Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings.

The Dark Tree

A Lord of the Rings fanfic by: Crazyeight

Chapter: 01

The thought of the world spoke of winter, or would have to those who lived in the lands to the west as well as to the south. Calebar was a land of extremes, and rightly so, given its history, hemmed on three sides by a fortress wall of dark mountains. The north and south were divided in those extremes, much like the broken symbol of dark and light that came from the eastern lands far beyond the horizon of the Silver Roads, one swallowed and the other stained, a result of that same history. The shadow that dwelt there was no more, but the injuries it inflicted remained, and the land suffered, even in its prosperity.

Yet to the people who dwelt in the south along the lake of Núrnen, Calebar was home, and was well-earned. Paid for with their blood and toil. And toil they would, for spring had come at last; the fell-wind having at last lost the worst of its bite.

It was time to farm.

Not so for people such as myself, who stand at the watch, thought Niol, shrugging his scarf closer to his face to keep out the chill. The bite was gone, but his skin was pale and rough; sensitive to the cold even though it was considerably warmer. A telltale sign of the harshness of Calebar winters. His cloak, a dark grey affair, bore the sigil of a twisted coil of thorns, the image of the Black Thorns guard that kept watch in the lands, shielding the citizens from the fell beasts that still haunted the Ephel Dúath. Though they were few in number, they remained a danger that needed to be taken seriously.

Darkness, it had long been said, since the days of Eldarion, a long-ago king of Gondor, could not simply be ignored just because it was small. After all, even the smallest of peoples could change the course of war if one had enough courage…or fear.

Pulling his cloak closer to himself, Niol paced the battlement of the tower, his eyes narrowing. In the distance, he thought he saw something shining. Metal that caught the light of the spring sun?

Whatever the case is, it's approaching swiftly.

"Edhor," he called out, his voice muffled by his scarf. "Could you come take a look at this?"

"Take a look at what?" came the response as a pair of boots scraped over a thick sheen of ice. Niol indicated the distant gleam, to which Edhor snorted.

"I doubt it's nothing to be concerned about. The Dínauth don't like to come to this far south. Not during this time of the year at any rate. The cold reminds them too much of their graves."

"Still," Niol replied to his companion. "We should send out riders to scout it out and determine whether they are friend or foe. Ignoring ghost fires is orc work after all."

Edhor sighed at the old saying – about as ancient as the stones of this fortress – and stepped away from his spot next to his companion, heading toward the stairs.

"Theor is not going to be happy," he grumbled, disappearing down the black well of the fortress. Niol shook his head, wishing that he were home rather than in this hellish place, keeping an eye out for the dead and other such spirits that came to inhabit Middle-Earth

A horn call broke upon the silence and Niol turned his face toward it. In the distance, the shining silver becoming more clear as it drew nearer, he spied a restless flag fluttering in the breeze, a field of snowy white, and a tree grew from its center, black, with long, reaching arms that stretched skyward, seeking that pale blue and the starry void that lay beyond it.

Gondor. Gondor had come to Calebar.

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"Open up in the name of the king!" came the cry from the wall, just as the gates began to rise. A large troop of horsemen wearing the winged helms and the shining armor of Gondor rode through, hooves clattering on the tunnel's hard ground before emerging from the other end. Reigning in their horses, the first of them swung off their steed, removing their helmet just as a dark, bearded man wearing thick, heavy furs approached with his entourage.

"And good day to you, my lord," the man bowed. "To what do I owe this visit from the lords of Gondor?"

"My name is Faranar," the man said. "Captain of Gondor. I would speak with the commander of Minas Amath."

"You have found him," came the reply, accompanied with a nod. "Theor of Amath, at your service."

Theor gave a bow and Faranar inclined his head.

"Very good. My men are in need of rest and resupply. I request lodgings for them and their mounts. I will speak to you in private on a matter of grave importance."

Theor's eyes met that of Faranar before nodding.

"See to it that it is done," he said before approaching Faranar. Gesturing with one hand, revealing a sheathed long sword strapped to his side. "If it's your will to let this be done, then we shall talk. In private, be it as it may in a place where the wind howls like the wargs."

"Close the doors to such wind then," Faranar said sternly, fixing the man with a hard look, one hand falling upon the hilt of his sword. "Let nothing pass into that place save our words and our two selves. I fear that even the snow may have ears."

Theor raised an eyebrow at this, but he led the captain into the depths of the fortress, wherein his chambers lay.

The sooner we get this over and done with, the better. For here in the greening land beneath the black, we struggle to purchase a peace and quiet from east and west and spirits all.

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A/N: I had this idea stewing around in my head for the past few months now. I don't know how often I'll get to this, as writing for Lord of the Rings is an entirely different field for me compared to my usual work and considerably more complex (so any assistance/tips/advice would be greatly appreciated), and ideas are still largely forming in my mind. I'm going to take my time with this one, and for now, the chapters are going to be short until I feel more comfortable working with this world.

The short of this is an exploration about what may have caused the Fourth Age of Middle-Earth to end and what sort of world we would see before that end. Being a novice in this area of fanfiction, this is probably old hat by now, but from what I've read it's generally been accepted that the story of the flood that permeates various religions is what put an end to the Fourth Age of the world. Given Tolkien's background, I'm going to draw on some aspects of the pre-flood period for inspiration. I hope my approach with this particular area makes sense and I don't butcher everything along the way.

Regarding some of the names I've used, Calebar is Sindarin for 'Green Home', and is the name that was given to Southern Mordor as it recovers from Sauron's influence over the centuries. Minas Amath means Tower of the Shield, something of a fortress within the area of Calebar and a recently built one at that, serving as one of the primary outposts for the watchers of the land that keep it safe. Dínauth comes from the Sindarin words for silent (dínen) and shape (auth).

I hope that my new exploration works out well, and that you all enjoy my work and help me improve so that I can provide a worthwhile experience. :)

Until next time.

-Crazyeight