Lord of the Rings, shard one.
Chapter 1: The Rail.
Written: Dec. 23rd, 2020.
Author's note: it's an old idea of mine that I started writing in Russian (for some reason), but then switched to English halfway through. I was spurred on by reading a story called "Saruman of many Devices" by Saphroneth (found among my favourited stories) and the premise is a bit similar, but I hope I'll be putting my own spin on it. So far (as of Dec. 24th, 2020) the first part is published, and there will be the second one... someday.
Rich and famous is Osgiliath, the capital of Gondor! The crossing of roads leading to five directions, hither and yonder, until the very ends of Middle-Earth, the ever bustling hub of trade in items and specialties from all lands – East and West, North and even the far South. Always proud over the granite embankments lining the mighty Anduin, perennially vigilant as a bastion of Men in the world so wide and not always friendly to the newcomers from beyond the Sea.
Beautiful, too, is its Meridional railway station, built – as the men and women of wisdom said – in the distant likeness of the primary terminal in Armenelos, the capital of Númenor. That, however, is more often than not a matter of whispers, as the Gondoreans are usually none too keen on openly recognizing the primacy of the remote insular metropoly, their mother land though it may be. At any rate, the building is easy on the eye yet imposing – clad in the shell of light gray marble from the White mountains and the contrasting dark granite of Ephel Dúath, it towers over the riverside districts on the western bank. On the sunrise side, its dazzling multitude of steel tracks suddenly condenses into just two that would then cross the Great River atop the bridge of marvelous, arching iron mesh, already called a wonder of the world despite its newness – a gift from the ever industrious eastern ally. Farther off in the distance, the tracks split off into not two, but all of three directions – two of them racing north and south through the verdant reaches of Ithilien... and the third becoming the new mainline, surging ever eastward and across the mountains. To Mordor, land of the Shadow.
Early one morning in late May, 3319 S.A., the family of a well-to-do mechanic Ecthelion – a Grade One foreman of the primary rail workshops in the Osgiliath II station, as the Meridional was formally known as – was gathering for a long journey. The man's many years of devoted labor for the Gondorian Railways were rewarded with the right for him, and his immediate family, to be among the first passengers on the rail trunkline crossing Cirith Ungol and into Gorgoroth. More than that – Ecthelion, his spouse and his two children were granted an all-expenses-compensated voyage to the balneal resort of the Núrnen lakeside – something the old engineer was appreciating even more, as he was already approaching the ripe age of eighty-five, and even the natural born health and hardiness of a Númenorean native were starting to be pushed to the limits. What better way is there to soothe the senescent bones than immersing them – and all else of their bearer – in the nigh-scalding water of Mordor's famous hot springs?
Still, the steelway trip was a reward in itself, and the intention of the Railroad's Head of Mechanics, as he was presenting Ecthelion with the certificate scroll, was clear enough. The lifelong engineer knew better than most anyone how arduous was the task of building the mainline across the tall mountain range, carving passages along the steep mountainsides and even boring through the unyielding rock to create the mighty tunnels. These things, at the very least, could – and would – be appreciated by the public, but some of the real difficulties were only really evident to those knowledgeable in the lofty sciences of rail engineering. Strict tolerances had to be upheld, as commanded wisely by the Great Artificer – the maximum skews, the permissible lateral tilt, the minimum curve radii, the top axle loads... all of these and more had to be literally etched into the minds of every builder, whether Gondorean or Orc, every foreman, every supervising engineer.
The newsscrolls were often – all too often for anyone's liking – reporting accidents, purported or factually proven, and some with fatalities. There were the times when civigilants were piquetting the representative office of Mordor Railways in Osgiliath, protesting "the mistreatment of Orcish laborers". And yet, the road was built, tested and officially commissioned on time, just by the King's birthday, and henceforth the short way from Gondor's breadbasket areas to Mordor's industrial heartland – and to the Great Artificer's headquarters in Barad-Dûr, as well as the spa centers in the foothills around Lake Núrnen, the present train's ultimate destination – was made that much easier. Soon, firesteamers would roll both ways with great regularity, pulling carriages full of grains and dairies eastward – to supplement the ever deficient agricultural capabilities of the Black Land – and ferrying huge shipments of iron, cement, coal and other industrial produce from Mordor into the westlands, where people were far too often still looking askance at the rise of the manufacturing, and thus loath to develop one of their own.
Surely, Ecthelion thought, there would be more than a fair share of discontentment in Ithilien, Morannon and Udûn, as the primary trade thoroughfare would be shifted away from these areas, and the rail already in place there would be left only with the task of exporting the local products – and importing the goods for their own consumption. However, the wise old foreman knew that the work of spreading the new and wonderful methods of transportation across the old Middle-Earth was far from done, even if he would not live to see it finished (and would there ever be a time when it could be declared complete, anyway). Ithilien and Morannon were, in the grander scheme of things, but temporary stops on the road to the grand future. Even as the Cirith Ungol mainline was being completed, surveying and design work were already well underway for the construction of the next steel line – from Anórien further west along the northern slopes of White Mountains, all across Calenardhon and then, ultimately... to Arnor. Now was that not a monumental undertaking, fitting for the scope and vision of the Great Artificer!
With that, Ecthelion delved into his memories as he absentmindedly picked up a fresh newsscroll from the station's petty shop and led his family across to the boarding platforms, his feet not needing the conscious guidance of his mind – so familiar was the route made to his mind over the years of working for the railroad. He was old enough to have remembered the great offensive of King Ar-Pharazôn, back in 3261 – and not only remembered, but took part in it, although as nothing more than a squire, fitting for his modest age of twenty-six summers. Even thus, he realized what a great army he was a part of – certainly great enough to convince Sauron, who was at the time rumored to be the scourge of the Middle-Earth, the perpetrator of untold atrocities, to surrender peaceably. And it was then that the seeds of the new had been sown.
Nobody – outside maybe the King's inner circle, if that, and certainly not the humble squire of the Golden Army – knew much of the dealings happening between the victorious Lord of the Sea and the freshly minted hostage to the empire of Westernesse. However, it did not take long for those grains to sprout, as the ideas of technical invention captured first the royal court, and then ever more of the populace in the kingdom of Men and its continental dependencies. Ecthelion himself was not exempt from the universal vogue: having finished his military service shortly thereafter, as there was no reason for the empire to maintain an armed force so vast after the greatest presumed threat had been not only eliminated, but actually impressed into the fold, he chose to settle in the freshly created colonies in the southern reaches of Anduin and took up construction duties, before tying his life with the steel routes for the longest part of his career. Gondor became his new home, but even that far from the insular realm, the wind of change was strong and palpable.
Very soon thereafter, gone was the image of Sauron the erstwhile usurper of Middle-Earth, and in his place there was the Great Artificer, the purveyor of technical inventions that never ceased to amaze the masses of Númenor: from the awe-inspiring fire-sticks to the more peaceful – but equally game-changing – printing press, and then, of course, the power of the boiled water. Soon enough, the firesteam fever gripped first the metropoly, and then Gondor as well. Rail tracks crisscrossed the suddenly tiny once-blessed island, followed by the emergence of many industries that were never even thought about in the preceding hundreds of years. The wise men say that good things are easy to get accustomed to, and after a short while the citizens of Andor – and certainly Ecthelion himself – could no longer imagine the life without the compass, the printed newsscrolls, the machines and boats powered by steam, and centralized plumbing, most importantly. At times they were wondering how it took less than a generation's lifespan to irrevocably upend the way of existence that had been in place for millennia before that. But there was even more in store, as the Great Artificer – who had, after a couple decades, moved back to his old seat of power, which was explained by the necessity to regain and expand the production and mining capabilities available in Mordor for the betterment of this Grand Alliance – was unveiling new and wonderful technologies most every year. Trying to predict the next invention that would be the spice of the following season has become the unspoken sport among the people, and the source of livelihood for the newsheralds, as scrolls were perpetually in high demand both in the cradleland and its distant dominion. However, the master of invention seemed to always exceed – and defy – the expectations.
Not everyone was content with the developments, of course, as the erosion of old customs and old societal roles, put increasingly into question by the new development, was hard to stomach for many. Shortly into the Industrial Revolution, as "Anadûnê's Tidings" – the most prominent paper in the empire – has called it, Amandil, the Lord of Andúnië, the king's distant cousin and the living focal point of the quiet discontent with the course of the royal authority, has had enough. He publicly denounced the king as corrupted by the baleful influence of the Foe, and soon thereafter, the situation degenerated into a simmering mutiny. The western province of Númenor was, at that point, the least technologically developed in the nation, what with it being the home of the lord that opposed the technical evolution through every avenue short of going into outright rebellion, and with those disgruntled by the change finding a natural refuge within the region. Before that, only the king's pressure allowed for a lone rail link to be created within Andustar, but after the spat, the progress had all but stalled, and with Amandil going into the resistance mode, even that line came under sabotage by the clandestine elements that the lord of the domain proved unable – and clearly unwilling – to expose and rein in.
It all came to a head in the year 3310, when Amandil was faced with the prospect of forceful removal by the central authority. With both sides unwilling to resort to the strength of arms, however, the unruly lord gathered his followers and relatives, then fled aboard the old-fashioned sailing ship. It was only whispered in rumors that he made his way west and towards Valinor, never to be heard from again, while his son gathered his own fleet and left for Middle-Earth, settling at Arnor where scattered colonies were already extant. When "Anadûnê's Tidings" suggested that the pressure from the king was an indirect reason for Amandil's loss – as he was presumed deceased – the royal guards searched the editorial office and confiscated the entire issue.
While neither side appeared willing to wash dirty linen in public, or resort to violence, relationships between the metropoly and Arnor remained frosty for a few years – even though the king officially endorsed the establishment of a full-scale colony in the northern reaches of the continent, and Elendil evidently chose not to cross the line by declaring the king's words a lie and pronouncing formal secession. By 3319, however, it appeared that the new semi-independent seat of authority at Annúminas was at least willing to negotiate power sharing and even mutual economic projects... like the very rail line in question.
It appeared, however, that either Amandil's voyage – ostensibly aiming to reach Valinor and report the situation in Númenor, as it had been by that point, to the Valar – has had some sort of effect, or the powers of the world had taken notice of it through some different means. Shortly thereafter, some time during the 331st decade, subtle change has settled over the world, as the ships of the island nation appeared no longer able to reach certain points in the western seas where familiar – if barely ever traversed – paths to the sunset hallowed lands once lay. The king took it as a sign of both the lords of the Arda being displeased with his actions, and... his own hands being free with regard to pursuing technological progress. If the Gods have deserted the land they had helped create in the nigh-forgotten days of the age's dawn, then he would put it upon himself – and those who would follow him – to steer them towards prosperity. With a little help from certain... friends.