So, based on a conversation I had yesterday on Facebook, I just wrote a small piece of FanFic in the imagined LotR world. It was a fun hour of writing.
Hope you enjoy it.
Copyright 2015 – E. J. D’Alise
“They did what?”
The Nazgûl cleared his throat before continuing. He no longer had a throat, of course, but old habits were hard to break.
“They distracted us, Dark Lord. One of them threw a piece of wood and we followed the sound.”
“Let me get this straight,” Sauron said, his voice rising with his mounting irritation, “you were within inches of the One Ring, and you turned to follow a stick they threw?”
The Nazgûls stood in silence, afraid to answer. Truthfully, the excuse sounded flimsy even to them and they had been there.
“And this was before or after you killed a bunch of pillows?” Sauron asked.
“That was before,” Angmar dared answered, “and before we lost them at the ferry crossing.”
“You did what?”
If Angmar could have sweated, he would have. Obviously, the Dark Lord had not known about the Bucklebury Ferry miss, and Angmar would now have to explain it.
“Ah . . . we were chasing them, you see, and they ran ahead of us and jumped . . .”
“Wait,” Sauron interrupted, “you were chasing them on foot? What happened to the trained horses I gave you?”
“. . . we . . . we were chasing them on horseback . . .”
Sauron’s eye looked at each of his Ringwraiths in turn. To Angmar, it seemed as if the great eye had developed a slight twitch.
The Great Eye looked back at Angmar. Sauron had never learned the names of the other Nazgûls; with great annoyance he always returned to Angmar as the only Nazgûl whose name he knew.
“How fast are these Halflings? Are they like Pronghorns, able to sprint at great speeds?”
“No, my Lord; it was more as if some magic had us move as if swimming, moving slowly . . . although, if I might add, looking very impressive what with the robes flying about us and . . .”
The great Eye’s stare had him stop. Composing himself, he continued.
“Anyway, they arrived at Bucklebury Ferry ahead of us and . . .”
“What,” Sauron asked, “is a Buckleberry?”
“No, my Lord; bury; b-u-r-y. It’s a name derived from Borgeldeberie, meaning Burghild’s fortified place.”
“What’s a Burghild?” Sauron asked.
“I know,” piped up the smallest of the Ringwraiths, “it’s a woman’s name.”
“Uh . . . any woman; it’s a name some women have.”
Sauron missed having arms and hands; he so wanted to rub the temples he no longer had.
“And then what happened?” he asked instead.
“Well, we can’t swim, so when they launched the ferry barge, we could not follow, and had to take the long road.” Angmar’s voice was confident; this was something beyond their control. They had asked for pool facilities in Mordor, but the request had been denied.
“So,” continued Sauron, “you then went to the Prancing Pony and killed a bunch of pillows.” He paused before asking, “Any particular reason you did that?”
“They tricked us! They are sneaky that way!” the oldest of the Ringwraiths answered with an indignant voice.
Sauron mentally counted to ten . . . Twice.
“But you followed them . . . ” he said, drawing out the rest of the story.
“Yes, we did, and we had them trapped at the hill of Weathertop, and even managed to stab the Ring Bearer!” The youngest of the Ringwraiths was excited to retell of their short-lived success.
The great Eye turned to him, and he retreated, partially shielding behind Angmar.
“. . . but you did not get the ring . . .” Sauron said, his voice now past irritation and into resignation.
“No; a Ranger was with them, and he attacked us with sword and fire.”
“There are nine of you!”
“Yes, but he was quick! And did I mention he had fire? He lit a couple of our robes, and we retreated.”
“IDIOTS!” Sauron composed himself as his outburst shook the ground and put a crack on one of the Dark Tower’s supporting beams.
“Tell me,” he continued with a calm voice, “did it occur to any of you to just remove the robes? You’re invisible to living things, you could have attacked at will.”
“Uh. . . ” the wraiths looked at each other, well, at each other’s robes, and replied with weak voices, “. . . no, I mean . . . it all happened so fast . . . we didn’t have time to . . . it was chilly . . . “
Sauron now sported a sizable eye migraine. One of the many disadvantages of not having eyelids.
He resumed after a few minutes.
“. . . but you kept following them, right?”
“Yes, and we waited until the elf maiden with the very fast horse had the Ring Bearer before we gave chase . . . uh,” Angmar paused a moment, “now that I say that aloud, it does not seem like that was a good strategy.”
“You think?” Sauron’s voice had the Ringwraiths bow their heads.
He sighed. Internally, of course. Having no lungs, he was not even sure how he could speak. Perhaps all this was just a bad nightmare, and he would soon wake up, clad in his shiny armor.
But no; a few minutes passed, and nothing happened. This was the reality he had to deal with.
“So, you were chasing her . . . “
“. . . uh, yes . . . at times we were within arm’s length, and the next instant we were twenty-thirty feet away. Must have been some elven optical illusion at work because depending on the angle, we were either right atop her or quite a distance from her.”
“How did you lose her?” Sauron asked.
“She crossed the river into Rivendell and stopped to face us.”
“So you were able to catch her?” Sauron asked.
“No, we stopped as well.”
“. . . what?” Sauron had a feeling where this was going, but like watching a wagon wreck, he had to see it through.
“We stopped across the river from her.”
“Was this a deep river, or very wide river?”
“No, very shallow, and no more than twenty or thirty feet wide,” Angmar answered.
“. . . and you stopped . . .”
“Yes. We asked her to give us the Halfling.”
“. . . you asked her . . . “
“Yes, but she refused, even after we told her we would take him from her.”
“No kidding,” said Sauron.
“No, I’m serious! It made us mad, and we all drew our swords!”
“That. Was. Irony.” For being a fiery eye, the Dark Lord could put quite the chill in his voice.
No one spoke as the eye now showed a distinct and rapid twitch. Angmar was worried it might dislodge from its perch.
After a few minutes, Sauron formulated his next question.
“. . . and then?” He braced himself for the answer.
With hesitation, Angmar continued.
“. . . we . . . we slowly began to cross.”
“Yes; you should have seen us. We looked impressive and menacing.”
“I don’t . . . you . . . Nevermind; just go on,” Sauron said.
“Well, we were crossing slowly, and she began to chant, and then giant water horses appeared a few hundred yards away.”
“Yes! Giant waves in the shape of horses . . . the elf seemed as surprised as we were.”
“So,” Sauron slowly said, “you rushed across before they could reach you, right?”
“Uh . . . No; we turned to face them and waited. We and the horses were swept away. Most of our horses drowned.”
Sauron just stared at them, his migraine doubling, his twitch making it difficult to see.
“You . . . lost . . . my . . . trained . . . horses?”
Before the Ringwraiths could answer, the Lieutenant of Barad-dûr approached, bowing to gain Sauron’s attention.
“What now? Are the toilets backed up again?”
“No, my Lord. I mean, yes, but also Saruman is on the line and wishes to speak with you.”
Sauron looked up . . . for not the first time, he wondered if all this was really worth it.
He spoke without looking down.
“Go,” he told the Wraiths. “We’ll pick this up later. Oh, get down to the livery yard and get yourselves new mounts.”
The Wraiths made to turn but stopped as Sauron continued.
“Get something with wings this time; something that can fly over water.” There was no irony in his voice.
As they left his presence, they could hear Sauron connect with Saruman.
“Hello, are you there? You would not believe the kind of day . . . “
To be continued
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. . . my FP ward . . . chieken shit.