Chapter 12:
Irideth's head was spinning even before she opened her eyes. When she did open them, it made the vertigo so much worse she immediately closed them with a disgruntled sound, then made another one upon realizing her right arm was sore. She was shifted; someone was holding her, and when Irideth had a few moments to process what her nose and ears were telling her she didn't have to guess who.
The girl buried her face in what she assumed was the Dark Lord's chest. A moment later his hand wound its way into her hair, nails scratching lightly at her scalp. Irideth relaxed and fell asleep again a few minutes later.
When Irideth woke again her head cleared after she'd opened her eyes and blinked a few times. As it turned out she'd been correct in her assumption; she was once again on Sauron's throne, lying in his lap and curled against his chest while Murazor and the rest of the Nazgûl spoke with him.
Irideth felt Sauron open the link. She tensed, but he wasn't trying to read her mind. She realized he was examining her physical state, using the connection to feel what she felt. He pulled back after a few seconds, satisfied, leaving a brief impression of thought encouraging her to rest.
She certainly wasn't complaining. Irideth lay against his chest, quietly reveling in the heat he provided while paying only half a mind to the conversation going on above her head.
After a few minutes she wasn't even doing that, dozing lightly and listening to the quiet rumble in Sauron's chest as he talked.
A sudden silence jolted Irideth back to full awareness. A quick survey of the others showed that all attention was on the throne room doors, and the Nazgûl didn't seem all that happy. She could swear she could see Khamul and Akorahil bristling. Murazor, who stood closest to the throne, seemed more collected but was nonetheless giving off an air of displeasure. And how the heck did she know this?
A pleased feeling at the periphery of her consciousness clued her in; she was picking up on Sauron's perceptions of his servants, reading them as he did. And damn if that wasn't unnerving.
The sound of footsteps from the doors drew her attention back in that direction. A moment later the doors were pushed open. Siraaj entered, Muzammil and Azeema a few steps behind and flanking him, with several other ministers in tow, a few with their own heirs at their heels.
It was not lost on Sauron, and consequently Irideth, the way the Nazgûl arrayed themselves on either side of the throne, hooded gazes fixed on the newcomers. The ministers, all human, noticeably lost their confident stride under those stares. Some of the wraiths hissed quietly, pleased with the reaction.
This was not a popular crowd, apparently.
Judging by what Irideth could pick up, Sauron was just as annoyed at the interruption as the Nine. He was also very much amused by the humans' reaction to his undead servants. And he was pleased with the way they were looking at her.
Irideth brought her attention to Siraaj upon noticing that last tidbit. The war minister was indeed staring at her, eyes slightly widened. His children and several other ministers were doing the same; Muzammil's jaw had dropped and Azeema looked a mix of stunned and horrified.
Irideth felt Sauron's pleasure grow. He brought his right hand up and began stroking her hair, fingers tracing the collar at her throat when they trailed low enough. Irideth, recognizing the tacit statement in the gesture, played along and relaxed, even leaning into the touch just enough to make it noticeable. Judging by the way certain ministers tensed, the Dark Lord's message was quite clear.
She is mine.
That left a bitter taste in Irideth's mouth, but if it would keep certain parties away from her she wasn't going to fight on it just now.
Sauron tugged lightly at her hair. Irideth complied and leaned back against his chest. She felt his satisfaction at her complacency through the link.
'Good girl, my dear one.'
"You have something of importance to tell me, Minister Siraaj?"
Irideth (and she suspected the Nazgûl as well) did her best not to laugh as she and the wraiths walked down the hall on the opposite side of the ministers, who were plainly uncomfortable with their proximity. Irideth for her part was surrounded by the black-robed figures and remained utterly unbothered, which unnerved the other humans even more.
The wraiths didn't help things when they started hissing quietly amongst each other, just loud enough that everyone in the hall knew they were doing it but wouldn't quite be able to tell why.
Well, Irideth could. Khamul was asking questions about exactly what reports they were supposed to have filed when and Murazor was telling him he should have done this all yesterday when he'd asked. Morgomir, Indur and Hoarmurath appeared to have taken pity on their lieutenant and were filling him in while Adunaphel, Ren, Akorahil, and Uvatha were betting on how long it would take him to actually get his work done.
Input through the link nearly had Irideth losing it.
"Lord Sauron puts 10 silvers on three days," Irideth said under her breath, biting her lip almost hard enough to make it bleed. The four wraiths burst into snickers while the humans at the other side of the hall startled visibly, some moving as close to the wall as they could get.
'Irideth, stay with the wraiths until I summon you,' Sauron said. 'I must call a meeting with my war ministers or they will be bothering me incessantly for the next week. Murazor will be able to find something for you to do, I'm sure. And you may need to keep him from strangling Khamul.'
Irideth grinned. 'I will guard him with my life, my lord.'
She sensed Sauron's laughter before he cut the connection. Irideth managed to tone down her grin before anyone human could notice anything.
It would be nice to have a bit of a change of schedule.
Irideth had never before had a chance to observe the Nazgûl in an office setting. It actually had never really occurred to her that the Ringwraiths would spend any time doing administrative work, but here she was organizing files while they did whatever work had been assigned to them.
She had been surprised to see the Nine had their own communal office space. Though there was likely some reasoning behind it; Murazor had strategically placed himself at the desk closest to the door so no one (read: Khamul) could leave without him noticing. Said lieutenant had snagged the desk furthest from the door in an attempt to get some shielding between himself and the Black Captain's murderous glares; Irideth believed quite solidly any mortal that fell under it would keel over dead from sheer terror. She could feel when Murazor was doing it even when she was clear on the other side of the room.
Thus she had situated herself on a small couch between Adunaphel and Indur. She alternated her time between sorting papers and working her way through one of the simpler books she'd found in Barad-Dur's library to practice her Black Speech. She was proficient at reading runes at this point, but some of the grammar posed a problem and her vocabulary wasn't as extensive as she would have liked. Irideth had also started teaching herself Sindarin from the few books on Elvish language she could find; she didn't know if Sauron would approve or not, so she'd opted to keep that quiet for now.
The wraiths turned out to be helpful tutors. Murazor, Akorahil and Adunaphel especially were valuable when it came to working with more recent modes of the language. Sauron and the Nazgûl were among the only ones who still used the ancient "pure" dialect, but the tongue had changed over the past two thousand years. There were several more dialects now, but according to Uvatha there was one that was spoken throughout Mordor except in the more isolated villages. Most variations of Orkish stemmed from this dialect, and Irideth would have to learn both the ancient and modern variations considering she worked both with Sauron and the palace servants.
The task was headache inducing, to say the least. Phrases to conjoin sentences, particles, runes that didn't quite translate, gendered endings, all sorts of things that Westron either didn't have or Irideth gave no thought to when speaking it.
The wraiths laughed when she face-planted into a cushion with a groan. Forget what they said, language was hard.
Sauron could have just summoned Irideth back to his chambers via the link, but he figured the walk to the Nazgûl's corner of the fortress would do him some good. If he didn't have an outlet for at least some of the energy his irritation provided, he would probably run a knife through the skull of the next person who talked to him. Or just burn them to death; that one was probably more likely. His hair was already sparking a bit.
Irritation gave way to curiosity when he sensed the wraiths' telepathic communications as he approached their shared office. They didn't need to speak to each other and often didn't when around people other than himself, but when they were alone or with him the verbal back-and-forth could go nonstop for hours. Especially when Khamul was supposed to be getting paperwork done, Sauron thought with an upward quirk of the lips. Previous happenstances considered, he should have been able to hear them well before he reached the hall.
When he entered the room though, it was completely silent save for the occasional rustle of paper and the scratch of quills. The Nine were all seated at their own desks working away, save for Uvatha and Hoarmurath who were examining a map at the far side of the room.
Sauron halted for a moment, amazed. He'd never seen them working so quietly and diligently when they were all together like this. Out in the field they were a fine-tuned machine, but put them together to do a little quiet office work and you might as well have tried to herd cats across a river.
The reason for their quiet became apparent when he located his slave. Irideth was lying on a small couch between Adunaphel and Indur, a stack of books and a few boxes of papers resting at the foot of it. Irideth herself looked like she'd fallen asleep sitting up and eventually collapsed on top of a cushion; a quick check of the link proved she was dead to the world.
The wraiths all bowed their heads by way of greeting; Sauron nodded in acknowledgement as he made his way over to the couch.
Irideth didn't wake when he lifted her; she made a quiet noise that sounded like a complaint, then curled into him when he brought her close.
Sauron felt something dangerously akin to fondness swell in his chest as he gazed down at the child, a smile tugging insistently at his lips. Though that could have been partially due to vicariously sensing the wraiths through their rings; this was a human slave, for crying out loud.
The Dark Lord glared around the room when he sensed the words denial and cute being thrown around, but the Nazgûl were studiously avoiding looking at him.
