Fields of Rain

Kenobi

Author's Notes:
Personally I really enjoyed how the film portrayed the characters and scenery of Tolkien's world. Though I was sorely disappointed with the adding and detracting of some details and scenes. This story will stay true to the facts of the book to the best of my ability though when writing this tale I incorporated the look of the characters from the movie.

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There have been many A/U stories in this category on how things might have been if Sauron did indeed regain the Ring. This is my idea on the subject that I have been toying with for quite some time now. This is only the beginning and there will not be any major differences till later chapters.

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Disclaimer:
I do not have the privilege of owning the majority of these characters.
Although one is mine.
And of course there are spoilers if you have never read the books.

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The dark cloaked figure walked slowly away from the gruesome scene behind it. A band of men lay in the dusty earth, now gradually changing into thick mud from their spilt blood. The phantom that caused the injustice did not allow the deceased a second thought or concern. It had taken what it had come for, new knowledge-information about a certain object and which way its keeper was carrying it. The black warrior obtained its vital prize from those whose crimson liquid stained the land. After getting all it could out of the noble men it proceeded to be rid of them, breaking the promise it had made of sparing their lives in exchange for what they knew.

The creature's hand reached up to grip the richly adorned saddle that lay on a horse who matched its owner in appearance. It gracefully mounted the black stallion and turned its gaze upon Mordor.

A servant of the Dark Lord it was; one of the many faces of deception. A demon of the enemy, who had seen many years of service, many wars, knew many arts and much magic. There were many still living who could remember its cruelty and trickery and few who would willingly describe its actions in detail.

A strong gust of wind threw back the hood that veiled the individual's face. Hidden beneath was neither the ghastly features of a creature of Mordor nor did it have the appearance of a harden man. Instead it was the face of a fair maiden. Smooth and flawless was her skin, darker than her deeds and the armor she wore was her hair. Her eyes were beautifully patterned except for the morbid shade of blood red and resided in the area where there should have been a deep brown or a bright green. As lovely as Luthien Tinuviel or The Lady of the Golden Wood she would have been if not for the bizarre shadows that seemed to lurk in her eyes and expression that proclaimed the condition of her heart.

It was with the tool of attractiveness that she weaved her webs around her enemies and cast her spells. For evil is most often the alluring option.

She smiled a twisted cruel grin and sped away towards the lands she looked upon. For she now held important tidings of a certain halfling, where he was last seen, and where he was now journeying to.

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Peregrin Took rushed down the endless passages of Minas Tirith. Already weary in mind from the many concerns around him, he faltered in his steps with physical exhaustion. His head was occupied with fear for Faramir's health, wonder on how Merry and the others with him where coping, and then most importantly the condition of Frodo and Sam. Also in the back of Pippin's mind there was a slight uneasiness about Lord Denethor's sanity. All these thoughts and even more weighed on the young hobbit's mind.

He shook his head seeking to be rid of all these and to concentrate on the task at hand. He had to find Gandalf and to inform him of Denethor's ill spoken wishes of handing over command to the 'Grey Fool,' as he had put it.

Much to his relief he found the hardened wizard looking out over a grand banister; his withered hands clutching the sides with strength that no other 'old man' of his appearance could have ever gathered. Pippin watched as a couple of pebbles fell from the stone that Gandalf gripped. His wise eyes were firmly sealed in disturbed thought. His face was an uncertain mask of turmoil.

"Gandalf...?" Pippin stopped suddenly at a loss for words. His voice sounded weak and shaky in his own ears.

The wizard didn't move or even look at him. Pippin began to wonder if he had even heard him and resolved to repeat his last word but just then the other spoke:

"I feel a change...," he whispered, "a shift in our fates." Indeed just moments before Pippin had come into his presence Gandalf had sensed the stir. Like the tangible feeling of a steady, warm breeze coming from ahead and then rapidly converting to a flow of cold air from behind.

"There will be even more hardships ahead...before...perhaps an end ," he straightened his back and turned towards Pippin, his eyes now open and solemn, "be prepared for the worst."

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The voice could be deep and commanding; it could vibrate through your body and rob you of all your bravery, confidence, hope, and leave you naked before the Eye. Or it could be low with an unnerving calm elegance that already knew all you secrets. A kind of wisdom and reverence echoed in it that established a feeling of submission in those who felt its dark fingers caress their ears.

To the most faithful and the longest in service of the Dark Lord such meetings where He was heard (and often seen) it did not have the same effect. A certain numbness had been acquired. The same insensitivity could be said about one such servant who knelt before him and heard the quiet, low voice. The minion of Sauron reported her most recent news and then waited for further instructions.

"My true follower Nafeatir...," the mild growl sounded, "Go to Cirith Ungol, I sense strife among those there."

Nafeatir, Dark Enchantress, longest living commander of Sauron's forces, was she. Both lovely elf-maiden and powerful Maia made up her existence.

"Yes, my Lord," she said after a brief second of hesitation.

"You do not agree with this?"

"Are there not other more important tasks?" She asked, knowing that she could not hide much of her mind from him.

"Do you question my judgment on what is significant...?" The steady voice rumbled more harshly.

"No, my master, I will depart immediately," she said while standing.

"Go now, my child."

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The dark horse and its rider slowed to an elegant stop from a mad gallop in front of the Tower of Cirith Ungol. The Lady Nafeatir slid off and proceeded forward not heeding the repulsive orcs that struggled to keep up with her stride. She heard their vain flattery and questions but with only half an ear. Her foul mood was too great to bother with the brutal beasts. The only reason she even listened at all was to find some mistake in their endless babbling so she might find a little pleasure in slaughtering the whole lot of them.

She whirled around abruptly in annoyance and pointed to the creature that had been making the most noise.

"Who is in charge here?" She spoke with a loud tone, full of wrath.

"I-I am-," he began but was soon silenced by the same powerful voice.

"You are relieved of you command. I have all authority here. I want you to gather all your soldiers who are more than likely wallowing in sloth and disperse them to all passages, openings, and areas unattended that surround my tower. Now get out of my sight, I've had enough of your hideous faces for one day!"

She watched in satisfaction as they scattered in all directions. Though angry as she was for being placed in such a dull situation she resolved that she would at least watch over the region with the best of her capability. Nothing would pass Cirith Ungol and no foe would escape if they dare to come close.

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Samwise Gamgee lay outside the brazen doors that lead into the orcs' stronghold. His master had been taken by the Enemy to be exposed to whatever bone-chilling torment the servants of Sauron would be allowed to do to him. He had overheard some of the conversation that went on between two huge orcs who he assumed had some leadership status. What he had discovered from their muttering and fussing was both reassuring and frightful.

When the grief over losing his master and friend was still fresh it was revealed that Frodo had not truly departed this realm, but he was under a poison issued forth from the vile creature Shelob. No sooner had Sam heard this that the highest joy and sorrow came upon him. Frodo was alive but was in the hands of the goblins and subject to torture. The only other comforting words that came from the wretched brutes were that they planned not to slay his master, at least they wouldn't.

He had heard them speak of one who had great authority in the Enemy's armies who had come to watch over the tower. A mighty sorceress who they doubted would let Frodo live after they would empty him of all his possessions and information. It was her that Sam feared the most for Frodo's sake, for the orcs spoke of her with great dread.

'If I try to save Mr. Frodo in a tower with that evil sorceress in power I might as well be giving the Ring to Sauron, ' Sam thought, 'But I just can't leave Frodo, I just can't leave him to anguish and death when it was my fault in the first place that he was abducted!'

"I'm coming Mr. Frodo," he said aloud

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Nafeatir sighed as an outward sign of her absolute boredom. The Sorceress' skills of leadership and magic could obviously be used elsewhere especially around such a point in history. Instead of being sent to lead armies like she so desired she was assigned by her master only to watch over the blundering orcs of Cirith Ungol to see that they do not kill each other and themselves. 'What kind of a mission was that?' she wondered idly.

Her eyes flickered to the questioning room as she walked down the dark corridors of the tower. A bright ivory color that was in great disagreement with the gloomy shades that the halls possessed crossed her vision in the glance. Curious, she stopped her pointless journey to nowhere and retraced her steps. She peered into one of the more mild torture chambers that housed the object of her inquiry. What she saw she was unprepared for. She was well aware of a spy that had been caught snooping around, but paid no second thought about the matter. She dismissed the odd occurrence, too annoyed with being in the tower in the first place to worry about a spy. She then allowed the hideous beasts to do what they would with him. But as her eyes feel upon him, she found herself astonished at his appearance. She was expecting some virile brute or a lowly fool who was a half a step up from the beings that she was surrounded by, yet he was far from these.

Silently, Nafeatir entered to get a better view of his unusual characteristics. She sank in the closest shadows near the infiltrator so not to be seen by unwanted eyes. She then continued her examination of the stranger. He lay almost bare on a cold table in the midst of the chamber. His wrists and ankles were fastened ruthlessly tight to the rock beneath him, his arms painfully stretched up over his head.

What so greatly captivated the Dark Sorceress was the childlike innocence that was reflected in his features at first glance. They shone from him like rays of sunlight. His dark, wavy hair that framed his face was an interesting contrast to the snowy skin it rested against. The extreme white hue suggested that he would have had a more colored tone in light of circumstances. Ghastly bruises and gashes manifested the torment he must have endured. She noted the shape of his ears with their little points at the ends, yet he was too small in stature to be an elf. He is undersized, yet too fair and graceful in build to be a dwarf.

'Of what race could he be apart of?' Her mind wondered. She carelessly attempted to visualize his nature when awake and contented.

As Nafeatir's reveries rage on he stirred slightly. A meager moan of discomfort escaped his lips while his lids struggled to be permitted sight. She gazed in utter awe at such brilliance of blue that surpassed even the brightest shades of Manwe as they radiated from untainted eyes. He slowly squirmed and shifted in the inadequate space he was allowed; his features morphing from confusion to disheartening remembrance. A stab of sorrow vibrated through the usually hard-hearted elf at the look of anguish across his face.

In the process of taking into consideration all that Nafeatir had seen and thought she found that she was interested, or rather, drawn to the outsider in a way that she had neither experienced nor understood. Sentiment that she knew not existed surfaced; obstructing her judgment and leaving her sanity in utter chaos. The uncertainty of the predicament and its effects on her logic whispered warnings. Only the thought of 'escaping ' the odd circumstance remained.

Yet before the dark elf could flee from the unsettling situation, his eyes captured hers. She briefly wondered how he was able to discern her dark presence from the shadows. Perhaps it was her ridiculous (or so she thought) reactions to such an intriguing being.

Her thoughts did not linger on that subject for long. His crystal blue eye's held such purity yet in the edges there was sorrow and hurt. Puzzlement washed over his face after a moment of just observing Nafeatir. He obviously didn't expect to find one such as her among these ghastly orcs. His face then changed into what appeared to be hope.

"Help..help me..," a weak sound issued from his light pink lips.

Her mind then wondered what his voice would be like when strong and in perfect health, or how it would feel to have his laughter echo in her ears. She entertained images of the stranger smiling, smiling at her.

Suddenly as if Nafeatir had been physically struck she came out of her senseless musings and realized how illogical her usually sound mind was being. She is revered as a powerful Sorceress, able to make legions of men and orcs tremble under her glare, yet a miniature elf, a prisoner in Sauron's dungeons, was causing such instability in her with just his glance.

"Please," his feeble voice interrupted.

Before Nafeatir knew it she was moving towards the stranger. She had already resolved to leave, didn't she? Yet his last weak word was like a command to her ears.

As she approached him she fully began to realize how small he was. Almost like the Halflings that lived in legends. Not many knew, but they did in fact exist. She recalled encountering a few in her many years. It was the halflings now that held Middle-Earth's fate, but that was far from her mind then.

She stopped beside the cold stone slab that he was bound to. Alive, cool blue eyes gazed back into her crimson ones. For an instant she was afraid he would be sickened at the eerie shade, but rather he showed curiosity. He held her gaze unwavering. There were no words spoken between them, possibly because they were absorbed in their own thoughts.

Held in his glance she lost grip on her so-called logic and reality. She began to wonder where he came from, or why he was in such a dreadful place. Her mind lingered to what he might enjoy. Did he delight in the sharing of tales and legends? Perhaps he welcomed melodies and songs recent and ancient? Or could he be like herself, one who desires knowledge and the study of different areas.

Their individual musings were stopped by the sound of many, carelessly clumsy footsteps. Nafeatir tore her eyes from the prisoner to give the doorway a quick glance.

"I must go," was all she could find to say. No explanation or encouragement came from her mouth like she wished.

He closed his eyes slowly (much to Nafeatir's sorrow) and rested as much as he could back on the table.

Nafeatir then found herself not withdrawing at all. Indeed, it had been years and years since she had felt compassion for another, yet at that moment she was more worried about what would happen to him then her being caught in the unusual circumstance. 'I just have to prevent him from being needlessly harmed again by these foolish Orcs,' she considered. Her more reasonable side whispered that she would not be able to assist him while in this unstable mood. Not yet, she needed time.

She reached over and lightly brushed a wavy lock of dark hair from his face. He abruptly opened his eyes again apparently thinking she had already departed.

"What are you called," she asked quickly.

He hesitated at first, suspicion clearly taking its reign, yet something was bidding him to trust. Drawing in a deep breath he replied. "Frodo..," with that he laid his head to rest on its side and closed his eyes with a sigh.

"Frodo," Nafeatir murmured softly to herself. Loud grumbling and yelling reminded her of where she was. Reluctantly she withdrew from his side and out the opening before the orcs took their two next steps.

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The corrupt enchantress found herself dashing away from the questioning room as if she had been pursued by an unseen foe. Turning a corner she halted and pressed herself against the wall. While gasping deeply in an attempt to catch her breath and mind, she questioned herself as to why he had been so frightened.

"Frightened..?" She whispered, unbelieving the reality of it. 'Could I truly be fearful of that little being? Perhaps it was what he turned me into for those few moments - a weak fool...?' She thought.

Either way Nafeatir resented the fact that she had fled even after being so farl away from the chamber and the orcs. She was angry that she ran in confusion and panic. She, Nafeatir, who fought in the most hideous wars, who stood up to her enemies where some men in the Dark Lord's army would have faltered in their bravery, who couldn't recall the last time she had turned down a challenge, had just performed such a vast act of cowardice.

In those minutes she spent in with him she didn't recognize herself. Her thoughts were a distorted muddle.

'I even told myself that I would return to him and ensure that no more harm would come to him! What do I care about him? He is nothing, only a small stumbling block. He corrupted my perfect mindset and left my judgment in disarray. He is dangerous,' she considered.

"Yes, very dangerous," she spoke while fingering her sword that hung by her side. "He must be executed," her voice was surprisingly shaky which only made her more irritated.

Taking a confident deep breath and lifting her chin in pride. She determined that after a brief pause in order to recover her full mind she would slaughter the little elf, and then she would be rid of the foreign feelings he instilled in her.

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Author:

This has been reread and edited as of 2006. Perhaps after rereading everything that I've written and fixing a few mistakes here and there, then I'll be able to finish a few more chapters.

- Kenobi