Author's Notes: This story can trace its origins back to December 2001, when I first saw Fellowship of the Ring and became interested in the Ringwraiths. During my AP tests that spring, I began to write this to relieve my stress and, in the year since then, it has spiraled out of control and taken on a couple other questions that have implications for the Third Age. So I decided to share it with you, that is, anyone patient enough to read and review this.
Disclaimers:
1) Celebrimbor, Annatar, most of the place names, and, indeed, the setting at large belong to J.R.R. Tolkien (or, more appropriately, the powers-that-be that hold copyrights on his material). I have merely borrowed them and I am making as much money from their use as you are for reading this (namely, nothing).
2) Caldrion, Graldor, Fremus, Frealine, Sirgo, Neblis, Deol, all the bit players, and the town of Aratur are all my creations.
3) This story is far from done, so posting will probably be slow, though I hope having readers will drive me to work more consistently rather than in fits and starts.
4) This is not what did happen; rather it is, as my muse states below, what might have happened. I know that the conventional wisdom is that the Nazgul were Black Numenoreans and kings of the south and east, but I, at least, think this is an interesting What if?
5) I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it, and these notes have been long-winded enough, so I'll shut up now.
Wings of the Storm, Chapter I- The Wind and the Rider
[In my youth, one of my favorite pastimes was listening to the tales of my father. He told a good many of them, and through all my childhood he only repeated those that my siblings and I requested. I tended to treat these stories with skepticism, if only as a reaction to the breathless awe of my siblings. It was only later, as an adult, that I discovered that the stories, or at least some of them, were true, and had been meticulously recorded and placed in the libraries. This discovery (which of course shocked none of my brothers and sisters) led me to delve deeper into the history out of which these stories came. Such delving uncovered many facts that had remained unsaid, but also raised questions about those stories for which I could find little or no textual basis. They may have been the remnants of older tales, but I tended to dismiss them as inventions of my father. This particular one, however, had intrigued me from the first time I heard it (and I did so a number of times). Therefore, despite my concerns at relating such a tale as the truth, I have recorded it here, in the hope that another, wiser historian may discern what events herein happened in actuality, and what is but embellishment, if indeed any of it is true.]
A wind from the east was blowing across the plain town of Aratur. Actually, it was more of a settlement, and a recent one at that, rather than a town. Graldor had brought his followers to it during the mass migrations that followed the invasions of orcs and barbaric men from the east. While most people in the region south of the Enedwaith forest either fled west or joined the dark forces, following them to whatever evil end they had planned, Graldor went east, settling in the fertile plain between the fords of the River Angren and the River Onodlo. He proclaimed himself king of the area, though he ruled only Aratur and the lands immediately surrounding, and his subjects numbered less than five hundreds, but included Caldrion, a Numenorean lad, given as a squire to Graldor after he concluded an agreement with the Numenorean traders. He was Graldor's closest confidant, and it was he who would witness the events which this history(?) concerns.
On this particular day, Caldrion was keeping watch on the eastern 'wall' of the village, which consisted of stacks of tree trunks. It had been a quiet day, with only mild breezes from the east. But by late afternoon, heavy storm clouds had gathered beyond the Great River and were heading toward Aratur with much rapidity. He had already sent down word to Graldor in his 'palace,' who had in turn ordered preparations to be made to prevent extensive damage. Caldrion was now gazing out at the clouds, wondering how severe this storm would be. There had been an inordinate number of them this summer, which, if his Numenorean instincts were worth anything, was not a good sign. Did they portend another bad harvest, which this young community simply could not afford, or was there war waiting on the horizon? Would a second wave of evil sweep across this plain on the way to greater conquests in Eregion, if it had survived the previous onslaught, or fabled Lindon? That question disturbed Caldrion as he sat, wistfully watching the clouds as they hastened toward him. Suddenly, he was jolted from his musings by a motion at the foot of the cloud. His first fear was that it was another whirlwind. One a few weeks earlier had come very close to ruining the ten years of effort that had built this town, and he feared that this next one might be coming straight toward them. As he focused, though, the shape resolved itself into a black steed and its owner, riding like the wind on the wings of the storm.
Without hesitation, Caldrion called down, requesting that word be sent to Graldor. Though not the best-hearted man in Middle-Earth, Graldor was not unkind and would not refuse to offer shelter from a storm to a lone rider over the plains, especially if he thought that rider might offer some repayment. So it was that as the rider drew closer, the gate was opened to receive him. He appeared to be a tall figure, clad in rich but unfamiliar garments. His features were undeniably handsome, but whether they were human or elven was difficult to tell. His face looked finely chiseled and ageless, like an elf's, but his hair was a deep black, quite different from the elves of Eregion which Caldrion had met in his youth at Vinyalonde, and the rider's ears lacked the distinctive points of the elves. His horse was unnaturally thin, but it was an animal of undeniable beauty and strength. To Caldrion's surprise, Graldor came out himself to greet this stranger, who identified himself as Annatar, and proceeded to lead him into the 'palace.' As they passed Caldrion, Graldor asked his squire to follow. As the three of them entered the hall of the 'king' of the plains, the storm broke on Aratur with a fury surpassing anything the town had previously seen.
This had been a most peculiar day, and it became moreso, as far as Caldrion was concerned, when he saw what was inside the hall. All the torches were lit, creating an eerie play of light and shadow on the walls and floor. The high table was set, as though for a feast. But the most surprising thing was that all the 'elders' of Aratur were gathered: Neblis, master of horses, Deol, lord of the watch, Melgras, Elthor, Tatalis, Orthior, and Yethas, the noble farmers, and, much to Caldrion's chagrin, Fremus, officially the steward of Aratur, and also a majority of the townsfolk. Did Graldor know that this Annatar character was coming? Caldrion would have to ask later, though he suspected that he already knew the answer.
"Welcome, stranger from the east. On behalf of the town of Aratur and their king, Graldor the Great, Lord of the fertile plains of Aratur, Ruler of all he surveys, Mightiest man of the eastern world, Counselor of wisdom surpassing the wise..."
Caldrion sighed. He had forgotten how many titles the sycophant Fremus had bestowed on Graldor. The full list had been sounded only once before, upon the completion of the palace, and Caldrion had been so busy examining the building itself that he hadn't realized how long Fremus had been blabbering on. He had been nineteen then, in Graldor's service for four years, and mature, physically and intellectually, though Graldor's other advisors tended to treat him as a stupid boy rather than a bright, if impatient, young man. He had never known his parents, both of whom had drowned on the way to Middle-Earth. Only a lucky chance had prevented him from joining them in the Halls of Mandos. Solmir, one of the sailors on that unfortunate ship, was blindly groping for some piece of wreckage to hold on to before his strength gave way when he grabbed a basket, containing the baby Caldrion. Solmir had cared for the child during his time in Vinyalonde, but had decided, based on a dream he had shortly after rescuing the boy, that Caldrion's fate lay not in the cities of Numenor but in the wilds of Middle-Earth. Known for being adventurous and, for a Numenorean, undisciplined, he had become the charge of the people of Vinyalonde, who rather quickly became exasperated with his frequent wanderings-off. So it was that when a trading agreement was completed with this man Graldor, the young chieftain of a not unpleasant band of natives, Caldrion was given, and not entirely against his will, to Graldor as his squire. Not long after that, a vast multitude of orcs, apparently driven on by some higher purpose, passed through the Angren Gap and Graldor, rather than join them, went through Angren Gap and, after journeying east for a week, founded a settlement on the south side of the plains, on a hill in view of the tall mountains, near a snow-fed stream.
"... Most powerful among the natives of Middle-Earth, Lord with surpassing benevolence..."
Caldrion sighed again. He had definitely forgotten how long Graldor's full list of titles, as determined by Fremus, was. He looked around the table. Neither Fremus' voice nor his countenance displayed any emotion. Caldrion was reminded of an elf who had once visited Vinyalonde. In the middle of his elven sleep, he stood up and recited the full roster of Noldor casualties from Nirnaeth Arnoediad, including manner of death. He went on and on in this dry, monotonous voice, which betrayed neither emotion nor understanding of the magnitude of what he was saying. So too did Fremus rattle off titles which even the legendary Celebrimbor of Eregion wouldn't dare claim. Caldrion passed his eyes over each of the elders, and noted with some satisfaction that each of them had a look of utter and complete boredom. Even Graldor looked like he was bored out of his wits. As Caldrion watched, his master, whom these hyperbolic titles were describing, tried, and singularly failed, to stifle a yawn. Caldrion giggled. All the elders turned toward him, perhaps glad for the diversion, but he quickly regained his composure and continued his survey of the room. The only person who didn't appear bored was this Annatar. He seemed almost amused, and Caldrion wondered if he perhaps knew the 'mightiest man in the eastern world' and was mentally bringing this overgrown prince of the plains down to size. That facial expression convinced Caldrion that this Annatar must be familiar with the powers-that-be in the world beyond Aratur. If given the chance, Caldrion would have to take Annatar aside and press him for information about the outside world, especially Eregion- had it been overrun? Did it still conduct trade with Vinyalonde? What, if not Eregion, had been the target of that army of orcs?
"... Graldor, beloved by the powers… welcomes you to his palace in Aratur."
Caldrion attempted to stifle another giggle as he realized that Fremus had forgotten how he began the welcome. That was typical of an idiot like Fremus, who, in Caldrion's opinion, was so dumb that he probably would forget to breathe if Graldor actually gave him an assignment that required thought.
Annatar's voice resounded throughout the hall. Even though he did not sound especially loud, Caldrion could hear him clearly over the thunder, which was quite surprising considered that the walls had very little muting effect. "I thank you, Lord Graldor, for your gracious welcome. I am Annatar, an elf from beyond the Great River. I am proceeding to the fores… Enedwaith, where I have business. I thank you again for your kind offer of food and shelter for the night."
Graldor responded with the brevity that Fremus lacked. "Welcome, then, Annatar, elf of the east. Let supper be served."
Fremus was not to be outdone. "His Royal Highness has pronounced the start of supper. Servers, bring forth the first course. Elders, honored guest, please enjoy this food, which has been prepared by the finest chefs in Aratur, indeed in the whole of the plains."
At least his praise for the cooks wasn't as profuse as his praise for Graldor. Caldrion, however, had gotten his answer: Graldor must have known that Annatar was coming. Fremus had certainly not gone on long enough for any number of cooks to prepare food for this many people. After a brief pause, Caldrion remembered that he should be serving Graldor, so he hastened to take his place. Graldor, however, rebuked him. "Serve our guest. I can trust you not to spill on him, if only because you don't react to the thunder and lightning."
That was true. Perhaps because of the circumstances surrounding his early childhood, Caldrion was never afraid of or surprised by the distant fury of the clouds, a feature that made him even more unique among the young men of Aratur. It would certainly be beneficial to stand near Annatar, if only to hear every word that issued forth from his mouth. In the first stages of the meal, however, such words were few and far between. Caldrion had not realized that elves could accumulate such hunger. An elf coming from the east would almost certainly have brought sufficient provisions. Caldrion had doubts about the validity of the stranger. If he had been out of provisions for a day or two, he probably came from much farther afield than Caldrion had first suspected.
At length, however, his hunger having been dealt with, Annatar began to engage those around him in conversation. "When did you come into Calenardhon, Prince Graldor? The last time I entered these plains, there were no men but a few nomadic huntsmen, and that was not much more than ten years ago."
"Then you must have just missed me, sir Annatar. It has not been much more then ten years since I crossed the Fords of the Angren and founded this realm."
Graldor paused, and Caldrion looked up. He could tell that Graldor was about to raise a question of Annatar and was trying to figure out how to phrase it in such a way that it would not bring offense. "That would mean that you crossed this plain just ahead of the orcish army. Do you know, then, what that army was intending to do, and what events drove it west? My squire, who has been serving you, is of Numenorean blood…" Annatar turned suddenly toward Caldrion. "… and has been curious about the fate of Eregion, apparently the home of a substantial number of elves."
Another pause. Had it been any other, Caldrion would have merely assumed that the speaker was consciously crafting an answer. With this Annatar, on the other hand, Caldrion had this sudden feeling that this pause was making a deliberate mockery of Graldor's earlier pause. "I had heard rumors that a wave of evil had been following me from the east, but I don't know what it might have been after. I have never been to Eregion, but the elves of the east have assumed that it still stood. Most likely, it was a migratory group, seeking richer neighbors to raid. Or perhaps not. I have seen many evil armies in my long days, and expect to see many more." Perhaps he was mistaken, but Caldrion thought he saw Annatar's eyes light up, almost as though wreathed in flame, when he spoke of the likelihood of future evil armies. They only flashed for an instant, however, and if such dreadful eventualities pleased Annatar, he did not dwell on them long. "For such a new settlement, yours has a number of highly pleasant aspects…" Such praise for Aratur could not hold Caldrion's interest for long, so he turned his attention to other matters, such as getting a bite to eat himself.
Annatar's discussions with Graldor proceeded to such topics as suggestions on how to improve the town, that when its glory spread, as Annatar was sure it would with such a strong and wise leader. Caldrion certainly doubted that Aratur would ever become the capital of any substantial realm. In his own lifespan, possibly, but certainly not in Graldor's. A number of the homes were not even permanent. If this were any other stranger, Caldrion would have disregarded such words entirely, but Annatar spoke with such authority that it was hard not to believe him. There could be no question that he spoke from his own mind, and was not merely repeating the outrageous claims of Fremus.
Annatar also mentioned the other human tribes that he was aware of, both on the other side of the Angren and the other side of the Onodlo, specifically touching their locations and numbers. That would have interested Caldrion, but another one of the youths, called upon to serve their elders on such a solemn occasion, had chosen that inopportune time to jump at a sharp crack of thunder and drop his load. Elthor called Caldrion, who was idle for the moment, to help clean the mess, and so Caldrion missed what Annatar had to say. He grumbled as he cleaned, silently, and sometimes not so silently, cursing Betlin for his clumsiness. Granted, he also directed his silent cursing against Elthor who, like the other 'nobles' around Graldor, treated Caldrion as nothing more than an ordinary, stupid youth. From the beginning, however, Graldor had recognized Caldrion's keen intellect and had used him as an advisor and confidant. Only in public did Caldrion act as a squire, but none of the 'nobles' recognized, or were willing to recognize, how much Graldor trusted him. Consequently, he crawled on the floor moping up spilt food.
Meanwhile the meal had settled into a lull, that peaceful time between the main courses and the dessert during which all those feasting settle into a content, relaxed stupor. At this time, Annatar stood up and addressed the assembled elders. "Prince Graldor, elders of Aratur, I thank you again for your gracious hospitality. I am unaware of the customs which you follow, but as a guest I would like to repay that hospitality by presenting Prince Graldor with a small token of my appreciation." Suddenly, as if by magic, his hands, which had been previously unadorned, glittered as lightning reflected off a number of bejeweled rings, enough that one would want a third hand to wear them all. The entire room gasped. Annatar selected a ring from the middle finger of his right hand and held it up in front of him. "Prince Graldor, I present you with this ring. May it be for you always a token of my gratitude." Graldor took it and put it on his ring finger. For a moment, it seemed to Caldrion as though Graldor's form seemed to blur slightly. The entire room once again gasped. Then Graldor removed the ring. The entire room gasped for a third time. Caldrion heard Fremus muttering "Well, I'll be. It must be one of them magic rings." Caldrion sighed. He was surprised that the idiot had even noticed the blurring, and then had the imagination to invent this theory of a magic ring. It was a trick of the light, nothing more.
As Caldrion returned his attention to Graldor, the prince was holding the ring in front of him, examining it in wonder. It appeared to be fashioned from silver, and in it was set a green stone, presumably an emerald. To Caldrion, the gem appeared flawless and brilliant, though when the lightning flashed the interior seemed cloudy, as though there were a storm brewing within the emerald itself. Caldrion's first thought was one of jealousy, that his lord should get such a beautiful gift. But he quickly mastered himself, remembering that he was the squire and it was his duty to serve. Observing Fremus, however, it was obvious that Caldrion was not the only one feeling envious of the recipient of such a beautiful ring. For Fremus was not even looking at Graldor's ring, but was instead staring intently at the hands of Annatar. His lips were slightly parted, and Caldrion thought he could see a thin trickle of saliva flowing down the sycophant's cheek. "O guestttt, mighty in the ways of magicaaaal powerssssss…," he began. The spell that Graldor's new ring had cast on everyone was broken, for they all turned toward Fremus and broke out in uncontrollable laughter. Even Annatar found the scene quite funny, as he could not suppress a broad grin at the pompous windbag's antics. Fremus, his already dense mind further clouded by drink, was standing in his chair, swaying violently, with his cup in hand as though he were offering a toast. He tried to continue over the laughter, but his incomprehensible babbling could not be heard. Then, to the further amusement of the people, he brought his glass down violently, obviously intending to bang on the table for attention, only to discover that the table was no longer at his waist level. The momentum swept the chair out from under him and his overlarge posterior introduced itself to the ground with a loud thump. There he sat, the stupid grin of the drunkard on his face, his eyes still fixed on Annatar's fingers. Even as the raucous laughter crescendoed, he raised his now empty cup and, now looking into Annatar's eyes, proclaimed "You… must truly be the lord of the rings." He then promptly fell over, inebriated to the point of unconsciousness. The hall was filled with a roar of laughter, but Caldrion saw that Annatar had gone silent and was staring at the place where Fremus had just been sitting. If Caldrion's lip-reading skills were worth anything, it appeared that Annatar was repeating the phrase 'lord of the rings,' as though testing its taste in his mouth.
The laughter subsided, and everyone found his way back to his seat. Graldor set the ring in front of him and for a time withdrew from the increasingly drunken revelry about him, contemplating this gift. Finally he raised his eyes and addressed Annatar saying, "If you will pardon my asking, where did you come by such a beautiful gem? My dealings with Vinyalonde brought me in contact with gems of this color, but until tonight I had never seen one so brilliant, so flawless, with such a perfect clarity." Caldrion looked at the gem, wondering if the cloudiness he had seen earlier was just a trick of the light, but just then another flash of lightning made the cloudy flaw even more apparent.
Meanwhile, unfazed by such a blunt question, Annatar responded, "Who knows from whence the elves of Eregion got their gemstones? From Khazad-dum, most likely, unless dwarves still inhabit the Blue Mountains of the west. Such a gem neither race would be easily parted with, but for such as those I made the Noldor an offer they could not refuse." This struck Caldrion as highly suspicious, though he could not put the proverbial finger on his doubts. He had not seen many examples of elven jewelry, but all those that he had seemed more ornate than this. He had a sudden feeling that there was a third hand in the making of this ring, besides that of the elvensmith, a hand of malice, perhaps, but certainly the hand that had caused the clouding, for no elf would have used a gem with a flaw such as that if it were natural. Did those hands craft this ring for some purpose besides the cosmetic one? Had the third hand indeed inspired the elf to make this, beyond just being a ring of beauty, a ring of magic? Fremus' simple-mindedness may have touched on something that Caldrion himself had been unable to see before. Perhaps the blurring in the stone blurred the wearer. With such thoughts swirling through his head, Caldrion began to clear the table and the meal was over.