Chapter VII

The Choices of Master Dorfo

Armor stared incredulously at Sauron.

"You want me to…abandon the hunt for the Two Ring? Abandon you? But...but I only just arrived!"

The Neo-Nazgul's master sighed. "Do not mistake me, Wraith. Under any other circumstances, you would be by my side as I recapture the Two Ring." Sauron's eyes began to glow brighter. "But my former...comrade must be stopped. The balrog could have an army bearing down on my before I catch the Ring. He must be stopped. And you are the only ally I trust enough to accomplish the task." He patted the Nazgul on the shoulder. "Think of it as swapping one hunt for another."

"But, master," Armor said, "I cannot leave the other Neo-Nazgul. They are bound to me. They become…become…something not so desireable. They become strange. Unpredictable. Uncontrollable."

Sauron barked a laugh. "Nonsense! You underestimate me. If anyone can control the Wraiths, it is me, their creator!"

"But…"

"No more, Wraith!" Anger flashed in Sauron's eyes. "No more! You will do my bidding. You will go and capture or kill the balrog. You will also find the halfling and bring him back to me, for I realize now that Sackville-Baggins can bring an army down on me as well, if he talks to his captors." The dark lord shook his head. "I should never have allowed him to be captured."

Armor waited for more, but none came. The two stared silently at each other in the ruins of Isengard, their cloaks whipping in the wind. The other Neo-Nazgul sat nearby, in the direction of the setting sun. Armor already felt sadness that he would be leaving them. He also felt a twinge of…he wasn't sure. Anger, maybe? Yes, that was it. Anger that Sauron was making a terribly wrong decision. But Armor could not go against his master. He could not.

"Go, Wraith." Sauron motioned toward the east. Armor hesitated, but Sauron had made up his mind."Go. And do not fail me."

Resigned to his fate, Armor turned and strode off toward Gondor.

----------

"Stop!" an exhausted Spanky shouted through the rain. "Please stop!"

Balrogs look absolutely helpless and miserable when stranded in a rainstorm. Spanky was no exception. The young balrog did not have a single spark of flame on his entire body; he looked more like a troll than a balrog. Nevertheless, his resolve to find Overhill was as strong as ever.

He was currently – oh, how he was ashamed to admit this, even to himself – he was currently chasing a small family with the intent of taking their lone horse. And maybe a bit of food…no! Spanky had to draw the line somewhere.

In the span of less than a day, Spanky had gone from battling the most powerful and evil being in all of Middle-Earth (and not getting himself destroyed in the process!) to attempting to steal a horse from an innocent group of travelers. It was sad, really. But rescuing Overhill was more important than honor. He kept telling himself that.

Now only a few paces behind the humans, Spanky shouted above the pounding rain. "I don't want to hurt you! I just…I just need your help!"

"Leave us alone!" a dark-haired man – most likely the father – screamed over his shoulder. The man then began flinging small brown objects at Spanky. The balrog caught one, examined it, and sighed.

"Please stop throwing bread at me!" Spanky shouted back, annoyed. "I only want to talk to you!" And steal your horse, because I have become no more than a bloody petty thief! But I have to. I have to do it to catch up to my friend.

One of the family members – a small girl – tripped over a wet rock and fell. Spanky caught up to her and offered his hand. The father, obviously horrified, sprinted back to his daughter.

"You get away from her, troll!" he bellowed, shoving the balrog away, his fear for his daughter overcoming his fear of Spanky. With her father's help, the girl scrambled to her feet.

"That is IT!" Spanky shouted at the man, no longer able to control his rage. "I have had it! Why must everyone – everyone – come to the conclusion that I am a monster, an enemy? I am not a monster! I am not an enemy! I am a living creature, just like you, and I intend you no harm or hardship! Now," his voice lowered, "give me your bloody horse or I will tear your arm off and use it as a back scratcher!"

The man simply stared. Rain trickled down his balding head.

"But you just said that you don't inten – "

"Shut up!"

The man shook his head in disgust, sending water in all directions. "Fine! Take the horse! Just leave us alone, you thieving troll!"

Spanky gave the man his coldest smile. "Thank you." As the family began to walk away, Spanky stomped over to the horse he had just stolen. "You had better be worth it, horse."

The horse snorted.

Spanky turned and gave the wretched family one last look.

"And I am not a bloody troll!" he screamed at their retreating backs.

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Dorfo's eyes opened and dim light engulfed them. After his eyes adjusted, he saw that he was in a cave. A well-lit cave full of supplies. Upturned barrels rested in stacks against the walls. Tables, many covered with maps and other papers, were strewn about the room. Rusty swords and lances lined the walls. The large cave looked like some sort of war room.

He was sitting in a chair – tied to a chair – in the back of the war room, facing the large mouth of the cave. Try as he might, he could not remember a thing since he was thrown on that horse and carried away. His last real memory was Sauron fighting Dorfo's captors, trying to save his comrade.

Sauron will find me, Dorfo promised himself. He will find me and rescue me.

"So. You awake."

Dorfo could hear footsteps approaching him right after the voice spoke. He looked to his left and nearly choked.

"What? Something with me wrong?" The figure examined Dorfo more closely. "...Dorfo? That you?" His eyes widened! "It you! Dorfo!"

Dorfo knew the man. No, not man. Halfling. Hobbit. Dorfo knew him, all right. He used to listen to the hobbit tell stories back in the Shire, until he disappeared nearly 25 years ago.

"Bordo Baggins! What...what are you doing here?"

"Boggins, Dorfo. It Boggins. How many time I must tell you?" Dorfo shrugged. It was not Boggins. Bordo simply refused to admit that he mistook the A in his name for an O. Dorfo let it slip this time, and Bordo continued. "No matter. That not my name now, anyway." He thumped his chest. "I Razorwire Stone, Captain of Gondor."

Dorfo stared at him. "Razor...what? Your name is Bordo, not...that! And...and you're a captain? Of Gondor?" This was madness. "What have you been doing all... Razorwire Stone? That is a ridiculous name!"

"It not!" Bordo snapped. Dorfo noticed for the first time that Bordo's grasp of the spoken language might actually have worsened in those 25 years. "This not proper way to treat rescuer!"

Dorfo glared at him. "Rescuer? Your thugs kidnapped me!"

"Not thugs! Soldiers of Gondor! Trained them in war!"

"Trained them...war!" Dorfo sputtered. Bordo had never even raised a fist against another living thing! How could he know war? He was a hobbit, for crying out loud!

"It's true." A man – one of the kidnappers, judging by the fresh scar on his cheek – said, approaching the two hobbits. A sword was strapped to his hip. "Razorwire here taught me everything I know of fighting." Bordo looked at the man, beaming. This is bloody madness!

Dorfo looked up at the man. "That's not possible. Bordo nev – "

"Razorwire!" Bordo shouted.

Dorfo sighed. "...Razorwire never fought a battle in his life!"

"That then," Bordo said. "This now. I fought many battles since leaving Shire."

That was then. This is now. A rather good way to describe Dorfo's situation as well, but the hobbit pushed that thought away. "Battles against what? Pipe weed? You – "

Shouts from outside the cave interrupted the two glaring hobbits.

"What that?" Bordo said softly, eyeing the cave entrance. "Stay here." Before Dorfo could even blink, Bordo had drawn a short sword from his back. A sword. Dorfo hadn't even noticed he was wearing one. A hobbit wearing a sword. By the time Dorfo did manage to blink, Bordo was rushing toward the mouth of the cave, the scarred Gondorian soldier following closely. Bordo Baggins, rushing off to battle. A hobbit. With a sword. Madness!

----------

"Give me the horse."

"No! I'm tired of being terrorized by monsters who want to steal our horses!"

"Not acceptable."

Armor's gauntleted fist connected with the side of the foolish man's head, knocking him cold. While the man's family rushed to his aid, Armor strode over to their last remaining horse, gathered up the reins, and continued eastward.

And that is how to effeciently steal a horse.

----------

Upon tracking Overhill to a large cave near the border of Gondor, Spanky realized he needed a plan. And he came up with one. Really, he did. A good one. Unfortunately, with the unwanted help of that godforsaken horse, the plan had quickly become "charge blindly into the cave with no plan of escape."

That godforsaken, bloody horse. It was as if he was being punished for stealing it in the first place. The trouble began as soon as the family had gotten out of sight and a soaking wet, very angry Spanky tried to get on his new horse. Moments later, he was lying facedown in the mud, the horse looking down at him quizzically.

At that point, Spanky began to miss Sauron's pet oliphaunt immensely.

Spanky eventually did manage to mount the horse, and the rain eventually did stop. They rode nonstop the entire next day, and reached the cave just as the sun was sinking below the western horizon. The ride had been far from fun; balrogs were simply not built for long journeys on horseback. Nor were horses built for long journeys with balrogs (not even unusually small balrogs) on their back, for that matter, which may have explained why the horse was in such a sour mood upon reaching the cave.

"Easy, boy," Spanky said soothingly to the damn horse. They were camped out of sight of the cave, in a small expanse of trees. The rain had finally stopped, to Spanky's great relief, and the sun was almost completely below the horizon. "We have to be quiet while I think of a plan to get Overhill out of that cave."

The horse snorted. Spanky snorted back.

And so Spanky formulated his plan. It was quite devious, he thought; well devised and with a high rate of success.

A few moments later, he was ready. The balrog walked over to his horse, put one clawed foot in the stirrup, and everything suddenly went wrong.

Spanky had had no difficulties riding the horse previously for one simple reason: it had been raining. Now that the rain had stopped, Spanky's skin had caught fire again. The balrog had absolutely no problem with this, but the horse's reaction was far from thrilled when a flaming foot brushed against its side.

It bolted. Toward the cave.

"Stop!" Spanky half-shouted, half-whispered. The horse did not stop, of course. Grunting, Spanky took off after it as quietly as he could. "This is not party of the bloody plan!" he muttered.

Spanky had long legs, but balrogs were not known for speed. The horse, in its confusion, was nearly to the cave. When the first men started coming out of the cave to investigate the noise, Spanky found himself halfway between the forest and the cave, in clear view of the men.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he murmured, skidding to a halt. The trees were too far away, now, and the men were too close. Their eyes were already widening as they looked in Spanky's direction.

Sighing, he drew his father's sword. The men – there were three of them standing there, now – drew theirs, albeit a bit unsteadily. They were obviously afraid, after facing the Dark Lord of Mordor less than two days ago. Still, there were too many of them. Spanky would have his work cut out for him.

"I'm coming for you, Overhill," he said softly as he broke into a run toward the cave. "That bloody horse!" Leaves rustled beneath his feet. Some caught fire.

----------

Dorfo was still tied to the chair. Try as he might, he could not loosen the knots that bound his wrists to his waist, let alone the ones that held his ankles to the chair.

"Bordo!" he called. Well, "pleaded" was a more appropriate word. "Please come back here and untie me! Bordo!" More men were filing out of the cave, and more shouts were coming from outside. "Bordo? ...Razorwire?"

As if that ridiculous name summoned him, Bordo came trotting into the cave, sword in hand and face wearing a mask of terror. The warrior halfling ran straight to Dorfo and began loosening his bonds.

"Have to leave! Have to hide!" he said breathlessly. The last of the knots came free and Dorfo stood, shrugging the ropes off. "We hold him off. You hide!"

Dorfo hesitated, and Bordo shoved him toward the inner tunnel of the cave. "Now!" Without another word, the general took off toward the cave's mouth.

Dorfo began to slink back into the shadows. It was habit, after all. That was how he had managed to survive the journey to Mordor – pure, unabashed cowardice. Granted, he had gained a good amount of courage during his adventures with Sauron, but the old Dorfo still managed to break out occasionally.

Suddenly, Dorfo froze. Coming into view at the cave's opening was a tall figure, seemingly on fire from head to toe. He held a sword that was longer than he was, and danced between attacks much more quickly than Dorfo would have believed possible. All the while, he was shouting some nonsense at the guards about a "bloody horse".

Dorfo took a couple of steps toward the fighting. "Spanky! Spanky, I'm back here!"

The balrog apparently did not hear him. He ducked a chest-high slice from one of the Gondorians, pivoted, and kicked the man in the stomach. "Stupid, worthless horse!" Another man came at him from behind, but Spanky's fist came around and caught the man's chin. "I should never have taken it!" Two more men got too close to Spanky, and ran screaming when their clothing caught fire. "Bloody horse!"

That left five more men. They stayed back a few steps, none of them willing to make the first move. Spanky stared at them, snarling. "Where is Overhill?" They looked at each other, confused. "Where is he?"

Bordo rocketed out of the cave and slammed into Spanky, his sword a flurry of movement. Spanky, caught off guard, was pushed backward. His sword, over twice as long as Bordo himself, barely managed to parry the little hobbit's swipes and thrusts. "He not yours, demon. Leave or die!"

For the first time, Dorfo really believed that Bordo was a soldier. The hobbit was fighting – one on one – with a balrog. And he was winning. Granted, Spanky was tired, and no doubt shocked to have found another hobbit, but still... No wonder all these Gondorians follow him. Sauron was lucky Bordo was not present at Isengard.

Spanky danced back a few more steps, then pressed his own attack on the hobbit. Bordo parried the balrog's attacks, but Dorfo could tell he was already beginning to tire. No hobbit, regardless of skill, could withstand a balrog's attacks for long.

"Where is Overhill?" Spanky asked in mid-thrust.

"There no Overhill." Bordo grunted, his own sword a blur. "But you not take Dorfo! Not take friend!"

Spanky hesitated. "Dorfo? Dorfo Sackville-Baggins?" The balrog's next swipe knocked the sword from an exhausted Bordo's hand. Spanky's smoldering hand shot out and grabbed Bordo's throat. "Where?"

Dorfo took a very quiet, very cautious step backward.

Bordo said nothing, and Spanky released his grip. While the hobbit massaged his very warm neck, Spanky turned and strode into the cave.

This is not good, Dorfo thought. As Overhill, he was good friends with Spanky. Comrades. Partners. But as Dorfo Sackville-Baggins, they were enemies. Spanky blamed Dorfo for the death of his father, and the balrog's main goal in life was to kill the one responsible.

Spanky saw him before he could slink into the shadows. The balrog sheathed his sword and ran toward him. Dorfo tensed.

"Overhill! You are alive!" he roared, his face all smile. Dorfo let out a very large breath.

"Dorfo! Run!" Bordo was limping toward them, sword in hand and a grimace on his face. "Run!"

Spanky looked at Bordo. He looked at Dorfo. "Overhill?" His expression darkened. "Dorfo?"

Dorfo took a step back. "Spanky, I can explain. It was all an accident! An acci - "

"You killed my father!" Spanky roared, flames leaping about him. "You pretended to be my friend! All this time! You...you murderer!"

Spanky advanced on Dorfo, anger feeding his flames. Dorfo swallowed. He needed some sort of distraction.

He got one.

----------

"Bloody horse!"

Grunting, Armor dismounted and drew his sword. The cave was just ahead. He would deal with the traitors quickly, and then return to Sauron's side and help recapture the Two Ring. Yes. This foolishness would end quickly.

Red cloak flapping in the wind, the Neo-Nazgul strode confidently toward the mouth of the cave.

----------

Spanky was livid. He had been searching for Sackville-Baggins for months, and finally – finally – he had found him. The fact that Spanky had been friends with the hobbit during the last leg of his journey did nothing to suppress his rage. In fact, it only made him angrier. Spanky had trusted him. Trusted! No matter. He would finally have revenge on the group who killed his father. He – and his father – could finally rest in peace.

While Spanky held the tip of his sword at Dorfo's throat, the cornered hobbit's wide-eyed gaze suddenly shifted behind and to the left of Spanky.

"Spanky! Look out!"

Spanky did not turn. I thought you were smarter than that, Dorfo.

"I am not a fool, Dorfo," Spanky said. His sword crept closer to Dorfo's throat. His hand trembled. Could he do it? Could he kill this halfling in cold blood? I have to! My father is dead because of him!

Dorfo, backed as tightly against the cave's inner wall as possible, kept his bulging eyeballs locked to the left and behind Spanky. What the devil is he looking at? The balrog couldn't help it; his curiosity got the best of him. Still pointing the sword at Dorfo's throat, he turned and...

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...Dorfo watched as an armored hand backhanded Spanky in the face, sending him staggering sideways. Ignoring Dorfo, the dark figure raised his sword and lunged at the still reeling balrog.

I have to help him! Dorfo thought. The thought nearly caused him to burst out in laughter. He tried to kill me and I have to help him! Dorfo unglued himself from the cave wall and leapt at the armored figure's backside.

I'm bloody insane!

Dorfo latched on to the figure's back and went for his throat. That is, he went for where the throat should have been. Too late, he realized that the figure did not have a throat. The head was not even connected to the body! The hobbit's hands flailed through the air between chest and head. He grabbed on to the Neo-Nazgul's – he was sure that was what it was – shoulders and held on for dear life. But why was it attacking them? Sauron, Dorfo, and Spanky were allies! They were on the same bloody side!

As Spanky reeled, Dorfo held on for dear life while the Neo-Nazgul tried to shake him off his back. Sauron's creation clawed at Dorfo, but the hobbit was positioned in a way that kept him out of reach of any harm. And that was the position he planned to remain in. Besides, he had to keep the Neo-Nazgul occupied while Spanky recovered himself. So he can kill this thing. And then kill me. Despite the gloomy situation, Dorfo thought he could reason with his friend. He had a better chance of reasoning with Spanky than with the Neo-Nazgul, at least.

Dorfo was about to lose his grip when Bordo entered the battle. The grizzled hobbit crashed into the Neo-Nazgul's legs, his sword point driving into its left thigh. The Neo-Nazgul staggered back, and Dorfo took this opportunity to release his grip and fall to the cave floor. He crawled back to where Bordo and Spanky knelt.

"Dorfo? You okay?" Bordo said quickly, eyeing the hobbit.

"I'm fine, Bor – Razorwire." Bordo had earned the right to be called that.

Bordo smiled, but the smile faded quickly when he looked over at the other side of the cave. The Neo-Nazgul was slowly rising, sword once again in hand.

"Dorfo."

The hobbit jumped at the sound of Spanky's voice. The balrog was standing, his sword aimed at the Neo-Nazgul. His voice was emotionless as he spoke. "Get out, Dorfo. You and Bordo or Razorwire or whatever his name is. This is my fight."

Dorfo hesitated. "So that's it? You're not going to kill me?"

"I did not say that, Dorfo." Spanky still looked angry enough to run him through where he stood. "But I will not let anyone else kill you. If you die, it will be at my hand. To avenge my father. That is the only reason." The balrog glanced at the Neo-Nazgul, who was inching toward Spanky. "Go now. Go!"

Dorfo really had no choice. He knew he was a coward. Embracing it, he picked up his pack and darted for the cave entrance. Bordo was not far behind. The hobbits would return to Sauron. He would help them talk sense into Spanky, or deal with the Neo-Nazgul. If Spanky does not survive, that is.

"I hope he survives," Dorfo muttered as he ran away from the sound of clashing swords. "I hope he does."

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The Two Ring stood atop the grassy hill.

It was time. No more running. He had been pursued for too long. Well, no more. He would make his stand here, and he would crush his pursuers. And then he would be free. Forever free.

The Two Ring stood atop the grassy hill, watching Sauron and his small army approach.