Author's Note: This chapter proved to be a bear a write. It's incredibly long to boot. And here is part one of the ugly stuff.
Disclaimer: I would have tried to buy the Witch King out of his enslavement to Sauron, but I seem to have spent my birthday cash on a copious number of orchids and trillium. I will post photos of my lovely babies on DA if anyone cares. I love my little orchid so much.
The Impossible Choice and The Complication
"If that is all, then thou art dismissed Captain." A slight hiss punctuated the king's words, he was anything other than pleased, and Uthava quietly considered leaving and speaking to the king. But he felt the king's dark eyes on him, and he could hear the faint crinkling of the unfurled scroll as the kings fingers gently tapped against it. Brilliant.
"Perhaps…" Uvatha tugged his glove. He didn't have Herumor's power of good humour and joviality. The man had a special place in the king's favour that none could touch. Even Khamul, who their Master himself had chosen as the Witch King's second in command could not boast as much. "Thy new captain will prove more useful than the last one; once he has a firmer grasp of the responsibilities and expectations accompanying his new post." Only Herumor would dare to crack such a joke when the king was in a foul mood, but since he was filling in for Herumor, perhaps it was alright to try.
The king's fingers stopped and the king silently regarded him with a gaze as immovable as stone, which was either a good thing or a very bad one, and Uvatha was leaning toward bad. After a moment the king rolled up the scroll.
"If only I were such a good judge of quality."
Uvatha cracked a tentative smile. "It's been a while since Your Magesty has felt inclined to jest."
It was a horrid joke, and incredibly dry to boot. Orc captains were constantly being promoted and beheaded in Minas Morgul. It was a normal facet of life in the city. One that was scarcely overlooked by the soldiers and military heads, but the palace servants cowering and shrinking toward the walls -terrified by the presence of not just the king but a second nazgul as well- as they forced themselves to continue their tasks, were unaccustomed to such things.
Their terror was both an amusement and a nuisance, for their positions in the palace granted them some modicum of safety from the king's wrath, but it left them regrettably sensitive. So the rumor of a captain being beheaded had left them all antsy and anxious. It was their fear of the king's wrath rather than the king himself that kept them going, and while anxiety made potential room for poor work it would hopefully aid them instead. One could always hope.
The king sealed the scroll, and Uthava felt anger from outside himself niggle his head, and a slight tremor in the energy of the man a short distance away.
"And it may be a while before I once again feel so inclined."
Uvatha didn't respond, but there was definitely something on the king's mind. What that something was, he couldn't begin to guess, but it left him anxious and worried.
"Walk with me."
Silently Uvatha fell into step alongside his king. He would have walked with him, even if the king had not commanded it; always the king was an island of calm, except when he was troubled, but such things were often passing winds that left little to be recalled in their wake. That didn't lessen his anxiety, because a threat to the calm island however minor was still a threat, and merited an explanation. For that he would have followed king to the ends of the earth had it been commanded.
"I have received summons to Barad'Dur."
Uvatha scowled. "Whatever for?"
"That, I do not know. I've been allotted a few days to prepare, since there are matters of state that must be dealt with, and transferring such tasks to the Lieutenant requires a great amount delicacy and care. I can't overburden him, nor do I wish to leave something overlooked. Unfortunately I have yet to receive any word from Herumor in way of a definite day of his return."
The king paused and frowning, Uvatha stopped a few feet shy of him. The sound of their boots echoing a soothing mantra ceased and both nazgul were thrown into an uncomfortable momentary silence. The fear they instilled in the servants was also welcomed, enticing and distracting, as their boots were soothing, but the fact the king was leaving for Barad'Dur at all was troubling. It explained the king's mood, and possibly the beheading a day prior as well.
Whatever had soured the king's mood dissipated, and Uvatha took to following him down the hall once more.
"There are some matters I will appoint to thee."
Uthava might have groaned. He was far happier on a horse, roaming the country side like the mongrel Herumor was doing now, than he was cooped up in the city. Stone walls made him uncomfortable, and he found them unwelcome, even if the accommodations within them were some of the finest in Mordor.
"What of the girl?"
The king looked down at Uthava with a slight frown that made it very clear Uthava's bitterness had been noticed and rejected.
"She is well I take it?"
Uvatha tugged his glove. The fear of passing servants faded into the background as it was his turn to fear. "She has improved, as thou predicted." The shrewd look he'd imagined himself giving the king after that sentence was utterly forgotten as he uttered it. "However, improvement is not perfection." Something akin to a smirk ghosted across the king's lips. "Instead of crying and lying on her bed, she now listlessly sits and broods. She has eaten a little. I think the room is taking on an atmosphere…."
Uthava's glove was incredibly irksome as the king looked away. He hadn't missed the frown that replaced the impassive expression. "If I might be so bold…." Uthava shrugged. "Never mind." He doubted the king wanted or needed advice dealing with his prisoner.
"She is entrusted into thy care until such time as either I or Herumor have returned."
Oh thank goodness….His time playing nursemaid for that pathetic little Gondorian waif was almost at an end.
"What of the room? It can't take on an atmosphere if she's not in it…."
If the king sent for her, and a fiasco like the one that put the girl in her current condition could be avoided, not that the girl didn't deserve it for showing such insolence to a king, then maybe she'd get some fresh air and that would do her some good. The sooner she was better, the sooner he was done dealing with her. Herumor could take over after that….
"Perhaps she could be sent for-"
The king shook his head. "There are matters at hand that must be seen to, and time is in short supply. What little time I have is too precious to give a prisoner. Complications have an unpleasant habit of arising prior to travel, and I have no wish to deal with them on short notice."
"I do agree with thee however. Getting her out and about might do her some good. She has shown an interest in the library, and with some luck I think the promise of a good book will provide her some invigoration-"
"Your Majesty! Sire-" Both nazgul turned their heads as a man came running from toward them from a side passage. The man visibly paled taking note of Uvatha's presence as he skidded to a breathless halt. Barely recovered from whatever far corner he'd ran from, the messenger still managed to recall enough of his sense to bow. "Forgive the intrusion Your Highness, Lord." He bowed to each, shivering as he did so.
Uvatha raised a brow as the man shuddered. Never was it a good idea to interrupt the nazgul in their conversations, but it did seem the king was willing to consider forgiving him, as he made no move to immediately punish him for his intrusion.
"The Lieutenant, asked that I give you this immediately. He said it was urgent." With a shaking hand he offered the king a folded slip of paper. Quietly the king took the note, and shifted the scroll he carried to the crook of his arm. Carefully he broke the seal and opened. Immediately Uvatha felt a shift in the king's mood, and the man likewise noticed it because he cringed and stepped back with wide eyes, and thrumming with dread. "The-the L-Lieutenant said he n-needs an immediate response- and uh- he would n-not say more, and I-"
The man's mouth clamped shut as the king raised a hand to silence him. The king turned to Uvatha, and the nazgul almost stepped back. The king's was scowling, a rather curiously mild one that was slowly receding into an expression that was far too blank to hide the promise of sinister and deadly things to come.
"Sire?" Uvatha couldn't possibly imagine what- he froze, frowning as the note was wordlessly offered to him. Hesitantly he took it, unsure if he even wanted to know what had just made the king's ire rise.
"I'm curious as to what thee will think." The Witch King words were spoken in their language, so that no mortals in the vicinity, the world even, could understand.
Frowning Uvatha looked down at the crumpled note, not failing to miss the way the king's fingers were tacking against the scroll as he shifted his hold on it, in the corner of his eye. His frown only deepened, until he returned the note with wide eyes.
"Is it a trick? Surely-"
The king's façade broke, and he scowled. Quietly he took the note. "I don't know, and as I have had no word from Herumor-" the king's face darkened.
"Perhaps, Herumor is still on the far side of the Anduin? It is difficult for us to send word across the elvish water. What of Hespar and Bragcolam; surely thou hast received word from them?" He knew it was foolhardy to even bother asking, as the other two were far afield, and were not due back from their respective trips for quite a while.
The king was frowning again mulling over varying solutions to their problem. Perhaps- Uvatha froze. "This can't possibly be why Master has summoned thee!"
"It is possible, however unlikely that something gravely ill has befallen the youngest of our brothers. I may not understand the full scope of this message until I reach Barad'dur either way. Either way we may not be looking to his coming for some time." The shuddering messenger seemingly forgotten until that moment, staggered back as the king tuned his gaze toward him, a frown still furrowing his brow.
"I will send for you, to discuss your duties in my absence, among other things... I must," The king scowled. "I said complications had a habit of arising prior to travel."
Uthava grinned. "Thy gift of foresight has often served thee well Sire."
The king scowled. "Being right all the time is often more burdensome than it's worth." Uvatha's smile faltered. "Sire I-"
Waving his hand the king turned away, sparing him a tired and careworn gaze over his shoulder. "I know what thou meant. Trouble thyself not."
Before Uvatha could say or do more, the king's face turned to stone and turned away giving the messenger his full attention.
Since the night Brenine dreamt of her father, the mornings seemed to be lighter, and the air clearer. Instead of lying immobile on the bed and periodically crying she now sat about or would catch herself randomly standing up without any memory of why she'd done so in the first place.
The handfuls of food she forced down her throat were bland and tasteless. And things would sometimes get dark, again, and the air would grow chill, and she'd sit in the chair or the bed, maybe lie down if it was exceptionally dark and fall into stretches of silence. Maybe she slept during those periods. It always felt like waking up.
With no one there to talk or notice these odd and abrupt bouts of moodiness, they would go on unbroken for hours sometimes. And always when she finally was pulled from them she couldn't recall what lead to them, how long she'd been in such a state, or what she'd thought about during those times.
Grashnic came and went, delivering food and taking food away. Uvatha's visits were simply to put a bowl of steaming herb water on her table, check over her, inquire about her health, and leave. She suspected he was passing her words along to the king, but she couldn't be certain as she never received any messages back, not that she really expected too.
Maybe it was boredom, or some other feeling buried even deeper that began prodding her thoughts toward the door. She'd stare at it for long periods of time, contemplating it, as if it was mysterious, mystical, and something far greater than a dark rectangle of wood. But the urge to get up was small and often swallowed up by the apathy that clung to her, and going outside, going knowingly, consciously, willingly into places darker than her room did not appeal to her in the slightest.
So she sat, quietly, brooding over things she'd forget the moment her mind turned to brood on something else.
"Why dost thou stare at the door?" Uvatha snapped. She was in another one of those despairing silent moods and hadn't listened to a word he'd said thus far. His words raised in tone and punctuated by a sharp hiss caught her attention. At least she'd glanced in his direction.
"This room is not a cage." It most certainly was a cage, but now wasn't the best time for such a reminder. He'd been secretly wishing for her to attempt an escape, a little excitement in his life would be nice, and the king could use such a fiasco to brighten his day especially. The Lord of Minas Morgul had spent close to an entire day and w good portion of the night speaking in council with the Lieutenant, and since then he'd taken his mounting frustrations and anxieties to his chambers and presumably had yet to leave. As the king had predicted various affairs were jumping him from all directions, and it was an absolute marvel the man wasn't ripping his hair out or beheading more servants. Uvatha would have been….
He returned his attention to the prisoner, who once again was staring at the door, as if she;d never seen one before. Considering what heathens the Numenorians were, it was possible their less educated Gondorian descendants had little understanding of such complicated mechanisms.
"I feel like it is." The girl rested a chin on her knee. Uvatha didn't bother to respond, glaring at her from under his hood.
"Thou art permitted to leave. Why not see the king's library? The king mentioned thou had a fondness for books."
"The library…?" The girl's head turned toward the door contemplating before a tidal wave of distress crash down her.
"Yes the library." Hopeless and pathetic both came to mind. Uvatha really didn't have the patience for dealing with a strung out mortal. Where was Herumor when he was needed around? "I'm sure the king has discussed it with thee. Why not go explore? I think thee would find it soothing to be somewhere other than this room."
"It's dark-"
"No." Brenine flinched as a leather gloved finger roughly jabbed her temple. "It's dark inside thy head." Uvatha relaxed, finally having a direction to work from. "The hallway is no darker than it's ever been, just as your room is no darker than it's been. There are no monsters beyond that door-" Well there was one monster less outside the door since one was already in the girl's room. "-and there are torches to light the path."
She quietly frowned at him. "If the monsters are not beyond the door where are they?"
Waving a hand dismissively Uvatha was pleased to see she was being responsive. "They are elsewhere," he scowled, tugging on a glove. "Barad'Dur primarily." And Gondor too perhaps had a few monsters in it, but he doubted she'd hardly consider those monsters.
Still reeling from the note, and Herumor's ever poignantly growing absence had sent all the nazgul into a tizzy, at least the few camped out in either Minas Morgul or Dol Guldur. Even the king, always the semblance of calm could scarcely mask his growing concern as his last couple days in Minas Morgul ticked by.
Few of the nazgul were friendly with all his fellows, and at worse there were a few who hated each other outright; to the point they'd kill each other if their Master ever gave them enough freedom to do so, but the possibility of an outside influence taking one of their own was a shock and a threat, especially when the scouts reported it had taken Herumor; the king's pupil.
It was unbelievable to even contemplate such a thing happening, but as no word came from the wayward wraith, and no spies reported feeling his presence things were definitely beginning to look bleak. Why else would The Lord of Mordor have summoned the king to Barad'dur if not to discuss that very thing?
The loss of Herumor, had blown a hole in their hierarchy. The order of things had been toppled, and none of the eight remaining had any inclining as to how their individual positions were to be affected. The king, was the king, and would always be the king, unless that runt from Barad'dur really did become Sauron's new favorite.
Uvatha's bile would have risen if he'd had any-
"Um-"
His head shot up and he glared at the girl. At some point the prisoner shifted to the far end of the bed, and was wrapped in what appeared to be a ranger's cloak. He scowled at it, at her, though his anger wasn't really directed at her.
Giving his glove a stiff jerk, he stood. "I must leave."
The loud snap of the door closing broke the fearful, wide eyed, trance she'd been in. Heart hammering and body shaking with residual cold she relaxed and pulled the cloak tighter around herself, before sidling to the top of the bed. She sat there watching and waiting for the nazgul in his fury to return.
Everything had grown dark as he'd sat the chair a few feet away, and even as she sat there, waiting with bated breath or his return, and praying he would not; the room still seemed dark.
The night was perfect, starry, beautiful, and from somewhere in the distance she could hear clear voices singing. What they were singing about she couldn't fathom, because the language was not one she knew, but she did know without a question that those voices belonged to elves. What elves were doing in Gondor she couldn't begin to imagine, unless they were coming to aid Gondor in its eminent war with Mordor. The thought made her smile.
Feeling the cool night breeze against her face she pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, smiling as her fingers touched the straps of her quiver. She raised her arm feeling the feathered shafts that kissed her fingertips, until she felt her bow. A sigh escaped her, and she brushed her short hair from her face. She was home, and everything save for the menace in the east was right.
Relishing the feel of the quiver and bow against her back, the weight of her cloak, and the heaviness of her short sword at her waist she felt completely safe. And knowing that there were elves nearby gave her a sense of comfort and peace she had not known for a long while. Even though she could see the blackness massing in the distance, blotting out the stars, she felt hope.
That curiosity that had often hounded her returned, and more than anything she suddenly wished to see them, the most people of all people- and thank them. Perhaps they'd saved her from Minas Morgul. How else could she have escaped?
Perhaps they could give her news of her family and the welfare of her city. She sprung into a run, uttering a short laugh. She froze abruptly, startled, before giggling as the fear of her own elation subsided. Had she really been in Minas Morgul so long that laughter had become something to be feared?
The song rose and lowered, dragging her mind away from such unpleasantness, and with the giddiness of a child she once again ran.
The earth began slope downward, and the underbrush began to change, and thicken, the ground began to become soggy, making her footing treacherous. She was approaching the river, and the song was ever growing louder. And she fancied she'd soon be seeing ships once she was free of the low growing trees and their thick branches that obscured her view. A mix of wonder and dismay filled her.
She'd get to see elven ships. Her father had always wanted to see an elven ship, and now she'd have a story to tell her father. He'd never believe her, just like he wouldn't believe she'd been a prisoner in Minas Mogul and survived. Her fear lay upon the realization that depending on the direction they sailed, they were either coming to aid Gondor as she desperately prayed they were, or they were leaving; abandoning Middle Earth to its fate.
For a moment she envied them, hated them even, for their ability to escape, and their cowardice, but it slipped away abruptly as she broke through the tree line.
A crescent moon was rising in the distance, and the ground disappeared. With a cry she fell as she slipped, sliding down the steep embankment. She covered her face to shield herself from the bushes and rushes that whipped at her until she came to a halt, in uncomfortably wet, soil that gave beneath her as she rose to stand.
In sticky clothing that clung to her, Brenine bent over to brush the dirt and plant material from pants.
At some point she froze. Wide eyed she remained stooped, senses alert for any noise. Any noise at all. Except there was no noise. There was not a cricket chirping, bug buzzing, frog croaking, owl hooting- even the river had gone completely still.
The singing had ceased, and as the absence of the elvish voices dawned on her, a very cold, horribly familiar chill crept along her spine.
Her hackles rose, and her heart beat like a drum in her ears. Knowing she should lower herself to the ground or risk being seen and run for the trees, she couldn't move. She wasn't even sure she was breathing. She was in the open, and despite her instincts screaming at her to run and hide, she felt the need to wade further into the water.
Slowly her feet moved, not back, but forward as the need to move forward won over. There was something- something not too far away. She was sure. She could see something- she thought it was something catching the moonlight. Her head ducked and wove as she tried to see it better all the while haphazarously moving toward it as she stepped over and around rocks and weeds.
Brenine froze over the spot, she'd seen it. The urge to go on had ceased pulling her forward. She should still run for cover, but her curiosity had won her over, and after a moment's hesitation she stooped to retrieve the thing she might have seen.
She jerked as she touched metal, and after a dubious pause, bit her lip and grabbed it. Spikey water laden metal was hers as she bent over a gauntlet. The metalwork was amazing, and suspiciously familiar. Her eyes caught sight of something else. Brenine remained stooped over, peering into the dark water, waiting to catch another flash of it.
With a splash, something invisible, hard as iron, and cold as ice grabbed her throat and pulled her under.
The bowl of herb water, fell with a crash, as Brenine cried out and backed away cough and sputtering. Her hands shot to her neck as she made to rub away the pain and feeling of a hand. There was nothing there now save pain.
Gasping she closed her eyes, vaguely aware of shattered ceramic and spreading puddle. She'd taken to sitting near the bowl, as the herbs smelled good and made her feel relaxed.
She turned her head to the door as Grashnic came in. He froze, wide nose twitching as he caught the scent of her fear, and looked between her and the bowl and back.
"I'm so,so,so sorry. " Her voice trailed into a whisper. She grabbed the cane using it to steady herself. "I-I-I need to leave. I'll uh- clean it up when I return. If you could leave a towel or something I'll clean it." She wiped at her eyes. "Um- I think- I think I might die if I stay here…." She bit her lip, hard enough to taste copper as she all but ran by him. The orc stepped aside to let her pass.
Very swiftly and quietly he set to replacing her breakfast dishes with her lunch dishes, staying long enough to shakily wipe up the water with towel from the wash basin before leaving, because he too did not want to die.
The darkness had no effect on Brenine as she paused, slumped against a wall beneath a torch and tried to gather herself. That- whatever that was had not been a dream. She'd been awake! A sob shuddered up her chest, as she grabbed at her throat, to rub at the pain.
It hadn't been real. It hadn't been real. "It- it's just your imagination. You're c-crazy, and crazy-crazy people see thing-things." She didn't believe it, and she dug her teeth into her lip as she fought down a bout of tears. She was not going to cry in the halls, so anyone walking passed could see.
Slowly she pushed forward, with a vague notion of where she was headed. She went straight, coming upon a familiar intersection, pausing to mentally follow its turns to the king's office. The window pointed north, and likely his office was on the west side of the castle, seeing as he could see the western corner of the library from there, so north was directly ahead, more or less. She rubbed at her throat. That had to be the oddest way of figuring out directions there ever was. She'd never been good with directions, as such she'd failed at reading maps, and plotting travel routes. Her time as a ranger had helped…sort of, but she wasn't one of the heads in their company, so she rarely saw maps of any kind ever.
Maybe her inability with directions would aid her now. Maybe she could get lost and die of starvation searching for her room, or somehow she could find a secret passage or something, go out into the streets and get flattened by a troll. A troll would be great, actually- short and sweet, rather than whatever long drawn out torture the king had in store for her.
Brenine chuckled through her tears. Maybe she'd get lost, wind up beneath the eighth floor and the king could find her. That, coupled with his anger from their last conversation might be enough to make him kill her- swiftly if she could infuriate him enough! She hoped she could. Then she'd be done. She'd be free! She choked, furiously wiping her eyes. She could think all those things, as much as she liked, but she would never actually seek out a troll, or the king, or let herself starve. She didn't want to die.
After three years in the Houses of Lamentation, she did not want to die. The reality was as laughable as it was pathetic. Fuinur was right, and at that she cracked a smile. One person she hated most, outside the king, and the Dark Lord, was the one who had told her the truth.
Wasn't that often the way: hate the ones who speak the truth even when it's not what you want to hear, and love the ones who lie nicely? How many books had she read where someone put their faith in a kingly liar rather than a harsh ally and paid the price.
She needed a book. More than anything she needed a book. Drying her eyes, she continued on using her mental map to guide her.
I learned something epic and random today! Coffee in Black Speech is khak! I love khak. The next random orc I name will be khak! I drank khak this morning! It had chocolate in it- actually it was expresso. But it's still khak, more or less…?
On Fligth Rising I'm going to name a dragon khak! This shall be my word of the day! Khak! I'm not a khak addict at all…actually I wonder- do you think Mordorian coffee might be horrible? Nasty enough to make a non-addict such as myself give it up for life? Or is going to be bloody wonderful, or something else entirely?
I need an answer to this question. Also if you think I should subject Brenine to Mordorian khak (answers to the previous question may hold some weight here ;0 ) feel free to PM me.