The room fell silent.
King Robert leaned back heavily in his chair, rubbing at his brow.
"Then speak."
"Tell us exactly what happened."
"And leave nothing out."
I drew a slow breath.
"I found Lady Arya Stark and Mycah, the butcher's son, beside the Trident."
No one interrupted.
"They were playing at knights with wooden swords."
Arya looked at the floor.
"Prince Joffrey approached with Lady Sansa."
Joffrey opened his mouth.
Robert lifted one finger.
"Quiet."
I continued.
"Mycah offered no threat."
"The prince drew steel."
Queen Cersei's expression hardened.
"He ordered the butcher's boy to defend himself."
"With a wooden stick."
Robert's face darkened.
"He cut the stick in half."
"He advanced."
"Lady Arya struck the prince with her own stick to stop him."
Arya's eyes widened slightly.
I continued before anyone else could speak.
"Mycah fled."
"The prince pursued him."
"Lady Arya threw a stone."
"It struck the prince."
"His sword fell."
"Lady Arya threw it into the Trident."
Joffrey exploded.
"She lies!"
"I do not."
"You—"
Robert slammed his fist against the table.
"Enough!"
The room shook.
"You've had your say."
He turned toward me.
"The wolf?"
"Bit the prince after he rushed Lady Arya."
"And?"
"Lady Arya immediately called the wolf off."
Silence.
Robert looked from me to his son.
Then to Arya.
Then to Lord Stark.
Finally...
He sighed.
"Seven hells."
He sounded tired.
Not angry.
Just tired.
"So that's the truth of it."
Queen Cersei stepped forward.
"My son was attacked."
"He was bitten."
"He bears the marks."
"He was," I answered.
Her eyes snapped toward me.
"But not before he threatened another child with live steel."
For the first time, genuine hatred settled in her gaze.
Robert stood.
"I've heard enough."
He looked at Ned Stark.
"You'll see your daughter punished."
Ned inclined his head.
"I will."
"Cersei..."
Robert sighed again.
"The wolf's gone."
"The matter ends here."
"It does not!" Cersei hissed.
But Robert had already turned away.
The audience was over.
The butcher's boy never returned.
Soldiers searched the woods until nightfall.
Father quietly told me he hoped Mycah had simply run home.
I hoped so too.
Though something in my heart doubted it.
The following morning, the royal procession prepared to depart.
The inn slowly emptied.
Tents disappeared.
Cookfires died.
The Kingsroad once again filled with wagons and banners.
Mother embraced me before returning to the kitchens.
Father clapped me on the shoulder.
"You ride back to Fairmarket tomorrow?"
"I do."
"You'll give Lord Lucias our thanks?"
"I will."
"And Damon?"
I smiled.
"I'll tell him you finally admitted he was right."
Father snorted.
"Don't you dare."
The last royal wagon rolled away shortly after midday.
Dust settled slowly over the road.
For the first time in three weeks...
The crossroads felt quiet.
Almost lonely.
I decided to ride a short distance after the procession.
Not to accompany them.
Simply to make certain no travelers had been left behind.
Old habit.
Damon would have approved.
The Kingsroad wound south through patches of woodland.
The sound reached me first.
A horse.
Running.
Too fast.
I turned in the saddle.
A rider burst from the trees.
He wore no colors.
His face was hidden beneath a hood.
The crossbow was already raised.
There was no warning.
The bolt struck my chest.
The force threw me backward from the saddle.
I hit the ground so hard the world vanished into white.
Somewhere...
My horse screamed.
The rider dismounted.
Heavy boots approached through the grass.
I tried to reach my sword.
My arm wouldn't move.
The hooded man knelt beside me.
I couldn't see his face.
Only a gloved hand.
Pain exploded across the back of my head.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Hours later...
Father found my horse.
It had wandered back toward the inn alone.
The saddle was stained with blood.
Search parties rode until sunset.
Then through the night.
Then the next day.
They found broken brush.
Blood.
A snapped crossbow bolt.
My sword.
But never...
My body.
The singers would later say that Ser Talion Rivers, the innkeeper's son who became a knight of House Vypren, died upon the Kingsroad in the year 298 AC.
His parents buried an empty coffin.
Lord Lucias ordered a cairn raised where the horse had been found.
Ser Damon Vypren stood through the entire funeral without speaking a single word.
When everyone else had gone...
He remained alone beside the empty grave until nightfall.
Because even he...
Could not quite believe there was no body to bury.
The realm believed Ser Talion Rivers was dead.
That's actually a compelling crossover premise, and it can work surprisingly well if you treat it as a mystical event rather than literal game mechanics.
Since Talion (your OC) knows Shadow of Mordor/Shadow of War as a game, he would immediately recognize Celebrimbor when he awakens in this strange afterlife. At the same time, this should be Celebrimbor after the ending of Shadow of War—after Sauron has broken their union and the elf has been cast out as a disembodied spirit. He's proud, bitter, and has just failed in his centuries-long quest.
Here's how I'd write the opening of that chapter.
Chapter 17 – Beyond Death
Darkness.
Not the darkness behind closed eyes.
Not the darkness of a moonless night.
This was...
Nothing.
No sound.
No wind.
No pain.
Only an endless void stretching farther than thought itself.
I remembered the crossbow.
The bolt.
The hooded man.
Then...
Nothing.
"So."
A voice.
Calm.
Ancient.
"You finally awaken."
I opened my eyes.
There was no sky.
No ground.
Yet I stood all the same.
Silver mist drifted beneath my feet.
Before me stood a tall elf clad in battered silver armor.
His long hair shimmered like moonlight.
His face was handsome, though marked by an exhaustion no mortal could ever wear.
His eyes...
Blue.
Brighter than stars.
He regarded me with quiet curiosity.
I stared back.
"No..."
The word escaped before I could stop it.
The elf tilted his head.
"You know me?"
I laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because it was impossible.
"No..."
"This can't be."
His expression sharpened.
"You truly recognize me."
I took a hesitant step.
"Celebrimbor."
For the first time...
The elf looked surprised.
"My name has not been spoken by mortal lips in an age."
I swallowed.
"I know who you are."
"How?"
Because I'd spent hundreds of hours playing Shadow of Mordor and Shadow of War.
Because I'd watched him forge the New Ring.
Because I'd watched him betray Talion.
Because I'd watched him lose to Sauron.
How was I supposed to explain any of that?
"I..."
He waited.
"I know your story."
His gaze became almost suspicious.
"Impossible."
"You forged the Rings of Power."
His eyes narrowed.
"You opposed the Dark Lord."
Silence.
"You sought vengeance."
Another silence.
"You failed."
That last word lingered between us.
Celebrimbor looked away.
For a long time neither of us spoke.
Finally...
"You know more than any living man should."
"I do."
"You know I lost."
"Yes."
His voice carried neither anger nor shame.
Only emptiness.
"I did."
The silver mist around us stirred.
"I believed I could dominate him."
"I believed my will greater."
"I believed..."
He laughed bitterly.
"I believed many things."
"And now?"
"I have nothing."
His form flickered.
Only then did I realize he wasn't truly standing.
He was fading.
A spirit.
Untethered.
Alone.
"I am cast adrift."
"No world claims me."
"Not life."
"Not death."
"I simply..."
"...remain."
I looked down at my own hands.
Solid.
Real.
"Am I dead?"
"I believe so."
"I don't feel dead."
"Nor do I."
That earned him a small smile.
"You are unusual."
"I've been told."
"You should not be here."
"What does that mean?"
He looked directly into my eyes.
"Your soul..."
"It refuses to pass on."
A chill ran through me.
"I was murdered."
"I know."
"You witnessed it?"
"No."
"I felt it."
He stepped closer.
"There is rage within you."
"There is purpose unfinished."
"And..."
He frowned.
"There is something else."
"What?"
"I cannot see it."
Silence stretched between us.
Then realization struck me.
Slowly.
Painfully.
I looked at him.
"You need a body."
"I require one."
"I..."
My heart began to race.
I knew this story.
Not exactly.
But enough.
"You bound yourself to Talion."
Celebrimbor froze.
"...Talion?"
"The Ranger."
"A man of Gondor."
His expression became unreadable.
"How do you know that name?"
I smiled sadly.
"Long story."
"You don't have time for it?"
"I don't think either of us does."
He studied me.
"You speak as though destiny itself whispered in your ear."
"Not destiny."
I met his gaze.
"A story."
For the first time since I'd awakened...
Celebrimbor looked genuinely unsettled.
"You are unlike any mortal I have encountered."
"I know."
"And yet..."
He reached out.
His ghostly hand hovered inches from my chest.
"I sense..."
"...a will."
Strong.
Unbroken.
Refusing death itself.
"You wish to live."
"I do."
"You seek justice."
"I do."
"So do I."
Our eyes met.
One mortal.
One ancient elf.
Both betrayed.
Both denied the ending they deserved.
Celebrimbor spoke quietly.
"I cannot restore your life."
"I know."
"But together..."
His hand remained outstretched.
"...perhaps we may refuse death."
I looked at it.
I knew exactly what accepting meant.
I knew how the story ended for the Ranger of Gondor.
But...
I wasn't Talion of Gondor.
I was Talion Rivers.
A knight of Westeros.
Maybe...
Just maybe...
This story could end differently.
I reached out.
Our hands touched.
Silver fire erupted through the void.
The world shattered.
And somewhere on the Kingsroad of the Riverlands...
The corpse of a fifteen-year-old knight drew its first breath.