The Aerie of the Ash Mountains
Challenge: Transportation

Year 2952 of the Third Age...
Although He has dwelt in the Land of Mordor for nine years, Sauron has just openly declared His return and ordered that Barad-dûr be rebuilt. Yet still the Mountain of Doom slumbers...

Clad in the simple robes of the nomadic desert dweller, Mairon, the Lord of the Earth and the King of Men, leisurely climbed the rugged hills and slopes of the eastern Ered Lithui. To the eye of a distant observer, the figure appeared as nothing more than an humble nomad, perhaps a shepherd in search of a lost sheep or goat. But yet, if the observer ventured closer, he would begin to sense an aura of ancient power and majesty surrounding the figure like the glowing halo around a brilliant flame, and this aura would become so great and terrible that the observer could not help but fall to his knees in sore dread. But there was no one around for miles and miles, and Mairon did not feel any need to cloak His power, for this land was, after all, His home. When He did take on the guise of a mortal man, it was usually for sport and amusement; how comical it was to think of the Lord of the Earth dressed as a commoner and carousing in Nûrniag taverns! The thought put a smile upon His black lips.

Pausing for a moment upon His meandering stroll, Mairon inhaled deeply of the mountain air, which bore the faint aroma of wildflowers. Ah, Eastern Gorgoroth in the springtime! During this time of year, the desert would burst into flower, and the warped and twisted succulents, spurges and scrubby bushes would be covered with brilliant blossoms. To the eyes of folk accustomed to green fields and dense forests, this land would surely seem a desolate waste, but in truth it was alive with hardy vegetation accustomed to dry and arid climes, the survivalists of the plant world. One had to be tough to survive in the northern regions of Mordor, for rain-bearing clouds were often dashed against the peaks of the Ephel Dúath, denying the land on the eastern side of the mountains the precious water of the heavens.

But despite the barrenness of Gorgoroth's rolling hamada, Mordor was still a place of savage, untamed beauty, a memory of Arda's appearance when she was young and newly formed. Too long had Mairon been away from His home, too long, and there was joy in His heart, a lightness in His step. Though Mirkwood reminded Him of the great forests of the elder days, still it could never compare to Mordor. He would miss Dol Guldur, but He looked forward to seeing Barad-dûr in its newly rebuilt glory. Construction upon the castle and its surrounding fortifications was coming along according to schedule, and soon the central tower would be habitable. He looked forward to sitting atop His throne and surveying His domain through the Window of the Eye, and gazing into the palantír to observe distant lands which would soon be in His realm.

A dark cavern peeking out from beneath the meeting place of two great mountains caught His attention, and Mairon ventured closer. Though He had explored Mordor from one corner to another, He was not sure if He had ever seen this place before, and He felt somehow drawn towards it. 'Twas mere curiosity, perhaps, or maybe something more... the vaguest, most ephemeral stirrings of inspiration tickled His mind like the softest of ostrich plumes. Yes, he had been here once… before Arda came into being, before the vision of the Great Music became reality. In a universe governed by a symphony, there were few true coincidences, for the course of time had already been written.

The dark shadows of the cave closed in around Him, and a pungent stench assailed His nostrils. He wrinkled His nose in displeasure, but He had smelled far worse: the fragrance of the forge, the smoky scent of coal, the choking reek of brimstone. All around He saw giant piles of stinking manure - filled with slivers of bone, buzzing with flies and writhing with maggots and worms. Though the stench and the sight of enormous piles of excrement would have caused many to flee the cave in fear and disgust, Mairon was one of the Maiar and had naught to fear from earthly creatures, no matter how great or terrible they might be.

He followed a winding passage which lead uphill and realized that this was not a cave, but rather a ravine whose steep sides touched each other and formed a ceiling of stone. At the end of the path, He could see a ragged circle of light, an opening to the sky which stood out in sharp contrast to the darkness all around Him. Emerging into the light, He found Himself looking out over a wide saddle where the sides of the two mountains came together. On one end of the rock shelf, there was a sharp drop which fell towards the plain below.

And then He saw them. The winged beasts, so like dragons but yet of a different kind entirely. Men and orcs living in Mordor called them farmakfîl, or lizard-birds.

Once there were many creatures akin to the farmakfîl - enormous beasts who were tall as towers, whose tough, armored hides bristled with horns and spines, whose mighty heads bore shield-like crests and tusks more mighty than any battering ram. In the old days, the more docile types were used as draft animals at Angband, for they were stronger than any team of oxen. Unfortunately, most of these great beasts had perished when Arda was made round, but a few still dwelt in the deserts and jungles, the wild places of the earth where few men tread.

Many types of farmakfîl lived in Mordor, but the ones which dwelt in this part of the Ered Lithui were by far the largest. Black and gray were the colors of their leathery hides, allowing them to blend in with the surroundings of their mountain lairs. The nomadic tribes who dwelt in Eastern and Southern Gorgoroth feared them, for they preyed upon their sheep and goats, and sometimes upon the nomads themselves. Still, brave men hunted them for sport, for the hides of the beasts were strong and tough and could be used for many different purposes. However, few of these hunters ever returned to the goat-hair tents of their villages, for only the most wily of foes could ever hope to best one of the farmakfîl.

Several of the creatures lay sunning themselves upon the black rocks, while others sought the cool refuge of nearby caves. They would become active later in the evening, when the air was cool and prey began to stir upon the nearby plain. The beasts regarded Mairon warily. Like all inhabitants of the animal kingdom, they possessed a certain innate wisdom, an intuition of sorts which allowed them to differentiate the weak from the strong, the prey from the predator, the friend from the foe, the Gods from the Men. This was not any hunter who would shoot at them with bow and arrow or hurl spears at their bellies, but one of the Guardians of Arda, an eternal Being who possessed power beyond their simple comprehension.

Mairon smiled to Himself. Though He was no longer beautiful, He still possessed His ancient charm, that insidious power of seduction which allowed Him to topple great kingdoms without ever raising a sword. He began to sing a song of soothing to calm the beasts, and soon they gathered around Him, purring and gurgling in contentment. Continuing to sing His mystical melody, Mairon patted their great heads and spoke to them, telling them what fine creatures they were. He wished that He had brought some dried beef or mutton for the beasts, but, alas, He could give them no treats, for when He set off on His journey, He had not expected to pay a visit to a farmakfîl lair.

The largest beast in the fearsome aerie, a dominant young male, seemed to have taken an especial liking to Mairon, and impatiently butted his fellows away so that he could have the Maia's attention all to himself. Lumbering closer, the massive farmakfîl nosed at Mairon's hand, then nuzzled his giant head against His palm. Although the creature was young, Mairon sensed that someday this farmakfîl would be one of the largest in this part of Ered Lithui, if not the largest in all of Mordor. Knowing the speech of all animals, Mairon divined that the beast was known among his fellows as the Mighty Black One, and so Mairon called him Durmor in the tongue of the Dark Land.

As Mairon gave Durmor's head a good scratch, a wild thought struck Him, and the mind of the Lord of Mordor reeled with the possibilities it held. So like the Great Eagles were the farmakfîl… And on rare occasions, the Great Eagles permitted passengers to ride atop their feathery backs. In fact, there was a relatively recent account of them rescuing some dwarves in Wilderland. Now that was a strange tale, and something about the whole affair bothered Mairon, but He was not sure exactly why.

...He could not let such a trivial matter affect His schemes, however, and so He pushed the matter from His mind. He devoted all His thought to pondering the question which had so fascinated Him:

Could these farmakfîl be tamed and used as flying mounts?

If such a thing was possible, it would revolutionize communication and travel. No longer would it take weeks or even months to send letters to distant allies. This would be of great benefit in the war which He was planning, giving Mordor an advantage which the West would never have. His mind entertained thoughts of flying archers unleashing torrents of arrows upon the armies below...

But He was counting His farmakfîl eggs before they hatched.

In order to be ridden safely, these beasts would have to have saddles and bridles. Mairon saw no problem in devising a saddle which would fit the creatures; there would have to be straps and harnesses for the rider's safety, of course. The bridle, though - now there might be a problem. Continuing to sing to Durmor, Mairon gingerly ran a finger along the side of the creature's leathery mouth. Any bit would have to be made of sturdy stuff indeed, lest it be snapped in twain by the beasts' razor-sharp teeth. A bridle around the snout might have to suffice instead... or maybe a nose ring like the nomads used on their camels. A harness of some sort might be the best idea, for it would allow the rider to have the most control over the beast. Naturally the reins would have to be very long in order to accommodate the long necks of the creatures.

A thrill of excitement raced through Mairon. He was far too impatient to wait for a saddle or bridle to be fashioned; the only thing that mattered in the world right now was determining if these winged beasts could be ridden like horses. Summoning forth the innate powers which gave Him mastery over nature, Mairon focused His will upon Durmor, prodding at the creature's mind with gentle yet irresistible force. Durmor, lulled by the soothing melody, had no fear of the Being before him, and in total trust he submitted to Marion's will. Both creature and Master were as one, a union of perfect harmony.

Willing Durmor to extend his long neck and bow low to the ground, Mairon mounted the farmakfîl as though he were a horse. The creature squawked and stirred uncertainly, for he was unaccustomed to the weight of a rider upon his back, but Mairon soothed Durmor's fears with a few soft words of comfort and reassurance. He commanded Durmor to fly, and the farmakfîl ran along the rocky ground, his powerful wings beating the air. The edge of the precipice raced towards them, coming closer and closer.

And then Durmor leaped from the rock shelf, his mighty wings stretching wide.

For one sickening moment, the great beast hurtled towards the earth, but then his wings caught the breeze and he rode the currents, soaring ever higher in wide circles.

They were flying!

Mairon closed His eyes, savoring the feeling of the wind in His hair, the breeze buffeting His cheeks. He thought back to the days when His favored form was that of a vampire, and He would soar through the night sky in the shape of a giant bat. He seldom shape-shifted like that anymore, for it always seemed that He was recovering from the destruction of His body. Over three millennia had passed since the Siege of Barad-dûr, but His old wounds still pained Him sometimes, even though His body was new. He looked down at His nine fingers, feeling a pang of terrible sorrow and loss...

Suddenly a vision came to Him, murky around the edges as though viewed through a palantír. Nine riders atop the great beasts. Nine riders of the winds.

He had seen this vision once before...

Nine riders in the skies, nine harbingers of war.

The Nazgûl.

Mairon looked down at the nine glittering rings upon His fingers and smiled.

Soon His servants would have new mounts.

***

NOTES

In early days, Sauron was once known as Mairon the Admirable.

The use of the fell beasts in The Lord of the Rings always seemed like a recent development. From all that I have read, the fell beasts are not mentioned until the late winter of 3019. The soldiers of Gondor seemed very surprised to see these winged creatures, so apparently they had not been utilized in any conflict until the War of the Ring.