In An Age Before – Part 201
Chapter One Hundred thirty-one
Dol Guldur and Rhovanion – The Third Age of the Sun
Author's Note: Because of the nature and themes in Part 201, I would rate it M while in the past, "In An Age Before" had been rated T overall. Please be forewarned. I cannot rate updates by chapter, only whole stories, and while I did not want to restrict access to the whole story to 16+, I feel that some of the content in this update requires that I change the story rating to "M". Therefore, "In An Age Before" is now rated M.
This chapter, (Chapter 131, posted here as Parts 201, 202, and 203), has been long coming and fills what has so far been a gaping plot hole. The timing was intentional.
I found part 201 both difficult and fast to write. I came to love the character of Beinvír, for her loyalty, her honesty, and her resilient acceptance of her life. She has been one of the most consistently positive and valiant major characters in the story, and has often been a foil for Helluin's grimness, mania, and uncompromising nature. Rest assured that the outcome here is required in the overall plot of the story.
The actual writing of Part 201 took about six hours, with another two hours of editing after. The content was long considered and to me, there were no surprises.
T.A. 1851, on the Dwarf Road leading north through Nanduhirion from the Azanulbizar Gate.
Despite some difficulty, Beinvír had cut down a pair of Yrch, and now a path out of the fighting lay open to her. She moved into the breach 'twixt her foes and looked for a passage through the forest, and there she beheld a horror wholly unexpected.
Thither, not four fathoms before her, stood a tall figure in a tattered black cloak, a rusty longsword clasped in the antique gauntlet encasing its right hand, but 'neath the cloak's hood, 'naught of a face was to be seen.
A Wraith of Sauron! Scant wonder then, the reinforcement of the Yrch.
Well hast thou fought, an opponent far beyond the ken of my slaves who opposed thee. I applaud thy prowess, She-Elf, yet now 'tis thee who is outclassed.
The Wraith made a gesture, and Beinvír felt the morgûl he cast as a blow that drove all sense from her. Just ere the blackness enveloped her, she cried out 'cross the link of spirit that she shared with Helluin. No words, only sorrow, and the pain of loss.
'Twas five hours past noon of 2 Lothron. (IAAB, Ch 110, Pt 166)
Beinvír fell into darkness 'neath the Nazgûl's spell. She was stripped of her weapons, which were discarded on the spot, and then bound as a captive. On that day, she disappeared out of all knowledge and from the lore of those times, leaving behind but a handful of clues and the torment of her beloved.
The days of flight that followed were a hazy time for the Green Elf. Kept 'neath a drowsing spell, she marked 'naught with clarity and knew little of what came to pass. By the constriction of her wrists, knees, and ankles, she knew that she was restrained, and that her bonds held her dangling helplessly 'neath a pole. That pole was carried night and day by four Yrch, and these were replaced by others of their kind at intervals when they began to stumble. Before them went the Ringwraith, cowing his slaves with fear and driving them on at an exhausting pace. She knew not how long she had been captive, or how far they had come.
Soon it seemed that they went forward only by night. When she felt enough of her wits about her, she wondered that she had not yet been eaten, dismembered, tortured, or slain. There had been no torment added to her condition. The wraith had said 'naught to her, nor had any other of her captors. Indeed they had been forbidden to do so, or to allow any harm to come to her. She was a prize captive, an opportunity for the wraith to win favor in his master's eyes. After the Nazgûl had slain o'er a hundred and fifty of their comrades with his sword, the remaining two dozen Yrch had done his bidding without question. Indeed they had barely grumbled whilst doing it.
So 'twas that lashed to a pole by her wrists, knees, and ankles, Beinvír was first conveyed north to the Dwarf Road with excruciating haste by night and day, then east 'cross the Old Ford of Anduin at night, and finally south down the east bank. The turns, direction, and duration of their flight were lost on the elleth, for she was seldom aware of more than a few moments at a time. Her world became endless snippets of bouncing 'neath a pole and racing through the dark, and it seemed to go on fore'er. She deemed it a respite and doubted not that worse lay ahead.
Now though the Úlaire cared little for calendars and counted not the days, it may be said that on 13 Lothron, the Yrch bore their prisoner east o'er Anduin, and on the next night, began carrying her south. These dates were provided to Helluin many years later by Aiwendil's recall. Being as the mileage from Nanduhirion to the Old Ford was roughly equal to the distance 'twixt the ford and Dol Guldur, it may be inferred that Beinvír was hauled 'cross the causeway and into the fortress 'round 25 Lothron. The Yrch had covered two hundred and fifty miles west of Anduin in eleven days, and the remaining two hundred and fifty miles east of Anduin in another eleven.
Her captor wasted not a moment. Into the same cell with the steel door in the dungeon in which Tindomul had once imprisoned the Sarchram, Anguirél, and Helluin's dagger, Beinvír was chained against the far wall. She was restrained at the wrists and ankles with heavy manacles, and a steel collar on a short chain encircled her neck. Assured thus that she could not escape, the wraith ordered her detail of two dozen Yrch to celebrate the completion of their duty in a feasting hall known as the Dakogug Hajât¹. There they were fattened on many meats and drank much wine, but were not allowed to leave or speak with any others. They were as much prisoners as the Green Elf, they just failed to realize it. ¹(Dakogug Hajât, Disemboweling Hall = dakog-(v. disembowel) + -ug(sing. part. v. suff, disemboweling) + hajât(hall) Orkish)
Now the Ringwraith, who was the Lieutenant of the Nazgûl, relaxed on the throne in the tower. With Murazor lately incapacitated and expecting decades of recuperation from another defeat by Helluin, he was nominally in charge of all things. In this he reveled, for he had long felt wronged by having been relegated to a secondary position 'neath the prince of fallen Númenor, who had done 'naught better save getting himself killed in a duel with Helluin ere he himself could die. He, Khamûl had, after all, been King of Samar' Khand, the Realm of Stone.
Another thing he found irritating was the epithet 'Black Easterling' with which he had been saddled some time after his death. Like many in the semi-arid southeast, he had worn black robes, (still did, and so he deemed his fashion sense timeless), and the sun had burnt him to a swarthy tan, but he was not black and he had ne'er been an 'Easterling'. That term his people had reserved for the Men of Rhûn to their north, a people his folk had traditionally looked down on and regarded as savages. He felt that he had been granted little justice in death.
Yet now that might change. Khamûl was already acting head of the Nazgûl, at least for the present, and he could count a great coup despite the failure of his Yrch to invade Eriador. He chuckled to himself as he sat on the throne. Alone, he had captured the elleth who was the beloved of his master's greatest foe, something no other had done, and soon he would aid his master in breaking her for Helluin's torment. None had marked whither she had been taken, and the only living witnesses were sequestered 'til Sauron decided what fate would await them. And so he called to his master, and he could not help gloating as he made his report.
Now Khamûl was still sitting on the throne when his master breezed in on a pestilential east wind. The Ringwraith vacated the throne immediately in deference, but Sauron coveted it not when greater prizes awaited him.
"Come, my servant, there is not a moment to waste. Show me thy prisoner."
Down into the dungeon they went, the wraith gliding, Sauron invisible to mortal eyes. An Orch gaoler was impressed to open the door, shaking so badly in fear that he was barely able to choose and insert his key into the lock. The door swung open and Sauron well 'nigh experienced a climax. This elleth he had assailed from a distance in S.A. 3410 as she sat upon the Seat of Seeing atop Amon Hen. She hung unconscious from her bonds, yet she breathed.
"My Lord Sauron, 'tis my pleasure to present thee…" Khamûl began.
"She lives!" Sauron could hardly believe his good fortune. He had expected a corpse to defile.
"Had I not mentioned…?" Khamûl belatedly realized that in his excitement to report his capture of the Green Elf, he had perhaps skipped o'er some details.
Sauron looked at him askance, ne'er a good sign, and yet so o'erjoyed did his master seem that the wraith believed he might escape punishment for his relatively minor o'ersight.
"Shall I wake her, master?"
"Nay, leave her for now. We have much to prepare," Sauron said, gleefully looking forward to making Beinvír's nightmare come true. After a few moments, he added, "well done, Khamûl, well done."
Later, in the throne room, the Abhorrent One examined his servant's memories for further details of the capture. The wraith had no choice in this, for Sauron was fully capable of expunging as well as viewing, and Khamûl had no desire to lose decades of experiences as had happened during his early time as a Nazgûl. He had once sought to keep some secrets, personal memories dear to him, and his master had simply deleted them along with 'aught else that had transpired during those years, leaving him with gaps to which oblique references were later made during episodes of chastisement. From those references, Khamûl believed that he had once had a wife and children, brothers, sisters, parents, and grandparents, but alas, he could no longer name them or see their faces.
"So, none still living saw the taking of the elleth save those now held in the Dakogug Hajât."
"Just so, my lord Sauron. I made sure no witnesses were left behind. The Yrch were needed to transport the prisoner, and so prolonged their usefulness a while."
"Excellent. From amongst them I shall choose some…volunteers. Thou hast been commendably thorough, O Khamûl. Attend me now, my loyal servant, and again, well done."
Straightaway they came to the Disemboweling Hall where the two dozen Yrch continued their feasting. The banquet resembled a drunken brawl more than a celebration, but such was the way of Orcs. At the opening of the doors, e'ery eye turned towards them and a chill of silence spread throughout the hall. The Ringwraith presented his fearsome presence whilst Sauron was still invisible, a spirit of menace and evil that reinforced the terror his servant projected on the living.
"Pray continue the feast, my servants," Khamûl said. "Ye have earnt a respite from duty."
As the Yrch hesitantly returned to their gorging and drinking and fighting, the wraith offered his master a twisted grin. Sauron moved into the hall, stalking unseen 'twixt the benches and examining the company.
Suddenly, the master made a choice. A particularly large Orch was hoisted from his seat by the neck, suspended a moment in mid-air, and then with a motion like the cracking of a whip, snapped so hard that his neck was wrung and his spirit was ejected from his body. With his wraith sight, Khamûl marked the dispossessed ghost pitifully crawling on all fours in terrified confusion. For a heartbeat the corpse hung limp, and then invisible hands rent the dead meat at the waist and the upper torso was flung aside, discarded like a scrap.
Then to the growing horror of the throng, the legs and lower body were donned like a pair of pants by some unseen nightmare. They were stretched to fit a presence far taller than the Orch had been. The gruesome sounds of tearing muscle and snapping bone accompanied the necromancy. Soon the legs strode 'twixt the benches leaving bloody footprints in their wake, and all cowered back from them in abject terror.
Excellent choice, my master, Khamûl said silently, he proved one of the most tireless runners.
I know, Sauron said, indeed I know all thou know.
Off to one side, the ghost of the Orch crawled to what remained of its body and was reabsorbed into it, quaking and choking for a few moments in its final throes ere death took it. 'Twas barely noticed by the others.
Another Orch, remarkably heavily muscled, was snatched from his seat, held aloft a moment ere hands that could crush rock tore his upper body asunder. The abdomen, hips, and legs were flung aside. His head and neck were wrenched free as well with the popping of vertebrae and the wet snap of rending tendons. Then the deep chest, bulging shoulders, and muscle-bound arms were pulled o'er an invisible head like a shirt of meat. Again the sounds of tissues tearing filled the air as the upper body was stretched to fit.
A fat Orch donated his belly, stretched to fill the gap 'twixt the lower body, chest, and shoulders so that the extravagance of flesh was pulled taut and well used. Another 'volunteer' donated his neck and head, and finally Sauron's form was complete.
"Behold our master, Sauron, Emperor of Mordor and Lord of the Earth!" Khamûl cried out as would a herald.
The master stood 'nigh ten feet tall, imposing in his appearance of physical strength, with loose flaps where the body parts o'erlapped and blood draining down his legs. Nightshade tendrils of vapor seemed to waft from the rents where his black spirit condensed as it met physical tissue. He paused a while, flexing his muscles, working his new jaw, testing his fresh eyes, and then, his necromancy complete, he thanked his petrified slaves whose fear scented the air.
"I thank ye for your service in life and death. Pray enjoy the fresh meat."
With his loyal Ringwraith, Sauron turned and left the Dakogug Hajât. The doors slammed shut behind them and the throw of a heavy bolt was clearly audible. A heartbeat later, the throng of Yrch broke from their silent paralysis and descended upon the new corpses with cries of greed and haste.
"Find me a tailor to sew up these seams," Sauron commanded, after they had returned to the throne room, and Khamûl went in search of an Orch with the required skills.
There was no haute couture in Dol Guldur. There was not even basse couture. The best Khamûl could do was to browbeat a leather monger who stitched together hides into bringing his needles and sinew to the tower for special duties. He well 'nigh dragged the Orch into the throne room by the scruff of his neck.
Upon entering Sauron's presence, the Orch recoiled from the monstrosity lounging on the throne. He gave a shriek, but held fast and hoisted off his feet by the Nazgûl, he was constrained to service. Khamûl gave him a vicious shake and then flung him to the floor before the throne.
"Attend the Lord Sauron as do we all, or so help me, I shall flay thee and have thee sew thine own hide," he commanded.
Eventually the Orch mastered his terror in sufficient measure to proceed. He wet the sinew to make it supple, threaded his needles, and with haste borne of fear, threw his crude sutures. Seldom did he work on the living, and ne'er aforetime on wounds of such extent. 'Twas the tale of two hours ere he finished, his stitches varying from a quarter to a full inch apart in a chaotic mix of running, whip, catch, and cross-stitches. During that time he had calmed and become more comfortable with his task so that in the end, he was rather proud of his work. Blood no longer ran and vapors no longer escaped. The wraith and the master were both satisfied and he was dismissed with his life and his body intact.
"This meat shall not last fore'er," Sauron said, "I shall have need of him again."
Khamûl nodded his agreement and said, "There remain still twenty more Yrch in Dakogug Hajât, master." After a few moments of reassessing the raw material, he added, "perhaps five or six shall be required for replacement next time, as they are less robust."
Now in the days after, Sauron and Khamûl laid the groundwork for their torment of the Green Elf. Beinvír was kept for the most part in a senseless stupor, but from time to time she was roused to wakefulness and confronted with the phantoms and illusions for which Sauron had been famed of old. Vampires and werewolves made appearances. Gaolers delivering water and rations looked to her like monsters from Utumno or Angband. Knowing that the Laiquende would not recognize her, he even reproduced the phantasm of Eilinel wife of Gorlim, out of 'naught but his own sense of nostalgia. Such visitations increasingly left Beinvír crying out in terror and sobbing in despair after, ere she was bespelled and reclaimed by unconsciousness. The process was repeated o'er and o'er throughout the remainder of 1851.
By Narwain of 1852, Sauron reckoned that his prisoner had spent but a total of five days in brief episodes of wakefulness, an hour or so at a time, and he deemed her both disoriented and fearful of consciousness. Her preparation for breaking was proceeding nicely.
Indeed Beinvír had come to expect that some horror would be visited upon her e'ery time she opened her eyes. Since she had not yet been slain, and the opportunities had been many, she deemed her death was not the goal. The purpose seemed to be entertainment, and she wondered for whom and for what purpose such efforts were being expended. If the only intention was to strike at herself and Helluin, then the Green Elf reasoned that like Celebrimbor, she would have been slain and her mutilated body left for her beloved to find, yet that had not happened.
Beinvír had also come to the realization that the place of her captivity was almost surely Dol Guldur. 'Twas certainly a cell in some foul dungeon, populated with Yrch and monsters more terrible, and ruled by a fell will that delighted in her continuing torment. That will commanded sufficient resources to maintain her physically whilst chipping away at her spirit. Her last memory of freedom was dominated by the appearance of a Ringwraith in Nanduhirion, and so she could not but deduce that she was held in the Nazgûl's stronghold of Dol Guldur. The only other option that she could imagine was that she had been carried all the way to Mordor.
During the year 1852, Sauron bid Khamûl slowly withdraw his spell. Months passed, and with increasing frequency, the Green Elf did not fall back into unconsciousness after each episode of terror. Instead, she became subject to repeated visitations by the horrors that abode in the dungeon, 'twixt which she was left alone in darkness to relive her fear in her flawless memory. She came to fear the approach of a sputtering torch by whose wavering light and oily smoke the terrors were revealed to her. She came to welcome the darkness after they guttered. The effect was cumulative in all respects. Not only was respite from the terrors denied to her, but the endless days of darkness, absent fresh air, sunlight, the moon and stars, and the sight of 'aught that grew took its own toll. The ugliness that surrounded her wrought a basal dis-ease that came to underlie all of her experience. She felt constantly unwell, and after a few months could not even take pleasure in her dearest memories of freedom.
Beinvír knew not for how long she had been captive. No succession of sunrises or sunsets could she count. No progression of months brought a shortening or lengthening of days. No weather testified to the passing seasons. By only a few clues could she make any guess. The constant damp of her cell, the gnawing of rodents, and the passing of time were slowly rendering her raiment to rags. Mildew grew on her boots as the leather decomposed 'round her feet. The rats ate the uppers and tongues. She marked the advance of damp and dry rot on her cloak, tunic, and trousers. The pile of fibers and crumbled threads at her feet grew larger each time she woke. And last, she marked the changes in herself. Despite the poor quality of the food, her hair had grown longer and her nails as well. She did her best to abrade the latter on the rough stone wall and floor of her cell, but manacled at the wrists and ankles, her efforts were impeded.
In one thing only did she take any comfort. She had been neither despoiled, nor violated. No hands had been laid upon her body, and on her left hand, Helluin's ring still encircled her third finger. Oft she gazed upon it, longing for the days when she had reveled in the love that had surrounded her and the connection of her fëa with the spirit of her beloved Noldo. She had tried as hard as she could to contact her lover through their ethereal link, but e'er she was stymied.
Even ere she had met the warrior trudging down the road from Lindon, she had constantly been aware of her people at a low but comforting level. Eriador had been home to her heart. Now, whether by some spell, or the pervading evil of that place, she was isolated and utterly alone in a manner that she had ne'er experienced aforetime. In the end, just as Sauron had intended, even her dearest possession and fondest memories were twisted to increase her torment. Thus passed the years 1852, 1853, 1854, and 1855, and in misery, the Green Elf endured her captivity.
By the end of 1855, Beinvír had been captive in Dol Guldur for four and a half years. Gaunt she was and clad only in her hair, which had grown in length to mid-thigh. Her clothing had literally rotted from her body. The last year and a half she had spent wholly conscious. The respite of senselessness had ceased with the full withdrawal of Khamûl's spells. The once beautiful and vivacious Green Elf bore in her psyche the accumulation of horrors, ugly surroundings, 'nigh inedible foods, tainted water, and lack of light. She was listless, despairing, and had come 'nigh the point of fading in response to her hopelessness. Beinvír had become much like a living wight.
Finally, following the defeat of Narmacil II of Gondor by the Wainriders in the early summer of 1856, Sauron deemed her ready, and he deemed himself ready as well. In his opinion, the suit of meat that he animated to cloak his fell spirit was aged to perfection. The Orc flesh had been marinated in his evil, some parts replaced by new 'donations' as they rotted and sloughed off, and what remained was rife with gangrene. It stank and fluids oozed from the tissues, leaving reeking footprints where'er he trod. The Yrch were terrified of him and fled the very rumor of his approach. One great testimony to his being was the effortful concealment of the revulsion Khamûl felt at his stench, sniffling creature of scents that the Ringwraith was. Sauron deemed his necromancy a great success and he reveled in his horrific appearance.
Now at last he deemed the time ripe to approach his prisoner for her final breaking. For this, he contrived the illusion of a great Ring of gold, much like that which had been cut from his hand, and for the finding of which he had commanded generations of Yrch and Men to seek 'nigh the river. He wore it as a token, knowing that the perception of his recovery of it would be yet a further blow to any of Elves. So at last he summoned Khamûl and together they went down into the dungeon.
The door of Beinvír's cell was opened wide and a torch thrust within. By its flickering light, they saw the despondent Green Elf, hanging by her bonds, listless, naked, half starved, and unresponsive. The Nazgûl entered the cell with the torch and approached the prisoner. Slowly, she lifted her head.
There not a yard away stood a Ringwraith, and if 'twas not the same that had taken her captive, then she could mark no difference. It looked her o'er but said 'naught. Then a shiver of fear shook her limbs and she perceived a still greater horror that drew 'nigh. She dared to glance at the doorway, and there she saw a nightmare, that which she had seen in a premonition as she sat upon Amon Hen two millennia ago.
She screamed and writhed against her shackles. There stood a figure, too tall for Man or Elf. It dwarfed the Nazgûl by o'er a yard. Blackened as by disease was the rotting flesh of its body, and the stench of putrefaction roiled from it, sickening and sweet, that came to her nose and filled her throat. Glazed and yellow were its eyes, and these rove o'er her with malign intent. She whimpered and ice gripped her spine. Fast and labored came her breath. Fear clamped icy fingers 'round her heart. She gritted her teeth and tried to close her eyes on that apparition, but her lids rebelled and she remained staring, frozen, wide-eyed, and powerless.
A step the figure took into the cell, and then another. In the torchlight, each pace revealed yet more details; the crude stitches, ragged seams, and the leakage of corpse juices. The stench of rotting flesh increased 'til Beinvír could taste it upon her tongue. She tried to spit to clear the flavor, but her mouth was parched.
Another step forward that monster took, and now it stood but a yard before her face. The stench was o'erpowering and the Green Elf gagged. Then it raised a hand to cup her cheek and upon its finger she saw the Ring. Sauron had recovered that which he had lost on the slopes of Mt. Doom. All hope fled and she was racked by dry heaves.
The horror to which she could now put a name grabbed her face, and 'neath the strength of his grip her head was held immobile. Then he leaned forward, bringing them into intimate contact. The stench of him filled her nostrils and the feel of his cold, rotting flesh pressed full against the front of her body drove her to a hysteria of revulsion.
"Long hast thou been my enemy, Beinvír Laiquende, yet now thou art my prisoner, and that can be for all time, for we are both deathless," he grated out. "I know thee, Cónhal to Anárion and First Guardian of Lebennin. As a warrior I honor thy prowess, yet as a foe I cannot abide thy opposition of my will…and the escape of fading I shall deny thee fore'er."
The Green Elf struggled against the horror, the despair, yet constrained against the wall by her shackles, her writhing but served to rub her body against his dead flesh. He lowered his head to look into her face, eye to eye, and he exerted a fraction of the power of his sorcery. Slowly Beinvír's struggles slowed 'til she was stilled as by a paralysis of terror. She felt that her heart would beat its way out of her chest.
"Nay, ne'er again shalt thou oppose me, yet I have other concerns beyond thy torment," Sauron said, his voice now soft in her ears. "A choice I offer thee. Either thy captivity shall be remanded to my Yrch, to do with thee as they please, to demean and defile thee, to breed and perhaps to feast on thy flesh, or thou can accept my mercy."
Tears ran freely down her cheeks, for knowing the Lord of Lies, 'twas hardly any choice at all. Gladly would she have surrendered her life and allowed her fëa to pass into the West, yet he had promised that boon would be denied to her, and somehow she felt the truth of his words.
"Forgetting thy hatred of me and forswearing future enmity, I could release thee to a new life, sound of body, but no longer a warrior. Free would thou be to live out thy years in peace, for only thus would thou pose no threat, and a viper without fangs cannot bite," he said, and his words sounded reasonable. "'Tis the only boon I can grant thee."
Then for some moments he remained pressed against her, unmoving, and only her sobs sounded within the cell as her tears fell from eyes clenched shut against the horror. When finally she dared open them again, there stood the Nazgûl at his side, but also a circle of werewolves, vampires, Yrch, phantoms, and other monsters of kinds indescribable, and they gloated o'er her. 'Twas her future, the vile and eager masters she would serve fore'er. With a final whimper she capitulated and nodded, 'aye'. Then darkness came down upon her like an executioner's hood.
Now on the morrow, Beinvír was taken from her cell and brought unconscious to the throne room where Sauron waited. Before him was set a sturdy table of oak. There the Green Elf was laid, and with cloth and water, washed clean of the filth, dirt, blood, and sweat that had coated her during the years of her captivity. Her hair was shorn to mid-back and combed and her nails filed. Then she was dressed in raiment of sackcloth and set facing the throne in a chair of wood. Finally, at a gesture from Sauron, Khamûl, who remained standing out of sight behind her, dismissed the spell and she came slowly to wakefulness.
Beinvír blinked. Her surroundings were unfamiliar, though any would be an improvement on the cell. Before her, seated upon a throne of carved stone sat the horror that was her last memory. She bolted upright, eyes wide, as ice again gripped her heart.
"Fear not, Beinvír Laiquende, a deal we have made," Sauron said.
Then he rose from the throne and came before her, and he raised his hands and looked into her eyes so that she was constrained. He projected his power and worked his sorcery upon her, and she swooned 'neath the impact of it. As had Glaurung with Niënor, Sauron the Maia took from her all that she had known, and all that she remembered, and all that she had been, leaving her only the knowledge of the Common Tongue. From her finger, he stripped the ring of adamant, and mithril, and gold that Helluin had given her, for 'twas too personal a token to be retained lest it be recognized and trigger someone's recollection of her previous life, and t'would better serve as a talisman. Into it he poured all that had been Beinvír Laiquende, beloved soulmate of Helluin Maeg-mórmenel, and finally he sealed it against spells of viewing and withdrawing.
Upon the empty body that sat before him he exerted his will, and 'neath his dark incantations her form slowly began to change. A hand's width taller and twenty pounds heavier she grew. Her dark chestnut hair lightened to a golden blonde whilst her grey eyes passed to blue. The pointed tips of her ears rounded into the shape of a mortal woman's. Slightly too did he change the structure of her face. Beautiful she remained, yet not identical, and none would have mistaken her for kin. When the fallen Maia was done, Beinvír was no more and the woman who sat in the throne room of Dol Guldur would pass for a maiden of the Northmen, the recently defeated mortal race who lived closest by.
A platter of brass was brought, laden with wholesome foods, though 'twas decorated 'round its rim with reliefs of leering Orc faces. A bottle of wine was left to go with it. Beinvír's chair was turned to face the table that the meal would be before her when she awakened. Then Sauron and Khamûl left her for a time, and with him the master took the talisman ring.
"Alas, I was not able to truly make her mortal, for the Life of the Eldar was ne'er to be given or taken by a lesser than Eru, save in the rarest of cases," Sauron said.
"Knowing no different, she shall believe herself mortal, master," Khamûl said. "Besides, even Elves are subject to being slain, or to dying in accidents."
Sauron nodded in agreement, and with a chuckle added, "Should she display unnatural life, I wager the Northmen shall deem her a witch and slay or banish her themselves."
"And what if she should die indeed?" The Nazgûl asked. "Shall not thy enemy sense it from afar?"
At this, Sauron chuckled and held up Beinvír's ring.
"So long as this remains, so too shall their link remain intact, for her life is bound to it. Even its disposition matters not, for none in Middle Earth can access or recover 'aught within it."
For a while the Dark Lord turned the talisman in the light, and a cruel grin shaped his dead lips.
"Through the Ages, Helluin shall seek and ne'er find, long, yet ne'er mourn. Perhaps her hope that Beinvír still wanders Middle Earth shall even keep her from sailing into the West, trapped thus fore'er in a darkening world. One may hope, I suppose."
She woke seated comfortably before a table of wood in a hall of stone. A glance behind revealed a high stone seat, vacant. Indeed she marked that she was alone. Before her was set food, and she felt her hunger. She ate and felt thankful for the good fare. She drank and felt thankful for the good wine.
When she was done, she rose and looked 'round more carefully. The space was undecorated and the only windows were high up upon the walls, too high for her to view 'aught that may have been without. At each end of the hall were double doors, whilst behind the stone seat stood a cold hearth with empty grate. She walked 'round the four walls, trying the doors and finding them shut fast so that none might come or go. Because there was no one present save herself, she felt no threat. She was not restrained, and so she did not deem herself a prisoner. She calmly reclaimed her seat and waited.
Whilst she waited, she tried to recall whither she had come and whence, and found that she had no knowledge of this place or her origin. That seemed strange, but still she was not alarmed. Perhaps someone would explain these things to her. In the meantime, she marked that scant light came in through the high windows, evening she deemed it, for at the start of her meal, the hall had been more brightly lit.
She also marked that the hall was silent. No voices or tread of feet came to her ears from beyond the doors. She wondered who had left her the food and drink. 'Naught carried in through the open windows save a slight breeze and the night's chill. She came to long for a fire, but saw no kindling and no split logs.
It seemed to her that perhaps hours had passed, for she began to feel drowsy. She set her head down, cradled by her hands on the tabletop, and soon fell asleep. For the first time, she slept in peace, untroubled by memories, dreams, or nightmares.
Morning came and she awoke to find servants clearing away the remains of her evening meal and bringing fresh fruit and a pitcher of water. They were the ugliest servants she could imagine and they said 'naught to her, but dipped their heads in respect if she caught one's eye, and so she could find no fault with them. They kept their distance from her, out of respect, it seemed. One brought a folding screen which he set up to the side of the hall. Another offered her a chamber pot with a beckoning gesture, then set it behind the screen and withdrew a respectful distance. She dipped her head to him in thanks and offered a smile, and then she went behind the screen and relieved herself. After returning to the table and taking her seat, the pot and screen were removed. With her eyes she followed that servant as he made his way to one of the doors, and lo, there stood one robed in black, tall and with an air of authority. Though she could not see his face, she rose and offered a bow, for surely this one was a noble and perhaps even the master of the hall.
The black robed lord came to stand before her, yet he too kept a distance, and he dipped his head to her. Though she had many questions, she deferred to him, waiting for him to speak first.
"I am Khamûl," he said, his voice somewhat thin, the words spoken low and with an accent she could not place. "I regret that I could not greet thee aforetime. I must also say that thou came to us yestereve, but we know 'naught about thee."
He waved a hand, dismissing that concern, and said, "It matters not. Thou art welcome, but t'would be ignoble of me if I failed to warn thee that I and all my servants are pariahs, outcasts afflicted with leprosy. We have kept our distance from thee in deference to thy health, lady, and I would encourage thee to return hence, to thy home and thy people."
She stood still, trying to digest all Khamûl had said. She felt sorrow for his plight and sympathy for his servants. She nodded her understanding to him, but then became confused and said, "Lord, thou hast my thanks for all thy consideration and care. Alas, I know not my people, nor whence I came. I know not even whither I am come."
He nodded gravely to her and said, "Perhaps some horror has put thy memory to flight. Still, I deem thou art one of those newly arrived from the east. Many have come through the forest fleeing war, and so becoming lost is understandable to me. These may be strange lands to thee and all thy people, whom I deem are the Northmen from beyond the forest. The folk of that kindred share thy hair of gold and thy eyes of blue."
His words brought her hope and she worried not that he had ne'er named his estate. There were others known to him who were sufficiently akin to her in appearance that he judged she belonged amongst them.
"I would go to them, but I know not the way," she said. "Could thy servants point the direction from thy gates?"
To this request he seemed to give thought, but finally he said, "this hall lies thirty miles within the forest. T'will be a walk of at most two days, for thou came not with a horse and alas, we have none. I can send servants with thee who can show thee the way, but from the forest they may not venture. Once free of the trees, thou would needs find thy own way."
To his offer she nodded enthusiastically, eager to find those akin to herself.
"My servants shall keep a safe distance from thee, and I bid thee do the same for thy own sake. I should be greatly saddened should thou join us in our affliction."
She gulped, but nodded her agreement to his terms.
"'Tis early yet this morn. Rations can be drawn and servants assigned. If thou set out at once, then thou should safely come beyond the forest in the afternoon of the morrow."
Lord Khamûl beckoned a servant and spoke to him in a language she did not understand ere he hastened away. In surprisingly short order he returned with three others, and they bore sacks, and one more hung from a length of cord that they touched not. This sack they untied and left for her, and she lifted it and could smell apples within.
Then she bowed low to the black robed lord and dipped her head to each of his servants.
"Great thanks I owe thee, Lord Khamûl, for all thy kindness. I am in thy debt. I shall hope thy servants return safe and swift, for I shall not lag upon the road."
The lord dipped his head to her and said, "Safe journey, lady. I hope thou find thy home."
Ere a half hour had passed, she was walking down a road leading west through the trees with two of Khamûl's servants ahead and two more behind. When she tried to share speech with them, they shrugged, or replied in their own tongue, and soon she deemed that they had no words in common. She held her peace after, and when necessary, they communicated by pointing and with other gestures easily understood.
The Nazgûl watched her disappear into the forest with four Yrch. Beside him, Sauron stood and said, "I applaud thy performance, O Khamûl. A proper lord thou wast upon a time. Now I must shed this garment of flesh and thou must gather the others and lead them hence. We shall reclaim our old realm first, and soon, we shall repossess the City of the Moon as well."
Now they came to the tower. Sauron went to the throne room, and he tossed Beinvír's ring onto the platter of brass that still sat on the tabletop. He slammed a fist down on it, deforming the gold, but leaving the adamant and mithril untouched. Then he sat on the throne and there he abandoned his body of scraps. He left it behind to rot and arose in spirit form. From various halls in Dol Guldur, the remaining seven Úlairi came to attend him.
"Follow Khamûl to Mordor and order the companies," he commanded them. "Await me there."
The Eight bowed to their master and mounted their black horses, and then with a rush of wind, rode out through the gates of Dol Guldur. Ere Sauron took his leave, he wrote the word, Gûkûrz!¹ 'cross the doors of the tower in blood. The Yrch trembled to see it appear, written by no visible hand. Even the dullest amongst them quailed at the memory of the invisible Sauron and their Emperor's new clothes. ¹(Gûkûrz, Closed, Forbidden Orkish)
To Be Continued