Disclaimer:This crossover is purely a work of fan fiction. Lord Barst and the Inheritance Cycle were created by Christopher Paolini, and Middle-Earth and its characters/places belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.
Lord Barst's hunt for the One Ring
Chapter 1: A Stranger
Lord Barst sat under a tree, smoking a pipe.
The smoke floated upwards, sifting through the leaves of the tree, and eventually disappearing into the night air. It was not usual for Barst to seclude himself like this, sitting all alone in silence. The Imperial ruler was used to the loud commotion of daily city life—the daily rabble of Uru'baen.
But this was not Uru'baen. This was not Alagaesia. This was Middle-Earth. And Barst was a stranger to this land.
Lord Barst continued sitting under the tree, looking out over a pond in the Gladden Fields. Barst had been searching these fields for days now, but his labors had produced no fruit. Barst was starting to grow irritated by this point. THIS is where The Ring was supposed to be. The Mouth of The Necromancer had said so himself, before marking the location of the Gladden Fields on a map of Middle-Earth that he had given to Barst.
The Mouth of The Necromancer, Barst thought bitterly. That was what the grinning spook had called himself. After Barst had struck his deal with The Necromancer, The Mouth had ridden to Uru'baen to escort Barst to Middle-Earth, for Barst did not know how to get there from Alagaesia.
Much to Barst's surprise, his elf girlfriend Dew had offered to come along for the ride. With the guidance of The Mouth, Barst and Dew had entered Middle-Earth. That was the last time Barst had seen The Mouth, for the dark messenger had mysteriously disappeared as soon as he had given Barst the map. Barst had not liked that. He had not liked that at all.
"Mouth of The Necromancer? More like Ass of The Necromancer" muttered Barst to himself as he continued smoking his Alagaesian pipe. "I hope he got lost and then eaten by wolves." But the words that the lord spoke out loud did not coincide with his thoughts.
Barst figured that The Mouth had most likely gone straight to The Necromancer's fortress, to warn his master of Barst's arrival in Middle-Earth. What The Necromancer would do after receiving this piece of information… Lord Barst had no idea. Nonetheless, Barst tried to avoid bad thoughts on this matter. And so, Barst drifted off to sleep, as the water in the pond glowed brightly, reflecting the full moon.
But the warlord's mind was not easy. Shadows invaded his sleep. The cunning voice of The Necromancer echoed through Barst's head, as it had done so weeks earlier, when Barst had decided to leave Alagaesia in his quest for the ring:
"Time will pass. You will die, Barst. Your body will wither away into dust. But Dew… she will live on, as is the way of the elves. Dew will live on long after you die. Hundreds of years will pass. Thousands. Dew will forget about you. She will meet many new people… she will fall in love again. You know this is the truth. It is inescapable."
Barst tossed and turned in his sleep, but the poisonous words of The Necromancer continued to echo through his mind. Poisonous words who's power was rooted in stinging truth.
"Your love for Dew has bred your worst fear. Most of all… you fear, that when you die… the one you love most, the one who you have given your heart to… won't remember you anymore. And that is worse than death for you, isn't it Barst? Because even death will not bring you peace anymore. You would die with the knowledge that your existence will be completely forgotten by the one you love."
"Dew will forget about you. Forever. Dew will FORGET-"
Barst woke up with a cold sweat. And yet, his determination for finding the ring was renewed.
Everyone back home had doubted him. Morzan, Elspeth, Elva. Even Dew. But THIS is why he was undertaking this quest. So he could be with Dew forever. So that he could share an immortal life with her. Finding this ring was the only way to achieve such a goal, for as much as Barst mistrusted the dark mind of The Necromancer, the bastard had been right about one thing: he knew of the only way a mortal man could achieve immortality.
And Barst wanted immortality, CRAVED it more than anything else. He knew The Necromancer was taking full advantage of that need, for whatever plans he may have… but Barst had no choice but to play along either way. The Uru'baen warlord was a man of action, and he had always lived his life in pursuit of his goals, never letting anyone get in his way. This goal would be no different.
Barst got up, dusted himself off, and did his morning routine of muscle exercises. Then he put on his heavy plate-mail armor, picked up his huge black mace, and climbed on his horse. The morning sun was shining brightly over the Gladden Fields. But Barst did not care, for he was leaving these fields. He was a man of action, and he had realized that there was no action here.
Barst was not sure just how he knew that the ring was not here. He just knew it. Like a subconscious instinct that you just can't disregard.
Before he had disappeared, The Mouth of The Necromancer had explained to Barst why his master believed the ring was here in the Gladden Fields. Barst has been told the story of Isildur, the man who had "stolen" (as The Mouth put it) The Necromancer's ring. Isildur had been riding with a company of soldiers when their party had been ambushed by a band of orcs. Isildur was killed, but the ring had apparently slipped from his hand.
No trace of it had been found, and The Necromancer could no longer search the Gladden Fields himself, nor send any of his servants to search it, for the surrounding areas were heavily populated with elves from Mirkwood. For precisely this reason did The Necromancer need a human such as Barst to search for the ring. Dew had reluctantly convinced the elves that Barst meant no harm, so the elves allowed him safe passage as he had searched the Gladden Fields for several days. Thinking back on this, the Uru'baen commander shook his head at how pointless the search had been.
Barst spurred his big horse forward, riding southward, leaving the fields behind him. He was not quite sure why exactly he was going south, except that he had come from the north; to the west stood the giant Misty Mountains, and the vast Mirkwood stretched in the east, both of which Barst had no desire to cross. Perhaps it was his instinct again, subconsciously telling him that south is the right way to go.
Most of all though, Barst was looking for information. He was a stranger in this Middle-Earth, and he had no idea where the ring was. He had to gain some information, some hint as to its whereabouts.
As Barst continued to ride south, the wind blowing into his helmet, he thought about the deal he had made with The Necromancer. "A deal with the devil", some had called it. Barst had given those people an angry look, but he understood where they were coming from. Necromancer had promised Barst that if he found The Necromancer's ring, he would then craft Barst a ring just for himself, a ring that gave him immortality. An exchange of rings. Barst had agreed to the deal, but only as an open act. The lord of Uru'baen had his own agenda about how this "deal" was going to play out…
Using his tactical experience in these matters, Barst had gained as much information as possible to the dangers of his Middle-Earth quest before embarking on it. Some elves had heard of this "One Ring", and told Barst that The Necromancer would indeed grow vastly more powerful if he came into possession of it.
It became crystal clear to Barst that The Necromancer would have no reason to fulfill his end of the deal if Barst were to give him the One Ring. "Ring or no ring, I doubt The Necromancer could defeat me" said Barst, confidently feeling the big round Eldunarí stone that was hidden on the inside of his chest armor. "Yet, everyone seems pretty convinced that he'll become unstoppable if he gets his hands on it. So I'm not going to let that happen… just in case."
Barst smirked, mentally reviewing his plan to double-cross The Necromancer and take the One Ring back to Alagaesia, giving Barst immortality and leaving The Necromancer with nothing. "A mighty gift from Middle-Earth to decorate the halls of Uru'baen where myself and Dew would walk for all eternity" proudly said Barst. The trouble was that he had no idea where the ring could be. And neither did The Necromancer. He and Barst were competing in a dangerous and unpredictable race. A race that Lord Barst intended to WIN.
The one advantage Barst and the rest of the Alagaesians had over The Necromancer is that they knew his true identity. They knew that he was actually Sauron, the dark lord of old who had been a great enemy to the free peoples of Middle-Earth in the second age. Sauron had apparently been hiding his identity under the guise of "The Necromancer" for years, believing that nobody would be capable of discovering his real name. Sauron could then use his enemy's lack of knowledge to his advantage, and manipulate them in any way he wished. But that advantage was no longer his.
The Imperial lord wondered if The Necromancer suspected that Barst did indeed know of the true power of the One Ring.
"Because if he does…", pondered the Uru'Baen general out loud, "then surely he would also suspect that I would try to take the ring for myself. Which means that he would anticipate my plan to double-cross him… and things could get quite messy then." If there's one thing Barst had learned about The Necromancer/Sauron, it's that he was extremely cunning. "But nobody is more cunning than Lord Barst" he thought with a smirk, expelling his worries once again.
And so, Barst raced south, looking for houses, dwellings, anything that might contain someone who could give him information as to where the ring could be. Barst checked his map—he was in the Field of Celebrant now, the great river Anduin snaking along beside him. There were no signs of houses, only a deserted landscape stretching for miles as far as the eye could see. Barst felt lonely again. That strange feeling he was not used to. He thought of Dew.
They had parted ways several days ago, while Barst was still pointlessly searching the Gladden Fields. It had been extremely hard to convince her to go back to Alagaesia. Women were stubborn creatures, no matter what race they belonged to, thought Barst.
But thankfully, Barst had been able to convince Dew that this mission was anything but safe, and extremely unpredictable to say the least. Barst explained that he could not properly concentrate on doing anything, especially fighting, if Dew was with him. He had never doubted her… "elven skills" for one second during their entire relationship, but nonetheless, Barst just felt better if he knew she was back home in the forest, safe.
Dew had been accompanied by a party of Elves from the wooden realm of King Thranduil. They had safely escorted her back to Alagaesia. Barst sighed, thankful that he didn't have to worry about her anymore, and could focus his full attention on this mission.
But his mind was still uneasy. For he had not told Dew the real reason why he felt that she was not safe.
A familiar chill crept up Lord Barst's spine. He had felt it before. He looked over his shoulder instinctively, but as usual, there was nothing there but barren, empty land.
Barst had not told Dew the real reason he had sent her away. He was now reminded of that reason.
Barst was being followed. Of this he was sure. And he was being followed by something sinister.