JRR Tolkien is the Great Creator of the Silmarillion and the Lord of the Rings. I own nothing. I earn nothing. Enjoy.
In the caverns far beneath the ruins of Mordor, they gathered.
Flames flickered as the Orc's filed into the great black antechamber, weapons clinking quietly . The remnants of the the once mighty host, worn from years of concealment, stood in the hall of Bar-al Dur for the fifth time since the Fall.
There was a cough and a growl. Then silence. The silence hung over the crowd, foreboding and dark, pressing down upon them like the great weight of the earth above.
The locked doors at the end of the hall creaked open ever so slowly, rusty hinges squealing in protest. The shadows parted slowly as the wane torchlight beat them back, giving the faintest glimpse of the room beyond.
A man stepped from the shadows.
Or was he?
Thin as a waif, his staff tapped unsurely on the jet-black stones as he completed the arduous trek to the podium awaiting. His hair and beard, whiter than the purest winter snow, cascaded down his body. They contrasted with the simple black robes hanging loosely over his slight frame.
As he reached the podium, the softest sigh seemed to escape his lips, and his eyes opened.
They shone bright amber, exuding a terrible aura which spoke of untold power. And suffering. So much suffering.
There was a sense of tortured resignation, of one who has watched ages pass and whither into dust.
Then. Sauron spoke.
In the beginning there was Eru, his deep voice resonating across the hall.
From his thought sprung Melkor, the greatest and wisest of the all the Ainur. It was decreed that he would go to Arda, and with his eternal wisdom shape Arda in the first era. With him, went many other spirits. They formed the Valar and Maiar, and together they worked to fashion the world.
He paused, reminiscing on an age which had passed so many eons ago.
Yet it could not last. Where there is beauty, there will always be jealousy, and when one forms light another shall be intent plunging the world into darkness. Melkor, brought the first light into the world. Two great Lamps were hung over Arda, bringing heat and joy into their world for the first time. Along with it, he brought the first orc's into existence.
The crowd shuffled at the mention of their race, impatient to hear how their ancestors had been woven into the fabric of the world.
Four times this story had been told, and as the decades passed, it was this narration which kept their hearts and souls strong. A faint glimmer of hope in a sea of darkness.
Their great harmony with nature gave them a resilience, beauty, and grace which was the envy of all. Melkor had worked day and night for a year, neither resting nor partaking in sustenance as he strove to create them. At last, his work complete, he brought them into Arda, where under the Two Lamps they flourished. He declared them perfect.
Yet, such harmony could never last.
Into the world Manwë, the spiritual brother of Melkor, brought elves and men. Aulë the lesser brought dwarves into the world, chiseled out of great stones beneath the earth. Each of these great races had their strengths. The dwarves hardy and rough, masters under the earth. Elves strong in magic, immortal to disease or age, and full of grace. The men noble of spirit and countenance, despite the brevity of their existences.
Despite these great strengths, they paled in comparison with the grandeur of Melkor's creations. At first, the Valar were appreciative of such beauty and praised Melkor for his work. Over time, they became jealous, envious of his accomplishments. They looked on his work with the constant reminder that Eru had created him the superior and they the inferior. Slowly this envy wormed its way into their spirits, twisted them from the harmony which the world had once enjoyed.
Manwë, the greatest of them beyond Melkor, felt especially cheated. While Melkor was journeying he gathered the other Valar and Maiar. Together, they hatched a sinister plan; unable to accept these superior workings of beauty, they became determined to destroy them.
Combined, they gathered their power and released great magics into the world. The Great Lamps were struck from the sky, plunging Arda into darkness.
The Orc's, however, suffered an even more terrible fate.
Their beauty was stripped, and in its place was a ghastly brutishness which struck fear instead of awe into the beholder. Their voices, once full of silky melody, were replaced with guttural snarls and growls.
Men, elves, and dwarves who once looked up with awe, now drove them out in hatred and fear. Many were driven mad, throwing themselves upon their swords. Others left their bodies to join with nature, becoming dryads and ents. Others remained resolute. Although the Valar could defile their appearance, they could not crush their spirit.
These faithful orcs banded together, and took up the arms of war against their oppressors. When Melkor returned to this chaos, to see his creations torn asunder, he was furious.
The Balrogs, powerful Maiar of fire and justice, orcs, and other beings loyal to him gathered for the first War. Despite his power, the combined might of the Valar was too great for even him to overcome. Melkor watched with despair as his people were scattered before the mighty Valar host. And so he fled. Overcome with shame at the failure to defend his peoples.
The symmetry of Arda was broken by the Great War, and Melkor fled to the new Eastern continent which he named Middle Earth. With him, came the remaining Balrogs, orcs, Ents, and the smattering of elves, dwarves, and men who had remained loyal to his cause. The Valar, left their shattered homeland and went west to the Isle of Valinor.
For a time there was peace.
Manwë and Yavanna wrought a new great light into Valinor, the Two Trees. Melkor in turn formed a greater Lamp, and hung it in the sky to bring light to the peoples of Middle Earth.
This uneasy truce would not last. The rift between the Valar had grown to wide, and the hatred which burned within Melkor for the destruction of his people could not be quenched.
Determined to outshine his former peers, Melkpr worked day and night, pouring his essence into a new piece of creation. The Silmarils. When at last the three jewels were completed, they shone with a brilliance and star-like beauty which captivated any who behold them. Tales of their beauty and brilliance passed through the great sea and came to the Valar on Valinor.
There, greatest smiths strived to recreate the secret which had gone into their creation, yet even with Aulë's aid it could not be done. No jewel they created was as flawless, nor as beautiful, nor shone as brightly as the ones which Melkor had crafted. Again, the jealousy grew greater with each failure to meet his perfection. This jealousy inflamed the rift of distrust which had grown between them.
Once more, the world prepared for war. The War of Wrath.
This time, Melkor was not caught unawares. In his capital on the Iron Mountains of Middle Earth, he had formed the great castle of Angband. Here he had amassed his men, orcs, elves, and Balrog's into a formidable machine of war. To battle the eagles of Manwë, he had made an alliance with the ancient and powerful dragons. Their gleaming scales were stronger than the most powerful armor and jets of fire as hot as the core of the earth.
Melkor was confident that now was the time of his revenge.
The Valar were no fools however, and they marched unto Middle Earth with the full strength of their mighty host. On the Plains of Ash the two armies met for the first time, and slowly Melkor's forces gave way to their foe. When they reached the doors of Angband, Melkor launched his mighty counterattack to destroy the Valar. Mounted Dragons streamed forth from his towering fortress, and armies streamed out of hidden gates led by Sauron, his loyal Maiar lieutenant. Melkor himself came forth with Grond, an iron crown with the silmarils perched atop his head.
The Valar quailed before this fearful sight, and it seemed as though Melkor would finally have his revenge. Then, the Valar released their secret weapon.
The hobbits.
The audience shuddered, giving fearful glances into the shadows at the mention of their most hated foes.
They were born into the world by Tulkas, and trained in the arts of hunting and war by Oromë in the deepest forests of Valinor; far from prying eyes of the Enemy. There diminutive appearance masked their grace and mastery of weapons. When provoked, they would fly into a terrible beserker rage during which fatal wounds bothered them no more than the bite of a gnat.
It was in this state that an army of Hobbits rose into the midst of their foes. Orcs fell like ninepins under their vicious assault, cries of fear emanating from nigh a thousand throats. The Valar rallied to their battle cries, as the Hobbits left naught but devastation and corpses in their wake. Melkor attempted to rally his troops against this terrifying new threat, striking again and again with Grond until the ground was filled with craters of blood.
But with each strike he tired, and each wound took its toll upon his tired form. Lord Took, king of the Hobbits dodged a strike from the hammer and slipped beneath his guard. He leapt forwards and with a mighty stab of his sword took Melkor through the heart.
Weakened from the prolonged battle, he could do little but watch as Grond slipped from his fingertips, and give unto his people a final blessing.
His eyes met Sauron's from across the field of battle, and with his final breaths whispered "protect my people, I...shall...return"
So Melkor, the first and greatest of the Ainur, creator of your peoples, and bringer of light returned to Eru.
And so ended the War of Wrath.
Sauron fled south to Mordor, far away from the wreckage of the great fortress which he had once been honored to call home. Determined to survive until he could gathered the scattered peoples of Melkor once more.
The Valar determined, with the fall of their enemy, to return to Valinor and forsake further interference in Middle Earth. Many hobbits, elves, men, and dwarves, however, remained after their rulers left. They persecuted the survivors of Melkor's brood without remorse, driving them from the habitable territories of Middle Earth.
It was in Mordor, that Sauron created Barád Dur, a safe haven for those faithful to their ancestry. Slowly, the haven grew and grew, until a sizable host of orcs flourished within the confines of the great mountain range.
It was this great success, which become their undoing.
Bands of orcs expanded beyond the borders of Mordor, and soon clashed with the nations just beyond their borders. When small, the enclave had remained hidden from the great hobbit and elf nations which ruled in concert over Middle Earth. As soon as they realized this great force which had been blossoming beneath their feet, they became determined to stamp it out.
Sauron realized the only way to preserve Melkor's peoples was to create a longstanding peace with these powerful nations. It was to this purpose he gave the leaders of each great nation a ring of power. He forged the One Ring secretly the depths of Mordor, an influence which would turn these leaders from the path of war.
Sauron, to his grave peril, had underestimated the powers of the Hobbit's leaders. Isildur Took sensed the One Ring the moment it was placed upon Sauron's hand, and destroyed his ring immediately.
Proclaiming deceit and treachery, he armed the Hobbits with renewed vigor. They were joined in strength by the elves, and together they marched on Mordor.
For a year they lay siege to the Black Gate at the entrance to Mordor. The casualties for both sides were great, as the allied armies smashed themselves against the great Gate. As the Black Gate was finally beginning to crumble and Barád Dur itself was threatened, Sauron went forth with his remaining host to take the fight to the enemy.
The oldest Maiar on Middle Earth, none could stand before him with the One Ring on his hand. Isildur Took met Sauron in the center of the battlefield. With a swipe of his sword Isildur Took's weapon was sheared in half, leaving him little more than a dagger.
Yet, when the time came for the killing blow, he paused. The devastation had been so great...so many fallen warriors would never breathe another breath. The terrible burden of ages of conflict weighed heavily upon his soul, and just for a small moment, lent hesitation to Sauron's blow.
During this hesitation Isildur struck, slicing the One Ring from Sauron's hand.
Bereft of power, broken and weak, he fled.
He failed his master. He failed his people. He failed the world.
So ends the tale of our world, as we patiently await the day of our masters return.
Faint tears glimmered from his downcast eyes. He caught his breath, retrieved his staff, and made the laborious journey across the floor.
The staff tapped uncertainly once more, but went silent as the man passed into the shadows of the room beyond.
On creaky hinges, the stone doors boomed shut once more.
A/N I hope you enjoyed a different take on the world of J.R.R. Tolkein. I'm always honored for R+R.