Disclaimer: Not mine. Tolkien's.
Chapter 22
THE DARK LORD
He was an older man, not quite in his eighties, hobbling along on the black desert, walking as though he had done so for miles, though Apryl had not noted his presence before and the land was vast and flat--she ought to have noticed him before now, she deemed.
The man wore a brown and battered suit with an untucked shirt peeking through his unbuttoned jacket. It hung limply from his thin frame, made thinner by his overlarge, smudged shoes. In his left hand he carried a worn suitcase, in his right a cane, and upon his small, slightly up-turned nose a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched precariously and, oddly enough, they glinted--an effect Apryl was not too distracted to note as there was nought for them to be reflected from. He smiled wide at the sight of her, laughter-lines crinkling merrily about his bright blue eyes.
At first, she did not know what to make of him, for he was the last sort of person she expected to see, indeed she had honestly expected there to be none save her in all this endless land. It took her a moment for the man's odd attire to affectively register and when it did she was first overjoyed, for he was obviously from her world and to see such familiarity was a wondrous thing after living for weeks away from anything recognizable; but then the wonder vanished and it was replaced instantly by dread, for this man was from her world!
Everything's falling apart! she realized, horrified, and more than a little weary with all that had happened. More people--as if I weren't enough of a disaster!
She was, however, curious and despite the qualms she had, Apryl picked herself up and stumbled out to meet this odd being.
"Good day to you, my dear," he called out and the warmth in his voice came to her as a blessing. She wanted to bask in it, for it was such a contrast to the twisted world about her.
"Hullo," she called, her walk becoming a little steadier.
As they met halfway, he gave her a sheepish sort of grin and asked, "You wouldn't happen to know the shortest way to Sherry Drive, would you? I seem to have taken a wrong turn somewhere." He looked behind him and eyed the deadened land skeptically. "My surroundings have the nasty habit of changing when I'm not looking," he said, turning back around. "My granddaughter tells me I'm getting simple-minded, but I know better." He gave an over dramatized sigh. "But such is the case with the young today--getting ideas that they have a better grasp on the world. Better than I! Me, who has been around . . ." he stopped, seemed to think about this and then shrugged. "Well, a lot longer than she has at any rate. Why I'm as chipper as when I was fifty!" and he demonstrated this by waving his cane about wildly--Apryl had to duck to avoid getting her brains bashed out.
"Why she thinks she needs to look after me, I'll never know . . . she seems to have a difficult enough time taking care of herself," and suddenly the man's carefree and happy behavior vanished and he looked at her pointedly. "The world is a most dangerous place," he added, his voice firm and, yet, at the same time quite soft.
Suddenly, the air about him rippled and waved, and the short man before her vanished for nought save an instant and then flashed back into appearance. Apryl gasped.
In that portion of a second that the old man had gone, Gandalf had stood in his place, tall and, as ever, robed in gray. He gave her a quick and knowing look before he was gone and the old man in glasses was back.
Apryl opened her mouth, struggling to say something, but the man shook his head, put a finger over his lips.
Say nothing! Think nothing! came the sharp reply, but it was so fast and fleeting that Apryl wondered if she had indeed "heard" it. It was not like when she had 'talked' to Pippin, it was different some how. You are in terrible danger, my child.
Danger? Apryl wondered. What do you mean?
Shhh! Do not think. He can 'hear' you. That is why he is so close. You must stay 'silent'.
I cannot not think, Apryl reasoned angrily. It is impossible!
Try, Gandalf told her. Do not think in words, but in pictures. Keep your mind chaotic.
The old man with glasses smiled at her warmly and she felt her body relax. Danger wasn't something she needed to concern herself with, not when this man stood right next to her. He would keep her safe, she was almost certain of it.
She thought of odd things, then, trying to do as Gandalf had told her. She thought of people in her own world and of things that held little consequence, things that did not interest her very much but would keep her mind preoccupied. All the while, though, she kept her mind open to receive, for she would not miss what the old man had to say.
He nodded approvingly, more for her efforts than for the results, for though her mind was indeed chaotic it held things, information, that Gandalf would not have the Dark Lord see. But it couldn't be helped. She did not remember anything of Before so she could not remember her abilities and the power she had wielded. It was a complicated issue, one made all the more so for the fact that time was short--and Apryl needed time, for her to be able to leave this deadened world. He told her as much.
I cannot stay here with you, he told her quickly. I must return. There are things I must take care of that, I am afraid, are of greater import.
Apryl did not begrudge him this. She knew why he had to return.
You must find the strength, my child, to save yourself this time. Frodo will not be able to help you, nor will I or any other. You know a little history of our time, do you not? and he knew she did, for had she not read that book? Use it and the knowledge you have of the 'magic' bestowed upon the Maiar. Remember, child, that Sauron is no different from us. No matter what some may believe, his ways are ours.
And the old man with the wire-framed glasses gave her a final comforting smile and, much the same way Pippin had, faded away.
Keep your mind chaotic, she told herself, Keep it chaotic. But no matter how hard she tried her thoughts always came back to what the wizard had told her.
Is he listening now? she wondered, looking about her sharply as if she might spot Sauron sneaking up on her, ready to pounce upon her at any moment. He was nowhere, though . . .
And neither am I. She sighed, then, and decided that if she wanted to return home--its as much my home as anywhere else--than she might as well do as the wizard had told her.
But what did he mean--'. . . Sauron is no different that us. No matter what some may believe, his ways are ours.' 'Us,' 'we'? The Maiar, I suppose. Sauron is the same when you think about it, she agreed silently, for he is as much a Maiar as, say, Gandalf. The only difference is that he chose a darker path, he chose the path of Melkor . . . Apryl shook her head if frustration. But what does that have to do with me?!
Suddenly, Apryl realized that perhaps it didn't have anything to do with her . . . but had everything to do with Atira.
She's a Maiar, after all.
'. . . his ways are ours.'
What did Gandalf mean?!
Exactly what he said, and Apryl knew who it was that spoke.
She looked around her, her eyes sharp and searching. If she could only see him . . . but, then again, some things were best left to the realm of darkness. He was, after all, the Dark Lord Sauron, a faceless menace to a fading world. She had read about him but had never 'seen' him for he had never shown himself. Sometimes the worst fears manifested from the unknown.
The girl felt cold sweat bead upon her forehead.
Child of Sorrow, she is I see, something voiceless said and the land darkened, cooled, if that was at all possible. But how is this so, for she of Nienna was dispelled, banished to the Beyond. How is it she now comes to the In-Between?
Apryl could not have managed a reply had she even thought to give one. The Dark Lord did not give off the effect of a conversationalist. No, he was someone who talked and all listened, whether man, beast, bird, or plant. One did not talk to Sauron, one only listened.
She does not remember me? came the mildly surprised reply. She knows me but does not remember. How interesting. She walks my land, she who is of the Tears. This is not the first time, for she once before walked my land of shadow. Why is she here again? Does she not remember, I wonder? Does she not remember the pain?
How is it she returns? How does she come to be?
The thoughts in her head were fast, fleeting, hard to grasp and much harder to comprehend. She wondered at how long they had been among this world and had the odd impression that they had always been here, though she had not been able to "hear" them until now.
Did Pip? she wondered.
The Halflings, yes, came the response. She is quite fond of the Halflings . . . like before . . .
Before?
Before she was banished. Before she forgot. Before she was forgotten.
Before what? she wondered. What happened? She did not direct the questions to Sauron, like she would have to Gandalf or Pippin, but merely thought them inside her head. Though she questioned, the foreboding grew and slowly, quite slowly, she backed up, as though she thought she might escape, for she knew to whom she spoke and she wanted nothing to do with him. A wave of amusement hit her, for that is as best as it could be explained, and she almost wept with this realization that escape was a hopeless, not forthcoming thing.
She wishes to run? She wishes to escape? Why doesn't she? Is she weak, powerless? After a moment, Yes, I think she is. How . . . delightful.
*****
