Prologue

Author's Notes:

The world of Middle Earth does not belong to me. LOTR and other works belong to Tolkien and his estate. This is a fan fiction devoted in honor of the great wordsmith and I am hoping you will like it. This is a huge story, ranging from Year 2850 of the Third Age to Year 3021 of the Third Age. I might cut it into parts if I deem it fit. Also, the chapters might come with an interval of 2-3 days as I am working on my own epic fantasy series as well, the first book, The Greentree Predicament, coming out next month end. So please bear with me if the chapters are slow in coming. Reviews will be appreciated but keep the insulting tones to yourself. Constructive criticisms will be accepted. Enjoy the Story!

Year: 2850 of the Third Age

Place: Bree, Eriador

The inn of the Prancing Pony was merrier than usual. Men, dwarves, and hobbits alike danced and sang like never before. To Gandalf, it seemed like peace was starting to return to Middle Earth, but he knew it was not so. War still raged in distant parts of the country and he worried about the kingdoms of men in the South. They were gradually weakening and Gondor had lost its kings several years ago. Rohan had been beset by Dunlendings who believed the fields of Calenardhon to be theirs. He knew that these Dunlendings were not so brave enough to dare to combat the forces of Rohan. Some force seemed to be guiding them. Gondor was beset by the Haradrim and the Easterlings. War was coming to men from both sides. They would not long survive the continuous onslaught. Yet hope remained for Gondor was still strong and if the Stewards ruled it wisely, it could still stem the tide from the east.

The only regret Gandalf had was that he and his fellow wizards could not help the kingdom of Arnor when it was under siege by Angmar a century or more ago. It was their duty to help the denizens of Middle Earth, yet they had failed in their quest. He had failed. Gandalf blamed himself. If only he had given wiser counsel to the men of Arnor. True, he had played his part. He had urged the elves to help men in their fight against the northern shadow. It was him who had found out the king of Angmar was indeed one of the Nine. But that had not proved enough. Arnor still lay in ruins, its kingship destroyed, its royal line broken. The once proud and strong men had now become a weak folk, rangers in the wilderness, still striving to protect the northern areas of Middle Earth. He had met Argonui, Chieftain of the Dunedain, and he thought there was something strange about him. Yet he never questioned, he never asked. He believed the Chieftains to be descended from the lesser noble folk who had once lived beside the lake Evendim.

The song brought him out of his worries. He had heard it before: the lay of Beleriand, a composition of its finest moments before its fall at the end of the First Age.

He sighed. He was Olorin then and he had come to fair Beleriand to fight Morgoth, of whom Sauron was but a servant. Morgoth had been banished and he wished Sauron had been too, but evil was to endure. And now for an age or more, he had survived. If only Isildur had destroyed the One Ring, he would still be in Valinor! If only the Rings of Power were never crafted, he would still be in Valinor! Regret crept into his heart, regret of leaving the Undying Lands. But he still hoped to return. He wanted to complete his quest. So far his efforts had been subdued as none of the Wise were willing to believe that Sauron would ever return to Middle Earth, as long as the One Ring remained lost. But of late, orcs had been seen roaming the fields of Gladden. Gandalf knew that was where Isildur fell and if the orcs were searching the river, it meant they were looking for the lost treasure. So far they had not found it. If Sauron had laid his hands on the Ring, he would know. The Wise would know. So far the Ring had eluded him. Wherever Sauron was, wherever he bided his time in his shapeless form, devoid of his former strength, he had not found what his minions were seeking.

It had not been so long that the War of the Dwarves and the Orcs had been fought. To think that the mountains were now empty and the fortresses and caves were now abandoned seemed to comfort him, if only a little. But what if the goblins returned? What if the orcs tried to reclaim their old lands? He had smelled dark portents of late and his heart was troubled, very troubled. He kept hearing news from birds and a fellow wizard, Radagast, that ill omens were seen in the eastern forests and he had seen darkness and shadow creep between the branches. He had spoken of a necromancer occupying the long abandoned fortress of Dol Guldur. He wondered if this mysterious sorcerer could command orcs and goblins. And if he did, how could he? As far as he knew, orcs answered to Sauron alone, or one of the Nine. When Gandalf had spoken to Elrond about this necromancer, he had dismissed his claims about Sauron returned. Elrond had said that Sauron would never return to Middle Earth in his weak state, that he held no power without the One Ring of Power, and that it might be just one of the Nine seeking to re-establish a hold over the North. Gandalf had retorted by saying that even if it was one of the Nine, they should drive him away. Elrond had paid no heed. He had answered saying that The Nine were in Minas Morgul and they were keen on depriving Gondor of its men. They held no threat to the North. The fact that the elves had become so stubborn and careless troubled him deeply. Gandalf had expected more of Elrond than the others, but Elrond seemed to have become submissive and distant, uncaring about the troubles that plagued Middle Earth. He seemed to have little interest in the happenings in the world of men, who he blamed for the Ring having survived. Even though he partook little in the affairs of the Edain, he still remained kind towards the Dunedain Rangers and aided them whenever he could, stemming the flow of wolves and goblins into Eriador.

His thoughts were broken suddenly by a familiar voice. It was Haemlin, a Dunedain Ranger he had met on one of his travels to the ruined city of Annuminas.

"Oh, it's you, Haemlin! How fares you and your people? How fares Lord Argonui?" he asked.

Haemlin nodded. "Everybody fares well, Gandalf. It is but on Lord Argonui's requests that I am here to bid you meet him on The Greenway. He has some news and not all of them are good."

Gandalf nodded, sighing. "Very well, Master Haemlin. Lead me to him."

The ranger nodded.

Gandalf reached the meeting of The Greenway, not far from the small town of Bree. Lord Argonui stood where the Old East Road met the North Road. He looked concerned. His brows were wrinkled. Gandalf could see he was wearied from his travels.

He got off his horse and strode towards the Chieftain of the Dunedain, staff in his right hand.

"Hail, Lord Argonui, Lord Chieftain of the Dunedain of Arnor!" he bowed.

Lord Argonui returned his bow with one of his own. "Gandalf!"

"Haemlin here said you wanted to meet me."

The lord nodded. "Yes. News have reached me of late, Gandalf, and they are not all good. We fear the shadow that has fallen upon the world. An evil force directs itself upon the remnants of Numenor and the Rohirrim are troubled by their dealings with cruel Dunlendings who refuse the authority of Gondor. The strength of our brothers in the south fails and their reach shortens day by day, even though their Stewards mean well. We would rather see a king return to the throne of Minas Tirith, Gandalf, for it is said that hope shall return to the world of men then."

Gandalf sighed. "But the royal line has failed in both the realms," he said, melancholy seeping into his voice.

Lord Argonui looked askance, opening his mouth to speak, and then shut it. "Perhaps, Gandalf, perhaps. But if some unknown seed were to be found, some unknown relic of the erstwhile Numenor, some hidden people to claim the throne in the South!"

"Alas! That is not possible, Lord Argonui. The line of Rhudaur passed away long ago and Cardolan was vanquished by Angmar, its last princes slain on the Barrow-downs to the west. The kingship in Arthedain was dismantled and it is said that Arvedui died childless in the northern shores of Forochel."

Lord Argonui saddened, listening to the history of his kin. "True, Gandalf. I think it is too much to hope for, but it is not the affairs of the South that concern me, but of the North. My tongue had been waylaid, Gandalf; forgive me. It seems to me that the whole of Middle Earth is under siege."

"And what makes you say so?" he asked, frowning.

"There are the rumors of some Necromancer. His shadow is lengthening across Rhovanion and is ever spreading northward. He is attempting to populate the mountain again, Gandalf. Should he succeed, Eriador shall be safe no longer. The Mines of Moria, my spies report, is being infested with goblins and the High Pass bears troubled signs. With Erebor under the dragon's control, it is being hard, Gandalf. The North may soon come under siege and we are not as powerful as Gondor to stop it when the war finally comes."

"It is ambitious of the necromancer, don't you think, Lord Argonui?" asked Gandalf.

"Not if he is one of the Nine."

Gandalf nodded. "If it indeed is one of the Nine, we must make sure he doesn't succeed in his plans."

"We might be too late, Gandalf. Orc companies have been seen moving towards the old fortress of Gundabad. If Gundabad is occupied, if Gundabad is taken, then I believe that the necromancer is trying to claim the lands of Angmar. If he succeeds, my friend Gandalf, we won't be able to stay the threat. If Carn Dum is reoccupied, we would be hard beset to stop the onslaught. Even the elves cannot aid us now, with them leaving the shores for Valinor. We must do something, Gandalf, before it is too late for us to act."

Lord Argonui was right. If Angmar were to be reoccupied, Eriador would be in immediate threat and not even with the help of Rivendell could that foray be stopped. The Dunedain were few and so were the elves. There were the half-lings to the west but they could not be counted upon for war. And as far as the dwarves were concerned, they were too content in their blue mountains. Besides, they would not aid in another war which is of no concern of theirs. No, if anything was to be done, Gandalf thought, it would have to be done tactfully and in secret.

"Lord Argonui, I would want some help."

"Anything we can do is yours to ask, Gandalf. Say it and it shall be done if it is under our power to do so."

"Lay quiet for a while. Send out your rangers east of the mountains. Keep a watch upon Gundabad."

The lord nodded.

"Send your women and children to the west. To Lindon, under the care of Cirdan the Shipwright. He is likely to offer you shelter, but beg him to be discreet. Let no word of your movements reach the Enemy's ears."

"And what about you, Gandalf?" the lord asked.

"I am off east. To Dol Guldur. To see if I can find out who really the necromancer is. To test my power against his and drive him away if I can."

The lord sighed. "That is dangerous, Gandalf. Are you sure you want no aid?"

"I want no casualties on the side of Arnor. The Dunedain blood is precious and you need to save it for the future. You need to preserve your heritage. For I do believe, my lord Argonui, that your people will have a great role to play in the end."

Gandalf made to go, but the lord stopped him again.

"Gandalf, I wish to tell you another thing."

He frowned.

"The dwarf-lord, Thrain, son of Thror, was seen wandering in Eregion and he passed into the Mines of Moria. We met him down south upon the Greenway. He seemed mad, Gandalf. Like something had addled his brains."

Gandalf grunted. "Mines of Moria!"

Words of Saruman came back to him. Mines of Moria! I would not dare to venture there, Gandalf. You know what the dwarves awoke in the shadows of Khazad-dum. Flame and Shadow.

"Why would he go there?" asked Gandalf, confused.

"I do not know, Gandalf, but there was this strange ring in his hands. He kept fiddling with it as if it held some power over him. I don't know what it was, but it was adorned with a strange, yet beautiful gem."

"One of the Seven," Gandalf cried as foreboding filled him.

Lord Argonui grew alert. "If one of the Nine intend to reclaim one of the Seven, it would be catastrophic to all. The Nine can wield the power of The Seven. If Thrain, you say Gandalf, has the last dwarf ring, don't we need to find and save him?"

"I need to go to the mines then," said Gandalf, surprised that the Chieftain knew of the rings of power. He wondered what else the Chieftain knew. "I take your leave. Perhaps if I ride faster, I shall find him faster," he continued, bidding the Dunedain farewell.

The chieftain bowed and hooted to his men. As the Company left the Greenway, Gandalf suddenly found within him a purpose. Find Thrain! Find the Dwarf's Ring!

-x-x-x-x-