Chapter 21:
Irideth woke with a dry mouth and a dry throat. She coughed lightly, raising a hand to rub the sleep out of her eyes. Once she had, she found herself blinking up at the wooden roof of the stable. Turning her heavy head, she saw that she was lying in the hayloft, on top of a large fur cloak she recognized as one of Sabir's heavier travel garments. A thin blanket had been draped over her.
What happened? How did I get here? She remembered breakfast, the healing wing… Sauron summoning Murazor.
Irideth swallowed thickly, screwing her eyes shut and curling in on herself. She'd only felt the Dark Lord's rage for the briefest instant before she'd slammed the bond closed, but Eru that feeling would be fueling her nightmares for the next month, at the least. What had she been thinking, telling Murazor she'd go with him?
Irideth shuddered when she remembered how oddly… detached she'd felt after her crying fit (as if that hadn't been bad enough, breaking down in front of all nine Nazgûl). She'd been aware of her emotions, had noted being worried, scared. She'd felt the tightness in her chest, the ache in her throat, the tears on her cheeks, but it had been like watching it happen from a distance, to another person. It was almost like that time she'd been stunned when Viful, one of the village boys, had thrown a rock at her and hit her in the back of the head. Only this had been worse, and it had lasted longer.
The girl buried her face in the cloak, inhaling the scent of dry hay and the faint hint of flowers and clear air that always seemed to hang about Sabir. Valar, everything was such a mess!
After Murazor had left, she vaguely recalled Akorahil coming over to her and Khamul, holding a small bottle. Sleeping potion.
Well, that explained the nap. But why on earth would the wraiths have brought her here?
Irideth exhaled, letting her body go slack. She felt heavy again. Getting up just wasn't worth the effort.
A creak had her turning her head toward the ladder that led down to the main floor, just in time to see Sabir's head emerge. His eyes found hers and he smiled.
"Hello, little beauty!" he said. "Are you ready to go?"
What the heck was he talking about?
Irideth closed her eyes. "No," she mumbled. Her head was spinning again, and there was a funny rushing noise in her ears. Eru, even thinking was too much effort.
She was vaguely aware of more shuffling and creaking noises. She felt the displaced air when Sabir knelt beside her (at least, that's what she assumed he was doing). She didn't move when he lifted her, cloak, blanket and all, and held her against his chest. Irideth was aware of the man moving, felt him adjust his grip on her and begin descending the ladder.
There was a familiar... feeling in the air when Sabir made it to the ground. Irideth only had the inclination of pondering it before deciding she was too tired to bother. She turned her face further into Sabir's shirt to better block out any light.
"How is she?"
Indur, Irideth's mind supplied.
"Still sleeping. She has had a long morning," Sabir said. "I told you we should not fly. Not a good idea to carry her like that, not when she is like this."
"It will cut our travel time in half. We would be able to get out and back before this goes further downhill." That was Khamul.
"I'm inclined to agree with Sabir." Akorahil. "A long time away, out in the sun and with a chance for some more sustained exercise will be better for her."
"I know that, but we can't just take her off somewhere for a fortnight! We'll be in for it as it is once Lord Sauron learns we took her without his permission," Khamul said.
"We'll all be keeping an eye on her, and we'll be out and back in a week, nine days at most. She needs this, Khamul; I'm more than willing to tell him so." That was Akorahil again.
"Tell him it was my idea. You wouldn't be lying," Sabir said.
"Oh, yes, and everyone knows you're powerful enough to wrangle eight Nazgûl into doing your bidding, no questions asked," Khamul said. Irideth, still paying only half a mind to the conversation, almost giggled at the near-tangible sarcasm, never mind that... this was a serious discussion, right?
What had they been talking about?
Irideth only had a moment to try and recollect things before unconsciousness claimed her again.
When Irideth next woke, she could feel a sort of rocking motion. Her stomach had yet to decide if it agreed with this or not.
It was warm, too. Very warm; she was sweating in her long-sleeved dress. And the air here smelled... fresh, wherever here was.
Irideth turned her head, grimacing at the brightness; even with her eyes closed, it was...
The girl opened her eyes.
Sunlight. And white clouds, not the ash-blackened things that hung around Barad-Dûr ceaselessly.
Irideth realized she was lying in the back of a wooden cart, among a pile of what appeared to be bedrolls, packs of spare clothing and a few bags of dried food. She was still wrapped in Sabir's cloak, head resting on a pile of hay.
A cool breeze blew the hair out of her face. Irideth tilted her head back, smiling as the scent of fresh grass and damp earth mingled with that of hay and horses. Her heart felt so full it might just burst.
It was funny, she mused, how much she'd missed just being outside, under the sun.
A black hooded head suddenly appeared above her. Irideth jumped in alarm.
"Sorry; I didn't intend to startle you," Ren said.
"Well, what did you expect, her seeing your ugly mug first thing when she wakes up?" another wraith, Morgomir, Irideth thought, shouted from somewhere further off.
There was scattered laughter. Ren snorted, and Irideth got the impression he was rolling invisible eyes as his head disappeared over the side of the cart again.
Irideth managed a hoarse laugh of her own. "You forget, Morgomir, I can't actually see any of your faces," she said as loudly as she could manage, struggling into a sitting position.
She could still barely see over the top of the cart, but from what she could see Sabir (who turned and waved to her briefly) was driving down a dirt road through a sunlit field. Sable, Sabir's black mare, was hitched to the front of the cart by a lead rope, walking quietly at her rider's left hand as he drove. Nasra, the chestnut pony Sabir and Murazor usually had her ride during her lessons, was hitched to the back of the cart. She was saddled, Irideth noticed, but was wearing only a halter; her bridle was dangling from the saddle horn. The bay mare Sabir was training, Rahiq, was hitched opposite Nasra, and looking quite nervous about the presence of Hoarmurath, Uvatha and their much larger horses a few yards away.
The Nazgûl for their part were fairly scattered. Khamul and Morgomir were riding ahead along the road; Irideth could barely see them with the bright sun. Uvatha and Hoarmurath were traveling in the back, while Adunaphel, Ren, Akorahil and Indur rode on either side of the cart in the grass. Occasionally one of the wraiths would trot or canter in a wide circle; Irideth could see most of the horses weren't thrilled with the easy walk they were going at.
Irideth was drawn out of her observations when Nasra trotted forward, sticking her nose over the top of the cart and whickering loudly. Irideth laughed, raising herself to her knees and stroking the pony's face, scratching briefly behind her ears. "Hey, girl! Nice to see you, too!"
Nasra whinnied, then tried to push her nose even further over the back of the cart.
"I'm not giving you any hay," Irideth said. The pony whickered, sounding put out.
"No, I don't believe Sabir's been starving you."
Nasra whinnied again, as though saying 'well, what good are you, then?' Irideth laughed before planting a quick kiss on her nose and turning to make her way toward the front of the cart.
Once she'd reached her destination, Irideth clambered into the seat beside Sabir, who grinned at her before passing her a bundle of floral-patterned cloth.
"To protect your head from the sun," Sabir said at her puzzled look.
"I'm already sweating like a hog in a butcher's shop," Irideth muttered, giving the cloth a dubious look. Sabir laughed.
"I noticed! You will be able to change when we stop to feed and water the horses; I packed some spare clothes for you that are more suitable for the weather further south."
Irideth cast a sideways look at Sabir; she had no idea where he would have gotten such clothes. All the clothes in her wardrobe were basically the same as what she was wearing now; wool or heavy linen dresses, most with long sleeves. Well, save for a few more threadbare leggings and tunics she wore while riding, and a couple of nightgowns, but those were hardly suitable for traveling.
Sabir must have noticed. He laughed. "I asked Minister Kamaal if he would be willing to lend some of his daughters' old clothes. My mother has also been sending me a few of her old things after I began writing her about you."
Irideth blinked. Minister Kamaal had children? She'd known he was married, had heard him speaking about his wife, but... yes, he did have kids. Irideth could recall a few meetings the minister had had with Sauron that had run long, when the Dark Lord would ask her to bring food for them. She vaguely remembered Kamaal telling Sauron something about his son, and a daughter or two, but... honestly, she couldn't remember anything too starkly. And she couldn't for the life of her recall Sabir talking about his family in any capacity.
The stablemaster must have noticed her downcast look; he clapped her on the shoulder, smiling when she looked up at him. "You've had bigger things on your mind, my dear; no need to feel bad. Now wrap yourself up! There are still many hours before sunset!"
Sabir stopped their little caravan an hour or so later; Irideth was surprised by how the Ringwraiths seemed to defer to him. Well, maybe defer wasn't the right word; by what she'd observed, Sabir had his own... mission, she supposed, and the wraiths were simply tagging along.
The thought would have been amusing if it weren't for the almost tangible tension that had descended over the wraiths once, due no doubt to the very conspicuous absence of their captain. It didn't help that their horses had picked up on their riders' grim mood, prancing nervously and nipping at each other now and then despite some admonishment from the Nazgûl. The wraiths had thankfully had the sense to keep well away from the cart; poor Rahiq had been sweating, she was so nervous. Even Nasra, Sable and the cart horses, Zahir and Muruj, who were far more used to the Nazgûl and their aura, had been skittish. Sabir had been noticeably paler, valiant though he'd been in his efforts to remain upbeat.
Irideth didn't think she'd fared much better; she wasn't certain if the tightness in her gut had been due to the Nazgûl's intensified auras or her own concern over the situation. Murazor had said 'unauthorized mission', which implied this little trip (certainly her part in it, at least) had not been approved by Mordor's resident Dark Lord.
Irideth did not want to think much about what that would mean, for her or the wraiths, when they returned to Barad-Dûr.
She didn't doubt Sabir had guessed her train of thought; the moment he'd brought the cart to a stop in a small dip between two hills he began directing her to help him unhitch the horses, guide them to a nearby creek so they could drink, and then unload a few of the packs. The wraiths took this as their cue to gallop off down the road (though they didn't go far; Irideth had certainly seen two black mounted figures at the crest of the next hill, about a mile off, when she'd looked).
Once the cart was unloaded and the horses unhitched and watered, Sabir handed Irideth one of the packs from the cart and directed her toward a patch of bushes near the tree line to change. Irideth went without complaint; she was all but dripping sweat at that point.
As she set the pack down behind the bushes Irideth wondered absently what part of Mordor they were in; she couldn't remember having seen any sort of greenery on her short flight with Sauron to Mt. Doom. Though it had been rather dark, and admittedly she hadn't been paying much attention to the ground...
Sighing, Irideth opened the bag and found it was filled with what appeared to be several sets of light robes, all rolled up neatly and tied with twine. Drawing out a bundle of cream-colored cloth, Irideth untied it and let it unfurl.
Irideth didn't know if she'd call this a robe or a dress. It was sleeveless, with a dark blue band around the waist area, but other than that there weren't any too distinguishing features. The cloth seemed sturdy, though she didn't know what it was.
The girl shimmied out of her dress, exhaling in relief as she felt the air brushing over her bare, sweat-dampened skin. She slid the new dress over her head, examining herself briefly as she straightened it out. It fit well enough, though the waistband was a little too wide and the skirt a tad too long. But it was far better than sweating buckets the whole trip.
Irideth rolled up her old dress as tightly as she could manage, tying it with the twine that had been used to secure the one she was now wearing and tucking it back in the bag. Sabir smiled when she walked out into the open again.
"It fits well, yes?" he asked as Irideth threw the pack back into the cart.
"Well enough," Irideth answered, glancing down at herself again. "The material feels a bit... fine for this sort of thing, though."
Sabir's smile widened. "For you and me, probably. For Kamaal's daughter, however, this was a simple traveling dress. You are right, it is a fine cotton, but it's quite durable, and far more suitable for travel than anything in your wardrobe."
Irideth couldn't dispute that, so she just nodded absently as she climbed back onto the cart. Sabir climbed up onto the seat next to her, digging a bag of almonds and a water bottle out of the provisions and passing them to her. Irideth accepted the offer gladly; presented with food, her stomach was letting her know how unhappy it was that she'd skipped lunch.
They sat in amiable silence for a while, watching the horses graze as they ate. Sabir eventually drew out another bag of food, a dried fruit of some sort that Irideth was not at all familiar with and that Sabir did not know the Westron translation for. He grinned as Irideth took one, examining it for a few moments.
"What even is this color? Dark brown? Or a funny red?" Irideth asked, furrowing her brow at the wrinkled thing in her palm.
Sabir's grin only widened when the girl took a tentative bite. She chewed slowly, then said, "it's... edible, I guess."
Sabir laughed, taking one for himself and popping it in his mouth. Irideth did the same with the rest of hers. She promptly discovered that the thing had a pit and almost spit the whole fruit out in her surprise, making Sabir laugh again. The next several minutes saw Sabir lecturing Irideth on proper pit-spitting technique, complete with demonstrations. Before long they were both laughing so hard their sides hurt, needing to grip the back of the seat to keep from falling off.
Suddenly Sabir sat up, listening. Wiping a few tears off his face, he turned his head toward the hills to the south. "Ah, here comes our entourage."
Straightening herself, Irideth knelt on the seat to see over Sabir's shoulder. She was met with the sight of what at first was just a rapid-moving mass of black. She quickly realized that it was the Nazgûl, galloping their horses back down the road toward them.
"Are they racing each other?" Irideth asked, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun so she could see better.
"It looks that way," Sabir said, doing the same. Then he chuckled. "Oh, this is going to be a close one; Khamul is in the lead, but I doubt he'll be able to keep ahead of Indur for that long."
Sabir turned out to be correct; Khamul and Indur were neck and neck when they sped into the clearing, Morgomir less than a head behind them. The wraiths quickly checked their horses to a canter, then a trot, and proceeded to guide them in circles to cool them off. They debated who'd won as they rode around each other, Irideth and Sabir watching in amusement. The cart horses, Sable, Rahiq and Nasra, deciding the clearing was far too crowded now, moved to the shade near the bushes behind the cart.
Eventually the wraiths, having reached a stalemate, asked Irideth and Sabir if either of them would be willing to cast a tie-breaker vote. Both of them agreed it was too close to call, half because it was the truth and half because it was amusing watching the wraiths bicker amongst each other.
After several more minutes of bantered back-and-forth it was declared a tie. Laughing, Sabir jumped to the ground and clapped his hands loudly to get everyone's attention.
"Time to get a move on, everyone! We have many more miles to go before nightfall! Irideth, help me hitch Muruj and Zahir, and get Nasra's bridle on. It's high time you got back in the saddle."
Everything hurt. He couldn't see, he couldn't sense much of anything, and everything really, really hurt.
Murazor was confused about this for several seconds. He didn't have a body, after all, there weren't many things that...
Oh. Now he remembered.
Murazor flinched when he felt a sudden warmth in the region of his face.
At least he still had some semblance of a form, then.
He felt the press of his Master's mind against his, and despite the pain he was in and the alarm the contact caused, he put up no resistance when he felt his Master's presence envelope him.
'Peace, my loyal servant,' Mairon said; Murazor could not tell in this state whether the Maia was speaking both in his mind and physically, but it didn't really matter. The warmth of his Master's presence intesified, easing the pain and drawing Murazor closer.
'Peace,' Mairon murmured again when Murazor relaxed. The Witch-King was now aware of a feeling like arms wrapped around him, holding him against someone's chest.
Murazor, words beyond him at the moment, sent a curious feeling across the bond to his Master. It was rare the Dark Lord showed this sort of... attention to any of the Nine, and given his generally horrid mood these last few decades, and considering what had just happened, why on earth was he...?
The warmth deepened still further; Murazor felt the embrace tightening, once again felt the brush of his Master's mind.
Murazor would have startled if he could have at the feeling of lips brushing over his temple.
'Rest, my loyal Captain,' Mairon murmured. 'You have served me well.'
When consciousness returned again, Murazor's senses returned along with it. He was lying on a bed in a darkened room, one that he supposed could be considered his, in the loosest sense of the term. The Nazgûl didn't have much occasion (or need) for rest or sleep, after all, but the Dark Lord had appointed this wing for their use anyway. Murazor would admit it was a pleasant retreat when they wanted some quiet and solitude.
His gaze immediately found his Master, who was sitting beside him. When the Maia noticed Murazor's wakefulness he smiled, bringing his hand to the left side of the wraith's head.
Murazor still, after all these centuries, did not understand how his Master could make it feel like he was stroking his hair, but when Mairon desired it he could make the Nine feel perfectly the physical sensations the wraiths were no longer capable of perceiving when he touched them.
"Welcome back, Murazor," Mairon said softly, smile growing when he felt his servant relax into his touch.
Murazor couldn't help the flare of alarm he felt when he felt the touch of his Master's mind again, but it remained gentle, barely even a brush. Asking this time, instead of demanding. Murazor yielded as he always did, barely managing to quell his surprise at the brief flare of appreciation his Master directed at him before the Maia turned his attention more fully to his task. Murazor felt Mairon examining his state, determining how well his bond to the living world had withstood the earlier onslaught and how much pain Murazor was still in. Murazor would have sighed if he could have when his Master used small flares of his power to ease whatever hurts he found, checking periodically to make sure Murazor was both still lucid and not frightened by the depth of his examination.
Apparently he hadn't been as lucid as he'd thought; when Mairon drew back after Murazor wasn't even certain how long, the Witch King was startled to discover the Maia was holding the wraith's right hand between both of his own, as he had whenever Murazor had come to him for counsel in days he could now barely remember.
"You rarely needed my counsel, even when you asked for it," Mairon said softly, drawing Murazor's gaze back to him. The Maia was smiling at him, eyes glowing a soft orange yellow, like a fire in a hearth. "You were the cleverest I had ever seen, in matters of state, of magic, of war. Powerful, driven, and a born leader; I was pleased you were not hindered by so inane a thing as 'common blood', as humans call it. Though I'll admit I would have been curious to see how you worked around that," Mairon said with a chuckle.
He perceived Murazor's question before he asked it. "Don't act like you wouldn't have; your personality would allow for nothing else."
Yes, he was probably right.
Mairon smiled when he felt Murazor's acquiescence. "That is one of the reasons I chose you, mimë valief tar. Why I chose you as the leader of my Nine," the Maia said, voice becoming softer again. If he had not been a wraith, Murazor would have sworn he'd felt a shudder travel down his spine when Mairon's fingers traced over the base of his left ring finger, where his Ring had rested when he'd been alive.
Murazor sank into a state he would describe as a sort of doze when his Master's caresses continued, fingers trailing over his knuckles down the back of his hand while his thumb traced the contours of Murazor's palm.
"Have you any idea," Mairon began after a while, "where the others are, Murazor?"
It took Murazor a few moments to even process the question. "I suspect they went with Sabir to the southern pastures," he said, voice far quieter than he would have preferred.
"And I suppose Irideth is with them?" Mairon asked as he placed Murazor's hand over the wraith's chest before loosening his grip.
Murazor nodded. "I told them to look after her."
Mairon hummed in acknowledgement. "And how was she, when you last saw her?"
That brought Murazor out of his relaxed state in an instant.
"She was...," barely recovered from sobbing in my lap "... distressed."
"How so?" Mairon asked.
All right, this was going to take a bit of delicate handling; it was never a good thing when the Dark Lord's tone went that flat.
"She was feeling overwhelmed, I believe," Murazor said after a moment or two. "I am uncertain how much of the reality of her situation she has been cognizant of until now. Most of it, I think, but being attacked as she was likely brought it to the forefront of her mind again, as it was when she was initially captured. What has Asha told you?"
"She thinks much the same as you do," Mairon answered, gaze moving from Murazor to stare at the far wall.
"My lord, if I may ask, do you have any idea what may have triggered the... episode you mentioned to Khamul and me?" Murazor said.
To Murazor's relief the Dark Lord did not decide to take offense at the question. The Maia only sighed, eyes becoming distant as they moved to a small round table at the center of the room.
"Something has been blocking my bond with her since the attack. I do not know what the cause is; I do know it is nothing conscious on Irideth's part. I have tried to overcome it, or at least determine its source, a few times. The last time I attempted it, she had a very adverse reaction. Somehow I was thrown out of her mind; I didn't realize until after the fact how much pain my continued efforts had caused her."
"It appeared to linger for some time after I had stopped, and Irideth was of course distressed by the situation. I got an inkling, then, that this trouble with the bond may be linked to her emotions; an instinctive defense, if you will. So I attempted to calm her through Song."
"And I suppose that did not end well?" Murazor asked after close to a minute of silence.
"No," Mairon said, a wry smile pulling at his lips. "If anything, it made things worse. At first it was going well; she was relaxing, and it appeared that the spell was not causing any sort of pain. Then she seemed to realize what I was doing; I am uncertain what exactly she felt, but I believe it frightened her, badly. She started struggling, so I strengthened the spell. Again it seemed to work at first, but then she suddenly pushed herself away from me, physically and psychically. The spell's effects were gone. I had to put her in a deep sleep to keep her from fighting further."
Mairon paused for a moment, then sighed. "I may have made a mistake then; I modified her memory to prevent a repeat incident. Given how... inconsistent the results of my spells have been with her, I would not be entirely surprised if it didn't work as intended."
"I do not think it did," Murazor said. At his Master's curious look he elaborated, "Irideth became nervous when Khamul and I mentioned that you wanted us to check on her. I don't know if she remembers exactly what you did, but she knows you did something. And if she doesn't remember, that may very well be making her unease worse; she's uncertain of what to expect from you now."
The Dark Lord studied him for a few moments before looking back to the wall. After a few seconds the Maia sighed again, burying his face in his hands for a moment.
"That girl has proven to be a source of endless frustration of late," Mairon murmured, brushing his hair out of his face as he straightened.
He must have sensed Murazor's worry; he turned and smiled at the wraith. "No need to concern yourself, my Captain. It's not her fault she has proven to be such a puzzle."
Murazor relaxed again; he hadn't realized he'd done so noticeably until he saw Mairon smile, bringing his hand to rest briefly over Murazor's as he stood.
"Rest, Murazor," the Dark Lord said as he made his way to the door. "You will not leave this room until you are recovered."
Murazor felt a familiar warmth bloom in his chest as his Master closed the door behind him. He smiled, settling back against the pillows.
That was as close to an apology as the Dark Lord ever seemed to get.
The Witch King once more felt the brush of his Master's power, and again the world slipped away.
