A/N

I admit, I doubt neither Talion nor his wraith 'companion' will be so chatty in Shadow of Mordor, but...well, that's how I roll. Anyway, since Bound by Flame features similar spirit possession, sparked the idea for this.

Update (06/10/14): Crap, I've only just realized that I uploaded the wrong document to this fic. Came from me having a Halo/Marathon story of the same name and accidentally uploading the document. Anyway, it's corrected now.

A Different Kind of Demon

"You've met with a terrible fate haven't you?"

I stare down at the wretched man before me. He reminds me of Gollum in a way – always moping, always complaining, but still someone I sympathize with in that I know he cannot transcend his condition. So when I see the man's eyes, the red glow within them, enough to give even the Lidless Eye pause, I know what he is. But not who he is.

Does it matter?

No. I suppose not.

"You…" the man rasps, though it could be the voice of the demon inside him for all I know. "Get…get away!"

"Where?" I ask. "Where would I go? Where should I go? And what can you do to make me?"

The man roars.

Takes you back doesn't it?

No. It doesn't.

The man starts retching, again reminding me of Gollum. At least in motion. Gollum never coughed up blood on me, though I've been covered by blood so often, I suppose that doesn't matter.

The blood's still on your hands.

The wraith within me is more chatty than usual. Not that I deny it. I've long since grown accustomed to my fate. I've wandered as far as Ered Lithui in the north to the Sea of Nurn. I've killed orcs and helped fellow Men. I've seen the eye of the Enemy and stared right back.

Apparently undeath hasn't granted you humility.

Nor humanity. But finding what's left within me, I kneel down in front of the warrior.

"What's your name?" I ask.

There is no name, the warrior says.

I sigh. "Are all demons like this?"

There is no name.

"Granted I've never talked to a demon before. Don't think there's demons around these parts anymore. Course we've all heard tales of Durin's Bane and the fate that befell Moria, but-

There is no name.

"Yes there is," I snap, grasping the man's neck. "And whatever you are, wherever you're from, that won't change."

Did you tell Gollum that? the wraith within me asks. Or Sméagol?

I don't answer. Wherever that wretch is now, he is beyond my sight.

And yet you seek to help this one. Amends? Or does blood make the difference?

I meet the demon's eyes, in all their red fire. The blue light of my own stares right back. I think. There isn't much reflective material in Mordor, but on the rare occasion I see my reflection, it's always there. The wraith's light. A sign of what lies within, to show the world without. Men fear me. Orcs hate me. The Eye searches for me. So what, I wonder, does the demon see? Or feel?

How interesting.

I see something. A memory, perhaps. I see the walking dead. I see snow. I see fire, and the living wielding it. I see…I see nothing I haven't seen more. Death. Destruction. They're the constants of Mordor. Of Middle-earth. Of Arda. Why should this land be any different?

"Help…me…"

And the man speaks. I see into his memories. I see the demon taking him. I see him fight against the enemy, his actions mirroring my own. An endless battle. Isolation from one's fellow Men. We're like kindred spirits.

And I thought we had something special.

I ignore the wraith. Decades of undeath, and he doesn't even have a name. I think he regrets possessing me and just wants to enjoy the ride.

You wound me.

The wraith doesn't have a name. But as the fire in the man's eyes fade, I realize that he doesn't have a name either. Not now at any rate. It's been burnt away by fire.

"I can't help you," I say. "You can only help yourself."

"I can't…" he whispers. "Not anymore."

"Then you are lost," I say.

"But you…"

"Are just like you."

"No," the man says. "You still have a name."

I wince. For the first in ages, I feel pain.

"Talion…that is your name."

Talion. Literally "retaliation" or "revenge," in a forgotten tongue of Men. But it is meaningless. Who do I take revenge on bar the orcs I encounter daily? Who do I retaliate on behalf of? I'm dead to Gondor. I'm shunned by fellow Men. My name means nothing.

"Bound by flame," the man moans. "Bound by flame…still burning…always burning…flame! Fire! Awake!"

I start walking away. I am not bound by flame. Flame is of mortals. It is antithical to wraiths and the undead.

"Bound! Forever bound!"

Bound indeed.