Sauron and the Ringwraiths (A love story)

Chapter 7

The ABBA CD spun to the end of its playlist, and as Sauron moved to change it to another '70's disco group, Bob called out to him.  "You never did go to Harad with us, did you?"

"No, the whole Elendil/Isildur/Free Peoples of the West dealie had me a little preoccupied…"

Bob laughed.

"And where were you and the rest of the Nine when I needed you?"  Sauron joked, strutting back into the room to the sound of 'Saturday Night Fever'

"Living it up at the Harad Hilton if I recall aright…"

Sauron playfully cuffed his Witchking across the top of his head.  Smoothing his hair back down, Bob swivelled in his seat and looked up at the Eye.

"Sauron?"

"Mmm?"

"What are we going to tell the Eight?  They don't know about us…"

"Why not tell them?"

"I'd prefer it if we didn't.  You know what some of them are like…" Bob thought for a moment.  "And you know Joe will want to come with if we tell them where we're going."

The Dark Lord sat on the table before the Wraith and gazed thoughtfully at him.  "Why don't you like Joe?"

"No reason," replied Bob, pushing away Sauron's hands and getting to his feet.

"Where are you going?"

"If we're going to Harad, I have to pack remember!"

Sauron protested.  "But you've got some stuff here"

"Some stuff, yes.  But most is back at Minas Morgul."  Bob planted a swift kiss on the Eye's lips.  "Be back in the morning," He whispered before leaving, cloak billowing behind.

Alone in the gloom, Sauron bit his lip and watched him go.

---

Under cover of darkness, Ringwraith Bob returned to his Tower.  Bjorn's hooves clattered in the entranceway, rousing Ringwraith Joe from slumber.

"You're back soon," Joe commented, stifling a yawn.

"Not for long.  I'll be leaving before cock-crow."  Bob was curt.  There was something about Joe that irritated him, apart from his endless cheeriness.  In the torchlight, Joe's eyes glimmered almost knowingly.  Bob turned from him, disconcerted, and made his way up to his own chamber.

"Right… what to pack for a summer holiday?" he asked himself, then cursed at the turn of phrase as Cliff Richard's 'Summer Holiday' got stuck in his head.  He threw his wardrobe wide and flicked through the garments.

"Clean cloak, yes… evening garb – of course… sequinned disco jumpsuits?  The Eye will kill me if I leave them behind… Speedos?  A necessity!" the pile of clothes being tossed on the bed grew, until he had enough for a decent holiday without wearing the same outfit twice.

Meanwhile, the Dark Lord Sauron was doing similar.  "This'll be good," he thought as he crammed another bottle of Visine into an over-stuffed pack.  "Maybe Bob'll loosen up a bit.  He's got a nasty jealous streak…"

---

Night passed.

Watching the dawn, Sauron caught a glimpse of as he Bob traversed the plains upon his trusty Bjorn.  "Horseback?" he thought.  "I am not riding a horse to Harad and back again."

Before too long, Bob reined in his frisky mount, and wheeled at the base of the tower.  "Sauron!" he called.