I've noticed that there was a severe lack of LOTR AU for Rise of the Guardians, and by severe lack, I mean none whatsoever. For shame people, shame. And so, I shall create this! Hope you guys enjoy! Don't forget to review. Tell me what you think could happen.

Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardians, or Lord of the Rings. Rise of the Guardian characters belong to William Joyce and Dreamworks. Lord of the Rings belongs to their respected owners.

Enjoy!


Guardians of Middle Earth

Prologue

Something's stirring

Peace befell Middle Earth. With Sauron destroyed, along with the ring, all seemed calm in the land. The Shire was peaceful, the hobbits all enjoyed peaceful days, and declared that none would go on more adventures. Which was fine and well, as Frodo Baggins was retiring after that one nasty business with the ring and Mount Doom. Sam, Merry and Pippin all declared that they would simply settle down, and leave the adventuring to the others, therefore the story is not about them. No, it is about a group of heroes you don't know of. But, we'll get to them later. For now, let us learn of the troubles again stirring in Middle Earth. In the dark land of Moror, a thin figure cloaked in black walked along the broken ruins. He stared at the rubble that was once the eye of Sauron. He sneered. The plan was faulty from the start. Sauron should have known that the men, elves, and dwarves of Middle Earth would defend their home to the last being. The witch king sneered. A few remaining orcs cleaned up the rubble of the battle from long ago. Three hundred years it had been since the fall of Sauron. Mordor had been in ruins for so long, orcs unable to clean up the mess due to elven hunting parties. King Aragorn of Gondor had lead of long and healthy reign. The witch king shook his head at the thought of that man, that mortal. Who cared about him? He was long dead now, a mire annoyance. Gandalf had retired, being an old wizard, so the witch king didn't have to worry about him. He breathed in the air, still heavy with dust from the rubble and the smoke from Mount Doom. An orc ran up to the dark figure.

"Master," It said in a raspy voice, "The men are tired, weakened from their labours. Might we rest? It is torturous work and we have been at it for days."

The witch king looked at the orc. A small thing it was. A runt, but a tough one. He was one of the few survivors of the destruction of Mordor. The witch king pulled out a deadly, black blade and glared at the orc.

"Are you all exhausted from your labors?" He said with sweetness oozing from each word. "You need a rest?"

The small orc nodded, looking relieved at the idea of rest.

"Well then, you have to earn it!" The witch king snarled. "I want every scrap of rubble that used to be Mordor cleaned and burned! Move!"

The little orc shrunk away and scurried off.

"Yes Master Pitch. Sorry Master Pitch!" It yelped, just barely missing the swipe of the deadly blade aimed for his neck.

Pitch Black was the witch king's true name. Now the original witch king was slain, by a woman no less, but he was stronger. He was the nightmare king, and now the witch king. He ruled an empire of rubble, but soon, soon he would rule the land of Middle Earth. He would rule it with an iron grip, and destroy the race of men that caused the destruction of Mordor to happen in the first place. He sheathed the dark blade, looking out at the pure land outside of Mordor. Out there, the inhabitants of Middle Earth were carefree and happy. But soon, soon he would bring only misery to them. A shark's grin was just visible under the dark hood of the being. Yes, he would be all powerful, and nothing could stop him. For he was, Pitch Black. The Nightmare King and the Witch King.

Far across the land, across the rivers and the lakes. Across hills and mountains, a man bolted upright from his bed. Long, pale gold hair fell to his shoulders, his grey eyes wide and fearful. He climbed out of his bed and walked past the large windows that covered the walls of his chambers. Long, pointed ears poked out from the curtain of hair. He walked along one of the airy halls of Rivendell, towards a small, secluded area. He opened the tall glass doors and towards a basin that sat in the centre of the room. He peered into the basin, the water still within. An image appeared on the surface of the water, a dark face. A long, pinched chin peered out from underneath a large hood. A cruel grin was visible, the teeth were sharp, like thorns and yellow as sunflower petals. Pitch Black. The elven man ripped his eyes away from the image. Just as he had feared, as the prophecies had foretold.

A day shall come where evil shall rise, with forces strong and large in size.

A group of five shall answer the call, and protect the land before it falls.

The moon shall rise when the evil ends, and the Guardians of Middle Earth ascend.

The elven man raised his eyes to the moon.

"It is time, for the prophecies of old to rein truth." He thought. "Middle Earth needs its Guardians."

Manfred left the room, with a plan to bring for the prophecy's beginning.