Black clouds loomed menacingly over the Dark Tower, casting dark shadows upon the barren landscape below. Mount Doom burst forth in flame, the ground shaking at its power.
A dark shape moved across the dead land below, quickly making its way closer to the Tower. A man, if he could be called that, stood upon one of the Tower's balconies, watching. Waiting.
His face was mostly hidden by a strange steel helm, crownlike in appearance. He was robed in black. One may have mistaken him for a Ringwraith... But he was no Wraith. He was a Black Numenorean, though had no name, not anymore. He was Sauron's Mouth, his loyal lieutenant who obeyed and relayed his every word.
Even now he waited to deliver the words of his master to the figure who was approaching.
He waited until the figure reached the base of the tower, then strode inside the tower to meet him.
But the figure was already there. Black cloaked and menacing, the Witch-King of Angmar stood a full head taller than the Mouth. But the Mouth would not be intimidated, for he feared no man, living or dead.
"Our Master bids me to ask of thy progress in the North," the Mouth said, his mouth twisted into a perpetual sneer. The skin at the corners of his mouth seemed to tear slightly with every word.
"We have been delayed," the Witch-King hissed, his voice menacingly low. "Arnakhor struck too soon, with not enough force."
At this the Mouth tilted his ghastly head to the side slightly. "Is he... Is he dead?" He inquired.
"Yes... Your brother was foolish. Hopefully you are more calculating in your choices." The Witch-King said, a slight tone of mockery in his raspy voice.
"I make no choices that are not of our Master," the Mouth growled. He ground his teeth afterward, creating a vile sound.
"Good. Then tell him that I have a different strategy," the Witch-King said quietly.
"Our Master bid me to tell thee that thy chances are over. Thou must follow his plans now. And his plans are most simple. We will attempt to broker treaties with the Easterlings and Haradrim. Once these are secured, we will move on Erebor, and Mirkwood as well. Then the rest of the North will fall in quick succession." He noticed the low hiss that was emanating from the Witch-King and sneered. "Dost thee disagree with our Lord? That would be most foolish, old Wraith."
The Witch-King suddenly screeched and drew his blade, wicked and sharp. The Mouth recoiled and took a step back.
"Do not be foolish! We are allies," he said quickly, knowing that the Witch-King was one quick to anger.
The Witch-King hissed and sheathed his blade. A moment of tense silence followed, but the Mouth eventually broke it.
"Our Lord Sauron hast given thee a new task. Assemble the other Eight. Renew the search. But be subtle." The Mouth raised a gauntleted hand. "I have given thee thine task! Now go!"
The Witch-King of Angmar flew from the room.
The Mouth of Sauron grinned widely. Their time was coming. Soon.
Hey everyone! This was a previously unpublished chapter that I decided to go ahead and publish, as it helps lead into the whole trilogy. Let me know what you think! Good, bad?