I got zero reviews last chapter. Absolutely goose egg. That's…never happened before. I was seriously depressed. :( It made me sad. Did you guys not like my plot twists last chapter? There seemed to still be a good amount of people reading…I just didn't get any feedback. I hope you guys like this chapter better. We're getting close to a reunion in Rohan. I'm just trying to set it up whilest still setting up other twists and keeping to the timeline. It's not so easy.

Anyway, I hope you like this one better than you did the last one…

Chapter 21 – Anger and Kindness

"Oh God….did anyone catch the number of the Oliphaunt that ran me over?"

Consciousness came slowly. It was like he was swimming through a sea of thick molasses, his limbs heavy with fatigue and his mind weary.

"No Oliphaunts involved, sir dragon, but a few poisoned wounds," said a voice nearby. He opened his eyes to see a man of average height standing next to his bed. The man's skin was a sickly grey color, his eyes black as night. James noticed his hands were clawed sharply with dark nails, and his ears were large and pointed. He looked rather…orcish.

"I'm going to go ahead and suspend my alarm for a few moments, and give you the time to explain to me exactly where I am before I start shooting fire out of my face," James said calmly, rather impressed with himself for his control. The man seemed surprised for a moment, before nervously running a hand down the front of his robes.

"I am Master Healer Kasnok of the Redling Village. You are here under the orders of Wolfmaster Phelan. We are-,"

"Phelan's here? Where is he?" James asked, trying to sit up. Pain lanced through his body, causing him to gasp tightly. The Healer's hand was on his chest, gently pushing him back into the bed.

"You are moving much faster than I anticipated, but you are still recovering. Your collar bone was cracked by the one arrow, and the bone in your arm was deeply gouged. Your knee was mostly muscular damage, but I expect a full recovery," the healer said. James frowned, leaning back into his pillows and sighing.

"I hate being sick…" he groaned.

"You always have, you big baby."

James' head snapped up to see Phelan standing in the doorway, a crooked grin on his face. James felt as though his heart would beat out of his chest. He said no words to his friend, merely staring at him for several moments, before large tears began to fall from his eyes. Phelan had a look of compassion on his face as he approached James' bed.

"I looked….everywhere," James finally choked out. And then the dam broke. His shoulders heaved with sobs, his face twisted in pain and emotional torment. Phelan sat by James on the narrow bed, careful to avoid his wings as they were folded behind him. For several minutes Phelan just sat with his long-lost companion as he cried. Healer Kasnok slipped out like a shadow to leave them with some privacy. After a while, James' sobs petered out, leaving him with only the hitching breaths of someone who had poured out their heart through their eyes.

"I was found by Gismblog, the man who began this village. I've traveled all over Arda, looking for all of you, taking care of the half-bloods, and raising an army of wolves. Never did I find Draca. Never did I find Orion," he said, looking at his hands as he spoke.

"I traveled with an elf for a time, and he said he had known Draca, and even Orion for a bit. Orion went south towards Harad looking for us sixty years ago, and Draca was a wandering Istar. She was last seen in Mirkwood a decade ago. Phelan, I….I was trapped in my dragon form…I couldn't openly look for any of you," he said. Phelan looked surprised.

"Trapped as the dragon? How is that?" he asked curiously. James looked rather sheepish for a moment, and Phelan narrowed his eyes. "What did you do?"

"I may have pissed off the Dark Lord. Gawd!" James said stubbornly, pouting rather magnificently.

"You were in the presence of Sauron?" Phelan asked in surprise.

"I landed face-first in Mordor. I was brought to the foot of Sauron's throne. I spoke with him….briefly. I was there a week. They were trying to break my spirit…but I kind of escaped…" James said, picking at the blanket across him.

"You escaped Barad Dûr?" Phelan gasped. James hitched up his good shoulder.

"Sort of. I escaped the dungeon, and was on my way out the door. But I had to pass through the throne room. Of course Baron von Dickwit was there, asplendor in his emo armor…" James continued. "I was chased by one of the Nazgûl. I believe it was the Witch King. I had transformed to escape, catching him by surprise. I was out the door….I was home free…The Nazgûl caught me….he put a collar around my neck…I could not change back…" James' face was haunted as he spoke. He remembered the choking air of Mordor as he'd tried to flee. He remembered the icy feeling of the Witch King's knee in his side as he pinned him with the collar. He looked up finally, catching Phelan's gaze. "And for seventy years I have been the dragon. Until recently."

"James…I…I don't know what to say. Never was there a day that you and the others were not on my mind….I'm so sorry," Phelan's voice was thick.

"Tell me one thing: have you been happy?" James asked suddenly. Phelan seemed surprised.

"Well…for a while I survived in the wild, alternating between my human and wolf form. I made some enemies amongst the goblins. They wanted to use me to breed with their wargs, thinking I was a mutation of a warg. But the Redlings found me. I've been here, helping to raise this city from a quaint little village of outcasts. I've used my magic and my knowledge to make the lives of these people easier. I…am one of them," Phelan said. James smiled at him then, the same lopsided smile he'd inherited from his father, one of warmth and friendship.

"Then I am happy for you."

But Phelan wasn't quite done with James. "James…please tell me…please say that you haven't been alone for seventy years…"

"No. I've…I've made a few friends…" James said evasively. Phelan's eyes narrowed, but he didn't press for answers. He wouldn't have gotten them. James looked over suddenly, his face curious. "Where's Boromir?" he asked.

"Your friend has taken quite a liking to one of my Riders. She has been showing him around the Village," Phelan answered. James laughed.

"That sly dog! I knew all he needed was a good shag!" James exclaimed. Phelan grinned wolfishly.

"Well Talun is no blushing maiden. She's young, but extremely fierce and loyal. I wish them both luck!"

Phelan was quiet for a bit, before he cleared his throat. "James…you…you've been traveling with some people of great import," he began.

"Yea…their social standing is almost as large as their ego," James said with a fond grin. Phelan gave him a fleeting smile.

"Well…I know your friends were seeking their number that was taken…and…I was wondering if you may be able to convince one of them to allow citizenship to the Redlings. You see…we are in and out of the borders of Rohan…our presence here is illegal. If the King of Rohan knew we were here we would face the full might of the Rohirrim. We are only a small city of about six hundred people….many of those being women and children…" Phelan trailed off. James seemed to think on it for a moment.

"The hobbits were taken by Uruk-hai, which were put here by Saruman. I say that they're going through Rohan. Muster up a delegation and march to Edoras. Be sure to bring a few chubby-faced babies and their mums. Kings are more likely to have mercy on women and children," James said. Phelan sucked on his teeth for a few seconds.

"Straightforward…and yet devious. I like it," Phelan said with a grin. James returned it, flashing his fangs.

"Well…I was in Slytherin, thanks ever so much."

"I will go speak to Gismblog. If we can muster up a decent group, we will leave tonight for Edoras," Phelan said decidedly. James winced.

"Boromir and I will go with you. I can heal and walk," he said.

"We will be riding. I will bring a few wolves and a few horses. The Rohirrim judge people on how they treat their horses. It may do us good to take a few traditional mounts," Phelan replied. James groaned.

"Oh god…horses hate me and I can't ride worth shit. Suddenly this trip seems so much less fun," he groaned. Phelan laughed.

"Cheer up, mate. I'm sure your riding attempts will keep us plenty entertained. I'll have to ask Talun to come so she can heal you when you break your neck," Phelan teased. James pouted.

"Flea-bitten bitch," he grouched. Phelan snickered.

"Mangy lizard," he returned fondly.

Perhaps the trip wouldn't be so terrible after all…

Harry sat between Sirius and Lucius in the sand, all three quiet as they stared across from them. The Nazgûl sat as quietly as a shadow across from them, regarding them with the same quiet concentration that they had for it. Harry had awoken to a sound verbal blistering from both Blue Wizards. No one would go near the fallen wraith, and it was finally Harry that had approached it.

He was super pissed about what he had found out. Lucius had indeed managed to cut the connection between Sauron and the wraith, but when the wraith had grabbed him, the connection had transferred to him. Why? His wedding ring. His goddamn wedding band, which had just enough magic in it from a wizard's bonding ceremony to allow the wraith to attach itself to him. He had punched Lucius in the face when he found out. The man had taken it like champ, but told him clearly it was his only free shot and if he tried it again he would find a boot in his arse.

The wraith was rather annoying. It simpered worse than Dobby, trying to serve him and cringing when he yelled at it. But first he had asked the wraith if there was a way to remove the Black Breath fever from someone. The wraith had been shown to Sirius and ordered to heal him. It was as simple to the shrouded creature as waving its hand. Sirius had jerked to life, coughing up a cloud of oily black smoke that reeked of death. After that he had been as well as if he had never been sick.

And so now they were here. Sitting in the sand as the camp was made for the night. Staring at the Nazgûl with horror, revulsion, and just a teeny bit of curiosity.

"Sooooo….tell us about yourself…" Sirius drawled. The wraith's head twitched to the side.

"Thou dost not order me, wizardling," it replied snippily. Sirius rolled his eyes.

"What's your name?" Harry asked.

"I am Hathalmyrn, Master," the phantom said, its voice the pinnacle of subservience.

"So…Hathalmyrn…what do…Nazgûl do?" Harry asked awkwardly.

"I serve my master. That has not changed with the transferring of my bond," Hathalmyrn replied. Harry rubbed his hands over his face tiredly.

"If it was the magic between your connections that kept you all alive, how do you still exist?" Harry finally asked.

"The ring of power that I was given did not stop being a ring of power when its connection to my mast-…ah…my previous master was lost. Still does it sustain me," came the quiet reply.

"What happens if you take it off?" Lucius asked. Hathalmyrn growled lowly.

"I do not answer to Golug fools!" he hissed. Harry snapped his fingers at the wraith.

"Answer the question!" Harry called impatiently. Hathalmyrn was quiet, seeming to deflate a bit. His gauzy black cloak was drawn tightly around himself as if to ward off some unknown chill.

"It depends on the will of my master. If thou wishes it, I will disappear, my spirit scattered upon the wind. I can exist without the ring, if it is allowed of me. But I am stronger when I wear it," Hathalmyrn said. Harry looked at Sirius.

"What do you think we should do about this?" he asked. Sirius looked at the wraith with critical eyes.

"I don't like the stupid thing. It almost killed me," Sirius said harshly. He saw the creature's posture changing. The thing cringed far too easily. It figured that they would get a Nazgûl to use, and get the sickly abused one. Typical. "But it's still one of the Dork Lord's creations. One to us is one less to him. I say we keep it and use it to our advantage."

"I will fight for my master. Thy enemies would fall before me. I speak the language of the Orcs. And they do fall to the Black Fever as easily as men," Hathalmyrn said. Harry ran his hand through his hair, causing it to stick out ridiculously.

"I suppose the best thing to do would be to keep it for now. But I tell you now, Hathalmyrn," Harry said, holding up his hand when the wraith appeared to get excited. "Do not make any of this company sick with that god-forsaken fever, or I'll take your ring off myself and blow your soul out of your arse," Harry growled. Hathalmyrn sighed contentedly. Ah…now it felt just like home.

Sirius stood from the sand, brushing a few flecks from his bottom as he walked away from the group. Orion was sitting with the Blue Wizards at a magical fire, talking quietly to them. He looked up as Sirius approached, smiling at his father and still happy to see him well.

"We're keeping the Nazgûl," Sirius said. Pollando put a hand to his head.

"Why in Eru's name would you do that?" he asked incredulously. Sirius scoffed.

"Why the hell not? How many armies of Men can say they have a frigging Nazgûl on their team? Uh…none except us. So Harry's gonna keep old Hathalmyrn around," Sirius replied. Alatar was mumbling to himself, rubbing at his temples as though he had a massive headache.

"This is stupid," Orion muttered. Sirius grinned.

"Besides…think about how pissed off Sauron is going to be when he finds out!"

Sauron was angry.

No….angry wasn't a good description of his present mood.

Sauron was blindingly, blood-boilingly, bone-chillingly, head-blowingly furious. Khamûl knelt before him, trembling in terror at his master's ire.

"You are a sorry excuse for a servant! I told you I did not want Hathalmyrn lost to us! Do you even know how much this has cost? How far this is going to set me back? I can't even begin to fathom the amount of stupidity it takes to be bested by mortals!" Sauron seethed, not fully realizing the irony of his statement. "I just…I can't even…I am…" Sauron had never been so livid in all of his existence. He could feel the absence of the lost Nazgûl. Their presence was a source of strength for him, a remainder of some of his old power. Now one of the Nine was gone, unable to feed his power. Good thing it had only been Hathalmyrn. Had it been Khamûl instead…or…Morgoth forbid….even Murazor, he might not have been able to hold his solid body.

As it were he was feeling a bit fuzzy around the edges.

"Get out of my sight. Go to Murazor. Tell him what has happened and tell him your punishment is his to deliver. If I try to punish you now I will end up ripping you apart and tossing your festering bones into Orodruin," Sauron hissed. Khamûl hesitated but a moment before he felt the sharp tip of his master's boot catch him under his rib cage, sending him flying across the room. He took to his feet as soon as he could get them underneath him, fleeing the presence of his master before he could change his mind and block him from existence.

What a terrible day.

At the insistence of the easily-worn orc cousins, the group rested. Merry and Pippin were kept under close watch by several of the Uruks. Hugi, the educated Uruk, had somehow retrieved his pack from the orcs that had held him, and was at present sitting far away from all of them, reading a book intently. Every so often Merry would hear him make a noise of surprise or amusement at whatever the subject of the book was.

"I wonder if they taste good," One of the lean Uruks said, looking at Pippin in a way he did not like at all. The female Uruk growled.

"If you try to take a bite it will be your arse that the wizard fries. You back off of the little rats right now!" she snarled. The leader grabbed her braid, jerking her off-balance and tilting her head back.

"You got a soft spot for the little rats?" he growled at her, showing teeth. Her hand shot out, slapping him soundly across his broad face. Silence reigned in the camp. Even Merry and Pippin were deathly quiet as they watched the interaction. "You will pay dearly for that, wench!"

His fist crashed into her face, knocking her cleanly off of her feet and onto her back in front of Merry. Merry pulled his legs up slightly so that she would not hit them. He saw her pale green eyes roll back for a moment before she attempted to get back to her feet. The large Uruk was on top of her then, pinning her to the grass with his body weight.

"Show her who's boss!" one of the orcs called.

"The only place a bitch belongs is on 'er back!" another hissed. Egged on by the calls, the lead Uruk grasped at the ties of the female's leggings. She roared at him in anger, and succeeded in slashing him across the face before he grabbed her by the throat and slammed her head against the ground. Merry was so close he could reach forward and touch both of them. Terror glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth, and he could feel Pippin trembling beside him.

The female fought him for several tense minutes, clawing and scratching as she received dizzying blows to her face and head. Finally he caught one of her hands in his, squeezing it in a crushing grasp until they heard several sickening cracks. She howled in agony as her defeat was on her. The ties of her leggings were jerked open and he grasped them roughly, jerking them down her hips as he reached for the ties of his own pants.

Merry turned his head away, shame and horror burning his face. Her howl turned quite suddenly into a piercing scream. He could hear the sounds of the orcs and other Uruks laughing, jeering and shouting crude things as the Uruk made sport of the female. Tears stained his face as he heard the ragged screams of anguish. There was a perverse sound of flesh meeting flesh that Merry knew was burned into his memory.

Nobody deserves that. Not even an Uruk lady… Merry thought to himself.

It seemed to go on forever. After a while her fight was gone, leaving only the hollow acceptance and pitiful cries of pain. The Uruk thrust once more, his back arching as he found completion and emptied himself inside of her. He withdrew and tucked himself away, sneering down at her.

"If you like the shire rats so much you can carry one of them. You got five minutes to get yourself together or I will whip you until your entrails fall out through your back. Then I'll feed you to the wolves," he snarled, spitting on her as he walked away. She rolled to her side and then to her knees, pulling up the leggings and tying them again. The dark brown skin of her hand was turning purple and black with bruises, but she finally made it to her feet. The other Uruks watched her, sneering smiles on their faces as she stumbled mightily. She looked down at the hobbits.

Merry braved a look at her, and felt his heart break. There were several cuts on her face from her fight with the lead Uruk. Her bottom lip was split and black blood smudged her chin. Tears had cut trails in the grime on her face, and her whole body trembled with pain. She reached down and grabbed Merry, slipping his arms over her head as the other had done. Pippin's same captor had picked him up again, and the company was on the move within minutes. Merry could feel her shoulders heaving as she ran.

"You did not deserve that, lady," he said into her ear. Her head tilted slightly as she ran, and she bared her teeth.

"Shut it."

"Nobody deserves that. Ladies should be treated with kindness and respect," Merry continued, his voice gentle at the side of her head.

"I am not a lady. I am an Uruk of Isengard," she grunted.

"My lady Uruk…I know several people who would treat you kindly. They are good folk and would never harm a female, not matter what race she was," Merry insisted. The Uruk snorted, but was silent for a few minutes before she spoke.

"What is kindness?" Merry felt his eyes sting with tears. What is kindness? Oh Eru…what foul things the wizard Saruman had done…what foul acts he had done upon these people…

"Kindness is being considerate of others. It is not hurting people…it is gentleness to another creature," he said.

"I do not know kindness," she said gruffly. Merry looked slightly to the side and made sure none of the others were watching, before he leaned his head forward and kissed the female on the cheek. She gasped softly at the contact.

"Now you do," he said softly. A strange idea came to him. "Help us escape, lady. Help us away and we will take you from these who are unkind to you. Will you do this?" he asked, his voice low in her ear. She hitched him up a little on her back as they ran, and he did not hear her speak for several minutes. He was afraid she would tell on him to the leader.

"We will wait until the time is better. You will show me more kindness if I help you?" she asked. Merry tilted his head again and gave her another quick kiss on the cheek. She smelled of sweat and dirt, and it was unpleasant to kiss her face, but he could quickly get over it if it meant an escape.

"My lady, all the kindness I can give will be yours if you will help us," Merry said insistently. Once again she was quiet for a while before she spoke. It was almost too quiet for him to hear.

"I will help."

Hope seemed long forgotten in Rohan. It was not an easy place to be for an elf. Especially one who had just returned from a land of joy and peace. Gríma was a foul thing, always leering at any female who was of any attraction at all. And the way he treated the young wizard girl was atrocious. She was an object of little respect to him, little better than a dog to an unkind master. He beat her and used her body, and yet there was a fire in her eyes that did not go out. She was most amazing in this regard.

And the lady wizard did not take her treatment without little revenges of her own. Sometimes Gríma had her serve him his dinner in his rooms, and Celebrían had discovered that she would have the dogs lick his bread before placing it on the plate. Once she saw her mix something into Gríma's food. It did not happen immediately, but the word in the Meduseld had been that later that night he had awoken with terrible stomach cramps, and had not been able to stray far from the outhouse.

And she was never caught. That was what made it so impressive.

Théoden King was deeply under Gríma's shadows, and lady Éowyn was too busy skirting around the Wormtongue to notice much in the palace. But no one could get close enough to the King to help him. Gríma was either at his side or close enough to appear like an oily shadow if someone even breathed towards the king. It was disheartening.

The lady wizard sat at her feet as she mended a tunic that had been ripped. Some of the other ladies had heard of her prowess with a needle and often brought more difficult jobs to her. They were perfectly capable of the small things and even a few more decorative details, but she was quite adept with a needle and it had shown in her work. She absent-mindedly reached down and stroked at the girl's hair as she rested a cramp in her hand.

Draca exulted in the attention, having never had a mother in her life. She had never taken her grandfather for granted, but this gentle feminine energy was quite soothing. A mother might have been nice to have…

"I wonder what my own children are up to? I do feel guilty for not seeking them out…but I feel that it is here that I should be first. There will be other time. They must still feel that I am in Valinor, and so their thoughts are not on me right now. All the same…they will be most upset when they find out," Celebrían said softly. Draca looked up into Celebrían's face as the hand stopped stroking her hair.

Surely they will understand, She projected the thought.

"Oh, I'm sure they will eventually. But they all have their father's temper when the time is right. Gloriously long-suffering….but eventually that patience disappears, and the explosion is remarkable. It's rather like Mithrandir's fireworks," she said fondly.

I miss Gandalf. I have not seen him for years. I thought I felt his magic a while back, but I believe it was wishful thinking, Draca thought aloud.

"He is great company….except for the smoke…" Celebrían returned, wrinkling up her nose a bit. Draca laughed softly. The door to the chamber they were in opened suddenly, and Celebrían found herself looking into the cold eyes of the King's advisor.

"Ladies…I hate to interrupt what must be such a deep and thought-provoking moment," he sneered. "But I require Ithilrhas to attend me," he said.

"I required her presence for a while, Lord Gríma," Celebrían said tartly. Gríma's cold blue eyes fell on her face, narrowing slightly.

"Perhaps you would like to attend me in her stead then, fair lady?" he purred dangerously. Draca stood quickly to her feet when Celebrían gasped slightly. She touched the elf's shoulder for comfort and then walked to the door where Gríma stood. They exited without another exchange, and Celebrían found her blood boiling when the door was shut. Her revenge was swift and merciless, yet hardly lethal or exciting.

The next morning Gríma awoke with a case of loud flatulence that reeked like death and rendered him incapable of seeing to the king. No one would stay in his presence long, and his stomach cramped terribly along with it.

And while Celebrían attended the new hurts on Draca's body, they both laughed until tears appeared in their eyes. And once the tears started, they did not stop for a while.

Ten pages in MS Word. A monster of a chapter with a lot of effort in it. I really hope you guys liked it. I hope to hear some feedback this time. I have not forgotten about the cameos that were won. They are being developed as I write, and their scenes are drawing close. I will make sure to point out when they appear.

Follow, favorite, but honestly I hope you guys review. It really does mean a lot to me.