Chapter 1 – The Storyteller 

A young man with fair blond hair and bright green eyes sits in a small and dimly-lit tavern in Meduseld. He is Rohirrim, one of their own by appearance, from the Eastemnet by his speech. He is dressed for traveling: full-length breeches, thicker inside the legs for riding; a short-sleeved shirt, and draped over the back of his chair a riding cloak. His sword, as is the custom of all taverns in the Westfold during peacetimes, leans against the wall just inside the door. Dressed as he is though, he does not appear to be traveling soon, for surrounding him is a crowd of eager listeners, both young and old, and they listen enthralled as he spins a tale with great passion and zest.

“Long ago in the fires of Mt. Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged the One Ring, and into it he poured all his malice, hatred and will to dominate all life. With the One Ring on his finger, he enslaved thousands of Free Peoples and created armies of orcs, wargs, Uruk Hai, and other devious creatures. For years he ruled with a black hand, until he was defeated and his Ring of Power taken from him. 

“Alas, that is not the end of the tale, for the Ring survived, and so did the Dark Lord, weakened but not gone. Slowly, over many thousands of years, he rebuilt his strength in the dark forest of Mirkwood. When at last he was expelled by the White Council, he fled to his former stronghold in Mordor and began again to gather his armies to him. He was hesitant to make any bold move, until, that is, he learned that the Ring still existed. He sought after it, sending out his most feared servants, the Nazgûl, nine riders draped in black robes to hide their emptiness. They sought the master Ring through all the lands, spreading their terror over the realms, but the Council of the Wise already had it and sought to destroy it. It was thought that once the Ring was destroyed the Dark Lord would perish with it and his shadow would be lifted from the world. And that is exactly what happened, but not in the way that everyone expected.”

Here he pauses, letting this last statement hang in the air. He waits until his audience is making expectant glances at each other. They have all heard the rumors, and many of those present had seen the man with whom the young bard had come into town. Are the rumors true then and not just fanciful talk? Could this young lad, of all people, have intimate knowledge of the Downfall of the Dark Lord that no one else had? Some listeners shift impatiently, others hold their breaths, and they all watch the boy closely.

When the bard feels the anticipation thick in the air, he leans forward, intensifying the mood. When next he speaks, his words are almost a whisper, spoken in urgent secret. 

“You see, the Wise thought that with the Ring gone, the Dark Lord would perish and in that sense they were right, but they overlooked one very important detail: into the Ring, he poured his malice, hatred and will to dominate all life. When the Ring went into the fire, those things too were destroyed and the Dark Lord ceased to exist! The Shadow was not only lifted from the world, but from the eyes of Sauron himself!” 

The lad sat up straight again and raised his voice to just above normal tones, still filled with urgency and zest. “Sauron saw clearly for the first time what he had become, how far he had strayed from his original path as the good servant of Aulë, master crafter of the Valar. He remembered those days at the beginning of the world and the singing of Ilúvatar, before Melkor’s dark seduction, and he wailed at the terrible destruction and devastation he had caused. 

“Seeing this, Aulë sent for him and before the Valar, Sauron begged mercy and forgiveness and renounced his evil ways. Aulë was moved by his former pupil’s plea and saw the change within, and he pleaded with Manwë to allow Sauron the Gift of Redemption. And Manwë went to Ilúvatar, and Ilúvatar said it should be so, but under one condition. Sauron would be stripped of all the powers he had accumulated with the use of his dark magicks and be made to walk the world in the guise of a man, but immortal as an elf, so that he may be able to correct all the wrongs that he once did. Sauron accepted this condition, and from that moment on, he became the Fair once more. Now he seeks to right those wrongs and do in Middle-earth all the good he can with the time given to him.”

Scattered applause sounds all around as Rick finishes his story. The applause is more than he had expected, and he smiles widely, half with modesty and half with pride. He rises to his feet and bows. “Thank you. Oh, really please, that’s too much. Thank you.” 

He doesn’t fail to notice though that the majority of his audience looks at him dubiously and with a pitying look one might give a child who knows no better. The reactions to the tale grow gradually more enthusiastic the farther west they travel. In Gondor, he had received only shaking heads and a hundred tavern patrons eager to tell him their stories of the horrors on Mordor and its Dark Lord, as though the bard hadn’t already heard the tales. This is in spite of the King’s endorsement of the reformed Maia. He wonders what sort of reception they will receive in Dunland if they go that way this journey out. Given that the Dunlanders had been allies of Saruman, many assume that their sentiments for Sauron will be favorable but the young bard isn’t so certain. After all, the Dunlanders had been promised everything in Sauron’s name and had received nothing. 

The boy mulls this over as he regains his seat and turns back to his half-finished tankard. His audience disperses, returning to their former conversations or speaking now in low tones about the seeming naivety of the young man.

The bard is accustomed to this also. The second of three lads, both his brothers bigger and more robust than he, with quicker wits and harder fists, he had always been the subject of misguided pity. Yet he is no weakling. Laugh he does, and eat and drink with zeal, but he can overcome an opponent just as well as the next fellow. He has done so many times before, proving himself in sparring matches with lads twice his size, though he would have much sooner and more enthusiastically sat down and thrown back an ale with the chap instead. Nor is he naïve. He has seen as many hardships as anyone else in this tavern, living through the wars with Saruman and the Dark Power in the East. He knows of loss and heartache, and the bitter sting of betrayal, but he knows of valor and loyalty as well and believes firmly that everyone is worthy of them. If that makes him a naïve weakling, then so be it.

The barkeep comes by and tops him off, interrupting these private musings. He pauses to give the lad a measured look. “That was a nice little story, Rick,” he says gruffly through bristling whiskers. He scratches his cheek with meaty fingers. “Too bad none of it’s true, that last half anyways.”

“Oh, it’s true all right,” Rick says with earnestness. “Sauron isn’t the same Maia he used to be. He’s changed and when he gets here, you’ll see that.”

A hush falls over the tavern, quickly followed by fervent whispers. It is true! The lad rides with the Dark Lord! Sauron is in the village! Several of the larger men, warriors in the war, stand and go to the door, gathering their swords before stepping outside. A force of arms at the entrance will not do much good against a Maia, but at least they will show Sauron that the establishment is protected and will not be taken without a fight, should he choose to start one.

“When he gets here, he doesn’t set one foot in my tavern,” the barkeep says, his cheeks coloring with fury even as the rest of his face drains with fear. “I know your father, lad. He must fear for you, knowing what you’ve taken up with.”

“My father may not understand but he trusts my judgement,” Rick says. He can say more but he sees no reason to explain himself to everyone he comes across.

The barkeep goes back to the other end of the bar to wipe down the counter and polish the glasses, his eyes glued to the door.

An hour passes and Rick is in the process of finishing another story, this one about Sauron’s heroism while rescuing a mother and baby from a burning hut, when the tavern door opens. The midday sun streams into the tavern, revealing a great form framed by sunlight. Behind him the warriors stand, hands to their pommels, waiting for the first hint of an ill move. 

Everyone looks over to see who the new patron is but only Rick grins. It is Sauron, taller than the tallest man and stronger than the mightiest warrior, with dark brown hair, steely grey eyes and a coy smile. 

The barkeep throws his rag onto the counter and points righteously. “You are not welcome here!” he shouts to the newcomer, sparing a quick glare at the boy for befriending such riffraff. 

“That’s all right,” Sauron says coolly, for he had expected to hear as much, given his welcoming committee on the porch. Even without the warriors, such a greeting would not have been surprising. He has become long accustomed to cold welcomes; he can hardly demand more. He stays just outside the threshold of the tavern, ignoring the warriors poised on either side of him. His long hands hang empty at his sides, but everyone notices the broadsword at his back and looks at it fearfully. Sauron carefully keeps a look of cool indifference on his fair face as he peers through the dim murk within. “I’m just here for my friend.”

“I’m here!” Rick jumps up from his seat, tosses a few silver pennies onto the table for the barkeep, and grabs his satchel. “Sorry, wish I had time for another tale, but duty calls,” he says to his audience, who had all but forgotten him in their astonishment at seeing the Maia up close. They watch with gratitude as the lad gets up, retrieves his sword and follows his friend into the daylight outside. 

Sauron casually walks through the warriors, paying them no heed, and starts down the dirt road to the stables below. “Excuse us,” Rick says to the warriors and follows after the Maia at a quick trot to match his tall companion’s long-legged strides. 

Villagers watch them pass with a mixture of fear and fascination, fear of the Maia with the terse demeanor and fascination of the young Rohirrim who trots eagerly beside him. Does the lad go willingly or is he under some spell? Sauron pretends not to notice the stares and Rick doesn’t notice at all, for his attention is now turned to his friend. “So, what did you find out?” Rick asks. “Did Éomer King know anything? Did you find what you needed in Dwimoberg?”

“No, and yes. I was right,” Sauron says, a heaviness to his words. “All these strange occurrences that have been going on in the eastern lands – the disappearances, the mad ravings, the paranoia – all of it is the result of the Blue Wizards.”

“So we’re going to stop them,” Rick states. “That’s exciting! I’ve never been east of the Andúin before. What is it like? Is it as hot as they say it is?”

“Yes, it’s hot, and no, it’s not great,” Sauron answers, looking at his friend as though he is a small child. “It’s dangerous.”

“How can it be any more dangerous than anything else we’ve faced?” Rick says, confident in Sauron’s abilities to defeat any evil thing they cross paths with. Sauron’s grimness isn’t about to shatter that belief any time soon.

“Trust me, it is. I wouldn’t even take you, if I knew you wouldn’t try following me and get yourself into even worse trouble,” Sauron says.

“We’ve lived under the threat of Isengard and Saruman, and we’ve all seen Gandalf Greyham in action. They’re supposed to be the two greatest of the wizards, and if we can survive them... although, granted, Gandalf was on our side,” Rick babbles.

“All of the wizards possess equal power and equal ambition,” Sauron says. “They just didn’t all follow their paths. The Blue Wizards were steered off their path and they’ve been using their powers to terrible ends. Saruman was just beginning to flex his power when he was defeated; he had to be careful so his treachery would not be detected. The Blue Wizards have no such restrictions and have been expanding their powers for centuries. Do not underestimate them only because you know nothing about them.”

Rick nods. “Very well. I’ll keep on my toes then. When do we leave?”

“As soon as possible, but before we go, we’re going to need help. Getting it is likely to be just as difficult as defeating the wizards, if not more so,” Sauron says grimly. 

They reach the stables and go inside to release Sauron’s horse, Brego, from his stall. The chocolate-colored stallion whinnies softly and nuzzles his master’s hand. Sauron obliges the beast, scratching behind Brego’s ears and along his muzzle. When Brego is satisfied, Sauron saddles and bridles him and guides him out of the stable by his lead rope. Having no horse of his own, Rick takes Brego’s other side and the three walk side by side down the path to the front gate.

“What sort of help?” Rick asks after it appears that Sauron will not volunteer the information. “Another person? An elf? Legolas of the Nine Walkers!”

Sauron sighs and looks at his friend with troubled eyes. “No, not Legolas, though you are close. He is one of the Nine Walker, and he’s the last person in Middle-earth who would ever do me a favor.”

“There are quite a few people who would never do you a favor,” Rick points out teasingly, hoping to break his friend’s troubled mood. When it doesn’t work, he grows serious for the first time and asks, “Who is it?”

Sauron halts suddenly and he looks out over the lands beyond the gate of the city. He looks to the plains rolling away to the northwest, beyond Rohan and the White Mountains. Somewhere out there was a little country of green hills and quiet rivers, and a little people previously unthought of. He had underestimated them, not knowing their merit and spirit. “It’s Frodo. He’s the one who has to help.”

Sauron begins walking again, leaving a shocked Rick behind. “Wait a minute!” Rick says after a while and runs to catch up. “You mean Frodo? As in ‘Baggins’? As in ‘The Ring-bearer’? The one who destroyed your Ring and went mad in the process?”

“The irony isn’t lost on me Rick,” Sauron says testily. 

“There has to be someone else who can do it, whatever it is. Just what is it anyway?” Rick asks.

“We need to go into Khand and find the Blue Wizards’ lair. Once we find it, we have to harness them, bind their power, so that they can’t control us as they do the people there. That’s the only way we’ll be able to strip them of their power long enough to get them to the Grey Havens. Once we get them there, the Elves will be able to take them to Valinor for judgement.”

“You haven’t described anything we can’t do on our own. Why do we need Frodo for this?” Rick asks.

“Because I am the only other Maia left in Middle-earth and there are none left of the Istari who can help me. Gandalf’s already gone over the Sea, and if Saruman were still alive, he’d be more a liability than a help. So I’m all that’s left, but I gave up my dark powers. Strength of might and will I have, but that’s not going to be enough against the Blue Wizards,” Sauron explains as they reach the front gate of the capitol. 

The guardsmen eye them warily but open the gates without question. The travelers leave the city and pass through the burial mounds, where the simbelmynë bloom white and everlasting, coating the mounds so thickly that one from afar would mistake the delicate flowers for snow. The wind sweeps through the flowers and the tall grass of the plains, making the ground dance all about them and bearing the soft fragrance of the earth on its ebbs. It would be peaceful but for the troubling thoughts of the Maia. 

When the city is far behind, Sauron begins again, trying his best to explain the situation so his companion will understand. “Frodo was the last to wear and possess the Ring. He had to conquer It to keep from claiming It as his own, and the only way to do that was to allow some Its power to pass into him. He wouldn’t have known it was happening, but I’m hoping that he absorbed enough of the Ring’s power that he will be able to perform the ritual needed to bind the wizards in the Manacles of Aulë.”

“Manacles of Aulë?” Rick asks. Sauron digs into the saddlebags as they walk and shows him the manacles that he has placed in there, just a peek before putting them back into their confines.

“Aulë crafted the chain Angainer to bind Melkor captive so he could be taken to Valinor for judgement for his crimes,” Sauron says, grimmer than he’s ever been; he does not like speaking of his former Dark Master. “The manacles have been added to that chain and together they have the power to hold the wizards entrapped. We just need to get the manacles on the Wizards.”

“But there are two wizards, Sauron. You only have one set of manacles,” Rick points out. 

“But it’s a full set, to bind both hands and feet. We can use them to bind both of the wizards’ hands. If we can do that, the power of the manacles and the chain will hold them.”

“Wait!” Rick shouts suddenly, causing Sauron to jump and Brego to snort. Rick reaches across the affronted horse and puts a hand to Sauron’s arm to stay him. “What about Radagast the Brown? He’s still here.”

“Radagast spends all his time looking at flowers and talking to birds,” Sauron says. “He never honed his powers to the extant that they were meant to be used, which is why it was Gandalf doing all the legwork at the end. The Blue Wizards will break him in an instant.”

“What about Celeborn? Surely the Elves have the power that you need,” Rick says. 

“They don’t.” Sauron starts to walk again, foolishly hoping this will prevent further argument. 

“How can you be so sure?” Rick asks, now coming around the horse to stand before his friend. “Sauron! The Rangers still patrol the borders to the Shire. If you go anywhere near it or Frodo, they’ll kill you. … Well, they’ll try to anyway.”

“I know that, but he’s the only one,” Sauron says shortly, clearly not wanting to say more, but Rick holds his ground and doesn’t let him leave. 

“Why? It doesn’t make any sense. Why him?” Rick asks, trying to put the pieces together and finding himself short. “If you can’t defeat the Blue Wizards then what hope does he have of defeating them? True, he defeated you but what you’re talking about is a lot more than throwing a Ring of Power into a volcano. He never had to go up against you directly. Besides, after everything he’s done and everything he’s been through… We can’t ask this of him. No. No, there’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”

“Look, we’re getting too far ahead of ourselves. Let’s just work on getting into the Shire first,” Sauron says, but Rick will not desist.

“Sauron, you can’t keep leaving me out of your plans,” Rick says. “How I am going to help you if I don’t know what’s going on?”

“I told you, I’d leave you here if I thought I could. You should visit your family, take your brother spear-fishing…”

“My family will be here when we get back. Stop evading the question. What aren’t you telling me?”

Sauron sighs with resignation. He looks out over the plains again and fixates on a point just over Rick’s shoulder. He cannot bear to look his friend in the eyes as he confesses yet another crime. “I am the one who made the Blue Wizards what they are. They came to the East to do there what Gandalf did here in the West: counsel the rulers, guide the Wise, encourage the warriors and embolden the people against my will. Yet they themselves could not withstand me in the end. I corrupted them against their cause and when they lost sight of their purpose, I gave them their own rings. The rings are of much less power than any of the others, for the Wizards have power of their own. Their rings should have faded as the other rings did when the One was destroyed, only they didn’t. The Wizards found a way to sustain the rings after the One went into the fire, but their control over the rings is erratic; they weren’t meant to control them. That’s why there will be months and months without a strange occurrence.”

“Until ten of them happen all at once,” Rick finishes and comes to stand beside Sauron. He puts a supportive hand on his friend’s forearm, a brief touch, then shakes his head. “But can’t the rings of the Elves…?”

“The Elves let their rings’ powers diminish, and rightfully so. They were able to use them to their own ends while the One Ring lasted, but even then their power over them was failing. If they had attempted to sustain the rings after the One Ring was destroyed, their control would be just as erratic and dangerous as the Wizards’ over theirs,” Sauron explains. “Besides, their rings were not meant to rule any others, and none of them ever knew the One. Frodo is our only hope.”

Rick shakes his head again and shrugs. “Well, we’ll just have to persuade Frodo to join us then. More impossible things than that have happened. We’ll have to get you a disguise so the Rangers won’t know who you are. We’ll say that we’re traveling minstrels. The hobbits enjoy good singing, and I can spin a tale at a pinch.”

“We’ll pick up some garbs in Dunland and send an errand rider ahead of us to announce our intent to perform,” Sauron says. They continue on their way through the open grasslands of Rohan, solidifying their plans for the first stage of their quest.

To be continued…

4/2/06