Chapter III

Of Rings and Balrogs – Minas Tirith I

Amidst the ruins of the city of Osgiliath, Ollie the Oliphaunt sat near the edge of the river. His companions had dismounted to search the area for any sign of the Two Ring – Zombie Gollum had said he felt it somewhere nearby. In actuality, Sauron was the only one searching for the Ring; Dorfo was searching for food and Zombie Gollum looked like he was in his own little world.

It had been a tiring journey for the old oliphaunt. However, it was certainly worth the trouble. He had wanted adventure, and he had gotten it. He had seen the ruins of the Black Gate of Mordor; he had seen a nearly-weeping Sauron chase Dorfo up some of the rubble when the hobbit tried to comfort him. He had seen and crossed the fabled Dead Marshes; he had seen an angry Sauron throw Zombie Gollum several yards after the zombie led the Dark Lord into a deep pool of murky water. He had seen – and still saw – the shining white city of Minas Tirith; he had seen Sauron give it the finger.

For the first time in years, Ollie was happy. It didn't matter that Ollie was not evil and that Sauron – his new master – was most certainly evil. Ollie was enjoying himself, and that was what mattered.

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"You said it was here, zombie! You lied to me!" Sauron snapped at Zombie Gollum, who was currently being held in the air by Sauron's spiked arm.

"No…no lies, precious," Zombie Gollum squeaked. "The…precious…was here. It is…there…now." The zombie pointed a bony finger westward toward the setting sun.

Fuming, Sauron threw Zombie Gollum aside. "Blast! Halfling, get over here!"

Dorfo was beside Sauron almost immediately. The little creature certainly had learned to obey.

"We are leaving, halfling. We go west. Toward – " Sauron thought for a moment; he knew little of geography outside of Mordor – "toward Roo-han."

Dorfo cleared his throat. "Um, sir? I thought we were going into the city to get some food and rest."

Sauron actually thought about this. The halfling was getting rather thin, Sauron had to admit. As little use a halfling was to him, it was much more use than a dead halfling would be. Even Zombie Gollum, who usually found his own food, was beginning to look bonier than usual.

"All right. As much as I despise that city, we will spend one night there. Only one! Then we resume the hunt." Anyway, he added to himself, it will give me an opportunity to begin my next project. "Come, halfling. You too, zombie. Steed, you remain here and guard our possessions."

Ollie sighed, a sound which very likely could be heard from Minas Tirith itself.

"Sir?" Dorfo said, eyeing Sauron. "You're going to need some sort of disguise."

Sauron transformed into the Eye. "How about this?"

"Um, that's… good," Dorfo stammered, "but maybe we can do just a little better…"

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Halfway up the gleaming city of Minas Tirith, three figures walked in single file. Dorfo Sackville-Baggins led the procession, as he was the most respectable looking of the three. Zombie Gollum followed, now dressed in rusty armor Dorfo had found in the ruins of Osgiliath. While still quite strange, an armored Zombie Gollum attracted much less attention than a loincloth-garbed Zombie Gollum, Dorfo decided. Last in line was a very tall figure wearing a heavy black cloak. Its massive hood almost completely covered his head and face. Except for the metal points protruding from the top of the hood and the heavy mace in his hand, Sauron was practically unrecognizable. His cloak also helped him blend in with the approaching darkness of night.

The strange procession came to a halt in front of a small, wooden building. A sign hung above the door; it read "THE FLAMING STEWARD". Obviously an inn, which was exactly what Dorfo was looking for. Inns meant two things: a nice hot meal and a nice comfortable bed for the night.

Dorfo paused at the entrance and turned toward Sauron. "Sir, I think I should do the talking in there. They really aren't very fond of, you know, Dark Lords of Mordor."

"As you wish." Sauron had a thoughtful expression on his face. He also appeared to be fumbling with bits of metal under his robe. "Just get me some privacy, halfling."

Dorfo stepped inside the inn. The common room was quite large, not to mention full of men, dwarves, and the occasional elf. However full the room was, Dorfo was still quite sure there was only one hobbit, one zombie, and one Dark Lord of Mordor occupying it. Still, few heads turned toward the three strange visitors. Dorfo assumed it had something to do with the fact that the new king proclaimed that all races are welcome in Minas Tirith. All sorts of strange folk have been showing up ever since that went into effect, I imagine.

The hobbit spotted the innkeeper's counter on the far side of the room and hurried over to it. The innkeeper was a fat, balding man wearing a very dirty apron. He beamed at Dorfo.

"Welcome, master hobbit! What can I do for you?"

"We'd like a room for the night, and a good meal to go with it," Dorfo said, already salivating.

"And fire," Sauron interjected, hastily adding "Fireplace! A fireplace. For my feet." Sauron, Dorfo realized, was not very good at covering up a lie. "My feet are cold. That is why."

Sauron thankfully stopped talking. Dorfo did not know why his master needed fire, and he really did not care. The innkeeper gave Sauron a quizzical look, but then dismissed the oddity and put on his best smile.

"You are in luck, my friends! Only one room left! It's up on the second floor; third door on the right. Oh, and I'll have those meals up before you know it."

Sauron glared at the innkeeper, who finally added "And it has a fireplace!"

Satisfied, Sauron turned toward the stairs. Zombie Gollum and Dorfo followed, one of them politely thanking the innkeeper. It's not hard to guess which one.

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Lying on a spacious bed on the second floor of the Flaming Steward, Spanky the Balrog could not sleep. There were several reasons for this. He was too excited from seeing the interior of Minas Tirith for the first time. That fish he ate for dinner was not agreeing with him at all. There was an awful racket coming from the room next to him.

The main reason Spanky could not sleep, however, was because he kept accidentally setting the bed on fire.

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After eating the most fantastic meal he had eaten in - had it been years? – yes, years, Dorfo threw himself onto one of two beds in the small room. After all those months in the wild, he had forgotten how wonderful a genuine mattress felt. He didn't think anything could cause him to get up, even the Dark Lord of Mordor himself storming into the room.

Dorfo chuckled when he remembered Sauron himself was in the room right now. Things had certainly changed. Dorfo was getting so used to traveling with the Dark Lord that he tended to forget that Sauron was actually Sauron. He really wasn't that bad when you got to know him. Sure, he complained, and sure, he could be rather cruel. But the Dark Lord treated Dorfo reasonably well – unlike his former "comrades". Dorfo greatly preferred this Fellowship of the Two Ring over the former Fellowship of the One Ring.

Things weren't always great, however. Sauron was in a rather sour mood tonight, Dorfo gathered. The Dark Lord was currently in the far corner of the room, seemingly building something. He had demanded absolute quiet. Sauron himself, though, was making an awful lot of noise at the moment.

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After pouring a bucket of water on his flaming bed for what felt like the hundredth time, Spanky glared at the wall his bed was pressed against. His next door neighbors were doing something that was making far too much noise. Every couple of seconds, Spanky would hear a loud clanging sound coming from the other room. Once, Spanky had heard a mattress squeak, then the clanging had stopped and a deep voice had shouted "Quiet! I am trying to concentrate, you fool!" and then after another voice replied "Sorry, sir," the clanging had resumed again.

After another few minutes of this, Spanky had had enough. He marched to his door and into the hall. The clanging was even louder in the hall. Spanky put on his angriest face and knocked on the door where the clanging originated from.

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The mattress squeaked. Dorfo sighed.

The clanging stopped and Sauron looked back at the hobbit. "Quiet! I am trying to concentrate, you fool!"

"Sorry, sir," Dorfo muttered, and the clanging had resumed again.

After another few minutes of this, Dorfo had had enough. Of course, there was nothing he could do about it. Dorfo loved – yes, loved – Sauron for appreciating him and giving the hobbit a family of sorts (something the lonely hobbit had been missing so dearly), but he still feared Sauron. Obviously, it was best to not argue with the Dark Lord of Mordor.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Wondering what to do, Dorfo looked over at Sauron, but he appeared to be too engrossed by his work to notice the visitor. Dorfo shrugged, walked to the door, and slowly opened it.

"Excuse me, but I keep hea – " The voice was cut off when Dorfo slammed the door in the speaker's face. The hobbit ran over to Sauron, almost tripping over a sleeping Zombie Gollum.

"Sir? Sir!" Dorfo pleaded. Sauron turned to face the hobbit, his eyes ablaze.

"What?"

"There's a…door...opened it…big…scary…closed door…ran!"

"That made no sense, halfling," Sauron said, but instead of doing the expected (killing Dorfo), he did the unexpected (standing up and walking over to the door). Dorfo followed in Sauron's shadow.

"Who comes to my room?" Sauron said loudly to the door. He took hold of the knob.

"It's a – " Dorfo began, and Sauron opened the door.

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"Balrog!" Sauron finished.

The figure framed by the doorway stood only around eight feet tall, which had to make it a very young balrog. It seemed to stand a bit more erect than most balrogs, but it was still wreathed in flame. And it looked angry.

"I must say," the balrog said (It can talk, Sauron thought with wonder), "you Gondorians are rather rude."

Sauron was taken aback. "Gondorians! Do not insult me, balrog. I am no Gondorian."

The balrog examined Sauron. "Yes. Yes, I suppose you are right. I have only been here a day, but you certainly do not look like the other Gondorians I have seen."

There was an awkward silence.

"Why are you here?" Sauron finally asked.

"Oh. Oh!" The balrog seemed to have his train of thought back. "I'm having difficulty sleeping, what with all the…loudness…coming from this room."

Sauron glared back at Dorfo. "Yes, I can relate. My fool comrade here has been making all sorts of racket on his bed. It has been greatly disturbing to my work." Sauron gave the beast a look just as fiery as the balrog's skin, as if daring him to take the complaining further and mention Sauron's work being the real source of the noise.

"Ah, I see," the balrog said. "Well then, try to get him to be a little quieter…if you please."

"I will do that," Sauron said, being as polite as he could. Dorfo had been giving him lessons. To Sauron's surprise, Sauron had been allowing it. Grudgingly. "It was nice meeting you, Master…?"

"Spanky." Spanky said, a little too proudly.

"Master…Spanky." Not really knowing how to end a conversation, Sauron did it rather suddenly. "Farewell." Sauron closed the door.

"Okay," Dorfo said as soon as the door was shut, "this new Gondorian proclamation that all races are welcome has already gotten out of hand. That" – he pointed at the door where the balrog had stood – "is what exceptions are for!"

"I am not so sure, halfling," Sauron said thoughtfully. "I rather like balrogs. Surprisingly intelligent. Excellent fighters. And this one can even speak! He would be very useful…"

Dorfo looked at him in horror. "Sir, you can't be considering having him…join us? Can you?"

"That is up to him, halfling," Sauron replied, heading back to his work. "That is up to him."

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Spanky returned to his room. Moments later, the clanging resumed. Spanky sighed. There was nothing he could do about it. Yes, he was a balrog, but he was not a fool. He knew a greater power when he saw one. To argue further with that heavily armored man would be suicide. Spanky had no desire to die. At least, not until he got his revenge.

With the assistance of an unwanted next-door lullaby of "clang-clang, clang-clang", Spanky finally fell asleep.

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He was standing with his father deep in the Mines of Moria. Something was about to happen, Spanky knew. Something big. His father, armed with whip and sword, stared up the endless stairway, near the Bridge of Khazad-dum. The intruders were coming, and they were making quite a racket. The multitudes of goblins were wise enough to not come near the balrog's domain, but the arrogant intruders were obviously not nearly as wise.

His father, to put it mildly, was not fond of intruders. In fact, any intruders put him into a murderous rage. Spanky never felt the rage his father did – he thought himself much more calm-minded – but he nevertheless respected and loved his father greatly.

Now that the intruders were almost to the bottom of the stairs (and had just barely escaped an embarrassing incident with a gap in the stairway), Spanky could begin to make out voices. He could not yet speak himself, but he knew he had the talent. Most balrogs – including his father – could not even understand human speech, but Spanky could. He knew he would be able to speak someday.

"Stay behind me!" a deep voice shouted. He was holding a staff which emitted a very bright glow.

"But where's Dorfo?" another voice asked from farther behind. "We can't leave him!"

"He's gone on ahead, I think," yet another voice replied. "Anyway, forget about him! We need to watch out for ourselves now!"

With that, the intruders were at the bottom of the stairs and running for the bridge. It was time, Spanky knew. The figure with the staff was now the last in line. Spanky's father dashed out of the darkness after the intruder. Spanky watched from the shadows.

After the rest of the intruders had crossed the Bridge, the figure stopped and faced Spanky's father. After a lengthy, yet dramatic speech full of words Spanky did not yet understand, the intruder thrust his staff into the bridge. Spanky tried to scream "NO!" as his father took a step onto the Bridge, but his still-developing vocal chords would not allow him. The Bridge crumbled under Spanky's father's feet, and the old balrog fell.

In the confines of the shadows, Spanky roared in fury and sadness. He heard his father's own screams, growing ever more distant as the balrog fell deeper into the pit. Spanky did not even notice his father dragging the intruder into the pit with him; his grief was too raw. In the confines of the shadows, Spanky fell to his knees and cried.

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Spanky woke, sweating. He could still hear the clanging sounds from next door. Those sounds were as distant as the stars to him now, though. His bed was on fire again. That was not so distant. Spanky jumped up and away from the flaming bed.

He usually could control his fire. Most of the time, there was not an ounce of fire coming from him, which he was quite proud of. But any time Spanky got upset or excited, the flames came. Sometimes, he could simply not control it.

The sweat turned to steam as it reached especially warm portions of the young balrog. That dream was certainly something that both excited and upset him. He had been having it more and more regularly, as of late. The dream, of course, was a reliving of the most traumatizing moment of his life – the death of his father. The murder of his father.

Spanky wanted to avenge his father's death. That was why he was traveling the world; he had to find those responsible for the murder. However, Spanky only had one name to go by. The odd first name the intruders had mentioned before they had killed Spanky's father. Spanky, at great effort, had even managed to find a last name to match the first name. The name of the one who had helped murder his father.

I will find you, Dorfo Sackville-Baggins, Spanky thought with white-hot rage, and I will kill you.

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The Two Ring skittered across the Pelennor.

It was beginning to get a bit worried. That had been a very close call with its former masters. Had it not been for the hobbit convincing Sauron to rest at Minas Tirith, the Two Ring might have been captured once more. Luckily, its chance arose to evade them once more. But again, it was close. Too close.

The Two Ring had become too confident of its evasion skills. Upon retrospect, stopping for several days to lounge in the ruins of Osgiliath was probably not the best idea the little ring had ever had. Sauron and his fools were practically on top of him before the Two Ring finally had resumed its flight. Foolish, foolish, foolish.

It would not make the same mistake twice. They will never catch it now.

The Two Ring skittered across the Pelennor, faster and more urgently than ever before.