IN THE MIND’S EYE

Chapter 9: The Eye

In the black abyss there appeared a single Eye that slowly grew, until it filled nearly all the Mirror. So terrible was it that Frodo stood rooted, unable to cry out or to withdraw his gaze. The Eye was rimmed with fire, but was itself glazed, yellow as a cat's, watchful and intent, and the black slit of its pupil opened on a pit, a window into nothing.

‘The Mirror of Galadriel’, The Fellowship of the Ring

Frodo scrambled onto the couch on which the hobbits had kept their vigil when Aragorn had been taken ill, and sat tensely, hands clasped in his lap. Gandalf nodded to him, then turned to face the bed where Aragorn lay unconscious. Frodo watched him wrap both hands about his staff and close his eyes.

Gandalf took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then cleared his mind of thought, feeling, every sensation of the body he inhabited. The pure, white-hot energy of his true essence -- a small, bright spark of the Flame Imperishable --filled his consciousness, and Narya pulsed to life, its purpose joined to his.

Frodo watched in awe as the air surrounding Gandalf began to glow. It grew brighter and brighter, until the wizard stood at the center of a swirl of sparkling light. Frodo felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to tingle as Gandalf raised his right hand and pointed at Aragorn. The room grew suddenly cold, and the birds fell silent outside the window.

Remembering what Gandalf had told him, Frodo lay down and buried his head in the couch cushions, his eyes tightly closed.

His inner preparations complete, with a blazing surge of power Gandalf cast himself into Aragorn’s mind, hurtling at great speed directly towards the evil parasite that inhabited it.

Drifting in a timeless state, the essence of Nazgûl consciousness was taken unawares by the concussion of a powerful blast. It reached out in confusion for the host’s mind, relieved to find itself still embodied, but neither the mortal’s eyes nor limbs responded to its frantic commands.

It hung suspended in a vast, empty space, terrified and confused.

With a sudden, thunderous crack, a rift split the darkness down the middle and tongues of fire burst out, reaching and probing. Then the flames drew back, coalescing into a form the entity recognized instantly --a form inspiring both hatred and lustful worship.

Master! How is this possible?

You question My powers?

No, Master, the entity cringed. Forgive me. Much has occurred since we left Minas Morgul.

Indeed. Four times Baggins was within your grasp, and four times he eluded you.

The entity was silent.

The sorcerer of whom you are a part has redeemed himself in the casting of the spell that embedded a part of himself into this mortal. You have much to report.

I do, Master, the entity exulted. Through great fortune I found myself embodied in the heir of Elendil. He lives!

A prize indeed. He will be brought in chains to Mordor to witness firsthand the final defeat of the West. Yield to Me now what you have learned while inhabiting his mind.

The entity hesitated. Master, it whispered timorously, how is it that you are here? I understood that without… without your Ring, your abilities were not…

Insolence!

The entity cringed in terror before the Eye that pierced its being in a merciless gaze, but after a few moments, the searing, fiery rage resumed the throbbing, hypnotic rhythm it recognized as the Master’s familiar essence pulsing through a Ring of Power.

You are fortunate. This once, I will be lenient and ease your fears, for you are trapped within a mortal and know not what has been taking place outside the Elves’ valley.

Thank you, Master, the entity groveled. The presence of a wizard here in Imladris has made me more cautious.

Wizards are irrelevant. Those not under My influence have not the wit to warrant any concern. Now hear me. Once you release your information to Me, I will embed you into another.

Another? The entity puzzled. Who is more valuable to you than Elendil’s heir?

Baggins.

The entity gasped.

Do you not sense My Ring nearby?

I do, Master.

Baggins is in the room with you. He keeps watch over your host, who has been drugged.

So that is why this body is inert, the entity seethed.

You have been discovered. You must leave the Man’s mind before it is too late. I have a mighty task for you.

You have but to command me, Master.

Listen, then. The Nine have regrouped, and combined the power of their rings as a beacon for Me to follow. I am with them, and yet remain in Barad-dûr. The sorcerer acts as a conduit between My consciousness and you -- that part of him enspelled within the Man. The Nine are gathered out of sight beyond the Bruinen, their great task still before them: the capture of Baggins. After I have absorbed what you have learned, I will draw you forth… and send you into Baggins. The Shadow realm is now a part of his being; you will have even greater power over this Halfling than with the Man. And thus embodied, you will be guardian of My Ring… for a short time.

The entity felt a great excitement fill it. To bear the Master’s Ring!

*~*~*~*

Sam came racing down the corridor towards Aragorn’s room, skidding to a halt before Elrond, Glorfindel, and Arwen.

“Where’s my master?” he gasped, looking at the closed door. “Is he in there? Please, what’s going on?”

“Peace, Sam,” Glorfindel said gently, kneeling in front of the frantic hobbit. “Gandalf and Frodo are within. We need to wait.”

“How long?”

“As long as it takes,” Elrond murmured worriedly. The raw power emanating from behind the closed door was unlike anything he had ever felt before.

*~*~*~*

None will know that the Man is free of you, and it is he they will continue to watch. Settle quickly and deeply into the Halfling’s mind, then at nightfall you must still his tongue and control his limbs. Lead him out of the valley in silence and secrecy, to where the Nine await.

You are high in My favor; I have confidence that you will do well, and Baggins will soon be ours.

The entity preened, impatient now to proceed.

Master, your plan is flawless. Forgive me my doubts.

Yield to Me.

Talons of flame reached out again, and the entity felt a powerful force probing its store of memories. It offered no resistance, and within seconds, the sights, sounds, and experiences it had gleaned in the past days had been sucked away, leaving a hollow space.

Excellent. This information will ensure our victory. And when this so-called heir leaves the valley to pursue Baggins, My servants will claim them both.

The entity felt a stab of contempt for the mortal he inhabited. The arrogance of this Man, daring to believe he might someday vanquish us and stand as king with the Elf woman at his side! Emboldened by the Master’s reassuring presence, it boldly sent one final signal through the mind and into the body.

Something to remember us by, mortal. Experience the fire of the Dark Lord. Feel a taste of what awaits you in Morder. Until we meet again…

The connection with its host was abruptly severed, and the entity drifted without anchor, anticipating the words of the Black Speech to rework the spell and embed it into the mind of the Halfling.

“Elrond, Glorfindel… Now!”

At Gandalf’s cry, Elrond burst open the door to Aragorn’s room and raced in, Glorfindel at his side. Gandalf stood in the middle of the room, a cold, violent wind churning about him. Out in the corridor, Arwen grabbed Sam and held him close, shielding the hobbit’s eyes. A flash of scarlet blazed from Gandalf’s hand, joined by a bolt of ice-blue from her father’s. Then the brilliant light she recognized as Glorfindel’s fëa blazed fiercely, blotting out everything else.

The entity writhed in agony, battered from all directions by whips of crackling light, searing fire, and sharp piercings of ice. What filled the air was not the Black Speech, but liquid, ancient words of Command in a language it knew not.

Master, save me!

But there was no answer from the Eye, which rippled as a reflection in a pond, then abruptly vanished.

In horror, the entity felt the sinews of the spell holding it together stretch thinner and thinner, then dissolve.

With a shriek, the threads of dark consciousness shattered into nothingness.

The wind fell silent, and Arwen opened her eyes in time to see the mingled lights dim and then go out. The room flooded with sunlight, and one bird, then another, resumed their morning calls.

Feeling the grip on him loosen, Sam wriggled free and ran into the room, straight to where Frodo lay.

“Mr. Frodo!” Sam cried out, shaking his master’s shoulder. “Mr. Frodo, it’s your Sam! Are you alive?”

Frodo raised his head, feeling a bit dizzied, and smiled wanly at Sam.

“I’m all right,” he said slowly. “I think.”

“You’re shivering, sir!” Sam grabbed the blanket bunched at the end of the couch, clambered up next to Frodo, and helped him sit up. As Sam wrapped him warmly, Frodo looked around. Gandalf’s hair and beard were askew as if blown by a mighty wind, and his head was bowed in apparent exhaustion.

“What happened?” Sam asked, looking around, wide eyed. The room was a shambles.

“I wish I knew,” Frodo said. “Is it over?”

Gandalf slowly nodded.

“It is done,” he said. “The spell was a strong one; it took the efforts of all of us to unmake it.”

Sam took Frodo’s cold hands in his own.

“Mr. Frodo,” he asked seriously, “are you sure there’s nothing inside you that oughtn’t be?”

Frodo smiled, then laughed out loud with the release of the tension from the past few days.

“I’m sure. Dear Sam, you just wouldn’t allow it, would you?”

“No sir,” Sam said firmly.

Elrond was kneeling by Aragorn’s bed, one hand on the Ranger’s brow. Arwen stood next to him, pale and silent.

“Is Aragorn all right?” Frodo asked anxiously.

“He lives,” Elrond said softly. He covered Aragorn with a blanket and rose to take Arwen into his arms. “He burns with fever, but I am at a loss to explain it.  Just an hour ago he showed no signs of illness.”

“Perhaps the fever is a parting ‘gift’ from our unwelcome visitor,” Glorfindel guessed grimly.  He led Gandalf to a chair, in which the wizard sank wearily.  “What of Aragorn’s mind?”

“We will know for certain when he wakes,” Gandalf said.  “I did all I could.”

“Of that we have no doubt,” Elrond said. He turned to where Frodo sat watching them. “Are you well, my friend?”

“Yes, I think so,” Frodo said shakily. “I could do with a cup of tea, though.”

Sam instantly slid off the couch and walked over to the teapot, which was miraculously undamaged, and lifted the lid. “Cold,” he announced in dismay. He lifted the pot and headed for the door.

“I’ll be back.”

** TBC **