Paradise Lost in Middle Earth

It was a damp night in the village of Bree, the moon shone brightly in the west casting a light over the crown of Weathertop, which was drenched in rain and mud. 

All of the inhabitants of Bree, men, and hobbits, slept quietly like gravestones except some who snored raucously, and hardly cared whether they woke up the neighbours or the fattened ponies in the stables. The village was bordered by overgrown hedges protecting the sleepy inhabitants from unwanted visitors, one of which, speaking of the Devil, lurked in the shadows of the trees at the edge of the Barrow Downs; a lone Black rider waiting patiently.

In the earliest light of morning, a mist settled over the village which cast a gloomy cloud over the stone houses by the hillside. At the West gate, the lonely Black Rider entered the village at the reluctance of the gatekeeper who kept a watchful eye on the mysterious wanderer as he slowly disappeared into the mist, the hoofs of his Black horse trailing behind like heavy anchors through the mud-soaked road. The gatekeeper, a burly man with narrow, charcoal eyes, found no reason to keep the Black rider from entering the gate for he stated his business clearly without hostile means. And no whispers or ill stories of such strange men wearing black cloaks seated atop giant black horses were heard of before in the village and deemed dreadful and dangerous by the inhabitants. 

As the Black rider loomed closer and closer to the heart of Bree, his presence made an impression on the townsfolk who were awake, who watched the stranger slowly approaching with wide frightful eyes, intimidating them to flee out of sight behind stone walls or tall trees or shutting a creaking window. 

A mild, sweet rain began to fall as the Black rider ordered his horse to halt in front of a low stone house, all of which were conjoined and tightly assembled with the others. While looking up, peering through a veiled black hood, the Ringwraight noticed a signpost hung above the weathered door which read in bold lettering, ‘Dr. Longholes - Psychologist.’ The Black rider was in the right place, and right on time for his first appointment with Dr. Longholes. 

While seated in the cozy, colorful office, the Black rider waited uneasily for the old hobbit to arrive. He towered in comparison to the furniture, his hooded head nearly touching the low-hanging ceiling. His dark frame felt constricted sitting on the leather couch, which was only made for hobbits and regular-sized men. A fern plant right next to him seemed out of place, too vibrant and green and alive in comparison to the festering, dark man. A dead plant would have been more suitable but no such plants were sold in Bree willingly. The Ringwraight seemed nervous, his cold, elongated fingers fidgeted and his knee bounced up and down, pacing in tempo.

Finally, the psychologist, Dr. Longholes arrived at the meeting just in time, his hairy feet brushing against the carpet as his auburn eyes scanned through his rounded bifocals, which were seated stiffly on the front of his bulbous nose. In his left hand, a leather-bound notebook was found with a feathered pen attached. What a sight to be seen, he thought, his eyes narrowing on the subject without seeming too intrusive. The towering Black Rider was hunched over with poor posture by the window, overshadowing the entire office. His demeanor was as gloomy as the weather, and something felt amiss to the hobbit about this dark man, which he noted to himself as desperation or longing but a hasty analysis of any patient was usually unwise, he thought. 

“Hello. I’m Doctor Longholes.” 

“Hello.” The Ringwraight hissed through a groggy throat. 

“What can I do for you?”

The Black rider suddenly shifted in his seat at the question, burying the front of his hood in his cold hands, his disposition sorrowful and seemingly ashamed. 

“It’s just — I — I don’t want to be evil. I just can’t help it, you see?” 

“Interesting. And why would you think such a thing? That you’re evil?” 

“Well — I’ve made some poor choices in my life. Admittedly. And I desperately want to change. And I — I want to be good. Can you help me?” 

“Well, it’s not necessarily a question of whether or not I can help you, but rather concerning your ability to help yourself.” 

“And how do I do that exactly, doctor?”

“Well, let’s take this one step at a time. How about we start from the beginning? Tell me something about yourself. And where do you think you went wrong?” 

“That’s a good question. Let’s see… I would have to say it started during the third age when I met the Dark Lord Sauron.” 

“Lord Sauron, you say?”

“Yes. That’s right. He is my master.” 

“Lord Sauron is your master?” 

“Yes. You see, a long time ago, he gave me a ring of power, and I’ve been a servant to his will ever since.” 

“And this makes you evil?” Dr. Longholes asked with curiosity. 

“Yes. Of course, it does. Well, I — I would think so. Yes. I’ve done many bad things, doctor… many bad things.” The Black rider spoke weakly as if frightened. 

Dr. Longholes took a moment to contemplate, peering at the massive man pensively. A moment of silence followed. 

“Would you mind taking your hood off? There’s no need to stay hidden underneath your cloak? Is there?”

“I — I suppose not.” 

The Black rider took his hood off slowly, the room growing dark as it fell from atop his head. Dr. Longholes stiffened in his chair, his fingernails digging into the side of the armrest and his left hand clutching his aching heart momentarily as he looked at the man; a hollow, ghostly face staring blankly at the hobbit. 

“How’s about we continue with the hood on? Is that alright with you?” Dr. Longholes asked as best he could without sounding like a sheep. 

“Yes. That’s fine.” 

The Black rider placed his hood back onto his head and the room crept back to its original feeling, the blackness fading away. Dr. Longholes hand was shaking as if ill, his feathered pen dropped to the floor. He fumbled from his seat to pick it up all the while trying to regain his lost composure. 

“There’s no hope for me.. is there, doctor?”

“Well. Let’s not be too hasty, now. How about you tell me about your family.” 

“Alright. Let’s see, my memory is a little hazy. Oh, yes. When I was a child my father abandoned me. And my mother has been dead for a long while now. A very long while. I have no siblings. I was a lonely boy raised poor. I met my wife when I was still a good man, whose name I can’t remember now, but I was happy with her, I remember that much. She was a wild woman like a flower in a field who could only be nurtured and free to grow in the earth’s soil, to live under a hot June sun and bathe in the cool rain of September, and to be surrounded with nature as intended. I plucked her from the soil like an unknowing child and tried to create that same environment for her. I wanted to possess her, and I did. I watered her and nurtured her like I thought I should. And she seemed fine, contented. Or so I thought, foolishly. And so I was, a fool. But it was an act on her part. A woman like that could only be bound by mother nature herself. And nothing that I did could recreate such a natural thing even though I tried. I promised her a castle, generous riches, and a seat by my side as a Queen. But I never understood what she wanted. I only knew what I wanted. I wanted her. I didn’t understand that she wanted to be a flower and to be left alone in the field to grow and to live with a gentle wind flowing through her petals but I had to have her. I plucked her from the very place that gave her life. I was selfish and wanting but I was in love and I thought she felt the same. I was blind. One day she left without saying goodbye. She abandoned me. And I thought about my father in that moment. And I felt withered and frail without her. I was very hurt. I was furious and dark and unsettled to the bone. I was a lost boy even though I was a man. I had nothing when she left and I still have nothing to this day. When she was around she gave me life. She gave me hope and I felt love breathing through me like a river. She was everything to me and she just left like that without a word. My heart was broken and my spirit was empty and shackled to a hollow place. I felt powerless until Lord Sauron gifted me a ring of power. You see doctor, I’ve lived an unnaturally long life — over 3000 years or so. I — I’ve lost count. But in that time I’ve been bound to treachery and evil with nobody to share it with.” 

Dr. Longholes listened intently while writing notes in his notebook. The Black rider didn’t seem to notice him doing so, for he was busy staring out the window longingly. 

“I’m a fool, doctor. I should have never accepted the ring in the first place. That — I believe, was my mistake. Sometimes I imagine that I'm a Shepherd or something like that, you know, living a peaceful life rearing sheep, herding cattle and milking them too. Something nice and gentle. I — I’ve always wanted to do that. Or — or maybe become a farmer growing crops and eating them when they are grown, fresh, and ready to eat. Whenever I feel like. When I’m hungry.” 

Dr. Longholes seemed deep in thought, contemplating everything the rider said up until that moment. 

“Yes. That all sounds lovely. The imagination can be quite useful but we need to underline the present condition at hand, which is your current reality; living under the rule of this Lord Sauron.” 

“Oh — He — He’s quite awful, doctor.” The Black Rider exclaimed nervously. 

“Yes. Tell me about him — Sauron.” 

“Well for one if — if he knew I was here talking to you or anyone for that matter, talking ill about him behind his back in an uncomplimentary type of way. I would be a goner.” 

“Is that so?”

"Yes! Disloyalty. Dishonor. Expulsion. Exile. The list goes on. The man is unreasonable and dour. Very unkind and extremely domineering, and like judgy, you know?” 

“Judgy? I’ve never heard of such a word.”

“Yes! Judgy. His wicked eye is always watching! The Black rider said with passion jerking his head towards the window in a paranoid state of mind. 

The Ringwraight then stood up unable to contain the turmoil that stirred in his stomach. He was hunched over, his neck angled to the side as the tip of his head scrapped the ceiling. His long strides hammered onto the floor causing a racket and shaking the grounds of the office. Dr. Longholes watched him carefully. 

“Why do you think your need to possess a ring of power is stronger, more prevalent, than your rational, reasonable mind?” 

“Have you ever held a ring of power in your hands, doctor? Have you ever been tempted by one?” The Black rider’s tone mounted. 

“I can’t say that I have. No.” 

“Then you don’t know what you’re talking about!” A stroke of fury shot through the air. 

“There’s no need to get angry.”

“Of course there is! My life it’s — it’s ruined! I’ve lusted for power, doctor. Can’t you see that!? And now I’m in a dark pit of despair, and tormented and alone. I’m a slave! I’m a slave to the dark Lord Sauron. Do you know what that’s like? Of course, you don’t. How could you? Oh sure, I have power. Lots of power. But at what cost? Have you ever tried to make friends with an Orc? It’s unbearable! 

Once again Dr. Longholes listened diligently while scribbling in his notebook. 

“What are you writing?” The Black rider looked down menacingly at the doctor, his posture stiff as stone. 

“Oh, it’s nothing, simple notes about your relationship with the Dark Lord Sauron.” 

“Hand it over, doctor. The notebook.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” 

“I insist you hand it over. What did you write about me?” 

“That’s confidential.” 

“So you refuse to hand over the notebook?” 

“That’s correct.” 

“I see. Well, just know that you’ve made your bed Dr. Longholes.”

“I’ve made my what? There’s no need to get confrontational.” 

The Black Rider stormed out of the office, both shoulders hitting the rounded door frame as he left in tremolo, a shadow trailing behind. 

— —

Later that night, Dr. Longholes was sleeping soundly, snoring loudly and most likely disrupting his innocent neighbors. He wore an adorable sleeping cap, lost in a dream. His hairy feet were visible past the length of his cover, toes wriggling as a cold breeze swept through the open window caressing his heels. His glasses sat idle on the dresser alongside the leather-bound notebook. At the foot of his bed stood the Black Rider in all his silence and glory, his presence overgrown like a night terror. In his hands, he carried a gleaming blade which was outstretched high above him. 

“You’ve made your bed Dr. Longholes.” He whispered to himself. 

The blade pierced the bed frame in one fell swoop and a stream of blood flowed onto the wooden floor without a puff from Dr. Longholes. A long fingernail then approached the notebook, a dead one. The Black rider opened the page concerning him and read. 

“Patient. Ringwraight. Abandonment issues. Has found a father figure in the Dark Lord Sauron. However, as a consequence, has forsaken his life to evil and hardship, resulting in an unforeseen enslavement to the will of power.”  

The Black rider looked up contemplatively and equally amazed. 

“Wow. Spot on, doctor.”