Where the Shadows Lie
A Tale Of The Ring
"Then darkness took me, and I strayed out of thought and time, and I wandered far on roads that I will not tell."
Chapter One: Rebirth
Through the haze, a voice reached out to him. Like waves striking on a far ocean shore, it broke upon the rocks of his mind, roaring and whispering all at once. He thought of opening his eyes, but the old body did not respond. Nothingness was all he could see. Or perhaps there was nothing to see. Was he still in the abyss? No…that was not right. Durin's Tower…was he there? Had he lived, then, or was he dead after all?
The voice whispered from the darkness. Olórin…
His mind still did not register. There was nothingness, nothing to his world, if it was a world at all.
Olórin… It whispered. Darkness falls…
Had it ended? Was he dead, or did he live yet? If so, where was he, and why would not his body respond to his commands? Why, for that matter, could he feel nothing, see nothing, hear nothing? Blackness surrounded him, and only the voices remained, one before the other, overlapping and singing in a beautiful chorus he felt he ought to remember but was just beyond his reach. It was as if he existed in a vacuum with only the voices for company.
The loudest amongst them continued. Shadow… Shadow falls…
Shadow! The world lit like fire in his mind. Shadow and Darkness… There was something important in that, if only he could feel it. Even as he concentrated, searching his soul for remembrance, a great drowsiness overtook him. It would be so much easier to stop struggling and return to his people – his people? He remembered very little of them, an age ago… But then, now he remembered nothing, not even what was so dreadfully important about Shadow and Darkness. All he felt was exhaustion beyond human endurance. Shadow falls…
Olórin! the voice cried suddenly, trying as if to, by force, to bring him into the light. But seeing no light, and feeling no life, he let himself slip into the blackness, ignoring the demanding voice. Even as he did so, though, a soft whisper emerged from beneath the clamor of the Valar, reaching out to him.
The Fellowship has broken, she whispered. Her voice was different, somehow lighter than the Valar, and younger, though immeasurably ancient and wise in itself. There was a beauty in it, as well, but that was somehow overcome by the immense sadness and weight that its bearer carried. The Fellowship has broken…
Images of Frodo, Aragon, and the others suddenly rushed to his mind, and he remembered. Oh, he remembered now, remembered his mission, his quest, and his failure. The Balrog, and their battle, came to him once more, but he brushed those aside. There were more important matters at hand, now. For if it was true… Broken? His heart screamed all of a sudden. "Broken?" he asked aloud, surprised to hear his own voice.
Broken, she replied.
"The Fellowship?" he croaked weakly. Still, though he tried, his eyes would not open. "Why?"
Their task has been set aside.
"Do they live?" he found himself gasping. "Frodo? The Ring?"
They live. But Darkness is coming. Sauron knows…"How?" he whispered, all strength leaving him. His sacrifice had been for nothing, then. A deep and treacherous voice within his mind cried simply to let go of mortal life and return him. Let the mortals and the Elves deal with Middle-Earth now. He had not the strength…
Minas Tirith… They go to Minas Tirith.
"But why?" he cried, mindless of all but his own despair, but knowing the answer. The Fellowship, Frodo, and the Ring, would only go to Gondor for but one reason. They would only go thus if they meant to use the Ring against Sauron, that which could not be done… They set out to do what they could not – and what no other would do. Did they not listen to what Elrond had said? Had they not heeded the words of a great Elven lord? Why would they think to do such a foolish and useless thing? Fear, he reflected briefly and bitterly, was apt to be Sauron's chief weapon forever. And what a useful weapon it would be, were these tidings true.
But must they be? The suspicious corner of his mind spoke up, the part of his mind born of being betrayed. Once he would not have thought such things, but circumstances had forced him to adapt, to be alert for more than just darkness. Lies and betrayal would always exist. He would rather trust and befriend than hate and doubt, but who spoke to him now? It was not one of the Valar, not one of his own kind, though her voice, smooth and beautiful, mixed amongst their own, which spoke of great power. Or was it truly beauty that he sensed? Could it be something else, something much more sinister, yet every bit as powerful? Fear gripped him, then, for a moment, as he wondered if it might not be Sauron himself.
Long habit alone pushed the fear aside to look at the situation rationally. The Balrog had been a power older than Sauron himself; it had not been held under his sway. Thus, he could not, did not, know of the battle that had raged between two ancient and great powers. None, not even the other Istari, could feel such things and know the result. They, too, were limited by the physical realities of their bodies upon Middle-Earth. No, only a Ring-bearer could know. Only one of the Three, the ancient and hidden Three, could sense where he had been and what he must do.
You know the answer to that, she finally replied, her voice softening, and for a long moment, he was unsure if she answered his asked or unasked questions. You, as well as I.
"I know," he whispered heavily, then felt sudden emptiness in his soul as her voice faded amongst the clamor. No being, even one of the Eldar, could hold off the Valar for long, and he now realized that she had done just that. Such was her power that she could succeed in reaching him amongst his kinsmen. He fought to sit up, but again realized that there was no feeling in his body. Was he even in a body?
Olórin? the strong voice asked again, and he knew it was one of his own once more. A pity; he'd rathered speak to her. She understood what even the Valar could not. For he had moved on…
I am here, he replied, his mind whirling with the lost contact. Her light presence had reminded him that if he did live, there was much left to do. He had a responsibility to Middle-Earth that he could not so easily escape. Nor, now, did he want to, as he came back into himself. Yes, it would have been easier, but that was no matter. If the Shadow were to advance, he, Olórin, would be there to meet it. As always, he would fight to the last – even if this battle would indeed be the end of him. For all would be lost if not. If Sauron gained the One, all was lost. For the Seven were destroyed, and the Nine he possessed. As for the Three… Of the Three few knew the truth. He, the voice, and one other could understand. Only they could understand the risk. And if Frodo had taken the road to Minas Tirith, had undertaken to use the ring…
It was nearly unthinkable, but think of such things he must. And to do so, he had to face the possibility of becoming everything he was not, and then some. With a mental frown, though, he pushed such thoughts out of his mind. First he had to figure out how to get off the damn mountain top – if he was alive, at all, a fact he was still unsure of, given his peoples' very nature.
We thought we had lost you, the voice returned. This voice, too, he knew, and respected deeply. Instantly, he regretted his earlier irritation. Such powers were not to be trifled, no matter how awful you felt. No matter how your head swam with pain and weakness.
Laughter would have been so appropriate, but he found it would not come. He was fading quickly, despite his resolve, and knew not how to stop it. Have you? he asked.
Not yet. But you will rejoin us soon, the voice said. A soft smile was almost felt, then, and old wisdom looked gently upon its student. Pity, too, he felt from the other, and that he liked not at all. You have done enough.
Panic gripped him. Time was running out. I failed, so you will stop me from trying again?
No. Your body will stop you from trying again, the other reminded him. That was the arrangement. A mortal body, with mortal aches, pains, and worries, to accompany the mortals of the world. If you had shown yourself truly, any of you, even the Eldar would have feared the Istari. For they would have seen that Sauron was once one himself. A dark silence lasted but a moment. Thus your body dies.
What then? He cried. Do we leave them to themselves?
In his hidden accusation, he felt the pain amongst the Valar. No, they indeed did care for Middle-Earth. He had known that from the beginning… else he and the others would never have been sent. Should darkness cover Middle-Earth, it would take the forgotten lands of the West as well, and Sauron knew full well what they were. He knew the Valar. When there was no answer, he continued, You cannot send another, can you?
No. It is too late. The answer was flat, and held as much despair as his own cry.
So let me continue here. Let me finish what we have started. The words had barely come to mind before he realized fully what they meant. In all possibilities that he had envisioned for the quest, this had never been one. He had not imagined it easy, but he had not expected to have to die to accomplish it. But he would, even if it took his real life in the end.
We will not ask that of you. The Valar cannot ask that of you, the ancient one replied.
His mind spun all of a sudden. You do not have to. Pain faintly lashed through him, but he was too far gone to care. It would be too late… Sauron would win.
Doubt was evident in the question, Are you sure? Do you truly wish this?
But he could not answer, scream though his heart did. Someone had to do this, and though he wished with all his soul that it did not have to be him, he knew the truth. But it was too late, and now real pain encompassed him, the agony racing through him like fire on dry wood. The prior emptiness, the lack of feeling, was better than this. It was better to wonder if you were alive than to know you were dying. Sensation suddenly ripped through him for a quick and endless moment, and he felt stone underneath him as his body lifted off the ground and slammed down again hard. He became conscious of the burns and the breaks of his old body before blackness took him.
Light encroached upon his private world darkness an age later. Without thinking, he opened his eyes, and bright stars shown down upon him. He looked with wonder at the beauty of it all, almost missing the voice as it returned.
You have received that which you desire, Olórin. Sadness tinged it now. I wish you all hope.
Before he could reply, this voice faded as well, leaving him alone on the mountaintop, conscious now, but too weak to move. There was nothing he could do but lay there, wondering, until feeling came not only into his body, but into his mind. It felt like ages before this came to pass, but his eyes told him his mind's lie. The sun had risen and set a bare six times, which meant he was on his seventh day atop Durin's Tower. Yet even as he felt the whole of Middle-Earth, felt the growing anticipation of the darkness, he could do naught to stop it. He lay in the snow, feeling neither hot nor cold, despite his nakedness, and knowing that worldly things could harm him no longer. He had indeed changed…Changed back.
The cry of a bird brought him to reality and away from the worried driftings of his mind. Sauron was growing more and more powerful…soon he would not need the ring to triumph. Saurman had been struck down, and even then was a prisoner. The darkness was expanding… Soon, Sauron's reach would know no end. Again, the eagle's scream, and he looked high into the sky and smiled. Old friends, he reflected, could always be counted upon in a time of need. Relaxing, he allowed himself to wait patiently, though that had rarely been his strong suit, he felt it needed now as Gwaihir the Windlord swept down from the clouds.
