For those of you that don't recognise the Endless, they are seven beings
who are something like gods. They don't rule the universe, but they do
represent it.
Destiny, Death, Destruction, Dream, Desire, Despair, Delirium. This might
make more sense if you know who they are.
This fic is very much unbeta-ed and I apologise for any errors.
Constructive criticism always welcome.
You do not choose your path. You walk it. You walk it to the weary end. It
leads from your door to your destiny. You cannot turn back. You do not
choose your path. For you, all paths lead to one doom.
You were chosen. Some might say chosen by Destiny. But I did not choose
you. I do not choose the path you walk, as I do not choose my own. I am
chained to my path as you are to yours. I am chained to my burden, as you
are to yours. I cannot turn the pages, yet. I cannot change the words that
are written. The road goes ever on and on, and we must walk it to the
weary end together, you and I. You are a part of the great tale and it is
still ongoing, and it will not end when your part in it is done.
Even I do not know what is written on the last page of the book.
Destiny is strong in you. You are of my realm. In your quiet home, in your
peaceful life, you might not have believed it, but already it would have
been true. The road was on your doorstep, it was laid out before you even
Every step you take leads you towards your doom.
Destiny's path is a maze. It twists, it turns, it doubles back upon itself.
But you cannot walk the same path twice. You cannot turn back.
Your burden is heavy and the way is long. Make your choices with care. I
cannot change the words that are written. All roads lead you to your doom.
Your destiny lies before you.
Your fire burned too bright, too fast. My sibling might have claimed you,
but the fire burned too fierce. You saved yourself from her, but there was
nothing left to keep you from me.
You are beautiful now. Peaceful, kinda. Yes, he weeps for you. He forgave
you, don't you remember? My captain my king and all that. Yes, you redeemed
yourself. The horn is broken. You killed many.
Will they be safe? It's not for me to say, but seeing as you're out for the
count as it were, I suppose I could give you a hint.
Look, they'll be fine. Just don't tell anyone I told you.
There, your brother stands by the river. You can see him, but you shouldn't
speak. He can see you like this, you know. He's a sharp one, that one. Good
man. He loves you. He's calling for you, but we mustn't stop. I'm sorry,
kiddo. I'd let you if I could, but I have to do my job.
Yes the armies are massing. Yes, Minas Tirith looks kinda small all of a
sudden, doesn't it? Don't fret for your city, kiddo. She'll do fine without
you. Faramir'll take care of her. Denethor'll be joining us soon, you see.
Wasn't supposed to tell you that either, but in for a penny, as they say.
That? It's called an umbrella. It's for keeping the rain off. Don't weep
for your tower, sweetcakes. She'll stand. But don't tell anyone I told you
What happens now? It's not for me to say. If you're ready? Take my hand.
I turn my back on you. Your dark towers, your massed armies, your malice
and your fear - I disown them. You are nothing to me. You do my job for me,
and I will not say I am glad, though I am well rid of it.
What is destroyed can often be rebuilt. But what is corrupt and evil must
be destroyed.
You walk in my realm, but I will not claim you as mine.
Stories and tales fall under my domain, and as Hero of this tale, you are
mine, little dream. I choose you. You will live out the dreams of your
ancestors, you will make real the dreams of your men, and they will follow
you as gladly as they follow their heart's desire. All men wish to follow a
dream. You are perfect. Soldier, healer, counsellor, friend. Yes, they
will follow you gladly, little dream, and love you for it. And you will be
the king returned and the dream restored. You dream of the White Tower,
safe and splendid and full of laughter and hope. And it is a good dream, a
wise dream, a true dream.
Ah, little dream, Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elessar, Telcontar, Estel. I
also know what it is to bear many names and walk under many guises, and to
love, and to cause pain. I choose you.
They say the dreams of men crumble into dust. And yet you must dream still,
or perish.
So sleep sound and dream deep. In the realm of dreams, you are under my
protection and no harm will befall you. Sleep, now.
The man of Gondor I wanted first for my own, but my sister claimed him
before I could make him mine. But you are cold and hard as a frozen lily,
all made up of want and need. I will make you mine.
I know what it is you desire. A passionate man, a loving man. Noble and
kind and kingly. He turns his back, but you will be faithful. Ride after
him, sweetheart, though he does not love you. Your heart desires it.
For you also wish for the freedom of the race and the thrill of the attack.
This you desire too, an end to the waiting, an end to the cage. An outlet
for madness and rage and frustration. This you desire. The right to let go
and be free. The right to hurt as you have been hurt.
And you wish for renown, for brave deeds well done. It is a noble desire,
child. It makes me smile.
So. Follow your heart's desire. Ride after your king. Glory in the chase
and fight the battle as best you may. And perhaps there you will find what
it is that you truly desire, little girl, little warrior maiden, little
horsemen's brat.
Perhaps my sister will be waiting for you, also.
We shall see.
Pride and despair are your sins. My hook is so deeply embedded in your
heart that there is no room for love or honour or any other thing that is
noble and good. Look in the mirror, Steward of Gondor. What stares back at
You are mine. You have always been mine.
I take no joy at this.
Twist the hook in your heart. Your sons love you not. Your city will fall.
The king will unseat you and throw you from your office. This you know not
because of your foresight, but because I tell you so. I whisper it to you
in the dead of night. You do not even know I am with you, but I stand
behind your left-hand shoulder when you take counsel, and when you look in
the mirror, I am what stares back.
The palantir is a mirror of the soul.
My sister is watching you. You will burn. As your son burned with honour,
you will burn with despair. You could set a fire in your flesh that burned
as fierce as the fire in your heart, and soon, all would be over.
I would take no joy in this.
Once you desired power. Desire is the mismatched twin of despair.
I twist my hook. My sisters watch you. Delirium and death, they will both
take you, but I will see this through to the very end.
I take no joy in this.
Pride and despair, old man. Pride and despair.
You have always been mine.
Sometimes you want things so much that it hurts and hurts and hurts and
hurts and it's hard to keep yourself together, and things start cracking
around the edges, and strange music plays like violins or maybe bagpipes
until you want to put your fingers in your ears and scream and scream and
scream and scream. Or maybe it's not music. Maybe it's honey bees singing
or water crying. Maybe it's a colour that no one's ever seen before, or the
inside of a circle. Is that a noise? I don't remember. Is there a word for
the noise that the inside of a circle makes when it's stuck inside your
mind and you can't make it be quiet, no matter how hard you screw your eyes
Probably not.
When you see it, the thing you want, you split in two and there are lights
in the darkness, sometimes, and sometimes you feel all soft inside and
sometimes so angry that you want to break things into tiny pieces even if
they're good things like puppies and kittens and frogs.
You want a fish. I had a fish once. I lost it.
I had a doggy too. But I couldn't take that here.
You follow your master like I follow my doggy. Sometimes it's good to
follow but sometimes you just want to run and run and run and run and hide
away close your eyes so no one can see you. Not listening, not listening!
I've got my fingers in my ears.
There's no one to not listen to, but that doesn't make a difference to me.
It doesn't make a difference to you, either. We're neither of us listening
to nothing. Sometimes when people say that they mean they're not listening
to anything. But I'm careful with words. If you don't treat them right,
they might bite. We're not listening to nothing. Nothing is screaming and
screaming and screaming and it wants us to listen, but we won't. Will we,
You like to be called precious.
I'll lie down in the darkness with you. I like your eyes. They're blue,
both of them. Pretty. Like streamers. Or stars. Or fish. I lost my fish. So
did you. It's been a long time since you had anyone to talk to that you
could talk to like me. I understand you. Or you understand me. Or maybe we
neither of us understand each other but we just think we do because we
think that we know what people are like when really people are just
strangers in the darkness.
The other one, the hobbit with the shiny sword and sad eyes, he's coming
closer to us now. He's not here yet, but soon we'll all be in the dark
together. We'll laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh and cry and cry.
Because that's what you do in the dark.
Maybe after we're all here together I'll be able to go home to my doggy.
Just in case you couldn't tell:
Frodo was chosen by Destiny
Boromir by Death
Destruction turned his back on Sauron
Aragorn was chosen by Dream
Eowyn by Desire
Denethor by Despair
And Smeagol by Delirium