Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit whatsoever from it.

Credit: Tuckborough.net

Sauron

Beneath the iron crown of Barad-dûr's highest tower, a silent form cloaked in Shadow observed the warring mass of elves and men surrounding his fortress. Fire and arrows rained endlessly upon them from above yet, though they died in their hundreds, still they persisted with their fruitless siege.

Seven years of deadlock. Seven years of concealment, vainly awaiting victory.

But no longer. His patience had finally worn thin. It was time to end this stalemate, to crush his enemies. And crush them he would - for Sauron, creator of the Master-Ring, was invincible.

Turning decisively, he departed to meet his destiny.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: Yes, more drabbles. Seems the ideal way to ease back into fanfic after suffering from writer's block.

Oddly enough, I couldn't write a drabble to save myself before the block. And now they just won't stop coming …

Bonkers, eh?

Kara's Aunty ;)

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit whatsoever from it.

Credit: Tuckborough.net, lotr.wikia.com

Isildur

His eyes misted, though not for the father he had lost but moments ago. His heart pounded, though not because of the impossible victory attained by one lucky stroke from a broken blade. His breath quickened, though not in readiness to join his allies' cries of jubilation.

Fingers reached out of their own accord towards the smoking digit that was once Sauron's. Wonder raced through him as grey eyes reflected the glint of purest golden perfection wreathed in fiery script. It was burning hot, but no matter.

The air stilled as Isildur claimed his weregild.

To the victor, the spoils.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit whatsoever from them.

Credit: Tuckborough.net

Déagol

Déagol clambered onto the riverbank, gulping air as he crawled. Rising, he brushed sodden hair from his eyes and exposed the palm of his right hand. Gazing transfixed at his shiny prize, he stretched out a finger to caress it.

Treasure! On the riverbed! Just waiting for him. For him! No one else. Déagol and his treasure. His beautiful, beautiful shiny prize. Together they would be happy. He would catch more fish than anyone with its aid - be the envy of his village. Be the mayor of his village, even!

Anything was possible, as long as he had his treasure.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit whatsoever from it.

Credit: Tuckborough.net

Sméagol

“Get out! Get out, thief! And don't you dare come back again!”

“But where is I to go, Grand-mum?” Sméagol wept, freeing himself from his cousin's grip. He threw himself at his grandmother's ankles, clinging desperately, but the old matriarch prodded him away with her stick.

“Go where you will, it's no concern of ours. You're dead to us now!”

The hateful words rang in his ears long after he had been hounded from his village.

Nobody loved him. Nobody wanted him.

But Precious loved him. Precious wanted him. And Gollum could live with that.

Even if Sméagol was dead.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX 8

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit whatsoever from it.

Credit: Tuckborough.net

Bilbo

“Interfering busybodies!”

Bilbo was still grumbling days after arriving back in the Shire.

“Stealing my Smial!”

It wasn't often one returned home to find oneself declared dead and the S-B's but a foot-hair away from taking ownership of one's home.

He straightened the armchair cushion.

“Selling my possessions!”

As for witnessing Jessamine Bolger and Asphodel Burrows furiously trying to outbid each other for his favourite tea service ...

Bilbo stuck a hand in his weskit pocket, toying absently with the pretty ring he had found on his recent adventure. The familiar action quickly soothed him.

Who needed a tea service anyway?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit whatsoever from them.

Frodo/Tom Bombadil

Frodo was annoyed, though strangely less with the fact that he had surrendered his inheritance without a second thought than with the lack of reverence Tom Bombadil had shown it. His enigmatic host had laughed and played with the One Ring as if it were no more than a frisky pup.

“Fool's gold, that be,” Tom said of the Ring as Frodo took his seat beside him, “and there be no bigger fool than he that wrought it.”

Or he that bears it, thought Frodo guiltily, slipping it back into the safety of his pocket. Or he that bears it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: This chapter is for those canny readers who thought Tom Bombadil might be in this series. He wasn't going to be until I read your reviews because, quite frankly, I had forgotten all about his time with the Ring. So today I had to come up with a way to include him without knocking my planned series of nine drabbles up to ten …

I've never written Tom before, and that might be reflected in this portrayal of him. Apologies to his admirers if it's a little clumsy.

Kara's Aunty ;)

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit whatsoever from them.

Credit: Tuckborough.net

Samwise

Samwise the Strong, Hero of the Age! Bane of Barad-dûr! Gorgoroth reborn as a glorious garden at his command!

If he would but claim the Ring …

No!!

Sauron's Ring was as likely to grant Sam power as Sam was to refuse mushrooms!

Slowly but surely, Sam bested his enemy. Frodo needed him. Him, not some Ring-addled halfwit who'd lost every ounce of hobbit sense!

As if he'd ever claim anything responsible for tormenting his poor master.

“I'll find you, sir,” vowed Sam, as Orodruin glowed ominously on the horizon, “and then we'll get rid of it once and for all.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit whatsoever from them.

Credit: Tuckborough.net

Frodo

It was a siren call sweeter than elven-song, seducing every fibre of his being. His heart swelled and loving fingers ached to touch it. Desire raged within, flooding his veins, more potent than Dorwinion wine.

Frodo stared transfixed, pupils wide, as the Ring swung from its chain over the abyss.

He wanted it. Needed it. He alone deserved it! Why should he resist any longer? Only a fool would contemplate destroying that which completed him!

He couldn't. He wouldn't!

Lava raged beneath him like the very fires of Hell as, finally, inevitably, Frodo succumbed to temptation.

The Ring is mine.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: Remember the summary, folks. It said 'Nine drabbles for the Ringbearers ...', not 'Drabbles for the nine Ringbearers'. But it has been a lot of fun 'watching' you wonder who else might have carried the Ring …

*wink*

Kara's Aunty ;)

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit whatsoever from them.

Gollum

“Precious, precious, precious!” Gollum cried exuberantly, as he held the Ring aloft to admire it. It still clung to Frodo's savaged finger.

“My Precious! O my Precious!”

Gollum danced at the edge of the burning chasm with wild abandon. The lake below responded with another great glare and light reflected prettily off the Ring, sending him into further paroxysms of delight.

So beautiful! So Precious! Oh, how he loved it!

But he danced a step too far: seconds after reclaiming it, Gollum tottered on the verge of the chasm, wavered, then – shrieking - he and his Precious plummeted to their doom.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: Some text and all of Gollum's dialogue (such as it is) taken from The Lord of The Rings: The Return of The King, Book 6, Chapter 3: Mount Doom.