The Pretender

Transcribed from:   Copy of Lost Lore: Thikil-gundu

The Pretender

Lord Sauron, what a legacy you have left behind! Your servants quarrel and seek in vain for dominion of Mordor, and the would-be Free Peoples pour through the Morannon to pick at your bones. If not for me, your grip on this realm would have slipped long ago. It was not your loss of the Ring that unmade you, nor the armies of Men, but your pride and pettiness. Ah, but I sensed that weakness long ago... when you hid in frailty beneath Dol Guldur, desperate to wield the dragons that lingered in this realm.

You spoke of a survivor of the Elder Days, a great Cold-dragon: Hrímil Frost-heart. Terrible in size and might, Hrímil had slain the Longbeards of the Steel Keep and now slumbered atop their hoards. It was she you desired above all. In the halls of the Steel Keep, I learned that Hrímil had remained faithful to your master of old: the Dark Lord, Morgoth. Though you had claimed his title, she thought you a pretender... a failed servant who had imagined for himself some greater purpose. You were still weakened, Lord Sauron, and when your feigned kindness did not avail you, you thought instead to bend Hrímil to your will. How fortunate you were then that Durin would soon slay her brother, Thorog the Mighty, at Helegrod....

Once again I returned to the halls of the Steel Keep, and once again Hrímil denied you. The loss of Thorog wounded her greatly, but her will remained unbroken. It was then Hrímil swore that she would never serve you, Lord Sauron. And it was then you learned that Hrímil had devoured the Ring of Power, Tínya, along with the King of the Zhélruka who bore it. Diminished as you were, my lord, I have still not forgotten your fury.

In the depths of Dol Guldur, you essayed to wield your craft-skill anew. You forged a massive chain and etched it with runes of fell magic. For such brazenness, Hrímil would not be your servant... she was to be your prisoner. Heedless of all peril, Hrímil had fallen into a deep slumber atop the hoards of the Steel Keep. Bound by your chains, Hrímil rose in sudden agony, shrieking as if she were consumed by unseen flame. Though she had devoured the Ring, Tínya still answered to its true master: Hrímil was yours at last.

It would be many years before you shed the guise of the Necromancer, and so I imprisoned Hrímil beneath the razed remains of Barad-dûr to await your return. There, she endured countless tortures, but never did she surrender the Ring. Upon your return to Mordor, Barad-dûr rose anew and the Gaunt-lords crept out of the shadows of the Elder Days. One among them, Drugoth the Black, wielded the powers of necromancy, and it was then you devised your final vengeance against Hrímil Ring-eater.

At your bidding, the Gaunt-lords laboured to draw a powerful fell-spirit into this realm. It was to be drawn to Helegrod where rested the remains of Hrímil's brother, Thorog the Mighty. Where Hrímil had resisted, Thorog would now serve in death. And so Thorog served, if but for a moment, and now the Gaunt-lords are banished and Thorog returned to death. You are defeated, Lord Sauron, and the hated Hrímil flies free... but not for long. You see, my lord, I will succeed where you have failed. I will turn the children of Hrímil against her, and she will serve me alone! Hrímil once said that you were a pretender, Lord Sauron. I think now she was right.