Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.
Trigger warning: This chapter contains graphic imagery related to self-harm and suicide.
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The moonlight shone silver on Sophia's mask, bright despite the gathering clouds. It washed out the pale face of the little girl beside her. It set the snake on Coil's costume aglow. It glistened on Armsmaster's blue armor.
I stared down at Sophia, and she stared back up at me. The night was warm and damp; the silence was frigid.
Without a word, I stepped off the roof. My feet touched the pavement with a gentle click and a faint rattling of my armor as I absorbed the shock. That was the only sound to cross my ears. Even the sound of gunfire from inside Coil's base seemed to have died away, or perhaps I simply didn't care to notice it.
Sophia knelt and rolled Coil's unconscious form off of her shoulder. She did it carefully, almost gently, as though she was afraid of hurting him. As his arms flopped down to the ground, I saw the stark absence of the Ring of Fire on his finger.
She stood up again. Her eyes had never wavered from me. She spoke then, but not to me. "Dinah, run," she ordered.
The little girl didn't move. She was frozen as surely as if I had encased her in ice, her eyes wide, her whole body shuddering like a leaf in a windstorm.
Sophia reached down, still without looking, and took her hand, squeezing gently. The girl blinked. "Go," Sophia murmured.
Dinah turned and fled down the street. I didn't move to stop her. Why should I? The city was mine. I could always recover her later. Right now, I had more pressing concerns.
"Armsmaster, go help the others," Sophia said.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Armsmaster turn to stare at her. "Shadow Stalker—"
"
Do it." Sophia's voice was firm.
After a last glance at me, Armsmaster turned and jogged back down into the base. I let him go, too. Dragon and the others would catch him.
Sophia took two steps sideways, away from Coil, still watching me. I followed her with my eyes, but otherwise didn't move.
"Hey, Taylor," she said, finally breaking the silence.
"Hello, Sophia." My voice was low, and I found that it was practically emotionless. I couldn't find the anger which had driven me not ten minutes ago. What should I be feeling? Sadness? Hurt?
Cenya flared faintly on her finger. My eyes narrowed. It, too, had something to answer for, if it would dare betray the Lord of the Rings.
"Did you know?" Sophia asked suddenly.
I cocked my head minutely.
"That Dinah was so young," she said, the words heavy with useless sorrow. "She can't have been twelve. Did you know you were working with someone who was keeping a little girl locked and drugged up in his basement?"
"No," I said. It was the truth.
"But it wouldn't have stopped you if you had."
I didn't bother replying. We both knew the answer.
"Coil was a monster. You have to
know that, Taylor! Are you really going to stop me from taking him in?"
"Of course not," said I. "Coil's served his purpose. He helped us defeat Nilbog, he's helped me bring the city under control… and now he's brought you back to me. That's more than enough."
Her fists clenched. "Brought
me to you…?"
"It's time to come home, Sophia."
She swallowed. "I want to go home," she said, and her words were layered with grief and shame. "But I don't know if I have one, any more."
"Home is where the heart is," I said, and a faint smile came to my lips as she shuddered.
"Don't," she whispered. "Please."
"It's the truth." I sighed, allowing a gentle, almost suggestive tone to enter my voice. "It doesn't have to be this way, Sophia. I'm willing to put it all aside if you are. Come home. Come back to me."
A faint, tearful chuckle escaped her. "Huh. That's my line." She looked back up at me. "I'm not giving up," she said, a sad smile in her voice. "I know there's still good in you. I know the girl who saved me, who led me against Bakuda and Leviathan, who held me as I cried, is still in there."
"I stand before you," I said. "Please, Sophia. I know things have changed since last we met, and I know it can be frightening. The world is a dark and awful place. The only refuge we have is in one another."
"That's not what you mean." Her voice was a gentle sigh, a whisper on the wind. "You mean that the only refuge we have is in
you."
"No," I said, shaking my head. "You seem determined to think of me as a monster, unwilling or unable to care about people. I do. I care about Dragon, and the Wards, and everyone in this city. And I'm worried about you." My voice had been joyful, glad to finally see her again, but a measure of disappointment started to creep into it. The tone was copied from memories of my mother. "You can't run away from your fears like this, especially not with your probation. I promise, we can sort everything out, but you need to work with me."
She sighed. Her head turned to look up at the building clouds above, and a few seconds passed. "No," she said, so quietly I could barely hear her.
"I can't let you leave," I said, injecting some regret into my voice as I raised Búrzashdurb. "Please, Sophia. I don't want to fight you. Don't make this hard."
She reached up and pulled off her mask. It fell to the ground with a clatter, immeasurably loud in the silent tension of the night. Our eyes met. She was smiling through her tears. "You keep stealing my lines," she said, reaching for her belt. With a sharp ring and a flash like lightning, Narsil emerged.
My eyes widened. So
that was where that treasonous sword had gone this time. "Where did you get that?"
"It came to me," Sophia said, closing her hands on the hilt in a practiced grip.
"You mean you stole it, just as Coil stole Narya," I said, the disappointment in my voice growing darker and stormier. My grip tightened on Búrzashdurb. "That sword is dangerous, Sophia. As dangerous as any Ring of Power."
She chuckled. "It's a weapon," she said. "It's
supposed to be dangerous."
"To
you, Sophia. That is the Sword of Kings, the Last Blade of Númenor. And it wasn't meant for you. I'm sure you've felt its effects..." I averted my eyes for just a split second, as the perfect story came to me. "Now I know why you changed."
Her eyes widened. "You—"
"The sense of importance," I said. "The sense of
righteousness. This ironclad stubbornness that renders you all but deaf to me. Did you think that was natural? Did you think it was real?"
She stared at me. Then her gaze shifted, slowly, to her hands, still clutching the sword.
"Please, Sophia," I said.
Nearly there. Without Narsil, she will fall. "I'm sorry. I should have known you'd be vulnerable. I should have warned you. But… you were my best friend, Sophia. You were strong and noble and
beautiful without Narsil. You didn't need it then, and you don't need it now. So please… please put that sword down. I promise we'll talk, the moment you can see clearly again."
Her gaze remained fixed on her hands.
No… her
hand. Her left hand. Her left hand which slowly came away from the blade. Her left hand on which Cenya lay, dull and dim, no longer able to work against its Maker.
"I knew this was coming," she said. Her voice was dull, lifeless. "I knew, after Coil. I didn't want to believe it. I hoped…." She sighed. "Okay. Fine." She sheathed Narsil with a ringing sound. Her right hand came up. The movement was slow and reluctant.
"Sophia," I said. My voice was rising unbidden. "What are you doing?"
She looked back to me. Her gaze fixed itself on mine, as though she were drawing strength from the sight of my eyes. "I know you're still in there, Taylor," she said. Her voice was rough with exertion as the fingers of her right hand closed around her ring finger. Around Cenya. "It's not over. Not yet. And if your Ring stands in my way, then..."
With an almighty heave, Cenya came free. She held it for a moment, twinkling in the night, before letting it slip through her fingers. It fell to the ground, landing with a quiet, sad clink on the pavement beside her mask.
I saw red.
"It's not enough that you betray me," I growled, beginning to advance. "That you strike me at my lowest again and again. Now you reject me completely. Maybe you thought you couldn't hurt me?" I let out a sharp bark of laughter. "You were wrong."
Her eyes were red, too. She looked so small, now, diminished as she was by the loss of her own Ring. She was shaking as if in cold. But as she drew Narsil, her grip on the sword was steady. "I'm sorry, Taylor," she said quietly. "But I haven't given up yet."
"Too bad," I said, my voice deep and dark. "You just lost your chance."
I swung Búrzashdurb, leaping forward in an instant, and Sophia barely caught it on her blade. Even as she staggered I raised the mace again for another blow. I drove her back, each strike dealt with my full strength. Weakened as she was, it was as much luck as skill that allowed her to deflect each blow. But her luck would soon run out. By the look of horror in her wide eyes, sparkling and emerald-green, she knew it too.
A few more blows, and she was up against the wall, her elbows pressed against it. She could scarcely even swing Narsil now. She caught one last blow with the flat, and it sent her sprawling. Narsil clattered to the ground beside her, just out of her reach. She tried to get up, to crawl towards it, but I put my booted foot on her back, and she went down, her fingers splayed, barely brushing the hilt of the sword.
It was over.
I raised Búrzashdurb. "Goodbye, Sophia," I said. There was no warmth in my voice this time.
It all happened in the space between one heartbeat and the next. Even as I began to swing, Sophia surged forth in a mighty lunge. Her fingers closed on the hilt of Narsil. As the mace fell, she spun, knocking my foot away with an impossible surge of strength. And yet it still wasn't enough.
Narsil met Búrzashdurb, and shattered with a thunderous crack. Fragments sprayed everywhere. Armor and costume alike tore like paper.
The shards of Narsil embedded themselves within me. And I
remembered them. I remembered
everything.
The past I had tried to forget flashed before my eyes.
The spires of Thangorodrim crumbling beneath the bulk of Ancalagon. Celebrimbor's ruined body upon the rack. Númenor disappearing into the water. Barad-dûr crumbling beneath me as Orodruin consumed what it had once birthed.
I staggered back, visions bursting before my eyes like Olórin's fireworks. Distantly I was aware of Sophia screaming my name. "Mairon!" she was shouting—or was it "Sauron!"?
No. Neither of these.
The wall hit my back. I clutched at it with both hands, fighting to remain lucid, fighting through the pain and the awful sights and sounds which were flooding back.
Celebrimbor had betrayed me.
No, her name was Sophia.
Why did the sight of his body, torn and mutilated, hurt worse than the shards in my flesh?
I blinked, and the visions were gone. Sophia was staring at me. Her face was slack with naked horror. There was a long, ugly gash across her face, and it poured blood. My wounds too were bleeding, but blood was a mortal concern. I stood back up, almost angrily passing my free hand over my body, and the wounds closed. She laughed bleakly, her green eyes clouding over. "I almost thought I hurt you there, Taylor. You really tried to kill me, didn't you?"
Who was Taylor? I didn't quite remember. It didn't matter. A flex of my power, and Narsil's shards fell to the ground like so much trash. They sparkled there about my feet, cold steel eyes, accusing yet powerless.
How had Sophia gotten Narsil in the first place? Who gave it to her? She hadn't been a skillful wielder, yet it seemed proud and joyful in her hands even now. Even after she'd lost.
I shook myself out. I was fine. No blade so feebly wielded could truly harm me, not even Narsil. And so I advanced once more. She had betrayed me. She needed to die. I had to kill her. Because if I didn't…
"Are you… certain you won't surrender?" I found myself asking. The words sounded dull and muffled in my ears, my voice unfamiliar to me.
She laughed again, the sound crazed with grief. "Why would I? It's too late, isn't it?" She tried to lever herself back to her feet, but failed, slumping against the wall like a discarded ragdoll. "If I can't save you, what would be left for me?" With an exertion that looked desperately painful even to me, she stepped forward in front of me, her arms held out as if to block the alleyway, Narsil's shattered hilt still clutched in her hand. "This ends here. You'll have to go through me!"
A child could defeat her now. She was unarmed, badly injured, almost too weak to stand. She knew that, yet still she stood in my way.
Sophia's blood trickled down the wall. The crimson rivulet cut a path through a red eye painted onto the brick.
That mark had once been painted onto the shields of tens of thousands of orcs. It had been raised on bloodstained flags over Minas Ithil, over Osgiliath, over all of Rhûn. Now it decorated the walls of subways and alleys, and looked in no way out of place.
I stepped forward. Búrzashdurb scraped and sparked along the pavement as I dragged it behind me. When had it become such a burden?
There were so many things that didn't make sense to me any longer. How had Dragon been given her soul? I didn't give it to her. What had I told myself—that the Secret Fire had scattered, had perhaps been harnessed? The idea seemed suddenly laughable.
Soon I stood tall beside Sophia's prone form, staring down at her. Sweat dripped down my back, only partly a result of the warm night.
"You're taking your sweet time, aren't you?" Sophia made a weak, pitiful sound, halfway between a snort and a gasp. The pavement was stained with her blood. "This chance won't last long! Can't you kill one blind fool?!"
Her false bravado was unconvincing, and she knew it. She had given up. As I had used her as a tool, so now was she attempting to use me. I was the knife on her wrist, the rope about her neck, the barrel of the gun in her mouth.
A thin curtain of rain emerged from the clouds overhead. The drizzle fell upon my armor and dripped down in thin rivulets and streams. It ran down the haft of Búrzashdurb, falling to the ground in a tinkling stream.
Slowly, I raised the mace above my head, finally knowing what I had once been, what I would become once more the instant I brought it down.
Her eyes closed. A single tear glittered crystalline, suspended on her lashes.
I swung the mace. The black metal reflected no light as it fell towards her face, consuming the faint moonlight filtering through the clouds.
It stopped just short of her brow, perfectly still, frozen in time.
No.
I stopped.
I stared down at Sophia. Her brow furrowed, and then her eyes opened. They blinked at the mace above her, then sought mine. Her lips parted, a silent question on them. In the end, all that emerged was a single word. "Taylor?"
Taylor. My name.
Her eyes were so very green. Green as the turf in Valinor, as the purest emerald.
How had a man in a boat been able to sail all the way across the sundering seas to Aman? How had one man, with nothing but grief and a broken sword, struck unerringly at the one place where his enemy was weak? How had two young halflings and a half-mad beast managed to walk in the heart of darkness and destroy temptation itself?
How, in the end, after all had passed beyond myth, had one Maia who was too slow to learn from her mistakes found herself born again? How had she come to be in just the right place and time to hear Sophia Hess whisper the name of
Taylor in a broken voice?
The rain fell upon my armor. As it passed, soot came away, streaks of silver emerging from beneath the darkness. It rained also over the crimson eye upon the wall, and the paint began to run. Red droplets slid down into the gutter, whence it would pass away into the sea.
Lord of the Earth. That was what some had called me, once upon a time. A title I had craved, had striven for, had killed to gain. A title spoken with reverence by orcs, goblins, and the men under my sway—a title spat upon by those who resisted. As I remembered the sight of Celebrimbor upon the rack, and the hissing wails of nine souls in torment, I realized that the person who had borne that title was one I did not much like.
"Annatar!" The voice came from above. Dragon was here. She was coming. "Annatar, are you—"
"My name is Taylor." The words were faint but strong, because they were true.
Sophia was staring at me. Her eyes were bright. She didn't seem to dare to speak.
I straightened, and cast Búrzashdurb aside. The mace left cracks in the pavement as it landed headfirst. There it stood, half-upright, suspended in the asphalt.
A faint breeze came in from the west, cooling the warm evening, and I recoiled from it, knowing at last what it meant.
Dragon landed, staring between me and Sophia. "Ann—Taylor?" she asked, uncertainty and a little fear coloring her voice. "What's happened? What's wrong?"
I didn't look at her. My eyes remained fixed on Sophia's. They were so green. "I happened," said I. My eyes slid closed. "And I was wrong. I was
always wrong."
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
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