(AN: I decided that this may be the last chapter in this story, since I'll be tying in several chapters together to make up for the lack of dialogue.)

(Two things I wanted to point out in this chapter particularly: the first of which is, like with Tolkien and the Woses, I wanted to give some kind of "explanation" for the Wild Hunt that appears a lot in various European folklore. This was a recent addition to the story, but one that I felt was good and would help to give the East a bit more "mystery", since Elves would be passing away and not going that way, and Men would be afraid of...well, you'll see. The other thing has to do with a certain character from the Silmarillion and Lord of the Rings whose description in the former struck a nerve for me.)

(I made mention of one of the two Orcs from The Choices of Master Samwise, who are my "favorite" villains from the Lord of the Rings. Mostly because they are my favorites and because I had the idea of writing some kind of dialogue between them during her stay in you-know-where, but then decided that that wasn't really plausible. So it went down from a scene of dialogue to a mention.)

The Lords of the West

During his hundred year exile, the Dark Lord spoke no thought to his servants in Mordor. They didn't even know what happened to him. Yea, when the earth began to shake violently, they knew not why or for what reason it shook. The Ringwraith thought sometimes of the stories she had heard from the Faithful - fairy tales which she believed not - about the world being shrunken in the Elder Days and the sinking of Beleriand into the depths of the Sea. She wondered about this trembling and fear filled her heart: but she spoke not a word to the other Ringwraiths, for they were not her allies.

Then at last there came a day when the Dark Lord returned to Mordor through the Udun pass in the northwest. His black skin was cracked and laced with lines of fire, and his eyes burned with a great fire. Now his thoughts raged and they were all full of hatred and malice and pride: he had won, though he came back broken and marred. His greatest boast, which his mind sent to his nine castellans as well as to a chant from his Orcs, was that he had defied the Lords of the West twice. Once he had been stricken down by a bolt from Manwe and lived, and now he had survived destruction and was still alive: he was now fearless in his immortality and defiant of the Powers and set himself up in the highest chamber of Barad-dur. As if to further cement his belief in his own godhood, his banner was now changed from the flayed elf to a single burning red eye: the same as the wheel of fire that she had seen so long ago.

The other thing which he had boasted of was his ultimate triumph over Numenor. He had brought low the lords of the Dunedain and brought them under his sway, turning them as debased and fearful as lesser men. But what made the Ringwraith's spirit quail was the news that Numenor had fallen. That great quake of the earth she had felt was its downfall, as it was cast into the depths of the sea. Despair filled her heart: her father and mother were now buried deep beneath the waves, far beyond recall or desire, if even the hand of the Dark Lord could have been stretched out to bring life to their rotted bones. Armenelos was now gone, and she would never see the Palace of the High King nor the holy summit of Meneltarma, nor feel the sea-breeze during the summer in Forostar. And she was filled with an even greater hatred.

Indeed, so long had she been filled with wickedness, especially at Lugarlur, that she was becoming hardened against it. She was now old and haggard beyond all recognition, a pale wraith stretched out to live beyond her years, eternally bound to the service of the Dark Lord: what joy could the world bring her? Families died and their children after them died as well, until their names were forgotten; towers and palaces crumbled and sank into the sea, and the cold breeze chilled to the bone. Yet, selfishly, though she hated all things, she still desired that which she hated. Though she cursed the light, she wished to feel the warmth of the sun; though she cursed all living things, she yearned for company and cursed herself that she had not gone back for Ishi.

And though she hated the Lords of the West, she yearned still to have what she had turned her back on with her oath: to both live forever and to have peace.

But peace would not be her lot. For within a century war was brewing once again. It seemed that a number of the Dunedain had escaped the foundering of Numenor and settled on the western coasts of Endor. Some of these were loyal to Mordor, but the larger portion were of the Faithful and they allied with the accursed Eldar: and in their brazen defiance, one of their lords had built a tower in the Imlad Ithil that filled the dark valley with the silvery light of the moon. That was too much. Now the Dark Lord sent his armies this way and that, waging war against the remnants of Numenor: though he had chosen to surrender to Ar-Pharazon, he had not forgotten the humiliation he had suffered at their hands and wished to repay them a thousandfold.

The Ringwraiths saw action in this war, which quickly turned against them. After a few meaningless victories, a great host of Men and Elves attacked them. Even with countless legions of Orcs, trolls of great strength, and mercenaries from Rhun, Haradwaith, Kha-on, the uttermost lands of the East, and even the Ringwraiths, the West proved stronger. Within years they besieged Udun and, passing beyond, actually camped upon Gorgoroth and set up their engines of war to bring down Barad-dur. In one great sortie the Dark Lord, clad in black armor and wielding a hammer like his master of old, went out to meet the host of the West.

And he fell.

So great was his fall that even the Ringwraiths felt it. All substance which they once had was now robbed from them, and they wandered in terror, searching for their master in a world of darkness in which they could neither see his burning eye nor hear his voice in their heads again. Little by little, by and by, they found him: a great burning shadow that passed beyond Gorgoroth and went into the barren lands of the East to wander. And they, with no will of their own and no power to resist, followed after him: maimed they were and broken, and unable to do much but utter their feeble cries, bereft of the power and terror they once had.

So for a thousand years they wandered through the barren plains and arid steppes of the East, between the Sea of Rhun and the Sea of Helcar, and were forgotten by the West. But the East knew of them, if only as a rumor. For the steppe folk of the plains saw the passing of the shadowy host and feared them. To them, the passing of the spirit of the Dark Lord and his nine castellans was as a great black cloud hovering over the earth; and from that cloud came the cries of the nine wraiths, and every year they became stronger and more terrible to hear. Those in the East who feared the Dark Lord and worshiped him fled in terror before the cloud of darkness, and said that the Dark Lord was riding across the sky to claim their souls from the great night beyond life. That tale only came to the West in a cold and vague rumor, though that was passed on through the Dark Days, beyond the Younger Days, and has come down to us even today; though the names of fear and the number of the host and their kind were largely forgotten.

In this state, where the Dark Lord was but a spirit himself, his power was lessened and he could no longer read the minds of his servants. So it was that the Ringwraith was allowed a time to think freely as she wandered with her master and fellows. She had sought to escape the Doom of Man by her joining the Kings Men: for it was her choice in the end, no matter what she told herself of old. She had seen the sorrow of the deaths of her father and mother and had heeded the lies of her uncle. And yet even when she learned that he had deceived her father and murdered him did she not repent; escaping the Doom was too great a goal for her, in her mind. Now at last she had gone beyond the Doom of Man; for she had lived far longer than any Dunadan man or woman had in all of their history. Yet it was no life, even as the spirit of Iyyshala had said to her over two thousand years ago. Before she was driven by the will of Sauron beyond weariness and given no rest: for she served and would continue to do that with no regard to the state of her unseen bones and sinews. Now she was even less than that: a disembodied voice wandering impotently in the world of shadows, unable to live in the world she had scorned. She had nothing more to gain from following Sauron.

And yet she did not repent. For two thousand years she had beheld the wickedness of Mordor, and as she dwelt in Vamag and Lugarlur, she had acted out that evil that she had learned from her new master. And so often was she in the habit of beholding the evil of Sauron that she had taken that evil into herself, and by so doing became more Sauron than Adunaphel. Indeed, though she had sworn to break the line of Jubayr, she had been gentle after her own fashion to his son and grandson, and great-granddaughter: but what she had done to Iyyshala was an extension of what Sauron had done to her. It was as though he were a plague that had infected her and, so infected, she sought to spread the plague to others that she not be alone in her suffering.

At the end of the thousand years, something changed. The shadow that had gone about as a black wind now took shape: like unto its former shape, that which it had after the downfall of Numenor, but if possible even darker and shrouded more with shadow than with flame, terrible and fearful. His power returning, the Dark Lord now had power once more over the Ringwraiths and spoke his tyrannical will to them once again. Now it was exalted in arrogance even more than before: having survived the bolt of the Valar, the downfall of Numenor, and the destruction of his own body, the Dark Lord fancied himself a god. For what Power West or East could now stand before him? His enemies thought he was dead, and they had left an opening for him: a fortress of the Elves of the Woodland Realm, of Oropher the lord of Eryn Galen who had fought against him in the great war. It was on a tall bald hill that rose up out of the great forest, whose southern and eastern arm his Orcs had cut and burned to fuel the fires of their forges.

Now it would be his hiding place and his stronghold as he sent out his servants on his task of revenge. He was powerful, and now moved beyond such power as he thought were his limits of old. But he was not yet returned to his former strength: to that end, he had his servants go north, south, and east. They had their own errands to attend to, which were of the utmost importance. As for her, she was sent back to Lugarlur to bring the Haradrim back under the sway of darkness and to oppose the might of the Dunedain in secret. And in all of those years, the dark thoughts and the gnawing regret did their work in the mind of the Ringwraith. The Lords of the West were the ones at fault, not the Dark Lord. It was they who denied Man life eternal, and so relished, as she thought, their sorrow and suffering. If they were so powerful, as the Eldar claimed, why did they not end the Doom of Man, or any other calamity that befell the Race of Men? The Dark Lord had survived death, so she believed; if it was so easy, why had they not done it? And so the oath she had made so long ago came to fruition and she hated the Lords of the West and turned her back on the light forever.

Yet so it was, in the darkness of her own hatred and malice, that she still foolishly thought of salvation, of rescue. So it was with the Race of Men; though they feared the darkness and worshiped it, they longed for something else, some way of escape, though they knew not how. Or so long embroiled in wickedness and the lies of the Enemy that they believed that help was hurt and saving was slaying. Despite all of this, they still longed for something better: for the desire of the Sea, which was created in them by Eru, was with them from the beginning. But the deeper they fell into darkness, the more they despised and cursed the ones who made them: for the lure of the Sea was no comfort to those enamored in evil and darkness. Therefore they yearned for what they could not have, and in so doing cursed the very thing they yearned for.

So it was for the Ringwraith that she yearned for life eternal but loathed every minute of her continued existence; and she hated the Lords of the West, cursing the life that they gave her and desperately seeking a way to end it, laying upon them the blame for her own choices.

For a time, it seemed to her that the dark thoughts were correct. In Lugarlur, she ruled again from the shadows and moved her servants whither she willed. Umbar had grown into a great citadel of Gondor, and the Umbareans were in great number. But in time, even Gondor faced hardships and she took advantage of the chaos of the Kinstrife. The Umbareans were, after the Dunedain, sea-farers, and she, through her Black Numenorean servants, commanded them from the shadows to wage ware against Gondor, even as Sauron had commanded the Haradrim from the shadows against her. It was not easy, for Gondor was the strongest kingdom of the Dunedain and they allied with lesser men, rather than enslaving them, and so gained their trust and their allegiance. But those parts have little to play in the great story of her life; behold, they are written in the Lay of the Gloomguard. It is a tale known only to the Haradrim, and not one that has come North into the knowledge of the Wise: a dark tale full of great and terrible deeds.

Then before dawning of the second millennium of what the Eldar called the Third Age of the world, she was recalled back to Mordor. Once more she gathered from the wild lands, as she had in her days in Lugarlur, the Orcs that had fled from the destruction of their master. With these servants she, and several others of the Ringwraiths, gathered together in the Black Land, coming from their open mouths far in the East. This was the old tribute-path, where servants from Rhun, Harad, and the lands farther East and South, would send endless caravans of wains to Mordor: and it was unknown to the West, for the vastness of the East was unexplored due to the rumor of fear and darkness in Eryn Galen which Men now called Mirkwood. Yet even still, Men might have had some knowledge of their coming. Across the northwestern side of Udun had the Men of Gondor built tall towers and manned them with vigilance, so that no one may go in or out of Mordor without their knowing. And to the south, on the eastern side of the Ephel Duath opposite the defiant tower in the moonlit valley, they had built another tower of ceaseless watch and a gate across the pass; so that no one may leave Mordor by secret ways.

But that was a long time ago. For even as she who was once Adunaphel waged war on Gondor from the South, so did Khamul stir up the men of Rhun and the nomadic Balchoth in the East. And while Gondor endured defiantly, they began to retreat from the borders of their might. The towers on the north were left desolate, and Cirith Ungol, the tower of the Spider, was undermanned and soon abandoned as the armies of Gondor responded to more pressing threats from the south and east. Even the Wise believed that the Dark Lord was destroyed, and so the Lords of Gondor relaxed their guard on such a place as they considered to be abandoned and no longer threatening.

They would all come to rue that decision. For as the second millennium was dawning, the Lord of the Nazgul returned from his mission in the North and West. He had broken the Northern Kingdom of Arnor, but had been defeated and driven out of that land by Gondor: though she was an enemy of Gondor for many years, the Ringwraith could not help but laugh at her lord's failure. Even with so much power, he could not hold a kingdom of his own: some things never changed. But now they were mobilized for some great purpose, and all of their attention was given to Gondor and to the mustering of armies of Orcs and trolls; for the shadow still clung over the Imlad Ithil and the Tower of the Moon that Isildur had built in his defiance.

In the 2000th year of the Third Age, at the command of the Lord of the Nazgul, the Black Captain, he who was once Er-Murazor of Armenelos and the Witch-King of Angmar, led the other Ringwraiths across the pass and so assailed Minas Ithil, the fair tower of the Moon. The defense of Gondor was stout, but there were now too few of them here along the borders of Mordor to hold back their armies. Yet they were not come to destroy, but to conquer and overtake; even as they had taken Cirith Ungol in secret and used it as their forward bastion. So it was that after two years, the Men of Gondor fled before the might and terror of the Nine and Minas Ithil was taken. In it were found many useful secrets, things which the Dark Lord could use to his advantage: but chief among them, which the Lord of the Nazgul secured for himself, was a copy of a book written in the Adunaic by Isildur and another palantir. For the present, Er-Murazor used the palantir to taunt his arch rival in Gondor, the man who had defeated him and driven him out of the North.

As for the others, they now inhabited Minas Ithil and corrupted it. Those who had fallen in battle now came back, as wraiths of malice, and inhabited statues of ceaseless vigil. The houses of the living were now cursed and became houses of torture and lamentation, where the dark rituals practiced in Angmar and Barad-dur were repeated. Then a pallor fell upon the Imlad Ithil, even as the dark sickness that corrupted Eryn Galen; but many times worse. The moonlight shone on that city no more; there shone now only a pale corpse-light of the many dead that inhabited it. Orcs fell and wicked inhabited this place, tortured and demented by the evil thereof, until they became hardened goblins of wickedness, fell and terrible. Chief among them was Gorbag, a commander of the Orcs who had fought in many wars with Sauron against Men and Elves. He had a sizeable garrison here in the Tower, and was given orders directly from the Ringwraiths: yet he hated them and cursed them under his breath, yearning for the freedom which he had in the past two millennia when there were no masters to order him about. And she hated Gorbag as well, for he was treacherous and cunning and she had had more than enough of Orcs for an eternity.

So they corrupted Minas Ithil, and folks thereafter named it Minas Morgul. And fifty years after the beginning of the second millennium of the Third Age, the Black Captain's Gondorian foe came to fight him and was taken captive and driven mad and so at last slain and his body was torn to pieces and his spirit entombed in one of the many cursed and corrupted statues. After that people avoided the place like the plague that had come upon them in days of old. Yet the dark power remained in Dol Guldur far in the North and grew even stronger. The shadow began to grow once more, but still was hidden from the eyes of the Wise.

In Vamag, the spirit of Iyyshala had remained imprisoned in the statue where her master had sent her. Lost and forgotten she was, even as Vamag was abandoned and all memory of Adunaphel the Quiet and Ard Once Vain were lost. The Haradrim lived as they had always done, and avoided Vamag as a haunted place; the Umbareans were subdued by the Men of Gondor and then rose up against them, raiding the coast-lands of their former overlords. Yet in all this time, Vamag and the spirits within were forgotten. Now the Haradrim spun new tales and their chieftains went to war with each other and grew powerful and even more wealthy than the days of old; but they never forgot Khaz-gramaze, the Black Serpent, whom they worshiped and feared.

But Iyyshala was forgotten. Trapped in the statue of Adunahil, with nothing but her wailing screams to keep her company. No one ever visited Vamag again; not even the dark Ringwraith that had imprisoned and abandoned her. An age and more passed, and her screams came seldom: for she lingered on, bound to this place, unable to find rest, and full of misery. It had not been her will to become such as this, and she hoped still that maybe the Valar might save her. For no other power that she knew of could release her, and Adunaphel came no more to Vamag ever again; not even her servants came hither. All fled and no one stayed.

So it was that when two and a half thousand years had passed of the Third Age, that the strangest thing happened: someone came to Vamag. From where she dwelt in her statue, the spirit of Iyyshala saw an old man dressed all in gray, with a long silvery beard, a wide-brimmed hat, and a staff upon which he walked. He had come wandering into this place, far from the North where he was oft to wander, on a secret mission. The Watchful Peace had ended and now, fearing that the Dark Lord had returned, he was sent to those lands where his servants had dwelt, to learn what he could about them.

So he found his way to Lugarlur, and gained the trust of the Haradrim who dwelt there. And thence he followed the trail of one Ard Once Vain, whose memory was preserved within the Lay of the Gloomguard, and came at last to Vamag. He walked through the ruins of the crumbling fortress, speaking words in a language which Iyyshala hadn't heard in three thousand years: not since Abrazir still walked the earth. Yet the dark power that bound her quailed at his words, and she let out a foul cry. Now the old man came to her statue and spoke in the language that Men had come to speak in Endor; that which was called the Common Tongue, a little of which she understood.

"Who art thou that lingers in shadows, faithless and accursed?" he cried out. "By the Secret Fire, I command thee to reveal thyself!"

She could not be hidden from him now, and he saw the gleam of her eyes from the statue. Then he set his staff to the stone and, speaking again in that tongue which she knew not, sent a quiver through the stone and loosed her voice so that she could speak.

"Who are you?" she cried, and feared to hear her voice so shrill and harsh in her own unseen ears.

"I am called Incanus," the old man said. "Speak now, spirit, for I command that thou reveal to me thy name!"

"We have no names under the shadow!" she cried out, speaking the Adunaic words she had heard from her master long ago.

At this, Incanus spoke to her in the same language. "Tell me rather who you were!"

Iyyshala told her story to the old man. Though she had no reason to trust him - though he seemed like a Dunadan of some four hundred years, he also seemed greater in strength and hidden power than any elder of the race of Men; despite this, she was lonely after over three thousand years of solitude and longed for someone to talk to, even an enemy. Therefore she told him all that she remembered, but she spoke not the name of Adunaphel in his ears; in all that time, she had never spoken her name for fear of the memories that the naming of Adunaphel brought back, and so she had forgotten it.

At this, the old man softened and his blue-gray eyes were filled with sadness and pity.

"You have suffered much, against your will," said Incanus. "And I fear that your master cannot wholly be unmade, as it should be. Still, I have learned much from our speech together; such that will be of great help to those who oppose the darkness that so cursed you. Be comforted in that at least."

"Release me!" Iyyshala begged. "Am I not right in believing that you have been sent here for just that purpose? For three thousand years I have begged the Lords of the West, whom my master's servants taught in secret, to set me free from this torment and suffering! What comfort shall I have in this world, bound as a miserable, wretched spirit?"

Incanus sighed. "My purpose for coming here I cannot reveal, but as a friend to all the peoples of Middle Earth I am come. As for your release, though you were bound by the cruel powers of your master, the dark power that your master serves binds you still to this world. I could, perhaps, with the power that is within me release you from this prison of stone and sorcery, but the power that binds you would hold you ever and draw you to it. Not unless that power were utterly destroyed would you be set free." At this, the old man put out his hand upon the shoulder of the statue.

"But be comforted," said he. "For this reason have I come, to oppose the shadow and, perhaps, to destroy it." With that, he set his staff once more to the stone and spoke in a commanding tone in the language that she knew not. Yet in that she thought she heard the name of Varda mentioned. Then he held up his hand over the head of the statue and spoke in the Common Tongue:

"Be free, daughter of the South. May the winds carry you far away from the shadow and at last to the Halls of Mandos, where you may at last find rest and peace."

There was a terrible crack as the statue broke, and then a sigh as of the wind passing through the trees. Then Incanus turned about and left Vamag to continue his wanderings, and never to return there. And whether the spirit of Iyyshala went at once to the Halls of Mandos, or whether it dwelt in Vamag for another thousand years and came, in the end, to her long home, this tale does not tell.

And as for her master, she never found peace while this age of the world lasted. For within a few centuries a new dread came upon her from the Dark Lord himself, now newly returned to Dol Guldur at the end of the Watchful Peace. And, being among his chiefest castellans and most powerful servants, he revealed his will to the Ringwraiths. Of old he bore a Ring of his own; more powerful than the one which he had given her, for it did not turn him invisible when he wore it. Indeed, she remembered seeing it upon the black hand when he demanded for her ring and it filled her with dread though she knew not wherefore. That Ring Isildur took after his fall, and for this he hated him and ordained that his Black Captain defile his city and the vale around it. But it was still lost, and believed by many, including Sauron himself, to have been destroyed. And thus he thought himself a god, for he had survived the apparent destruction of the One.

So it was that the long years passed, and one by one he gathered to himself three of the seven rings which he also gave the Naugrim, which Men call Dwarves. So his power grew, and yet he lacked the One. Of the seven rings, only one other remained free, for the rest had been devoured by dragons: the Ring of Gold, which he, in the guise of the Elf-smith of Eregion, gave to the third Lord of the Longbeards to bear the name of Durin. But he drove all of his thought and his forces in Dol Guldur to finding the Ring of Gold and to the discovery of news concerning the One, whether it was lost or destroyed. All up and down the coasts of the Great River his servants searched, always at night. But they came to naught, for not only did they not find the One, they gave away his position and soon he was driven out of Dol Guldur and returned to Mordor. For so had the Black Captain prepared for his return.

Over the years, the Dark Lord continued to plan and to build and to stretch out his shadow. Barad-dur was rebuilt, the old alliances made with the Easterlings of Rhun and the Haradrim of the South were reborn in blood: even the Umbarean pirates and the Ioriags of Kha-on, now called the Variags of Khand, were brought under his sway. Sauron now had many more slaves which he had claimed of the folk from the Wilderland of Rhovanion, and who had served him in Dol Guldur: some of these he sent southward to the gloomy inland Sea of Nurn within the land of Mordor, to grow the food to feed his armies. Others he put to nefarious ends, sending them to the Black Pits or to Torech Ungol: those who went to the dark caverns above Minas Morgul never returned, and neither did those who were bred and devoured in the Black Pits. Their children did return, large and cruel, the Black Uruks of Mordor: fighting Orcs that could withstand the sun that they hated, and were much more loyal than the older goblins who had known service under Morgoth and Sauron and plotted treachery against him in their hearts. And these he bred with the trolls that served him in the darkness and so brought forth a race of great trolls, black and fell, who could withstand the sun and spoke only in the Black Speech which his castellans and the Black Numenoreans spoke in. Great engines of warfare were prepared for a great siege; for soon all would be in readiness to make his war against Elves and Men. Foul creatures out of the utmost East were enslaved and tortured and corrupted into great beasts of burden; and some of them, like very great eagles naked and without feather or scale, the Dark Lord raised to the service of his castellans. These were to be used in warfare, to cut off the sun from the armies of his enemies, and to guard the skies of Mordor from the servants of the Lords of the West, the great eagles of the Misty Mountains.

Yet in all of this, secrecy was needed. And secrecy he wove. The palantir which the Black Captain had taken from Minas Ithil he surrendered to Sauron in Barad-dur, and with this he ensnared the minds of many and kept their eyes away from Mordor for fear of him. Minas Morgul and the terror of the mountains kept watch over the West, and across Udun the Dark Lord had built a gate of iron between the two towers: the Morannon it was called, the Black Gate of Mordor. All folk north, south, and west feared to pass the mountains of Shadow or dare to enter the Black Land. Yet the Dark Lord knew the hearts of his people: those who were his captains were given orders to arrest any one they found trespassing upon their borders, stripped of all they had and a full description of every item they bore, even as small as a ring, sent at once to Barad-dur, and then to be held until the Dark Lord sent for them or he came in person.

But Dol Guldur was not wholly abandoned. Even after the thought of the Wise turned away from it, the Dark Lord sent her and Khamul to that place to prepare it as a secondary stronghold and to maintain a tyranny over the East north-wise. For things were now in motion outside of Mordor which the Dark Lord watched with grave concern. Men from the North came and dwelt in the fields of Calenardhon, guarding the northern marches of the dwindling Kingdom of Gondor; and these were proud men of valor, masters of horses. The Dark Lord sent emissaries to them, as he had in ages past, demanding submission and tribute: yet these were allies with Gondor and though they feared the Dark Lord, they would not be ruled by him. So the Dark Lord sent his servants from the East to wage war against them, yet these endured even as Gondor endured with them. Soon the chief of the Wise, Saruman the White, made his abode at Angrenost on the northwestern borders of Calenardhon, and the Dark Lord was afraid.

For Saruman was of that number that arrived from the West even as he had made his return, the same as Incanus the Wanderer, and Radaghast the Bird-Friend in the North, and Alatar and Pallando who were lost in the uttermost East. And the Dark Lord knew that they were ambassadors of the Lords of the West, and he feared that they were come to challenge him.

So began at last the great gambit for which he had been planning these many years: the end of the Kingdoms of Elves and Men and, if possible, the end of the Lords of the West. Tempted at last by knowledge, Saruman was ensnared and worked the will of the Dark Lord in Calenardhon, which men called Rohan. To that end, he strengthened the work of his castellans by sending marauding Orcs to this land of Rohan and claiming black horses for them: yet they were waylaid by other Orcs not under his service. This worried the Dark Lord, for all Orcs even as far north as Gundabad feared and owed some allegiance to him. But at length they did return with horses, and the Dark Lord gave these to his castellans and the chieftains of the Black Numenoreans: particularly Mordu who served as his lieutenant and herald, second only to the Black Captain, spreading his words until his own mouth became cursed with the evil of the Dark Lord, and he was known rather as the Mouth of Sauron.

It was about this time that a strange creature was captured near the Morannon, and taken to Barad-dur for questioning. And here at last the great terror of the Dark Lord came to pass. He learned, through careful reading of the creature's twisted words and mongrel jargon, that the One still existed in this world and it had not been washed down the Great River or destroyed. Doubt now filled his heart, and passed into the hearts of his castellans, wherever they dwelt: for if this Ring was still in the world, another would claim it and with its power make Sauron the servant and become master over all that he had made to be. The Dark Lord would suffer no rival, and so he opened his throw. From Dol Guldur came the orders to march west and north, assailing the Elves that dwelt in those woods; and from Minas Morgul another force marched westward, assailing the crumbling city of Osgiliath that had once been the capital of Gondor. In the midst of those assaults, she and Khamul passed out of Dol Guldur and, crossing the Great River with boats, came to the empty land that men called the Wold. Here they were joined by the other six from Minas Morgul and Mordu himself: the Mouth of Sauron. They were yet unclothed, invisible to the naked eye, but though Mordu's eyes were hidden beneath his lofty helm, the power of the Dark Lord moved him and he spoke to them though he saw them not.

"Wherefore are you come?" asked the Black Captain.

"From the North," came the answered. "The Dark Lord's words have been delivered to the Men of Dale and the Dwarves of Erebor: soon there shall be battle and slaughter if they continue to defy our Master. But he hath messages for thee as well, for haste is now needed."

"The Dark Lord speaks to us," Khamul said. "If he has words, he shall deliver them to us himself."

"Yet now he has words of command for each of thee," said the messenger. "First, he would know from thee, castellans of Dol Guldur, what news thou hast of the land of the Halflings?"

"The banks of the Great River are deserted," she hissed. "From the mountains in the North to the marshes of the Nindalf, there is no sign of them. That land has been abandoned for centuries."

"That is not acceptable!" the messenger demanded. "The will of the Dark Lord must be done! If thou should fail to recover this precious thing, or if the rabble of our enemies find it first, the torment of a thousand years entombed in stone will be seen as a mercy in thine eyes!" With that the Ringwraiths quailed, remembering their earlier punishments; the Mouth of Sauron laughed in mockery.

"Go now to Isengard," he ordered. "The Dark Lord knoweth that Saruman has had tidings of it. Take these steeds and gird yourselves with these robes and these weapons from your armories in Minas Morgul, and go at once!" With that, the messenger kicked the flanks of his own horse and stormed off south and east, back to Mordor.

So it was that the Ringwraiths were united once more, and, clad in black robes and girt with their blades, they mounted these poor, tortured beasts, stolen from Rohan and bred to endure their menacing presence, and hurried westward to Isengard. But when they arrived, they found the ring of rock about it guarded as if for war. The great iron gate was shut, and upon the wall stood men with bows in their hands: some were wild men out of Dunland, but others bore the mail of Rohan. Yet on their shields they bore a white hand and a Sindarin 'S' rune upon their helmets in white. The Ringwraiths looked with displeasure upon these tokens: for it seemed now that Saruman was not in league with the Dark Lord.

"Open in the name of Mordor!" demanded the Black Captain. "Let Saruman come forth, that he may speak to us!"

Then there came a voice, deep and sweet like music yet full of hidden malice, from the great iron gate.

"Who are you that comes to my home?" it spoke.

The Ringwraiths trembled where they stood. Not since they had first received their own rings had they heard such a melodious, agreeable voice.

"I am the Lord of the Nine," replied the Black Captain. "It is known to the Dark Lord that you know where may be found the land of the Halflings."

"It is not a land you look for," the voice said. "I know what you seek, though you do not name it. I have it not, as surely its servants perceive without telling; for if I had it, then you would bow before me and call me Lord. And if I knew where this thing was hid, I should not be here, but long gone before you take it. There is one only whom I guess to have this knowledge: Mithrandir, enemy of Sauron. And since it is but two days since he departed from Isengard, seek him nearby."

The Ringwraiths said nothing, for there was a power in that voice which they knew not. In her ears it reminded her of the Woman in Black, soft and musical but also stern and haughty. For a moment, even the Black Captain, as great as he had been, hesitated. At last he turned to the gate, and spoke:

"The Dark Lord shall hear of this," he said. "Until then, Saruman..."

With that, they departed and went in search throughout Rohan of any news of one called Mithrandir. A day and a half they searched and found nothing, for the folk of Rohan fled before their coming and hid themselves in their houses or in holds in the mountains. But on the second day, as the sun was on its way toward evening, they came upon a rider. As soon as they approached him, his horse bucked, threw him from the saddle, and galloped away. The man himself cowered in fear upon the grass before them, and would not look into their hoods as they looked down at him. She scoffed to see how low the race of Men had fallen; for even an imbecile of the Dunedain had more dignity than this crawling worm-like thing.

"My lords!" he begged. "Please, I am in haste on business of the King of Rohan! Let me pass, I pray."

"Speak no lies to us!" hissed the Black Captain. "There are many chambers in the houses of lamentation, where living things are forgotten and come to grief beyond imagining and never again see the light of day."

"No, I...I would never deign to lie to you, my lords!" the man quailed. "Indeed, I am a servant of the King of Rohan and go at his bidding to bring tidings to Isengard. An enemy of Isengard has escaped and gone to my master."

"Which enemy is this?" asked Khamul. "Name him!"

"The old wanderer, whom we call Gandalf Greyhame," said the man. "But in the tongue of the Elves, he is known as Mithrandir."

They hissed, and the man cowered in fear.

"And this Mithrandir escaped Isengard?" asked the Black Captain.

"Yea, my lord," said the man.

"Why was he there?" asked the other Dunadan Ringwraith.

"I know not," the man said, shaking his head in fear. "But I know something of what they said. I was there, on...other business of the king." At this she had an inkling about what this double-tongued coward was saying: he was a spy, and served Saruman in Isengard rather than the King of Rohan.

"But I overheard the speech of Gandalf and Saruman," the man said. "He came from the land of the Halflings and desires to return there; indeed, for this reason he went to the King of Rohan for a horse!"

"Speak quickly, fool!" she hissed. "Or why should we not slay you here and now?"

"Please, spare me!" begged the worm-like man. "I...I can help you, yes. I can be very useful to you. I know where Gandalf has gone."

"How do you know?" asked Khamul.

"Saruman knows the land of the Halflings," he continued. "Goods come to him from that land."

"I say we kill it," said Uvatha of Khand, the least disciplined of the Nine. "It will only tell Saruman of our business once we leave."

"Nay, my lords!" begged the wretched man. "Spare me, and I swear that I shall say naught of our meeting to any that live!"

There was silence among the Nine. At last the Black Captain, Er-Murazor, brought his horse before the cringing man; he lay on his back, his hands held up as if to fend off some blow. The Black Captain drew his sword and pointed it at him.

"Speak, worm!" he demanded. "Where is this land of the Halflings? Quickly now, for your life depends on it!"

"Yes, my lord, as quickly as I may!" he gasped. "West through the Gap of Rohan yonder, and then north and a little west, until the next great river bars the way; the Greyflood it is called. Thence from the crossing at Tharbad the old road will lead you to the borders. 'The Shire,' they call it."

With this news, they turned their horses and hastened westward. Never again would they see this wretch of a man; and Grima son of Galmod, the Worm-Tongued, never told anyone of what had happened, neither Theoden King of Rohan, whom he named as his master, or Saruman his true master.

So the Nine passed northward and came to the Shire separately, driving away the Dunedain in fear. Some passed into a small town of weak men, and found some who were spies of Saruman: these they bent to their will. Others went even farther west and crossed the borders of the Shire, seeking the one whom the wretched gangrel creature caught at the Morannon had named as Baggins. The closer they came to finding him, the more they felt the malignant will of the Dark Lord near him: it could not possibly know the weight of the precious burden which it now carried. But then at last came a day which she remembered for the rest of her un-life.

As they watched all the lands of Eriador for Baggins, their spies gave notice that the Grey Wanderer, who was known in the North as Gandalf, had returned. At this the Black Captain summoned them to a place which he knew well: the watchtower of Amon Sul, which he had overthrown in days of old. The old man had gone before them to the top of the ruined watchtower, and they gathered about, waiting for darkness. But when darkness came, the old man was revealed in wrath. So great a power was revealed in him that they could not defeat him: fire he wielded, and they feared him, for he withstood them with naught but a sword, a staff, and the fire at his command. Yet so great was the power that she began to doubt her former blasphemies: who could this old man be with such power to defy the Ringwraiths of the Dark Lord?

Never before had she faced a foe from which she had to flee, and this filled her with wrath as they were forced to flee. But this, she told herself, was only a temporary setback. For within several days, they were summoned together to the chase: the Halfling thief had been stabbed by the Black Captain and was now trying to take the master's Ring to the Elves. With haste they sped after the Ring-bearer, throwing away all secrecy in their need. The One was close at hand; they could feel the presence of overwhelming power and evil radiating from the Halfling, like a burning wheel that was hid in his bosom. But even as victory was close within their grasp, the Bruinen River swelled its limits and they were drowned. The horses of Rohan were slain, and again they were foiled.

But it was not the end. Not yet. For she returned, slowly but surely over all the length of Eriador at last to Mordor, even as she had when summoned so long ago, back to Mordor. They were not caged in their stone statues, but the Dark Lord had other ways of torturing spirits under his command. Yet, for one who had spent years in such torment, as well as a thousand years as a shapeless, wandering spirit, this was only for a brief moment. For now the Dark Lord brought his captains and his castellans to the great gambit: war was coming. She, Khamul, and the Black Captain were sent to Dol Guldur to reinforce the northern front striking against Lorien and Erebor; but while she and Khamul arrived, the Black Captain, who went first and with great haste, came back to Mordor in shame. For the fell beast upon which he rode was shot down and he could not go north. And as the days drew on, legions of Orcs were sent north and west, to the destruction of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth. And she was recalled with Khamul from Dol Guldur to Gondor, for the great battle and siege of Minas Tirith.

This was the sister-city of Minas Ithil, seated on the easternmost slopes of the White Mountains, and the last remnant of Numenor of old. From the air upon her fell beast she and the others fought, bringing terror upon the armies of the West. Yet it was not to be a victory for them; for, much to the secret desire of her heart, Er-Murazor was defeated and his spirit was broken from the will of his master and sent away screaming into the void. And more than this, she learned that his defeat came at the hands of a woman: and this filled her with a fiendish delight, for she felt herself avenged in some way upon his many advances years ago. And in his defeat, the battle slowly turned against Mordor as the Dunedain and their allies from Rohan rallied and drove the Orcs and Men of Darkness away in death and slaughter.

They returned in defeat, but were sent back without punishment. For now the mind of the Dark Lord was bent westward, and his commands were in their minds at all times. The rabble of Gondor have themselves a new King, he said. The descendant of my greatest enemy, the one who built his city in defiance upon my borders and stole the One from my hand, challenged me with the Sword and now rides to war. Watch his every move as he makes his way north, but do not attack without my orders. So they followed the armies of the West as they made their way to the Morannon for the final battle; never close enough to offer a shot, but near enough to fill the hearts of their enemies with dread.

At last they arrived at the desolate wastes before the Black Gate. After a brief embassy between the captains of the West and the Lieutenant of Barad-dur, the order was given. Hordes of Orcs and Easterlings in heavy armor were thrown into the fray, along with the Olog-hai that had been prepared for the day of battle and war. The order was given and she and the others, led now by Khamul, descended from the sky to the destruction of the host of the West. From the North the Eagles came, and she found herself filled with surprise and wrath. How dare the Lords of the West act now, she thought, when so many had died before? So deep she was now in evil that she could see only evil in the help of the Lords of the West to their friends.

Suddenly, in the midst of the great battle, there was silence. The will of the Dark Lord quailed as it turned inward to its own land. Then a burning wrath filled her eyes, lighting up the wraith-world in a violent inferno.

Destroy it? he thought. How could they dare to destroy the One? How could I have not see this? Go at once, my servants! Fly to Orodruin and bring me the One! Fail me now and all that we have done will perish forever!

The will that drove her now was stronger than ever. Turning the reins of her great beast, she wheeled about southeast and sped, past the Towers of Teeth, towards Orodruin. Across the vastness of Udun her beast carried her, through the ashen, shadowy airs of Mordor. She could see, faint and distant, the burning wheel of fire, even as she had seen it upon the Dark Lord's hand and in the bosom of the thief: it blazed against the blackness of Sammath Naur, painfully visible within the world of the shadows. Had the same thief brought it hither? Baggins the Halfling of the Shire? But he was only a little thing. She had mocked him during the chase, thinking that he knew not what power he bore as he tried to escape them: in vain she had thought at the time, and yet he had escaped them. And now here he was, on the very edge of doom. She could not see him, for she was still many leagues away; nor could she see the other thief, the one that had been caught at the Morannon, now locked in mortal combat with him. But now, at last, she marveled that he had managed to come all this way and...

Silence once again. But there was no more rage of the fiery will of the Dark Lord; never again. It was gone. After three thousand years, she could no longer hear the voice in her head. She looked east but could see no fire; towards Orodruin she cast her unseen eyes, but the wheel of fire was gone. Gone. The thing that bore her went mad as the power that had made it was now unmade, and nothing held its will. It thrashed in the air, and she held onto the reins, commanding it in her shrill voice. But her voice held no more power of fear.

A great blast of fire burst forth from Orodruin. Now she was in desperate fear for herself: where was the Dark Lord? His last words still rang in her ears: all that we have done will perish forever. The beast could not be mastered, and now the fire was slowly arching its way up through the blackened sky towards her. Was she going to die? She had been there at the deathbed of her mother Alcariel, and had felt her grow cold under her hands. But she was always cold in the world of the wraiths. She had seen many go up in fire, burned on their pyres by the servants of a now dead master who thought himself a god: no, Sauron was no god. He was gone, the One was destroyed, and the Lords of the West had triumphed. But that death was a long and torturous one, and she wished still to avoid that at least.

I've been dying for an age of this world and a half, she thought. I would rather go sooner than late, for I have lingered here far too long. But perhaps I deserve to burn, after all the suffering I've wrought.

It was no use trying to master the beast. For it had seen the fires and was now mad with fear. It would be over soon, she knew: whether by the fire, or if the flames overcame her beast and sent her plummeting to her death below. The ring of secrets no longer bound her, for the Lord of the Rings, the Master of the One, had fallen, and its power too was now ended. A fall from this height would mean certain death, and a quicker and less painful death than burning. She turned her eyes westward one last time, so high up that she could see beyond the Mountains of Shadow. The White Mountains gleamed like a jagged lane towards the Great Sea; Numenor was gone, but the Blessed Realm. It could still be there. Perhaps, she thought as the fear of death still lingered within her unseen bosom, if she could master this beast, she might fly thither and see it before she died. The thought of the West and the memory of her dying mother brought sadness to her failing spirit, but no tears could her eyes shed.

A blast of fire from the mountain struck her beast and tossed her from its harness, flames licking her robes. She was now falling through the sky, towards the black earth below. All the schemes and designs of the Dark Lord were now come to naught.

It won't be long now, were her thoughts as she descended. For good or ill, I shall leave this world; and I am glad to leave it. I see now the truth: the Gift of Man is to pass in their proper time, and not live to see the folly and vanity of all that they have done. I know now what I should have done, but it is no use arguing. At last I shall be free of my torment, of my weariness, of my service; at last...

So passed Adunaphel, daughter of Adunahil, Ard Once Vain, the Seventh of the Ringwraiths in service to Sauron, from the confines of this world and into the Halls of Mandos. There to await the judgment of all the servants of evil that will come with the Dagor Dagorath, the Last Battle of all the ages.

(AN: And so ends this tale, just as I had thought it would.)

(I threw in a bit of the Unfinished Tales, which I thought was a bit of much needed dialogue in this scant chapter. I tried to paraphrase it, so as to make something vaguely original. The latter part was all internalized thought, but I felt that I could not carry on any further as there would be no point to doing so, all things considered.)

(As far as The Lay of Lugarlur goes, that involves the longer account of her deeds away from Vamag. But that tale I leave to any of you who wish to tell such stories about dark and wicked things. For my part, I am glad to be done with this and to move on to other things. Being too long in the darkness was not good for me, whether in 2015 or now. And I have a greater appreciation for the light now; as I hope all of you will. Special thanks go out to you few who read and reviewed this story, as well as Tolkien, Lord of the Rings Online for renewing my interest in the Legendarium, Howard Shore whose music was the driving force during the late hours of my writing, the Middle Earth Role-Playing game, and whoever was the noble soul who saved Adunaphel's old back-story after it was changed in the five years. "Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar. Nail elyë hiryva. Namárië.")