Our Most Beloved Star

by jkleeberger22

A dark lord waits to take back his own while an elf maiden waits for her beloved. An orc waits for the chance to fight and prove himself while a hobbit waits for a battle he dreads. Everyone is waiting, and they all see one thing in common: a symbol of light and hope. But whose hopes will come true? It's all a matter of perspective. A series of overgrown drabbles and short ficlets

1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is the product of J.R.R. Tolkien's genius, not mine. I write about his wonderful world for my own enjoyment, not for profit.

"And for you, Frodo Baggins, I give you the light of Earendil our most beloved star. May it be a light to you in dark places when all other lights go out." – Galadriel, the Fellowship of the Ring

O0o

My ring. Although worn on a different finger than it was of old, it shall soon be restored to its full glory- the glory that will come when it occupies its rightful place on its master's hand, as it glints in the last rays of fading sun light. All who see it shall bow in fear, coveting its perfect beauty even as they revile it and despair. I will admire the best and most beautiful of my creations, letting the sight of its brilliant gold fill the void in my heart.

How dare that brazen mortal Isildur steal my ring- and with it a part of me. He and his descendants have paid for that deed, as will all of Middle Earth. I will fill my servants with my passion and fuel the growing storm over Mordor with my anger. Brooding clouds, fiery flashes of lightning, the jeering of orcs eager for man flesh and destruction: yes, the last free peoples of Middle Earth shall pay dearly for their insolence. Who are elves, dwarves, men – and halflings- to defy me now? Whoever now carries it, I bid you to put my ring on in pride and triumph. Its power will taunt you, twist your heart and mind until your very soul is laid withering and helpless before the least of my whims. The sight of the ring on my hand will gall your heart. You thought it wise to use it against me, but all the while you were unwittingly, so foolishly playing into my hand, and in bitterness you shall rue your failure. To see the fairest, most powerful thing your fingers have ever grasped being worn on the Enemy's hand despite your efforts will be torture enough, but no- that shall be the least of your miseries in my tower.

In the distance, I see a small white city, seeming to glow against the stormy darkness like a star- like the light of Earendil. It is a symbol of hope and freedom to light the night skies, shining with a power I cannot blemish nor dim. Surely that cannot be a sign that Minas Tirith is also beyond my reach! Nobleness and strength belong to the heir of Isildur, and he could yet rally their forces. The men of Gondor are brave, and they have endured years uncounted- No, no! That city of lowly usurpers will fall. They have killed the lord of the Nazgul, my chief servant, and triumphed on the battle field- but only for a day. My true power has yet to be unleashed, and when the dam opens, they shall be swept away, drowned in the black flood. Then Minas Tirith will crumble beneath the iron clad feet of my orcs, beneath the dark winged shadow of my Nazgul. My ring and Middle Earth shall again be mine. I have only to wait.