Chapter 20:

"We're going to die."

"We're already dead, Khamul."

"Well, then, we're going to die again."

Murazor would have rolled his eyes had he been able.

"Look, I know you can sense his moods better than the rest of us. You know he's been stewing about something all night, and Lord Sauron torching us in a fit of rage is not how I want to go out," Khamul said, casting a sidelong glance at his captain who, despite Khamul's best efforts, still didn't slow his stride.

Murazor wasn't looking forward to this any more than his lieutenant was; 'stewing' was putting it quite mildly, if you asked him. He knew Lord Sauron was in his personal lab; he'd been there for most of the night. The Nazgûl had been well aware of his steadily increasing frustration for the past several hours. Undoubtedly whatever experiment the Dark Lord had attempted had gone wrong in some way.

Unexpected results alone, however, wouldn't be enough to get him this riled up. Sauron sometimes enjoyed unexpected results as much as anticipated ones. He would spend hours going over his experiment design, his procedures, his materials, theories and notes to see just where he might have gone wrong or why his hypothesis might be incorrect.

If, however, the experiment was something like a new spell or weapon intended to give Mordor and its allies an edge in the war and Sauron couldn't figure out why he wasn't getting the desired results, well…

There was a reason the wraiths had set up temporary quarters for themselves in Minas Morgul. And at the outpost in Cirith Ungol more recently; by the time Sauron thought to look for them there he'd usually calmed down significantly, and the dressing-down they might receive for such "unauthorized missions" was nothing compared to the (sometimes very literal) firestorm they would face if they hung around Bard-Dûr.

But the information Murazor's spies had brought back was critical and sensitive; he was not willing to divulge it to an orc or human general to bring to the Dark Lord.

So there wasn't really any choice, was there?

He was glad Khamul was here, if a bit surprised his lieutenant had offered to come when he was usually the first one out the door when the Nazgûl decided it was time for an "unauthorized mission".

"Your spies certainly know how to time it, don't they?" Khamul muttered bitterly when they finally reached the lab doors.

"At least there are no scorch marks this time," Murazor said, examining the floor near the doors.

Khamul's huff indicated that this did little to assuage his concerns.

Taking a deep breath (a habit that even after all these centuries he still hadn't quite gotten rid of), Murazor knocked thrice on the large ebony doors.

"Enter!" Sauron snapped from inside.

Oh, no.

"We could make it to Cirith Ungol by nightfall if we left now," Khamul muttered, looking like he just might turn and sprint back down the corridor like a startled deer any second.

The suggestion was more appealing than Murazor would have liked to admit, but it was too late to back out now.

Pushing open the door, Murazor saw that, while there weren't scorch marks near the door, there were certainly scorch marks in several other places. The wall next to the door on the left was smoking finely and several tables were nicely singed. The scent of burned wood and heated metal was thick in the air; a human would have probably found it cloying.

Murazor's gaze was quickly drawn to his Master, who was standing at the largest table, hands braced against it, glowing red glare fixed on the little ball of light hovering over the edge of a map of Middle Earth.

The Witch King paused. This was what Sauron was so upset about? It was a tracking spell, by the looks of it, albeit a fairly complex one.

Sauron must have sensed his puzzlement. "Inconclusive!" he hissed, eyes glowing a bit brighter as his temper flared. "I cast the spell three times to be certain I followed all the correct procedures. All of them gave inconclusive results!"

It took Murazor a few moments to figure out what his Master was referring to. A quick scan of the table Sauron was leaning on revealed a small bowl, full of what looked to be crushed berries, a bird feather, some stones Murazor couldn't identify, and a red liquid the wraith realized must be Irideth's blood. Ah.

The Witch King took a few cautious steps forward, conscious of Khamul doing the same a pace or two behind him. When he was certain his Master wouldn't have a (literally) explosive outburst, he came all the way to the table, standing opposite the Dark Lord.

Murazor recognized the spell as one that was meant to determine the place of the subject's birth and trace familial lines. He could vaguely recall that variations of it had been used in Numenor, usually to determine if some upstart heir was who they said they were. The addition of tracking family lines made the spell quite complex; only highly practiced sorcerers had ever been able to cast it, but it was infallibly accurate.

Or perhaps not so infallible, Murazor mused as he observed the little ball of blue-white light drifting slowly over a patch of the westernmost edge of the map, over the Great Sea.

"Is it possible…?" Murazor began.

Sauron shook his head once, sharply. "She has no Elven or Maiarin ancestry; the tests I ran several months ago confirmed that, at least, without a doubt."

Murazor shared a quick look with Khamul before both wraiths once again returned their attention to the map. The ball had moved away from the western edge of the map and was now drifting lazily eastwards toward Rohan. It reached a point near where Murazor believed the Firien Wood and Irideth's home village to be and paused there for a moment, then went bobbing right back the way it had come in a sort of slow circle. No other lights were present; nothing to indicate where her mother or father had been born, or their parents before them.

"It is as though she just appeared one day, no parents to speak of. Perhaps Vairë missed a few threads somewhere along the line," Sauron said, voice frighteningly acidic. The Dark Lord's fingers curled against the polished wood of the table; Murazor noticed with some trepidation there was a fine trail of smoke wafting up from beneath his right hand.

"My Lord, we have brought reports from our spies around the Lonely Mountain," the Black Captain said, hoping his Master wouldn't notice how hurried his words were. When Sauron glanced up at him, Murazor was relieved when the red glow in his eyes dimmed slightly. Murazor reached into his robes and withdrew a slim packet of folded parchments.

"Several of them contain information I believe to be potentially sensitive; I have summarized the pertinent details for you, but the full reports are also included," he said, extending the parcel toward the Maia. Sauron took the papers without a word, unfolding them and quickly scanning the first page.

The Dark Lord's ire lessened noticeably as he leafed through the documents. When he reached the last page he sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead with his right hand.

"This is going to take some work to sort out," he muttered, flipping to the first page again. When Sauron looked up at Murazor, the Witch King couldn't say he was surprised that his Master looked a bit worn.

"Would the two of you be able to check on Irideth for me?"

That, however, was surprising; Murazor and his lieutenant shared another startled glance before they faced the Maia again. The Maia who was currently looking at the papers in his hands with what Murazor considered unduly intense scrutiny, posture oddly… stiff.

"She had an… episode last night," Sauron said, still not moving his eyes from the page. "As Asha has been insistent that the girl eat at least somewhat regularly, I would like you to confirm that Irideth is following her orders."

Murazor felt Khamul's alarm nearly as distinctly as his own. 'He did something to her!' Khamul hissed across the bond of their rings.

'Not here!' Murazor snapped quietly back.

"Of course, my Lord," he said out loud, bowing his head for a moment, Khamul doing the same at his side before they both turned and walked toward the door.

When the wraiths were about halfway down the hall their pace quickened.

"What do you think he did?" Khamul asked, voice tense.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Murazor answered, sounding calmer than he felt. "Though the fact Lord Sauron did not seem willing to discuss the details is a worrying sign."

"Oh, you don't say!" Khamul snapped as they turned toward the staircase that would take them up to Sauron's rooms. "I just hope he didn't hurt the poor girl; the last thing she needs at this point is a personal reason to fear him."


When the wraiths entered Sauron's chambers, Murazor had to pause for a moment in shock. Sitting around Sauron's desk, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, were Irideth, Raska and Sabir the stablemaster. Irideth and Raska sat opposite Sabir; between them were plates of toast and eggs, a small tray of bread with a bowl of broth (likely for Irideth), breakfast sausages, cheese, grapes and strawberries. A pitcher of something, likely fruit juice, sat to one side.

Sabir was smiling, holding a forgotten piece of toast in one hand while he gestured animatedly, talking about a young mare he had just started taking outside of the arena for training. "Terrified of water," he was saying. "I took her to a little stream the other day, no more than ankle deep, not very fast. I feel the lead go slack, then hear a loud noise on the other bank. She had jumped over the stream! Absolutely would not go in it! I walked through it in front of her, I jumped in, splashed around, even lay down! She refused to move until I walked Sable through. Then she acted like nothing had happened at all. Until we came to a small fallen branch lying across the trail. A very small branch, no twigs, less than three inches high, maybe five feet long. She took one look at it, lay down and refused to budge."

Irideth and Raska were both laughing so hard they were barely breathing. When Raska had recovered herself enough she nudged the plate of grapes closer to Irideth.

Irideth groaned. "Raska, I already finished my toast. I'm fine."

"You didn't eat dinner last night. Just eat the damn grapes," Raska answered.

Irideth 'hmphed' quietly, but nonetheless grabbed two grapes and pushed them into her mouth. She proceeded to glare at Raska when the young orc placed a few slices of cheese on her plate next to the grapes.

"I will spit these at you," she warned around her mouthful. Sabir and Raska laughed.

'She looks all right,' Khamul said through the bond.

'Her mood certainly seems to have improved,' Murazor agreed, amused as Irideth moved to swat Raska's hand away when the orc attempted to pile more cheese onto her plate.

Then the young orc caught sight of the two Nazgûl standing by the door and froze.

Irideth turned to see what had caught her companion's attention and immediately ducked her head in a sort of abbreviated bow. Sabir, for his part, merely grinned and waved.

"Good morning," Murazor said, addressing the general assembly. Turning his attention to Irideth, who had looked up but was avoiding meeting his gaze, he said, "Lord Sauron asked that we made certain you ate."

The Witch King did not miss the way the child tensed at the Dark Lord's name.

"It looks as though someone beat us to it," Khamul said, plainly amused. Sabir's grin stretched. Raska blushed, something rare for an orc, and dropped her gaze to the floor.

"I'm not about to let my best assistant starve herself," Sabir said, mock-affronted. "What do you take me for? A vainglorious nobleman?" He spoke the last two words as though they were the gravest insult in the known world.

"I would never make that mistake, I assure you," Murazor answered dryly. Irideth giggled, poorly attempting to conceal it as a cough.

"Neither would any of the vainglorious noblemen. Trust me on that," Khamul muttered, snickering. Sabir puffed out his chest; in his red jacket, he looked rather like a strutting rooster.

Irideth must have thought something along the same lines; she took one look at the man and burst out laughing. Raska for her part looked to be fighting a grin, but was plainly nervous with the two Nazgûl in the room.

Sabir, still grinning, leaned back in his chair. "I am planning to visit the herds in the southern pastures; you should come, Irideth."

Silence reigned for several seconds, mainly due to incredulity on the Nazgûl's part and sheer bafflement on Irideth and Raska's.

"I… am thankful for the invitation, Sabir," Irideth said eventually, sounding as uncertain as she looked. "But… from what you've told me, that is at minimum a five-day trip. I very much doubt Lord Sauron will allow me to accompany you."

Murazor agreed with the sentiment; despite his frustrations with the puzzle Irideth presented, Sauron would not be pleased if the girl were out of his immediate reach for any length of time. Especially if he suspected there might be an opportunity for her to escape, though Murazor doubted Irideth was foolish enough to attempt anything of the sort.

Sabir waved his hand dismissively. "You need sun. You are far too pale. Being inside so long is not good for one's health, especially a young girl. You need wind in your face and dirt on your hands, good, solid earth under your feet."

Irideth glanced down; Murazor could see her swallow, even from where he stood. Her hair fell so that it curtained her face from his view, but he could still see her hands fisting the folds of her dress.

'When is the last time she left Barad-Dûr?'

Khamul's quiet question made Murazor pause for a moment. Then he went rigid.

'She has not left the fortress since we first captured her.'

Murazor knew for a fact the only times Irideth went outside were when she helped Sabir in the stable, which was often only a few days every month for a few hours at a time. And she had not left the fortress grounds since the day she had been brought here. Well, save for the... excursion with Sauron to Orodruin, and that was barely worth mentioning; it had been one time and lasted less than a day. After spending her entire childhood in the forests and fields of Rohan, out in the sun, the rain, the snow, the blue skies of summer and the grey skies of winter, free to do almost anything she pleased…

A knock drew Murazor out of his unpleasant musings. Turning around, he was surprised to see Akorahil peering through the half-open door.

His subordinate sent him and Khamul a brief mental greeting, then said, "Irideth, would you come here for a moment, please?"

Irideth tensed. Murazor didn't need to guess why; Akorahil using that business-like tone meant he was in healer mode, which undoubtedly meant a thorough examination of his chosen patient.

When Irideth hesitated, Khamul said, "he's being polite. I think that means he'll go easy on you."

"If you don't make him drag you out by the ear," Murazor grumbled before he could stop himself. Khamul snickered, undoubtedly recalling the several instances Akorahil had done just that to his immensely stubborn Captain (and occasionally their equally bull-headed Master).

"I heard that!" Akorahil yelled from the hall.

"It's true!" Murazor yelled back.

"Because the more you protest, the worse your injuries are!"

"That is not…!"

"I bet I could plot a direct correlation between the amount of fuss you put up and how severe the damage is! You and Lord Sauron both! You're like children afraid of a needle every damn time you get hurt badly enough to need medical attention," Akorahil said from behind the door.

"Why haven't you done it then?"

"Because it'd be a pointless exercise; we all know it's true," Khamul cut in, laughing. Murazor glared daggers first at his lieutenant, then at the door.

"You can stop gloating, Akorahil," he hissed.

"I didn't say anything!"

"You didn't have to! I can feel how smug you are!"

"Stop prying then!"

"I'm not! I don't have to!"

"Well, then, excuse me for having feelings!" Akorahil said haughtily, but with a noticeably amused edge.

"You are not excused," Murazor said, equally haughty and with an equal lack of sincerity.

"How would that even work?" Raska asked from behind; Murazor turned to see the young orc's brow furrowed in puzzlement while Sabir and Irideth tried to muffle their laughter. Then Raska seemed to remember who she was talking to and immediately ducked her head, peering shyly up at Murazor through her ragged hair. "I mean… you're wraiths, aren't you, my Lord? How would you even get hurt without bodies?"

"Certain enchanted blades and sundry other spells can do some damage," Akorahil said, peering around the door again. "You would not believe what a shift that was, learning how to heal ethereal wounds rather than physical ones. Didn't help that most of our lot are absolute nightmares in the healing wing. I remember one time…,"

"Irideth, please go with him before he talks everyone's ears off," Murazor said. "We'll be here until high noon tomorrow if he continues."

"I think it's interesting, sir," Irideth somehow managed between giggles. Murazor tilted his head.

"Please?" he said. Irideth laughed.

"I suppose, since you asked so nicely," Irideth said, attempting a put-upon sigh and failing miserably when she started snickering again as she slid off her chair.


Irideth could feel her smile fall slightly as she stepped into the hall, curtsying briefly to Akorahil.

"Oh, none of that. There's no one around to see," Akorahil said, turning and walking down the hall toward the staircase. Irideth followed close behind him.

"I apologize for the ruckus this early," the wraith said as they went. "Everyone's in a bit of an uproar this morning, apparently."

Irideth shook her head, even though he couldn't see it. "I know what all of you were trying to do, Akorahil. And thank you. It… helped."

She saw Akorahil give the barest nod before his pace sped up. They continued in silence, and before long Irideth recognized the route they were taking as the one to the healing wing. She groaned internally. Not again!

To her surprise, though, Akorahil led her to a part of the wing she'd never been in before. As far as she could tell it was empty; through a set of double doors there was a small room that resembled an entrance hall. There was a desk off to the right side, with a bookcase of what looked like old files sitting just behind it. Beyond this there was another hallway lined with doors on both sides.

"This part of the healing wing hasn't been in consistent use for some time," Akorahil said as he led her down this hallway. "There haven't been any large-scale battles to necessitate it. I've essentially commandeered it for myself."

Irideth felt a grin creep over her face. "Is it helpful when Murazor pitches a fit?"

Akorahil laughed. "Immensely! You would not believe the yelling, and it always terrifies the orcs! If he's being difficult I can just drag him down to this section without sending all the healers and their patients scrambling for cover."

Irideth laughed at the image. Even so, she couldn't help her sudden tenseness when Akorahil stopped by one of the rooms at the end of the hall and gestured for her to enter.

Once she did, Akorahil followed and closed the door, gesturing for her to climb onto the exam table in the middle of the room. Discreetly biting her bottom lip, Irideth obeyed. Valar, the scent of old herbs in here was… cloying, for some reason. It tickled the back of her nose and made her throat feel tight.

"Lie back, please," Akorahil said as he came to stand at her right side. Swallowing thickly, Irideth did, staring resolutely at the small chandelier dangling above the table.

"I'm going to cast a few diagnostic spells; they may feel strange but won't cause any pain. It will, however, be necessary for me to touch you. Such contact with a wraith is usually… unpleasant, for humans, particularly one of us. Please tell me if it becomes too much for you," Akorahil said quietly.

Irideth smiled thinly as she glanced at him. "I've ridden with Murazor for several days at a stretch. He's held me at his chest multiple times. You've examined me more than once; I'll be alright."

"This is going to be a bit more invasive than anything I've done with you before," Akorahil said, dry and yet somehow… amused? No, it was something else, but Irideth wasn't certain what.

Deciding not to think about it, Irideth exhaled heavily and relaxed as best she could. "Do what you need to do," she said quietly, blinking and fixing her gaze back on the chandelier.

She closed her eyes as Akorahil placed a hand on her throat. "Breathe deeply and try to keep as still as you can," she heard him say. She nodded.

Irideth barely suppressed a shudder when she felt a strange coldness suddenly fill her body from head to toe. Akorahil was right, it wasn't painful, but it was most definitely not something she liked.

"Deep breaths. You're doing well," Akorahil said; Irideth felt two fingers move just beneath her jaw, presumably to check her pulse. "Good. Now I want you to keep breathing like that and count back from ten."

Taking another breath, Irideth did so. She clenched her jaw when the cold intensified briefly but resolutely kept up her count.

"Good," Akorahil said when she relaxed again, moving his hand from her neck to her chest, just above her heart. "Take a deep breath and start again."

Irideth did so, gritting her teeth when the cold intensified again, worse than before, and it lasted significantly longer.

"You're doing well," she heard Akorahil well enough, but scarcely had the presence of mind to comprehend the words. "Just a little longer; keep focusing on your breathing."

Irideth did, doing her utmost to pay attention to the sensation of air filling her lungs to the exclusion of all else. She wasn't certain exactly what Akorahil's spells were supposed to do, but for some reason the feel of them was dredging up… things she really didn't want to ponder.

He might not just be checking your physical state.

The tingling feeling in her head certainly seemed to indicate as much; it was almost identical to the feeling she had when Sauron…

Irideth jerked involuntarily, breath catching in her throat as her eyes snapped open.

Apparently she'd done very well with the 'focus on your breathing' part; she hadn't even noticed Murazor and Khamul enter the room, and definitely hadn't noticed them coming to stand on the left side of the exam table.

She tried to push herself away from the three wraiths as quickly as her cold-weakened limbs would allow.

"Easy, Irideth! It's alright!" Akorahil said as Irideth dragged herself upright, pushing herself further back so she rested against the wall, breathing becoming rapid, wide eyes darting between the three Nazgûl as she gripped the thin sheet that covered the table with whitened knuckles.

"That's quite the block you have there, Irideth," Akorahil said gently when Irideth did nothing but stare at him for several seconds.

He must have noticed her tense further. "I'm not going to pry if you don't want me to, Irideth. My spells just detected some significant knots in your life energy. I wanted to see if I could determine the source."

"I thought you couldn't feel my life energy," Irideth said tersely.

"We can, though it takes more effort than it should. It's your soul, your fëa, that we can't see," Murazor said.

"What's the difference?" Irideth said, voice increasing a couple of octaves on the last word.

Akorahil sighed. "It is… rather difficult to explain to someone not well versed in magical theory. Seeing life energy is something healing mages often use to detect both physical injury and emotional distress, though the latter is a skill that takes considerably longer to master. The soul… being able to see a being's soul allows us to see the state of their being, who they are as a person, if that makes sense. It is what I and the other wraiths see normally, along with life energies, though the latter to a lesser extent. With you, though… we can only see your life energies very faintly, and that is only with conscious effort. We cannot see your soul at all."

Irideth sighed, dropping her head to her chest and winding a hand through her hair. "I… guess that… sort of makes sense."

Silence reigned for several more seconds. Irideth continued to play with her hair, not looking up at the wraiths again.

"Irideth, your life energy is very… knotted. In several places, and you have a very solid mental block," Akorahil said softly. "It is something I would expect from a mage well practiced in the mind arts, not from a child as young as you, even one who has experience with psychic links. It is rather concerning."

Irideth tensed, bringing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

"Little one, did something happen that may have caused this?" Khamul asked.

Irideth buried her face in her knees, feeling her eyes beginning to sting. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Irideth, I believe this is a symptom of your emotional distress. I know it has become so severe it is affecting your physical health as well; you are not eating, you are losing weight and you aren't sleeping. What is wrong, little one? What is bothering you so?" Akorahil asked quietly.

A hysterical laugh bubbled up in Irideth's chest. "What's bothering me? Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that I've been kidnapped and enslaved by the Dark Lord! My chances of seeing my family again are essentially zero. I don't know if my little brother is still alive or not! Never mind that said Dark Lord can see my innermost thoughts whenever he likes, no matter how much I might not want him to. My future, my life, my mind isn't my own anymore, but why on earth would that be distressing me?"

Irideth didn't know what on earth she was thinking, saying all of this, being so blatantly bitter and disrespectful and so open, but once the question was out there she just… couldn't stop. She could feel herself trembling and oh, Valar, Murazor was probably going to report every word she'd just said to Sauron, wasn't he, and… what had she just done?!

Irideth buried her face in her knees as she began to cry silently.

She flinched when she felt a hand come to rest between her shoulder blades, curling further in on herself.

"Oh, little one," Murazor said softly, beginning to gently stroke her back. "You've kept this to yourself for quite a while, haven't you?"

Irideth didn't answer, far too distressed to even consider formulating a response. She only started crying harder, shaking, throat so tight it felt as though she had to gasp for breath.

Murazor continued stroking her back, touch becoming a bit firmer. After a few moments he paused, then moved a bit closer to the table and lifted her into his arms.

Irideth tensed for a moment, then decided she was beyond caring. She turned toward Murazor and curled into him, crying into his chest. Murazor took it in stride, sitting on the exam table and threading his fingers through her hair, holding her close.


'I didn't really think this through,' Murazor thought to Khamul and Akorahil as he carefully stroked Irideth's hair. Humans avoided the Nazgûl, particularly him, like the plague, even when they weren't trying to be threatening. Murazor knew of none who could stand to actually touch him save for Irideth herself.

So Murazor was severely lacking in experience in this area. He'd never really been the physically affectionate sort, even when he'd been alive.

'I'll say you didn't,' Khamul said. 'Akorahil, any ideas?'

'Well, she doesn't seem to be panicking, so I'd say you're doing just fine,' Akorahil said dryly.

'You say as I hold a hysterical child in my lap. How do I calm her down?' Murazor retorted, nearly snapping the last sentence.

The press of several curious minds against his own made Murazor indicate for Akorahil to forestall his answer. Opening himself to the inquiries, the Witch King found himself bombarded by the questions of the other six Nazgûl.

Once he'd relayed the necessary information via words and images, he received six variations of 'I'm on my way' in answer.

'The others are coming,' he informed Akorahil and Khamul once he'd severed the connections.

'Are you sure that's a good idea?' Khamul asked. 'All nine of us together, when she's like this?'

'She seems alright with Murazor holding her. I don't think the presence of the rest of us is going to suddenly frighten her out of her wits,' Akorahil said. 'It certainly hasn't appeared to bother her before, but…,'

Akorahil trailed off with a worried glance at Irideth. The girl was still crying, but she was breathing a bit more steadily and had stopped shaking a minute or so ago.

Murazor continued stroking her hair and back as the door opened to admit… the other six wraiths. Irideth tensed momentarily, but when she saw who it was she relaxed again and once more buried her face in his chest.

'Did you go into full wraith form to get here?' Murazor asked. When in full wraith form the Nine were completely invisible to mortal eyes; they could also move impossibly fast, which was the only way they could have gotten here as quickly as they did.

Hoarmurath, the foremost, shrugged. His compatriots all sent mental affirmations.

Murazor sighed inwardly. 'I supposed it's a good thing you had the sense to materialize outside the door.'

'When you showed us that you had a lap full of crying child, we figured that would be best,' Ren said dryly.

'What happened?' Adunaphel asked, she and the others studying Irideth as closely as they could without increasing their physical proximity.

'We're still trying to figure that out,' Akorahil said.

Uvatha projected the mental equivalent of a snort. 'It can't be anything good, considering she seemed relieved to see just six Nazgûl running into the room.'

'I'm honestly surprised it took this long for her to break down, considering everything she's been through. Particularly after what Basaam and that beastly assistant of his did,' Morgomir said, practically hissing the last sentence. Thankfully he hadn't been speaking out loud; that probably would have scared the girl, no matter how used to their presence she'd gotten.

Irideth, thankfully, seemed to be calming down a bit. Her sobs had stopped now, and her grip on his robe was a bit less… desperate. Her breathing was still erratic, but it was deepening as she tried to gather herself.

After a few more deep breaths the girl went almost completely limp in his arms. She turned her head so she could see the rest of the room, taking in the sight of the gathered Nazgûl almost dispassionately.

Murazor, if he was honest with himself, was concerned by how blank her expression was.

Akorahil picked up on it. 'She's exhausted,' he said, across the ring bond so the rest of the wraiths could hear as well. 'Physically and emotionally, no doubt. According to Asha she hasn't been sleeping well for the past several weeks.'

'Can you do anything about that?' Indur asked Akorahil.

'I have a potion that would put her to sleep for a few hours, but I'm sure you know that's only a temporary solution,' Akorahil said.

A sudden, strong burning sensation radiating through what felt like his entire being made Murazor tense. The others immediately went silent; though this particular summons was directed only to their Captain, they could feel it through their bond to him.

'Murazor, come to me. NOW.'

Murazor was standing almost before he'd realized it, passing a suddenly rigid Irideth to Khamul as he did. Oh, no. She sensed that, didn't she?

Well, she hadn't heard the summons, but she may have felt the exertion of Sauron's power through her own bond to the Dark Lord. If she had, she would no doubt be aware that he was less than pleased at the moment.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Khamul asked quietly.

"Or one or two of us, at least?" Hoarmurath said.

"That will not be necessary," Murazor answered shortly. It was a very bad sign when they were volunteering to go with him, not joking about running for the hills.

"I could go with you," Irideth said.

Nine heads snapped to look at her in shock. Irideth shrank in on herself for a moment, then straightened as best she could in Khamul's grip and looked dead-on at Murazor.

"I'd be a better buffer than they are. I'm human; I'm more easily damaged. He might be a bit more hesitant to lash out if I'm in the room."

'Sweet Valar, this child has a death wish!' Uvatha hissed across the bond, incredulous. The sentiment was echoed by every single one of the others, including Murazor himself.

"Yes, you are more easily damaged, which is why you will not be anywhere near him until he's calmed down," Murazor said, bristling in horror at the thought. Seeing the worried look on Irideth's face, he said, "this is nothing new. I can weather whatever he might do; I've done it before."

"He's furious, Murazor," Irideth said quietly, voice cracking in the middle of her sentence, eyes shining. "I don't know what about, but he's very angry. I've never felt him this mad before."

Murazor hadn't felt Sauron this mad about something in a long time, either. Which meant his Master had interpreted the spies reports much the same way he had; this, somehow, involved the Ring.

The others had apparently figured this out, too, given the sudden alarm he could feel resonating through their collective bond.

"None of you will be going with me," Murazor said firmly.

'Are you crazy? When you're probably going to get your mind ripped apart?' Khamul hissed. It was his lieutenant's turn to bristle, but Irideth's startled inhalation at the sudden expansion of his dark aura was enough to bring him back under control. Khamul glanced quickly down at the child to make certain she was unhurt; thankfully, aside from looking a tad pale, she seemed fine. Khamul murmured an apology before glaring at Murazor.

'It won't come to that,' Murazor placated. 'I can show him my memories of their verbal reports easily enough. He'll likely mull through them several times, yes, but that will likely be all.'

The dubious looks the others shot him was enough indication of how convincing they found that statement.

"You will not be going with me," Murazor said, "because I agree with Sabir's sentiment."

Cue seven blank looks and two confused looks from Khamul and Irideth. Murazor's gaze swept over the general assembly.

"I believe it's time for an unauthorized mission."

A feeling of understanding passed between the wraiths. Irideth, plainly understanding that something significant had just been said but having no way of knowing what it was, sighed in apparent resignation and collapsed against Khamul's chest. Khamul glanced down, adjusting his grip on the girl and running a gentle hand through her hair before looking up at his Captain again.

'Are you certain?' Khamul asked privately. 'You want to go alone?'

'Yes. Better just one of us in the line of fire,' Murazor answered. He looked once more at Irideth, who met his gaze with worried eyes.

Murazor addressed his final order to all the wraiths.

'Take care of her.'