By Ack on Sufficient Velocity

The smell of ash and death lay over the land of Mordor. Samwise could feel the hunger lying deep in his gut as he helped Frodo over a narrow ridge of rock. Master Frodo was suffering, he could tell. Perhaps we should stop and have some more of that elven bread?

As he scrambled over the ridge himself, he heard another sound. The tramp of Orcish soldiers, moving closer. Something had them stirred up. Maybe they caught that Gollum thing, and tortured him to find out where we were? Or maybe they just got lucky.

"Mr Frodo!" he hissed. "Down!" If they were discovered and captured now, if it was all for naught ...

Hiding was second nature by now; Frodo ducked down and pulled his elven cloak over his face. Samwise did the same, praying that the cloaks would work their magic one more time.

The Orcs came closer, the heavy tramp of their marching feet sounding like a death-knell. It appeared that they were coming right down the narrow gully in which the two hobbits crouched. Samwise cringed as far to the side as he could; beside him, he could feel Master Frodo doing the same.

The first Orc passed them by without incident, as did the second and third one. But the fourth one stumbled and moved out of line. His foot, harder than any shoe leather, struck Sam's ankle. Sam, biting his lip, made no sound. But the Orc stopped, puzzled. Questions were barked in that horrid tongue.

The Orc turned back, eyes searching the ground. Reaching down, it groped around, then suddenly seized upon Sam's ankle, lifting him from the ground. In an instant, as the elven cloak slid from him, it seemed as though a spell had been lifted. The other Orcs gathered around, grabbing at him, even as he tried to draw his small knife.

Once more, the inevitable happened. Even as Samwise tried to will Frodo into immobility – far better I die and he reach Mount Doom than we both perish here – one of the Orcs trod on him, and he was also uncovered. Hands reached down, seizing Master Frodo in an unbreakable grip, and lifting him to be examined -

"Boys, you'll need to close your eyes now."

The voice was feminine and utterly strange to Sam's ear. No Hobbit spoke those words, nor Man, nor Elf. It certainly wasn't an Orc. Lifting his eyes, he saw the speaker. She – despite her strange form, it was indeed a she – was neither Man, nor Elf, nor Hobbit, nor Orc. Instead, she was something else; tall and scaly of skin, with a long tail behind, she was reptilian. Or perhaps, hearkening back to tales of old, draconic.

That the scaled woman balancing easily on the rocky ridge was a warrior, he had no doubt. She wore armour of some strange grey metal, while a sword of the same forging rode at her waist. Her head was protected by a workmanlike helm, also of that odd grey metal.

However, her hands were empty of sword, or even a knife. Instead, she held a small black object. A moment after speaking, she tossed it into the air above Sam and Frodo and the Orcs. Her warning stayed with him so after a split second, he clenched his eyes shut.

For a moment, he thought that she had called down lightning upon them. The thunder was deafening, and the intense glare blasted into his eyes, even through tightly closed lids. But he was not struck, was not killed. He was, however, dropped heavily to the ground, as his thrumming ears dimly made out sounds of pain and distress all around.

Scrambling to his feet and opening his eyes, he saw that he Orcs had also released Master Frodo; they writhed on the ground and gouged at their own eyes as if they would pluck them from their very sockets. He did not take long to understand why this was; their eyes were best in the darkness, so having that light burst upon them would have been more painful than suddenly staring into the face of the sun.

"You all right?" asked the scaled woman, descending the narrow ridge. She stood before him, perhaps twice his height, obviously dangerous yet … amused. Not at him, but at the world in general, he sensed. "They didn't beat you up too badly?"

"I … no." He fumbled with his words, then decided to let his manners answer for him. Bowing deeply, he said, "We thank you for saving us. Who might you be, and where did you come from?"

Her smile widened. "Well said, little sir. I'm Saurial, and I've come a long way to sort out yet another mess." She sighed. "Dark wizards and other beings who think they can just pilfer my technology, and claim it for their own. It's getting seriously irritating."

While Samwise was still trying to work out what she meant by 'technology', she turned toward Master Frodo. "I understand you've got something very problematic on your hands. I'd like it back, please."

Frodo stared at her. "I … I thank you for helping us, but I don't know what you mean." Unbidden, his hand crept to where the Ring hung on its chain beneath his shirt.

She sighed and rolled her eyes, but still did not put her hand on her sword. "Listen to me. You want to keep it out of that thieving bastard Sauron's hands? Give." Reaching out, she snapped her fingers and held her hand out expectantly.

Master Frodo's eyes went to her sword, then slowly he pulled the Ring from its hiding place. "It's dangerous," he warned her. "It will twist you."

She snorted with amusement; Samwise would not have been surprised to see puffs of smoke from her nostrils. "Kid, I made that little trinket. It was supposed to be a proof of concept. Only that light-fingered asshole Sauron made off with it, and obviously made some changes to it. Totally voided the warranty, too. I'm going to have words with him."

"Kid?" exclaimed Samwise, driven to reply by his indignation. "Master Frodo is fifty years old! He is no child!"

Half-turning her face toward him, Saurial gave him a crooked grin. "Come back to me in another thousand years, and we'll talk about it." She turned her full attention back to Master Frodo. "Well?"

Reluctantly, Frodo lifted the chain over his head and handed it to her. She took it, opened the chain, and held up the Ring, examining it closely. "Nice engraving," she commented idly. "Of course, he damn near broke a couple of important command links even doing that. Irresponsible idiot."

"But – but nobody can read that unless it's heated!" Frodo protested, staring at her.

"Oh?" She looked unconcerned. "Forget I said anything then." Taking the Ring in both hands, she pulled, stretching the Ring into a … tube? Faint lines, pulsing red and blue, were now visible on the shimmering surface. Reaching into the surface, she pulled on one of the lines, causing a large blocky object to appear in her hand. Tucking it into a pocket which was surely too small to hold it, she proceeded to do it again and again. With each of these 'pulls', the red and blue lines vanished, until there were none left.

With the air of a job well done, she collapsed the Ring into its more familiar form, then tossed it back toward Master Frodo. "Here you go, kid. Have a souvenir."

Wonderingly, Frodo caught it, then absently slid it on to his finger. Absolutely nothing happened. He and Samwise stared at each other. "It has no power any more?"

"Well, no," Saurial said. "It was just an idea I had. I think I'm going to have to be more careful with this sort of thing in future." She looked down at the Orcs, which were just beginning to stir, then at the two hobbits. "So, you guys need a lift anywhere?"