Conversations in the Void ~Míriel 

Chapter 1

~~~ 

Authors Notes: While it is unclear as to what happened to Sauron after the War of the Ring, this is my take on it.  Slightly AU.

 ~~~ 

            He was falling.   

            Falling, falling in the dark.  He should have foreseen this.  He was, after all, Sauron!  The mighty Lord of the Ring! 

            But who, who could have foreseen that the enemy would seek to destroy the Ring?  Surely, not he.  Destroying it had been the furthest though from his mind. 

            The descent into under darkness stopped abruptly.  All was silent for a moment.  Sauron glanced about.  Spirit as he may be, he still had the gift of sight, although, it was not very useful in the pitch black. 

            Suddenly, something gripped his heart.  Fear, fear and utter terror gripped him. Terror he hadn’t felt since he had been in the presence of Melkor.  Could it be...? 

            “What news?” hissed a voice. 

            “Pardon?” Sauron answered waveringly. 

            “I said, what news, you insolent fool!” The grip on his spirit became tighter, and the voice continued.  “The last that I had heard, my foolish slave Sauron had put all of his power into a little trinket, and had the misfortune of losing it.” 

            Yes, this certainly was Melkor.  “It was not a little trinket.  It was a great ring; the Ruling Ring.  And, as I remember, I was your lieutenant.” 

            The grip on his spirit instantly released.  “Sauron?” the voice said in shock. 

            Sauron sighed.  “Yes.” 

            To his utter shock and annoyance, the voice began to laugh.   

            “I hardly see anything amusing in this matter.” 

            “You...the Great Sauron!  Here, with me, in the void...what happened, one of the little elves use your earring against you?” 

            Sauron had forgotten how irritating Melkor could be.  “It was a Ring.  And it wasn’t destroyed by the elves.  It was destroyed by a hobbit.” 

            The laughter ceased.  “A what?” 

            “A Hobbit.”  Sauron decided that what Melkor did not know would do him no harm.  After all, they were in the Void.  “A great, big, powerful Maiar.  Think Tulkas with hairy feet.” 

            “Really?” Melkor sounded impressed.  “The last I had heard, you had lost your little trinket...to a mortal, nonetheless.” 

            Sauron was feeling a bit grumpy.  “And how did you hear anything?” 

            Melkor gave what was akin to a yawn.  “From time to time the mortals sacrifice their kin to me.  The poor souls are terrified, and tell me whatever I want to hear.  In return, I send them back, slaves to my will.” 

            An idea brightened in Sauron’s mind.  “Does this mean that I shall too, in time, be sent back?” 

            “Where you sacrificed to me?” 

            “No.” 

            “Then, no, I have no power to send you back.” 

            Sauron waved his arms around.  He could feel nothing and see nothing; simply hear.  He could hear that horrid, grating voice of Melkor.  This would be a very long eternity. 

            “So,” Melkor pressed.  “Your ring was destroyed.  By a...Hobbit, was it?” 

            “Yes, a Hobbit.” 

            “And you had no knowledge of this?  How could you not know where your ring was at all times?  However did you lose it in the first place?” 

            Melkor was mocking him.  He knew very well how Sauron had lost it.  “It was cut off of my hand.” He said sullenly. 

            “Cut off of your hand?  By whom?” 

            “One of the Numenorians.  Isildur, son of the kings*.” 

            Melkor tsked.  “Cut off your hand by a mere mortal?  Shameful.  Then what happened?” 

            “While I regained my former strength and rebuilt Barad-dur, the Ring was passed to many people until it came into the hands of—” Sauron desperately searched his mind for a name.  He knew hardly anything about these hobbits, let alone what they named themselves.  He needed a name, a powerful name, one that Melkor may have heard but never associated with anyone.  

            “A powerful Hobbit named—Gandalf!”  Sauron waited, hoping that Melkor knew nothing of this Gandalf.  Although, even if he did know Sauron was lying, what could Melkor do?  They were already dead. 

            “Gandalf?” Melkor mused.  “That name...I have heard it before...” 

            Good, Melkor was falling for the ruse.  “Yes, Gandalf.  It fell into his hands, and with it, he became powerful!  Mightier than the mighty!  I had one of my servants, Saruman, try to convince Gandalf to join with me, but he would not hear of it.  Instead, he gathered the most powerful of Hobbits and marched to Mordor.” 

            “Did he now?” Sauron wasn’t sure if Melkor’s tone was one of amazement or mockery.  Hoping that it was the first, Sauron proceeded. 

            “Yes, he did.  Once they were there, Gandalf used his mightiest forces to assail Barad-dur.  I had no choice but to stay there and defend myself.  Unbeknownst to me, however, Gandalf had sent the Ring to Mt. Doom while he distracted me.  They then destroyed it in the fire.”  Sauron bowed his head.  Curse his stupidity!  How could he have not even considered the possibility of the Ring’s destruction? 

            “Why would this Gandalf destroy the Ring?  Could he not defeat you with it?” Melkor said mockingly.  “Would he not use it to greaten himself far above you and strike you down?” 

            Sauron’s lips curled into a sneer.  “I still controlled the Ring, no matter how great it made he who possessed it.  Gandalf knew this, and...That’s how I came...here.” 

            “Hm.” Melkor said after a moment.  “So, what happens now?” 

            Sauron sighed.  “How do you expect me to know?  I’m dead, remember?  I expect that the fools set up Gandalf as king and are now his slaves.” 

            “This...Gandalf...” Melkor mused; “Perhaps he could be persuaded...” 

            “That fool Saruman...he tried already.  He could not do it.” 

            “Did you try?” 

            “No.” 

            “Well, why not!?” Melkor thundered. 

            “I was...busy!” Sauron answered defensively.   

            “Too busy to save yourself?” 

            “There was another matter...Isildur’s heir.  He had a very large army.” 

            “You didn’t mention him earlier...” 

            “Well, I—” 

            “Silence!” Melkor hissed.  “There is another here.” 

            Sauron could feel the grip on his spirit for a moment; then it passed.   

            “What news?!” Melkor thundered. 

            “Pardon?” Another voice said waveringly. 

            “What news, you insolent fool!  The last that I heard, Sauron had been defeated, and Gandalf set up as king!” 

            “Gandalf?” the new voice sneered.  “That frail Istari, King?” 

            Sauron’s spirit went icy in terror.  The new voice was Saruman.         

 ~~~

*I know that Isildur was not technically the “King’s son,” but he was of that bloodline.

Oh, and the part about how news came to Melkor was taken from Bryn's Mirinus Stiria.  Thanks, Bryn!

So far, this is the only chapter.  I am working on several follow-up chapters.  Any ideas right now would be greatly appreciated, and there is a high possibility of any ideas being used.  If you enjoyed this, please review.

~~~

Return from the Void ~Míriel

Chapter 2 ~Melkor’s Plan

~~~

            “Frail Istari?” Melkor said in surprise.  “Why, I had heard that he was a great, powerful, Hobbit warrior!”

            Sauron cursed the day he had first spoken to Saruman.  That pesky wizard had been part of the reason for his downfall.  Had Saruman not tricked him by putting that little hobbit up to the palantir, why, Sauron might be ruler of Middle-Earth by now!

            Saruman snorted.  “Where ever did you hear that hobbits were great and powerful warriors?  They are weak, pathetic creatures.”

            Sauron shrunk a bit in fear, as he could feel Melkor’s anger burning towards him.  “Well, I never actually saw one...” he whimpered in defense.

            “Sauron?” Saruman said in surprise.

            “Yes.”

            “Listen, I hope that there aren’t any hard feelings about that trying to-get-the-Ring-for-myself ordeal.  What can I say; you made a powerful (and desirable) Ring!”

            Curse the day that he had first heard that flattering voice.  “Think nothing of it,” he said weakly, hoping that Saruman would stop before Melkor realized his deception.

            But it was far too late for that.  “Come, Saruman, is it?” Melkor crooned.  “Tell me of this...Gandalf.  I had heard that he was a great powerful hobbit warrior, akin to Tulkas with hairy feet!”

            Saruman laughed.  “Gandalf,” he sneered, “Is a weak old man, although he has great control over the hobbits, and they obey his every word.”

            “Hm...” Melkor said thoughtfully.  Sauron shuddered.  Melkor calm was worse than him angry.  “Sauron, Sauron, Sauron.”

            Why the name three times?  Oh, the agony of anticipation!  Why not simply grip his spirit with pain and be done with it?  “Yes, Melkor?” Sauron answered meekly.

            “I thought that you said this Gandalf was your downfall.”

            “He was!” and at a snort from Saruman; “In a roundabout way.”

            “I see.”

            Grovel.  He needed to grovel.  It had always worked for Saruman.  Although he hated belittling himself like this...and in front of Saruman...Sauron shrugged off the humiliation.  Better that then the alternative.  “Melkor, my lord, I was ashamed to admit my stupidity before one as great and mighty as you.”

            “Great and mighty, eh?”  Melkor sounded surprised.  Sauron had never groveled or flattered before.  He just might come through unscathed.

            “Yes, my liege.  I was ashamed to admit that Gandalf outsmarted us all.  He sent two hobbits (who are naught but small and insignificant, my lord) into Mordor, where they then destroyed the Ring.  Meanwhile, Gandalf sent Isildur’s heir and a very large army to distract me.  He was clever, my magnificent lord and master.”

            Saruman broke into an un-Istari-like coughing fit.  Perhaps the “magnificent” had been a bit much.

            Luckily, Melkor had never heard such flattery from the lips of Sauron, and he was relishing every minute of it.  “My dear lieutenant, surely you did not think that you could be as wise as I would have been?”

            “I had hoped, my lord.”  Sauron hoped Melkor would end this soon.  All of this sweet-talking was making him want to gag.

            Melkor sighed in pity for the poor soul who could never achieve the greatness that he had.  Saruman decided that this would be a wonderful time to interrupt.

            “So, my lords, what shall we do now?”

            “Now,” Sauron answered; “We stay in the Void until the end of Time.”

            “No!” Melkor shouted, ignoring Saruman’s audible groan.  “No.”

            “No?”  Sauron was feeling more than a bit irritated.  “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

            “Just that,” Melkor replied, sounding pleased.  “No.  No, no, no.  Would you like to hear it again?  No. No. No, no.”

            “I understand!” Sauron interrupted desperately.  Being in the Void truly had done things to Melkor’s mind. 

            “Perhaps, if you could clarify...?” Saruman suggested.

            Melkor laughed.  “Manwë will regret the day that he banished us to the Void.”

            Sauron rolled his eyes.  Well, he thought that he was rolling them, who could tell in this dark?  “Why will he regret the day?”

            “Don’t you see?” Melkor cackled.  “He has banished all of us here.  All of us together...” he prompted.

            Saruman and Sauron were silent. 

            “Was he always like this?” Saruman relayed to Sauron.

            “Not at first.  After that she-elf took his Silmaril he has gone a bit mad.” Sauron relayed back.

            Melkor sighed.  “Since you both are stupid enough as not to guess my magnificent plan, I shall tell you.  All of us are here, correct?”

            “Yes...” Saruman and Sauron answered together. 

            “And we are all powerful dark lords, correct?”

            Sauron felt the need to correct this statement.  “You were a powerful dark lord.  I was a powerful dark lord.  Saruman was a weak, traitor Istari.  I don’t see how—”

            Saruman sniffed.  “I may have been in the guise of an old man, but powers untold lurked beneath that guise.  And, as I recall, you were not a powerful dark lord, you were an eyeball.  A big, red, glowing—”

            “Silence!” Melkor thundered.  “The point is we are all dark lords.”

            “Yes.”

            “Thus, we should be able to summon our dark powers and bring ourselves out of the Void into Valinor.”

            “Actually,” Sauron corrected; “Valinor is no longer part of Middle Earth.  Those same pesky Númenoríans tried to set foot on the Undying Lands, and the Valar moved it from the circles of the world.”

            “Actually,” Saruman said; “the reason that they set foot on the Undying Lands was because a certain dark lord—”

            “Ahem.” Melkor interrupted.   “Fine.  We shall go to Middle Earth and conquer it.”

            Sauron sighed.  He had been hoping for a peaceful eternity in the Void.  “Could we not wait a millennia or so?”

             “No.  The time is now.  Come, chant with me.”  Melkor began to chant in the Black Speech.

            Sauron and Saruman just listened.

            Melkor stopped.  “Come, you must chant!   Otherwise all I say will be in vain.  With our combined powers, we might achieve something.”  He then went back to chanting.

            Saruman joined him a moment later.  Sauron did nothing, utterly feeling stupid. What was he supposed to chant?  He thought for a moment, and then began:

            “Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzon-ishi krimpatul.”

            “Keep going,” Melkor said excitedly; “I do believe that it is working!”

            Sauron was surprised.  Considering that the Ring was gone, he had thought that the verse might have the opposite effect, but, if it works...

            “Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzon-ishi krimpatul.”

            Sauron felt himself lifting.  He was beginning to fall again; but up this time.  His velocity increased until he thought that he would be ripped apart. 

            Then suddenly, everything began to glow with a light that hurt his eyes.  It was the Sun.

~~~

Author’s Notes: Yes, this story majorly (My spell check says that isn’t a word.) crosses the AU border.  If you look closely, the summery now says AU, as opposed to slightly AU.  The AU element will increase as the story progresses, although nothing too drastic.  Hear ye non-AU people, consider yourselves warned.

Reviewers:  This story is still in progress.  Any and all ideas are welcome.  If you enjoy this, please review.

Lamiel:  Thank you for your review!  I hope that you enjoy the rest of this!

Bryn:  Thanks for all the great ideas.  I think that you will love the next chapter.

Return from the Void ~Míriel

Chapter 3 ~Of Nose Rings and Little Barrels

~~~

            Sauron closed his eyes for a moment, but the light still pressed against them. 

            “Ugh...this light...”

            The voice was Melkor’s, but where was Melkor?  Sauron tried to turn, but found that he could not.  His eyes finally adjusting to the light, he realized that all he could see was nothing.  Wonderful.  There was something akin to a wall in front on him, and behind him...he tried to turn again, but to no avail.  He was stuck. 

            After several moments of repeatedly trying to see, Sauron realized several things: one, his legs and arms were missing; two, he could see above him by rolling his eyes back, which, strangely enough, was not uncomfortable in any way; third, there was nothing behind him except darkness;  and fourth, Melkor’s voice was loudly echoing behind him. 

            Sauron attempted to place his hands over his ears, but discovered he had no hands.  Or ears, for that matter.  He looked down, realizing that he could see when he looked that way.  What was that down there?  It was green, prickly looking stuff...Hm.  Odd. 

            “Sauron?” Melkor called.  “Sauron, where are you?”

            Several moments later, Sauron was ready to weep in frustration.  He could not answer Melkor, no matter how hard he tried, nor could he move or see very much at all.  Sauron considered his options, and decided that weeping would be the best course of action.  If he could even do that.

            Several moments later, Sauron felt the hot wetness of tears in his eyes.  They trickled out of his eyes and rolled down his sides.

            Melkor cursed above him.  “Why is my nose running?” he said in disgust.

            Horror went over Sauron.  Could it be...there was only one way to know for certain.

            He twitched.  First a little bit, then a lot.

            “Ah...ah...achoo!” Melkor sneezed around him.

            Sauron mentally moaned.  His suspicions had been confirmed.  The return to Middle Earth had not been as successful as they might have hoped.  He had returned as a nose.  Worse, he was not just any nose, he was Melkor’s nose.  And, to top it all off, he had a horrible itch in his side that was being caused by an unsightly nose ring.  He should have known better than to have chanted the Ringverse as a spell.

~~~

            Melkor sighed in frustration.  Where were those idiots, Sauron and Saruman?  Melkor scratched his unusually itchy nose, and was horrified to find a thick metal hoop in it.  He shuddered.  What had happened?

            Looking down at himself, Melkor was horrified to find that he possessed a body.  Not just the form, that would have been ideal, but an actual, physical body.  Ah, well, perhaps in time he would regain his former strength and be able to regain his ancient form.

            Melkor sighed and scratched his face, then his head, and was disgusted to find a scraggly beard and long, shaggy hair.  And...What was this?  Melkor felt his ears in surprise.  They weren’t the lovely, pointed ears of the elves.  To his disgust, he realized that his ears possessed the roundness of those of mortal men.

            Melkor glanced down and took in his appearance.  The dark hands, muscular arms, strange garments, and thick legs—these were not the makings of an elf.  He was most certainly a man.  A weak mortal, subject to death and illness.  This hadn’t been part of the plan!  He had been chanting: “Dark, terrible Lord, dark terrible Lord.”  Perhaps he should have been a bit more specific.

            He glanced about frantically, afraid that he would be sick.  The great lord Melkor, reduced to this.  The bright sun, blue sky with several clouds sprinkled through it, the birds chirping, green grass, and trees seemed to torment him with their purity.  Now he was going to be sick.

            No!  He would not.  That was hardly the reaction of one of the most powerful of Valar, although Tulkas would laugh if he could see Melkor now.

            Dark Balrogs, there was even a little waterfall trickling into a stream.  Melkor glared at the enormously fat black pony drinking from it.  Where was that dratted Sauron?

~~~

            Saruman opened his eyes and promptly closed them.  Bright light.  He slowly proceeded to open one eye, then the other.  He closed them again, afraid to see what was around him.

            He wondered what his new form would be.  Would he be back in the spirit of a true Maiar; able to change form whenever he so desired?  Surely he would not be in the guise of an old man again; now that was truly unbearable!  Perhaps, if not a Maiar, he would be a young, handsome elf.  As he had become dark towards the end, he had resented the elves, always happy and eternally young instead of eternally old.

            Saruman let himself enjoy the fantasy for a moment.  Ah, to be young!  Hopefully he would be an elf.  Sauron and Melkor had not been the only one chanting about their forms.  He had been chanting: “Young and handsome, young and handsome.”  The part about the elven maidens surely hadn’t hurt either.

            “Well,” he decided; “I believe that I shall now see my lovely form!”

            He opened his eyes.  He was near a little stream in a beautiful forest.  There was a little waterfall trickling down near him.  Looking into the stream, he saw a reflection.  At first it was blurry; then it began to clear.  Saruman could see the reflection of the trees, grasses, and an extremely fat little pony.  “Like a little barrel,” Saruman mused to himself.

            But where was he?  There was no young, slender form by that of the pony...half a moment!  He had not seen a pony.  Was the water playing tricks?

            Turning his head first one way; then the other, Saruman could see nothing.  No pony.  Dread filled his heart.  He knew what he had to do; but he was afraid to do it.  He looked down.

            Hooves.  Thick pony legs.  Saruman screamed, but it came out as a whinny.  He screamed harder.

            Wheeling around frantically, he began to gallop, but, after realizing that his girth would not permit that, began to trot.  He had to get away from this stream!  There was a dark man who looked like one of the Haradrim near the edge of the forest.  He seemed to be having a similar problem, except—Saruman stopped his panicked trot next to the man and looked him in the eyes.

            The man glared.  “Foul pony!” he snarled.

            Melkor.  Who else could it be?  But what had happened to his nose?  It was running like a stream.

            Suddenly, the nose stopped running.  Then it began to whistle.  Saruman fancied that he could make out words in the whistles.

            Wait—it wasn’t a fancy!  The nose was speaking!

            “Saruman, is that you?” said the nose in shock.

            Melkor crossed his eyes and stared down at his nose.

            Yes, this had been a very odd day, indeed.

The End

~~~

Author’s Notes:  Now, before you say anything; I know that noses cannot speak.  But Sauron is one of the Maiar; therefore his powers are somewhat greater than those of other noses.  (Have you ever heard your nose speak?  No?  Neither have I...) 

So, for literary purposes, I have given the Nose of Sauron the ability to speak.  You may roll your eyes in disgust, or walk away from this story in anger, or go into a private room and hold a conversation with your nose.  Whatever you do, please remember that this story is AU.

(Ok, now go back and read the chapter title.  Does it make sense now?)

~~~

This is the final chapter.  The idea fizzled out after this chapter, but I am posting what I have written for your enjoyment.  If anyone can think of a way to continue it, be my guest, the story is yours.

Return from the Void ~Míriel

Chapter 4 ~Who We Are Instead

~~~

            Melkor could feel frustration filling him.  “Enough!” he screamed. 

            The pony (“Saruman” he reminded himself) instantly stopped bucking and looked at him.  His nose (“To think that that idiot Sauron is now a permanent part of me!” Melkor thought mournfully) stopped frantically whistling and dripping.

            He took a deep breath.  “Let us work through this rationally,” he said through tightly clenched teeth.  “You,” he pointed to Saruman, “are a fat little gray pony.  You,” he gestured to his nose, “are part of my face.  Judging by my garb, I am a weak, pathetic, mortal.” he spat.

            His nose snorted.  “Try being a nose.” It said in disgust.

            The pony whinnied something unintelligible, causing Melkor’s nose to burst into hysterical laughter.

            The pony tried again.  And again.  Finally, words because audible in the whinnies.  “I’d rather be a lord of the Haradrim then a pony.”

            Melkor felt a slight sense of pride.  “I am a lord?”

            The pony rolled its eyes in annoyance.  “Could you not tell by your dress?” it said somewhat snottily.

            Melkor looked at his clothes.  He was wearing high quality boots, black breeches with a red stripe down the sides, and a black shirt and vest.  The vest was the most exquisite of the outfit; it had many medals and badges on it. 

            He was also wearing a golden chain around his neck.  He reached into his shirt to pull out the chain, and as he did, he noticed three rings on his fingers.  They were golden and had large stones set into them: emerald, diamond, and ruby.  Yanking the chain free from his shirt, he carefully studied the charm on the end.  For the life of him, he could not figure out what it was.

            His nose sent out a puff of exasperation.  “It’s a Mumakil.”  Sauron/Nose said.

            “A what?”

            “A war beast of the Haradrim.”

            Melkor nodded.  “I am a lord.” He said importantly.

            “Save us all,” the pony whispered.

            Melkor chose to loftily ignore this.  “If I am a lord, I must have an army.  Slaves!” he called.

            Dead silence.

            His nose cleared its throat, er, nasal passages.  “The Haradrim are not slaves.”

            Melkor tried again.  “Haradrim!”

            To his shock and delight, two hundred dark men heavily armed poured out of the woods and came to stand before him.

            The foremost man bowed.  “What is it, my lord?”

            “They recognize me.” Melkor thought in surprise.  “Part of the spell must be that they know my face.  But were they here before the spell?  Or is their existence here merely from my doing?”

            He cleared his throat.  “Which one of you is a scout?”

            A nondescript man stepped forth.

            “Where are we?”

            “The Forests of Ithilien, m’lord.”

            His nose stiffened.  Melkor desperately hoped Sauron would not speak.  He could only imagine how absurd it might look.

            “Ithilien!  We’re right near Gondor!”

            All heads swiveled towards the pony, which was contentedly munching grass.  Confusion filled their faces for a moment; then they shook their heads in amusement.  Were they insane?  Ponies didn’t speak.

            “Gondor...” Melkor mused. 

            Another Haradrim, only a little less well dressed then Melkor stepped forward.  By his confident air and the several medals he sported, he was obviously used to being respected.  “Lord Melki, where did you get this...little pony?” He asked, nose wrinkling in disgust.

            Melkor digested several bits of information with this statement.  Firstly, this man was clearly a threat to his authority; secondly, while studying him, Melkor became aware that his name was Omar.  And thirdly, this pony had not been with them before...although neither had he.  Hm...

            “He was gazing by the stream.” Melkor declared.  “He will be an excellent pack pony.”  Saruman looked up from pretending to graze and glared at Melkor.  Melkor gleefully continued.  “We shall call him...Little Barrel.”

            Little Barrel whinnied angrily and bucked.  Well, actually, his bucking was greatly hindered by his rather enormous size, thus, it was more of a kicking of one stout leg.

            Melkor stifled a laugh.  Omar cleared his throat.  “Lord Melki, where shall we go now?”

            “I need a moment to decide.” he declared.  Omar nodded.  “Men!” Omar shouted, “Get back into the caves!”  Just as silently as they had entered the woods, the men disappeared.

            Saruman wasted no time.  “Little Barrel?!” he said angrily.

            Melkor waved his hand in dismissal.  “That is not the problem right now.  Sauron!”

            “Yes?” his nose whistled.

            “You know more of this land than I.  What are our options?”

            The nose snorted a bit.  “I could remember better, perhaps, if I were not a nose...”

            Melkor sighed.  Truth be told, he hated having Sauron as part of him.  It would be simply to turn him into a man, as he was already part of one.  “Fine.  Burzon-ishi!”

            Instantly, the pressure on his nose was relieved.  There was a flash of light, and a whirlwind started before him.  Within moments, before him stood another of the Haradrim, who was heavily pierced with many rings: three in his nose, five per ear, two in each eyebrow, and one in the lip.  He also had a golden ring on each finger.  His eyes glowed a strange red.

            “Much better,” Sauron declared.  “Now, as for Gondor...”

            “Wait!” Saruman cried angrily.  “Change me to a man!”

            Melkor shrugged.  “I cannot.  You are a pony; Sauron was part of a man.  The results of attempting to change you would be far worse than as you are now.  I fear for those who would see a man with the fat legs of a pony and the head of a man.”

            Saruman threw himself down upon the ground in frustration.

            “M’lord,” Sauron said softly.  “We should invade Gondor.  You and I.”

            “It is weak?”

            “Nay, it is strong.  Unless we take the one thing that keeps it together.”

            Melkor gazed at Sauron doubtfully.  “How know you this?”

            “Much has been made known to me as I was transformed.  I now know all of what has transpired since my absence.”

            “All right, then.  Back to Gondor.  What, Sauron, holds the city together?”

            A sly smile stole over Sauron’s face, which looked positively ridiculous considering the lip ring.

            “What holds the city together, my lord Melkor?  Her prince.”

~~~

Author’s note:  I have inspiration once again!  You may now expect regular updates from me.  Many questions shall be answered in the next chapter, although feel free to ask me any you might have in a review.  I shall answer any questions there.

My apologies to any who wished to keep Sauron as a nose.  It simply could not work for what I have planned.  Be comforted however, Saruman shall remain Little Barrel.

This story is still in the makings, so any ideas would be greatly appreciated and credited.

~~~

Return from the Void ~Míriel

Chapter 5 ~The Lords of Insanity

~~~

            Saruman sighed.  “I honestly believe that I am the only sane one around here.” he thought in disgust.  Did Sauron and Melkor seriously think that they could waltz into Gondor, kidnap its prince, and escape undetected?

            And once they had the prince, what did they plan to do?  Simply wander about in the wilderness until King Elessar decided that his son was more important than the fate of the world?

            Although, he had to remember whom he was dealing with here.  This was the same Sauron who had thought that the kingdoms of the West would utterly surrender so they could get back that nasty little Baggins.

            To top it all off, he was a pony.  A pony that was ignored.  A pony that was right now plodding wearily along the road out of Ithilian towards Gondor.

            “You idiot!” Melkor cried in disgust.

            Omar of the Haradrim rolled his eyes.  Saruman agreed heartily with that gesture.  Omar was actually not a bad man, he had decided, simply misguided.  Omar was the captain of the last of the Haradrim who had served Sauron.  He and his two hundred men had decided that they did not like this new ruler of Gondor, and had committed their lives to the cause of winning the White City for themselves.

            During this long plodding, Saruman had decided something: if he ever got the chance, he would cheerfully throw pride out the window and grovel for forgiveness.  Olorin could laugh and point if he wanted, but being turned into a pony had ways of changing people’s hearts.  Unfortunately, he was stuck with these stupid former dark lords.

            “What, my lord Melki?” Omar asked with a heavy sigh.

            “Why did you not tell us of this—monstrosity?”

            Sauron looked at Melkor in disgust.  “It’s the Great River Anduin.  I would hardly call it a monstrosity.”

            Melkor looked at it in disgust.  “Well, another one of your plans foiled, Sauro-, I mean, Salir.” he said hastily at the strange look Omar gave him.  “How did you plan to cross this, this river?”

            Sauron rolled his eyes.  “The ferry that crosses the river, my lord?”

            Melkor snorted.  “Do you honestly think that they will let three Haradrim and a fat pony cross?”

            Omar spoke up.  “Milord, all of the Haradrim are now loyal subjects to Gondor, and love the king as their own.  The only ones who do not are my men and I.  I foresee no dilemma in the crossing.”  Omar had ordered his men to meet him in Pelargir; where they would then travel to Harad.

            “Your face is not known in Gondor?” Sauron asked sharply.

            “No, milord.  My men and I have not yet made names for ourselves in Gondor.”  A fierce look came over his face.  “But we shall!  We shall be mighty in Gondor, feared by all in every land, from South Harad to North--” he stopped when he realized that Sauron, Melkor, and even the pony were staring at him.

            “Wonderful.” Saruman thought.  “Two former dark lords, one insane over some lost jewels and the other too stupid to learn from his mistakes and on top of that, looks like he was fighting with Celebrimbor* and lost; one egomaniac rebel leader, and a pony who can barely walk.  And three-quarters of them think we’re going to take over the world by kidnapping some snot-nosed toddler.  Eru must be at a sore loss for some amusement.”

            “Ferryman!” Melkor called loudly.  Sauron winced.  “I demand that you let us cross now!”

            Saruman, Sauron, and Omar gazed at the ferry on the other side of the Anduin.  Unless the ferryman had hearing greater than the elves, there was no way that he could have heard Melkor.

            The three sighed, and simultaneously rolled their eyes.

~~~

            “Hm...I will put this block on top of that one.  Now I shall knock them down.”

            The tower of blocks was merrily knocked to the floor.

            “Hooray!  I have mastered the blocks.  Hm, I’m hungry.  I want to eat some more of the fluffy sweet stuff that we ate yesterday. I hope Daddy eats lunch with us today.  He didn’t yesterday.  Mommy said that he was busy with “things.”  Where’s Mommy?  I haven’t seen her all morning.  Ah, well, let me see...”

            A loud shriek pierced the room; loud enough that it was heard in many other rooms and hallways.  The door to the room flung open, and the lovely Queen of Gondor wafted into the room.

            “Eldarion!  Love, what is amiss?!” she cried in amusement to her son.

            “Carefully now...she shall deeply regret the fact that she has left me alone all morning...”

            The lower lip of Gondor’s prince trembled slightly as he pushed it out.  A single tear dripped down his cheek as he stared mournfully up at his mother.

            She reached down and picked him up; snuggling him to her closely.  He stroked the soft crimson velvet of her dress and smiled.

            “Yes, another victory for Eldarion.  Poor Mommy.  She had no chance!

            “Just wait until Daddy comes back tonight.  I haven’t seen him all day...”

            Queen Arwen kissed the top of Eldarion’s head and set him back on the floor.  He cried in protest, but she merely ruffled his hair and turned to go.   As she did, the crying intensified until the sound of it would be enough to break the heart of any female.  She returned to him, lifted him up, and carried him out of the room to go see the king.  It was his turn to be subject to the wiles of their son.

            Yes, the Kingdom of Gondor was being ruled by a child no more than three years of age.

~~~

*Celebrimbor is the maker of the Elven Rings

Author’s notes:  Although you might be thinking that the thoughts of young Eldarion, the son of Aragorn and Arwen, are a bit mature for one of three years of age, this is not so.  Young children are excellent at manipulating their parents very well; I witness this quite often as a Sunday School teacher to a class of 3 year olds.

The next chapter will continue with the arrival of the Dark Lords in Gondor.

Also, I have long thought that the Haradrim were not truly evil, thus, I have also figured that while most surrendered to and welcomed the King of Gondor; there were some rebels.  Thus, Omar.

Any comments and questions are welcomed and greatly appreciated.  From the many hit counts I recieve, I only have gotten one review.  I promise to check the fiction of anyone who reviews.  (As long as it's not "R" rated.)  Thank you.

Return from the Void ~Míriel

Chapter 6 ~Of Tummy-aches and Long Journeys

~~~

            Sauron adjusted himself for the hundredth time.  Looking up, he noticed with disgust that Minas Tirith was no closer than it had been the last time he had looked, which was approximately 2.93 seconds ago.

            “Confound you, Saruman,” he said to the pony.  “Could you not move faster?”

            An exasperated sigh came from beneath him.  “Maybe I could if you weren’t so large!”

            “Maybe if you weren’t so large!” Sauron retorted.  “Might I remind you whose name is ‘Little Barrel?’”

            “Perhaps you could have walked like Melkor and Omar.”

            Sauron squinted.  In the distance, he could see two black specks resembling their companions.

            “My stamina is not what it was,” he said loftily, “And you, being a pony, should be able to carry me--”

            “I’ve had a traumatizing time of it as it is!  Do you know how terrible it was to be with all the other horses on the ferry?  They laughed at me!  They laughed at my size, although they called me ‘pretty boy’, but oh!  The horror!”

            Sauron rolled his eyes.  “At least you weren’t up there with hydro-phobic Melkor.  I thought he would kill the ferryman for not flying across the river.”

            Saruman snickered at the memory of Melkor screaming at the ferryman; “Faster, you idiot!  Faster!”

            And the ferryman’s response:  “What do you want me to do, man, fly?”

            And finally, Melkor’s answer:  “Yes!”

            It was no small wonder that the ferryman had practically thrown them off the boat when they reached the opposite shore.

            Sauron sighed.  “If only we could fly to Gondor.” He said wistfully.

            “If only I had a nice little boy to feed me an apple.”  Saruman replied.

            Far ahead, if one listened carefully, Melkor could be heard saying, “If only I was a dark and terrible lord again!  Then I would crush Gondor, take power, and conquer Arda!”

            And at last, the thoughts of Omar.  “What in the name of flying Mumakils have I gotten myself into?”

~~~

            Arwen sighed and ran her fingers through her hair.  At least, that’s what she was attempting to do when they snagged on a tangle.

            “Oh, horrors,” she thought, “What else can go wrong this day?”

            This day had been one of utter frustration.  After having been rudely awoken at some unearthly hour by Eldarion, who had soiled himself, then wished to sleep with his mother and father, (Which, while letting him sleep blissfully, his mother and father were unable to achieve any rest) she had been running herself ragged trying to please him.

            “‘Tisn’t his fault though.  Poor little dear!  No child should have to suffer such an awful thing!”

            Arwen snuggled her son closely to her.  Poor darling, having a tummy-ache and all.

            She sighed, thinking wistfully of the day that she and her husband had planned.  He had asked her to attend to the throne with him today, helping him deal out justice.  But, alas, as soon as they discussed it, Eldarion had been struck with this horrid malady.

            “Mommy?” her child whispered weakly.

            “Yes, darling?”

            “I’m hungry.”

            “But I thought your tummy was hurting, love.”

            “Yes, but it’s hungry.” Eldarion explained.

            Arwen wondered at this.  Ah, well.  She truly knew nothing of tummy-aches, and had passed Eldarion’s off as indigestion.  Perhaps something to eat might help. 

            “What do you desire, dear?”

            Eldarion’s face scrunched up as he thought.  “Cake?” he asked hopefully.

            “But would the sugar not hurt your tummy more?”

            “No.”

            Arwen sighed.  “I hope the cake doesn’t hurt him more,” she fretted.  “I’ll get you some plain white cake.  I don’t think that the other kinds would be good for you.”

            She stood and rang the bell for the maid.  Lovingly glancing at her little boy, who looked so much like Aragorn, with his dark hair that fell so attractively into his lovely grey eyes; his smile, set so perfectly in his darling chubby cheeks; and even his little high voice; she couldn’t help but thank the Valar for this life she had chosen.

            “If anything ever happened to Eldarion, I know not what I would do.  I would give my very life for this child.”

~~~

            “Omar!”

            Omar cringed at the sound of Melkor’s grating voice calling to him—again.

            “What does this man want now?”

            “How much longer until we reach Mirin Tigris?”

            Omar clenched his teeth in an attempt to remain calm.  “At least a half of an hour, milord.  And the city’s name is Minas Tirith.”

            “Oh.  Well, I certainly hope Lieutenant Salir and Little Barrel manage to catch up.”

            Omar sighed.  “Small chances of that happening.”  He had been running with Lord Melki for over an hour now.  The man had a ridiculous amount of stamina.

            This was not going the way that Omar had planned.  He had hoped that with the Lord Melki, they would slip into Gondor, kill the king, and rule the world.  But no, that stupid Lieutenant Salir decided to kidnap the prince.  Omar could not see what good that would do.  “Just kill the lot of them, I say.”

            He sighed.  “I dearly hope this plan works.  That will show all the people of Harad, including Miriam.  That will teach her to scorn me!”  Omar entertained the thought of Miriam begging for him to give her a second chance.

            “She said that I was mad with power and conquest.  Well!  This will teach her exactly what conquest will get you—power!”

            “Finally!”

            Omar was brought forth from his revere by the voice of the Lieutenant. 

            “It’s about time!”  Melki grumbled.

            “I’m sorry, my lord,” Salir said.

            Melki sighed.  “I suppose it matters not.  You are here now, at any rate.”

            “And we have arrived,” Omar said.

            And so they had.  Towering above them was the lovely white city of Minas Tirith.

            They stood silent and awestruck.  Then Melki said

            “Now what?”

~~~

Author’s notes:  Thank you to my three reviewers!  You were very encouraging with your comments!  I hope this chapter meets the satisfaction of all.

In the next chapter, it will hopefully be a bit longer, perhaps a bit darker, and the story should begin to pick up nicely.

~~~

~~~

Return from the Void ~Míriel

Chapter 7 ~The Deepening of the Night

~~~

            “Arwen, meleth?”

            “Yes, Estel?”

            “Do you feel it?”

            “Yes.”

            “I feared so.”

            “‘Tis still but a whisper of what it was.”

            “Yet a different whisper.”

            “A different song.”

            “Ah, yes, to you elves, everything is in the song of Iluvatar, is it not?”

            “Yes, and it would be well for you men think the same.”

            “If only we could, meleth.”

            “Estel...”

            “Yes, Arwen?”

            “I fear for our son.”

            “How is that?”

            “I simply feel uneasy when I think of him.  As if...”

            “As if he were endangered?”

            “You have felt the same?”

            “Yes, and after much thought, I have a plan.  We shall send Eldarion into the city with his nurse.”

            “But why?”

            “He will not be recognized, and he will be in much less danger than here in the palace.  Think of how many children there are in the city!”

            “You will be the one to tell Eldarion what plans you have devised for him...”

            “I shall, meleth.  And perhaps, you must think of yourself as well.”

            “Nay, Estel.  My place is with you.  Perhaps, together, we can fight against this shadow.”

~~~                                                                                                                

            Tears streamed down Eldarion’s red face as he alternated screaming and crying.

            “But Mommy, I don’t want to go!” he wailed.

            Arwen knelt down and looked her son.  “I know, love, but,” her voice broke and she took her son in her arms; tears silently flowing.  Eldarion buried his head in his mother’s shoulder and wept.

            Aragorn knelt as well; resting his hand upon his son’s head.  “Eldarion, my son.  Do you want to be a soldier?”  Arwen looked up in surprise at the question.

            “Yes,” came Eldarion’s muffled voice.

            “Well, all soldiers must do things that they do not wish to do.”

            Eldarion lifted his head.  “Even you, Ada?”

            Aragorn smiled.  If his son only knew!  “Yes, even me.”

            Eldarion furrowed his brow.  “Then I have to go with nurse?”

            “Not for very long,” Arwen said reassuringly.  “Several weeks, at the most.”

            “And soldiers do not complain when they are asked to serve.  They simply do their duty.” Aragorn continued.

            “Do soldiers cry, Ada?”

            Aragorn reached for his son.  Eldarion left Arwen and threw his chubby arms around his father’s neck.  “Do they?”

            “Yes, my son.  All soldiers cry.  But that is what makes them brave; the fact that they do what they must, no matter how afraid they are.”

            Eldarion gazed into his father’s eyes unwaveringly.  “So does that mean that I’m brave?”

            Aragorn could not keep the tremble out of his voice.  “Yes, my son.”

            Eldarion tightly hugged his father, who scooped Eldarion in his arms and rose.  Arwen put her arms around both of them, and they stood for a moment; a quiet sanctuary.

            “Darien?”

            Aragorn set Eldarion down.  They had decided that he would be called ‘Darien’, since it was close to his name that he would answer to it but not enough that he would be recognized.

            “Hello, Miss Iorwen,” Aragorn said quietly.

            A lovely woman stepped into the room.  She was twenty-five years of age with long dark hair and soft grey eyes.  She had married three months past to a soldier of Gondor.  While she hoped to have children, she loved Eldarion as her own and would die for him.

            “Did you say farewell to your mum and da, Darien?”

            “Yes, Miss Iorwen,” Eldarion whispered.

            “Bless your heart.  Come here.” She reached for him, and he went willingly to her.  She lifted him and stood.  “Don’t you worry about a thing, your majesties.  Amandil*and I shall love him as our own.  He’ll be back before you know it, none worse for the wear.  Even perhaps a bit less spoilt.” She muttered under her breath.

            Aragorn nodded to her.  “Be brave my son,” he said.

            Arwen nodded.  “I love you, Eldarion,” she whispered.

            Eldarion could say nothing as he burst into tears.  Iorwen nodded to Gondor’s king and queen and exited the room.  She would be escorted by several men of the King’s guard to be sure she arrived safely back at her house.

            Arwen finally let all the tears free as she found shelter in her husband’s arms.  His body shook as he held her.

            They stood there, unaware of time, and wept; for they knew not how long it would be until they saw their son again. 

            Outside, dark clouds began forming in the sky.

~~~

            Iorwen nodded to the guard who had escorted her home.  “Thank you.”  She said.

            He nodded to her in return; then turned and left.

            Iorwen stepped inside her house and set Eldarion down.  “Well, here we are,” she said cheerfully.

            Eldarion looked around in fascination.  Iorwen very much doubted that he had ever seen the inside of a commoner’s house before.

            “Well,” she said cheerfully, “I’m going to get started on supper.  How does some nice, hearty stew sound to you, Darien?”

            Confusion clouded his face.  “What’s stew?”

            Iorwen sighed.  What had they been teaching this child?  “It’s a bit like soup, love, just thicker.” 

            “Oh.  We’ve had soup before.  I like it.  Especially the chicken soup.”

            Dragging a chair over, Iorwen motioned Eldarion to the chair.  Confusion again filled his face.

            She sighed.  “Darien, get up on the chair, love, you’re going to help me make supper.”

            Wide-eyed, he complied.  “Mommy never let me do this.  She would yell at me to get down.  One time, it was Tuesday, and,”

            Iorwen smiled as she listened to his chatter.  The house would certainly be cheerful with this little one, and would help ease the loneliness she felt when her husband was away.

            With Eldarion’s “help,” supper took a bit longer to make than usual, but Iorwen did not mind.  The afternoon had passed faster than any since her sisters had come to visit her.

            There was a creaking at the door.  Iorwen turned as her husband walked in. 

            “Is that stew I smell?” he called jovially. 

            Iorwen ran to her husband, flung her arms around his neck and kissed him.  “It certainly is,” she replied a moment later; “And I had a lot of help today.”

            Eldarion ran out from the bedroom.  “Hello, sir.” He said with a salute.  Iorwen winked at her husband and walked back into the kitchen.

            Amandil saluted back.  “Hello soldier,” he answered.  “I heard that you helped with the evening meal?”

            “Yes Sir!” Eldarion chirped.

            Amandil ruffled Eldarion’s hair before kneeling and pulling him into a great hug.  “It’s good to have another man in the house,” he whispered in Eldarion’s ear.

            Eldarion grinned. 

            Suddenly, Iorwen cried out, and the clatter of dishes was heard.  In one swift movement, Amandil scooped up Eldarion, stood, and ran into the kitchen.  Iowren was staring out the window, a faraway look on her face.  Around her feet were the wooden bowls they would use for supper.

            “Iorwen, what is it?!”

            She blinked and glanced at her husband before turning back to the window.

            “Amandil?” she murmured faintly.

            He joined her at the window.  When he saw what she did, his arms tightened involuntarily around Eldarion as he gasped.

            The sky had gone black.

            Iorwen spoke without turning, transfixed by the sky.  “Amandil, you were just outside.  Was it like this?”

            Amandil was silent a moment before he began to slowly shake his head.  “No...No it wasn’t...”

            With a small whimper, Eldarion buried his head into Amandil’s shoulder as the room grew darker, then completely black.

~~~

            “Fools!”

            Melkor and Sauron looked up from the table, where they were bent over a piece of parchment.  “What?” Melkor said irritably.

            Omar stomped over to them.  “Thanks to your witchcraft, the whole city is in a panic.”

            A smile crept across Sauron face.  “That was quick work, eh?”

            Melkor sneered.  “It was indeed.”

            Omar shook his head.  “No!  I thought the plan was to come in, take the child, and leave!”

            “Plans have changed.” Melkor said nonchalantly.

            “Why—was—I—not—informed?!” Omar said through gritted teeth.

            Sauron answered for Melkor.  “Because you did not need to know.”

            Omar slammed his hand down on the table, rattling the single candle that illuminated the room.  “Fools!” he said again. 

            Melkor and Sauron merely watched him in amusement.  Omar began to rant.  “While I was out on the streets, you two were up here in this rented room, which I paid for by the way, making the city dark!  Did you have any idea that the citizens of Minis Tirith would riot?”

            “Oo, they’re rioting?” Sauron said with relish.

            Omar ignored him.  “So, I had to fight the crowd to get back here, after stabling your pony, and when I do finally return, you two just sit there and inform me of your changed plans!  What are you two looking at anyway?!” he broke off at the end.

            “Our plan.” Melkor said.

            “Your plan.” Omar repeated.

            “Mm-hmm.” said Sauron.

            “Give me that,” Omar said, snatching the parchment up.  Melkor and Sauron exchanged looks of exasperation.

            “Omar,” Melkor said, “In case you are forgetting, I am your lord.”

            “That may be, but we are all in this together.” Omar replied as his eyes beheld the writing on the parchment.

            OUR PLAN TO TAKING OVER ARDA

            ~By Lord Melki and his Lieutenant Salir

            STEP 1

            Set up base inside the city of Minas Tirith.

            STEP 2

            Turn city black.

            STEP 3

            In the middle of the night, slip into the palace and take the king’s son.

            STEP 4

            Leave Minas Tirith

            STEP 5

            Hold King’s son for ransom.  The king and queen of Gondor will then give us Gondor and its tributaries in exchange for their son.

            STEP 6

            Conquest the rest of Arda

            Omar stared at the parchment in shock.  It was so...simple.  And stupid.

            “My lords, if the city is black why must you wait until the dead of night to kidnap the king’s son?”

            Sauron gave him a look of disgust.  “Because then it’s darker.”

            Omar threw up his hands in frustration.  “I give up.”

            Melki calmly removed the parchment from Omar’s hand.  “Now, where were we...?”

            “Kidnapping the prince.” Sauron answered.

            “Ah, yes, kidnapping.”

            Omar was dumbfounded.  “You are actually going through with this?”

            “Do you have a better idea?” asked Melkor.

            “Well, actually, yes,”

            “Too bad.  I do not wish to hear it.”  Melkor tossed the parchment onto the table.  Walking over to the bed, he picked up two black coats, tossing one to Sauron and putting the other one over his clothes.  He then began removing his medals and jewelry.  Sauron did the same.

            “Tonight, Omar,” Melkor said; “We shall go to the palace and capture the prince.  You shall be waiting here for us, with Little Barrel, ready to make our escape.”

            “But then why did you have me stable him?”

            “Silence!  We shall meet you here.  Then, dear Omar, we shall conquer the world!”

~~~

*Amandil is actually the name of one of the Numenorian kings.  I believe that it is possible for a Gondorian to be named after said king.

Author’s notes: Well, there is longer and darker.  Let me know how I did, I’m worried over how my darker chapter is. 

Oh, and if anyone has any good descriptions of hailstorms, having lived through one or being knowledged about such things, could you tell me?  Thanks.

And, if you are enjoying this, please review.  Once again my hit counts were higher than reviews.  (Zero reviews.)  Anyway...

Return from the Void ~Míriel

Chapter 8 ~The Dark Deeds of Night

~~~

“And this is the judgment, that the light is come into the world, and men loved the darkness rather than the light; for their deeds were evil.”

                                                            John 3:19

~~~

            It was the darkest hour of the night.  Few citizens of Minas Tirith dared walk the streets at this hour, and let alone in the unnatural darkness that had swept the city.  Strange also was the fact that the darkness hovered only above the city of Minas Tirith; if one was to go far out onto the Pellenor the stars would be all alight.  Even the guards of the Citadel were frightened of the night, for as much as they tried to deny it; the people of Minas Tirith were superstitious. 

            “An ill omen,” they said; locking fast their doors.

            The older Gondorians recalled with fear the days of darkness during the War of the Ring.  “No good can come of it,” they said.

            A message had been issued from the King, saying to the people not to worry, the dark cloud would soon pass; it was merely the weather.  The people of Minas Tirith found this hard to accept.  So did their king.

            Aragorn rubbed his temples as he stared out of his bedroom window.  The darkness, plus the added stress of missing his son, had given him a lovely migraine.

            “Estel?”

            Aragorn nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Arwen whisper in his ear. 

            Humor was in her voice as she asked, “Did I frighten you?”

            Aragorn was in no mood for humor.  “Yes.  Could you not be nosier?” he said gruffly.

            “What would you have me do?  Shuffle?”

            Aragorn could not help but smile.  “That would be most welcome.”

            Arwen smiled at her husband for a moment before her eyes followed his gaze into the night.  “You told the people that it was weather?”

            “Yes.  And to some degree, it is.”

            “And to what degree is that?”

            “Those,” Aragorn said, pointing out the window; “Are clouds.”

            “Yes, they are.” Arwen said dryly.

            They were silent for a moment. 

            “Estel, I fear that this is beyond us.”

            “Then what would you have me do?”

            “Darkness like this once covered all of Arda.” Arwen said softly, her words in a sing-song rhythm.  “Darkness wrought by Morgoth.  Then Varda, wishing not for the Children of Eru to walk in darkness, made for us the stars.

            “But, in dark places of the earth, there lurked still that darkness that had once covered the earth.  Unnatural darkness.  The darkness of the Vala Melkor, called Morgoth by the Eldar*.”

            Aragorn turned to his wife.  “You think then, that this darkness is from Morgoth.” It was not a question.

            Arwen shook her head.  “Morgoth was before my time.  There are few who now walk Middle-earth that would know and remember the darkness of Morgoth.”

            “Save one.  Celeborn.”  Aragorn knew at last what his wife had been explaining.

            “Yes.” Arwen crossed the expansive bedroom to the small writing desk in the corner.  Seating herself in its accompanying chair, she reached into one of the drawers and removed from it a piece of parchment and a quill pen.  Aragorn turned back to gaze into the darkness, satisfied that his wife would now take care of everything.

            Arwen dipped her pen into the inkwell and began to write.

*~                                                                    *~                                                        *~

            My dearest Grandfather,

            Unspeakable evil has encompassed the city of Minas Tirith.  The only possible explanation is that somehow, beyond all knowledge, the nameless one has arisen again.

            But I know naught of these things, and neither does Estel.  Please come with all haste to our city, as we are in great need of your wisdom.

May Eru protect you.

Arwen

*~                                                                    *~                                                        *~

            Her letter complete, she sealed it up and addressed it to Imladris.  She would have Aragorn call for a messenger in a moment.

            A sudden thought came to her mind.  She glanced at Aragorn, then back at the writing desk.

            “Nay Aragorn, there is another that would remember the darkness of Morgoth.”

With some hesitation, she took another piece of parchment from the drawer.  She brushed the feathery end of the pen against her lips as she mused over her words.  Once again she began to write.

*~                                                                    *~                                                        *~

            Dear King Tharanduil...

~~~

            “Over here!  No, here!  Ouch!”

            Melkor grimaced as Sauron stomped on his little toe.  Curse these mortals and their pain!

            “Milord,” Sauron whispered; “I think that our plan may have backfired.”

            “How is that?” Melkor growled.

            “They have posted more guards because of the darkness.”

            “Yes, Sauron, they have.  And yet you doubt that we, Vala and Maia, will be seen by mortal men?”

            “Frightened mortal men milord.  And might I remind you that we now are—”

            “—Vala and Maia in mortal form.” Melkor finished, ignoring Sauron’s sigh.  “Sauron, when a door is closed, what must one do?”

            Sauron sighed again, this time more loudly.  “Open a window.  But I hardly see...oh.  Oh no, you could not possibly mean...”

            “Yes.”

            “Save us all.” Sauron whispered.

            Melkor loftily ignored Sauron and stepped out from behind the bush.  Glancing furtively from side to side, he ran forward to the next pillar and hid behind that one.  Glancing about again, he ran ahead and hid behind the next one.  Behind him, Sauron did the same, although without the furtive glances and the unnecessary but intriguing process of throwing oneself onto the ground, crawling forward using only one’s arms until the next pillar was reached, at which point one would then somersault into a standing position.

            Ten pillars, eight somersaults, and one smacked forehead later, they had managed to circle around to the back of the palace, and were now attempting to gaze up at the palace; however, something was hindering their plans...

            “Melkor,” Sauron whispered in frustration.

            “Yes?”

            “How in Arda do you propose we climb into a window when we can barely see three feet ahead of us?!”

            Melkor sniffed.  “Correction.  You can barely see three feet in front of you.  I, however, can see four feet.”

            “Four feet.”

            “Think four hundreds, Sauron.  Might I remind you that this is my darkness, not yours?”

            Sauron’s silence spoke volumes.

            Melkor reached into his pack and pulled several items out.  “Let’s see here, a bit of rope, a grapple, and a handkerchief to gag the little brat.  Perfect.”

            In the odd stillness of the night, every sound carried; thus it was imperative that they be as silent as possible, lest they be heard by any guards that might be stumbling by them.

            After attaching the grappling hook to the rope, Melkor checked to ensure that no guards were near; then with a mighty swing he threw the grappling hook up into the air. 

            Thunk

            “Curses!”

            “My apologies, Sauron.  Perhaps it would be better if you stood over there.” Melkor suggested.  Sauron complied.

            Melkor tried again. 

            Up went the hook as it rose high into the air.

            Down fell the hook as it plummeted toward the ground.

            Down to the ground went Melkor and Sauron as they covered their heads, cringing as they waited for the blow.

            But the blow never came.

            Standing, Melkor squinted up into the darkness.  Sure enough, the hook had caught in an open window.  “Come Sauron!  We climb!”

            And climb they did.  Up and up they went, high into the air.  At least an hour later, hands blistered and heads aching, they had made it to the second story window.

            Melkor arrived first; throwing a leg over the windowsill and disappearing into the room.  Sauron quickly followed.

            They were in what looked like a nursery.  There was a tiny bed in one corner of the room, handmade toys on the floor, and several strange things that Melkor had never seen.

            “I would bet my golden earring that this is the room of Gondor’s prince.” Sauron whispered.

            “What makes you so certain?”

            “The furnishings, for one.  Fit for a young prince.  The lovely toys (dwarf-make, I believe), the clothes, and not to mention the scroll on the wall.”

            Sauron pointed to a scroll bearing the date of birth and title of the prince of Gondor.  Beside it, there was a lovely painting of the king and queen of Gondor holding their son; illuminated only by the single candle in the middle of the room.

            Melkor could not be certain, but he was always sure that he heard a distinct growl from Sauron at the sight of Isildur’s heir.

            “Come Sauron, there lies our quarry.”

            Sauron turned, and saw that in the tiny bed was a tiny lump.  “The Prince!” he cried in a whisper.

            Melkor reached into his pack and pulled out the handkerchief.  Tiptoeing over to the bed, he was just about to pull back the covers when the candle flickered and went out.

This would not have been a problem, had Sauron’s cursing not awoken the being in the bed.

            “Meowrrr!  Hissss!”

            Cats distinctly dislike evil dark lords attempting to gag them with handkerchiefs, except of course, when the handkerchiefs are filled with fish.  This one was not.

            “Aurgh!”

            Dark lords distinctly dislike cats using their arms as chew toys and their faces as scratching posts.

            “Meowrr!”

            “Aurgh!”

            “MEOWRrr!”

            “AURGH!”

            “MEEEOOOWWRRR!!”

            “AAUURRGGHH!”

            “What’s going on here?” came a booming voice.

            The room was suddenly lit by three Guard’s of the Citadel lanterns.  Melkor froze.  Sauron was nowhere to be seen.

            “Who are you?” said the tallest one.

            “Er...the man in charge of, er, making sure all the palaces’ ferocious beasts are well fed?” Melkor said weakly.

            The youngest guards laughed.  “Ferocious beasts?   Puff-puff wouldn’t hurt a fly, would you Puff-puff?”

            Puff-puff gracefully leapt to the guard’s arms and began to purr innocently. 

            “I am disinclined to believe that you are in charge of animal feeding.” the tall guard said sternly.  “This being so, I am obligated to have you as a guest in our chambers until the king can hear your case.”

            Melkor tried to ignore the blood running down his face and arms.  “I wouldn’t want to impose up on you and your family, good sir, but thank you kindly for the offer.”

            “No, no imposition at all.  Our dungeons are actually rather empty right now.”

            “Dungeons?” Melkor croaked.  He had thrown many a good prisoner into his dungeons, and while he had enjoyed hearing and inflicting pain upon those prisoners, he had never dreamed that he...oh, dear, it was too horrible to think about.

            “Yes, there’s only one other prisoner in there at the moment.  Tried to kiss the queen he did.  Now spends his nights howling at the moon.”  The guard could not help but grin at the terror on Melkor’s face.

            Neither could Puff-puff.

~~~

*This entire paragraph covers your basic Silmarillion knowledge.  Melkor was called Morgoth.  Varda is one of the Valar (singular—Vala), the same kind as Melkor.  Elves=Firstborn Children of Eru=Eldar. 

Author’s notes:  Yes, we shall see the Lord Celeborn, as well as King Thranduil.  No, sorry, no word yet if Legolas shall appear (he’s a bit busy doing other stories, as you can well imagine.)

Apologies for the lack of Eldarion in this chapter, he’ll be in the next, I promise!

Also in the next chapter, Stories from Gondor’s Stables.

Yes, and the name “Puff-puff” came from an episode of the show Leave it to Beaver.  The name just somehow...fit.    

~~~

Return from the Void ~Míriel

Chapter 9 ~Little Barrel Saves the Day

~~~

Characters

Melkor= Dark Lord of the Silmarillion, also known as Morgoth, is going by the name        Lord Melki

Sauron=Ancient Lieutenant of Melkor, dark lord of the Third Age, is going by the name Salir.

Omar=One of the Haradrim, a rebel captain.

Saruman=Once one of the Istari, is now a fat black pony by the name of Little Barrel

Iorwen=a maid of the Citadel, married to Amandil, watching Eldarion until his parents deem it safe.

Amandil=Guard of the Citadel, married to Iorwen.

Eldarion=son of Aragorn and Arwen, is going by the name Darion

Aragorn= Elessar, King of Gondor, Ruler of the Free World, father of Eldarion

Arwen=Elf, Queen of Gondor, mother of Eldarion

~~~

            Melkor sighed.  It was dark in his cell.  Then again, it was dark everywhere.  How had he gotten himself into this mess?

            Leaning back against the wall of the cell, he shut his eyes and began to concentrate.  In his new physical form, his powers as a dark lord were limited.  However, he could still do several things.

            The first was bringing back the bloody light.

~~~

            Sauron looked cautiously around as he let go of the rope.  When the door had flown open, he had simply climbed out the window and held onto the rope.

            “So,” he thought to himself, “with Melkor imprisoned, this means I will have to take over Arda all by myself...shame.”

            “I think not.”

            “What?!  Who said that?”

            “Sauron, my insignificant little lieutenant, did you honestly think you could control the world by yourself?  Surely not.  Therefore, I propose that you get me out of this cell!”

            “Cell?”

            “Stop that laughing!  Yes, cell.  These mortals have locked me up to put me on trial later.  I need you to convince them to set me free.”

             “What is to stop me from simply leaving you there to rot?”

            “The fact that I am in your mind.”

            “I’ll be there immediately.”

            With an exasperated sigh, Sauron headed for the Citadel.  As he did, he noticed the dark clouds rolling back, exposing the stars overhead.

 ~~~

Plop.

Plop.

Plop.

            Melkor could take it no more.  “Stop that!” he screamed at the guard in front of his cell.

            The noise ceased.  Then the guard began to whistle.

            “Stop that too!”

            The whistling stopped.  Then the guard began to hum.

            “Is it protocol to torture your prisoners?”

            The guard ceased his humming, but before he could reply, another guard approached, accompanied by—

            “Salir!” exclaimed Melkor with joy.

            “You know this man?” the first guard asked Sauron.

            Sauron looked Melkor up and down with disdain.  “Yes,” he said in a bored tone, “This is my manservant, Melki.  Prone to fits of madness...what did you say he was doing, again?” 

            The second guard chuckled.  “Wrestling with a cat, ‘e was.  And not too well, if you follow me.”

            Sauron loftily waved a hand.  “Yes, another fit.  Nothing to do for them really, you just have to wait it out.  Sadly, I cannot simply leave him here; he is a relation of mine.”

            “Really?” asked the first guard.

            “Yes...my great aunt’s cousin’s son-in-law.  I would never hear the end of it if I left him.”

            The guards glanced at each other.  “Everything seems in order,” said the second guard.

            The first guard nodded.  “Not like he was doing anything harmful...and he’s not an orc.”

            They nodded at Sauron.  “’E’s free to go.”

            Sauron bowed.  “Thank you,” he said as the first guard unlocked Melkor’s cell.

            “Come on, Melki.  We shall go back home now.  I believe that it is someone’s bedtime.”

            Sauron stifled a laugh as he heard Melkor’s barely discernable growl.  He knew he would pay for it later, but oh!  This was priceless.

~~~ 

            “Morning!” crowed Eldarion happily.

            Iorwen moaned softly and blinked her eyes.  She felt the hard floor under her and winced.  After the light had so suddenly gone out, Amandil had left to see what had happened.  She must have fallen asleep on the floor as she waited for him to return.

            She sat up, running her fingers through her tangled hair.  Eldarion was standing in front of her, still in his clothes from the previous day.  To her surprise, light was streaming in the window.

            “Morning, love,” she said, smiling at Eldarion.  “Looks like the sun decided to come out of it’s hiding, eh?”

            He grinned at her.  Iorwen stood and scooped him into her arms.  Just then, the front door opened, and in walked Amandil.  Iorwen walked over to him and planted a kiss on his cheek.

            “Well?” she asked.

            Amandil kissed her; then ruffled Eldarion’s hair.  “Well,” he replied, “’Tis the strangest thing.  The sky went black, then in the wee hours of the morning, the clouds rolled away and the stars shone out!  And now,” he gestured toward the window, “It’s as bright as if the Two Trees had decided to shine their light again!”

            “No one knows why?”

            “No one.  I met with the men in my garrison, and my captain said that even King Elessar did not know the meaning of this.  So, I the rest of the night with the men, and when it was apparent no word was forthcoming, I came home.”

            “So, what are we going to do?”

            Amandil shrugged.  “Go about the day as one normally would, I suppose.  I just came back to briefly check on you and Darion, but I must return.”

            Iorwen nodded, then turned to Eldarion.  “Let’s get you in some clean clothes, and then we’ll go to the market!”

            “You are not working at the Citadel today?” Amandil asked.

            She shook her head.  “The King and Queen gave me leave from my duties, since I am watching their son.”

            Amandil nodded.  “Farewell, my lady!” he said, bowing.

            Iorwen giggled.  “My lord,” she replied with a courtesy.

            They kissed, and Amandil left.

            “Market?” piped Eldarion.  “What is a market?”

            Iorwen shook her head.  “Your parents really have not taught you anything, have they?  Well, come on, get dressed, and you shall soon see.”

~~~

            Omar angrily stood in the marketplace as he held the reins to Little Barrel.  Lord Melki and Salir were supposed to have met him here hours ago.  He wondered if they had gone back to the inn. 

            “I will wait one more hour,” he thought to himself, “And then I shall take matters into my own hands.”

~~~

            Little Barrel, a.k.a. Saruman, was not having a good day.  After being locked up in the stables, (which had been a traumatic experience in and of itself), he had been given oats to eat.  However, oats not being particularly appetizing, he had eaten the stable boy’s rather spicy stew when his back was turned.  Unfortunately, the spicy food had given him indigestion, which in turn had, well...it is sufficient to say that none of the other horses or stable boys would come near his stall.

            After that, Omar, had come and gotten him and taken him to the marketplace.  On the way, Saruman had been forced to hear Omar’s tragic, and quite boring, life story. 

            “Omar must be desperate for company indeed, if he is talking to his pony.” He had thought wryly.

            Once they arrived at the marketplace, Saruman had been quite bored.  They had been standing there, waiting, for what must have been five hours.

            Omar turned to Saruman.  “On no!”  Saruman thought wildly, “Not another story from his childhood!  I can’t take it anymore!  Lalalalalalalala!”

            “I shall return shortly.”  Omar said, and then simply walked away.

            “Well!”  Saruman thought huffily.  “This is certainly a fine turn of events.  Just walks off and leaves me, without any care at all for—Oh, my.  Is she not the lovely one?  If I were young and handsome, well, I would have someone like that.  Ah, she has a little boy with her.  I wonder if he is her son...Hm.  Something about him seems familiar...what is it now...those eyes...Isildur’s heir!  That’s his son!  The one that Melkor the Mad and Sauron the Stupid are after!  Ha-ha!  I have found him!”

            Saruman glanced around for Omar.  He was some distance away, and it looked like he had found Melkor and Sauron. 

            “Psst.  Little boy.”

            Eldarion looked around, curious.  Iorwen was busy haggling with the woman selling turnips.

            “Psst. Over here.”

            Eldarion walked over to Saruman, eyes wide. 

            “Yes, you.  Do you like ponies?”

            Eldarion nodded.  “Yes,” he said, having gotten over his surprise of hearing a pony speak.

            “Well, if you like, I shall give you a ride on my back.”

            Eldarion’s eyes sparkled.  He glanced at Iorwen, still busy. 

            “Good boy.  Now, here,” Saruman stepped close to a pile of boxes, “Climb up of these and get onto my back.”

            Eldarion did so, with little difficulty.

            “Good.  Now, let us go this way, shall we?”  Saruman carefully began to waddle towards Melkor and Sauron. 

            “By the way, lad, what is your name?”

            “Eldarion,” the little boy chirped.

            “Lovely.”

~~~

Author’s notes: I greatly apologize to all of my readers for this very long break between updates.  I shall hopefully be updating frequently. 

Like it?  Hate it?  Let me know!

Return from the Void ~Míriel

Chapter 10 ~Darkness Revealed

~~~

Characters

Melkor= Dark Lord of the Silmarillion, also known as Morgoth, is going by the name        Lord Melki

Sauron=Ancient Lieutenant of Melkor, dark lord of the Third Age, is going by the name Salir.

Omar=One of the Haradrim, a rebel captain.

Saruman=Once one of the Istari, is now a fat black pony by the name of Little Barrel

Iorwen=a maid of the Citadel, married to Amandil, watching Eldarion until his parents deem it safe.

Amandil=Guard of the Citadel, married to Iorwen.

Eldarion=son of Aragorn and Arwen, is going by the name Darion

Aragorn= Elessar, King of Gondor, Ruler of the Free World, father of Eldarion

Arwen=Elf, Queen of Gondor, mother of Eldarion

~~~

            Omar growled in frustration at the two lords standing in front of him.  After having disappeared for a whole night, they were simply standing there, arms crossed, with smug looks on their faces.  They had not explained their disappearance, nor had they told him yet what they were planning to do.  Omar had to mentally restrain himself from throttling them. 

            He looked away, and noticed Little Barrel approaching with...was that a child on his back?

            Melki laughed scornfully.  “Are we so low on funds, Omar, that it was necessary to force people to pay to ride upon our pony?”

            Little Barrel arrived before Omar had a chance to reply.  Little Barrel then stomped his foot and whinnied anxiously.  The little boy upon his back studied them with serious grey eyes.

            Salir cleared his throat.  “Little Barrel, who is this...child?”  Salir spat the word child as if it poisoned his mouth. 

            “Does he honestly think that the pony will answer him?”  Omar thought.

            “It’s him!  Prince Eldarion!” the pony exclaimed.

            Omar nearly fell over in shock.  “The pony—talks?”

            “The prince?!”  Salir and Melki cried simultaneously.

            “Yes.  And yes.”  Little Barrel said, answering both questions.

            Salir knelt down to the child’s eye level.  “What is your name?”

            “Eldarion.”  The boy replied.

            “It’s him, I tell you!”  Little Barrel said excitedly.  “He looks exactly like his father!”

            Melki quickly took charge.  “We must leave the city immediately.  To the gates.”

            “The pony—talks?”

            “Yes, Omar, the pony speaks.”  Salir answered, and then sighed.  “I suppose that we must tell you everything.”

            “Not now, you fool!”  Melki said in disgust.

            “My apologies.”

            Little Barrel ahemed.  “Shall we go?”

            “Yes,” said Melki.  “Let us make for the gates posthaste.”

            Make for the gates they did, joining a rather large throng of people and doing a decent job of blending in.  Omar found himself holding his breath each time they walked through one of the many gates, just knowing that they would soon be spotted.

            As they walked, Melki and Salir were formulating a new plan.  Well, not a completely new plan, simply modifications to the old one. 

            “Here, the next step in Our Plan for Taking Over Arda is Step #4.”  Salir was reading their parchment containing said plan as they went along.

            “Is that the one that says ‘Leave Minas Tirith?’”  Melki answered, absently watching Omar hand another dried apricot to Eldarion.

            “Yes.  Now, I’m sure that whoever was watching the prince will notice very soon that he is missing—”

            “You think?”

            “—but I’m sure that they won’t think to look outside Minas Tirith for at least an hour—”

            “One could only hope.”

            “—but I do suggest we take precautionary measures anyway.”

            “And what would that be?”

            “I think that our transportation would be greatly hurried if we were not hindered by a fat pony.”

            Little Barrel stopped abruptly.  “No!  No, you cannot kill me!  No!  You cannot simply leave me here either!”

            Salir sighed.  “That was not what I had in mind.”

            “Oh.”  Little Barrel relaxed and continued walking.

            Salir looked over to Melki.  “I was thinking—”

            “No?  Amazing!”

            “Would you cease your interruptions?  I was thinking that since he was already a pony, how difficult would it be to simply turn him into a stallion?”

            Little Barrel was practically hopping from excitement.  “Oh, yes!  Oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please—”

            “Enough!”  Melki, Salir, and Omar shouted.  Eldarion seemed not to have noticed any of the exchange, paying great attention to his dried apricot.

            Melki nodded.  “Excellent idea.  I believe that it can be done.”

            “Huzzah!”  Little Barrel said jubilantly.  “Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank—”

            “Enough!”

~~~

            Within the hour they had exited the city.  After waiting for the group of travelers they had exited with to get far enough ahead of them, they stopped.

            Omar gently lifted Eldarion, who had fallen asleep, off Little Barrel.  He had never felt any particular attachment to children, but something about this little made him feel almost...paternal?

            “Miriam would have loved this little one.”  He thought sadly.  Had he not decided that preserving the old ways of the Haradrim were so important, perhaps he would have been with Miriam now, surrounded by their own little ones.  “Ah, dear Miriam...if only I could have another chance...”

            “Omar, are you simply going to stand there holding the child, or will you set him down?”

            Melki’s harsh voice brought him out of his thoughts.  Sheepishly, he carefully laid Eldarion onto the soft grass.  After making certain that Eldarion was fine, he turned to Salir and Melki. 

            “I do believe that you owe me an explanation.  The pony speaks?”

            Melki and Salir glanced at each other guiltily. 

            “You have the power to transform him into a stallion?  You can make the city as dark as night?  Who are you?”

            Melki smiled darkly.  “My name,” he said, and then laughed.  “My name.” he repeated.  “Is Melkor.  Perhaps you have heard of me?”

            Omar simply stared.

            “I was called Morgoth by the Eldar.  Cast into the Void by the Valar.”

            Omar shook his head.  “It cannot be...that is but myth...”

            “Myth?” thundered Melkor.  “Myth?  The tall, dark towers of Angband, myth?  The rape of the Silmarils, myth?  The destruction of the Two Trees, is that only myth as well?  Nay, it is reality!  Now, see it before you!”  As he spoke, Melkor seemed to grow taller, and his shape became more like that of a dark and terrible lord.  “Even now, behold, I regain some of my former strength!  Strength lost from eons in the Void, but now, on the surface of Arda, is being regained!”

            Omar had now dropped to his knees in fear.  “My lord,” he whispered.

            Melkor nodded to Salir.  “You will have heard of me.”  Salir said quietly.  “My name is Sauron.”

            Omar gasped.  “I served you, my lord!  In the War of the Ring!”

            “Yes, I know.  Now, serve your master again!”

            “Yes, my lord!”

            They were silent for a moment.  Then, Little Barrel stepped forward. 

            “I, I am Saruman the Many-Colored!”

            Omar blinked.  “Who?”

            “Saruman the Many-Colored!”

            “My apologies, I have not heard of you.”

            “I am the Istari responsible for the many deaths in Helm’s Deep!  The Uruk-hai!  The—”

            “Utter demise of my kingdom,” said Sauron dryly.

            “That was not my fault!”

            “Yes, it was!”

            Saruman turned back to Omar.  “Are you certain you’ve never heard of me?”

            Omar shook his head.

            Saruman sighed, then turned back to Sauron.

            “It was your fault for letting the hobbit slip by!”

            “It was your fault for double crossing me!”

            Melkor waved his hand.  “Enough!”  They fell silent. 

            Eldarion stirred, and they glanced at him in horror.  Melkor quickly reduced his size, as well as his dark aura.  (After all, it would never do to frighten the child to the point of tears.)

            When it became obvious he would not awaken, Saruman spoke.  “Could you not change me now, lord?”

            Melkor straightened.  “I could.”  He uttered several words of an ancient tongue unknown to the ears of Omar.

            Little Barrel quickly grew into a tall black stallion.  He pranced for a moment, delighting in his new (thinner) look. 

            “I propose that you no longer speak of me as ‘Little Barrel.’”

            Melkor waved a hand.  “Fine.  What do you wish to be called?”

            Saruman thought.  “Shadowfax the Second?”

            “No.”

            “Sunfax the Mighty?”

            “No.”

            “Darkfax the Swift?”

            “No.”

            “Snowmane?”

            “You are a black horse.”

            “Coalmane?”

            Sauron snickered.  “Sound like Coalmine.”

            “Ebonymane?”

            Melkor sighed.  “A mouthful, but if it pleases you...”

            “I am Ebonymane!  Fear me, the darkest of all horses!”

            Omar rolled his eyes.  “Should we not make haste?  Surely by now they would have discovered that the child is missing.”

            Melkor nodded.  “Yes.  Take Eldarion, and ride ahead of us to the Pelargir.  Wait for us, and when we arrive, we shall then hasten to Harad.”

            Omar bowed, and then picked up the still-sleeping Eldarion.  They mounted Ebonymane, and Omar glanced back at Sauron.  “How long shall you be?”

            Sauron looked puzzled.  “How long will it take to reach the Pelargir?”

            “On foot?  A week at the least.”

            “We shall see you in a week, then.”

            “Farewell.”  With that, Omar, Eldarion, and Ebonymane rode off across the Pellenor.