Chapter One: Ukavomach ob Tharb (Stomach of Acid)

It feels like we have been traveling for eternity, though it's only been a few weeks. My sanity is hanging on a very thin thread, and if I have to sleep under one more Mordor-forsaken tree or eat one more soggy biscuit then that delicate thread will snap. Though I survived hundreds of years of grueling training, torture, darkness, and despair, all that pales compared to the horror that is the human dish called bacon. I have expected this journey to be filled with glory, heart stopping battles, rivers of blood, and a triumphant return home with the ring. Instead, all I've gotten so far has been indigestion.

And let me tell you, indigestion is a tougher enemy than a group of fifty angry orcs. I've dealt with both; I'd take the mob of orcs over indigestion any day. My stomach rumbles painfully, I hope that it will go away soon or that a distraction comes along. Killing ruthlessly would really brighten my day.

AgonZajar perks up suddenly, her tail erect. I follow her gaze, a group of nine trudge wearily up the side of a snow covered ridge of Caradhras. They're in for a rough trek. I know that the mountain does not like those who wander upon two feet, a soft spot for Zarry has always given us safe passage, though. I grin maliciously to myself, these travelers may be fun to mess with once they realize they aren't going to make it over the mountain. This will certainly help with my mood, and perhaps with Zarry's complains about the terrible prey choices.

I gently glide her forward, smoothly cutting through the swirling clouds acting as our cover. As we loom up behind the travelers, I can make them out more clearly and feel a pang of disappointment. Though there are some humans, an elf, and a dwarf, there are also four halflings, easy pickings. Still, I am restless, and a quick fight is better than no fight, so I urge Zarry forward. We are about to ambush them from behind, when I freeze. Halflings. He told me a hobbit had the ring, and here I was, having found four hobbits traipsing along in a large, strange group, what were the odds of that?

It's all I can do not to swear under my breath as I consider my options. I could still attack them, but I have no idea who has the ring, if any of them even have it, and unless I get lucky and guess correctly, the ring bearer will be able to put on the ring and disappear. I could watch them and try to find out who has the ring, or I could sneak in at night and try to find it. In the end I settle on following them for a while, and maybe searching their stuff at night. I was also told to gather information on their plans and who's behind them, so hopefully I'll learn a lot as I follow them up the treacherous mountain.

Their plans to go over the mountain fail, it's actually kinda funny. The halflings are head deep in a fleet of snow and the others are frantically trying to find a way to get them out. The elf has leapt up onto the top of the snow and starts making his way back down the mountain again. He returns back to the others soon though, most likely he was sent scouting ahead.

I sigh, it went just as I had predicted. No fight against the mountain, just feeble retreat. It is slightly depressing, AgonZajar gave me a pitiful look. She had been hoping for a good snack or at least an entertaining fight. I share the look and turn back to the fellowship just in time to see them begin an argument.

"We should go through Moria, it will be safe and we will be welcomed with open arms," the dwarf was saying.

"Moria reeks of evil, I do not believe that your dwarfish cousins still occupy it. We would do best to avoid it," the wizard, Gandalf the Grey I realize, answers. Moria is indeed crawling with orcs and other foul beasts, my favorite of which is the Balrog.

"The hobbits won't last long out in this snow," the dwarf retorts. I agree with him on this point, the halflings look half dead.

In the end, after a long bout of bickering, they decide to go through Moria, and it's very hard to contain my snickering. I'd like to see them try to survive a day in there.

At this point, I am almost certain one of the halflings is carrying the ring, after all, being accompanied by a renowned wizard and such a motley crew was a bit of a giveaway, not to mention they are still lugging the hobbits (which, if you asked me, are just dead weight) around. By my reckoning, either they'll all die in Moria and I can go take the ring from the remains (I am certain the ring will not be lost, it is almost alive in the fact that it likes to have a master), and if any hobbit survives he must have been aided by the ancient ring.

AgonZajar takes me down to the back entrance of Moria, here we will wait. Something I don't really enjoy, but at least I will get the ring, one way or another. Zarry settles down on her haunches and I begin to make a small camp.

One day turns into two and I begin to grow restless. It shouldn't take that long for the orcs to get to them. Unless the wizard has put some sort of cloaking spell over them or the orcs here are just extremely dense. I hope they hurry because I am already bored and it's only been three days.

I suppose I could go in after them myself because I'm tired of waiting and it's clear that they're not dead yet, otherwise the orcs would have already have put their heads up as trophies. But then I would be spotted and forced to kill them before I got any information, and I know that He would be angry, whereas if they're killed by orcs I can just say I didn't get here in time, which is technically true, seeing as I haven't actually gone into Moria yet. So I sigh, and lean back against Zarry; if I'm going to be stuck here for a while more I might at least get a nap out of it.

My dreams are bloody, most would call them nightmares, but to me they are enjoyable, fun even. Zarry swoops down to rip a horse and its rider apart. I laugh as I swirl my scimitar around, easily decapitating two men. They fall to the ground with a satisfying thud. An arrow flies past my shoulder, almost grazing it. I smile, the archer falling from his perch after I throw my knife. This is one of the best dreams I have had in awhile. A piercing scream, that of a Balrog, rips through the battle field.

I wake up a few seconds later to the same sound. Quickly I scramble to my feet, how is it possible for that rag-tag bunch to make a Balrog sound like that? I am in the saddle and AgonZajar lifts of almost instantly. It is not a moment too soon, the fellowship is running, orcs hot on their tails. I almost fall off Zarry, they are all there, all except the wizard, how in Mordor is this possible?

I spur AgonZajar forward, and soon we are flying alongside the panting fellowship desperately trying to shake off the orcs. Whenever they stop to catch their breath, they also pick off the fast ones who have managed to almost keep up. But they never stop long, and as they slow Zarry does too, though not quite as drastically. I've been too scared of being spotted or losing them to let her land and rest, and it's really taken a strain on her. But day shifts into evening, and still she endures, as do the miserable questants below. They finally lose the last orc, by now the signs of the endless winter up in the mountains are fading, and soon the scraggly trees thicken. Eventually, once they have put a decent distance between themselves and the mine, they stop to rest. Well, stop is generous. More like collapse from sheer exhaustion.

I finally let Zarry land and she too collapses from the long stretch of fast flying. I curl up in the folds of her wings, too tired to lay out my bedroll or even to get out my blanket. I know I will stay warm enough in Zarry's wings. The ring will not escape my grasp, in the morning I will continue to follow them.

I do not dream, my sleep uninterrupted until morning. Zarry wakes me with a nudge. I grumble and groan for a few moments, but soon I get up and take out a stale roll. I need to restock my provisions soon. Thinking of things that need to be done soon, if I am to follow the fellowship Zarry will have to leave me. I'll never be able to show myself to them with a fell beast by my side.

The thought of leaving Zarry makes me ache inside, something I do not feel often. I have never been able to say that I love anyone or anything, but AgonZajar has come pretty close.

I push these strange thoughts away, and instead give Zarry a somewhat old but still edible rabbit I caught a few days ago. She happily digs in, shredding the mangy body. It is gone in an instant, along with all traces of it ever having been there. Content, she smacks her lips before getting up and stretching her wings. I smile to myself, and absentmindedly trace my fingers along her scarred but still somewhat smooth side. I feel another pang of something I don't quite recognize. It makes me feel almost helpless, which makes me scowl.

As the sun comes up, the fellowship does too, banging around noisily as they pack up and eat breakfast, and my scowl deepens. How is it possible for these creatures to still be alive, and how do they stand each other?

I leave these thoughts behind as two elves appear out of the trees. They're going to walk past us, and unless Zarry leaves right now we will be given away by her strong scent, and I suspect she knows it too.

I surprise both of us by pressing a kiss on her snout. She blinks at me, bows her head, and then she is off. She is silent and graceful as always, and soon she is no more than a smudge in the sky. After a moment's pause, I nimbly dart of into the brambles, tucking myself into the cluster so I won't be seen but can still observe. The elves march into the shabby camp, and a while later they are helping the fellowship pack up, seemingly having come to an agreement of sorts.

I watch as the ring disappears into woods infested with elves and worst of all a certain lady of light. AgonZajar is long gone and I am left with nothing to do but begin the trek around the forest. My pack seems heavier now that Zarry isn't flying us over the forest. There is a sort of companion ship in me and Zarry, and I wish she hadn't had to leave.

I skirt around the edge of the forest, making sure to keep an eye on the fellowship. They are rather uninteresting, but something or someone else is following them. I intend to find out what it is soon, can't have something picking off my prey. As I slip under a tree I spot a platform, there are most likely provisions and weapons in it. These elves are truly stupid to leave supplies lying around like this. I know exactly how I'm going to restock my provisions.

I gracefully clamber up the tree, and slip onto the platform, which is indeed laden with a variety of food items. After filling up my satchel I wind my back down the trunk, feeling comfortably smug. The elves were really quite foolish in their arrogance, they seemed to think the rest of the world to be lesser beings, unable to even climb trees. And platforms? Really?

Though the company has pulled ahead of me, I have no difficulties catching up. Soon I am like their shadow, hardly there, almost gliding through the now lively forest. I still sense the other presence, they are a bit more careless. Every noisily snapped twig and hastily discarded animal skeleton spikes my curiosity, and as the hours go by it swells to be almost unbearable. But I can't get sidetracked now, especially since I've become pretty sure that the strange halfling with the accent doesn't have the ring concealed in his belongings, or on his self. But that doesn't mean that they don't take turns bearing the ring, in which case all my searching would most likely be for naught.

I have to give up my following for a while as they are in the heart of Lothlorien. I, as a child of the darkness, shy away from the light and its lady. The other follower has stopped too though. It seems safe to assume that they are a creature of darkness as well. I hope that the fellowships stay in Lothlorien is short.

To my dismay it turns out that their stay is not just a short break to restock, as the days pile themselves into weeks and I am stuck here, squatting in the mud, sleeping in the trees, and reaping fish from the river. The whole place is crawling with elves, so I am forced to stay put for the most part, though I do take temporary delights from scaling the trees and raiding supplies, just because I can.

By now my hands have become so accustomed to the sturdy grip all the knots, gnarls and bark give that I can clamber up a tree without the support of branches. Though it has not been without risk, there have been many close calls with the elves, and I've had to resort to leaping into an adjacent tree and hoping it will catch me more times than I'd like to admit. So, preferring not having to risk my neck more than necessary, I have decided to stay put in the muddy, prickly bramble cluster I've come to consider my home away from home and just observe for the most part.

This has proven to be one of the most boring decisions I've made in centuries, my hair has suffered quite a lot of abuse from all my fits of frustration from not being able to move, to hunt, to kill, and when it's not busy being a punching bag it functions as a pillow. Not to mention on the rare occasion that I leave to relieve myself and just stretch my legs my long, dark, curly hair, once silky and groomed to perfection from hundreds of years of good care, gets caught on all the rough edges and thorns. Now it is a mess of tangles, leaves, and twigs, a constant bother hanging around my waist. But I can't bring myself to cut it.

And, worst of all, at night I can hear the whatever-it-is that's been following the fellowship prowling around. Sometimes I can almost swear it is mumbling to itself, though I always write it off as the wind. The way it walks is more of a slither, and though it is somewhat clumsy it also has a certain grace to it, a certain feeling for the dark and all that looms and lurks in it. All my instincts are screaming at me to kill it, but as if sensing my intentions, whenever I crawl towards the exit of my thicket it disappears noiselessly, without a trace.

It makes me uneasy, the fact that something can evade me like this. It lingers in the back of my mind. The feeling that it is not just watching the fellowship, but also me. This should be impossible, or at least so I thought. Apparently I was too arrogant. I am on full alert and it is taking a toll on my sleep, never have I seemed so vulnerable. Not even when He is looking at me.

Once again, I wake up in the middle of the night to that uncomfortable prickling feeling that I am being watched. I value my sleep, and if whoever is following values their life then they better run. Not caring about secrecy, I tear through the spiny shrubbery and tumble out into the clearing just in time to see something lithe and pale as death slink away. I grumble and noisily clamber back into the bush to grab my pack. I was planning on finding a new hiding place soon anyway, this is just some extra incentive.

But as my heart rate slows and my breathing calms, I start to feel my cheeks flush from my rash, impulsive stupidity. This is what happens when I get cooped up, restless. Now I lost my hiding place, and all the elf sentries were probably alerted to my presence, not to mention that I showed the creature stalking me some weakness. Out of anger and spite, I scuff my heels through the mud, only resulting in my getting sprayed by the squishy earth. Great. I want to throw something, or maybe someone, preferably the slimy, good for nothing hoodlum slinking around all creepy like. Or maybe one of the lazy fellowship members, at this rate they'll never leave Lothlorien. It's been almost a fortnight, how much longer will it take?

I search through the night for a new hiding place. Finally, I come across a small outcropping in the side of a small cliff. It isn't too shallow so I won't be seen from the outside. Almost a cave, but not quite, especially to a native to Mordor. They have real caves, not these dinky holes made for elves on a diet. Come to think of it, elves on a diet wouldn't even be able to lay down in this sorry excuse for a 'cave'. I grumble, tucking my legs into my chest. This is going to be a lovely few nights. At least I hope it's only another few nights. It would be a shame if I had to strangle the fellowship before getting to spy on them, deceive them, steal from them, and manipulate them, and not after.

When I wake up in the cool of morning and crawl out of my dinky, glorified hell-hole (because really, that's all it is), I am sore and cramped all over. When I stretch, I hear multiple pops and cracks. I groan when I bend over to pick up my sack, and my back screeches in protest. Before slinging it over my shoulder I pull out a couple stale biscuits. By now the sight of them is almost enough to make me barf, and after eyeing them with disgust I unceremoniously shove the parcel back into the depths of my pack. I spend the rest of the morning foraging for nuts and berries, occasionally having to duck into a bush or up into a tree to evade the elves prowling all over the place as if they owned it, which I suppose they kind of do. Doesn't make it any less infuriating, though.

I finally rendezvous back to my hell-hole. I hiss as my back protests, I shudder at the thought of spending another night in Lothlorien. If the fellowship does not get their sorry little arses out of this retched place soon… well I'm not sure what exactly I'll do, but it won't be pretty. I crawl into the cramped space that serves as my new home away from home, the thoughts of destroying the fellowship keeping me motivated to squeeze my legs close to my body. With these thoughts I slowly nod off, already imagining the pain that would accompany the next morning.