With a flick of his wand, Luke gingerly lifted the gold ring left behind by the vanquished Nazgûl. The ring was simple yet powerful, fashioned from pure gold and holding a single white gemstone.
"Is this one of the Nine Rings of Men?" Luke examined it curiously.
He felt its intense lure, a dark whisper promising him greater power and an extended lifespan if only he would put it on. Luke scoffed, his gaze hardening as he placed the ring into a mithril box, instantly severing its corrupting influence. Though the Nine Rings of Men were potent, capable of granting a semblance of immortality, they were a deceptive poison, a honey-coated trap. Sauron had woven his dark power into them, and wearing one would inexorably rot the mind, turn the body into a ghostly existence, and ultimately transform the wearer into a Nazgûl, wholly subservient to Sauron's will.
The unexpected acquisition of one of the Nine Rings put Luke in a good mood. He imagined Sauron was likely seething with rage. After all, to enhance their power, Sauron had specifically reallocated the rings to his Nazgûl. Who would have thought one would be lost so quickly? Would Sauron now recall the remaining rings?
After a brief thought, Luke turned his attention back to the obsidian phial, which was slowly filling with the essence of death. Despite the sudden encounter with the Nazgûl, the phial had collected more of the substance here in Dol Guldur's oppressive atmosphere than he had gathered at North Fort Fornost. Seeing the bottle half-filled, Luke glanced around at the undiminished deathly aura. He decided this was the ideal location to continue his work. He would return to Lothlórien, bask in the sunlight for a few days to dispel the cold from his body, and then come back to re-enter the spectral realm.
Meanwhile, high atop Barad-dûr in Mordor, the Great Eye of Sauron felt the moment the Nazgûl Khamûl perished. The eye, burning above the spire, erupted with a malevolent, furious light, filled with shock and rage. Below, the other Nazgûl writhed in fear and prostrated themselves on the ground, begging for mercy.
Within the Eye's dark pupil, the form of Khamûl reappeared, his memories laid bare for Sauron to witness. Sauron's fury mounted even higher.
"Worm!" the Eye roared, its voice a weight that crushed all thought. "You failed me at Dol Guldur. You allowed yourself to be dragged into mortal flesh, then struck down by the ragged wizard in black! And the Ring… the Ring I placed upon your hand, you let it slip into the void!"
"Khamûl… thrall of my will… tell me—what use are you now?"
Shaking with terror, Khamûl pleaded, "Master, I beg you… I will retrieve the ring!"
But before he could finish, a piercing agony ripped through his very essence, and his spectral form contorted as if enduring hellish torment. The screams continued unabated, and the other Ringwraiths remained prostrate, not daring to move, afraid their master's wrath would turn toward them. Only when Sauron's rage subsided did Khamûl's spirit find a brief respite, weakened and shattered. Yet with Sauron's power, he could never truly die, doomed instead to endure his master's fury indefinitely.
"Khamûl… I grant you but a single chance to crawl back into my favor. Bring me the Ring of Power—or I shall unmake you, and raise another in your stead!"
"Yes, Master! I will reclaim it! I swear it!" Khamûl cried, his voice trembling like iron under the hammer.
"Hmph. See that you do not fail me again… or your torment shall echo for all eternity."
Just then, Saruman emerged from the shadows behind the Ringwraiths. "Sauron, you truly believe these imbeciles can reclaim one of the Nine Rings from that wizard?" his tone was laced with condescending sarcasm. "You'd have better luck helping me retake Isengard!"
Saruman now carried a black staff and wore a white robe that shimmered with every color, styling himself the "Many-Colored Wizard." He claimed, "White is but a beginning. White cloth can be dyed, white paper can be written upon, and white light can be split." He aspired to become the most powerful wizard, encompassing all colors. The staff in his hand had been re-forged with the help of Sauron's forces.
Since being rescued by Sauron's followers, Saruman had never abandoned his desire to retake Isengard, especially after learning that Luke had become its master. His hatred for Luke burned fiercely. If not for Luke luring him out, he would not have been left so disgraced and homeless.
Sauron regarded Saruman with a shadow of esteem, rare as it was from the Dark Lord."I shall lend you my strength… but the hour is not yet struck. My spies whisper from Rohan and Gondor: the Black-Robed Wizard has stilled the fury of the Dunlendings and bound them in league with him. You have no allies in that land. For my legions to reach you, they must first grind their way through Rohan and Gondor—and that road is closed to us, for now."
Saruman's face darkened with malice, his eyes burning with envy and hatred. "Luke!" he snarled, as if grinding the name between his teeth.
A fleeting smirk of satisfaction crossed Sauron's face. If there was one thing that pleased him, it was Saruman's forced allegiance. Their previous alliance, a partnership of mutual exploitation, was now gone. With his stronghold lost and his treachery exposed, Saruman had no leverage, forced to serve Sauron. Saruman, however, was still the finest "engineer" in Middle-earth. With Sauron's backing, he had designed explosives, new siege weapons, and had doubled Mordor's fighting power. He had even created the Uruk-hai—larger, stronger orcs that could withstand sunlight.
"Speak, how goes the breeding of my hosts?" Sauron's voice rumbled, a demand that brooked no delay.
"The Uruk-hai and Ologs(trolls) are little more than cannon fodder," Saruman sneered. "They might suffice against men, but against the Black-Robed Wizard, they are useless. His accursed magic fire could easily turn thousands of them to ash."
Sauron concurred. Luke was an anomaly, a wizard with power and methods that defied all conventions. He had observed Luke's actions—the clearing of spiders from Mirkwood, the extermination of orcs in Moria and Eregion… one incident after another had confirmed that Luke was his natural adversary. Like Saruman, Sauron wished for nothing more than to eliminate him.
"What is it you would propose?" Sauron inquired.
Saruman, with a prepared and arrogant expression, smirked coldly. "Since that wizard has a dragon, why can't we have one too? I recall Morgoth once had a dragon army. Surely you desire the same, Sauron?"
Sauron naturally wanted dragons. He had even secretly attempted to contact Smaug, the golden dragon. But dragons were proud creatures, showing nothing but contempt for Sauron, a former "colleague" under Morgoth's command.
"How do you propose to do it?"
Saruman shook his head. Fully corrupted, he appeared even more sinister. "These ancient dragons are not so easily commanded. What I desire are its bones and blood. We can use them to breed our own drakes! I know of a dragon that survived the War of Wrath in ancient times. It is a cold-drake, more powerful than Smaug, and it has slumbered for ages in a perpetually frozen mountain."
Hearing this, Sauron's Great Eye blazed with intense flames. His voice was filled with excitement. "Can you achieve this?"
"Of course," Saruman said confidently. "However, dragons are immensely powerful. I will need your aid to confront this slumbering beast."
Sauron laughed, his earlier fury forgotten.
"So be it, my will shall be done!"
"And I have an even better idea," Saruman said, a malevolent grin spreading across his face. "We can bind malevolent spirits to the drakes, making them our loyal servants…"
Luke remained blissfully unaware of Sauron and Saruman's conspiring. After gathering more than enough of the substance of death from the spectral realm, he decided to stop. The final ingredient for the Resurrection Stone was collected, but the ritual required him to perform the magic at midnight on New Year's Eve, when the Dog Star (Helluin) hung high in the sky. Its creation would have to wait until after he completed the Golden Cup of Hufflepuff.
For now, Luke set the matter aside and discussed with Galadriel, Elrond, and Celeborn how to handle the Ringwraith's ring. The Nine Rings of Men had long been saturated with Sauron's evil, and though they were powerful artifacts, Luke dared not touch it directly. Galadriel and the others agreed, deciding the only course of action was to destroy it completely.
The Nine Rings were not as difficult to destroy as the One Ring, which could only be unmade in the fires of Mount Doom. The legends told of four of the Seven Rings of the Dwarves being destroyed by the flames of ancient dragons. Elrond proposed that they ask Smaug to do the same for the Nazgûl's ring. Everyone agreed.
Luke summoned Smaug and instructed him to melt the ring with his dragon fire. Smaug's flames did cause the ring to glow red-hot, but since he was not the most powerful of fire dragons, it would take several days of continuous burning to completely melt the artifact. Unsatisfied with the pace, Luke decided to help. He produced a bowl of venom from the basilisk Herpo and submerged the ring in it. The liquid instantly began to sizzle and boil, corroding the ring like sulfuric acid. The effect was slow but potent, pitting the surface and dulling its sheen. The combination of fire and venom cut the destruction time in half. Still, Luke was impatient and added a dose of Fiendfyre to aid the process. Under the continuous, combined assault, the ring's deterioration became increasingly evident.
The Nine Rings of Men were essentially Horcruxes for the Nazgûl, serving as vessels for their souls. The moment the ring was damaged, the Nazgûl Khamûl sensed it. A cry of pain and terror ripped through him. As the ring was pitted and corroded by the venom, his spectral form became tattered and horrifying, as if eaten by acid. When the ring was set aflame by the dragon fire and Fiendfyre, Khamûl's spirit was set alight, growing weaker and fainter with every passing moment.
The agony sent waves of panic through the other Ringwraiths. Sauron, their master, also sensed Khamûl's condition and was filled with shock and fury. "The Black Wizard is destroying the Ring of Power!" he thundered.
Sauron had hoped that Luke, upon finding the ring, would be tempted to wear it—just as the human kings of old had been—allowing him to corrupt Luke and turn him into another Nazgûl. But the situation had shattered his hopes. Not only was Luke not tempted, but he was actively trying to destroy the ring. As for Khamûl, engulfed in flames and fading, there was nothing Sauron could do. The ring was the Nazgûl's true form; once it was destroyed, the spirit within it would cease to exist. He could not resurrect him again.
Sauron was unwilling to let the ring be destroyed. He remotely activated the ring's power of temptation, attempting to stop Luke. However, Luke was prepared, carrying the Light of Eärendil and summoning his Patronus. The ring's temptations had no effect. Luke continued to command Smaug and the Fiendfyre to burn it. Sauron considered sending the other Nazgûl, but seeing Luke's allies, Elrond, Galadriel, and Celeborn, he knew it would be a suicidal mission that would only result in the loss of more rings.
So Sauron could only watch helplessly as Khamûl dissipated amidst his continuous wails. Finally, after a full day of assault from dragon fire, basilisk venom, and Fiendfyre, the ring completely melted, and the white gem shattered. A thick black mist surged from the fragments, forming Khamûl's grotesque face for a final, defiant scream before it exploded and dissipated into nothing.
Atop Barad-dûr in Mordor, the Ringwraith Khamûl instantly vanished, completely erased from this world. Even Sauron could not resurrect him. The Nine Nazgûl were now reduced to eight. The remaining eight Nazgûl watched their companion's final demise and were filled with terror.
They stared fearfully at the silent Sauron, not daring to make a sound. Sauron's massive Great Eye was calm for a moment before it erupted with a towering rage. His powerful aura shot straight into the sky, causing the skies of Mordor to change color. Mount Doom continuously spewed lava and billowing black smoke, as if the world was ending. All dark creatures were filled with dread, prostrating themselves on the ground and begging the Dark Lord to calm his anger.
Having successfully destroyed one of the Nine Rings of Men, Luke breathed a sigh of relief. By disposing of one Ring of Power and cutting off one of Sauron's Ringwraiths, he knew he had to be furious. And if the enemy was furious, Luke was happy. With one potential threat dealt with, Luke finally turned his attention to other matters.
Time flew by, and Eregion once again welcomed the seasons of autumn and winter. As the acorns on the oak tree fully ripened, the mistletoe growing on the tree finally bloomed. On the sixth day after the full moon, Luke Apparated to a secluded valley in the Weather Hills, under a thousand-year-old oak tree.
He used a golden sickle to cut down the mistletoe, catching it with a white cloth to prevent it from touching the ground. From the shaded side of the oak, he then picked seven plump acorns. Finally, he waved his wand at the trunk, which split open automatically, allowing him to retrieve a long-buried piece of gold essence.
The fist-sized essence was engraved on one side with Celtic symbols for "life, healing, and protection," and on the other with runes symbolizing abundance. The piece of gold radiated a weighty, nurturing presence of the earth and was brimming with a vibrant, vital energy. Taking the gold essence, along with the collected acorns and mistletoe, Luke returned to Weathertop.
He exposed the gold essence to the sun for nine days, then to the moon for another nine. After that, he placed it into a furnace, smelting it for thirteen days while infusing it with magic. Once it was fully saturated, he shaped it into an exquisite two-handled golden cup.
He then inscribed runes and applied enchantments for over a month until the cup was finally complete. The finished cup was small and beautiful, displaying a pure, glossy golden color with a substantial feel. It was engraved with mysterious runes and intricate patterns, with a badger as the central motif. The entire cup radiated a profound sense of the earth and vibrant life.
The cup was not yet complete. The next step was to wait for the Saturn opposition to perform the final magical ritual. In Middle-earth, Saturn was known as Lumbar. A Saturn opposition occurs roughly every 378 days, during which Saturn becomes brighter than any other star in the night sky. And this day was fast approaching.
Before the opposition, Luke needed to prepare a potion. He took the collected acorns and mistletoe and visited Radagast the Brown in Mirkwood, sourcing some of the more esoteric ingredients from Middle-earth. After spending an entire month, from one full moon to the next, he crafted a mysterious potion. Then, the time for the Saturn opposition arrived. As Lumbar rose above the eastern horizon at sunset, its pale yellow light was so dazzling it outshone even the Star of Eärendil (Venus).
On the broad grassland of Weathertop, a massive stone circle stood tall. The stones were arranged in an orderly manner, corresponding to the positions of the stars in the sky. Each one was inscribed with ancient, mysterious runes, forming a primitive and natural array. This was a Druidic magic circle, a form of magic long lost to the wizarding world. Helga Hufflepuff, the founder of Hogwarts, was a traditional Druidic witch.
As Lumbar reached its zenith, Luke placed the golden cup, filled with his mysterious potion, on the stone altar at the center of the circle. Like a traditional Druidic priest, Luke chanted ancient incantations. His voice echoed within the circle, and the ground trembled slightly. The array awakened, emitting waves of magical energy that grew stronger and stronger, connecting with Saturn in the sky.
When Saturn reached its highest point, the stone circle emitted a loud hum. Then, a dazzling pillar of brilliant pale yellow light descended from the heavens, pouring directly into the circle. Forces across the continent turned their attention to the starlight, their expressions varied. In far-east Mordor, the Great Eye atop Barad-dûr stared intently at the west, as if plotting some evil scheme.
At Weathertop, the immense astral power gathered within the circle, pouring into the potion. The clear liquid gradually turned golden, emitting a golden glow and brimming with vibrant life force. It released a rich, fragrant aroma that smelled of rain-soaked earth and the essence of flowers and plants. Luke felt his aching body recover, becoming full of vitality, as if he had consumed a powerful tonic. Merely smelling it had such an effect; Luke wondered what would happen if he drank the liquid.
But the ritual did not allow him the chance. The liquid visibly decreased until it was completely absorbed into the cup itself. Only when Lumbar set did the ritual finally end. The astral power receded, and the stone circle returned to tranquility. A single gleaming, two-handled golden cup remained on the altar. Luke walked over and picked it up.
He then cast a spell. "Aguamenti!" Water poured into the cup. Luke tapped the rim with his wand. "Turn into wine." The clear water transformed into red wine, emitting a rich aroma. Luke took a sip and felt a gentle, nourishing energy spread through his limbs, making him feel incredibly comfortable.
The energy not only quickly replenished his magic but also healed and repaired various magical ailments within his body, leaving him feeling lighter and more agile than before.