Chapter VI

The Breaking of the Fellowship

Thirty-seven Neo-Nazgul marched across Pelennor Fields. It was a strange procession. While it could be said that they were marching across the Fields, it was in reality more of an aimless, drunken meandering. Each Nazgul seemed to have a mind, as well as a direction, of its own, but they still managed to somehow stay fairly close together.

This semblance of organization was due to Armor.

Armor, the disembodied suit of Gondorian mail, strode at the head of the Nazgul ranks. A glowing ring of metal encircled his right index finger (if it could be called a finger) – it was the item that gave him his life. And, unlike the other hapless Neo-Nazgul, the Ring gave him intelligence. Power. Ruthlessness.

Obviously, the creator of the Rings did not do such a wonderful job this time around. After ensnaring a living organism, the Ring caused said organism to become a shell: a mindless, soulless shell. The only thing that remained was a vague – very weak – impulse to obey their master.

That master was currently Armor. The suit looked back at his army. It could be said that they looked imposing – they certainly were wearing heavy cloaks with deep hoods. However, these cloaks were a bright blue. As one could imagine, cheerful blue does not tend to strike fear into the hearts of men. Armor's cloak was red. He figured a leader should stand out in a crowd.

And what was an army without weapons? As Armor scanned his soldiers, he could spot nearly every weapon known to man. There were a few swords, several staffs, a few daggers, and an assortment of shields, pikes, and crossbows. One particularly shameful Nazgul sported a tree branch with a nail sticking out of the business end. Armor sighed.

Two of the sword wielders, the man Deschain and the woman Corellia, stood a little behind and at either side of Armor. While still badly corrupted by the power of their Rings, they were nonetheless the most intelligent of the soldiers. Armor had made them his lieutenants. At least I have these two to be grateful for, Armor thought with another sigh.

Facing west again, Armor strode purposefully away from the rising sun, leading the Neo-Nazgul to their true master.

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Standing on the back of his faithful steed, Ollie, Sauron stretched his tired muscles. He was getting tired of constantly having to assume this wretched human form. He longed to transform into the Eye and ride atop his steed's head – like a god coming to claim what is rightfully his.

But, of course, he could not transform. Sneaking a glare back at his fiery-skinned companion, who was deep in conversation with the halfling, Sauron thought about simply telling the balrog who he really was and being done with it. Perhaps the balrog would continue to follow him. Probably not. Spanky was a balrog of honor, and Sauron realized that the beast would not follow the Dark Lord anywhere. If the balrog found out, then the balrog would have to die. And he was far too useful for that to happen. Yet.

As they came under the shadow of Isengard, Sauron whined silently.

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"We are here."

Upon hearing Sauron's proclamation, Dorfo sprang upright. He had been dozing near the rear of Ollie's backside, with Spanky close by. Despite Dorfo's constant fear that the balrog would discover who he really was, the two had formed a friendship during the days and weeks of traveling. They had enjoyable conversations, and Spanky had become a good shield from Sauron's growing eccentricity. Besides, with Zombie Gollum still missing, Spanky was the only person Dorfo had to talk to.

Dorfo looked over and saw Spanky staring forward, past Ollie's enormous head. Before them were the flooded ruins of Isengard. And, in the center of the mess, stood the fabled tower of Orthanc.

Sauron began to dismount. Dorfo and Spanky carefully did the same.

"Steed, you remain here," Sauron commanded after he reached the soft ground. "I have business in the tower." With that, Sauron strode away toward Orthanc, not giving Dorfo or Spanky a second glance.

"So." Dorfo said, gazing around. "I suppose all there is to do is wait."

Spanky appeared to be deep in thought. After a moment, he took a deep breath and looked down at Dorfo. "Overhill, have you ever considered…leaving? Just going off on your own? Away from him?"

Dorfo was surprised to realize that he in fact had not considered this. Not in a very long time, at least. "No, I suppose I haven't."

Spanky's look of absolute confusion suggested that Dorfo elaborate. "I know. I know he's…not good. It's just that…he…he makes me feel useful. Important. Around him, I feel like I'm contributing toward a goal. You don't realize how badly I have wanted that."

Spanky did not look all that impressed. "But, Overhill! If you are contributing to anything, it is evil. It must be. That Ronald seems to radiate evil. I can feel it."

Dorfo sighed. "You just don't understand."

"No! I don't understand! So why don't you tell me what I've gotten myself into? Who is Ronald Saruman, really? And for that matter, who are you?"

"I…I can't tell you," Dorfo stammered. "I just can't."

The fire surrounding Spanky seemed to thicken. "It is a poor friendship, Overhill, when friends cannot be honest with each other." He shook his head in sadness and walked off.

Muttering over and over that Spanky would simply not understand, Dorfo walked off in the opposite direction, into the ruins of Isengard.

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Standing in the main chamber of Orthanc, Sauron leafed through the large, dusty book. The book had been Sauron's entire reason for making this detour to Isengard. He had to attempt to validate the prophecy he constantly dreamed of. This book could do that, he knew. His old puppet Saruman was in possession of many valuable documents.

"Yes!" Sauron shouted to himself when a turned page revealed a painting of a massive, three eyed oliphaunt. "This is what I have dreamed of!" The third eye rested above the original two, and glowed a deep red. Sauron knew full well what it meant.

Now that he knew his dreams have been actual prophecy, Sauron knew what he had to do next. After he found the Two Ring, of course.

As Sauron replaced the book on its pedestal, he heard voices. They were too far away for him to understand the words, but he could tell that none of them belonged to his companions.

No matter, he thought. If they find me, I will kill them. I may even enjoy it.

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Dorfo wandered aimlessly through the boulder-strewn mess. What was he going to do? He would not be able to face Spanky again. Not unless he told the balrog the truth. But if he did that, Dorfo would be dead within minutes.

Maybe Sauron could help somehow. They were a team, after all. It was Sauron's job to protect his partner, and vice-versa. Yes, that was a possibility. Dorfo headed toward the tower, hoping to find his master there.

He froze when he heard the voices. They were coming down the main path from Orthanc. There were five of them in all – all Gondorian men, and all armed with swords and bows.

Hiding would be a good idea, Dorfo figured, had they not noticed him already. The man in the lead stopped and pointed toward him.

"What is a hobbit doing in these parts?" the man inquired.

Dorfo said nothing. He didn't know what to do. He was loyal to Sauron, who was in turn the enemy of almost every free person in Middle-Earth. He should fight them, or run off and tell Sauron. On the other hand, Dorfo did not think he could outrun these men, and hadn't the hobbit wanted to be rescued from Sauron?

He had, but now he did not. Sauron accepted him and his help, and for that reason Dorfo was loyal to the Dark Lord. He would not let these Gondorians take him away like he was some sort of worthless child. He would not. So, Dorfo Sackville-Baggins stood his ground.

The Gondorian raised his voice. "I said, what is a half – "

The man's question was abruptly cut off when a large spiked hand came out of nowhere and wrapped itself tightly around his throat. The other men drew their swords and faced the Lord of Mordor. Sauron ignored them.

"No one, least of all a fool Gondorian, barks demands to my troops." Sauron tightened his grip on the man's neck.

Everyone was perfectly still for several seconds. Dorfo stood, frozen, in sudden respect of his master. The sword-wielding Gondorians stood, frozen, unsure what to do next. The choking Gondorian hung, frozen, from Sauron's spiked hand. Sauron, frozen, glared at him.

Then everything happened at once.

One of the men lunged toward Sauron, sword held high. In what seemed like a single movement, Sauron released his captive, drew his mace, spun, and struck the attacker square in the chest. The man flew backwards onto a pile of rubble as if he were a doll.

Two men came at Sauron next. The Dark Lord was a blur, taking out both men's legs with a single sweep of his mace.

Dorfo watched all of this with conflicting emotions. His master was obviously winning the battle, which should be a good thing. But these Gondorians have done nothing wrong. Sauron was apparently killing them for...for sport. However, the Gondorian did attack Sauron first. Although, Sauron had happened to be holding the man's comrade by the neck at the time. Yet…

Before Dorfo could confuse himself further, someone grabbed him around the waist and slung him, face down and sideways, onto the back of a horse. The man then mounted the horse and shouted to his comrades.

"Ride! We must retreat! Gondor must know what has happened!"

The other men backed away from the blur that was Sauron, darting for their own horses. Sauron laughed and waved his mace menacingly.

"Cowards!"

Hearing Sauron helped Dorfo find his voice. "Sauron! They have me!" he shouted from the lead horse. It was accelerating rapidly. Before Sauron could reply, Dorfo was already too far away. His master had become a tiny speck standing in the shadow of Orthanc. The little hobbit began to panic.

Dorfo was alive, but captured by the enemy.

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"What has happened? I heard shouting!" Spanky said, out of breath. He arrived at the main road of Isengard just in time to see faint shapes of men on horseback retreating to the east. Ronald was holstering his mace.

"You missed the entertainment, balrog," the black figure said.

"Entertainment?" Spanky took a moment to examine their surroundings. Three bodies lay on the ground: two almost at Ronald's feet, and another on a pile of rubble at the side of the road. Freshly spilled blood surrounded them all. "You killed these men!"

"That's right!" Ronald said, beaming.

"Wait a moment," Spanky said, remembering his friend, "where is Overhill?"

"Overhill? Who the devil is – oh! Him! Overhill. Yes, Overhill is, shall we say, currently occupied."

"What do you mean by that?"

Ronald nodded toward the spot the riders were last seen retreating. Spanky's eyes went wide.

"He was captured? We have to follow them! He must be rescued!"

"Rescued?" Ronald sneered. "No, balrog. The halfling was fool enough to get himself captured. He will receive no help from me. Now, come with me. We must return to my steed and resume the hunt."

"No!" Spanky said angrily. "We hunt for Overhill first."

Ronald gave Spanky a look that would cause even the fiercest warrior to take a step back. Spanky took two. "You dare order me? Forget about the fool halfling and do my bidding!"

Fire seemed to suddenly engulf Spanky. The balrog was angry. "Overhill is no fool." He began to turn away. "I will find him on my own."

Slowly and methodically, Ronald drew his mace and blocked Spanky's way. "I cannot allow you to abandon me. You are too useful."

The balrog's temper boiled over. His flaming hand shot at Ronald's throat as fast as lightning, driving the dark man against a large stone slab. Ronald hung motionless from Spanky's outstretched arm.

"Listen to me, whoever you are." Spanky's voice was cold and commanding. "I have sat wordlessly and listened as you berated Overhill. As you insulted him. I watched as you flung him into the smoldering fire when he 'allowed the rain to put it out'. The rain! As if he could do anything about the rain! And you don't even care about fires; Overhill builds them for himself. You see, I think you simply enjoy acting like that. You are evil for the sake of being evil. Well, I am through with it. Consider our fellowship over, Ronald. Now, I will ask you one more time. Get out of my way."

His face was inches from Ronald's. The flames surrounding the balrog should have been burning the man alive, but Ronald showed no sign of pain.

Suddenly, Ronald struck with a force Spanky could hardly believe. One moment, the furious balrog was holding Ronald in midair, and the next, Spanky was flying backward. The balrog landed in a pile of rubble, a cloud of dust rising around him.

"How dare you!" Ronald shouted at the fallen balrog. "How dare you order the Lord of Mordor!"

"The Lord of…" Spanky muttered, trying to get up. Ronald – no, his name was obviously not Ronald – the dark man planted a spiked foot on Spanky's chest. He peered down at the balrog.

"That's right, fool. You, a supposedly honorable balrog, have been a servant to Sauron, Lord of Mordor." A pause. "Dark Lord of Mordor," he added with a grin.

He should have known. He really should have. It was just so…obvious, now that he did know. However, thoughts of his own foolishness were quickly overshadowed by the large black figure standing atop him.

Without responding, Spanky grabbed the foot that was pushing his chest into the dirt. In one quick motion, he twisted and pushed, causing Sauron to spin away almost comically. The dark lord kept his footing, stopping several feet away from Spanky.

Once on his feet, the balrog reached over his back and slowly drew a long, thin, flame-wrought sword. His father's sword. His sword, now.

With a feral grin, Sauron discarded his mace and pulled out his own sword. It was not nearly as long as Spanky's, but it was no less menacing.

Wordlessly, the two charged. Steel clashed against flaming steel. The blows came quickly and without mercy, but both combatants stood their ground. Clouds of dust rose around them as they danced amidst the ruins of Isengard. Sauron laughed as he smoothly parried Spanky's fast thrusts; Spanky grunted and roared as he blocked Sauron's heavy blows.

After several minutes of balanced swordplay, Sauron and Spanky stepped back to catch their respective breaths. Sauron, of course, took this time to insult.

"Give up, balrog, or I will stop toying with you."

Spanky said nothing.

"Did you not hear me?" Sauron said. "I said – what the devil?"

Several cloaked figures plowed into Sauron, knocking him into the dirt. Moments later, the same fate befell Spanky.

The balrog rolled over and rose to his knees. There were blue-cloaked figures aimlessly scattered across the debris-strewn roadway. Several of them – most likely the ones who knocked him over – were on fire.

A deep voice, similar to Sauron's, rose from the entrance to Isengard. "Get back here, you fools! Obey your master!"

Spanky realized that this is what one might call a lucky break. Sauron had not noticed how exhausted the balrog was becoming during the latter portion of the fight. He had to escape soon. Spanky would not be able to stand up against the Dark Lord for much longer.

So, now that the blue things were occupying all of Sauron's attention, Spanky sheathed his father's sword, stood, and very slowly ran away as fast as he could.

The shouting, red-clad figure paid Spanky no mind as the balrog darted past it and out of Isengard. I will have my revenge on you as well, Sauron, the balrog swore as he looked over his shoulder at the distant confusion. But first, I will rescue my friend. I will rescue Overhill.

He ran on.

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The Two Ring walked in the shadows of the Mountains of Mist.

He had changed direction. It was time to make a stand. It was time to fight back. With his newfound power, the Two Ring would make Sauron pay. He grinned at the mere thought of it.

Soon, he thought. Soon

The Two Ring walked in the shadows of the Mountains of Mist, stumbling every few steps as he slowly got accustomed to his wiry new body.