He first felt the silence, a bone-deep deadness of sound which burrowed deep into his body and chilled him to the core. Darkness wrapped around him in a grotesque embrace, dragging him deeper and deeper into the nothingness where he belonged. He was tired and cold, hurt and hungry – and fearful. Oh, so fearful. But there was nothing there that could help him. No one there that he could call out to. He was in a well of silence, in an endless miasma of fear and misery and hate and need...

At that point, Severus decided that he was dreaming again, and made a valiant effort to wake up.

He didn't succeed. Something...or someone...was keeping him unconscious.

Wariness whipped into being at that thought. It doubled at the realization that the nightmare was inexplicably, chillingly familiar. I've been here before. I felt this darkness, the night before I bonded to the Crebain. Severus had dismissed the experience then as a mere nightmare, but now, he had to reevaluate...

"Such an odd childe. Were you truly Melkor's get, you would be his most successful son as yet. Not many can claim credit to sowing strife among my kin."

The clear male voice which followed upon the heels of his suspicions was possibly the most unwelcome confirmation Severus had ever experienced. Clenching his jaws, he made a brief but thorough search to find the chink in his shields which had allowed this intrusion.

He found nothing. His shields were as strong as ever, built as they were through years of painstaking training and reinforcement.

That soothed his pride, which had been appalled at the possibility that his much-valued mental shields weren't as strong as he'd thought them to be. Unfortunately, it also heightened the potential danger level of the speaker. The voice seemed composed and non-threatening, but there was a power in it which just plain unnerved him. And the words the speaker had used were disturbingly odd...wait.

I'd understood what he said?

Severus cursed; his thoughts quickened. If there was someone here controlling his dream...if there was someone here that actually spoke a language he could comprehend...but no. Upon reflection, it was nothing like the languages in Severus' old life, or even like the speech that the warriors had been trying to teach him. Rather, it was beautiful, resonant, and his instinctive comprehension of it sounded deep within his bones.

Finally deciding to test the waters, Severus called out demandingly, "Show yourself!"

Somehow, it didn't surprise him when silence was his only response.

But wait. There was something here. Something ephemeral. Something he could barely sense. Suddenly, Severus realized with shock that what he'd been hearing wasn't silence. As he strained his ears and truly began listening to his surroundings, Severus realized that he was surrounded by music. And it was music unlike any he had heard before.

It was music, and yet more than music. It weaved its way into his mind, whispering to him of things he didn't know of and would never comprehend. It thrummed the songs of love and beauty and joy, it pulsed with the soul of perfection and unity and connection, it sang to him of the world that was, the world that had been and the world that would be. It had life. It was Life. It flowed sweetly, smoothly, all-encompassing, surrounding him, within him...

"Ah. You listen well. You are a childe of our world, after all." The return of the voice was like a dash of cold water.

Shaking himself free of the pleasant daze he'd fallen into, Severus opened his mouth, ready to verbally lambast his captor into letting him free – and closed it again. He would not be baited into behaving rashly. Stay calm. Stay alert. Stay silent. And it was well that he did, for at that moment, strange voices began to seep into his consciousness.

"The threads have loosened. The weave is changing, and I can no longer see the end of its making." The pensive, peaceful feminine voice held echoes of clacking needles and shifting looms. Involuntarily, Severus felt his worry lessen at her soft, gentle tenor, even as he puzzled over the words.

"And so does Middle-Earth taste the fruits of your rash decision, Namo." The new voice burned with a light so blinding it seared through Severus' soul, even as he cringed away from the overt disapproval expressed in its tones. "How came a childe of Death to leave your Halls and walk in maturity under the Sun once more?"

A cool, indifferent voice, carrying the chill of the grave and the eerie shadows of mortality, now entered the conversation. Severus deduced that it belonged to Namo – whoever that was. "You mistake my meaning, sister. I hold him to be a childe of Death, but I never claimed him as one of my own. This childe's shadow has never passed through my domain. He does not belong to the realms of Arda."

"A childe of Melkor, perhaps? Darkness and discord grows within him like a parasite. He should not be allowed to roam free to taint the lands. Word must be sent, to warn the Istari of his coming." The second voice rang out again. It was beautiful and bright and yet filled with hostility – indeed, it was beginning to alarm Severus exceedingly. For a nasty hunch was telling him that he knew the identity of the 'childe' that the voices were discussing.

"I have spoken of him to Olórin. But be not so hasty in delivering judgment upon him, Varda. The darkness that wraps around him may not be solely of his own making. Pity him, for his spirit has endured much suffering." A fourth voice suddenly interjected into the conversation. It held the undertones of one who knew of sorrow and pain and weeping – Severus just wished that he could see the faces of the people speaking. As it was, he could do nothing but strain his eyes futilely into the darkness and quietly panic over what sounded like the Judgment of his Fate. For he was fairly sure by now that it was him that they were currently discussing.

"Well said, sister." Merlin, yet another voice was joining the fray. Thankfully, this one seemed to side with the last speaker rather than with the aggressive one they called 'Varda'. However, there was something about it which disturbed Severus. The maternal tones of the speaker sounded familiar. Suspiciously familiar. Suspiciously like the voice which had spoken to him in his last nightmare..."He brings change, but it may be change for the good. Until we know if he be here to heal or harm, we would do well to stay our hand."

"If that is your choice, brothers and sisters, so be it." Varda's displeasure laced every word she spoke, even as her voice slowly grew softer, as if it was fading away into the distance. "I lay his fate to the will of Ilúvatar..."

Slowly, the voices dissolved into the music, leaving behind a pensive Severus. Confusion tied up his thoughts into tangled nets. Who were they? The speakers had sounded powerful, mighty, even godlike. If he'd read the situation correctly, they held the power to destroy him if they wished to. Severus could only hope that the gentler speakers would sway Varda to their more passive stance; loathe though he was to depend upon the pity of others, Severus balked at the thought of having to defend himself against a being so formidable that her very voice was imbued with glaring power. Merlin, I'm just racking up more and more enemies, aren't I? I'm truly beginning to regret my choice in new worlds.

The only silver lining Severus could see in this situation was that the speakers were as perplexed as he was at his presence in this new world – or Middle Earth, as they called it. Not that it was much of a silver lining; after all, the most likely explanation for that was that there was another agent who'd facilitated his arrival here, and that this agent was powerful enough to remain anonymous and disregard the disapproval from the godlike beings. And from the sinister undertones of everything that'd been happening to him so far, Severus gloomily concluded that whoever it was wasn't his ally. None of the decisions made had been done for his benefit, after all - he hadn't forgotten the fact that he'd asked for reincarnation, not to be plunked smack into a new world with adult memories and body intact!

Severus' musings were broken when he suddenly noticed a change in his surroundings. The music was fading; Severus felt a surge of hope that this meant that his captor had finished toying with him. A sudden suspicion struck him; could his captor be the one engineering this whole mess? He certainly seemed powerful. Severus felt an involuntary shiver pass through his body, as he considered the ramifications of being helpless to a being which could control his very dreams, enter his very mind and eavesdrop upon the conversation of gods.

But he wasn't given much time to ponder upon this, for it was at that very moment that Severus woke up.

And fear unceremoniously slammed back into his body.

"Are you sure that it's wise to follow these little birdies, Rercyn? Because of them, we lost the trail ages ago. How do they even know which way to go?"

The little birdies in question glared balefully upon hearing Addroc's plaintive words. Shaking his head in exasperation – this was the fourth time Addroc had voiced his doubts – Rercyn replied, "Trust me, Addroc; they know exactly where they're going. Don't ask me how, but they've an unerring instinct for finding their master. You'll see."

"But are you sure? Honestly, Rercyn, I've never put much stock in the rumor of birds being the "Dark's most-hated spies", but now, I'm beginning to wonder. You do realize where they're headed, don't you?"

Addroc's worry irritated Rercyn – every second they wasted debating brought Raza a step further away from them – but he still grudgingly sympathized with his mentor. Caught between the need to protect his young trainee Rangers and the urge to help his old students, Addroc could hardly be faulted for his leeriness upon realizing that their path was taking them straight to the place that fueled every man's nightmares - Minas Morgul.

Suppressing his own doubts at the situation, Rercyn could only reassure Addroc again and hope fervently that his trust in the Crebain wasn't misplaced.

Fearfearsomuchfear

Blood coated the inner lining of Severus' mouth as he chewed on his tongue viciously to block his scream. That was the only sign of fear that he showed; that was the only sign that he dared to show under these circumstances. Exhaustion blurred his thoughts almost as much as the fear did, but Severus forced it all away with some difficulty. Face down upon a sweaty, galloping horse headed for Merlin knew where, he tried to piece together what had happened.

Fearfearsomuchfear

He had been captured.

His warrior companions had fainted during the attack, like the spineless wimpy ninnies that they were.

Fearfearsomuchfearfearescape

His familiars were leading the warriors, along with some strangers, on a mission to rescue Severus. Thank Merlin I've some decent help around here.

His captor...his captor was seated behind him upon the horse, emanating waves of terror so strong that Severus could barely think straight.

Fearfearsomuchfearfearescape

And, impossible as it was, Severus knew that terror. It was a terror he'd never thought he'd feel again in this life.

The terror exuded by a Dementor.

Fearfearsomuchfearfearfearescapefear

The Crebain screamed in his mind. Warning screams, to tell him where he was headed, and what lay in store.

Severus had to escape, caution and secrecy be damned.

Tired and scared, he was unable to control his impulses. Raging to be set free, he followed his instincts and his familiars' cries, and attacked.

Twisting around in one fluid movement, Severus flung up his hands and shouted, "Expecto Patronum!"

For a short, blessed moment, he thought that it would work. Mist twisted into existence around his fingers, and its soft, pure glow forced the Dementor to rear back to avoid it. Flailing, the Dementor loosened its grip on the horse, which slowed its mad gallop.

Heartened by his success, Severus pushed more power into his spell, willing the mist to take shape...and was brought up short when he realized his fatal mistake:

He had barely any magic left.

In his rush, Severus'd forgotten about his magical exhaustion.

His idiotic, sentimental act of fighting to free the Crebain had utterly depleted his magic.

And now, all that was powering his rapidly-failing Patronus spell were the scarce scraps of magic his core had scrounged up since his attack, and he was wasting it.

Now, if Severus had been a man less creative, less adaptable, less resourceful, he would have been justified in panicking at this moment. He was stuck in what seemed to be a no-win scenario, after all. If he stopped fueling his Patronus spell, there'd be no defense standing between him and the Dementor. If he continued fueling it, however, his scant magic would run out soon enough, leaving him with no magical reserves whatsoever and no defense standing between him and the Dementor.

But he'd not survived a life as a double agent for nothing. His failed Patronus would not be enough to save him. But it was enough for him to dig a foot into the horse's tender flank, and roll his body off the startled, bucking equine. It was enough for him to fall to the ground, to scrabble away from his surprised captor, to head towards the forest where he could hide and give himself the time needed to replenish his magical energy...

His plan failed the moment he hit the ground.

For it was then that an icy, mail-clad hand grabbed hold of his throat in a punishing grip.

For it was then that he was lifted up, choking and kicking, and thrown, half-senseless with a fresh wave of terror, over the back of another horse.

His plan had overlooked the presence of a second, more powerful Dementor.

"Alright. Enough is enough. Rercyn, this is sheer suicide. Far be it for me to abandon anyone to the Dark, but you do realize how recklessly you've been behaving? We need to cut our losses, and go back to Minas Tirith now. I have lost Wudon to this mission; I will not lose you or anybody else!"

Rercyn stared at Addroc helplessly; he recognized the stubborn jut of Addroc's jaw all too well. They couldn't abandon this quest, and yet, what could he possibly say to placate Addroc?

"No, Addroc," Rercyn jerked up his head in surprise when he heard Eorel's voice. Previously, Eorel had been silent, content with maintaining a neutral stance and letting Rercyn argue with Addroc without support. Rercyn watched disbelievingly as Eorel now approached Addroc and said again, "no. Return with the trainees, but do not think to bring us back as well. We need to rescue this man, and rescue him we will."

"Oh by the Vala, not you too!" Addroc growled in frustration. "This is madness! What hold does this man have on you two, that causes you to act so recklessly?"

"No hold, but that of brotherhood," retorted Eorel sharply. "He drew me back from the brink of death, and fought beside me in battle. That is enough for me. Do not think to persuade us to abort this mission."

Addroc glared, but to no avail. Eorel was far less respectful of authority than Rercyn, and so cared little for placating Addroc. Rercyn watched, stunned, as Addroc wheedled and ranted but was finally forced to leave, swearing imprecations all the way.

When the two Rangers were alone again, Rercyn could only say bemusedly,

"Eorel. Thank you."

Eorel snorted. "Think nothing of it, Rercyn. All that I said was true. I do owe a life debt to that man, and while his disappearance would resolve many of our arguments," his meaningful glance made Rercyn bristle indignantly, "I am not so cruel as to condemn a man to death without concrete proof of his deserving it." He glared at Rercyn challengingly, almost defiantly, though he softened somewhat upon seeing Rercyn's meek nod.

"Besides," he added with a crooked smile, "the birds would kill me if I left now, after all the work they've put into buttering me up."

Black spots danced in front of Severus' eyes as he struggled to pull away from the steel grip of the Dementor. Time passed; he knew not how much, nor did he care. He was going to pass out, or puke his guts out, or beg for mercy, and wouldn't that just be the highlight of his marvelous plans?

Since the very beginning, nothing had gone right at all; case in point being that he'd somehow managed to pick the one world in which Dementors existed. Technologically-advanced Dementors, at that – for Merlin's sake, they were Dementors with swords and horses. Severus would kick himself for his idiocy in making life-changing choices, if he wasn't too petrified to move.

Because, not only was the Dementor who captured him armed and dangerous, it was also...chatty. And though Severus couldn't understand a word it said, the sound of its voice would be the stuff of nightmares for years to come.

"Vermin these days. So full of surprises."

The deadened voice scraped across raw nerves like a serrated knife. Severus nearly hurled on the spot, but concentrated on trying to come up with a plan of escape.

"This should have been anticipated, especially seeing thy seeming immunity against the Black Breath. In my defense, however, one would not think that there were any sorcerers left in this world."

Merlin, there had to be a way. There had to be. Even if his current magical reserves were scarcely enough to power a first-year spell, he wasn't helpless. Think, think...

"Small wonder that thou hast managed to escape the Orcs for so long, little sorcerer. Thou led them on quite a merry chase; I believe that they are most eager to exact vengeance upon thee."

It chuckled; that was possibly an even more terrifying sound than its merely talking incomprehensibly. Was this how Azkaban prisoners felt? Was this how Black had felt? No, Black had found a way to escape them. Even wandless and tormented for thirteen years, Black had found a way to survive. How did he do it? How? Too much fear; Severus couldn't remember through the fear. Think, think...

"No matter; their failure is my gain. We are the Nine, the Dark Lord's favored; our success in capturing thee, little sorcerer, little vermin, merely reaffirms our superiority once more. Ah, but the time for talk is ending; we have arrived."

Roughly, the Dementor twisted Severus' head around; he sucked in a gasp to see black gates loom up before him. When had they gotten so close? Slowly, the gates began to open; beyond it, Severus fancied that he could see leering faces in the dark. Think, think...

"Welcome, little sorcerer, to Minas Morgul. Thou wilt see much of it in the future. Perhaps He will give thee to me after He has tired of thee, little sorcerer? I anticipate that; thou seem endlessly amu..."

Severus couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't remember, he couldn't plan, he couldn't do anything with that terrible rotting voice at his ear. And so he did possibly the stupidest thing he'd ever done in his entire life.

In desperation, in terror, in pure instinctive reaction, Severus flung an arm back, plunged it into the Dementor's hood and screamed out "Lumos!"

The Crebain may be filthynogoodevil birds, but they aren't stupid. They know what will happen if they're too slow, they know what will happen if their notbirdstillflock human is brought into the colddarkfear monsters' homes. And so they push the horsyhunter humans to go off the roads, to struggle through the rustlyfreshearthy trees because stupid humans don't have wings and are too slow and can't catch up with the colddarkfear monsters if they use normal roads.

And when their notbirdstillflock human's screams suddenly stop, leaving behind a horrible silence in their heads, the Crebain know that they have to rush faster and faster on.

Agony thrummed down Severus' arm, but it was nothing compared to the pain that the Dementor exhibited. As bright light flared from Severus' fingers within the Dementor's face, it shrieked loud enough to bleed his eardrums, flailed and scrabbled to throw itself away from Severus, and generally gave him the perfect opportunity to escape.

It was a pity that Severus couldn't take it, for his fingers, disobedient digits that they were, seemed incapable of moving. They felt as if they were encased in freezing cold, in a rotting, dead substance that sucked away eagerly, hungrily, at his life. His eyes, too, were affected; a hazy veil seemed to have been drawn over his surroundings.

Suddenly, his view shifted.

He abruptly had the sense that he'd drawn the attention of something bad. Something evil.

With a sense of fatality, Severus looked up. He beheld what he would shortly learn to be the Eye of Sauron.

He stared at it. Panic paralyzed his limbs.

It stared back at him. The malice it radiated as it filled up his entire vision filled him with fresh horror.

His free hand came up to make an instinctive warding gesture against evil. His panic rose still further when it laughed.

And then...it spoke. Though Severus hadn't been able to understand the Dementor's speech, he found, with a feeling of detached horror, that he could understand the Eye just fine.

It was too much. Much too much. There was a tipping point to all his fear which would make and break him, and Severus knew that he'd reached it. For an endless moment, he teetered upon the edge of insanity.

And...he broke.

Severus Snape, confused and tormented prisoner, was no more.

Severus Snape, the spy, focused his mind. Severus Snape, the survivor, answered the Eye.

The panic was pushed away. Coldness settled in. And using the persona he'd worn so well for so many years, his life changed yet again.

He spoke.

He bargained.

He promised.

He groveled.

And when it had all ended, and Severus pulled his arm free of the tormented Dementor – no, the Dark Lord had called it a Nazgul – thus severing his contact from the Eye, he climbed off the horse. Turned. Walked away from the gates. Did not stop, even when the Nazgul called out to him with a vengeance-tinged hatred. Did not hesitate, even when he realized that the Eye had somehow gifted - no, cursed - him with knowledge of the Black Speech.

"Little vermin. Thou hast escaped me this time, but I will come for thee. Weakling that thou are, rest assured that the next time thou meet me, the Witch King of Angmar, thou wilt meet thy doom."

Severus walked away from Hell, and did not look back. Severus walked away from Hell, and kept walking until his legs gave out. His last thoughts, as he crawled away to hide himself, were as dead as the promises he'd been forced to make to escape.

Severus walked away from Hell, but the price he'd promised to pay made his freedom as worthless as he was.

The Crebain might be filthynogoodevil birds, but they know that they are useful. And when they find their notbirdstillflock human unconscious but hidden so well the horsyhunter humans would not have seen him had the Crebain not been there, the Crebain feel very, very useful indeed.

A/N: Possibly the most tiresome chapter I've written so far. There's something wrong with it that I just can't put my finger on. Also, for those of you who wonder why Snape is casting Lumos, note that it fits two criteria which his subconscious probably realized: one, it creates light, which the Nazgul are clearly afraid of, judging from their reactions to the Patronus, and two, it's a first-year level spell, which means that he doesn't need too much magic to cast it.