Peace and tranquility never come easily. Those who have endured war and suffering now cherish this period of calm, treasuring every moment of harmony.
Peace.
Yes, peace.
People who love and value peace, unless driven by dire necessity, would rarely consider breaking it. Yet such thoughts are always noticed by those harboring malicious intent.
In the year 2950, under the cover of dark sorcery, a company of orcs from Mordor moved in secret. They successfully crossed the Brown Lands and the southern reaches of the Vales of Anduin, slipping quietly into Khazad-dûm.
This kind of infiltration began occurring with increasing frequency.
They lurked there, dwelling in the shadows, developing and expanding their numbers.
This time, not even Durin's Bane could command them.
Branded into their minds was the most indelible mark of the Dark Lord himself.
In northern Mordor, from a dark ravine hidden behind jagged peaks, something fierce let out a shrill cry that made even the orc sentries shudder with unease.
From a spawning pit, a winged beast emerged. Its body was shaped like that of a great serpent, armored with scales, and ridged with cruel spines.
"Not bad."
An Uruk shoved aside a cowering orc and stepped forward to inspect it.
"This is what the Master demanded."
He carefully examined the newly hatched creature.
The savage beast resembled a dragon, yet was not one. It could fly, yet was no bird. Larger than any raptor, smaller than any true drake, its body was bare, no feathers, no plumage. Its wings were not wings at all, but leathery membranes stretched between sharp, clawed digits.
Ssslrrp.
Venom dripped from its maw. Wherever it touched the ground, even Mordor's charred earth grew visibly more blighted.
A land already lifeless became utterly barren.
The Uruk in charge of breeding these creatures widened his eyes at the sight.
Too malevolent, this was a being born purely of spite, more wicked than himself.
The Master had said this species should be...
"Feed it carrion," the Uruk commanded.
"At once."
Rotting flesh and bones were dragged forth. At the stench, the beast suddenly became animated, as if some primal instinct had awakened. It devoured the heaps of putrid meat in ravenous gulps.
Meanwhile, further south in Núrn, a vast plain covering much of southern Mordor, new farmlands were being carved from the wasteland. Human slaves, seized in raids or supplied by the Haradrim and Corsairs, were forced to toil in the fields.
The populations of orcs and Uruks multiplied rapidly, as did the numbers of fell beasts and Olog-hai.
That same year, the fortification and restoration of Barad-dûr was set in motion. New mines and quarries appeared throughout Mordor's blasted landscape.
The far eastern lands, slowly recovering from the great losses inflicted by the "Shadow of War," saw their nobles bend the knee to Mordor, sending annual tributes of wealth and provisions.
In the south, the Cult of the Eye in Umbar grew ever stronger, drawing many young corsairs to swear oaths to the Red Eye.
But caught between these powers were the lords of Khand, whose allegiance remained questionable. Though they still sent treasures and tribute to Mordor each year, they deliberately ignored or feigned ignorance of many of Sauron's direct commands.
Yet Sauron himself seemed utterly unconcerned with such subtle defiance.
On one hand, he was preoccupied with greater matters; on the other, such a minor realm was hardly significant. Regardless of their attitude, they could never alter the course of events. In the end, they would still serve his design.
Indeed, over such a place, one that even in rebellion remained firmly within his grasp, Sauron spared little consideration.
But another place was different.
"Master, I must warn you: some of the great lords grow suspicious of this place. You may need to depart soon."
In the military encampment of the Harnen River valley, the commander spoke respectfully to the Blue-robed wizard standing before him.
"Three days. I must uncover certain truths. After three days, I shall withdraw of my own accord."
"I will provide what cover I can."
The commander nodded his agreement.
Alatar sighed, gazing northward toward distant lands.
"Once again, I am in your debt..."
---
The following year, the initial expansion of Barad-dûr was completed, with new fortifications rising around the Dark Tower.
A network of black roads linked every corner of Mordor, east, west, south, and north. The ancient road of Sauron, abandoned since the Second Age, was rebuilt, greatly improving Mordor's transport and supply lines.
That same year, three Nazgûl rode forth from the Black Gate, heading directly toward Dol Guldur in southern Mirkwood.
Because of the earlier assault by the White Council, the fortress lay utterly desolate, no orcs remained. The lingering malice and dread there kept even the forest spiders and creeping things at bay.
Of course, no Elf or Man would venture near such an accursed place.
Thus, the three Nazgûl easily reclaimed Dol Guldur. Evil creatures lurking in the nearby Misty Mountains, sensing their presence, soon flocked to their banner.
Between the years 2950 and 2951, Sauron no longer concealed his preparations. He openly launched vast works throughout Mordor, while secretly dispatching three Nazgûl to retake Dol Guldur and establish their dominion there.
That second matter, however, was never proclaimed publicly.
For reasons known to the Dark Lord, news of Dol Guldur's reoccupation, if revealed, would almost certainly draw the attention of a certain individual. So the Nazgûl went about their work quietly, in utmost secrecy.
They even restrained themselves from striking down travelers they encountered on the roads.
Once Dol Guldur was secured and the surrounding dark creatures recalled, the ruined stronghold was swiftly rebuilt.
Mordor's might swelled, production increased, transport improved, the Dark Tower restored, armies grew, and now additional lands lay under absolute dominion...
Meanwhile, at Wayfort, the shipyards announced their completion with great ceremony.
Splash.
White-crested waves struck the stone quays, sending spray high into the air.
Vessels of all sizes lay moored at the docks. Groups of apprentices, under the guidance of elven masters, boarded in orderly fashion, beginning their first practical training voyages.
The ships glided smoothly downriver, tall towers rising behind them, their crystal beacons burning with eternal light.
Over the wide waters, a colossal shadow swept across, covering half the settlement and casting even the fortress walls into temporary gloom.
Before it, even a great dragon would seem small and dim.
This massive creation, larger than drakes, longer than the were-worms of old, was Garrett's own flagship.
"Experience is the measure of all knowledge; it is also the ultimate purpose of learning and discovery."
Standing at the bow, he proclaimed to his gathered people the name of the first great ship built at Wayfort's yards:
"The Apprentice."