The Shadow of Doom: The Darkness of Arda's Fourth Age
Author's Note: Greetings. This is, as you might expect, a tale of the Fourth Age. I don't expect many readers, but those that I have- I bid you, please review. It is one of the little joys of my life to get up and see your reviews, seeing as I have few things to look forward to in the morning except Office... Office... Office...
I have tried to add as much humour into this tale as possible, but I warn you still- the plot may be darker than you expect. The Valar have never really been challenged before...
The Shadow of Doom Part One: The Shadows Gather
Prologue: The Silent Watcher
The Battle for the Black Gate was in full flow. Aragorn, son of Arathorn was fighting his hardest, Andúril clashing and striking against the poisoned, serrated blades of the countless orcs in front of him. Despite all the Valour of the Captains of the West, this was a hopeless battle, and he knew it.
He fought not to win, but to survive. Survive long enough to fight on, giving time to Frodo. Time enough to destroy the ring.
Hack. Cut. Stab. Slash. Parry. Slash. Parry- parry- swing- decapitate.
He conserved his energy as he fought, trying to guarantee kills with minimum effort. He could not afford to feel fatigue- yet there it was, creeping over his heart…
No. He was stronger than this.
"ELENDIL!" came the cry, and he leapt forward, swinging Andúril in a wide arc, killing six in one swing. With equal agility, he reverse-gripped his blade, stabbed the orc behind him, and retreated before being encircled.
Unbeknownst to the heir to the throne, something stirred. The shadows gathered. There was a momentary blackness behind him, undetectable except by a slight chill in the air. This was no servant of Sauron.
Clang. Clang. Crash. Ssssss. Clatter. Crack. Slice. Kkkkhhhhttt!
Andúril struck against the vicious dark blades of the orcs, blunting their serrated edges, and in some cases, cutting the serrations off completely.
The nameless shadow watched with interest. The future king surely fought well- a challenge not to be underestimated. He was there, however, to watch and to make observations. No actions on his part were required now. He turned, therefore, to the Elven Archer in front of him.
Legolas Thranduilion, despite the tremendous odds against him, was in his element. Twirl after graceful twirl he made, slicing off the heads of orcs with his knives, blades not even making contact. A gruff snarl told him that Gimli had smashed his group into a bloody pulp. Suddenly, he felt a chill in the air- with the ring this close, Sauron's power must have grown.
This was precisely why Legolas intended to carry out his plan. The Nazgûl were truly proving to be menaces. They flew in, and picked up the elite troops most discriminately, to be killed off from a height. Not anymore.
"Gimli- The fell beast draws near! Quickly- cut a path for me!"
The Dwarf did not even question it, a ghost of a smile emerging on his face, before shouting "Barûk Khazâd!" and, after taking a great leap, throwing himself into the orcs. Those that scattered were simply crushed. He then began to fight with greater vigour, scattering them further. Legolas took the opportunity, and nimbly climbed atop one of the towers of the teeth. A Nazgûl on his fell beast was flying directly above him.
Gandalf, seemingly reading the Elf's mind, sent a shaft of the purest divine light at the beast, blinding it and also nullifying the senses of its rider. Then, Legolas struck.
Six arrows all held firmly straight at the same time, he aimed at the foul creature. After moving haphazardly for a moment, the fell beast began hovering, slowly regaining its sight. It never swooped again.
Legolas' perfect aim caused all the arrows to embed themselves into the Fell beast's throat, killing it instantly. The Nazgûl, with foul sorcery, did attempt to cushion its landing, but Gandalf immediately summoned a bolt of lightning, striking the Ringwraith and destroying its corporeal body, sending its maimed Fëa out of the circles of the world.
Legolas then took out an arrow he had been reserving for this occasion, a white arrow given to him by Thranduil before he set out for Rivendell. It seemed to sing a song of its own, to call to his fingers to release it. He did so, piercing a second Fell Beast in the neck, Gandalf summoning a shaft of light this time to destroy its Rider's body.
With six Nazgûl remaining, the Eagles showed themselves, flying over the bloodied plains. Six immediately swept off to battle the six Wraiths. The last one circled haphazardly over Gorgoroth, making sure Sauron didn't see it slowly flying over to Orodruin.
The Shadow had seen enough, yet had not been seen. He had observed all the particularities of the battle, noting which part of the Morannon remained shadowed and hidden, and the parts in which battle did not happen. He carefully noted the exact time it took for each manoeuvre.
Slowly, the Entity glided over to a hidden part of the battlefield, the shadow dissipating. He saw a terrible, emaciated and broken creature purposefully making its way above the mountainside.
The shadows disappeared, and re-gathered right on the top of Orodruin's interior cliff. A hobbit was standing over the edge, dangling something tiny and gold over a chain, as if to throw it down into the lava below.
The shadow sensed that the creature- Gollum- was getting nearer.
"The Ring is Mine!" said Frodo Baggins. He then took it upon his finger, and seemingly vanished into thin air. The Shadow observed exactly when he did this. The rest of the speech, including the pleas of the second hobbit, was ignored. It was redundant, and- unnecessary.
Suddenly, the second hobbit was smashed on the back of the head with a rock. The Shadow noted exactly where he was struck. Gollum advanced forward, apparently sensing the Hobbit, who frantically scrambled.
The Shadow could see the hobbit and the former stoor struggling, able to see the former, as he lived completely in the shadow world himself. Yet, an enchantment of concealment, combined with Frodo being preoccupied, prevented the hobbit from seeing the shadow.
Finally, the time taken having been recorded, the shadow saw that Gollum was celebrating wildly, Frodo clutching the remnant of his finger, which had been bitten off. The other hobbit, Sam, was coming to.
In his wild celebrations, Gollum slipped a foot, and fell down, carrying the ring with him. It may be attributed to ill luck, or Gollum's own carelessness, but the Shadow knew this to not be true. This was the thing he had anticipated, and he recognised easily, having been specifically trained to do so, that this was divine intervention. Eru, it seemed, was watching this scene.
That would make things most difficult. The operation would have to be conducted with utmost care, and everything must go like clockwork. There was almost no room for error. He would come back.
He heard a loud screech, telling him that the Eagle was flying directly to Orodruin. He found the other hobbit- Sam- having jumped up to save Frodo from falling in as well, in his delirium after the Ring's loss. He had measured the exact time between the Hobbit's and the Eagle's coming to the volcano.
This was it. Sauron was about to be disembodied. Mordor's defences would collapse, followed by the Dark Tower and then the Land of Shadow itself.
The Silent Watcher decided it to be the best time to leave. He had observed and noted everything to a fault. He could not fail. He would not fail. After all, he was made for this.
The shadow gathered for one last time, and then dissipated. Vanished. Disappeared.
"Victory! We have Victory!" issued forth from Aragorn's mouth, the great cry ringing out across all of Mordor.
Years later, the Shadow reformed in a distant corner of Rhûn. He would have a body soon and he knew it. He must have it. His master had told him he would get one.
He had, as always, done well. That is what he had been created for- to carry out each order perfectly, to a fault.
He would be the ending Doom of Middle-earth, The Darkness to cover the lands. The onslaught of Death- to make way for renewal.
Arda was marred, when it was meant to be perfect. His master now saw only one way to 'restore' it to what it was always meant to be. He had been made to destroy, so that his master could create anew.
He would subjugate this world, so that it would blossom like never before under his master's rule.
His Dark Master had sacrificed a great part of his power to make him- and he was perfect. Without a flaw. Nothing would stand against him. But now, patience was needed.
It had been communicated to the Shadow that the final breaking of the Fellowship of the Ring would take place at Mithlond, the Grey Havens. The Ringbearer would go to Valinor- and so would he. A risky move, but an essential one.
Lightning struck the barren and desolate land. It was a dominion of Sauron once, noted the Shadow. As of now, he had no interest in it.
Ah, Sauron. Wise-yet foolish. He had always possessed Great Power- but had never properly used it. He had made a ring, and promptly lost it. Such incompetence.
Then again, although he did have great power, it was in a useless domain. Crafting and forging, and the manipulation of fire- pah.
Crafting had its uses, but all the weapons in the world can do but nothing against pure, unleashed destruction. The greatest roaring fires could be outlasted in a war of attrition with adequately sorcerous frost.
As for his master, though, He had True power. Power in exactly the right domain to carry out his plan. The Shadow himself didn't possess great power, but his power was exactly the right thing required.
He possessed no Terrible Power (yet), but what Power he possessed was Terrible. It would make no sense to anybody else, but it made perfect sense to the Shadow and his Master.
'Valar, just you wait. You have never been truly challenged before, not even by Melkor, for Eru always held you in favour. But the One is currently busy with other creations, and he holds others apart from you in his favour as well. Just you wait, for your doom is upon you. I will strike from the Shadows, and retreat where you cannot find me, and repeat the cycle until I have destroyed that cursed land of yours, your relationships, your 'children', the Maiar, and those damned Eruhini you care so much about, finally making your life a DREAD HELL NOT WORTH LIVING!' thought the Shadow.
"It would come with time. Time and Patience. Play with time in your hand, for time is your ally. Show no emotion, for you have none- I gave you none. Emotions are inhibitors, and ever do they halt even the best laid plans. Your fëa is like the coldest frost, and you must strike without mercy- but never hate. Never lash out. Hatred leads to recklessness, and defeat- that was Melkor's greatest mistake. You must be patient, my apprentice. My Dread Terror." said the voice of his maste, in his mind.
"Yes, my master."
He was Doom. He was darkness. Doomdarkness.
Mor. Manar. Mormanar.
Lord Mormanar.
He was supposed to be devoid of all emotion or feeling- but somehow, he found that he quite liked the sound of it.
So there you have it. I spent an entire year tinkering with this OC, trying to make him as terrifying a villain as possible without making him a sadistic kurvanog (That would be Black Speech, and therefore censored). Finally, he is perfect.
His Master, the new 'Dark Lord', as he could be called, is NOT AN ORIGINAL CHARACTER. He's one of Professor Tolkien's many creations. I do enjoy fan theories, hence feel free to bombard the review box with them. I might even tell you how close you are...