The fortress of Helm's Deep loomed silently against the cliffs, the old flagpoles where once had flown standards of Rohan barren and forlorn in the breeze that should have stirred great banners.
And so it came to be that a lone rider, robed in a dull green and with a wooden staff hanging from his saddle, rode up the causeway for the gate. He reined in before the door, staring for a moment.
"Open this gate in the name of the Master!" He cried. There was no response. "Open!" He yelled again, reaching almost unconsciously for his staff.
"Who dares to come to the gates of Helm's Deep?" A deep voice called from atop the gateway, and the rider looked to see a figure, an orc indeed, robed and armored in black, with only his mouth visible beyond said armor. "You are late."
The rider stiffened. "A wizard is never late!" He cried in anger at the figure. "Nor is he early! He arrives precisely when he means to!" His hand was now on his staff and a fire danced in his eyes, though to an onlooker it was less of a blaze then the glowing warm fire of a hearth in winter.
The orc upon the gate pursed his lips, staring menacingly at the wizard. Then suddenly he laughed. "Come now, Marrathis, I merely test you! Open the gates for our wizard friend!"
There was the sudden sound of orc laughter from behind the gate and it began to grind open. Marrathis the Green spurred his horse forward slightly and rode into the gate. Inside he saw orcs laughing and jeering good-naturedly at the jest of the gateway orc. Even now said orc descended from the gateway, a sword at his side, coming to stand next to Marrathis as the wizard dismounted and handed his reins to an orc.
"What news, wizard?" The Mouth of Sauron asked eagerly. "The Master is anxious."
"As he should be, five years after the Black Gate." Marrathis sighed. "So much was lost there. And so much may yet be lost."
The Mouth lost his smile. "Your mission went poorly?"
"To put it mildly, yes. I but mentioned His name and they all began mobilizing and sending out riders to gather allies. I believe I have started a war."
"It is alright." The Mouth said with a shrug. "This war was coming anyway. Soon enough the orc-kind will have to fight for their freedom from the Elves and Men. You could not, I think, have prevented that."
Marrathis shrugged himself and made his way up the stairs for the Keep, the Mouth behind him. As he came to the walls about the Keep, he was confronted by two black-robed figures.
"Marrathis." One of the Nazgul said. "Where have you gotten to?"
"Is all anyone says to me going to be of how late I am to you?" Marrathis exploded. "What about a 'thank you kindly for risking your neck to speak out on our behalf in Minas Tirith'? No? Not from anyone!" He shook his head. "Morgomir, your courtesy fails you."
The two nazgul withdrew slightly, but Marrathis could tell that they were laughing to themselves. On the inside, so was he. The Ringwraiths, though commonly detached from the world, were indeed capable of friendship and humor with those they appreciated. Marrathis shook his staff at Morgomir and Khamul in mock warning, then made his way up the stairs into the keep proper.
Inside there was a long table. At it sat an orc general, Gothmog of Minas Morgul. Having barely survived Pellenor Fields and later Black Gate, he was one of the trusted commanders of the Reborn. Also there were the other six Black Riders, whose names Morgomir knew not. And also was the Witch-King of Angmar, greatest of the Nine, staring at the maps upon the table with Gothmog.
And there also was a nine foot tall imposing figure, a mace propped against a wall.
"Theoden's forces have assailed another column near Tol Brandir." Gothmog was saying. "Total loss. They're catching more and more groups. Soon enough the noose will tighten and we'll have no reinforcements."
"Marrathis." The Witch-King said. All figures turned.
Marrathis looked at them all swiftly, then bowed his head to the tall one. "My lord." He said.
Sauron shook his head. "You have done too much for me to be a servant." He said. "Directing our forces after the Black Gate and making for here? That was a stroke of genius, and entirely yours." He took a few gaping strides and settled in a large throne chair. "Now tell me, wizard, how went your mission, and why you were delayed?"
Marrathis sat as well, not really noticing Gothmog disappear, knowing this was a matter for the Nazgul and the Master. The Mouth remained, ever at Sauron's side, and Morgomir and Khamul entered seemingly on queue.
"That is a dark tale." Marrathis said. "To begin, I rode to Minas Tirith, as you said, passing Cair Andros and Captain Boromir along the way. Once in the city - at the height of the meeting of the rulers of Men and Elves and Dwarves, I endeavored to speak to Gandalf and convince him of our cause." Marrathis grimaced, remembering the White Wizard's scathing words - and the flash of Istari power that attacked him shortly thereafter. "He was unmoved by the plight of the orcs, and the resulting . . . ah, argument brought the attention of King Aragorn and his companions. Yes, Lord, the entire Fellowship - save the halflings - was present, as were many others. I the blinked out of the city into the Ithilien and made my way back here, avoiding Captain Faramir's Rangers as best I could."
"You condense a small saga into a few sentences." Sauron raised an eyebrow. "Argument with Gandalf the White? How much of Minas Tirith is left standing to oppose us?"
The Nazgul laughed, and Marrathis smiled slightly. But he leaned forward.
"Sauron, they have assembled their armies now." Everyone froze. "They are coming here. They will be here by tomorrow morning."
Sauron sighed. "I am not strong enough, we are not numerous enough. Curses!" He pounded his fist into the wall. There was a sizeable dent left behind. "I forget my own strength." He said, staring at the wall. The Mouth quickly ducked out to fetch some stoneworkers.
"We must stand here or die." Marrathis said with certainty. "The Elves and Men will not rest until every last one of us is a corpse."
Part Two will come whenever I'm of a mind to write it.
-L
