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.
Author's Note: I agree, Phaser Lady, Denethor's death was much more dramatic in the movie, but it didn't involve the palantir. And since that is an important part of the story here, I decided not to mess with it.
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THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter Seventeen: The Land of Shadow
"Where there's a whip there's a will, my slugs. Hold up! I'd give you a nice freshener now, only you'll get as much lash as your skins will carry when you come in late to your camp. Do you good. Don't you know we're at war?"
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
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"Luck go with you, Elowë," murmured Gandalf in the most ancient tongue of wizards, bowing his head and clasping Malcolm's shoulder. Malcolm returned the gesture, gazing into the old wizard's blue eyes.
"I will come back, Olórin," said Malcolm. "I will return with Hoshi, and we'll make fireworks for the celebration." With a sad smile Gandalf let him go, handing him a satchel with the palantír of the White Tower tucked firmly inside.
"We ride for the Black Gate in a few hours," said Gandalf. "I must attend to a few errands before then." His eyes were suspiciously bright as Malcolm mounted a grey-spotted gelding loaned from Denethor's—or rather, Faramir's—stables. Not as fine as the mounts of Rohan, but a good horse nonetheless. With a nod to the White Wizard, he spurred the horse on with a flick of the reins, and galloped through the Gate into the morning gloom.
It was far harder to leave Minas Tirith and his friends than he had believed it would be; doubts plagued his mind and urged him to turn back, to stay to his former course and aid Aragorn in reclaiming the kingship. Only for a little while had he seen the man yesterday, during a Council called to determine what course the war should now take.
Malcolm smiled grimly as he remembered the talk from that council. "There's still hope for Frodo," said Aragorn. "He needs time, and safe passage across the Plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that. We must at all costs keep his Eye from his true peril. We cannot achieve victory by arms, but by arms we can give the Ring-bearer his only chance, frail though it be."
"Surely," the lord Imrahil had said, "this is the greatest jest in all the history of Gondor: that we should ride with seven thousands, scarce as many as the vanguard of the army in the days of its power, to assail the mountains and the impenetrable gate of the Black Land! If the Dark Lord knows so much as you say, Mithrandir, will he not rather smile than fear, and with his little finger crush us like a fly that tries to sting him?"
"No, he will try to trap the fly and take the sting," said Gandalf in reply. "It is not for ourselves that we fight, but for Frodo, that Sauron's Eye may be fixed upon us!"
And it was a diversion that helped Malcolm himself, for he did not doubt that the Eye was paying a significant amount of attention to Aragorn's mobilized forces. The Eye would not be so quick to see him—but then again, he did not really care—it was part of his plan.
He rode all day and well into the night, though the transition was difficult to notice as he grew closer to Mordor. The horse grew more and more nervous as they neared the lair of the Witch-king, Minas Morgul. The Witch-king... If he had not known of Éowyn's great feat on the field of battle the day before, killing the Lord of the Nâzgul, Malcolm would not have dared what he did now.
He had been terribly proud of her to hear of the deed, and sorrowed to hear of the ailment of the Black Shadow that lay upon her as a result. He had not heard if she had lived. He hoped she had. But there would be time enough to celebrate later; he could not afford to let his mind wander now.
Keeping one hand on the hilt of his sword, he rode past the entrance to Cirith Ungol, the Pass of the Spider, and straight down the Morgul-road, completely ignoring the orcs which hooted and hollered and chased after him as he crossed the bridge which led to Minas Morgul.
They tried to ambush him from the sides of the long road, but he lit up the road with a flare of sun-bright wizard's-fire, sending them scurrying away in pain, and by then it was too dark for them to see him when his light faded. Their voices, high-pitched and angry, echoed around the steep cliffs of the Morgul-road, but the echoes distorted their words and the sounds of the horse's footfalls, so that they could not find him.
It was a good twenty miles to the other end of the road, and he did not reach it until the grey morning light had begun to slowly illuminate the cliffs around him. A company of orcs was waiting for him on the other side, looking quite angry to see him. The three Uruk-hai at the forefront seemed particularly put out.
"Well, well, well," said the biggest of them, coming forward, tapping his crooked sword against the palm of his other hand. "What have we here?"
"Good morning, gentlemen," said Malcolm, hopping down from the horse's back. "And how are we today?"
The Uruk-hai stared. "You're either very brave or very stupid," he growled. "What do you think you're doing, riding in here like that?"
"Well, my lads," said Malcolm, summoning up all the British charm he could muster, and wondering how hard Madeline would laugh to see this, "I thought I'd pop in at the old Barad-dûr, you know, and see how this chap Sauron is doing with his war and whatnot." He cringed mentally, although a flicker of amusement went through him to see the utter bemusement on the faces of the Uruks. They exchanged a confused glance.
"That's good for you, because that's where you're going," said the biggest one. "To the Tower and I don't think you'll be so delighted with Sauron's hospitality as you seem to think."
He shrugged and got back on the horse, which was decidedly not happy to be so close to a company of orcs, although they did seem rather small to Malcolm's eyes. "Shall we frolic off then, lads?"
Stop saying frolic, for goodness' sake, he told himself firmly as the bewildered orcs set off north towards Udûn along the Morgai road. He cursed inwardly as he realized they intended to go the long way around, but kept up a foolish smile as he rode along just ahead of them. This would add a few days to his journey, but, he mused, looking out over the smoking plains, it was probably easier than trying to cross that vaporous, dead plain.
They moved quickly, but not quietly; Malcolm had a headache after only a few hours from the incessant chattering, arguing, and name-calling that echoed back and forth among the company. It would be easy enough to ride ahead, he thought, but both he and the horse were too weary for such a gallop. He'd ridden for a day and a night now without rest, and chances of camp seemed rather slim in the near future.
So he kept the horse to a walk and when they stopped at a way-station with a little spring, he let the horse drink deeply before the orcs could get at the water. He didn't know much about horses on Earth, but looking at his tired mount, he thought that they were probably not this hardy. Scrounging around he found some scraggly bushes and lopped off a few branches for the horse to nibble on the leaves.
The orcs lounged around the spring, their talk growing louder (Malcolm hadn't thought that possible). He himself found a smooth boulder and lounged against it, bringing his hood up over his face so it looked like he was asleep.
He didn't have long to wait. The three Uruk-Hai came nosing around not two minutes after he had lain down. The horse, kneeling down and by now asleep, did not move as they sniffed the area.
"Good eating for the boys here," said the smallest of the Uruk-hai (still a good deal larger than Malcolm himself). "The wizard doesn't need it. I bet he's got something nice squirreled away in these saddlebags."
"It's a wizard, you fool," said the medium-sized uruk. "It'll do something horrid to you if you mess around with its things."
"Still..." murmured the biggest uruk, fairly licking his lips. "It does look very tasty." He drew his sword and Malcolm launched himself off of the rock, his sword flashing out and through the big one's neck before any of them had a chance to react. His stroke didn't cut off the Uruk-hai's head, but it did enough—the uruk flopped to the ground, spraying putrid black orc- blood everywhere. The two remaining uruks stood frozen.
"Now, boys," said Malcolm, wiping his sword on the dead body and giving it a kick. "I'm letting you travel with me as a favor! You get to bring me in and you get all the glory and everything from the Eye when you present me to him. And this is how you repay me." He sighed and sheathed his sword. With one finger wagging he went right up to the medium-sized uruk—well, now the biggest, he supposed—and looked the confused creature right in the eye.
"You've got the right idea," he said, throwing aside all the pomp and cheer and assuming instead a deadly Legolas-like calm. "Next time I won't just kill you. I did him a kindness... once more and I won't be so merciful." With a steely look at the two trembling things before him, he ran one hand down the length of his staff and gave them a tiny smile. "Now, we won't have any more disgraceful displays like that, will we?"
The uruks nodded dumbly, totally cowed, and, as Malcolm slept for a few hours, they actually guarded him and the horse. When he awoke the orcs were lined up and ready to go. Feeling much refreshed, Malcolm saddled the horse and nodded to the Uruk-hai. "Shall we be off, gentlemen?" he said cheerily and kicked the horse into action.
They ran all the rest of the day and into the night, marching at a quick pace. As the darkness grew complete they reached a leg of road surrounded by high walls where the rock builders of old had cut the rock sheer for many fathoms above their heads. On the other side, the road looked over the brink into a dark pit of gloom. The orcs lit torches in the dim light, and kept marching onward.
Malcolm, his hood still drawn up, rode at the head and saw the two little figures crouching at the side of the road. With a sudden flash of despair he realized that they were no orcs. They were too small, and they sat wrongly; an orc did not bend like that.
Their faces were hidden, and Malcolm thanked the Valar that they had at least enough sense for that. A pair of shields with the device of the Eye painted upon it leaned against their knees. This could only be Sam and Frodo, Malcolm knew. The orcs behind him would not let them pass; his heart sank and he tensed upon the horse, readying himself for what he thought he must do.
But for a moment they seemed to be going past the two hobbits, and certainly none of the orcs noticed that these were not of their own kind. Malcolm let out a breath of relief and then hastily turned as he heard a loud voice cut through the noise of the rest. "Hi, you! Get up!" cried one of the slave-driver orcs, a particularly brutish one who was generous with the whip and short on mercy. "Up you get and fall in, or I'll have your numbers and report you."
Malcolm could not wheel the horse without arising suspicion, and he doubted now that he could get them away from the company of orcs, not when he'd have to fight through more than half of them to reach the two hobbits. So he stayed at the front, casting back with wizard's-sight to check on them.
Frodo and Sam kept up the pace, though Malcolm could feel their weariness. Such a trial would have killed a lesser being, but the hobbits kept going despite the hardship. His fingers clenched upon the reins of the horse, and he tried to slow the pace as best he could, but even at half-march the pace was nearly too much for the hobbits.
On and on they went, and Malcolm felt Frodo's strength giving out. He risked a look back, but he could not pick out the two little figures among the rest of the orcs. The road gave out and began to slope down towards the plain, and Malcolm saw a chance—another company of orcs marching towards Udûn. If they kept going at their same pace, they would miss, but he kicked the horse into a faster walk. The Uruk-hai of course quickened their pace—and thus the pace of the entire company—to keep up with their valuable prisoner.
At the crossroads leading to the gate chaos erupted as not two but seven companies met ways. At once there was great jostling and cursing as each troop tried to get first to the gate and the ending of their march, excluding Malcolm's orcs, who were caught in the fray though they merely wanted to pass in front of the gate on their way to the Black Tower.
And in the gloom he saw two little figures crawl out of the melee and drop from the side of the road and out of sight. Malcolm breathed a sigh of relief. He wished he could help them on their journey, but to do anything for them would attract too much notice, and their luck lay in secrecy and stealth through Mordor.
He got himself through the mass of orcs and waited on the far side for the company to catch up. "Thought you'd run off, did you?" cried the smaller of the uruks when at last they reached him. "Well, we stopped you good!"
Malcolm raised an eyebrow at him and rolled his eyes. The horse was clearly not moving, and the two uruks had been watching him for nearly a quarter of an hour as he waited for them to sort out the trouble. "Right you did, old chap," he said sarcastically. "How shall I ever escape from the two of you fellows?" Without waiting for a reply he turned the horse around and set off once more down the road to Barad-dûr, watching with his wizard's-sight two little hobbits sleeping in the gloom of Mordor until they passed from his reckoning.
He wondered if he would ever see them again or even if any of them would make it out of Mordor alive. Black smoke billowed from cracks in the ground, stinging his eyes and sending tears streaming down his cheeks. He would die here, he and Hoshi and Frodo and Sam, and the Enemy would get the Ring... it was very easy to despair here in such a dreadful place...
With a shake of his head he put those thoughts out of his mind and simply rode, watching as the Black Tower grew larger in the distance, and dreading what he would find there.
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Leave one! The little purple button is calling your name...
Author's Note: I agree, Phaser Lady, Denethor's death was much more dramatic in the movie, but it didn't involve the palantir. And since that is an important part of the story here, I decided not to mess with it.
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter Seventeen: The Land of Shadow
"Where there's a whip there's a will, my slugs. Hold up! I'd give you a nice freshener now, only you'll get as much lash as your skins will carry when you come in late to your camp. Do you good. Don't you know we're at war?"
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
"Luck go with you, Elowë," murmured Gandalf in the most ancient tongue of wizards, bowing his head and clasping Malcolm's shoulder. Malcolm returned the gesture, gazing into the old wizard's blue eyes.
"I will come back, Olórin," said Malcolm. "I will return with Hoshi, and we'll make fireworks for the celebration." With a sad smile Gandalf let him go, handing him a satchel with the palantír of the White Tower tucked firmly inside.
"We ride for the Black Gate in a few hours," said Gandalf. "I must attend to a few errands before then." His eyes were suspiciously bright as Malcolm mounted a grey-spotted gelding loaned from Denethor's—or rather, Faramir's—stables. Not as fine as the mounts of Rohan, but a good horse nonetheless. With a nod to the White Wizard, he spurred the horse on with a flick of the reins, and galloped through the Gate into the morning gloom.
It was far harder to leave Minas Tirith and his friends than he had believed it would be; doubts plagued his mind and urged him to turn back, to stay to his former course and aid Aragorn in reclaiming the kingship. Only for a little while had he seen the man yesterday, during a Council called to determine what course the war should now take.
Malcolm smiled grimly as he remembered the talk from that council. "There's still hope for Frodo," said Aragorn. "He needs time, and safe passage across the Plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that. We must at all costs keep his Eye from his true peril. We cannot achieve victory by arms, but by arms we can give the Ring-bearer his only chance, frail though it be."
"Surely," the lord Imrahil had said, "this is the greatest jest in all the history of Gondor: that we should ride with seven thousands, scarce as many as the vanguard of the army in the days of its power, to assail the mountains and the impenetrable gate of the Black Land! If the Dark Lord knows so much as you say, Mithrandir, will he not rather smile than fear, and with his little finger crush us like a fly that tries to sting him?"
"No, he will try to trap the fly and take the sting," said Gandalf in reply. "It is not for ourselves that we fight, but for Frodo, that Sauron's Eye may be fixed upon us!"
And it was a diversion that helped Malcolm himself, for he did not doubt that the Eye was paying a significant amount of attention to Aragorn's mobilized forces. The Eye would not be so quick to see him—but then again, he did not really care—it was part of his plan.
He rode all day and well into the night, though the transition was difficult to notice as he grew closer to Mordor. The horse grew more and more nervous as they neared the lair of the Witch-king, Minas Morgul. The Witch-king... If he had not known of Éowyn's great feat on the field of battle the day before, killing the Lord of the Nâzgul, Malcolm would not have dared what he did now.
He had been terribly proud of her to hear of the deed, and sorrowed to hear of the ailment of the Black Shadow that lay upon her as a result. He had not heard if she had lived. He hoped she had. But there would be time enough to celebrate later; he could not afford to let his mind wander now.
Keeping one hand on the hilt of his sword, he rode past the entrance to Cirith Ungol, the Pass of the Spider, and straight down the Morgul-road, completely ignoring the orcs which hooted and hollered and chased after him as he crossed the bridge which led to Minas Morgul.
They tried to ambush him from the sides of the long road, but he lit up the road with a flare of sun-bright wizard's-fire, sending them scurrying away in pain, and by then it was too dark for them to see him when his light faded. Their voices, high-pitched and angry, echoed around the steep cliffs of the Morgul-road, but the echoes distorted their words and the sounds of the horse's footfalls, so that they could not find him.
It was a good twenty miles to the other end of the road, and he did not reach it until the grey morning light had begun to slowly illuminate the cliffs around him. A company of orcs was waiting for him on the other side, looking quite angry to see him. The three Uruk-hai at the forefront seemed particularly put out.
"Well, well, well," said the biggest of them, coming forward, tapping his crooked sword against the palm of his other hand. "What have we here?"
"Good morning, gentlemen," said Malcolm, hopping down from the horse's back. "And how are we today?"
The Uruk-hai stared. "You're either very brave or very stupid," he growled. "What do you think you're doing, riding in here like that?"
"Well, my lads," said Malcolm, summoning up all the British charm he could muster, and wondering how hard Madeline would laugh to see this, "I thought I'd pop in at the old Barad-dûr, you know, and see how this chap Sauron is doing with his war and whatnot." He cringed mentally, although a flicker of amusement went through him to see the utter bemusement on the faces of the Uruks. They exchanged a confused glance.
"That's good for you, because that's where you're going," said the biggest one. "To the Tower and I don't think you'll be so delighted with Sauron's hospitality as you seem to think."
He shrugged and got back on the horse, which was decidedly not happy to be so close to a company of orcs, although they did seem rather small to Malcolm's eyes. "Shall we frolic off then, lads?"
Stop saying frolic, for goodness' sake, he told himself firmly as the bewildered orcs set off north towards Udûn along the Morgai road. He cursed inwardly as he realized they intended to go the long way around, but kept up a foolish smile as he rode along just ahead of them. This would add a few days to his journey, but, he mused, looking out over the smoking plains, it was probably easier than trying to cross that vaporous, dead plain.
They moved quickly, but not quietly; Malcolm had a headache after only a few hours from the incessant chattering, arguing, and name-calling that echoed back and forth among the company. It would be easy enough to ride ahead, he thought, but both he and the horse were too weary for such a gallop. He'd ridden for a day and a night now without rest, and chances of camp seemed rather slim in the near future.
So he kept the horse to a walk and when they stopped at a way-station with a little spring, he let the horse drink deeply before the orcs could get at the water. He didn't know much about horses on Earth, but looking at his tired mount, he thought that they were probably not this hardy. Scrounging around he found some scraggly bushes and lopped off a few branches for the horse to nibble on the leaves.
The orcs lounged around the spring, their talk growing louder (Malcolm hadn't thought that possible). He himself found a smooth boulder and lounged against it, bringing his hood up over his face so it looked like he was asleep.
He didn't have long to wait. The three Uruk-Hai came nosing around not two minutes after he had lain down. The horse, kneeling down and by now asleep, did not move as they sniffed the area.
"Good eating for the boys here," said the smallest of the Uruk-hai (still a good deal larger than Malcolm himself). "The wizard doesn't need it. I bet he's got something nice squirreled away in these saddlebags."
"It's a wizard, you fool," said the medium-sized uruk. "It'll do something horrid to you if you mess around with its things."
"Still..." murmured the biggest uruk, fairly licking his lips. "It does look very tasty." He drew his sword and Malcolm launched himself off of the rock, his sword flashing out and through the big one's neck before any of them had a chance to react. His stroke didn't cut off the Uruk-hai's head, but it did enough—the uruk flopped to the ground, spraying putrid black orc- blood everywhere. The two remaining uruks stood frozen.
"Now, boys," said Malcolm, wiping his sword on the dead body and giving it a kick. "I'm letting you travel with me as a favor! You get to bring me in and you get all the glory and everything from the Eye when you present me to him. And this is how you repay me." He sighed and sheathed his sword. With one finger wagging he went right up to the medium-sized uruk—well, now the biggest, he supposed—and looked the confused creature right in the eye.
"You've got the right idea," he said, throwing aside all the pomp and cheer and assuming instead a deadly Legolas-like calm. "Next time I won't just kill you. I did him a kindness... once more and I won't be so merciful." With a steely look at the two trembling things before him, he ran one hand down the length of his staff and gave them a tiny smile. "Now, we won't have any more disgraceful displays like that, will we?"
The uruks nodded dumbly, totally cowed, and, as Malcolm slept for a few hours, they actually guarded him and the horse. When he awoke the orcs were lined up and ready to go. Feeling much refreshed, Malcolm saddled the horse and nodded to the Uruk-hai. "Shall we be off, gentlemen?" he said cheerily and kicked the horse into action.
They ran all the rest of the day and into the night, marching at a quick pace. As the darkness grew complete they reached a leg of road surrounded by high walls where the rock builders of old had cut the rock sheer for many fathoms above their heads. On the other side, the road looked over the brink into a dark pit of gloom. The orcs lit torches in the dim light, and kept marching onward.
Malcolm, his hood still drawn up, rode at the head and saw the two little figures crouching at the side of the road. With a sudden flash of despair he realized that they were no orcs. They were too small, and they sat wrongly; an orc did not bend like that.
Their faces were hidden, and Malcolm thanked the Valar that they had at least enough sense for that. A pair of shields with the device of the Eye painted upon it leaned against their knees. This could only be Sam and Frodo, Malcolm knew. The orcs behind him would not let them pass; his heart sank and he tensed upon the horse, readying himself for what he thought he must do.
But for a moment they seemed to be going past the two hobbits, and certainly none of the orcs noticed that these were not of their own kind. Malcolm let out a breath of relief and then hastily turned as he heard a loud voice cut through the noise of the rest. "Hi, you! Get up!" cried one of the slave-driver orcs, a particularly brutish one who was generous with the whip and short on mercy. "Up you get and fall in, or I'll have your numbers and report you."
Malcolm could not wheel the horse without arising suspicion, and he doubted now that he could get them away from the company of orcs, not when he'd have to fight through more than half of them to reach the two hobbits. So he stayed at the front, casting back with wizard's-sight to check on them.
Frodo and Sam kept up the pace, though Malcolm could feel their weariness. Such a trial would have killed a lesser being, but the hobbits kept going despite the hardship. His fingers clenched upon the reins of the horse, and he tried to slow the pace as best he could, but even at half-march the pace was nearly too much for the hobbits.
On and on they went, and Malcolm felt Frodo's strength giving out. He risked a look back, but he could not pick out the two little figures among the rest of the orcs. The road gave out and began to slope down towards the plain, and Malcolm saw a chance—another company of orcs marching towards Udûn. If they kept going at their same pace, they would miss, but he kicked the horse into a faster walk. The Uruk-hai of course quickened their pace—and thus the pace of the entire company—to keep up with their valuable prisoner.
At the crossroads leading to the gate chaos erupted as not two but seven companies met ways. At once there was great jostling and cursing as each troop tried to get first to the gate and the ending of their march, excluding Malcolm's orcs, who were caught in the fray though they merely wanted to pass in front of the gate on their way to the Black Tower.
And in the gloom he saw two little figures crawl out of the melee and drop from the side of the road and out of sight. Malcolm breathed a sigh of relief. He wished he could help them on their journey, but to do anything for them would attract too much notice, and their luck lay in secrecy and stealth through Mordor.
He got himself through the mass of orcs and waited on the far side for the company to catch up. "Thought you'd run off, did you?" cried the smaller of the uruks when at last they reached him. "Well, we stopped you good!"
Malcolm raised an eyebrow at him and rolled his eyes. The horse was clearly not moving, and the two uruks had been watching him for nearly a quarter of an hour as he waited for them to sort out the trouble. "Right you did, old chap," he said sarcastically. "How shall I ever escape from the two of you fellows?" Without waiting for a reply he turned the horse around and set off once more down the road to Barad-dûr, watching with his wizard's-sight two little hobbits sleeping in the gloom of Mordor until they passed from his reckoning.
He wondered if he would ever see them again or even if any of them would make it out of Mordor alive. Black smoke billowed from cracks in the ground, stinging his eyes and sending tears streaming down his cheeks. He would die here, he and Hoshi and Frodo and Sam, and the Enemy would get the Ring... it was very easy to despair here in such a dreadful place...
With a shake of his head he put those thoughts out of his mind and simply rode, watching as the Black Tower grew larger in the distance, and dreading what he would find there.
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Leave one! The little purple button is calling your name...