[Nice-Smeagol]

The cloaked figures were riding horses. Huge black ones, not at all like the horses remembered from Mornovarion’s home village. There were nine of them. "The Nazgul?" thought Mornonovarion in horror, he had been one of the wisest in his village, "No, why would the Enemy waste the Nine on a group of mere prisoners". When the riders got within about five meters of the group of orcs and prisoners the lead one leapt of the back of his huge horse. The orcs cowered backed away nervously, forming a group behind the elves. "What are these things?" thought Mornovarion, "They must be terrible indeed if even the orcs retreat in fear".
The leader of the riders now approached the group, and though they could not see its face, Mornovarion was sure it would be smirking, laughing to itself. Suddenly, it spun around and leapt up to face one of the elves. The elf must have seen what lay inside the hood for he screamed and leapt backwards. One of the figure's gloved fists shot out and found its target on the elf's stomach. The elf bent double and the rider grabbed him by the throat and lifted him clean of his feet. Mornovarion gasped; even though the elf must have weighed less than it had done due to malnutrition, lifting it with one had been an amazing feat. Then the figure dropped the elf to the ground and watched him attempt to pull himself to his feet, and then it grabbed the back of his head and thrust it into the murky water. Though some of the elf's flailing arms and legs hit the figure, he didn't seem bothered. Soon the flailing stopped and the elf was still.
Mornovarion was shocked, he knew he could have used this spectacle to escape but his body would not respond to his minds futile commands. He had stood as if spellbound. Why had that ... thing ...killed the elf in cold blood? Why? But there was no time for thinking, the rider had got back on his horse and shouted 'Come!’ Slowly the group had started following.
The mountains of Mordor were in clear view now, like the spine of some great dead creature, with the maggots that were His servants crawling all over it. The orcs were not as rowdy now as they had been, they now hung around at the back of the group as far from the riders as they could. The ground was soft and squashy underneath their feet, and the bottoms of their tunics were stained in mud. The long nights were the worst, when the Candles came. They had been warned against going to see what they were, and any elves who had succumbed to the temptation had been killed outright. The orcs and riders were greedy with their prizes, not willing to let anything else kill them.
After several of what Mornovarion thought were days, it was impossible to tell in this Mordor-Darkness, they came to the Gates of Mordor. The leader of the riders cried out in his sibilant, hissing voice, 'Open in the name of Mordor and Sauron!’ The gates creaked slowly open, and the company passed inside. They were taken by the orcs (the riders had left them, thank Eru) to a room. The sound of screams echoed around the place.
One of the orcs climbed on top of a pedestal and shouted ’Alright, you miserable maggots, you are now prisoners of the one true lord Sauron. Who is you lord?!’ None of the elves answered. The orcs brought out cruel whips and cracked them menacingly. ‘I’ll ask you again,’ shouted the orc, ’WHO IS YOUR LORD?!’
‘Sauron!’ shouted the elves meekly. The ones who hadn’t were quickly dragged into another room. The screams grew louder.
Now the elves were taken to a room that was obviously a prison. The elves were thrown into tiny cells just large enough for one elf to lie down in. It seemed that a timetable had been drawn up, with each elf being allocated a little time to sleep and eat before torture began again. The elves were taken out in groups of five of six to the torture chamber. It was filled with racks and thumbscrews and other such instruments of pain and death. Mornovarion found that the only way to stave off insanity was to not surrender completely to the pain, to keep part of the mind active. He would play little games while he was being tortured, like “Count The Number Of Orcs” and “Spot Patterns On The Walls And Roof”. When in his cell and not sleeping or eating he would beat little tunes on the stone wall of his tiny room with the small wooden spoon that was his only possesion now. He had never been musically-inclined before but it was better than doing nothing. But one question always stuck in his mind; what were the Fell Riders?
Long, long after his first few days, Mornovarion didn’t know how long, in Mordor days were virtually non-existent, one of the fell riders had come into the torture chamber. The orc guards and torturers had cowered behind the racks and the other torture equipment. Then it had said in the common tongue, ‘The Lord requires one of you elves to do a task, it will mean freedom for you and the rest of your village, but take your time. I am willing to wait.’ The torture began again with vengeance. Eventually Mornovarion broke and cried out ‘Stop! I will do your task.’ The orcs had untied him from the rack he had been strapped to, and lifted him following the rider. He got one last view of some of his family and friends, who looked after him with disappointment in their faces, before the door had slammed shut and the screaming began again. He knew that he would never see them again. The Enemy would not keep his promise. It was for himself, that he had chosen to give up, and he hated himself for it. Soon the rider had turned into a room and the orc and he had followed. The rider was sitting at a table with an empty chair facing him. Mornovarion sat down and the rider started to speak, ‘The Lord Sauron is troubled by a realm to the north of where you used to live. It is ruled by King Thranduil. We feel that without a king, this realm would be easily destroyed. However, the watch on his realm is too great for an orc to slip through. We want you, to go into the realm and kill Thranduil.’
Mornovarion was horrified, if he declined now he would be killed, or put back into the torture chambers, but the collapse of Thranduil’s realm would mean the collapse of the whole North-East of Middle Earth. The Dwarves might hold out for a while, but eventually they too would be destroyed. Yet, he could not decline; he was gripped by a sudden urge to accept, to end his own pain. ’Yes’ that was all he said.
‘Excellent’ said the rider. The orc grabbed a branding iron with the shape of the Eye on the end and rammed it onto Mornovarion’s shoulder, he screamed in pain, but it was over in seconds, there was still pain but not as bad as before. Mornovarion looked at the Fell Rider and asked, ‘What are you?’
The Rider laughed, ‘You would like to know, wouldn’t you. It’s been driving you mad all this time. What am I?’ The Rider pulled off its hood. Mornovarion reeled backwards in horror.

[ July 12, 2002: Message edited by: Nice-Smeagol ]

[ July 12, 2002: Message edited by: Nice-Smeagol ]

[ July 12, 2002: Message edited by: Nice-Smeagol ]