An angry sun rose over the tents of Zamaril, chief warrior of the Third Province of Harad, but these defiant rays would not find Zamaril there on this day, the 25th of March. Zamaril's daughter, Hatani, rose, squinted, and shaded her eyes with her small, brown hand to scan the horizon, looking as she did every day, for a sign of her beloved father's return from the land of Mordor where he had gone to fight for the Dark Lord and the War of the Ring. But, again, she saw nothing but clouds of quickly evaporating morning dew escaping from the trees of the surrounding jungle glades.
"Hatani, now that you are awake, you must feed the Mumakili before breakfast, don't forget," came the commanding voice of Hatani's mother in the tent from which her young daughter had just emerged. Sirilan had stepped into every role left behind by her husband as well as her normal duties as his wife. Hatani's mother was a warrior in her own right, as well as a ruler and overseer of a tribe and a herd of the animals who were central to the Haradrim armies.
"Yes, mama," Hatani said quickly, as she made her way to the fold located in a grove of trees where the young Mumakil were kept. The strong and fearsome Mumakil had been used by Haradrim warriors of renown for generations, but they always began their lives as baby Oliphaunts who were remarkable more for the innocent intelligence than for any warlike traits. Hatani never complained when she was asked to care for them, as their clever antics always provided her with amusement.
"Shh, shh, your breakfast is coming," she reassured the anxious younglings who were excitedly squeaking and trumpeting as she approached their pen. Hatani smiled as the Mumakili guzzled their water and munched on their hay, playfully pushing one another to get to the prime spots in their feeding trough. But, even in her amusement, anxiety over her father's absence still weighed on her mind.
Hatani vividly remembered the morning that the Nazgul Lord had landed with his Fell Beast in the middle of the circle of tents that marked the center of ruling power in the Third Province. In a voice somehow blending low thunder and a screech of pain, the Nazgul called for the chief warrior and high priest to come out. Hatani peaked through the flaps of her tent as her father strode out to answer the summons.
"The Lord Sauron sends greetings and demands thee answer his call for succor in his war against the Rebels of the West," the Ring Lord intoned as soon as the leaders of the tribe had gathered. "Make haste to obey and receive the reward of his favor. Delay and face the terror of his wrath."
Chief Priest Marani bowed before the Nazgul. "Welcome, thou who art favored of the Dark Lord. Thy presence is an honor to us" he groveled. "If it pleases thy eminence, I desire to inquire as to whether the Lord Sauron received the tribute of ten Mumakil we sent north not a fortnight ago, laden with our annual tribute of metal fit for the forging of weapons to protect the Dark Lord's powerful realm?"
The ringlord laughed, and every syllable seemed to pierce Hatani's ears like the needle which her mother had once used to mark her with their tribe's sign of a family of honor. "Do not attempt to deceive a Nazgul, thou craven speaker of pointless flattery! Tribute thou hast paid, but think not that this excuses thy tribe from responding to the Dark Lord's demand for service. Forget not how his armies conquered thy forces long ago! In his mercy, he has spared thy lives and granted thy freedom. Now, he demands thy service in arms to advance his reign over our common enemies, and thou darest deny him the fruits of his lordship? Tread lightly, I warn thee!"
And so, it was within a day's time that Hatani's father, Zamaril, and 5,000 of the tribe's warriors began the march north to Mordor, leading a herd of their fiercest Mumakil before them. As Zamaril prepared to leave, he embraced his wife and kissed each of his children, lastly, his youngest, Hatani, whose face was covered in tears.
"Hatani, my daughter," Zamaril said in a soft but firm tone, "You must be strong. I go to fight to honor the agreement we have made for our freedom. You, your brothers, and your mother must rule in honor here, in my stead."
"But, why must you go, father? Why must you fight for the Dark Lord when we are people of the sun, not people of the shadow?" cried Hatani.
Zamaril sighed, and knelt down to look Hatani in the eye. After a pause, he said in a voice quieted so that none outside the tent would hear. "Hatani, my love, our feelings do not matter to the Dark Lord. Our love of our land does not matter to the Dark Lord. Our sun is his enemy, and he will not be content until the shadow of his power and his hate extinguish all light from Arda. We fight so that he will leave us alone for as long as possible, in hopes that our children can live and lay down in peace."
Zamaril paused again, listening to the activity outside the tent to be sure no one was close enough to hear the words he would say next. "We do not fight because we love the Dark Lord. We fight because we love what the Dark Lord will destroy if we do not fight for him." Zamaril rose and opened the flap of the tent. Turning one last time, he commanded his children, "Be strong for your mother, and obedient to her every word. I will return when the spring rains come, or, Zondeli, you, my son, will become your mother's right hand. May the blessings of Aule rest on you."
For some 30 days, Hatani had no word of her father's welfare. She wondered if he was still alive. Was he in camps surrounded by orcs, or by trolls? Had he encountered the bright swords of the men from beyond the sea whose descendants now lived in the West? There was no way to know, but she so desperately longed for the sounds of the Mumakil and her father and his men returning that she found herself frequently holding her breath and listening throughout each day. And, even now, as she held her breath, it felt that the very trees and tall grasses around her stood still in solidarity with her.
Suddenly, Hatani heard a low rumble of thunder that startled her from the unnatural calm in which she was standing. She could taste the beginning of the spring rains on her tongue as she breathed the still air. Even now as the Mumakili frolicked, a quietness came over them, and they crowded towards her where she stood in the corner of their pen, seeming to sense a change in the very atmosphere – a gathering of force, lightening preparing to strike as harbinger of a swift and terrible storm.
Hatani looked to the northwest and she saw a tremendous cloud rise above the earth, awful in size, unthinkable in power, it seemed to have the head of a dark god of old wreathed with a fiery crown and it stretched out a threatening hand over the whole earth, blotting out the very sun… when suddenly a mighty wind shook the trees, blowing at Hatani's hair and streaking her eyes with tears. This same westerly wind met the shadow deity in the sky, breaking it up into impotent wisps of cloud before her eyes… and then, a cleansing rain began to fall. The Mumakili trumpeted happily again, running to splash in the large puddles forming in their pen. For reasons she did not fully understand, Hatani felt laughter bubble within her, and she joined in the joy of her young charges, lifting her eyes up to greet the rain falling from the sky and adding her voice to their jubilant noise.
"THE HOUR HAS COME!" Hatani jumped in fright, hearing a voice from behind her crow in wild triumph. She turned her head to see a small, bearded man, cloaked in blue emerge from behind a tree in the forest glade where the Mumakili were penned. His eyes trembling in crazed excitement turned to the young girl as he shouted, "The Doom of the Lord Sauron has come! Long has he sought me to destroy me, and now destruction has arrived on his doorstep! Haha!" he cackled. "Sauron, mightiest of all, has passed away into nothingness, and, Pallando the Crafty, Pallando the Buffoon, Pallando the Weak… I, Pallando, still liiiiive."