(( My name is NOT John Ronald Reuel Tolkien and I do NOT own The Lord of the Rings ))
Night had fallen in Mordor, and the land was left in complete darkness, for the push of evil had become too powerful for the stars and even the moon withheld its light.
The throne of Mordor was an heirloom to the Maia; a family of evil beings. Their ears were pleasured by the sound of clashing swords, their hands were thirsty for blood, and their eyes were so full of rage that their natural color was an eerie shade of red. Every nation had learned to shut their gates in the presence of even a single Maia, and rarely did any man, elf, wizard or wild creature dare to cross paths with one. They were easy to anger and as uncontrollable as Durin's Bane. But like the fiery beast, the Maia family was told to be a myth to the young ears of distant lands such as The Shire. However, that was a lie. The evil inside of Mordor had never been so powerful. Even the volcano released unusually loud growls as a result of the evil that was developing inside of its heart.
It was there that the reigning Dark Lord, Sauron, had spent the last seven days. He so terribly desired to break human flesh that he began to scratch at his own, so vigorously that he had removed layers of skin across his neck and around his lips. When he was not pacing he would stand at the very tip of the ledge and stare into the raging sea below. At times he would let out a great burst of laughter. At other times he would scream angrily as if the magma had taunted him. Because of his stranger-than-normal behavior, Sauron's servants would often worry that their master would lose himself and plummet into oblivion. The power and fury that had been building inside of Sauron, was at last beginning to take control. It was as if a loaf of bread was rising in an oven. The heat of the mountain was bringing Sauron's deep hatred towards the world to an end result.
There was only one other Maia living than the Dark Lord, and that was his son, Silas.
Silas was called "The Rising" because he would one day replace and become even more powerful than his father. In fact, the power built up inside of Sauron was to be doubled by his own son in the future.
Like his father, Silas had also remained in one place for several days. He had been sitting in the smallest room of an abandoned house near the foot of Mt. Doom. In the room there was not a single window, there was only one door, and every corner of the room was enveloped by thick spider webs. Silas was holding a candle, and he stared into the small flame just as his father was staring into the fires of the mountain. His heart was troubled as he thought heavily about his father, and how strange he had been acting as of late. All of his kindred had been strange, and they had all acted in macabre ways, but the things that Sauron had been hoping for were on an entirely different level:
Sauron wanted nothing more than to stain the ground with the blood of the free people. He wanted every forest to burn, with every helpless creature trapped inside. He wanted every ocean, river, stream, creek and pond to dry up completely, and he wanted to watch the children of men perish from dehydration, until not a single one remained. He hated the world with a passion as untamable as the autumn wind. This was all that Sauron spoke of, it was all that Sauron thought of, and something about it made Silas uneasy.
His head was hooded and his eyes were soft and dreary as he gazed upon the small flame, which danced steadily against Silas's breath. Suddenly, it was extinguished! There was no wind, there was no water. The flame had simply vanished on its own accord. Silas continued to stare at the candle, wide-eyed and bewildered by such a strange happening. His heart sank. Silas longed for company beyond the spiders that crawled around the room, and far beyond the orcs that marched around the land. He had become fond of the small flame, as if it was a friend, and now it was gone.
But real company was on the way. Silas turned towards the door when he heard footsteps coming near. Two strong orcs came to the doorway, the larger orc fixed its piercing gaze on Silas, whose heart began to race anxiously. "What could these servants possibly want with me?" He wondered.
"You're father has summoned you." The larger orc snarled; its voice resembled the deep growl of a violent warg.
He had no choice but to go with the escorts. Silas was led out of the house and up the doomed mountain. Silas stared at the ring of thick smoke that had encircled the top of the mountain. Something big was about to happen, Silas could feel it. As he came closer to the entranceway, the loud rumbling of the mountain was drowned out of his ears by the beat of his own heart. Silas could feel the power more and more with each step he took, until at last they made it through the entranceway.
The mountain dome was full of smoke and the heat was beyond intense. As Silas and his escorts moved further across the platform, Sauron's dark figure became visible. He was standing at the very end of the platform, with his shoulders hunched over, and a devious smile playing at his lips. For several minutes, Sauron stood silently as he prepared himself for what was about to take place. When at last he turned around, Silas felt his heart skip a beat as a result of seeing how his father had changed in only seven days. The raw power had been feasting on Sauron so viciously that his physical being was being eaten away as, his neck was scratched terribly, and his face was not the same as Silas remembered it. Sauron looked at Silas with a very maniacal expression on his disfigured face.
"My son," he began with a piercing tone of voice "you are an inquisitive young Maia. Surely you have been wondering why your father has spent the last week in a place like this. You have been wondering, have you not?" He suddenly looked at Silas threateningly, as if there was a right answer to the question.
"Yes Father, I have been." Silas replied. His words moved slowly because of his confusion.
Sauron took two swift steps until he was mere inches away from his sons face.
"The time is upon us!" Sauron began in a terrifying whisper. "I have been waiting for the days when I will approach the free people of Middle Earth and command them to either bow to me, or be killed! Alas the days of my rule are upon us. And all of Middle Earth shall tremble before the mighty, blood soaked hand of the Dark Lord Sauron."
All of a sudden, Silas began to hear nine voices chanting behind him. They recited a poem in black speech:
"One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them.
One ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them."
Silas turned around and saw all nine of the Nazgûl approaching as they chanted. The Witch King's hiss was louder than the rest, and he was also carrying the mold of a ring, which had been filled with magma from the sea below them. The Nazgûl danced around Sauron, chanting the poem louder and louder. Meanwhile, Sauron had taken a knife out from the sleeve of his robe and held the blade against the palm of his left hand. He closed his eyes and breathed heavily, imagining once more what the world was going be like after that night. He pushed down on the knife and pulled it across his hand, letting out an evil cackle as he did so. There was a large slit across his palm, and it bled heavily. Sauron lifted the knife to his face and examined the black blood that was sliding down the blade.
"It is remarkable how one drop of blood can change the entire world." He mumbled.
With that, he held the knife above his head as if to plunge it into an enemy, but instead he let a single drop slide to the tip of the blade, and at last it dripped off of the knife and into the mold of the ring. Silas looked on curiously, but was confused when nothing happened at first. He had expected some bright light to come from the mold, or perhaps the mountain would begin shake violently. But everything stayed the same for several moments. Silas wondered if something had not been done properly, but his wondering came to a halt when the single drop of blood began to stir itself into the magma. Once the blood had spread around the mold, it began to form into words. Silas instantly noticed that the blood had formed into the poem that the Nazgûl were still chanting. The bloody words rested there for a moment, but quickly faded away.
Just as Silas imagined, the mountain began to shake, and a strong wind began to develop in the dome. The wind carried the smoke so that it circled around the platform, faster and closer with every passing second, until a cloud of thick smoke had formed around the mold of the ring. The Witch King let go of the mold, but much to Silas' amazement, the mold stayed suspended in the air, and began to ascend in its thick cloud of smoke. When it was well over fifty feet above their heads, the cloud ceased to incline and remained suspended where it was. The Nazgûl looked up to the cloud and began to shriek. All of Mordor had turned its attention to the mountain.
As the Nazgûl continued to scream, a loud explosion let loose as the mold of the ring burst into many pieces of hot stone, which showered down upon Sauron and those with him on the platform. But one more thing also fell. It was a gold ring; the one ring. It fell right into Sauron's bloody hand, and when Sauron saw the masterpiece, he stared at it as if it was the most beautiful thing in the world. To Sauron, it was. As he continued to stare at his ring, he began to hear his own voice speak to him through it, but his voice was lighter, and had a mystic sound to it when it was being spoken in the ring.
Silas looked intently at his father. He knew what had just happened, and his heart beat rapidly as the reality of it set in. He turned around and saw several orcs coming into the dome. They each carried a piece of armor, which they laid at the feet of the Nazgûl before running back out of the mountain. Seven of the nine took up a piece of armor and dressed Sauron in it accordingly.
The first placed a large boot on Sauron's left foot. The second placed the other boot on Sauron's right foot.
The third fastened a large and seemingly heavy platebody over his chest.
The fourth placed a gauntlet Sauron's left arm and the fifth did the same with Sauron's right arm.
The sixth flung a large, black cape around the Dark Lord, and fastened it to his platebody.
And finally, The Witch King placed a strange helmet over Sauron's head, but stepped away quickly after doing so.
The suit of armor was like no other. Once a body was placed inside, the armor would consume it entirely. And so Sauron's flesh was eaten away at once, and all of his blood was dried up. All that was left inside was a fiery soul, now bound to the ring of power.
Sauron proceeded to place the ring onto his armored finger. It fit perfectly, and after a few moments, fiery letters appeared across the banner. They wrote out the poem just as Sauron's blood had not long ago. The poem was shining so brightly that it could easily be seen from a far distance.
It was finished. Middle Earth's future was now threatened by the darkest of the dark lords. For four long years, Sauron's terror spread throughout the lands of Middle Earth. The cities of Gondor, the towns of Rohan, the elven communities, the forests, the mountains, the fields and the rivers, all were terrorized by Sauron and his army of blood thirsty orcs, wargs and dragons. Meanwhile, Silas remained in Mordor, serving his father and aiding the orc chiefs as they prepared a great army. Sauron knew that a war would come one day, and after four years it finally did. A large army of men and elves marched into Mordor, ready to have battle at the foot of Mt. Doom. As the army of the free people approached, Silas was called to battle as well, and was stationed near the frontline.
When the war began, Mordor's army charged down the mountain. Silas tried to as well, but it was as if his feet had become part of the ground; he would not budge! Was he afraid? Hundreds of orcs ran past him, but Silas stayed put and stared at the army of the free people. Something was different about them. The orcs of Mordor let out their battle cries and charged whole heartedly towards the opposing army, but something about the men and elves and the way they fought was appealing to Silas. But what was it? It was neither a technique of the sword nor a style of archery that impressed him, it was something that he could not name.
Suddenly, his heart began to race and the urge to run hit him like an iron fist. Silas took off running but in the opposite direction of his army. He ran up the mountain as fast as his feet could carry him, but it didn't seem fast enough to Silas. He had to get away from the battle. He ran and ran and ran until he was a safe distance away. He continued to run until he came to the entrance to the dome. He nearly ran inside but stopped himself, pulling himself to the wall. His father was lurking inside and would surely be displeased to see his son fleeing his station. Silas thought quickly and took shelter behind a nearby boulder and from there he watched the battle unfold. For three long days the armies went at it. On the fourth morning, Mordor was dealt a major blow, one that could cost them the entire war. It was then that Sauron was summoned to battle. Once Sauron was at the front of the line, both armies ceased their fighting and everything stood still for several moments. Silas widened his gaze and drew a deep breath, wondering what would happen next.
Sauron lifted his weapon and began to swing it at the men. But by the third swing, some mystic power had come to his weapon, and several men were hit by each swing. But one man saw fit to charge at the dark lord. It was the kind of Gondor. He lunged towards Sauron, who turned around and met the king with a deadly stroke of his weapon. The king flew into the air, his body as lifeless as a piece of clothe when it came to rest on the jagged rocks of the mountain. The king's son, Isildur, ran to his father's side but could provide no help to the old man; he was already dead. Sauron stepped towards Isildur as the man reached for his father's sword. But the dark lord crushed the blade with his mighty foot. Isildur seemed as helpless as his father, it seemed certain that the man would be the next to die, but what happened next was unthinkable! Isildur raised the broken blade of his father and swung it towards Sauron.
The dark lord let out a wail that filled the entire land. Silas gasped as he saw the light from the ring of power fly into the air and land on the ground in front of Isildur. A strong wind began to blow towards Sauron, who was surrounded by a blinding silver light. Silas squinted to see, when suddenly everything went silent and still. An explosion sent the silver light from Sauron, across the entire land. Every warrior from both armies fell flat to the ground as a result of the light. It was carried in a powerful wind, and it came toward Silas quickly. He ducked behind the boulder and shielded his head just as the silver light passed him on either side of the rock. The force was so strong that he could feel it pass through the boulder and pound at his back, but in an instant the light and the wind was gone.
Silas took a few moments to recover himself before peering back over the boulder. He felt his heart skip a beat as he saw his father's suit of armor lying on the ground in steaming ruins. Isildur, the new king of Gondor, was now holding the ring of power and it was not long before Lord Elrond of Rivendell came to Isildur's side. The man and the elf quickly began to climb up the mountain, but within their first ten steps, Isildur began to hear a voice coming from the ring. It was none other than Sauron's. The dark lord was working inside of Isildur's mind. Men were so easy to corrupt that by time the man and elf entered the dome of the mountain, Sauron had already poisoned the king's mind.
Silas crept towards the doorway and peered inside in time to see Isildur begin his grand exit. Silas quickly shifted, and pressed his back into the wall as forcefully as he could. Between the frame of the doorway and the smoke that circulated around, Isildur was unable to see Silas. Neither was Elrond, who exited the mountain soon after.
Silas was left alone on the mountain. When the coast was clear he rose to his feet and entered the dome of the mountain. Already the intensity of Sauron's soul was building there. The fiery river below raged angrily, and the smoke circulated quickly. The dark lord was down, but he was far from out.