My first fanfic! *is slightly nervous in posting it* Man, it's like I'm jumping right into frigid water! Well, hope it is liked. Please, readers out there, let me know what you think=)

Oh...disclaimer thingy: I don't own anything having to do with LOTR, much to my chagrin, this fic is merely done as a method of pacifying my unrelenting obsession ^_^

Black sunken eyes widened disbelievingly at the chaos they viewed below. Everything that he had been working towards, everything he had built; his industry, his army, and by association, his power, was being swept away by the very force he had used as fuel for his budding dominion. He had taken advantage of Nature's plentitude as an abundant source of energy, and now before his very eyes, it uncoiled with resounding force to exact its metaphoric revenge. His thoughts darted to and fro within his mind, much the same as his eyes, as they searched for the source of this crippling mayhem. But he had to wait anxiously for the waters that were extinguishing the fires for which his influence had grown so dependent upon, to cease their tumultuous retaliations. Only then could he determine who or what had broken the dam that held back the river. Only when the frothy turbulence finally abated as the same said waters then drained and filled the wounds that scarred the earth, was he able to see the responsible party.

Ents. They had for so long, abandoned nearly all associations with the other beings and races of Middle Earth and had secluded themselves to the oppressive core of Fangorn Forest. Why then, had they come out? They had decided long before that the transpirations that occurred outside their forest haven meant little to them. What then had driven them to come forth now and lay siege to the culminating efforts of his mounting power?

He needed answers. And so with a final glare at the decimated panorama before him, accompanied by a coordinating snarl, he shoved himself forcefully away from the overlooking balustrade and melted into the dark depths of Orthanc to seek council from a precious and terrifying stone. It was with dangerous purposefulness that he moved through the dim, cold stoned corridors to the chamber that held the palantir. It would show him. It would show him what had dealt this crippling blow upon his dedicated and potent efforts. When he finally reached the chamber, he approached the covered stone with such urgency that he could feel its influence strengthen as the distance between it and he lessened. And as he removed the square cloth that concealed the stone, he did not even need to persuade it to show him what he wanted to see, for the minute his hand descended upon its smooth polished surface the image of two sandy haired Halflings appeared with absolute clarity in his mind's eye.

Hobbits! They were what brought down all that he had worked for and all he had achieved. Simple Shire-folk! His nostrils flared with his mounting anger. He could not accept that the two unassuming creatures were the masterminds behind his unanticipated downfall. His denial burned within him, heating to a boil of rage that forced his knuckles to whiten as his hold on the stone grew more forcible. And just as his grip had strengthened, so had the stone's effect over him. It began casting images into his mind. Images of things to come. Images to reinforce in his thoughts his own failure.

It showed him the toll that the loss of his army and industry had for the armies of Mordor, for now the men of Rohan we're uninhibited to rise to the aid of Gondor. It showed him how the blasted fellowship would prevail and that the one darker haired hobbit would inevitably cast the One Ring into the fire of Mt. Doom. And amongst these images that it showed him, it also showed him one that stood out most clearly. His own demise; death by betrayal, such an unbefitting end for someone such as he.

He violently released the stone and staggered back as if it had burned him. And for all intents and purposes it had, but not physically, for the skin of his palm was unmarred, but his mind was seared by the unwarranted images the palantir had cast upon him. He could feel the blood pulsing heavily in his head. It could not be. But the stone does not lie. In fact, it only shows the truth and in this case, the truth was far more dreadful than any deception it could have shown him.

After several minutes of resounding silence, his mind came to the conclusion that even if he could not escape the fate that the stone had shown him that he would undoubtedly receive, he would not go down passively. No, he would fight to retain whatever amount of control of his fate he could. And with that he began calculating and planning. For whatever he was to do, he needed to do it quickly to ensure that it be done successfully and completely before his fate comes to claim him.

His thoughts churned within his mind as he made his way to his personal chamber. He knew that the end of his present physical form was nearing, thanks to the knowledge imparted upon him by the prophetic orb. But that did not mean that it would also signify an end for the essence that animates his body. After all, did not Sauron endure beyond the loss of his physical shell? This very notion held promise for him. He would submit for now, for there was little he could do with what had been destroyed. But he would endure as well, and when the time was right he would show the same courtesy to those responsible for his undoing. And then some. But he was not satisfied to merely carry on as an essence of his former self, for having a physical form had its advantages. Not only was it more advantageous for purposes of mobility but the race of men is generally more amenable to someone they can see.

His plan was beginning to solidify in his mind as he entered his chambers. He consulted his many writings and even those of questionable origin that he was able to come in possession of, and after many hours of deliberation, careful consideration, and a fair amount of dark power alongside a foreboding and determined glint in his black eyes, Saruman set his scheme in motion.

One thing that Jillian really could not stand was how stupid people became once they were forced to navigate the many roads, on-ramps, and off-ramps that were supposed to take them to their appropriate terminals. Air travel was, for its revolutionary transformation of the transportation industry, a very necessary aspect of modern day life. But you would think that the city planners, engineers, and architects who had built this, albeit rather nice airport, would have spent a little more time and thought into planning its surrounding highways and byways.

She had already had to take evasive action on more than one occasion as she circled the arriving flights lanes to avoid being chastised by airport security for lingering to long along the pickup lanes that were situated alongside baggage claim.

Yeah, yeah, I see you… she thought with annoyance as one particularly harried security officer waved emphatically for her to move along… But I can't go very far if the person in front of me…will…not…move! The last three syllables that sounded in her mind were echoed by her simultaneous punches to her cars horn.

The reason she had subjected herself to the torturous navigations of airport traffic was because the museum that she worked for had procured a particularly intriguing oil painting, and unfortunately the artist could not be absolutely determined. So, under her director's most adamant pleas, she had contacted a highly specialized expert, the kind that had a multitude of educational and professional accolades. The painting itself was likely a renaissance piece, yet despite the growing popularity among artists of the time to actually 'sign' their work, this one had no such designation. As of now, there were a number of artists that the painting could be attributed to. That being as it was, her director had insisted that the creator of the painting be determined. After all, certain artists' names were accompanied by dollar signs and a considerable amount of zeros.

As she was coming to the end of her latest circuit around the arriving flights loading area, she nearly missed her now waiting passenger. What caught her eye was a legal pad with her name, Miss Jillian Pearce, written in large black letters, most likely scribed using a black sharpie marker. The person holding the pad was a man, perhaps in his late forties or early fifties. He had grayish white hairs peppering his darker brown clean cropped style. He wore glasses and a sweater vest…the stereotypical professor type. She pulled her car over as close as she could to where he stood, managing to somehow park her car halfway between an excessively huge SUV and a waiting taxi. Ignoring the aggravated look the taxi driver gave her, for she would be out of his way in a few minutes, she addressed the man with the legal pad.

"Professor Carrington?"

At the sound of her voice his attention focused on her and he gave her a warm smile, before replying in a moderately thick British accent,

"Ah! You must be Miss Pearce. It is finally good to be able to see the person behind the e-mail correspondence."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you too, thank you so much for taking the time to help us with our mystery." Jillian said as she offered him a customary greeting of a handshake. To which he accepted her gesture with a firm grip.

"Yes, I am glad to help. I had heard of its recent acquisition. You can imagine, considering my area of expertise, that it was very frustrating to learn that the painting's identity is indiscernible as of yet."

"Well I sure hope it doesn't frustrate you when you see it, because it has given me more headaches than I care to have." She joked as she helped him with his suitcases, pushing the button on her key chain's remote so that it would release the trunk's lock.

He laughed good naturedly as he made his way to the driver's side of the car, "I will endeavor to not allow it to conquer me."

Hi laugh was met with an amused one of her own, "Um, Professor? I don't think we'll get very far if you sit on that side."

"Ah! I forget you Americans drive on the wrong side!"

She mocked an affronted expression, "What do you mean the wrong side? We drive on the right side."

"So it is we Europeans who drive on the wrong side, then?" he challenged good naturedly.

"No, I never said that… you Europeans drive on the left."

He laughed at her joke, and made his way to the appropriate side that accommodates passengers. Once they were situated in the correct seats, Jillian carefully extracted her vehicle from its confined position between the SUV and cab… So much for three point turns… she inwardly mused as the number of turns multiplied far beyond what the maneuver called for. When she finally managed to get free, she followed the many painted arrows along the recently repaved roadway that lead to the airports' eventual exit.

It was as she accelerated onto the merging ramp that connected the airport to the interstate that she noticed her passenger's white knuckled apprehension as the ramps merge lane narrowed, forcing her to maneuver the vehicle into the rapidly moving, dense, and hectic traffic. She also noticed his expression was slightly queasy as he stated with an unsteady voice,

"Your roads are like roller-coasters, I never much cared for them…"

She laughed, "Really? They never bothered me."

She noticed how he practically braced for impact as she skillfully shifted lanes, "We only have about ten minutes to the exit, maybe even less. Then we'll be on city roads."

"Good…"

Jillian grinned as she noted that even with her reassurance Professor Carrington did not seem convinced.

True to her word, they reached the exit in question within the amount of time that she had predicted even with the small back-up that was the result of nearly every other driver on the road coming to a near stop in order to stare at a stalled out pick-up truck that had been moved to the left shoulder of the road.

Once Jillian had blended into the city traffic going in the direction of the museum, she perceived from the corner of her eye that the professor was considerably more relaxed now that they were off the interstate. Not that she could blame him; traffic in and around Chicago was pretty hellacious.

The remainder of the car ride was pretty quiet as the professor took to taking in the sights with an occasional question or two, to which Jillian would answer to the best of her ability for she was fairly new to the city herself; only having lived there for just shy of a year.

Her newness to the city itself was attributed to the job offer she received from the museum. She had been quite surprised to have received a very promising internship with one of the city's top museums. After all, she was a fairly recent graduate. Yet when she flew up to Chicago from Florida to interview with the director of Medieval Acquisitions, she had apparently showed promise that they had not yet come across. That or they didn't have many candidates to choose from considering the particular field of interest. She liked to think that it was the former that had initially won her the opportunity.

She was brought out of her musings upon her approach to the museum's employee parking lot. Once she had parked in her reserved space, which she loved having it reserved just for her even if it was a few rows further back from the premium spaces allotted for museum directors and officials, she then lead the professor to the security station just outside the employee entrance so that he could obtain a temporary clearance badge.

After leaving the security station, she led him through the newly renovated and rather pristine hallways of the contemporary art vaults towards the central portion of the museum where the current exhibitions were showcased. The only bad thing about the location of the employee parking lot was that it was located on the opposite wing of the museum to hers. She apologized to Professor Carrington for the long walk, to which he said that it was nothing to be concerned about and that his legs were relieved to be stretched after the nine to ten hours in which they had been cramped in a tiny plane seat.

She led him towards the wing that housed antiquities and classical art. It was noticeably different from the wing they had just traipsed through, for it was only just now under renovation itself. The exhibition spaces were too crowded and outdated, particularly in comparison with the crisp new contemporary section, so the museum's board members had ordered its renovation shortly thereafter. The good thing about this portion of the museum was that the archives that held the art were up to date, courtesy of a very generous and inordinately wealthy patron.

As they reached the halls beyond the classical art exhibits, she explained to Professor Carrington about the disorder of the area. He seemed a bit tense about the areas condition, so she assured him that the art and artifacts were absolutely safe and secure in their state of the art holdings, and that the surrounding offices and halls were what was being brought to standards. This news seemed to appease his tension as he relaxed considerably once they approached the elevator that would take them to the floor that housed her department.

The elevators, like the surrounding hallways, were in need of attention. Not that they were bad…just a bit cramped and musty.

They entered the elevator and Jillian pressed the appropriate button that coordinated with the floor that was to be their destination. Well, there was another bad thing about the elevators on this side of the museum…they were excruciatingly slow. But they served their purpose, because though Jillian was healthy, she refused to climb stairs to the fourth floor in heels…that would be a disaster waiting to happen.

The elevator in question was making its progress upwards when it shuddered to a stop, probably between the second and third floors. Jillian inwardly groaned…You've got to be kidding me! You pick now to misbehave?!...she berated the mechanical ascending contraption in her thoughts as she began pressing buttons in hopes that the machine would respond. And in fact none of them did, not even the emergency call button…Fantastic…we should've taken the stairs…heels be damned…

As if the elevator had heard her thoughts, it gave another shudder and a sudden jolt. That sharp movement was all it took to make Jillian's heart feel like it had dropped to the pit of her stomach. Overcome by mounting apprehension she glanced at Professor Carrington who looked equally pale and nervous. His knuckles were white in their tight grip of his briefcase.

"Ummm, " she was only able to manage a nervous sounding croak, "this has never happened before…" with as little movement as she could possible manage, she slipped her fingers into the pocket of her purse that held her cell phone, "I'm going to call for help."

The only indication that the professor had heard her was a very minute, almost indiscernible nod of his head; apparently he also felt that any larger movement would jeopardize the integrity of their situation.

She tried to focus on the illuminated numbers of her cell phone and was just barely able to dial the all too familiar emergency number that was ingrained into every person since childhood. However, despite her efforts, the call never connected. It was when she looked at the phone's screen that she noticed that there was no signal…Shit!!!

"…Okay," her voice sounded oddly loud in contrast with the silence that had descended upon the precariously suspended metal chamber, "…I uh…can't get a signal…"

"Maybe it will start going again in a few minutes…" Professor Carrington choked out.

"I sure hope so…"

The elevator gave another shudder and a jolt and then, albeit a bit shakily, it began to rise. Simultaneously, sighs of relief were issued from the elevator's occupants as it resumed its ascension to the fourth floor.

"Do you not have stairs?" the professor questioned jokingly as a way to alleviate some of the nervous tension that had latched ferociously onto the enclosed atmosphere with overwhelming palpability.

Jillian responded with a nervous laugh and a shaky nod, "Yes…and I will be using them from now on…I'm sure you will be too."

"Most definitely."

Not a few seconds later, the elevator began to make rumbling, groaning noises that Jillian was sure was attributed to the mechanical workings that kept the elevator aloft. The noises indicated to her that they were grinding together in a manner that betrayed its proper function. These same noises seemed to be the only sounds that reached her ears besides the frantic beating of her own heart. Their ominous tones held a foreboding quality that was answered quite vividly as the cabin sharply and violently dropped a few feet causing the lights to flicker out in its wake. Even those few feet felt like miles to Jillian as the nauseatingly weightless sensation that took hold of her compelled her to grasp the handrails in hopes of anchoring herself against the lack of control the entire situation was thrusting upon her.

Even though she could not see Professor Carrington, she had a pretty good feeling that he was holding on for dear life as much as she was. She was about to ask him if he was alright when a sudden violent jerk tipped the elevator's cabin slightly to one side. Her heart was now beating so fast that she could scarcely breathe.

Then, all at once, a faint snap that sounded much louder than it should have, sounded above them through the roof of the elevator and they were falling. Through her panic, she somehow knew that it wouldn't be long before the inevitable impact would occur. Her body however was more prepared than her mind as it involuntarily readied itself against the unrelenting force of gravity.

And despite her severely scattered thoughts, which even through their disharmony, united in their focus against eminent danger, her attention was sharply grabbed and held by a sudden glow that illuminated the interior of the elevator's cabin.

But it was not a welcoming light; neither warm nor comforting. Even though she could now see, and she was able to discern the professor's form up against the opposite wall panel, the eerie glow of the light saturated her senses with a frighteningly oppressive tangibility that made the super fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She was so startled and overwhelmed by the sudden appearance of the malevolent glow that she barely remembered that she was trapped in a falling elevator towards what could very well be the end. But the glow consumed all of her attention. It began to grow in intensity, and as it did so Jillian felt its power seep into every pore of her being. It was making her dizzy; jumbling her already frazzled thoughts, and as it continued to grow she felt herself paralyzed to its supernatural influence.

The glow continued to impose itself upon the elevator and its occupants with resounding force. Jillian's head began to pound and she felt sharp piercing sensations at her temples as if someone or something was driving dulled implements into her head. She felt herself on the edge of consciousness, and she was losing the battle to maintain it. Her eyes began to shut of their own accord, and the last thing she felt was a sudden flood of warmth that tingled through her entire body as if countering the ominous force, before nothingness took her.

What is to become of Jillian? 'Tis a mystery until next time =) Please review, I'd like to know what everyone thinks=)