Author's note: OK, I lied. This story has suddenly taken on a mind of its
own and gone off in an entirely different direction than I had planned. So,
it will be longer than the four chapters I had figured on! Bear with me, as
I'm not entirely sure where this will go, but I hope it will be
interesting!
Oh, I forgot this: Disclaimer: All the characters and story og Lord of the Rings are the creation and property of JRR Tolkien.
Chapter 4 Rescue from the Ashes
High above Sam, hidden from sight by the clouds of dust and debris was one who had not been destroyed by the downfall of the Dark Lord. The Mouth of Sauron rode on the back of a giant black eagle. He had captured the bird many years ago and using his dark sorcery, trained it to do his bidding. He had managed to escape the carnage and destruction of Sauron's domain and was now heading for friendlier climes, somewhere where he could regroup. Although not as powerful as the Dark Lord or even the Istari, he was not without considerable powers.
The Mouth of Sauron had observed the frantic flight of the Nazgul towards Mt. Doom and it was then he realized there must have been more than one spy skulking around Mordor. Never in his dreams would it have occurred to the Dark Lord that Gandalf and the others would attempt to destroy the Ring of Power. Sauron had awaited a new claimant to power and by the time he had discovered his mistake, it was too late. The Ring was gone, but not all of his minions were crushed.
The Mouth of Sauron decided to take one last look around Orodruin to see if he could detect any signs of the one who had destroyed the Ring. It was unlikely the spy could have survived the mountain's violent eruption, but stranger things had happened. As he and his eagle, Calaphos, soared through the pillars of smoke and ash, the black Numenorean spied a small, inert figure stranded on an island almost immersed by the lava. Could this be the one who brought about the downfall of Middle Earth's most powerful ruler? With a word to Calaphos, the bird wheeled around and dove down towards the figure. It was with some surprise that the Mouth of Sauron realized that it was another one of those Shire-rats. Would Gandalf really have sent two such miserable creatures into Mordor to destroy the Ring? The bird reached out with one of its mighty talons and seized Sam. With the Hobbit dangling limply from his its claws, the mighty eagle turned and disappeared into the east.
It was a short time later that Gandalf appeared riding Gwaihir the Windlord, the mightiest of the Eagles from the North. With them was Gwaihir's brother, Landroval. Desperately, they searched for any sign of the missing Hobbit. Gandalf knew there was little hope he would be found. Mt. Doom continued spewing fire and ash into the air and great vents had opened in the side of the mountain, releasing rivers of molten lava. With a heavy heart, Gandalf finally accepted the fact that there would be no rescue of the final Ringbearer. Samwise Gamgee was lost.
***************************************
It was sometime later that Sam opened his eyes. He blinked slowly a few times, trying to figure out just where he was. It was dark, that much was certain, and cold. Was he dead? He didn't think so, but one could never be sure about these things. He tentatively moved his arms and legs, gasping in pain as he shifted his injured arm. He was then nearly overcome by a fierce bout of coughing, leaving him weak and perspiring. His entire body ached dreadfully. No, he wasn't dead - unfortunately.
If he had indeed survived the destruction of Mt. Doom, then where was he and how did he get here? He was pondering this unexpected turn of events when he was startled by a low, melodious voice. "Lie still, Master Halfling," the voice said soothingly, "you have been to the very brink of death and although I have some power to heal, you have a long road ahead of you before you are fully recovered."
"Who are you?" Sam tried to say, but his throat and mouth were so raw and parched, all he could produce what a faint whisper. He felt his head being gently lifted and a goblet held to his cracked lips. He drank deeply of the cool, fruity liquid and felt a bit stronger. He swallowed and tried again. "Who are you?"
The voice laughed quietly. "I am." the voice paused, "one of the Istari."
Sam frowned, puzzled. He only knew of two of the Istari - Gandalf, who was now gone, and Saruman the White. How many were there? He had no idea." "Istari?" he repeated hoarsely.
The voice laughed again. "Yes, I am Moraker the Black, a very insignificant member of the Order. I spend my days wandering about studying, ah, plants."
"Plants?" echoed Sam with some interest. "I'm a gardener myself! I know a lot about plants, well Shire plants anyway."
"Wonderful!" enthused Moraker. "We will have many fascinating discussions to fill the time during your long convalescence. You must tell me all about the plants from your home, the Shire did you call it? I am sure I will learn much from you, but now, you must rest." Moraker murmured some words that Sam was unable to catch, but within moments, the injured Hobbit was fast asleep.
The Mouth of Sauron stared down at the sleeping Hobbit and smiled coldly. It had been difficult work keeping the miserable creature alive after he had been rescued from the slope of Mt. Doom. But, as he told Sam, he did have some healing powers, although most of the time they were used to keep victims of his cruel and merciless tortures from escaping him through death. This halfling he wanted alive, at least for now.
The Mouth of Sauron was a Black Numenorean, well versed in black sorcery having learned such evil arts from the Dark Lord himself. He seethed with a deep and violent hatred towards all the men of Gondor and especially towards their new "king", this Ranger from the North. He had looked forward to being the new master of Orthanc and using his considerable powers to subdue the men of the West.
That had all been lost. Now, he, the Lieutenant of Barad-dur, was hiding in the mountains far to the east. It was impossible for him to attack Gondor or its king directly, he was but one man, but in his mind was formulating a plan, a way for him to make this King Elessar suffer in some small way and this halfling was going to be the key.
Oh, I forgot this: Disclaimer: All the characters and story og Lord of the Rings are the creation and property of JRR Tolkien.
Chapter 4 Rescue from the Ashes
High above Sam, hidden from sight by the clouds of dust and debris was one who had not been destroyed by the downfall of the Dark Lord. The Mouth of Sauron rode on the back of a giant black eagle. He had captured the bird many years ago and using his dark sorcery, trained it to do his bidding. He had managed to escape the carnage and destruction of Sauron's domain and was now heading for friendlier climes, somewhere where he could regroup. Although not as powerful as the Dark Lord or even the Istari, he was not without considerable powers.
The Mouth of Sauron had observed the frantic flight of the Nazgul towards Mt. Doom and it was then he realized there must have been more than one spy skulking around Mordor. Never in his dreams would it have occurred to the Dark Lord that Gandalf and the others would attempt to destroy the Ring of Power. Sauron had awaited a new claimant to power and by the time he had discovered his mistake, it was too late. The Ring was gone, but not all of his minions were crushed.
The Mouth of Sauron decided to take one last look around Orodruin to see if he could detect any signs of the one who had destroyed the Ring. It was unlikely the spy could have survived the mountain's violent eruption, but stranger things had happened. As he and his eagle, Calaphos, soared through the pillars of smoke and ash, the black Numenorean spied a small, inert figure stranded on an island almost immersed by the lava. Could this be the one who brought about the downfall of Middle Earth's most powerful ruler? With a word to Calaphos, the bird wheeled around and dove down towards the figure. It was with some surprise that the Mouth of Sauron realized that it was another one of those Shire-rats. Would Gandalf really have sent two such miserable creatures into Mordor to destroy the Ring? The bird reached out with one of its mighty talons and seized Sam. With the Hobbit dangling limply from his its claws, the mighty eagle turned and disappeared into the east.
It was a short time later that Gandalf appeared riding Gwaihir the Windlord, the mightiest of the Eagles from the North. With them was Gwaihir's brother, Landroval. Desperately, they searched for any sign of the missing Hobbit. Gandalf knew there was little hope he would be found. Mt. Doom continued spewing fire and ash into the air and great vents had opened in the side of the mountain, releasing rivers of molten lava. With a heavy heart, Gandalf finally accepted the fact that there would be no rescue of the final Ringbearer. Samwise Gamgee was lost.
***************************************
It was sometime later that Sam opened his eyes. He blinked slowly a few times, trying to figure out just where he was. It was dark, that much was certain, and cold. Was he dead? He didn't think so, but one could never be sure about these things. He tentatively moved his arms and legs, gasping in pain as he shifted his injured arm. He was then nearly overcome by a fierce bout of coughing, leaving him weak and perspiring. His entire body ached dreadfully. No, he wasn't dead - unfortunately.
If he had indeed survived the destruction of Mt. Doom, then where was he and how did he get here? He was pondering this unexpected turn of events when he was startled by a low, melodious voice. "Lie still, Master Halfling," the voice said soothingly, "you have been to the very brink of death and although I have some power to heal, you have a long road ahead of you before you are fully recovered."
"Who are you?" Sam tried to say, but his throat and mouth were so raw and parched, all he could produce what a faint whisper. He felt his head being gently lifted and a goblet held to his cracked lips. He drank deeply of the cool, fruity liquid and felt a bit stronger. He swallowed and tried again. "Who are you?"
The voice laughed quietly. "I am." the voice paused, "one of the Istari."
Sam frowned, puzzled. He only knew of two of the Istari - Gandalf, who was now gone, and Saruman the White. How many were there? He had no idea." "Istari?" he repeated hoarsely.
The voice laughed again. "Yes, I am Moraker the Black, a very insignificant member of the Order. I spend my days wandering about studying, ah, plants."
"Plants?" echoed Sam with some interest. "I'm a gardener myself! I know a lot about plants, well Shire plants anyway."
"Wonderful!" enthused Moraker. "We will have many fascinating discussions to fill the time during your long convalescence. You must tell me all about the plants from your home, the Shire did you call it? I am sure I will learn much from you, but now, you must rest." Moraker murmured some words that Sam was unable to catch, but within moments, the injured Hobbit was fast asleep.
The Mouth of Sauron stared down at the sleeping Hobbit and smiled coldly. It had been difficult work keeping the miserable creature alive after he had been rescued from the slope of Mt. Doom. But, as he told Sam, he did have some healing powers, although most of the time they were used to keep victims of his cruel and merciless tortures from escaping him through death. This halfling he wanted alive, at least for now.
The Mouth of Sauron was a Black Numenorean, well versed in black sorcery having learned such evil arts from the Dark Lord himself. He seethed with a deep and violent hatred towards all the men of Gondor and especially towards their new "king", this Ranger from the North. He had looked forward to being the new master of Orthanc and using his considerable powers to subdue the men of the West.
That had all been lost. Now, he, the Lieutenant of Barad-dur, was hiding in the mountains far to the east. It was impossible for him to attack Gondor or its king directly, he was but one man, but in his mind was formulating a plan, a way for him to make this King Elessar suffer in some small way and this halfling was going to be the key.