Little is known of the history of the dagger of the ring bearers Frodo and Bilbo named Sting before the blade was found by the company of Thorin in a troll lair. This short story is designed to at least begin a back round fore this blade that does not already exist. I will bring the dagger in to the fore front of the fall of Gondolin. Thank you
Turgon high king of the elves of the hidden city of Gondolin stood in his personal bed chamber all alone searching threw a set of large books on a wide wooden table. The lights of dawn the gates of summer where drawing near but he was not going to go forth and join the merrymaking quite yet. Of late a shadow of dread threw out the early hours had struck his heart that he could not explain. Little did he guess the terrible onslaught that was about to unfold. Fore hundreds of years the city Gondolin stood against the forces of the enemy Morgoth and his servants the greatest of witch was Sauron and the dragons and none of the foes of the high elves had suffered to let these cruel beings of Angband find the hidden city of the Gondothrim. But all the fortunes of the king’s house where going to fall soon and unknown to the king or his advisors save Meiglin the traitor a host of Goblins and other evil creatures of the stronghold of the black king of the North where headed to crush Gondolin and slay all its people leaving only ash and dust behind. Meiglin had been captured alone and brought to Morgoth and fore a price witch the dark lord would likely not fulfill that cursed elf revealed the location of Turgon’s hidden city and how it could be best overwhelmed in the fires of war. Now the king left his room hearing the noises of what seemed to be tumult and distress and upon meeting his guards he learned of the Orcs’ vicious attack and how there blissful home had now been tainted by the fires of Morgoth and the filth of the vial goblins and the terror of the ruthless Balrogs with there whips of death. Soon a battle was joined of witch many tales have been told, of how the rallied forces of the Gondothrim fought the enemy valiantly, how they where driven back to there city, and at last how Meiglin was slain by Tuor the king’s friend and husband Idril Turgon’s daughter. Tuor had been sent by Ulmo lord of waters to warn the elves but there king would not listen and though he was wise and brave he would not allow his beloved Gondolin to be abandoned fore the sea where white ships would bare them out of the fray to safety if the Valar whom they had defied would allow them to return. Now tuor had long guessed that his blissful life with Idril and there son Earendil the half elven would not last and he counseled with his wife as to what to do in case the city fall. Secrets ways where prepared that might lead thence to the lands outside the hidden realm and of this Meiglin knew naught until the sack of the city. Now to better guard the king smiths had made many weapons long ago and Turgon’s sword Glamdring was a wonder to behold. How it shone blue warning the approach of foes like all blades of that legendary kingdom no mortal can now say but it is said that one dagger was made fore Ecthellian lord of the fountain most trusted of all the Gondothrim in the king’s proud heart save fore the son of Huor whom he admired with reverence immeasurable. as elves hurried to defend themselves to the last Ecthellian’s friend Glorfindel stumbled a cross Turgon shining in a brilliant white robe amidst the terror of the foe baring his sword to the heavens crying to his soldiers “Mighty is the fall of Gondolin” and all shuttered fore that same turn of fraise was used by Mandos in the prophecy of the North long ago though few understood those words. Now bitterly did Glorfindel curse his choice to leave Valenor on a fool’s errand when the burning wrath of Feanor was still most unquenchable by any prudence. Coming to his king’s side baring his comrade’s blue blade he said “My lord Turgon Ecthellian is slain and I will leave with Tuor if I can to protect them from the might of our enemies.” “You may do so my friend and most cherished of captains who have stood at my side in battles that shall never be forgotten” grimly murmured the lord of the city looking carefully at Glorfindel’s eyes. “”now that Ecthellian is slain there remains little hope fore victory so do what you can O most blessed of all my servants and keep well my daughter and Tuor the bold.” “I will my king do ask you command” replied the elf of the guard. “Will you take Ecthellian’s blade fore your safety” asked Glorfindel bestowing the shining blade now even brighter then before in a gesture of grate respect baring the blade itself and allowing the hilt to remain open fore the grasping hand. Slipping in the elf’s tight grip the blue blade dug in to the soft white skin and red blood came dripping down like tears freely flowing to the tiled floor bellow. “See now that you bleed I should hold your offer now more as an oath a blood oath witch I must take with you in the memory of the lord of the silver fountain” proudly spoke Turgon now pointing out his captain’s small but curious injury. Taking the hilt of that dagger the king of the Gondothrim lifted the blade in his free hand fore he still bore his sword and in one swift movement hardly visible to mortal sight both blue blades sank in to leather sheaths hung at a wide belt. Turgon’s own blade of the same size and shape as Ecthellian’s dagger had clattered down the stares of his dwelling place rushing to bring order to his retreating elf warriors beaten and still filled with hatred fore there oppressive foe that clamored ever nearer like a black wave at who’s edges sprung not foam but torrents of bursting flame. glorfindel left saluting his king and left with Tuor some time after Turgon fell in his tower while the city crumbled about him as I will now recount as well as I now can. Seeing his elf lords now completely demoralized by there fighting the king ascended the many steps of his white tower tears running down his face followed by only two guards of his own household. Upon reaching a landing the guards asked “Who shall lead us now sire?” “Tuor will guide the Gondothrim” bluntly gurgled the overcome king. “but others would rather die then let you fall my lord” protested the two elf’s of Turgon’s house looking grave and deadly serious. “Let them go if they wish but allow them to stay if death seems the lesser of the evils” snapped the father of Idril now regaining his composure. “Go at once and tell them this” barked Turgon now looking fearless and mad and the two guards submitted to there lord’s wishes and left. Reaching then the summit of the mountainous tower the king then strode out upon a high ledge and peered down. There far bellow where many elven warriors fighting and dying and about them hundreds of others besides who would not leave. Seeing there lord king the elves shouted war cries and threats to the goblins but the servants of Morgoth even the countless Balrogs only laughed bitterly. Then came a beast of the brood of Glaurung and it rapped its tail around the complex of the tower and there was a grate moaning and a shrieking from both the dying folk of the last Noldorin stronghold of song of the elder days and the crushed stone. After sundering the foundations of the building the dragon and a few other vial beasts finally ate away the last ties that tower had to the earth and Turgon and his white lofty stronghold fell with a resounding boom that shook the ruins of Gondolin. Thus perished the lord of the city of seven names who’s last stand has become a legend both terrible and sorrowful among the Eldar. As the crowds of Orcs and other folk of Morgoth searched the ruins the following day only a few stray wonderers noticed that the body of the king was missing his sword and small dagger. Glamdring and the dagger of Turgon where stolen by the goblins. Fore thousands of years those blades traveled along side Ocerist witch was also robbed from its ancient owner until those Orcs where in turn robbed by there comrades who traveled thence to the wastes of the lands of the blue mountains where dwarves attacked them and all where slain. Thousands of years afterwards three clumsy trolls would be digging some of there stolen treasure out side one of there lairs and would stumble across these blades and bring them with them until there demise in the Low lands close to Imladris where we still sing and cry of the deeds of the Gondothrim. Ocerist was taken by Thorin Okenshield, Glamdring by the renown wizard Gandalf, and that dagger was taken by the hobbit Bilbo who named it “Sting.” Now all is told and the prehistory of the blade known as “sting” revealed. May the memory of Turgon king of Gondolin never fade. What Glorfindel thought when he saw his friend’s dagger and the other blades of Gondolin in Rivendil after returning from the West none can say.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
The Ring of Saruman By John Evans
I have read in the Fellowship of the ring and on a few web pages particularly the Barrow Downs forum of a ring that Saruman forged. This ring might have been of grate importance and of what happened to it and of its power or potential power if these curious connected facts where actually meant to provide a link a knew similarity between Curunir and Sauron, those intriguing possibilities are hear compiled in to an interesting tale of wonder and mystery. In the future I may even create a much longer story of this story thread. Please Enjoy
Alone in the top most chambers of Orthanc slept a hidden power biding its time to rise up in wrath against men, dwarves, hobbits, and elves as well as those currently standing against these same beings in the service of the other dark tower. Saruman the lord of that black tower of Isengard, lord of many colors, wished to first outdo the free peoples of Arda and then strike against Mordor in force wielding the ruling ring. Yes the old craven had long wished after his corruption to claim the ring of the true dark lord and to set himself up as a power of darkness that would sweep threw the lands but now first he would try to sub do Gandalf wisest of wizards and fore that Curunir the cunning mind whom mortals of the north named Saruman had to first attempt to try and work his magic will to an even grater extent. Piling threw spell books in his lofty chamber the enemy of gods, elves, men and all other free folk tried and find a spell that would enhance his already overwhelming art of persuasion threw the spoken word. Yet after hours and hours on end strenuously struggling to plow on he realized that he would probably have to rely on his ring his precious ring. Long ago in the foundations of his corruption from witch no tales now rise to trouble the mortal minds that occupy Arda Saruman had made in secret in his hidden forges a ring of power like Sauron but his plans would not fully succeed to there full potential. When that ring was made it was only threw the skill of the elven lore masters’ books and not there skill in person so the craftsmanship at points needed to be guessed by the wizard so that the ring was more vulnerable to the dangers of destruction and with it the downfall of Saruman’s native power. This ring unlike the one could be destroyed easily by any elven smith but not by any arts of men or dwarves. Now Saruman was reluctant to use the art of enhancing his seductiveness with this ring fore in doing so you most realize by openly wearing this ring he risked the wise discovering much about it. There fore when the wizard Gandalf had left and had not made and fuss about that mysterious ring in the councils of the wise concerning the ruling ring, Saruman was at the least more encouraged and at once lonched his attacks on Rohan in great force. Villages of the mark fell to that ring and one b by one the riders of there king where swept away in battle our cooped up in the golden hall. The anger of the Orcs of Orthanc the Uruci was unleashed thrice greater then anticipated because of the might of that ring. But the arm of that would be dark lord even with his ring was not enough to prevent Sauron using him as but a puppet and doubtless threw arts of the Palantir Saruman must have accidentally revealed the forging of his secret weapon of sorts to the dismay of the eye of barad Dur. Sure Sauron could crush Saruman with his ring if he wanted to but if Saruman did indeed forge this thing then the labor the crush that wizard would prove more costly then originally anticipated and that might disturb the time table strictly set before the dark lord in his war with Gondor in particular. One day even Gremer began to catch on about the powers of the ring. Asked to collect a collection of papers he came up to the top most chamber of Orthanc and he found his master standing gazing out the window holding aloft the ring of power unknown to so many. Now spells of ruin where spoken by that wizard and as with the One Ring when cast in to fire letters appeared on the band. These letters where not seen however by heat but threw magic alone and now they burned not hot red but a pale green sickly in color and terribly bright. Seeing this strange cite Gremer Wormtongue left the room hardly receiving any attention at all from the wizard save fore a shutter of dismay and a few swift lashings witch did little harm fore the lord of the tower was tired deadly tired. Periodically he would invest grater stores of his power in to that ring making he and that golden band more a kin rather then master and tool. Nay now the tool of grate power the instrument of conquest was bound to the would be overlord and that mistake would live on to haunt men in after days. Fore after the downfall of Orthanc and persuading Tree Beard to let him escape back to the shire where his servants where now mustered, Saruman was slain with Gremer by the Halflings still wearing his own ruling ring and because it was not bound to the one ring it still lives on somewhere. Long ago the grave of Saruman was neglected and if one where to take that ring from the wizard’s bones then perhaps one day when Saruman returns he may gather the power to rise up once more to a monumental threat witch us mortals must endure.
Alone in the top most chambers of Orthanc slept a hidden power biding its time to rise up in wrath against men, dwarves, hobbits, and elves as well as those currently standing against these same beings in the service of the other dark tower. Saruman the lord of that black tower of Isengard, lord of many colors, wished to first outdo the free peoples of Arda and then strike against Mordor in force wielding the ruling ring. Yes the old craven had long wished after his corruption to claim the ring of the true dark lord and to set himself up as a power of darkness that would sweep threw the lands but now first he would try to sub do Gandalf wisest of wizards and fore that Curunir the cunning mind whom mortals of the north named Saruman had to first attempt to try and work his magic will to an even grater extent. Piling threw spell books in his lofty chamber the enemy of gods, elves, men and all other free folk tried and find a spell that would enhance his already overwhelming art of persuasion threw the spoken word. Yet after hours and hours on end strenuously struggling to plow on he realized that he would probably have to rely on his ring his precious ring. Long ago in the foundations of his corruption from witch no tales now rise to trouble the mortal minds that occupy Arda Saruman had made in secret in his hidden forges a ring of power like Sauron but his plans would not fully succeed to there full potential. When that ring was made it was only threw the skill of the elven lore masters’ books and not there skill in person so the craftsmanship at points needed to be guessed by the wizard so that the ring was more vulnerable to the dangers of destruction and with it the downfall of Saruman’s native power. This ring unlike the one could be destroyed easily by any elven smith but not by any arts of men or dwarves. Now Saruman was reluctant to use the art of enhancing his seductiveness with this ring fore in doing so you most realize by openly wearing this ring he risked the wise discovering much about it. There fore when the wizard Gandalf had left and had not made and fuss about that mysterious ring in the councils of the wise concerning the ruling ring, Saruman was at the least more encouraged and at once lonched his attacks on Rohan in great force. Villages of the mark fell to that ring and one b by one the riders of there king where swept away in battle our cooped up in the golden hall. The anger of the Orcs of Orthanc the Uruci was unleashed thrice greater then anticipated because of the might of that ring. But the arm of that would be dark lord even with his ring was not enough to prevent Sauron using him as but a puppet and doubtless threw arts of the Palantir Saruman must have accidentally revealed the forging of his secret weapon of sorts to the dismay of the eye of barad Dur. Sure Sauron could crush Saruman with his ring if he wanted to but if Saruman did indeed forge this thing then the labor the crush that wizard would prove more costly then originally anticipated and that might disturb the time table strictly set before the dark lord in his war with Gondor in particular. One day even Gremer began to catch on about the powers of the ring. Asked to collect a collection of papers he came up to the top most chamber of Orthanc and he found his master standing gazing out the window holding aloft the ring of power unknown to so many. Now spells of ruin where spoken by that wizard and as with the One Ring when cast in to fire letters appeared on the band. These letters where not seen however by heat but threw magic alone and now they burned not hot red but a pale green sickly in color and terribly bright. Seeing this strange cite Gremer Wormtongue left the room hardly receiving any attention at all from the wizard save fore a shutter of dismay and a few swift lashings witch did little harm fore the lord of the tower was tired deadly tired. Periodically he would invest grater stores of his power in to that ring making he and that golden band more a kin rather then master and tool. Nay now the tool of grate power the instrument of conquest was bound to the would be overlord and that mistake would live on to haunt men in after days. Fore after the downfall of Orthanc and persuading Tree Beard to let him escape back to the shire where his servants where now mustered, Saruman was slain with Gremer by the Halflings still wearing his own ruling ring and because it was not bound to the one ring it still lives on somewhere. Long ago the grave of Saruman was neglected and if one where to take that ring from the wizard’s bones then perhaps one day when Saruman returns he may gather the power to rise up once more to a monumental threat witch us mortals must endure.
Councilor of Evil By John Evans
This story has been inspired from a passage in the fellowship of the ring in witch Gandalf tells in the council of Elrond how he went to Rohan and of the present plight he faced needing to find a swift horse to bring him back to the land of the Halflings. This episode is also adapted fore radio in the BBc radio drama “The Lord of the Rings” witch I highly recommend. Of course I have made a few changes to the radio drama’s adaptation but what I have written is still with in the frame of Tolkien’s own writing. Enjoy.
With a resounding clunk the doors of the golden hall of Meduseld opened wide to reveal the ragged old form of an elderly man dressed in grey and baring a staff. The figure stepped in to the torch light and lifted his rod to the guards standing on either side of Théoden king of Rohan as a salute and then abruptly brought the wooden staff down to the tiled floor with a hard crack. Flabbergasted twelve armed guards rushed forth to apprehend the wizard fore wizard he indeed was but Théoden ordered them to halt and be silent “Fore Gandalf the Grey is often eager to draw our attention threw odd means” explained the king looking at his guest with a wicked grin the madness placed with in. long Théoden had listened to his councilor Gremer that all save the king named the wormtongue and it was Wormtongue who was really ruling Rohan in the name of his true lord Saruman poising the lord of the Mark’s brain with self born doubts and faulty judgment. At last Gandalf spoke and his voice was like a trumpet in that wide hall of beauty and of light. “Behold Théoden king of the Mark the storm is drawing upon Rohan if your own guards are frightened of your greatest ally.” In response it was Gremer and not the king who spoke and the Wormtongue’s words where the sly sharp edges of a blade slowly slicing threw a large chunk of wood to reveal at last a carved image loathsome and twisted by the hands that wielded the tool of making. “You are no ally of ours.” “Ever you have come baring the tidings of woe master sorcerer.” “When ever anything turns ill you come to us offering advise and while that seems well I wonder if it is not well . . . . . suspicious.” The whey the councilor of Evil said this last word “suspicious” was carefully aimed at master Gandalf. It incriminated the grey wonderer while not doing so in manner that might draw disbelief at once fore such a comment’s abruptness. No Gremer was clever very clever and his words more perilous then any other man’s on all of Arda save fore Gremer lord Saruman’s own oral art of persuasion. The words of Saruman where all to convincing and Gremer was in the end but a subject of his master’s greatness but of all the mortals he was the most knowledgeable in the wizard’s art of persuasion threw speech an art long desired by power hungry politicians before or since. Giving a dark look in the councilor’s direction and then looking at the king the wizard asked “”does Gremer still speak fore Théoden hear or am I mistaken?” This made the Wormtongue stare with pure malaise at the Estari and almost lead to an open debate but at last Théoden intervened saying “Gremer is my chief advisor and is not to be undermined by any be that person be wizard or elf or man of noble birth.” “I did not come hear to argue” counteracted Gandalf avoiding humiliation fore challenging one of power and angering the king. “I came to worn you O mighty king of your peril.” “In the east the dark lord is moving indeed but your neighbor Saruman is now a servant of Mordor and wishes to become lord of all your lands.” “Saruman is massing an army bent on your destruction my lord and if you do not fight against this threat soon then all hope may be lost of ending a bloody war quickly.” Gandalf was not sure if it was possible to end such a conflict swiftly at all but it was still a possibility. The horseman of the Mark would stand a much better chance by driving off the Orcs before they where fully diploid against Rohan’s villages but of course Gremer would have none of it. “I say that Saruman is our ally against Sauron” the Wormtongue said turning to the king of the mark. Théoden’s face now bent in an expression of indecision. “who is to depend on the protection of Meduseld if her riders do not ride forth at once” barked the wizard seeing an opportunity. Yet then it seemed as though the king had made up his mind and he said at length. “Rohan does not need the war monger.” “I can not risk open war if it will lead to death.” “Also I do not believe orcs will come from Isengard fore the wizard of that land has always been our ally.” “He was your enemy last time I met with him Théoden when he captured me and nearly dragged me to the black land betraying his true purpose” counteracted Gandalf now seeming disappointed his wrinkled face now growing more grievous. Gremer scowled at the wizard and Théoden only shook his head receiving reassuring looks from Wormtongue soon afterwards. How could anyone trust this ragged stranger from out of the wild? Who was to say he wasn’t lying? Of course Gandalf was telling the truth and was only doing his best to try and save Rohan but if Théoden wouldn’t budge then he had to do what he could best and get away to his friends among them the ring barer Frodo. “If war comes” the Estari said after a long tense pause “Then others then I will draw its bloody sword.” “but I am in need of haste.” “I seek a horse to bare me back to the land of the Halflings though it may seem strange to so lordly a king as you and your little councilor.” He said this last part looking at Gremer and not at Théoden giving the councilor an overwhelming stare that cut threw the spy’s true purpose. “Very well” said Théoden his face now far more relaxed as though pleased that this meeting had come to its end. “take a horse and be gone.” And with that last command Gandalf left the Golden Hall and found Shadow Fax prince of horses and the servant of Saruman was troubled by even more concerning tidings. Gandalf had been captured by his master and had escaped? How is this possible he frantically contemplated. Who had aided the enemy in his bold escape and how did he know that he was a spy? Did he see me? Did he see me when . . . Gremer took a deep breath and then made ready to leave Meduseld asking to leave fore Isengard with messages. Saruman was not going to be pleased.
With a resounding clunk the doors of the golden hall of Meduseld opened wide to reveal the ragged old form of an elderly man dressed in grey and baring a staff. The figure stepped in to the torch light and lifted his rod to the guards standing on either side of Théoden king of Rohan as a salute and then abruptly brought the wooden staff down to the tiled floor with a hard crack. Flabbergasted twelve armed guards rushed forth to apprehend the wizard fore wizard he indeed was but Théoden ordered them to halt and be silent “Fore Gandalf the Grey is often eager to draw our attention threw odd means” explained the king looking at his guest with a wicked grin the madness placed with in. long Théoden had listened to his councilor Gremer that all save the king named the wormtongue and it was Wormtongue who was really ruling Rohan in the name of his true lord Saruman poising the lord of the Mark’s brain with self born doubts and faulty judgment. At last Gandalf spoke and his voice was like a trumpet in that wide hall of beauty and of light. “Behold Théoden king of the Mark the storm is drawing upon Rohan if your own guards are frightened of your greatest ally.” In response it was Gremer and not the king who spoke and the Wormtongue’s words where the sly sharp edges of a blade slowly slicing threw a large chunk of wood to reveal at last a carved image loathsome and twisted by the hands that wielded the tool of making. “You are no ally of ours.” “Ever you have come baring the tidings of woe master sorcerer.” “When ever anything turns ill you come to us offering advise and while that seems well I wonder if it is not well . . . . . suspicious.” The whey the councilor of Evil said this last word “suspicious” was carefully aimed at master Gandalf. It incriminated the grey wonderer while not doing so in manner that might draw disbelief at once fore such a comment’s abruptness. No Gremer was clever very clever and his words more perilous then any other man’s on all of Arda save fore Gremer lord Saruman’s own oral art of persuasion. The words of Saruman where all to convincing and Gremer was in the end but a subject of his master’s greatness but of all the mortals he was the most knowledgeable in the wizard’s art of persuasion threw speech an art long desired by power hungry politicians before or since. Giving a dark look in the councilor’s direction and then looking at the king the wizard asked “”does Gremer still speak fore Théoden hear or am I mistaken?” This made the Wormtongue stare with pure malaise at the Estari and almost lead to an open debate but at last Théoden intervened saying “Gremer is my chief advisor and is not to be undermined by any be that person be wizard or elf or man of noble birth.” “I did not come hear to argue” counteracted Gandalf avoiding humiliation fore challenging one of power and angering the king. “I came to worn you O mighty king of your peril.” “In the east the dark lord is moving indeed but your neighbor Saruman is now a servant of Mordor and wishes to become lord of all your lands.” “Saruman is massing an army bent on your destruction my lord and if you do not fight against this threat soon then all hope may be lost of ending a bloody war quickly.” Gandalf was not sure if it was possible to end such a conflict swiftly at all but it was still a possibility. The horseman of the Mark would stand a much better chance by driving off the Orcs before they where fully diploid against Rohan’s villages but of course Gremer would have none of it. “I say that Saruman is our ally against Sauron” the Wormtongue said turning to the king of the mark. Théoden’s face now bent in an expression of indecision. “who is to depend on the protection of Meduseld if her riders do not ride forth at once” barked the wizard seeing an opportunity. Yet then it seemed as though the king had made up his mind and he said at length. “Rohan does not need the war monger.” “I can not risk open war if it will lead to death.” “Also I do not believe orcs will come from Isengard fore the wizard of that land has always been our ally.” “He was your enemy last time I met with him Théoden when he captured me and nearly dragged me to the black land betraying his true purpose” counteracted Gandalf now seeming disappointed his wrinkled face now growing more grievous. Gremer scowled at the wizard and Théoden only shook his head receiving reassuring looks from Wormtongue soon afterwards. How could anyone trust this ragged stranger from out of the wild? Who was to say he wasn’t lying? Of course Gandalf was telling the truth and was only doing his best to try and save Rohan but if Théoden wouldn’t budge then he had to do what he could best and get away to his friends among them the ring barer Frodo. “If war comes” the Estari said after a long tense pause “Then others then I will draw its bloody sword.” “but I am in need of haste.” “I seek a horse to bare me back to the land of the Halflings though it may seem strange to so lordly a king as you and your little councilor.” He said this last part looking at Gremer and not at Théoden giving the councilor an overwhelming stare that cut threw the spy’s true purpose. “Very well” said Théoden his face now far more relaxed as though pleased that this meeting had come to its end. “take a horse and be gone.” And with that last command Gandalf left the Golden Hall and found Shadow Fax prince of horses and the servant of Saruman was troubled by even more concerning tidings. Gandalf had been captured by his master and had escaped? How is this possible he frantically contemplated. Who had aided the enemy in his bold escape and how did he know that he was a spy? Did he see me? Did he see me when . . . Gremer took a deep breath and then made ready to leave Meduseld asking to leave fore Isengard with messages. Saruman was not going to be pleased.
Dungeons of Darkness By John Evans
The following short story has been adapted from what I have learned of the events leading up to the quest of Arabor in Unfinished Tales and in one short passage in the hobbit. Indeed the following text may be perceived as almost a prologue to the hobbit and is a good starting point fore anyone who has read the lord of the rings first before launching in to Bilbo’s epic journey.
Thrain son of Thror woke from a deep sleep he was immediately stunned and altogether flabbergasted to see that he was surrounded by many Orcs baring torches to aluminate the gloom and knives to spread there master’s darkness that was sweeping threw the lands like a title wave may at times engulf a passing fisherman’s vessel and drag it to the pitiless depths. The dwarf knew at once that he was now in a very dire circumstance. He had left his home in the mountains to try to reclaim his lost fortune that now served as a bed fore his cursed robber, the dragon Smaug. With cunning devices he had strove to make his way threw many perils but still more traps fore the unwary traveler always seemed to supplant any chance of treading his path towards Arabor. The Lonely Mountain and its vast horde of gold, jewels, and other countless treasures, his ancient home seemed to draw him from his quaint lodgings in the blue mountains and in to the face of certain deadly peril. like a magnet draws all smaller metallic particles towards its refined shining surface the son of Thror was indeed swept up by a foolish desire to reclaim his birth right his precious trinkets and other oddments still lying in the darkness but it was no normal obsession fore treasure that dragged Thrain but rather an enhanced longing fore gold and jewels brought about by one simple but powerful ring. This ring was made in Eregion long ago by the elven craftsman but it was made under Sauron’s influence and was subject to the one ruling ring made in Orodruin the fires of doom. Now this dwarven ring was given to the people of Owle not by the dark lord butt rather the elves themselves so many perceived that its evil powers where less corrupting and indeed the dwarves are slow to submit to any domination and are overprotective of there rights. These The seven rings of old where almost completely useless in making dwarves slaves like the Nazgul to the dark lord and many of them were either destroyed or lost to the black hand. Now the power of Thrain’s ring like all the seven was plain. It could swell the desire fore gold to the point that all reason was replaced by madness often landing the ring in the groping grasp of the dark lord and leaving its barer but a corpse or worse. Tales of Sauron and his cruelty lived on even after his downfall in Mordor to the last alliance but rumors grew of the Necromancer this knew shadow in the north and his acts of malaise towards the free peoples of Arda. The captured ragged grimy old dwarf knew that fore some odd reason this Necromancer must have desired his ring and had come to seize it and slay him in his black dungeons far underground. Coming to this thought Thrain struggled a little on his captor’s shoulders but was abruptly slapped over the face several times.. The yellow eyes of the orcs gleaming like lamps all suddenly turned to there prisoner and some laughter soon followed hideous and retched to here. Seeing no escape the old warrior now laid low caught off guard and humiliated muttered a few curses in his people’s secret tongue and then was knocked over the head with the hilt of a broad sword who’s black blade curved to end at a wicked point. As the darkness took Thrain son of Thror he thought of his companions still lost somewhere in Mirkwood where he had been taken. Where his friends all right. Balin will take care of them and will see to it that Thorin hears of my descrase contemplated the prisoner. His swoon lasted fore some time and when he woke again he found himself in the dungeons that he had so dreaded. Growling like a caged beast he tried to get to his feet and walk about a little but he was soon knocked over by a sly small tracking Goblin who shoved his skinny famished arm threw the bars and pushed the captive to the cold stone floor. That chill rock serfice in stark contrast with the stuffy air of that terrible place sent Thrain in to uncomfortable dreams fore he was also weary and heavy of heart. he had wrought his own demise by going on this desperate expedition. He alone was to blame caught between the shadows and the guards of night. No rescue would come. No salvation would draw him hence to safety. Only death in the midst of unfriendly foes would be the reward fore his stupidity. But despite all this he wore his precious golden ring proudly and slowly although he didn’t realize it at first being alone forlorn and helpless he began to talk to the golden band like it was a deer companion who had gone with him every step of his ridiculous journey. “Boy precious we are in a lot of trouble but I will watch after you.” “I will keep you from the dark lord.” Little did the crazed dwarf know that that ring he wore was now straining to fall in to its master’s hands its true master’s hands. The lord of the rings was not slain and he now dwelt in the forest of Mirkwood in the fastness of Dol Guldor. Where the might of the eye clung to its evil policies and devices fore the conquest of all of Middle Earth plotting to outdo Mellkor his former master. But the Necromancer was beyond any doubt a good name to fool the supposed wise. Long ago the elves and the Estari wondered if this new sorcerer was just one of the nine wraiths of the black one but low hear in the epicenter of all darkness the world could muster save in the black land itself the lord Sauron sat on another thrown but wearing all the rings of power with the obvious exception of Thrain’s, the three Elven rings, and the one ruling ring his own ring to rule all the others. Waking again Thrain found himself in another loathsome chamber wider and more carefully carven. The tiled floor was rough and painful to lay upon but the ability to stand was now hindered by a set of ropes and chains. Cursing another crude remark in Dwarvish the captive was forced to submit to his situation and give in to the shadow. Seeing that he was struggling his Orc guards ran to greet there prisoner with whips but a voice denied them there spoils a deep cruel voice that made the blood run cold saying “Halt and drop your whips of slaves.” “I will deal with this one.” “Leave him to me.” Thrain felt like falling off a tower rather then here that voice again. Who was this leader who could bend the will of Goblins. Well he won’t make me do anything he thought proudly attempting to ward off a malevolent sensation of pure hatred and merciless anger flow threw the very air he breathed. Soon the dwarf could feel his captor’s hairy strong arms untying bonds and pulling away chains now unfassind and he was pulled to his feet. First Thrain saw his Goblin enemies looking down at him with disgust but saw that they where afraid of something close at hand and so the dwarf reluctantly followed there commander’s gaze witch lead a cross the room to . . . . .. Shrieking in agony the prisoner fell to his knees and wept like a child. “NO” he muttered whipping away tears that flowed freely from his eyes. “You can’t be hear.” “This is just a dream a nightmare of the shadow.” “I am the shadow” replied the dark lord seated on his black thrown his glowing read eyes diving in to his captive’s mind like a knife is plunged in to the flesh of a disarmed foe on the field of battle robbing life from the fragile body. That deadly gaze now stripped the dwarf of all sanity and he was cast in to a bottomless pit of darkness that now officially ate away his brain save fore a few thoughts. He had the key to the secret door of Arabor and the map of the lonely mountain witch had to go to Thorin. Thorin would have to continue the quest fore he was now as good as dead. At last that agonizing voice said at length calmly but hardly hiding the wrath of the dark lord’s own black thoughts “I believe you have something of mine that I would want back son of Thror.” Now turning to his servants the lord of Dol Guldor Sauron lord of the rings commanded “Take from him his ring.” “No” cried the dwarf spluttering about like a fish on land squirming like a worm. “”Please have mercy.” “I have none fore you or your folk” snarled the voice of Sauron digging deeper in to his tormented prisoner’s mind extracting information swiftly but also now draining the stunted little fool’s life force like a straw slurping up water from the ornate glass. One groping Goblin hand came with a knife and with horror and indiscernible suffering the blade cut cleanly off the dwarf’s ring finger still baring the ring. “Give it to me at once” snapped the dark lord clearly enjoying watching Thrain’s struggle on the floor of his thrown room. The finger was presented to him like a trophy and the lord of the rings couldn’t help but wonder if this sense of pleasure was also as resonant in Isildur when that Numenorian captain cut from his hand the ruling ring. “Leave me” smoothly growled the dark lord staring at the Orc before him. “And drag this unhappy dwarf to our lovely dungeons” he added now staring back at Thrain laughing as he saw the pain etched on the prince’s face under that deadly glance. If only Sauron had searched that dwarf further he would have found a silver key and a map and that would have been just disastrous fore those two heirlooms would be of extreme importance as is already told in the Red book of the hobbits. Years past until on one evening when the mind of the dark lord was elsewhere one lone figure crept in to the dungeons of the necromancer and found a ruined dwarf half mad and completely witless having endured even more torture then that spy was willing to admit. That bold person who had dared venture the perils of the shadow was Gandalf and he had come to discover who the lord of Dol Guldor was although it is clear that he evidently guessed. Coming to the ragged old dwarf the wizard politely asked feeling pity well up in his heart despite his sudden urgency “who are you?” The only words that came out of the dwarf’s mouth where “Map and key.” “Map and key.” Realizing that the prisoner had to be now completely mad not to mention on the verge of death and impossible to rescue the wizard made ready to turn away but he was stopped by the dwarf who grabbed pitifully at the stranger’s ankle. Turning around with some rebuke on his lips that was soon driven from his swift mind, Gandalf found that the prisoner was remarkably handing him what was clearly a map and a silver key on a chain. “Give it to my heir” said the dwarf voice now a tad clearer but no less mad crazed from years of torment in the dark. “I had a ring” he went on seeing the wizard’s curiosity. “I had a golden ring.” “A precious ring.” “What happened to it” asked the Estari now intensely interested. Could this dwarf have possessed one of the seven? “he stole it” replied the dwarf looking afraid and turning back and forth as though being slapped by many clubs and struck by many whips. “he took it” repeated the wizard under his breath. “Who is your heir” he asked the prisoner now even more curious then ever sensing that something more important then he realized was going on although he could not comprehend exactly why. But the dwarf would give no answer. He lay there eyes now distant mind lost in some thought of the past. Knowing that the dwarf was on the edge of death and that there was no hope fore him the wizard reluctantly walked away leaving the prisoner to the shadows once again. Only five days later Thrain son of Thror died in the dungeons of the Necromancer hardly able to cling on to life at the end torn by the ageless malaise of the eye of the dark lord but his meeting with the wizard would have the up most importance fore the journey of Thorin that would take place in that age of the world leading to the defeat not only of Smaug but also to the finding of the one ring and eventually after many years Sauron’s destruction.
Thrain son of Thror woke from a deep sleep he was immediately stunned and altogether flabbergasted to see that he was surrounded by many Orcs baring torches to aluminate the gloom and knives to spread there master’s darkness that was sweeping threw the lands like a title wave may at times engulf a passing fisherman’s vessel and drag it to the pitiless depths. The dwarf knew at once that he was now in a very dire circumstance. He had left his home in the mountains to try to reclaim his lost fortune that now served as a bed fore his cursed robber, the dragon Smaug. With cunning devices he had strove to make his way threw many perils but still more traps fore the unwary traveler always seemed to supplant any chance of treading his path towards Arabor. The Lonely Mountain and its vast horde of gold, jewels, and other countless treasures, his ancient home seemed to draw him from his quaint lodgings in the blue mountains and in to the face of certain deadly peril. like a magnet draws all smaller metallic particles towards its refined shining surface the son of Thror was indeed swept up by a foolish desire to reclaim his birth right his precious trinkets and other oddments still lying in the darkness but it was no normal obsession fore treasure that dragged Thrain but rather an enhanced longing fore gold and jewels brought about by one simple but powerful ring. This ring was made in Eregion long ago by the elven craftsman but it was made under Sauron’s influence and was subject to the one ruling ring made in Orodruin the fires of doom. Now this dwarven ring was given to the people of Owle not by the dark lord butt rather the elves themselves so many perceived that its evil powers where less corrupting and indeed the dwarves are slow to submit to any domination and are overprotective of there rights. These The seven rings of old where almost completely useless in making dwarves slaves like the Nazgul to the dark lord and many of them were either destroyed or lost to the black hand. Now the power of Thrain’s ring like all the seven was plain. It could swell the desire fore gold to the point that all reason was replaced by madness often landing the ring in the groping grasp of the dark lord and leaving its barer but a corpse or worse. Tales of Sauron and his cruelty lived on even after his downfall in Mordor to the last alliance but rumors grew of the Necromancer this knew shadow in the north and his acts of malaise towards the free peoples of Arda. The captured ragged grimy old dwarf knew that fore some odd reason this Necromancer must have desired his ring and had come to seize it and slay him in his black dungeons far underground. Coming to this thought Thrain struggled a little on his captor’s shoulders but was abruptly slapped over the face several times.. The yellow eyes of the orcs gleaming like lamps all suddenly turned to there prisoner and some laughter soon followed hideous and retched to here. Seeing no escape the old warrior now laid low caught off guard and humiliated muttered a few curses in his people’s secret tongue and then was knocked over the head with the hilt of a broad sword who’s black blade curved to end at a wicked point. As the darkness took Thrain son of Thror he thought of his companions still lost somewhere in Mirkwood where he had been taken. Where his friends all right. Balin will take care of them and will see to it that Thorin hears of my descrase contemplated the prisoner. His swoon lasted fore some time and when he woke again he found himself in the dungeons that he had so dreaded. Growling like a caged beast he tried to get to his feet and walk about a little but he was soon knocked over by a sly small tracking Goblin who shoved his skinny famished arm threw the bars and pushed the captive to the cold stone floor. That chill rock serfice in stark contrast with the stuffy air of that terrible place sent Thrain in to uncomfortable dreams fore he was also weary and heavy of heart. he had wrought his own demise by going on this desperate expedition. He alone was to blame caught between the shadows and the guards of night. No rescue would come. No salvation would draw him hence to safety. Only death in the midst of unfriendly foes would be the reward fore his stupidity. But despite all this he wore his precious golden ring proudly and slowly although he didn’t realize it at first being alone forlorn and helpless he began to talk to the golden band like it was a deer companion who had gone with him every step of his ridiculous journey. “Boy precious we are in a lot of trouble but I will watch after you.” “I will keep you from the dark lord.” Little did the crazed dwarf know that that ring he wore was now straining to fall in to its master’s hands its true master’s hands. The lord of the rings was not slain and he now dwelt in the forest of Mirkwood in the fastness of Dol Guldor. Where the might of the eye clung to its evil policies and devices fore the conquest of all of Middle Earth plotting to outdo Mellkor his former master. But the Necromancer was beyond any doubt a good name to fool the supposed wise. Long ago the elves and the Estari wondered if this new sorcerer was just one of the nine wraiths of the black one but low hear in the epicenter of all darkness the world could muster save in the black land itself the lord Sauron sat on another thrown but wearing all the rings of power with the obvious exception of Thrain’s, the three Elven rings, and the one ruling ring his own ring to rule all the others. Waking again Thrain found himself in another loathsome chamber wider and more carefully carven. The tiled floor was rough and painful to lay upon but the ability to stand was now hindered by a set of ropes and chains. Cursing another crude remark in Dwarvish the captive was forced to submit to his situation and give in to the shadow. Seeing that he was struggling his Orc guards ran to greet there prisoner with whips but a voice denied them there spoils a deep cruel voice that made the blood run cold saying “Halt and drop your whips of slaves.” “I will deal with this one.” “Leave him to me.” Thrain felt like falling off a tower rather then here that voice again. Who was this leader who could bend the will of Goblins. Well he won’t make me do anything he thought proudly attempting to ward off a malevolent sensation of pure hatred and merciless anger flow threw the very air he breathed. Soon the dwarf could feel his captor’s hairy strong arms untying bonds and pulling away chains now unfassind and he was pulled to his feet. First Thrain saw his Goblin enemies looking down at him with disgust but saw that they where afraid of something close at hand and so the dwarf reluctantly followed there commander’s gaze witch lead a cross the room to . . . . .. Shrieking in agony the prisoner fell to his knees and wept like a child. “NO” he muttered whipping away tears that flowed freely from his eyes. “You can’t be hear.” “This is just a dream a nightmare of the shadow.” “I am the shadow” replied the dark lord seated on his black thrown his glowing read eyes diving in to his captive’s mind like a knife is plunged in to the flesh of a disarmed foe on the field of battle robbing life from the fragile body. That deadly gaze now stripped the dwarf of all sanity and he was cast in to a bottomless pit of darkness that now officially ate away his brain save fore a few thoughts. He had the key to the secret door of Arabor and the map of the lonely mountain witch had to go to Thorin. Thorin would have to continue the quest fore he was now as good as dead. At last that agonizing voice said at length calmly but hardly hiding the wrath of the dark lord’s own black thoughts “I believe you have something of mine that I would want back son of Thror.” Now turning to his servants the lord of Dol Guldor Sauron lord of the rings commanded “Take from him his ring.” “No” cried the dwarf spluttering about like a fish on land squirming like a worm. “”Please have mercy.” “I have none fore you or your folk” snarled the voice of Sauron digging deeper in to his tormented prisoner’s mind extracting information swiftly but also now draining the stunted little fool’s life force like a straw slurping up water from the ornate glass. One groping Goblin hand came with a knife and with horror and indiscernible suffering the blade cut cleanly off the dwarf’s ring finger still baring the ring. “Give it to me at once” snapped the dark lord clearly enjoying watching Thrain’s struggle on the floor of his thrown room. The finger was presented to him like a trophy and the lord of the rings couldn’t help but wonder if this sense of pleasure was also as resonant in Isildur when that Numenorian captain cut from his hand the ruling ring. “Leave me” smoothly growled the dark lord staring at the Orc before him. “And drag this unhappy dwarf to our lovely dungeons” he added now staring back at Thrain laughing as he saw the pain etched on the prince’s face under that deadly glance. If only Sauron had searched that dwarf further he would have found a silver key and a map and that would have been just disastrous fore those two heirlooms would be of extreme importance as is already told in the Red book of the hobbits. Years past until on one evening when the mind of the dark lord was elsewhere one lone figure crept in to the dungeons of the necromancer and found a ruined dwarf half mad and completely witless having endured even more torture then that spy was willing to admit. That bold person who had dared venture the perils of the shadow was Gandalf and he had come to discover who the lord of Dol Guldor was although it is clear that he evidently guessed. Coming to the ragged old dwarf the wizard politely asked feeling pity well up in his heart despite his sudden urgency “who are you?” The only words that came out of the dwarf’s mouth where “Map and key.” “Map and key.” Realizing that the prisoner had to be now completely mad not to mention on the verge of death and impossible to rescue the wizard made ready to turn away but he was stopped by the dwarf who grabbed pitifully at the stranger’s ankle. Turning around with some rebuke on his lips that was soon driven from his swift mind, Gandalf found that the prisoner was remarkably handing him what was clearly a map and a silver key on a chain. “Give it to my heir” said the dwarf voice now a tad clearer but no less mad crazed from years of torment in the dark. “I had a ring” he went on seeing the wizard’s curiosity. “I had a golden ring.” “A precious ring.” “What happened to it” asked the Estari now intensely interested. Could this dwarf have possessed one of the seven? “he stole it” replied the dwarf looking afraid and turning back and forth as though being slapped by many clubs and struck by many whips. “he took it” repeated the wizard under his breath. “Who is your heir” he asked the prisoner now even more curious then ever sensing that something more important then he realized was going on although he could not comprehend exactly why. But the dwarf would give no answer. He lay there eyes now distant mind lost in some thought of the past. Knowing that the dwarf was on the edge of death and that there was no hope fore him the wizard reluctantly walked away leaving the prisoner to the shadows once again. Only five days later Thrain son of Thror died in the dungeons of the Necromancer hardly able to cling on to life at the end torn by the ageless malaise of the eye of the dark lord but his meeting with the wizard would have the up most importance fore the journey of Thorin that would take place in that age of the world leading to the defeat not only of Smaug but also to the finding of the one ring and eventually after many years Sauron’s destruction.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)