My computer is dying on me as I write this so apologize in advance for any messiness. Here it is, the end of the story, the only end I think it could have had, sorry to those who wanted something more or less happy. Speaking of sad, I'm a bit sad to be finishing this up, but I'll be revisiting these themes again some day (considering how slow I post, probably not soon) and with a rather less sicky-sweet leading lady. I've got some thoughts about something, working title "The Numenorian Captivity" if that sounds interesting. So, keep your eyes peeled but don't hold your breath.
When he was satisfied this time, Sauron, did not send Morwena back to the Lord of the Nazgul's apartments. "I plan to sleep but lightly this night," he told her. "I might desire you later and, in the meantime, your presence in the bed will not disrupt the little use I intend to make of it myself." Long after Morwena had fallen asleep, Sauron sat by the fire, flipping idlely through one of his books. In truth, he had barely glanced at it for he had other, more important, things on his mind. The fact that he might desire Morwena's body again and find it too much trouble to send for her was the least of the reasons he had kept her near. But he had thought it the best one to tell her. The events of the night had showed clearly that someone was trying to poison Morwena and though he did not yet know how, he knew clearly who.
A Lord of Harad had given just such a rare and valuable piece to his favorite some years ago, which meant it should now reside in the jewelry box of Clarice. That it should somehow turn up in Morwena's possession was decidedly suspect. Although the Dark Lord approved of rivalry among his subordinates—it helped keep them on their toes and struggling ever harder to serve him, and besides, it was amusing—he didn't care for it to go too far, especially at higher levels. Political murder might be entertaining but, in the real world, truly capable servants were hard to replace so he generally preferred them alive. He had always known that Clarice was foolish, arrogant, and selfish, but had thought her incapable of more than being a nuisance.
Stepping quietly so as not to disturb Morwena, Sauron went to pick up the necklace where it had been dropped during the night's earlier activities. Back in his seat, he tilted the pendent from side to side, watching the gold gleam in the firelight. Now that he was concentrating fully on the issue at hand, un-distracted by the inviting secret places of Morwena's being, mental as well as physical, he sensed something was wrong almost at once. Turning the piece of metal over, his more than mortal senses instantly picked up on something, which would have completely been beyond the reach of someone like Clarice. His fingers detected a very faint stickiness on the back surface, most noticeable in the deeper crevices of the design and there was the tiniest lingering whiff of a sour smell. The contact poison had been buried in the grooves and depressions of the pendant so that, every time Morwena wore it, some would rub off on her skin.
Truly, he had kept Clarice around for far too long She might be beautiful but she had never really been fit for more than an occasional night of passion, certainly not for official rank or for handling any kind of power. In truth, the only reason he had made her his official mistress was because of the enjoyment he got out of abusing her and torturing her with mind games. The farther she had to fall, the more paranoid she became. But now that it had come down to it and Clarice's greatest fear was about to become reality, Sauron discovered he didn't find it so humorous after all. He had thought Clarice would become so devastated by panic that she would become totally paralyzed but, rather than passively suffering, she had struck back, developing a rift between him and his highest general and almost depriving him of the greatest treasure he had discovered in a long time. Well, now that he knew the whole situation, he would waste no time in bringing things back under control.
Satisfied with his plan of action, Sauron rose to go out to the ante room and deal with some affairs of state. On the way to the door, he passed Morwena and stopped to look down at her. In her sleep, she had partially thrown off the covers and her bare leg lay white against the dark sheets. Careful not to disturb her, he gathered up the blankets and smoothed them back over her before leaving the room.
Morwena's waking the next morning was far from pleasant for she opened her eyes to find herself watched, not by one ring wraith, but by the full honor guard of nine. Her one reassurance on finding herself surrounded by drawn swords was that the Nazgul could hardly be in league with Clarice so they must be here to protect, not slay her.
"You must rise quickly." The voice of the Nazgul Lord came from somewhere behind her. He must be standing in the place of honor at the head of the bed. In obedience to long habit, she moved quickly to obey but, as she sat up and realized she was still unclothed, she lay down again just as swiftly, jerking the covers up to her chin. "There is raiment waiting for you to put on." She did not care for the tone of open amusement in the wraith lord's voice. And something else, now that she listened for it, she could hear as well, a note of grim triumph in his voice. Something had happened or was about to happen which pleased him very much. The fact that it was likely to result in great discomfort for others, only increreased his amusement at the situation. Tightening her mouth in a grim line, Morwena rose into a sitting position a second time, this time more slowly and being careful to pull the sheets around herself as she did so. Yes, she was still in the Lord Sauron's chambers. That was not remarkable as she remembered Him ordering her to remain. The question was why the ring wraiths were here, especially because the Lord Sauron Himself was no where in evidence. She could only assume they were here at His bidding but she had yet to understand the reason. "Where are we are go?" she asked as she slide her legs towards the edge of the bed, clutching the sheet at her throat.
"To the great audience chamber. We will be taking our formal leave of the Lord Sauron before returning to the wars on the marches. You will be remaining here so we will be officially handing you over to his care. I hope, when we return, you shall receive us graciously."
"Most certianly, if I am in any kind of a position to do so." She spoke with a clam elegance, now born of long practice, but, inside, she felt as if her head were spinning out of control. This was all so sudden. Although she had come to be wary of the wraith lord in recent weeks, she still knew she owed almost everything to him. And her new role as a high courtier was still so strange to her, so awkward. There were still so many things she had to struggle to remember. And she highly doubted the Lord Sauron would have either the time or inclination to train her in the intricacies of social graces. It wasn't that He lacked the capacity to be patient with her, rather the revers as He had shown the previous night. But she knew Him well enough by now to correctly guess this was a topic that would bore Him sick and she highly doubted His generosity to her would extend quite that far.
"Don't just sit there gawking," the wraith lord scolded, giving her shoulder a gentle shove with his withered hand. "I would prefer not to spend our last moments together in chiding you." Morwena nodded assent and rose from the bed. As she did so, the circle of wraiths in front of her parted and, beyond, she could she the raiment he had spoken of, laid across a small table. The gown was of black velvet with sleeves she could tell would reach past her knees and, on the opposite side of the table, the train came cascading down, layer upon layer, spreading into an inky pool on the floor. It was so long she was sure she would never be able to walk in it without assistance. Beside the gown rested a girdle and neck piece of gold and gemstones, worth more than the value of all the goods in the viliage where Morwena had been born and every crop they had raised in her lifetime. The splendor of the raiment alone already told her the truth but now she caught sight of a shinning golden hoop amongst the other jewels: a crown. Morwena felt giddy and had to put her hand back against the bed to steady herself. These were not clothes for a mere courtier, no matter how exaulted. This was garb for royalty. The wraiths on either side reached out to help support her and she flinched at the feel of their cool, papery hands against her bare skin.
"You like the gift?" the wraith lord enquired, sounding almost nervous as he stepped forward to lay his hand against the velvet. "My Lord Sauron trusts it will be pleasing to you."
"It is very beautiful," replied Morwena, not sure exactly how to respond as she came forward to pick up the dress. Draping it over her arm, she retreated to the bed and drew the hangings to have a little privacy while she dressed. The Lord of the Nazgul fidgeted with impatience, staring at the closed curtains so intently it seemed he would burn a hole in them. Every second of waiting seemed to last an eternity. Though, logically, nothing could go wrong now, the nearer he came to victory, the greater because his nerves at the thought of failure. And then he saw Morwna's pale fingers came between the curtains, drawing them back so she stood before him in the flowing, night black gown.
Though he had imagined this moment for months now, to actually see her in the dress which he knew, though she did not, betokened her new status as the Lord Sauron's official mistress, made his mind reel with the heady draft of victory. She came forward, the soft velvet of her train silent on the flagstones of the floor. With hands almost trembling, he lifted the circlet and set it on her brow. She drew herself up straight, looking at him with level eyes, and he nodded approvingly. She looked the part, every inch of it, far, far more than Clarice had when she had worn the self same attire at her investiture. Morwena might not be the most adventageous person to hold the position. She had prove to be far less pliable than he had originally anticipated and, despite his aid, there was not the smallest shred of doubt as to the placement of her loyalties. But, despite all this, she deserved the position. She would serve his master well and fulfill all of her duties admirably.
He shook himself, banishing his thoughts. So close now, it would never do to keep the master waiting. "Come." He gestured sharply to Morwena. "It is time for us to be going." And, in spite of everything, she bowed her head and followed without protest. But, when they came to the end of the Lord's chambers and stepped out into the passage beyond, Morwena's heart came into her mouth for the entirity of the Nazgul's host, readied for departure, was ranged along the corridor and down the stairs and, at the sight of her, they all went down on bended knee. The Lord of the Nazgul himself knelt before her and she felt the blood blushing in her face, though she stil did not guess the reason. And this time, when all that great host rose to it's feet and began to move, instead of leading the company, the Nazgul lord walked beside Morwena, guiding her by the hand.
Down they went,through the twisting passages and winding stairs, until they came to the great hall and, as they filed inside, they saw Sauron sitting upon His throne which Morwen now found she had the courage to look up at. He rose and came down the stairs of the dais as the Lord of the Nazgul let her up them, then took her hand and laid it in that of his master before the eyes of all the assembled hosts. Despite the silken touch of His perfect skin, Morwena flinched and almost pulled away for the hand that closed around hers was completely dyed with blood. Almost none of the shining white skin was visible under the dark red stains.
Seeing the widening of her eyes, Sauron mistook the source of her hesitation. "Clarice can not harm you now," he whispered firmly. Though, out of respect for her tender nature, he spared her an account of Clarice's ultimate fate. And, indeed, if he had known, the motive for her uncerainty was closer to his guess than Morwna would have been comfortable with for it was Clarice's blood on his hands. He had entered her room in the first hours of dawn, ordering out her servants and barring the door behind them. At first, Clarice's face had flushed with joy, thinking he had arranged their privacy for a far different reason. But her expression had quickly changed to horror when she read the lust in his eyes and knew it for a lust of a far different sort than what she had wished for.
She had tried to flee then, though part of her must have know the attempt would be futile. But he had grabbed her arm and then, gripping her waist and shoulder, lifted her with more than mortal strength and flung her back on to the bed. The carpet in her room was a fine piece of work and it seemed a shame to spoil it. At least three hours passed before he emerged from Clarice's room and, when he did, he would not allow the maids back in. The clean up was a job for soldiers, who were more accustomed to such sights and had stronger stomachs.
Now, looking at Morwena's dark hair flowing from under the golden circlet and her skin, soft and downy even against the fine velvet, he felt rage surge up in him again. All this had been so nearly lost to him, almost snatched away by one who was now forever beyond vengance. And he wondered, for the hundredth time that day, if he had been too hasty with Clarice, if he should have allowed his time with her to last an hour, two hours, more. But then he looked into Morwena's eyes and all such thoughts drained away. Whatever she had tried to do, Clarice had failed. She was no longer a threat and this beautiful, perfect creature stood beside him, still safe and whole. He would be a fool indeed if he allowed his anger to diminish the joy of this moment, his enjoyment of her, his new lady. Grasping Morwena's hand with steel strong firmness, he drew her as swiftly as possible up onto the dais beside him.
What followed was like being swept away by a tidal wave for Morwena. Before she fully understood what was happening, she found herself standing before the hosts of Mordor, and many foreign leaders besides, being installed as Sauron's official mistress. She could scarcely believe that she, a lowly peasant, was being accorded the highest honor any woman could receive. But it was true. Here was the Lord of the World, King of Men, and God of Fire and He was holding her by the hand, raising it to His lips, commanding all that vast chamber to kneel before her. Her head swam, as the resounding cheers washed over her, and her knees buckled...almost. But something in the depths of her rock-solid, peasant soul held on, even when all the world was reeling around her, keeping her from crumpling to the ground in an embarassing faint.
Her first act in her new position, once she had overcome her shock sufficiently to be able to speak again, was to bestow thanks and gifts on the Lord of the Nazgul for she knew she owed much to him. She did not value her position for power or luxury, but only for the honor and joy it gave her.
She fully expected she would hold her title little longer than Clarice's three years and from the first, painful as it was to think of, she steeled herself to relinquish her place and, if need be, her life when the time came. But there was no need. She became one of the rare few who held her position until the natural close of her mortal span. But time was not without pain for her. As the years wore on, she was called to her Lord's bed less and less often and other women took her place with ever increasing frequency
But, in time, she came to face even this with calm and elegance as well, just as she had once taught herself to face her eventual fall. She was even able to select girls from among her servants to put forward. Yes, she had eventually learned to overcome her fear that her servants would murder her the moment her back was turned, but she did always choose them with great care. In truth, there was little need. Instead of fearing her, as they had Clarice, her maids loved her and those her Lord took to His bed, she comforted and instructed. She taught them literacy and games of skill and other arts that had made herself valued. "So you won't be lonely when I'm gone," she told Sauron one night across the chess board between them. By now, her smoky hair had washed to silver and her hands were etched as deeply as the carved chessmen they lifted.
"Morwena, you would spoil me. Every time we meet, the list of what I demand from a woman waxes ever longer." He reached out and touched her dried leaf skin with a hand that was still smooth and white as milk and she felt a deep pang of wistful longing as she gazed at the unaltered flawlessness of her God of love and desire. She still worshiped Him now and would as long as she had breath to do so. But now she was only ever called to His chambers to read or play chess. It was young Halena, waiting dutifully on them, who would stay for the ultimate blessing, that, even now, she couldn't help selfishly wishing for. Morwena's life was long, for Sauron did all in his power to slow her mortality. But, at last, she reached the end of her strength. In her final fading, whenever the demands of ruling could spare him, Sauron remained at her bedside, not bothering to take even the meager amount of rest and food he normally indulged in. She died with one of her childhood prayers to him on her lips and he mourned her for many long years after, until the world was changed.