Sauron by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

Sauron

  The rider kept a steady pace, not pushing the lordly black steed caparisoned with elaborate mithril. If he was aware of the watchers in the trees, he gave no sign, but looked about him with innocently open eyes. He did glance at the yellow-feathered arrow that sped away towards Emyn Beraid, and one of his brace of black hounds (surely wolves, with mithril collars...) snarled briefly, but the rider held his course and did not alter the horse's gait.

   The arrow was fired from target to target until it landed vibrating in the gatepost of Elostirion where Gil-galad lay. Even as the message was recovered, Gil-galad, disturbed more deeply than since the passing of the Second Age, was climbing the great staircase to the Chamber of the Palantir. Urgent voices behind him stopped him, and he hurried down to them.

   'Sire, a message from the scouts, by yellow arrow !'

  Gil-galad nodded, it was as he had expected, he had felt the approach of darkness like the fall of night. 'Read it.'

   'Sire, it says 'dangerous stranger on horse. with two wolves.'

   Gil-galad nodded 'Thankyou. I will not be disturbed today.' He turned back and strode up the smooth marble steps.

    The Palantir lay upon its marble pedestal, glowing warmly in the afternoon sunlight. The open windows carried the soft sea breeze, laden with salt, seaweed and the plaintive cries of the wide white gulls. 
Gil-galad sighed, looked to the West and then closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of his father, his mother, and all the many others, long gone now...

   He braced himself and opened his eyes and mind and gazed deeply into the Stone. For a time all was darkness, then like the sun breaking through clouds, the vision cleared and he beheld Elostirion, as though he were a seabird approaching land. The grey towers rose above the mansions of Emyn Beraid, which crowned the green hills as though risen in the course of the ages through the rich green turf, as though grown there. Gil-galad smiled, he loved Elostirion, the fountains and terraces high above the woods and hills, but most of all he loved the Mithlond, by the restless sea.

    There, he thought, there on the road. A tiny speck seemed to swell as his mind focused the power of the Palantir; the image cleared, a horse, black, bedecked in glittering harness, a black wolf running at each flank.

   The saddle was empty.

   Gil-galad frowned. The horse moved as though being ridden, but no sign or trace of any rider could be discerned through the Stone. Gil-galad rang a small bell and Elrond hurried in

  'Elrond, return the yellow arrow, I need to know what that rider is doing now. Then summon the companions, we ride on the arrow's return.' 

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   'No change in speed or direction.' was the message. Gil-galad considered permitting Elrond to use the Palantir, to reassure himself, to confirm his own perception, but the Stone could not be mastered without long preparation, and the stranger approached.

  The companions, Gil-galad's own escort, chosen for valour and excellence, numbered twenty, and they sang as they rode, fearing naught that a single stranger could threaten.

  When the stranger rode into view, Gil-galad felt a clenching pain grip him, dread and loathing filled his mind for a moment. He shaded his eyes and gazed at the stranger, and their eyes met. For a moment Gil-galad forgot everything. The golden gaze was like sunlight, he felt dazzled and warmed and full of certainty, as if all the pain and mystery of life had been resolved, as if he had been given an answer so obvious that he himself half-remembered it.

   Then he remembered the Palantir. He drew it forth from his saddle-bag and with shielding hand, looked carefully into the Stone. There on the road, the brightly dressed companions with flowers woven into their hair, there on the road the two wolves and the tall black horse. And the empty saddle.

   Gil-galad looked up, the rider's beauty was breathtaking, awesome, it reminded him of the might of Rauros on Anduin. His cloth was fine and finely made, entirely black, with exquisitely worked mithril at his throat, at his brow and on his long gloved fingers. 

   Gil-galad turned to Elrond 'Turn him away. Now.' he said.

Chapter End Notes

another one for the Tumblr Halloween thing