AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey everyone. Sorry for taking a month to get this out, but as most of you know, life has to come before a story. Expect updates to be more sporadic, but don't assume I'm stopping. If I do end up stopping, I'll give a warning that I won't be continuing. Know that the only ways I'll stop is if I somehow die, I can't think of any ideas, or life just gets in the way too often. Otherwise, just give it some time. I can say that since summer is coming up, and since I'll probably be getting a computer for my house soon, chapters will hopefully come out faster. Enough of me, on with the show!

Black Speech Translations: "Dâgalûr lilvuk!" translates to "Dâgalûr lives!", "Gimb ij pak wôrg dinuk. avonighav, kulknej hunav!" translates to "Find a few warg dens. Tonight, we hunt!", "Lugbúrz" translates to "Dark Tower" (It's Black Speech for 'Barad-Dûr"), "Nalal, nalkren du lat fenle?" translates to "Well, how do you feel?", "Ukick. . . bav difrenk. Jiak fenle auk um Jiak mabaj avhe juliveruke wiavhin alnej." translates to "Sick... but different. I feel as if I hold the universe within me."

Chapter Nine: Seventeen Years

Dâgalûr was once again engulfed in the endless sea of purple, and began to get the same tingles as the first time he entered a portal. His ragged, black cape, tied down by a copper brooch engraved with Sauron's eye, began to drift around in the weightless dimension. His fastened Galvorn plate armor, and the chainmail beneath it, began to clink together as if something was banging softly on it. Unlike the first time he entered one of these rifts, rocks of various shapes and sizes were drifting around in a belt around the area. Suddenly, the rocks began to drift towards one another, until they formed together in one large mass. The mass extended outwards and formed itself into a bridge, and Dâgalûr floated over to it. At the end of the bridge, a wooden door with ornate carvings sprung up, and placed itself directly at the end of the bridge. At the door's center, there was a symbol carved into the wood which resembled the Great Eye. Dâgalûr opened the door, and was sucked into a bright, white void, with a loud, mechanical screech emitting from nowhere.

The low gravity suddenly disappeared, and Dâgalûr began free-falling, still clinging on to his sack. After a few seconds, he was thrown into a grassland and began rolling about like a ragdoll. Once he stopped, he got up and saw that he had been cast from a small, purple rift, much like the ones he had seen in his travels, but it had no frame. It was miniscule compared to the others, and it looked as if it had ripped through all of space and time in order to form. The rift disappeared in the blink of an eye, and Dâgalûr was left to figure out where he was. The grassland he had landed in was blocked by mountains on three sides. The sky was dark orange, mostly blocked out by dark clouds. Massive horses, black as night, were grazing on the grass, which was filled with thorns. Even larger horses, whose eyes glowed red like blood and whose nostrils flared smoke, were also grazing. Massive rhino-like beasts, with single, horizontal, curved horns that formed from a natural head armor of sorts, which he believed to be the Great Beasts of Gorgoroth, were grunting, charging, and banging heads with each other in the distance. Orcs, or at least what he hoped were orcs, tended the larger horses, and tried feeding them fell grains and old hay instead of the brittle grass. The side of the grassland not blocked by mountains bore large, pointed rocks near its border, and beyond there was a massive volcano, smoke rising from its top like a hellish chimney. Dâgalûr knew he was within the Plain of the Black Steeds, in the northeast of Mordor. Dâgalûr made his way to one of the smaller horses, mounted it, tied the opening of his sack to his back with a long, thorn-covered vine, and commanded the steed to ride towards Mt. Doom.

He passed over the border-crags through one of the small gaps in the massive rock-spikes. After a couple hours of riding, Dâgalûr could see the Seregost Road, which connected Mordor to the desolate border in the East. The road lay down a large slope that Dâgalûr would have to be careful not to hurt the horse on. Upon the road were Easterling troops, clad in bronze and gold armor with maroon cloth robes underneath and helmets which bore long, curved metal pieces on top and covered most of their faces, wielding square shields, curved swords, and poleaxes with spear tips.

Their soldiers varied, as they came from every corner of Rhûn; some were tall and fairly tan, some were large and white skinned, and some were even dwarves. Regardless of their appearance, they all marched under small, triangular flags that bore a legendary Eastern dragon. Their horses were also adorned with similar armor, and were arranged in a line five men wide on the road. Dâgalûr rode down the slope, trying to make sure the horse didn't topple over. When he was about halfway down the slope, an Easterling foot soldier took notice. He started to scream and yell in his own tongue, which Dâgalûr had never bothered to learn. A blaring horn sounded near the front of the army, and every soldier stopped dead in his tracks.

Out of the sea of gold, a large man with olive skin, adorned with several jewels, clad in a suit of heavy bronze armor and a pointed helmet with ornate carvings and intricate details, came forward. He wielded a great battleaxe and sat atop a large, brown stallion covered in plates of gold. His voice was deep and intimidating, and he spoke with little emotion or empathy. "Who are you to try and distract the great warriors of the East?" "You all work for Sauron, so you should all know who I am. I am Dâgalûr, the evil-seed, greatest of Mordor's warriors." "Dâgalûr?" The Easterling leader laughed heartily. "That's a funny joke. You should know Dâgalûr is dead." Dâgalûr had to let that sink in. He remembered what he had said to one of his lieutenants back when he had first stumbled upon one of the portals. "If I'm not back in a day, consider me dead." Those last three words rang in his head continuously. "How long has it been?" "It's been about a week since he disappeared. Word spread fast to every corner of the East and South. We were sent here on the Emperor's order to attend the funeral at Barad-Dûr for him." "Take me with you. We're already on a road that leads to Lugbûrz." "Fine, but if you step so much as one toe out of line, I'll have your head."

The same horn as before was sounded, and the soldiers began their march along the road once again. Dâgalûr kicked his stallion in the side, signaling for it to start cantering along next to the troops. After around ten miles had been traversed, the back of the Dark Tower was in sight, its lava moat illuminating its base. Hundreds of thousands of torches were being held up as every Orc in Mordor, of every rank and breed, was surrounding every side of the tower. After the remaining miles had been traveled, Dâgalûr got off his horse, removed the vine tying his sack down, and found that every ally of Mordor had sent an ambassador, emissary, or army to pay respect. As Dâgalûr made his way to the front of the tower, he saw many of his old brothers-in-arms, trainers, and henchmen, including his first weapons trainer, Master Magûkû, and his long-time partner on the battlefield, Rukdug the Archer, who had a metal eyepatch from a previous skirmish. A massive banner was hung up horizontally on the front of Barad-Dûr, fluttering in the wind.

On the bridge leading to the front door of the tower, there was a stone statue of Dâgalûr, its hands on the pommel of the stone sword that pointed downwards. Dâgalûr could make out that there was an orc speaking in front of the statue, most likely for a eulogy. He knew he would have to find a way to get past the crowd to tell them he was still alive and kicking. He started walking up to the crowd, and made his way in. The second one of the orcs saw him, he started shouting "Dâgalûr! Dâgalûr lilvuk!" Every orc nearby started taking notice, and began to cheer and howl at the top of their lungs. The Haradrim joined the orcs in their revelry, but Sauron's other allies stayed out of it.

Dâgalûr reached the stone statue, and began to shout at the top of his lungs, "I live!" Through the wondrous mess of orcs violently shaking and screeching, Dâgalûr could see orcs pushing and shoving each other out of the way to make room for something large that approached Dâgalûr at an alarmingly fast pace. As the last few soldiers moved, He could see that Bolgdyr, his beloved Dire Caragor, was charging straight for him. Bolgdyr pounced on Dâgalûr and began licking his face. Dâgalûr had to actively resist Bolgdyr's advances in order to get up and explain himself. Dâgalûr got to his feet, and the cheers eventually died down, and the soldiers became curious. One of the orcs began to question Dâgalûr on why he had disappeared. "Where in tha name o' tha Dark Lord 'ave ya been?" "In another world, that's where. When I was getting troops to a camp on the far side of Gorgoroth, a lieutenant of mine pointed something out. What he pointed out was some kind of rift. I was taken through, and transported to a universe that can traverse the stars, with weapons more powerful than a thousand swords or arrows. There were creatures of every shape and size, and machines that can talk and walk. I joined the crew of the bravest woman I've ever known: Shepard." Dâgalûr continued on about his journey through the Milky Way, telling stories of frozen wastelands and blue-skinned women. Most of the soldiers who were able to hear the tale were skeptical, but a few believed every word that poured from his mouth.

Dâgalûr then walked up to Barad-Dûr's front door, reached in his sack to find the key he owned, and used it to open it. He began his ascension up the several hundred flights of black, stone stairs leading to the top of the tower, taking his time so he wouldn't exhaust himself. When he reached the top, he used his key again to open the door to the throne room of the Dark Lord. As he opened it, he saw a familiar sight. A gigantic sculpture of Morgoth's helmet, complete with glowing red eyes weeping lava, adorned with Silmaril replicas shining brightly, stood above Sauron's throne, which was adorned with iron blades extending outwards. Next to the throne were two smaller, identical thrones, one on each side, made for the Witch-King and Dâgalûr. Two spiral staircases led to either side of the elevated platform the thrones were upon, and a third small throne sat at the middle of the platform's base. Stone columns held the ceiling up, and a door that led to the balcony overlooking Mount Doom sat on the right side of the room. The entrances to two more rooms were in the far back, one on each wall. Next to Sauron's throne, there was a large stand on the right side for his Palantír, and a fountain of blood with a replica of Barad-Dûr, Sauron's eye glowing orange, on the left. The floor was tiled, and the ceiling was had the same Galvorn and stone pattern as the outside of the tower.

Upon the throne, Sauron, in all his glory, sat, watching Dâgalûr. His form was almost spectral, and gave off a ghostly presence; he looked as if a hand could go straight through him. His form was covered in the same set of blackened, metal armor he had worn during the Second Age, but his right index finger was missing, smoke escaping from the hole. No helmet covered his face, however, and it was handsome and pleasant to look at. He had long, flowing, dark hair, and his eyes shined like amber jewels. He spoke with the same booming, deep voice that had been calling out to Dâgalûr during his journey. "So, you have finally returned from the great voyage." Sauron uttered, his eyes gazing straight into Dâgalûr's frame. He continued on, "I kept trying to tell that rabble down there that you were not dead, and to shut up and get back to work, but they would not listen. For you hath left an undying mark on them all, be it through fear or respect. That was why I chose you, Dâgalûr. You giveth them purpose to fight." Dâgalur nodded.

"Are those damned Nûrzumthrakuk gone? Did you recover what they stole?" Dâgalûr tried to speak, but his voice trembled. He managed to mustered the strength to say "Yes, My Lord. However, there were some… complications." "Such as?" "... I lost the armor sets when the ship I was on crashed." "Those sets were worth mountains of gold, but that is not important right no-" Dâgalûr cut him off, "I did recover the helmets from the sets, though. He untied the sack he had been carrying since the crash and dumped its contents onto the floor, helmet after helmet falling out with a clank. He had to be careful, though, as he didn't want his personal belongings dropping out. "I see. But did you re-obtain my Palantír from those treacherous rats?" "I did, Master." Dâgalûr reached into his sack further, and pulled out the orb that he had found on Rayingri. "THIS is what I wanted!" Dâgalûr accidentally pulled out the pistol that Tali had given him as he rummaged through his sack, and Sauron got a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye. "For what purpose does thy queer contraption serve?" He inquired, in regards to the pistol. "What, this? It's a… souvenir I was given. A token of remembrance from… a good friend." "But does it serve some purpose, or is it a useless trinket?" "Aye, as far as I can tell, it's a weapon of sorts. All I know is that it makes a loud bang and someone dies." Dâgalûr walked up the stairs leading to the thrones and handed the Palantír to Sauron, who placed it on the stand next to his throne. "Excellent. Now, sit upon your throne."

Before he sat, Dâgalûr had to ask some questions. "How long was I gone?" "Roughly a week." "So would that make today the 15th of November, right?" "Aye, it would." Dâgalûr sat down, and began to see how empty the throne room was. Apart from him, Sauron, and the Black Uruk guards at the door, the room was empty. The Mouth of Sauron was standing watch at the Gate of Morannon in the northeast, and the Witch-King guarded over Minas Morgul in the southwest. He tried not to think about it too much, but Dâgalûr felt as empty as the room was. His purpose had crashed with the Normandy. He remembered the good times he'd had with the crew. Garrus and Shepard were just starting to feel like siblings to Dâgalûr. The marksman contests between Garrus's sniper and Dâgalûr's bow were never boring, not even for a minute, and they got even better when the two would break out a few Turian-brandies and Orc-grogs. The kill counts with Garrus and Tali were always amusing, especially when Dâgalûr started using magic to decimate geth. Speaking of Tali, Dâgalûr felt a void had just opened now that she was out of his life. She was always the first one to greet him in the mornings, and the last one to talk with him at night. She had shown more kindness towards him than any orc could ever understand in their cold hearts and hate-filled minds. He had helped her obtain some data for her Pilgrimage, and she had helped him exterminate the Nûrzumthrakuk that escaped the reclamation and hid at the farthest edges of Rayingri. Dâgalûr knew his chances of seeing her, or anyone from that world again were close to none, so he had to stuff all of his memories and feelings deep into his mind. The rest of the year 3001 seemed like it stretched on for an eternity. Over the next 12 years, Dâgalûr would help prepare the armies of Mordor for a continent-wide war and attune his magic in the meantime.

Dâgalûr, however, would have no idea that his power would extend even further. On a cold summer's eve in 3014, Dâgalur stood out on Barad-Dûr's balcony, inhaling deep breaths air and gas from the clouds above, which the tips of the tower just grazed. Mount Doom lay before him, streams of lava dripping down its cone. The chill in the air left a tingle in him that ran up and down his spine. He thought to himself that this night would be a perfect one for a Warg hunt in Udûn. He picked his bow and quiver up from the side of his throne, unlocked and re-locked the doors of the room, descended the stairs, and headed outside. As he opened the front door of the tower, he was hit by the foul smell the sulfur gave off in the lava below the bridge. He gagged, but pressed onwards. As he reached to end of the bridge, he stopped dead in his tracks and began to whistle at a low pitch. Dâgalûr was calling for Bolgdyr, his trusty mount and the last of Mordor's Dire Caragors. As Bolgdyr approached, Dâgalûr could see that the massive beast was adorned with several battle scars, but he knew the scars didn't affect his fighting ability or speed. Even with his wounds, he was still the strongest and fastest ground steed in Mordor. Dâgalûr climbed up on Bolgdyr's back, and kicked him lightly in the side to signal Bolgdyr to start running. Dâgalûr took a small horn, carved from the horn of a White Kine of Rhûn, that was tied to his belt, and blew into it four times to signal the nearest hunting party to meet him near the Morannon.

Dâgalûr waited patiently as six orc hunters, adorned with animal bones and spear pouches, made their way to him. As they approached him, he spoke, his voice deep and intimidating. "Gimb ij pak wôrg dinuk. avonighav, kulknej hunav!" The hunters immediately started to look for warg tracks and droppings, hoping to find a lead on where to look for the beasts. Dâgalûr dismounted Bolgdyr, sending him back to Lugbúrz. One of the hunters started shouting, but it was quickly drowned out by screams and warg howls. The hunters returned to Dâgalûr, who drew his bow and took out an arrow. The remaining five hunters followed Dâgalûr, how was sprinting to the location of the screams. The sound of flesh being ripped from bone could be heard, and Dâgalûr and the hunters hid behind large rocks to attempt to sneak up on the wargs. Dâgalûr peeked out from behind the rock, and saw that two wargs were devouring the hunter in front of their cave, breaking through bones to get the marrow, eating every organ they hit, and even eating the hair and nails. Dâgalûr quickly jumped out from behind the rock and fired his arrow into the closer of the two wargs, making it whimper in pain as it fell back into the cave. The second warg snarled and growled, rushing at one of the hunters nearby, tearing his intestines out with its claws. The warg was felled by a spear to the head from one of the hunters, and the party grabbed nearby sticks to use as torches. Dâgalûr lit each stick up with his pyromancy, and they continued into the cave. Warg after warg began to charge at the party, and managed to kill three of the hunters.

After every warg in the cave had been killed, one of the remaining two hunters left while Dâgalûr and the other hunter began to explore the cave. The two found that the wargs had been hoarding old orc weapons, small trinkets, and even the skulls of their prey. At the cave's end, a faint orange glow was being covered by a small rock pile. Dâgalûr dug through the rocks to find that the orange glow being emitted came from a small vortex on the cave wall. The vortex brought back every memory of the voyage Dâgalûr had undergone on the Normandy. The influx of memories managed to create a small tear in Dâgalûr's eye, as he realized there was almost no chance of him ever seeing any of his old comrades again. It had been nearly thirteen years since he had seen any of them. He even had Tali's pistol mounted on a plaque over his bed. This vortex was far too small to travel in, as not even his finger could fit through, but it oozed some kind of clear, sticky fluid. Dâgalûr called the other hunter over and forced him to ingest some of the fluid. " Nalal, nalkren du lat fenle?" "Ukick. . . bav difrenk. Jiak fenle auk um Jiak mabaj avhe juliveruke wiavhin alnej." Dâgalûr proceeded to kneel down and began licking up the goo. It tasted absolutely repulsive, but he felt more and more powerful with each drop that entered his body. He felt that he had gotten his fill, and left the hunter in the cave.

Dâgalûr called for Bolgdyr, who was waiting just around the corner. He mounted his trusty steed, and returned to Barad-Dûr to meditate and attune with the power he had gained. As he sat in his room of solitary confinement at the top of the tower, he began to try to understand the power that had entered him. His thoughts echoed through his head as he sat cross-legged on the floor. "I feel as though I could travel anywhere. My power feels unlimited. I feel as if I am Mordor's apex predator. I am power incarnate. I have regained my strength. All will submit." He realized he had to return to reality so that his thoughts wouldn't consume his being. He quickly ran out the door and headed for the room next door to go to bed. The next four years and seven months passed by, and Dâgalûr's normal routine continued, but he also learned to understand his newfound powers. He began practicing how to use these powers regularly, and by the end of February in the year 3019, he could create vortexes, similar to those he gained his power from. Sauron used his Palantír, continuously, eventually gripping the mind of the wizard Saruman, bending his will and using him as a puppet. Saruman was faithful to Sauron, and on the 26th of February, him and his Uruks had done something that gained Dâgalûr's trust and gratitude; the Uruks had been sent out, Dâgalûr didn't care why, and had slain the son of Gondor's steward. That day, Dâgalûr thought that Isengard was a trustworthy ally, but Sauron thought otherwise. Nevertheless, Dâgalûr celebrated that day with a feast, inviting every last one of his captains, lieutenants, and battle-buddies to celebrate the blow dealt to the Steward. Dâgalûr had no idea that his week was about to get even better, though. A surprise from the past would be coming soon, and Dâgalûr would be able to crack skulls once more.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Galvorn is a jet-black metal created by Eöl during the First Age. It is never explicitly stated that Sauron has some knowledge of how to create it, but this is a fanfiction, so anything goes. Also, I feel like I need to bring this up right now before people get pissed when I do it: there is going to be something massive coming up at the end of Mass Effect 2. I'm obviously not going to say what it is, but everyone can speculate. I already know It's going to be extremely polarizing and controversial, and that I'm going to get a lot of shit for it. You may be asking, "Why would you do it then?" and the answer to that is because It's what I've always had in mind. I'll be explaining how what happens is even possible when it happens. I'm actually surprised nobody's caught on yet with all the hints I've bee dropping, or that nobody's spoken up about it yet. anyway, I'm just saying that you may not enjoy what i'm going to do when this story reaches the end of Mass Effect 2. You have been warned. I know that doesn't sound reassuring, but just trust me on this one. Anyway, until next time, everyone.