Sauron and the Ringwraiths (A Love Story)

Chapter 3

Ringwraith Bob, Witchking, Chieftain of the Nine Terrors sat silent in his Morgul-hall.  His meetings with the Eye had not gone at all well, and he found himself irresistibly drawn back to Barûd-Dur.  Again.

He rose and went to the window, throwing it wide.  The foetid air from the Morgul Vale roused him from his mental stupor and he slammed the casement shut in a cold fury.  He hated his weakness where the Eye was concerned, hated the hold Sauron had over him.

Bob cast a cool glance about the chamber.  Everywhere there were reminders of the Dark Lord:  books they had enjoyed; albums they had listened to, and fought over; images of better times.  He picked up one heavy tome, reverently tracing the gilded lettering with his finger, reminiscing over the laughs they had had.  There was still a bookmark, a dog-eared page marking the last time they had read together.  The last truce before his journey North.

As he moved amongst the clutter of an Age, he found he was talking to himself.  "Sauron, Sauron, Sauron.  Why do you do this to me?  How can one being have so much power over another?  It seems so wrong.  The fighting, the evil things we say.  It's not healthy.  So why do I go back…?"

And so he went on.  And on.  For most of the night, actually.  Ringwraith Bob was a dreadful insomniac and who knows what he whispered to himself in the dark watches of the night, when the walls of his bower closed in around him? 

Unbeknownst to the Witchking, Sauron had turned his thought towards the Morgul Vale and was listening to his rantings.  The Eye heard Bob's grievances, slightly bemused at the pettiness of some of them, before tuning in to the more entertaining dreams of another Nazgul.

Towards dawn, Bob fell into an uneasy doze.

**

He was woken by the shrieking of the Nine (minus himself) around the breakfast-table, and staggered down to the kitchen.  Typically, all was in an uproar, and he winced at sounds far too loud and raucous for that time of the morning.

"Bob!" cried two of the younger Wraiths, Rick and Billy.

"Morning," he mumbled groggily, fumbling for the coffee machine.  A cup was pressed into his cold hands and he blinked at the contents.

"White with two, wasn't it?"  Ringwraith Joe was helpful to the point of irritation, and was invariably the most cheerful in the mornings.  Bob was not a morning person.  He nodded and sipped the steaming brew.

Leaning back against the counter, he looked at his friends.  None of them knew of his affair with their boss, and he wanted to keep it that way.

"I'll be going North again this morning," he announced.

"But you just got back!" chorused the Eight.

"You know what the Eye's like, always changing his plans.  Apparently I'm to harangue a selection of the so-called Free Peoples."  The lie came easy to him.  An Age of deception yielding fruit.

"How long will you be gone this time," bustled Joe.

Bob merely shrugged.

**

Ringwraith Bob saddled his horse once more, and led it from the stables.  It was a poor beast through hard riding, but it had once been a prize of the Rohirrim.  He mounted and spurred it into moving.  "Back to Barûd-Dur, Bjorn," he urged. "Back to Barûd-Dur."  Bjorn the horse snorted in reply.

The pair thundered across the Plain of Gorgoroth, showing to a canter as they passed through into Udûn.  "Udûn," thought Bob wryly.  "Hell.  How apt."  He raised an ironclad hand in response to the Orc-guard's greeting and continued on his way.

Sauron watched his mate's progress from the roof of the Dark Tower.  He smiled a secret smile at the thought of the box lying on Bob's bed.  Amazon.com had been remarkably swift in delivering the discoball.  He turned at a sound behind him, and saw Bob standing in the doorway.

"I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind," he commented.

"I'm not that fickle."

The Eye peered at the Wraith before him.  "You look tired, Bob.  Didn't you sleep?"

"I never do."

"I wish you'd try those herbal remedies I gave you."

Bob laughed.  "Herbal?  What sort of herbs would they be again, Eye?"  (Sauron ignored the implications in that remark).  "No thanks.  I don't trust to 'herbal' remedies…"

Abruptly changing the subject, the Dark Lord said, "Come Bob, I have something for you that should break this funk you've been in."

Bob's curiosity was piqued.  "Oh?  And what would that be?"

"You'll see," replied the Eye and led his Captain inside.

Bob shot a glance at Sauron when he saw the gift-wrapped box.  "Open it," commanded the Eye.  He did.

The discoball was roughly the size of a human head, cunningly crafted with tiny facets of mirrored silver.  As Bob turned it over in his hands, he gazed into its shiny surface in wonderment.

"Where did you…" he began, then stopped.  He felt his eyes moisten and was deeply touched by the gesture.

Sauron smiled.  This was precisely the reaction he was looking for.  As Bob raised his face to his, he held up a CD.

"Wanna dance?"