In An Age Before – Part 262
Author's Warning: This chapter presents a tale of darkness, of degradation and corruption, and some may find parts of it disturbing. This is my forewarning: if a reader feels that they should stop reading because the content makes them uncomfortable, then I would encourage them to do so. I believe this chapter earns its M rating.
"Sauron and the Tale of Zôrîphêl" encompasses Parts 261 and 262, (two weeks of updates). I have prefaced both with this warning. This update is relatively short, but no less dark.
In the depths of the fortress far 'neath the guest quarters of Princess Zôrîphêl lay the Ravishing Halls and rutting grounds of the Yrch, and thither also were a few dismal cells for the occasional prisoner that Sauron deigned to keep alive 'til their usefulness expired. 'Twas to one of these that Khamûl led his master, though indeed but one cell was occupied at present. The door stood ajar and they entered to view the captive that Khamûl had conveyed from Minas Morgul a dozen years aforetime. 'Twas then 2073.
Immediately they were struck by the stench of excrement and unwashed flesh. The prisoner's dung lay heaped 'twixt his manacled feet whilst a puddle of his urine spread 'cross the floor. Vomit crusted the front of his torso as if his meals had sometimes disagreed. He was constrained naked against a wall by a steel collar 'round his neck and iron cuffs at the wrists, ankles, and well-spread knees.
The prisoner was a Man of Gondor, a Dúnadan of high birth, now somewhat the worse for his years of thralldom. 'Twas readily apparent that he had not been eating well, for his ribs showed through the skin of his chest and the joints of his knees and elbows were grotesquely knobby protuberances that punctuated his emaciated limbs. The rims of his pelvis flared from his sunken flanks. What could be seen of his face 'neath the restraining collar, leather headstall, and wooden bit that stifled any complaint he might have voiced was stark, with sunken eyes, and hollow cheeks revealing the shape of his skull. Surprising to none, his hair had thinned and there were gaps in his mouth from lost teeth. His skin was dry and blotched with bruises and abrasions that were slow to heal. By any estimation, he was a sorry sight.
"Ahhh, I see our prisoner is looking well," Sauron commented, and e'er agreeable, Khamûl, (who could not really see him clearly), sniffed and nodded his empty hood in agreement.
An Orch had been performing his duties attending the captive, but with the appearance of his master and his master's terrifying servant, he was torn 'twixt prostrating himself on the filthy cell floor and continuing his task as ordered lest he exceed his allotted time. In the end, he bowed his head to the ground, then raised a bucket of scummy water and slung it at the prisoner's feet to wash away, (or at least dilute), some of the filth. Sauron shooed him hence with a dismissive gesture and the Orch fled with relief. Sauron and Khamûl watched him go and then the Dark Lord chuckled in cruel anticipation.
"Has his lordship's masseuse been summoned?" he asked. "I would witness his sincerest contribution to my efforts."
"His arrival follows the prisoner's bath," the Nazgûl said, humorless.
Shortly, one of the breeding managers appeared, standing hesitantly in the doorway as he eyed the captive's visitors.
"Come in, come in, we haven't all day," Sauron cajoled, the grin on the lips of his meat suit utterly terrifying. "We would see the performance of thine art."
"Yes, my master," the Orch said, bowing deeply to Sauron, and then to the Ringwraith.
Now the Orc approached the Man with a grin on his face, an empty mug in one hand and a dish of slugs in the other. These he set down on the floor at the prisoner's feet. Then he liberally anointed the two longest fingers of his left hand with slime from the slugs and leered up at the captive.
"All ready for thy daily milking then, m'lord?" he chuckled with evil intent.
The Man seemed to take notice of him at last, for he struggled against his manacles and gave muffled cries of protest though his jaw was bound tight shut.
"Still shy after all this time are we?" the breeding manager taunted. "No need for prudery, we are all friends here."
And with that, he forced his two slimy fingers deeply up into the prisoner's body and began roughly massaging his gland. The Man struggled all the harder, the Orch chortled with glee, and Sauron grinned. Having no longer a face, Khamûl offered no expression at all.
Now despite his wordless protestations, the breeding manager knew his business and coaxed a grudging engorgement from the captive. This he seized, (after palming a couple of the slugs), and then subjected to a vigorous stroking with his right hand, all the while keeping up a string of verbal encouragements.
"There we go, stud, e'eryone knows thou crave it a wee bit rough. We can tell by how ready thou art each day, aye, ready as a racehorse, hehehe. Ne'er dost thou fail to offer up thy due," he said as he continued his ministrations. "Now let us get thy sack hoisted up tight."
Indeed, though the prisoner tried his utmost to quash his reaction, 'twas obvious to him from many failures that he could not resist. He tried to dismiss his increasing arousal, the rising pressure low in his belly, and the throbbing in his phallus, but all his efforts were futile and yet again, his body betrayed him in the end. The breeding manager knew from long years of experience just when a reluctant stud would ejaculate and he snatched up the mug just in time to catch the copious spurts he had coaxed from the thrall. As tears leaked from the prisoner's eyes at his humiliation, the Orch stroked his shaft and slapped the rim of the mug with it a few times to add the last drops of his offering ere releasing him so that he drooped.
"Well done, pony," the Orc praised, "I knew thou wouldst surrender thy seed. E'er dost thou want to, and 'tis no shame to need my aid. Now be ready and full ere our date on the morrow."
The Orch brought the mug o'er for Sauron's approval and at a nod from his master, added, "'Tis a bit more than usual. Perhaps thy presence excites him?"
"Perhaps so," Sauron replied in a distracted manner, his attention on the thrall.
The Orch took the hint from his disinterest and withdrew from the cell with his precious mug of milt. T'would soon fertilize a select 'sow' in the separate chamber that his master had set aside for trials to enhance his Yrch.
Now Sauron and Khamûl came to stand before the captive who hung slack in his restraints with head bowed, sobbing and hitching in his shame. The Lord of Forced Pleasures lifted the Man's chin so their eyes met and chuckled as he saw him shrink back in horror.
"Feel not the lesser, for none can resist when in their heart they yearn to obey," the Dark Lord said. "'Tis a gift that we give to thee and thy house. What thou failed to do for thy people I shall do for mine, and thou shalt sire many doughty warriors, Azrasapthân¹."¹(Azrasapthân, Sea Expert (Oceanographer/Mariner) = azra(sea) + sapthân(wise man, wizard) Adûnaic equivalent of Quenya Eärnur, Ocean Studier (Oceanographer/Mariner) = earen(ocean) + -ndur(agent in names suff, expert of) Shortened form of Eärendur.)
He and Khamûl left the dungeon, closing the door of the cell behind them on the piteous weeping of the last King of Gondor.
"He is not presentable thus," Sauron remarked some years later as they ascended the stairs after another performance. "Pray feed him better meats and perhaps some fruits as well. He is unfit to mate a proper lady and I would not subject her to such a wretch."
Khamûl nodded his empty hood and turned to convey his master's orders, but Sauron stayed him a moment longer, saying, "Rotten is his mouth and unsound are his teeth. Pray have them all knocked out and replaced with steel." 'Twas then 2078.
Now though it took three years' time, all that Sauron commanded was done. By 2081, Eärnur son of Eärnil looked more himself, save of course for the shovel-shaped steel teeth that populated his jaws and the golden Ring with its stone of carnelian hanging from the septum in his nose as if he were a barnyard bull. Though it had been thirty-one years since he had disappeared in Imlad Morgul, he looked not a day o'er thirty, and at a glance appeared much as he had in 1958.
There were differences, of course. He was led from the dungeon by two Orkish gaolers, each controlling one end of an eight-foot steel pole, in the center of which was affixed the steel collar locked 'round his neck. Though his body had mostly recovered from his starvation and appeared akin to how it had looked long ere he had been taken captive, there was a broken and haunted look in his eyes and he no longer evinced the self-assurance of a Man bred to rule. The years of pain, humiliation, and subjugation had taken their toll on his spirit. He paid no heed now to his nakedness, or to the wrist manacles and chastity cage that were hinged to the brass belt he wore. The headstall and wooden bit remained for safety's sake. So diminished was his self-esteem that he no longer wept from shame when his gaolers demeaned him. Such had become the trappings of his life. Now he surrendered his seed each day with only a soft whimper of release.
They brought him to the guest quarters, and after releasing the lock, Sauron rapped on the door.
"Enter," came a call from within, and the meat suit pushed open the door. He beckoned the gaolers to follow and they delivered their captive into Lady Zôrîphêl's sitting room. Trailing them at a discreet half-dozen paces was the breeding manager with a dish of slugs.
Upon the divan before the hearth sat the princess in a flowing gown of burgundy silk, a book of poetry in her hands and a goblet of wine upon an accent table at her side. She set down the tome and rose to greet her guests.
"My Lord Sauron," she gushed, bowing and then stepping forward to kiss the cheek of his meat suit. "Lord Khamûl," she offered with a dip of her head. The Ringwraith acknowledged her with a shallow bow. Then she turned to the prisoner, eyeing him up and down, and asked, "And who is our distinguished guest?"
"Allow me to present a proven stud who craves to donate his seed in hope of advancing the fortunes of thy people," Sauron said, gesturing to the captive. Then he elaborated, saying sotto voce, "He hath sired many of the new Yrch, and though he requires aid to perform, I reckon he shall offer thee satisfaction in the end."
The lady snorted a doubtful laugh at his report and walked o'er to examine the prisoner. The gaolers lowered the steel pipe so he was forced to crouch as she took her liberties, running her hands o'er his flesh and even squeezing the sides of his face to force open his mouth so she could check his teeth. She seemed unfazed by his steel dentures, but grasped his tongue 'twixt two fingers and stretched it out to judge its length. She smirked at that, but o'erall, had taken his measure as would a horse trader at a livestock auction.
Zôrîphêl glanced down at the chastity cage and then to Sauron who nodded to the breeding manager. The Orch came forth and produced a key. He opened the lock and removed the cage for the lady's continued appraisal of the prisoner's potential.
"He may suffice, if he hath the proper pedigree, my lord," she finally said after her inspection. She cast a questioning glance to the meat suit.
"Unlike thee, he carries the blood of the lesser house of Andúnië, my lady," Sauron admitted with a wince, marking Zôrîphêl's expression of disapproval, "yet he was once King of Gondor."
"A Usurper? An abjurationist? A traitor?"
"Alas so, my lady, yet he is still a high born Adûna, still a Númenórean of a lordly house, and in these latter days there are so few who carry the true blood royal," Sauron said apologetically. "'Tis the best that we could do."
The lady was shaking her head in disapproval at the prospect, but finally she looked to Sauron and bowed her head.
"Of course I shall aid thee, my lord," Zôrîphêl said, "yet I must wonder, what value could such offspring offer, tainted in blood as they must be?"
"My princess, I have foreseen that at the fall of Gondor there shall be need for one to stand as embassy that can parlay with, and appeal to, the debased blood of the Faithful. In thine offspring lays the potential to fulfill such a role," Sauron explained, marking that Zôrîphêl's eyes had widened at his claim of prescience.
"Thou hast foreseen…? My lord, thou knows that 'aught I can do to advance the fall of Gondor's pretenders is thine but for the asking," she said. "I would see the true blood of the rightful kings restored and a proper son of Anadûnê as Lord of the Dúnedain. If providing an embassy to achieve that end is possible, then I shall stoop to mating with this son of rebels."
Sauron bowed his head to Zôrîphêl, and in a convincing imitation of sympathy said, "I know 'tis much to ask that thou sully thyself so, my princess, yet as I have said, thou art amongst the few who carry the true blood royal, and this stud is the most pure of his kind. Alas for what the times have come to…" The meat suit shrugged helplessly and shook his head in resignation.
Though the tic of her right eyelid became more pronounced, the lady nodded in commiseration.
"Duty is not always a joyful enterprise, my lord," the princess said, offering the meat suit a grim grin. "Yet I shall do my part…for the Greater Good." Then she turned to the gaolers and the breeding manager, and as her gown slipped to the floor, said, "I bid ye prepare the stud."
Now the gaolers lowered the steel pipe to the floor and stood on it, forcing the stud prone on his back. The breeding manager shoved his knees apart and knelt 'twixt them with his dish of slugs. He anointed his fingers with slime, and then proceeded to insert them and begin his massage. The prisoner groaned, but soon enough his organ jutted towards the ceiling. Zôrîphêl nodded in approval and offered the Orch a smile of thanks. He grunted in acknowledgement and hastened his thrusting. The princess then straddled the prisoner facing his feet so that she was spared from seeing his face, and after his insertion by the breeding manager, commenced to rising and falling by flexing her knees whilst clenching and relaxing inside to milk him of his seed. The meat suit softly tapped his foot in time with their carnal rhythm as Khamûl sniffed the air, trying to perceive the proceedings more clearly.
After barely a minute, the captive groaned and gave up his milt. Zôrîphêl sank deeply onto him 'til his spasms ceased and then stood, cupping herself with a palm and plugging herself with her fingers lest his seed ooze out. She offered Sauron a nod and withdrew to her bed to lie a while with hips elevated to ensure the best effect.
The breeding manager withdrew his fingers. The gaolers raised the steel pipe, forcing the prisoner to his feet and at a gesture of dismissal from the meat suit; the conjugal attendants led the stud from the sitting room and returned him to his cell in the dungeon.
"I reckon that went as well as could be expected," Sauron remarked to his Nazgûl, "or at least 'twas quick." Having seen little and only smelt somewhat of the activities, Khamûl could but nod in agreement.
"Shall these arrangements be repeated for a time?" the Ringwraith asked a while later.
"Aye, for two months to be sure it takes," Sauron decided after reviewing the practices of animal husbandry for mortal Men. "Pray make the arrangements, my loyal servant."
E'er agreeable, Khamûl nodded 'aye', then bowed and withdrew to convey the master's orders to the breeding manager. Sauron lingered a while, savoring the advancement of his scheme, but finally he too took his leave. He had new litters of Yrch to inspect and some had begun to appear promising of late.
As Sauron had commanded, the breeding of Zôrîphêl and Eärnur continued daily for eight weeks, even after the princess informed him that her cycle had ceased a week ere the end. She was well convinced by then that she was with child, though 'twas too early for morning sickness. Still, she persevered, though after the first week, she had gotten the breeding manager to shroud the stud's body 'neath a sheet so that only his organ protruded through to make the encounters less visually repugnant. She was only too happy when the four fortnights were finished.
Within another month the morning sickness was regular and having experienced the process many times, Zôrîphêl was certain that she was pregnant. This indeed became evident as her belly expanded, and after three seasons, she gave birth to a healthy son. Rather than being forced to nurse a child of mixed blood, Sauron ordered that he be suckled by Yrch 'sows' and bitch Wargs. The child seemed to favor the milk of the Wargs and shared teats with litters of pups. The princess took little interest in him, seeing her child only infrequently. She ne'er even bothered to give him a name.
But Sauron paid him much heed indeed and spared no effort in his tutelage. As he had with Prince Adûnathôr seven and a half centuries aforetime, the Dark Lord impressed upon him his heritage, son of the blood royal of Númenor. He was the sixth-generation descendant of the illegitimate son of Ar-Pharazón and a lady of the royal house, born out of wedlock after Tar-Míriel made it clear that she would not accept her first cousin the king in her bed. The last King of Anadûnê had made no plans to acknowledge his son as heir to the throne, for he had expected to live and rule fore'er. Ere the king's armada sailed to its doom, his son and many others of the King's Men had come to the strongholds of Umbar and the realm of the Azūladathâni.
As he grew to manhood, Zôrîphêl and Eärnur's son learnt many tongues and was indoctrinated with the knowledge of Númenor and the quest to reclaim its glory. When he turned twenty-one, a Ring was pierced through his nose and his teeth were knocked out so that steel replacements could be implanted, just like his father whom he ne'er met. He eventually earned a position as the Dark Lord's herald, proclaiming his orders to the denizens of the fortress beside the Sea of Rhûn. During the years after, he continued to learn of sorcery and cruelty, and to rise in the esteem of his master. So passed the years of the last millennium of the Third Age.
Now somewhat must be told of the experience of the once King Eärnur, yet so sordid was his tale that what few hints of it as e'er came to Gondor were suppressed by order of the Stewards.
Knocked unconscious and taken captive during his combat with the Witch King in 2050, Eärnur remained at first constrained in the dungeons of Minas Morgul, a prisoner of Tindomul Nazgûl who seemed to hold some grudge against him. For much of that time, he must have been unconscious, beaten, bespelled, and hanging chained to a wall. At those times when he was conscious, the ex-king marked that he had lost perhaps three stone in weight and several teeth. He could remember losing none of either, and so guessed that many years had passed.
Tindomul did indeed bear a grudge against the last King of Gondor. Having been the son of the twelveth King of Númenor, Phazân¹ Murazor felt himself more deserving of a throne than any mixed-blood son of Andúnië. Wroth at heart he was that his master had forbidden him from destroying his defeated enemy. ¹(Phazân, Prince though not necessarily the king's heir. Adûnaic)
For a decade, the Lord of the Nazgûl abided Sauron's commands, and then at the end of 2060, Khamûl came to him with orders that he was to bring the fallen king to the new fortress by the Sea of Rhûn. The Black Easterling intimated that the Man was required for some breeding program to enhance the Yrch; perhaps even to render them unaffected by sunlight. They had shared gargling chuckles at the expected demeaning of the Lord of the Southern Dúnedain and at last, Tindomul had felt a shred of vindication. 'Twas also then mid-winter and the Man might take a chill during the journey and die anyway. One could hope.
Whate'er spell the wraith had used to keep him unconscious seemed to be lifted once Eärnur arrived at the fortress by the sea. He had seen 'naught of the site, but if there was 'aught that he knew from a lifetime spent in Gondor and the voyage to Eriador, 'twas the scent of the ocean. He smelt it on the air in his new prison, though he suspected that 'twas in Harad, somewhere on the coast south of Umbar. More than that, he knew not nor discovered after.
Being mostly conscious merely conferred an increase in suffering. Eärnur found the conditions atrocious, though probably no worse than what he had endured in Minas Morgul. He was simply aware of them on a daily basis now. He was constantly restrained, starved, and beaten. Worse than the physical conditions or the food that he only choked down when starving, (and threw up as oft as not), was the intolerable violation of his body and the dwindling of his spirit.
Having ne'er truly been interested in romance, (or sex either if he was honest), what he was subjected to was a nightmare. Romance was the furthest thing from his reality and even the notion of it existed not in his world. What they inflicted upon him was not really even sex, for he had no partners and there was no reciprocity, only the taunting Yrch that handled him like meat. He had no choice in any of it, could not even protest against it, yet though he loathed their touch, on each day they forced the reaction of his body as though he felt lust, provoked his arousal as though 'twas some desire he hid, and drove him to orgasm wholly against his will. He had spent a lifetime training his body for war, yet he failed e'ery day to control even this animal reaction. Day after day, his body betrayed him and failure, which had been foreign to him aforetime, became his regular experience. From the day he had lost his duel with the Witch King, he had been taught where he truly stood.
Eventually, he passed from astonished and furious, to doubtful. Perhaps they knew something about him that his own experiences were too sparse to understand. Perhaps in some corner of his spirit that he had buried, he longed for any touch, any source of arousal, and was too base to care whence it came. Perhaps he secretly wanted this.
In the end, after a decade of such conditioning, he accepted that he was dirty, deserved what he seemed to crave, and abandoned the esteem that he had been born to and that he had cultivated through each day of freedom in his past life. He was simply meat, breeding stock, 'naught more than a stud who gave up his seed for a hand-stroking by a loathsome enemy, indiscriminate in his shameful acceptance of stimulation, and no better than the Yrch who passed for his lovers. The Man who had been Eärnur came to believe that this was all that he was good for and all that he deserved. Eventually he just felt numb and the molestation came and went in a haze as if 'twas visited upon someone else. He ne'er even thought to wonder what they did with his seed.
"No pride, no shame. Give your body what it needs," the meat suit had whispered in his ear. After a score years of daily abuse, he had listened.
The once King of Gondor had marked that his fare had been better for the last couple of years and he had recovered much of his weight. Then they had taken him and with a foul draught that burnt its way down his throat, rendered him senseless for surgery. He had awakened to a metallic taste and found that his teeth no longer occluded properly, but rather gnashed and ground when he tried to chew. Soon enough, Eärnur marked that a Ring was set in the septum 'twixt his nostrils as if he were a head of cattle. For all that, he soon felt stronger and more vigorous than he had in decades. He understood none of it, having assumed from the start that they would soon put him to death.
Now in 2081, a pair of gaolers came and clamped his collar to a steel pipe. They affixed his wrist manacles to a brass belt and fitted him with a chastity cage. Then the gaolers dragged him from his cell and up many flights of stairs. During that climb, Sauron and Khamûl joined them. High in the tower they came to the door of some apartment wherein perhaps his death waited at last. He cared not, for he had long ago been broken and hopelessness was his closest companion.
At a call from within, Sauron opened the door, and lo, rising to meet them was a woman, haughty of glance, possessed of great beauty, and vaguely familiar. Eärnur wracked his brain trying to recall whither he knew her from, but his memory was dull and his mind foggy. Hazy images of her in black armor came slowly to him, and the sight of her wielding a sword with unnatural grace. She wore no armor now, nor bore arms. Was she another kind of wraith? He was unsure. It seemed that she esteemed Sauron and would do his bidding. Perhaps she was an ally? If so, then from what realm?
Words she exchanged with the meat suit, all spoken in Adûnaic, a tongue he barely knew. What little he could comprehend seemed an appraisal of him, an impression reinforced when she examined his body, even his teeth. She was close to him then and he looked into her face. For some reason, he felt that her eyes were wrong. Then he was forced onto his back by his gaolers and the lady was naked. The Orch knelt 'twixt his spread legs and the stimulation began.
Born in T.A. 1928, Eärnur was then one hundred fifty-three years of age. Due to his disinterest in sex and his preoccupations with war, he had ne'er been intimate with a woman. Sauron's beautiful whore, (as he had come to think of her), squatted o'er him and the Orch guided his shaft into her body. The sensations astonished him, a tight sheath, heated and slick, with wet, velvety walls that clutched at him as they stroked up and down. He grew harder than he thought possible and almost immediately gave up his seed. Then she rose from him and walked away, ne'er giving him a second look.
To Eärnur the feelings were a revelation, and with the eagerness of a puppy, he craved to engage with her again. That fantasy came true upon the following day when his gaolers came and brought him to the lady's apartment. Ere he passed her door, he was throbbing inside his cage. The act lasted no longer, nor was there any more personal interaction than aforetime, yet the prisoner may actually have enjoyed it, though due to his lack of prior experience, he was not sure. During the following days, the encounter was repeated and for the first time, Eärnur fantasized about the acts after being returned to his cell. He found that the result was self-induced arousal, a thing wholly unfamiliar to him. With each day that passed, he was becoming more and more enamored of the nameless woman he was forced to service.
Now his behavior and his reactions whilst alone in his cell became known to Sauron, and e'er one to make of any circumstance an advantage if he might, the Lord of Lies essayed to capitalize on his captive's desires. The spell was simple and required little effort on his part, for none can resist when in their heart they yearn to obey. Eärnur visited her in his dreams now and found her eager and pliant, and the fallen king dreamt of giving up his seed to her whilst lying atop her naked body. Yet when he stared at her and actually tried to thrust up into her from underneath, she ordered him draped in a sheet so that neither he nor she saw 'aught of the other and the act was depersonalized.
As a goad to his fantasies this became, and when after two months the lady was sated, her womb successfully fertilized, and the visits ceased, in Eärnur's mind, their trysts continued. Each day he came to her and each day gave up his seed to her in increasingly vigorous acts that moved from the floor of her sitting room to the intimacy of her bedchamber. Soon enough, he believed that she had begged his company and he had been liberated to become her consort. They abode together in her apartment and made love for many hours each day. After all of his suffering as a captive, for the first time in decades, he was happy.
Sauron and Khamûl watched the rutting chamber as the unfettered stud who had once been King Eärnur ardently serviced 'sow' after 'sow' and ne'er aforetime had the Dark Lord employed one so eager or so productive. Litter after litter was born of his Dúnadan seed. As the years passed, each generation of offspring became more and more manlike, taller, stronger, and able to withstand the sun a bit more easily than their predecessors did. Some of these 'half-Orcs' were eventually sent abroad as spies or provocateurs. 'Twas a coup of the very first order and Sauron imagined his master's praise in advancing the perfection of the race of Yrch.
Here ends the tale of Eärnur son of Eärnil, the bespelled and deluded thirty-third and last King of Gondor. To this day, he may still be tirelessly impregnating Yrch 'sows' in a dismal resort by the Sea of Rhûn, and in his fantasy, counting it a paradise. In his broken mind's eye, each of them is his perfect lover, beautiful, haughty, and just as lustful as he, thereby proving the old adage that 'beauty lies foremost in the eye of the beholder'.
Now centuries passed and Sauron healed, and 'nigh four centuries after being driven hence, the Dark Lord returned to Dol Guldur in T.A. 2460, for he had still a Ring to find. More incredibly, exactly four centuries after Sauron had been driven from Dol Guldur, the One Ring was found, though that event did not become known for 'nigh on another five and a half centuries. So whilst Gorthaur sought the One Ring on the eastern banks of Anduin, 'twas on the western bank that his precious was discovered by a murderous Stoor.
To Be Continued
Guest: Thanks for your review. I'm glad that "In An Age Before" continues to hold your interest. Well, you guessed right, Eärnur's fate was royally wretched. The 'Tale of Zôrîphêl' is a compendium of degradation gleefully presided over by Sauron. He treated his willing ally Zôrîphêl/Berúthiel no better than his defeated enemy Eärnur. Though both characters were flawed, they really didn't deserve what happened to them. Stay tuned.