Follow the North Star

By Leaflette

Summary: Two slaves drown in a swollen river in an attempt to outrun their master as they escape to the North. The world does not change. Life goes on. Two slaves appear in Middle Earth. The world changes.

Notes: I don't own LOTR. Duh. And…this is a weird-ass prologue. Stick with me, please. A bit gruesome, too.

Prologue.

Master Charles Gregory is a good-hearted, well-bred, nice-eyed, fine-combed soul.

Before he sets out with the dogs, he gives them each a pat on the head. He makes sure that their chains are not too tightly tied. He even feeds them a scrap of meat left from the breakfast meal. And the dogs love him—they practically worship the ground he walks on, in their own canine way. They bounce up and down, eager, waiting in incredible anticipation as he takes them by their leashes and goes on a stroll.

He walks through the forest on a familiar path. He smells the air—ah, it rained last night. Good. Good. The scent is sweet and fresh. It is a good morning for him. It will be…an easy morning for him. The dogs' noses are flat against the grown, white teeth sharp and bared, growls in their chests and throats. They are hungry. Other than the scraps this morning, they have not been fed for several days. But Master has his reasons, doesn't he?

Birds sing. Crickets chirp. The sun is just beginning to rise. There is a soft breeze to be deeply valued—soon it will be unbearably hot. Another inhalation of air. He feels the ground beneath his feet, and it is soft and muddy. He sees the tracks. It is too easy.

When they arrive at the river, it is swollen and bulging. It gargles and moans as if in agony from drinking too much rain water. The dogs sniff, the scents gone because of the water. They are disappointed. There will be no hunt today, they think. No hunt, no hunt.

But Master Charles Gregory is very, very pleased. So pleased, in fact, that he begins to laugh—a hearty, almost embarrassing belly laugh that comes from deep inside his well-bred, good-hearted soul.

The slaves, however, are not as amused. They look rather shocked, in all point of fact. The girl is caught in brambles, most of her body hung out of the water. Her eyes are wide and open and full of nothing. Her mouth is parted, as though she is about to sing, but only silence comes from her heart now. The boy has his arms loosely around her—he is stuck in the brambles and branches too, though more of his body is in the shallows. His eyes are eerie and angry. His mouth is closed; the dark irises are vengeful. But there is no vengeance for the dead. And so, Master Charles Gregory laughs. He wishes that it was always like this--for, it is in itself a neverending chain, a circle that turns forever and ever and ever and ever...he owns them, he beats them, they run away, he finds them. He owns them, he beats them, they run away, he finds them.

Always he finds them.

He meanders over to the two Negroes, so desperately dead upon the shores of this river, not three miles from where they ran. He is chuckling still. He pulls out his white handkerchief, drapes it over the head of the girl.

Master Charles Gregory is a gentleman, after all.

He lets the dogs go. They smell the scent, they hunt, they eat, for they are animals and know no better. He turns his back; it is a gruesome sight that no well-bred man should be forced to watch. He is rather pleased with himself—he did not even have to put out a notice for their capture. They were too young, the girl was too stupid and the boy too strong-willed. They are easy to forget.

And they are forgotten.

Will the circle be unbroken?
By and by, Lord…by and by.

There's a better home awaitin'…

In the sky,

Lord…

In the sky.