to be said. They needed to cling to hope, because that was all they had.

Legolas was the one who reminded Onethea of that the previous evening.

"Here or in Valinor." Dainir agreed, before his lips spread into a smile. "But just so you know, we expect a tour."

The Queen returned the small light hearted smile, before her features fell into an unreadable mask. Not a moment later, the expressions of the other elves mimicked hers. 

Legolas could clearly see why the great dangerous Minsay'lir warriors were so feared.

The prince knew, especially as a small party of them began riding closer to the Gates, that war was only moments away. For that reason, he too schooled his expression to one of indifference, hoping that he showed even half of the power Minsay'lirs held in just their eyes.

The Black Gates grew and grew in front of them. They stretched  high above the small group of warriors that came to talk with the enemy. The metal gates were closed and remained as such even after minutes of the free folk waiting.

"Where are they?" Pippin was the first to wonder.

"Let the lord of the Black Land come forth. Let justice be done upon him!" Aragorn called out in hopes of gaining a response.

And it worked. 

The gates slowly groaned open. Out came a servant of Sauron riding a horse clad in armor. The rider had a helmet hiding all of his face, except his strange mouth dripping with blood.

"My master, Sauron the Great, bids thee welcome." The mouth of Sauron said and Onethea's brow rose. She did not know since when Sauron was considered as Great. "Is there any in this rout with authority to treat with me?"

"We do not wish to treat with Sauron, faithless and accursed. Tell your master this, the armies of Mordor must disband. He is to depart these lands, never to return."

"Ah, old Greybeard." The Mouth turned to Olórin with obvious smugness. "I have a token I was bidden to show thee." From his robes he took out a shinny shirt of sturdy chainmail. All of them immediately recognized who it belonged to.

"Frodo." Pippin whispered, his voice cracking with pain.

The servant of Sauron threw the chainmail to Olórin so that he could confirm the authenticity. The Queen knew that even if the item was truly the hobbit's mithril shirt that they did not have the actual hobbit. If it were so, then the Mouth would not only present the chainmail, but would throw Frodo's head at their feet.

The others did not think that way.

"Frodo!" Merry shouted, but was silenced by the wizard.

"The halfling was dear to thee I see. Know he suffered greatly at the hands of his host." The Mouth taunted. The Queen knew that the statement would be true had they actually captured Frodo. She herself suffered greatly at the dark lord's hands. She had many scars to prove it. "Who would have thought one so small could endure so much pain? And he did, Gandalf. He did."