Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters and concepts belong to
Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters and concepts belong to
J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter 16: The Shadow Darkens
I would have things as they were in all the days of my life . . . and in the days of my longfathers before me: to be the Lord of this City in peace, and leave my chair to a son after me, who would be his own master and no wizard's pupil. But if doom denies this to me, then I will have naught: neither life diminished, nor love halved, nor honour abated.
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
Hoshi worked at her station on Enterprise's bridge, trying very hard to look busy while she secretly watched the rest of the crew out of the corners of her eyes. T'Pol was at the science station, Mayweather at the helm, and Reed at tactical—a completely normal scenario, totally innocuous and mundane.
Annatar had not spoken to her much at all today, and she wondered if his presence in her mind was really gone or if he was simply watching in silence. She hoped for the former; it was very difficult to try and determine if this was reality when a voice kept intruding to distract her. And if he read her thoughts, what was to prevent him from erasing them from her mind?
Over the last few days she'd had the same nightmares of waking up in a dark, foreign dungeon, held captive by murderous creatures whose species, she now remembered, was orc. As the nightmares went on, she strove to control her reaction upon waking, until at last she could lay still with her eyes cracked open just a tiny bit and listen carefully to the talk of the orcs around her, slowly regaining her command of the language.
They were terrible gossips, she had discovered, speaking at length about everything from the war (so Gondor was under attack by an army commanded by someone called the Witch King) to the Ring (no one knew where it was but the Nâzgul, whatever they were, were searching) to the curious happenings at a place called Cirith Ungol far to the east (a whole garrison had ended up dead, and some very curious clothing had been sent to the Black Tower). All this convinced Hoshi that Annatar was probably busy with the myriad goings-on and had less time to spare for browsing the mind of one lost Starfleet linguist.
She looked down at the screens below her fingers and let out a sigh, knowing that the language she was now trying to decipher was one they'd encountered in the very first year of the Enterprise mission. It seemed gibberish to her now, but she remembered deciphering it once before... and the situation had been completely different. Annatar's ruse was getting sloppy—and she had begun to piece together the clues and discover who he really was.
It wasn't all that hard, really, because the orcs wore armor and helmets with painted red eyes upon them. She remembered Éowyn's tales of Sauron, the Great Eye, and thought it perfectly believable that his powers would extend to taking over someone's mind. She was not at all sure that only he had been digging through her thoughts, because she remembered vaguely that someone else had spoken to her at first. It was all very hazy, though—she remembered most of what had happened to her until arriving at Helm's Deep, and after that, her memories were clouded.
She looked across the bridge to where Malcolm Reed was sitting at the tactical station, his brow furrowed in concentration, and wondered what had happened to him. The real Malcolm Reed was probably still out there in Middle-earth, fighting in a war that didn't concern him. He would throw away his life doing that, she thought, because he was the kind of man who stood up for people even if he didn't know them or had no reason to be in the fight. Damned honor!
The fake Reed looked up at her and smiled. A rather odd thing to do, Hoshi thought, considering she had let her face slip into an angry scowl. Fake- Reed opened his mouth to speak and then stopped as Hoshi's shift replacement tapped her on the shoulder. She gratefully gave up the post and hurried off the bridge to her quarters.
:Aren't you going to eat something?: asked Annatar, back once more.
"I'm really not hungry," said Hoshi, and she wasn't. Over the last few days she'd noticed she was never hungry—more proof that this place wasn't real—and had disdained to eat anything at all. Annatar had not noticed. "I'm pretty tired... I just want to get to bed."
:I think, my dear,: said Annatar, :that you have proved your usefulness.:
She stopped, halfway through inputting the lock code to her quarters, and looked around in terror as the walls began to dissolve away into nothing. :I have seen all that you know about this ship,: he said, :and it will be enough to carry out my plan.:
The ship faded away and all around her everything went black. With a cry Hoshi opened her eyes and realized she was back in the dark, musty room. Orcs stood around her, carefully unchaining her arms and legs, and pushed her off the table. Her legs, weak from disuse, toppled beneath her. She scrabbled at the edge of the table, trying to keep herself upright, but the orcs gripped her around the waist and slung her over a broad shoulder.
:You will look into the future,: said Annatar. :You will call to your ship, and bring me what I want from your time. That fool Steward did it by accident, wresting power from me as I sought to muddle his thoughts and give him false hopes that would be cruelly crushed, but this time we shall do it with purpose in mind, and get it right.:
Hoshi struggled against the orc's powerful grasp, gasping with the effort. He dealt her a heavy blow across the forehead, and she went limp as stars popped in front of her eyes. "Keep wriggling, worm, and I will break your legs," growled the orc. "You won't need them to do the Eye's bidding."
Tears dripped down Hoshi's face as they went down a long, long stair, deep into the bowels of the earth below the tower. Down here it was deserted and empty; she saw no other living things besides a few rats scurrying across the steps. It seemed ages that they descended into the earth, finally reaching the very bottom of the stair. A heavy black door, studded with rusted iron nails, lay in front of them. The orc set her down and unlocked it with a spiky key.
"Get in," he ordered harshly, and Hoshi numbly crawled into the room. She sat just on the other side of the door, staring at the orc as he smiled and then shut her inside. For a moment it was entirely dark in the room, and she shuddered, hoping desperately that no rats had gotten in here with her.
After a time she realized that the darkness was not as complete as she had thought. A faint glow permeated the room; warily, she turned around and found it to be coming from a round black stone on a pedestal in the very center of the otherwise empty room. Her breath caught in her throat in a jerky sob as she recognized it as the thing that had whisked them away from their future and brought them here.
:No, not this one,: said Annatar—Sauron—in her mind. :But one like this. A palantir, my dear. One of the great seeing stones of ages past.: His words were mocking, angry; she whimpered and tried not to look at the thing.
The pale white glow dimmed and changed to a malevolent, burning red. "I won't call for anyone," she said, crawling backwards away from the stone. "I won't!"
:I do not need a person,: he said. :I need this.:
In her mind she saw the mass of circuitry that made up the computer core on Enterprise, a meter high and half a meter wide, glittering as electricity ran through it. She'd only seen it once, while trying to find Commander Tucker on some errand of the Captain's, but she knew how powerful it was.
"Why?" she gasped, a strong compulsion to get up and go to the palantir running through her body.
:If I have this I will not need the Ring,: said Sauron, sounding rather smug. :I can use it to hold my power... I can take the power from the Ring itself and then it will not matter at all if that contemptible Halfling manages to destroy it!:
Hoshi shuddered and backed up right against the wall, shivering as cold stone met her shoulders. Another shudder wracked her body, and she closed her eyes. She would not look in the palantir, no matter how hard he tried to make her. Her head throbbed; she could feel Sauron trying to take over once more, but this time she knew what was happening and she fought his intrusion.
Whoever was destroying the Ring, she hoped they would get there soon, because she doubted she could hold out very long against Sauron's onslaught. Her fingers trembled, and she jammed them into the stone floor to stop the quivers, hoping against hope that something would happen to distract the Eye's attention and give her a rest.
She struggled for an endless time, not knowing how much longer she could hold out and yet not giving up, and then somewhere, something answered her prayer, and she was left in darkness, alone with the palantir and her tears of relief.
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
On the walls of the White City, Malcolm sagged in relief as the horns of the Rohirrim echoed across the Pelennor Fields. On the horizon a massive force of riders filled the hilltops; the orcs below turned away from the city and prepared to face the swords of the Horse-lords. He thanked the Valar that Rohan had come at last. He was weary and sore from days of fighting an enemy that never seemed to sleep and seemed countless in number. It did not help that the Nâzgul swooped overhead, picking them off a few men at a time and dropping those unlucky souls to their deaths from high above the city.
He had been on edge all these days, for as Gandalf had pointed out to him, there was no way he would be able to ride for Mordor with a host of orcs on their doorstep, no matter how urgent the matter of Hoshi might be. Grudgingly he had admitted the truth in this, and now he fought, every orc he killed a reminder of what he must get past to do what he wished. Every minute of every hour Malcolm expected to see Enterprise come swooping down from the sky, phase cannons firing great streaks of death into the city and her defenders. In the few hours of sleep he had managed to get, his nightmares were filled with the same vision, and finally he had tired of waking in a cold sweat and given up sleeping altogether.
The Rohirrim charged, but Malcolm could not watch, for at that moment the Prince of Dol Amroth sounded a retreat to the next level up. With a roar Malcolm echoed the order and he and his men dashed for the gate under the great rock spire that split the city in half. At the gate all was chaos; dimly he glimpsed Gandalf and Pippin on a porch just past the spire, both looking quite tired and to his surprise somewhat singed, but he could not stop to talk as he hurried his men into position farther up the road. They heard the orcs beating at the gate and arranged themselves for an ambush.
Twenty minutes they stole for rest while the orcs battered down the gate, striving to regain breath and bind up smaller wounds as the relentless pounding continued. They heard wood splinter on the last hit; the next one would break through the door.
But it never came. A sudden flurry of orc-squeals erupted on the other side, and then there was only silence. Malcolm stood up in confusion. "Where are they?" he called. Imrahil, standing closer to the gate, peeked through a rift in the wood of the door and gave a whoop of joy most unbefitting of a dignified prince.
"I don't believe it!" he cried, and tugged at the doorjamb until it opened, swatting away the alarmed soldiers who tried to stop him. The gates swung open on a very strange sight. Every orc that had been pursuing them now lay dead. As they surveyed the silent street in amazement, Malcolm realized that the noise of battle from the fields below had ceased. He vaulted onto the porch of one of the houses and stood on the roof, gazing out at the former battlefield, now silent except for the voices of survivors calling out for wounded. A horde of greenish, smoky figures swept through the remaining enemies, taking them down more quickly than any other warrior Malcolm had ever seen.
Gandalf and Pippin clambered onto the roof beside him, the hobbit's eyes round with wonder. "Ah," said Gandalf, settling his robes about him, "Aragorn succeeded."
"Doing what?" cried Pippin. "What are those things, Gandalf?"
"Murderers and traitors, if I'm not mistaken," said Gandalf happily. "They have fulfilled their oath to the King." He clapped Malcolm on the shoulder. "This has been a day that will live long in song and story."
Pippin and Malcolm exchanged a glance as the old wizard looked out across the fields. "I have no idea either," muttered the hobbit under his breath, and Malcolm had to laugh at how well Pippin read his expression.
"We should go find our friends," said Gandalf. "First, though..." Malcolm suddenly noticed how very tired the old wizard looked as Gandalf turned and met his eyes. Carefully he untied a parcel hanging from his belt, something heavy and rounded.
"Your burning hands have been explained," said Gandalf slowly, handing him the cloth-wrapped bundle. Malcolm felt the weight of it and opened his mouth in protest, then realized what Gandalf had said and shut it again with a snap. Carefully he opened the bundle, touching the tip of one finger to the smooth black surface, and saw a pair of withered hands grasping desperately through licking tongues of red flame. He drew back immediately and threw the cloth back over it.
"The Steward of the City is dead," said Pippin gravely, looking up at him. "He died not an hour ago. He clutched this to him as he burned on a pyre of his own making."
Malcolm looked at them and closed his eyes, clutching the palantir so tightly his knuckles went white. "So passes Denethor, lord of Ecthelion," murmured Gandalf.
Pippin patted his hand, and wizard and hobbit climbed off of the roof, leaving Malcolm to gaze out over the battlefield and beyond, to the fires of Mordor themselves.
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
It may seem that we are nearing the end, but don't worry, there's a good bit of stuff to go yet!
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter 16: The Shadow Darkens
I would have things as they were in all the days of my life . . . and in the days of my longfathers before me: to be the Lord of this City in peace, and leave my chair to a son after me, who would be his own master and no wizard's pupil. But if doom denies this to me, then I will have naught: neither life diminished, nor love halved, nor honour abated.
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
Hoshi worked at her station on Enterprise's bridge, trying very hard to look busy while she secretly watched the rest of the crew out of the corners of her eyes. T'Pol was at the science station, Mayweather at the helm, and Reed at tactical—a completely normal scenario, totally innocuous and mundane.
Annatar had not spoken to her much at all today, and she wondered if his presence in her mind was really gone or if he was simply watching in silence. She hoped for the former; it was very difficult to try and determine if this was reality when a voice kept intruding to distract her. And if he read her thoughts, what was to prevent him from erasing them from her mind?
Over the last few days she'd had the same nightmares of waking up in a dark, foreign dungeon, held captive by murderous creatures whose species, she now remembered, was orc. As the nightmares went on, she strove to control her reaction upon waking, until at last she could lay still with her eyes cracked open just a tiny bit and listen carefully to the talk of the orcs around her, slowly regaining her command of the language.
They were terrible gossips, she had discovered, speaking at length about everything from the war (so Gondor was under attack by an army commanded by someone called the Witch King) to the Ring (no one knew where it was but the Nâzgul, whatever they were, were searching) to the curious happenings at a place called Cirith Ungol far to the east (a whole garrison had ended up dead, and some very curious clothing had been sent to the Black Tower). All this convinced Hoshi that Annatar was probably busy with the myriad goings-on and had less time to spare for browsing the mind of one lost Starfleet linguist.
She looked down at the screens below her fingers and let out a sigh, knowing that the language she was now trying to decipher was one they'd encountered in the very first year of the Enterprise mission. It seemed gibberish to her now, but she remembered deciphering it once before... and the situation had been completely different. Annatar's ruse was getting sloppy—and she had begun to piece together the clues and discover who he really was.
It wasn't all that hard, really, because the orcs wore armor and helmets with painted red eyes upon them. She remembered Éowyn's tales of Sauron, the Great Eye, and thought it perfectly believable that his powers would extend to taking over someone's mind. She was not at all sure that only he had been digging through her thoughts, because she remembered vaguely that someone else had spoken to her at first. It was all very hazy, though—she remembered most of what had happened to her until arriving at Helm's Deep, and after that, her memories were clouded.
She looked across the bridge to where Malcolm Reed was sitting at the tactical station, his brow furrowed in concentration, and wondered what had happened to him. The real Malcolm Reed was probably still out there in Middle-earth, fighting in a war that didn't concern him. He would throw away his life doing that, she thought, because he was the kind of man who stood up for people even if he didn't know them or had no reason to be in the fight. Damned honor!
The fake Reed looked up at her and smiled. A rather odd thing to do, Hoshi thought, considering she had let her face slip into an angry scowl. Fake- Reed opened his mouth to speak and then stopped as Hoshi's shift replacement tapped her on the shoulder. She gratefully gave up the post and hurried off the bridge to her quarters.
:Aren't you going to eat something?: asked Annatar, back once more.
"I'm really not hungry," said Hoshi, and she wasn't. Over the last few days she'd noticed she was never hungry—more proof that this place wasn't real—and had disdained to eat anything at all. Annatar had not noticed. "I'm pretty tired... I just want to get to bed."
:I think, my dear,: said Annatar, :that you have proved your usefulness.:
She stopped, halfway through inputting the lock code to her quarters, and looked around in terror as the walls began to dissolve away into nothing. :I have seen all that you know about this ship,: he said, :and it will be enough to carry out my plan.:
The ship faded away and all around her everything went black. With a cry Hoshi opened her eyes and realized she was back in the dark, musty room. Orcs stood around her, carefully unchaining her arms and legs, and pushed her off the table. Her legs, weak from disuse, toppled beneath her. She scrabbled at the edge of the table, trying to keep herself upright, but the orcs gripped her around the waist and slung her over a broad shoulder.
:You will look into the future,: said Annatar. :You will call to your ship, and bring me what I want from your time. That fool Steward did it by accident, wresting power from me as I sought to muddle his thoughts and give him false hopes that would be cruelly crushed, but this time we shall do it with purpose in mind, and get it right.:
Hoshi struggled against the orc's powerful grasp, gasping with the effort. He dealt her a heavy blow across the forehead, and she went limp as stars popped in front of her eyes. "Keep wriggling, worm, and I will break your legs," growled the orc. "You won't need them to do the Eye's bidding."
Tears dripped down Hoshi's face as they went down a long, long stair, deep into the bowels of the earth below the tower. Down here it was deserted and empty; she saw no other living things besides a few rats scurrying across the steps. It seemed ages that they descended into the earth, finally reaching the very bottom of the stair. A heavy black door, studded with rusted iron nails, lay in front of them. The orc set her down and unlocked it with a spiky key.
"Get in," he ordered harshly, and Hoshi numbly crawled into the room. She sat just on the other side of the door, staring at the orc as he smiled and then shut her inside. For a moment it was entirely dark in the room, and she shuddered, hoping desperately that no rats had gotten in here with her.
After a time she realized that the darkness was not as complete as she had thought. A faint glow permeated the room; warily, she turned around and found it to be coming from a round black stone on a pedestal in the very center of the otherwise empty room. Her breath caught in her throat in a jerky sob as she recognized it as the thing that had whisked them away from their future and brought them here.
:No, not this one,: said Annatar—Sauron—in her mind. :But one like this. A palantir, my dear. One of the great seeing stones of ages past.: His words were mocking, angry; she whimpered and tried not to look at the thing.
The pale white glow dimmed and changed to a malevolent, burning red. "I won't call for anyone," she said, crawling backwards away from the stone. "I won't!"
:I do not need a person,: he said. :I need this.:
In her mind she saw the mass of circuitry that made up the computer core on Enterprise, a meter high and half a meter wide, glittering as electricity ran through it. She'd only seen it once, while trying to find Commander Tucker on some errand of the Captain's, but she knew how powerful it was.
"Why?" she gasped, a strong compulsion to get up and go to the palantir running through her body.
:If I have this I will not need the Ring,: said Sauron, sounding rather smug. :I can use it to hold my power... I can take the power from the Ring itself and then it will not matter at all if that contemptible Halfling manages to destroy it!:
Hoshi shuddered and backed up right against the wall, shivering as cold stone met her shoulders. Another shudder wracked her body, and she closed her eyes. She would not look in the palantir, no matter how hard he tried to make her. Her head throbbed; she could feel Sauron trying to take over once more, but this time she knew what was happening and she fought his intrusion.
Whoever was destroying the Ring, she hoped they would get there soon, because she doubted she could hold out very long against Sauron's onslaught. Her fingers trembled, and she jammed them into the stone floor to stop the quivers, hoping against hope that something would happen to distract the Eye's attention and give her a rest.
She struggled for an endless time, not knowing how much longer she could hold out and yet not giving up, and then somewhere, something answered her prayer, and she was left in darkness, alone with the palantir and her tears of relief.
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
On the walls of the White City, Malcolm sagged in relief as the horns of the Rohirrim echoed across the Pelennor Fields. On the horizon a massive force of riders filled the hilltops; the orcs below turned away from the city and prepared to face the swords of the Horse-lords. He thanked the Valar that Rohan had come at last. He was weary and sore from days of fighting an enemy that never seemed to sleep and seemed countless in number. It did not help that the Nâzgul swooped overhead, picking them off a few men at a time and dropping those unlucky souls to their deaths from high above the city.
He had been on edge all these days, for as Gandalf had pointed out to him, there was no way he would be able to ride for Mordor with a host of orcs on their doorstep, no matter how urgent the matter of Hoshi might be. Grudgingly he had admitted the truth in this, and now he fought, every orc he killed a reminder of what he must get past to do what he wished. Every minute of every hour Malcolm expected to see Enterprise come swooping down from the sky, phase cannons firing great streaks of death into the city and her defenders. In the few hours of sleep he had managed to get, his nightmares were filled with the same vision, and finally he had tired of waking in a cold sweat and given up sleeping altogether.
The Rohirrim charged, but Malcolm could not watch, for at that moment the Prince of Dol Amroth sounded a retreat to the next level up. With a roar Malcolm echoed the order and he and his men dashed for the gate under the great rock spire that split the city in half. At the gate all was chaos; dimly he glimpsed Gandalf and Pippin on a porch just past the spire, both looking quite tired and to his surprise somewhat singed, but he could not stop to talk as he hurried his men into position farther up the road. They heard the orcs beating at the gate and arranged themselves for an ambush.
Twenty minutes they stole for rest while the orcs battered down the gate, striving to regain breath and bind up smaller wounds as the relentless pounding continued. They heard wood splinter on the last hit; the next one would break through the door.
But it never came. A sudden flurry of orc-squeals erupted on the other side, and then there was only silence. Malcolm stood up in confusion. "Where are they?" he called. Imrahil, standing closer to the gate, peeked through a rift in the wood of the door and gave a whoop of joy most unbefitting of a dignified prince.
"I don't believe it!" he cried, and tugged at the doorjamb until it opened, swatting away the alarmed soldiers who tried to stop him. The gates swung open on a very strange sight. Every orc that had been pursuing them now lay dead. As they surveyed the silent street in amazement, Malcolm realized that the noise of battle from the fields below had ceased. He vaulted onto the porch of one of the houses and stood on the roof, gazing out at the former battlefield, now silent except for the voices of survivors calling out for wounded. A horde of greenish, smoky figures swept through the remaining enemies, taking them down more quickly than any other warrior Malcolm had ever seen.
Gandalf and Pippin clambered onto the roof beside him, the hobbit's eyes round with wonder. "Ah," said Gandalf, settling his robes about him, "Aragorn succeeded."
"Doing what?" cried Pippin. "What are those things, Gandalf?"
"Murderers and traitors, if I'm not mistaken," said Gandalf happily. "They have fulfilled their oath to the King." He clapped Malcolm on the shoulder. "This has been a day that will live long in song and story."
Pippin and Malcolm exchanged a glance as the old wizard looked out across the fields. "I have no idea either," muttered the hobbit under his breath, and Malcolm had to laugh at how well Pippin read his expression.
"We should go find our friends," said Gandalf. "First, though..." Malcolm suddenly noticed how very tired the old wizard looked as Gandalf turned and met his eyes. Carefully he untied a parcel hanging from his belt, something heavy and rounded.
"Your burning hands have been explained," said Gandalf slowly, handing him the cloth-wrapped bundle. Malcolm felt the weight of it and opened his mouth in protest, then realized what Gandalf had said and shut it again with a snap. Carefully he opened the bundle, touching the tip of one finger to the smooth black surface, and saw a pair of withered hands grasping desperately through licking tongues of red flame. He drew back immediately and threw the cloth back over it.
"The Steward of the City is dead," said Pippin gravely, looking up at him. "He died not an hour ago. He clutched this to him as he burned on a pyre of his own making."
Malcolm looked at them and closed his eyes, clutching the palantir so tightly his knuckles went white. "So passes Denethor, lord of Ecthelion," murmured Gandalf.
Pippin patted his hand, and wizard and hobbit climbed off of the roof, leaving Malcolm to gaze out over the battlefield and beyond, to the fires of Mordor themselves.
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
It may seem that we are nearing the end, but don't worry, there's a good bit of stuff to go yet!