A/N: A different take on the flight to the ford scene...what would have happened if Frodo gave in to the darkness before the end... Enjoy! Also, an extra note-Black Speech used from LandofShadow . com. The people there have developed an extensive list of useful words, to help expand the small samples of that evil language which Tolkien gave in his books.
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and anything related are copyrighted JRR Tolkien and New Line Cinemas.
A silver blur across the landscape, the great elf-horse raced on, and in its wake there followed nine dark shapes, their pursuit fleet as foul arrows. The rumble of many hooves filled the Hobbit's ears as he clung tightly to the white horse's flowing mane, and he clamped his eyes shut against the terror of his foes; already he could feel himself fading, leaving this world for their one of eternal shadow. Frodo's head spun sickeningly, and he let out a sharp gasp as the icy burning of the Morgul wound crept onward through his body—chill fingers reaching out, seeking to smother his beating heart.
Even with his eyes held firmly closed, the halfling could see the wave of darkness as it fought his resistance, his desperate flight; the shadows seemed to lengthen, overcoming his mind, stealing away his very wits and breath. From behind him shrill wails of dread and despair came forth, piercing equally the autumn air and his courage. Hope began to fail Frodo as his foes advanced upon him, and the Black Riders steered their dark horses in a semicircle to trap him. The two leading Nazgûl on the outermost edges of the half-ring turned to peer at him with empty cowls, and a shiver washed down the Hobbit's spine as hisses emerged from within the depths of the dark hoods.
A sudden impulse to stop the elf-horse overwhelmed him, and he watched blankly as he saw his own trembling hands pull up; Frodo knew with horror that the wraiths were commanding him to halt, and he fought desperately to escape their urging, wordless whispers.
But his efforts proved vain, for even now the mighty steed slowed under his control, and the Hobbit cried out in dismay as he was forced to yield to the wishes of the Nazgûl. Then, just as the first black robed figure drew nigh on his heels, Frodo felt a flicker of anger stir in his breast, and he managed to call out:
"Elbéreth Gilthoniel!"
Instantly, he was released from the foul enchantment, and with haste he spurred his mount into a fresh gallop. Turning sharply to the side, Frodo passed just in front of the foremost Ringwraith, and the Hobbit flew onward ere the creature could strike with its pale blade. The Riders cursed in a fell tongue, and they cried out to him anew.
"Fool, be still! You cannot escape the servants of the Great Eye, and even now you tread upon the threshold of his lightless realm. Yield now to his will! Shed the mortal skin that binds you to this wretched world, and join us in ours."
A flash of hope in the descending darkness—the sight of the ford loomed ahead of Frodo suddenly, his vision having cleared. The rushing of the Bruinen river roared loud in his swirling head, and he urged the horse faster in its race; but for naught.
The dreadful shriek cut his heart again, and suddenly everything went black as a frosty chill numbed his body, expelling all living warmth and freezing his very bones. The Hobbit was enveloped by a crushing pressure, and he felt himself stiffen, falling off the side of the elven steed. Ere he met the hard ground, night conquered him, and Frodo knew no more…
Long did he dwell in the fathomless void, hovering upon the borders of light and dark. Shadowy blurs and hideous fire filled his dreams. He struggled unsuccessfully to flee from them until finally, exhausted, he ceased his resistance; the night swallowed him once more.
Burning eyes slowly opened, and it was a moment before Frodo became fully aware of his surroundings; darkness seeped from every corner and dominated his mind. Fell shadowy forms drew up about him, and he blinked furiously, though to no avail, for the shapes remained. His gaze strayed upwards, then quickly fell away as he discovered that the cursed light of the sun was painful to behold. He noticed then that his other senses were suddenly heightened; a flurry of strange smells, both pleasant and unpleasant, met his nose, and there was a strong sensation of something….he felt himself drawn to it, as if his very existence depended upon the item….he longed for whatever it was, and that it should return to its rightful owner….the band of gold flashed in his vision, a passing image ere it was gone again to the darkness. It was then, that Frodo saw Him.
A flare of brilliant oranges, reds, and yellows smothered his eyes, seeming to pierce through his body effortlessly. The Hobbit cowered suddenly, overcome by the uncomfortable new fire, and the sense of exposure from which he could not flee. Cruelty and wicked malice pressed in upon Frodo as he stared helplessly at the terrible source of the awful flames—a single monstrous Eye wreathed in tongues of fire, its lidless gaze scorching him, never wavering.
Dark shapes towered about him, in front of the hideous view; high and noble were they, though their kingly faces were fell and shrouded in an aura of fear and death. Cold, terrible steel crowns sat on their brows, and the shades spoke with hissing voices as they peered down toward him.
"You are clothed now in our raiment, halfling, though a halfling you are no longer," the Ringwraiths said, and their whisperings filled Frodo's ears as if the speakers themselves were connected to him, sharing the same purpose, the same fate. "You dwell forevermore in the land of Twilight, neither living nor dead. Sustained by the will and power of the Dark Lord, you shall harken to him henceforth."
At this their leader paced a step forward, and he towered over Frodo as though a ghostly storm cloud in his true form, wrapped in pale billowing robes from neck to foot; the words that the Witch-king uttered were harsh and foreboding.
"Rise and claim thy new title, Tenth of the Nine," the Morgul-lord said. "Now, prove thy worth-grasp the precious thing that lies about thy neck, and thus relinquish it; fulfill thy purpose."
Without a second thought, as if an unseen force was guiding his very movements, Frodo took an unearthly white hand and let it search beneath the fluttering garbs of the robe that now covered his own body. His fingers brushed against the cold band of metal, and he closed them about it, pulling hard. The circle of gold yielded gladly to his touch, seemingly to leap into his small palm of its own accord. With the duo of forces tugging on it, the chain that bound the One in place broke with ease, and Frodo's hand emerged from the gossamer fabric clutching the Ring; it gleamed bright in the faded twilight of the wraith world.
"The One!" a second Dark Rider called out, ere the Black Speech of the East turned his exclamation of triumph all the more menacing. "Thrakub Ash Goth-u; norkubat furtun agh bûrgulu Mordor-ob bot-tuk!"
The horrid words blazed within Frodo's mind, and he saw them for what they were—"We will bring the One to the Master; He will take the storm and shadow of Mordor through the world!" Something stirred deep inside him: a last struggle against his new existence, the final flicker of light that his heart fought to sustain. Frodo's hand wavered, and the yellow chain bobbed a little in the motion, its prisoner forced to do likewise. Suddenly, commanded by a will far greater than his own, the former Hobbit's gaze was forced upward to meet that of the first kingly figure. His lips wrought into a ghastly sneer, the Lord of the Nine drew closer to loom over Frodo fully, and a vicious laughter danced in his wicked eyes.
"Is thy will so puny that thou would still covet it?" A haggard hand was raised to point down at the halfling as the raspy voice flowed forth to mingle with the shadows. "Thy body is now transformed, but it seems thy mind and heart tarry in the past, in memory. Thou art a fool to resist, for there is no leaving this world. Bound forever to the Dark One's service, thou canst escape it…" The darkness then swelled, roiling about the terrible shape of the Witch-king, reaching out to envelop the Ringwraith's audience. "Perhaps thou require further assistance to become one with Him…only then will thou be complete."
He spoke then in the Black Tongue, and the shadows listened to the sorcerous Captain, coiling and twisting themselves as though furious serpents preparing to strike.
The blackness was choking, its pressure stronger than anything Frodo had yet experienced; like the snuffing out of a candle, the remaining hope was driven back, defeated. He was not himself, for he felt devoid of his own independence, held fast beneath the iron command of that cruel Eye…The Hobbit's fading was fulfilled, and the Twilight realm welcomed him.
"Skaat-izishu, akashuga," a vile voice urged, and Frodo knew that it was not the wraiths addressing him. "Thrak-labu nûl Goth, agh rat kulub turu."
The fierce swirl of fiery light bathed him again, and the harsh commands echoed through his mind with cold authority: "Come to me, halfling. Deliver your burden to your Lord, and your reward will be great." A strange sensation overcame the small Nazgûl, and Frodo's thoughts were dominated by the might of the new speaker. The concerns and desires of the Dark Lord were now his own; he knew nothing else, and cared about nothing else.
"Ride hence to Lugbûrz, to the Dark Tower in the Shadow Land," the hideous Eye continued, and its tongues of flame filled all of the Hobbit's sight. Though the illumination pained his eyes, Frodo was unable to look away; his decisions were no longer his own. "Haste and secrecy are the tools we now need; you shall pass unseen by eyes of the mortal world until you draw nigh the mountains. There you will leave your land-bound steeds behind, for they will serve you naught in swift travel. From that point you shall summon winged mounts to carry you over the peaks and thus into the East."
The Ringwraiths did as they were bidden, and they cast aside their dark garments, thus rendering themselves invisible to the beings of that world. Since there were only nine horses under their command, another of the shadowy company bore Frodo upon his own mount. In this manner the Ten resumed their journey toward the Misty Mountains, and on the paths of the Wild they encountered no strangers, for a wave of fear and death preceded them; all living things fled at their approach. Coming at last to the foothills of the Hithaeglir, the Nazgûl released the black horses into the Wildernesse where the animals' foul hearts would lead them back to the pits of Dol Guldur and Minas Morgul.
Frodo had never flown before, and yet he discovered that the giant beasts required little direction from him. The monsters' naked bodies skimmed the tips of the darkling clouds, and fingered wings beat the cold air as their beaks opened, calling forth cries that cast flickers of despair over the wits of those who heard their passing. Onward the group ventured, and still the chain Frodo kept swayed with the weight of the Ring. From time to time, the band of gold would pull forward, as if urging its possessor to go faster. Frodo was glad to grant its request.
Their flight was not long; because the fell beasts were bred for long periods of travel, and the Nazgûl needed no food or rest, the Ten sped over the gloom of the eaves of Mirkwood, and the mighty waters of the Anduin within several days of their starting. Greeted once more by the churning stormy sky of the Black Land, Sauron's servants alighted upon the plain of Gorgoroth, and made their final way into Barad-dûr.
Slipping along dreary passageways and halls filled with sorcerous fumes and wicked devices of torture, the wraiths came at last to the tip of the tall tower. The enormous chamber that they entered remained as dark as night despite the illumination it received from a large window that peered into the West. As Frodo gazed upon the dark throne that sat at the far end of the room, the familiar flurry of oranges and reds scorched his vision, and he stood frozen in anxiety, in some sort of transfixed excitement. It was not necessarily fear that he experienced now, but rather an intimidated admiration for the being seated before him. The diminutive Ringwraith caught the view of a horrible burning Eye blazing with ancient cruelty and might; but then, the flames flashed, whirled, and were gone.
In their place was a new form, a dark silhouette of a man, and yet the figure's stature far surpassed that of mortal race. A great towering shape was He, and beyond the shreds of vapor that seemed to encompass his body, there could be glimpsed the shine of pitch-black armor. A spiked war helm adorned the creature's head, and gauntleted hands, almost claw-like in appearance, emerged from the shadows to clutch at the high arms of the throne. The darkness was palpable, issuing forth from the formidable figure like an aura of hatred and malice. A will of terrible power and intention pressed down upon the arrivals, and in it Frodo could feel the desire to ensnare all living things under the Dark One's control. Though naught could be seen beyond the eyeholes of the helmet, the newest Nazgûl sensed the Master's invisible gaze wash over the group as a whole, ere it lingered upon him alone.
"You have done well to comply to my behest, halfling," Sauron said to Frodo, and he loomed above him as he spoke. There was cold laughter as he continued, "though, verily, you no longer possess any alternative choice…" The shadows lengthened across the floor of the chamber, and in their dancing fingers there was indicated an amusement, and a satisfaction. "…you are mine at last, as is the prize you bring." An armored hand was raised to point at the chain held between the small wraith's own hands.
The sense of excitement soared, reaching its peak inside him as Frodo felt the silent beckoning that touched his thoughts as the fell voice faded. The soundless order was etched into his very being, and he was unable to resist it. With the awful triumphant cries of the other Ringwraiths piercing the gloom, Frodo reached out a pale arm toward the awaiting clawed palm, and he finally relinquished his hold on the metal chain. Instantly, it was as if a heavy weight had been removed from his body, and the halfling acknowledged his own feeling of completion, for the precious thing was now returned to its rightful owner. His task was fulfilled.
There was the glint of gold as the Ring fell through the musty air, and it flipped to the side of its own accord, moving itself to slide onto the exposed forefinger of its creator. As the two met, an even deeper night descended over the room, and the stormy clouds visible through the window swirled viciously; a great resounding thunder shook the land, and lightening crowned the Dark Tower in blinding majesty. The wind wailed in a foul language, and there seemed to hiss through the heavens, "Ash nazg durbatulûk…"; in the same instant, the identical fiery inscription flared to live on the surface of the Ring, and the writing of the Shadow Land glowed bright from the dark that roiled about the silhouette of the Lord of Mordor. Frodo stood in amazement as the being in front of him rose anew, and it seemed to him that the form of Sauron stretched upward, becoming greater than it was moments ago. A strengthening of himself he felt also, for the Nazgûl were connected to that very Ring and its Master; they grew in terror and despair, and there would be none now who could openly defy them.
"There will be no dawn for Middle-earth," proclaimed the Dark Lord, and his voice was suddenly magnified in potency and purpose, "for the storm of Mordor shall smother all, and claim all." A ghastly laughter bounded from wall to wall once more, and the great helmed head peered down at Frodo. "Let it be known then, by those who would still hope to oppose me, that the fools' statement is true—the actions of even the smallest among us can determine the fate of the world."
As always, thanks for reading!
-PA