A/N: Ready? Here we go!
Chapter Three
Codebreaking
"Orcs do not typically use codes this advanced," sighed Aragorn. "This is incredible."
Thorongil sat back in his chair, spinning one of his silver knives between his fingers. "These patterns remind me of material we seized back during The War."
"Your last war with Morogoth?"
"Yes," clarified Thorongil.
After a few minutes of silence Thorongil jammed his knife into the table with disgust. "There is only only option - ask Sauron for help."
"Agreed," said Aragorn. "But please stop putting holes through my tables. They cost a fortune."
"Sorry sir," Thorongil blushed.
Thorongil went to find Sauron and Thuringwethil in their small room on the sixth level. It was little more than a closet in a barracks for the city guard.
Sauron sarcastically welcomed him in. "Well hello, Eönwë. Welcome to our humble abode."
Sauron sat down in one of only two rickety wooden chairs. He had intended for Thuringwethil to take the other but she skittered to the Sauron's side beckoning Thorongil to sit down. Sauron rolled his eyes at her terror.
To say Sauron was afraid of Eönwë and Ilmarë would have been an exaggeration. He certainly feared what they might become: Eönwë if he regained his former powers and Ilmarë if she came to her senses, stopped listening to the whims of the kings of Middle Earth, and ruled over them instead as their rightful queen. He served them, at least outwardly, because it seemed like the most sensible course of action. He no longer had every nation east of Barad-dûr at his beck and call, and his repeated failures had lost him the respect and fear which he needed to control his rivals.
Beyond those reasons was one Sauron would not admit even to himself - death had made him cautious. In the past he had been willing to risk everything to achieve his goals - that "death or glory" attitude died with The Ring. His former allies would never trust The Great Deceiver but Ilmarë needed him, which kept him safe and even afforded some degree of respected. Finally, the idea of fighting beside people willing to die for their cause seemed rather appealing.
Thuringwethil had more reason to fear Eönwë and Ilmarë. During the War to Free the Elves, when the hosts of the Valar fought the host of Morgoth to stop his corruption of the first born into orcs, many vampires served as assassins and saboteurs. All of their kind were highly regarded by Morgoth's other servants, both for their powers and their seductive charm. As the war turned against The Great Enemy the vampires were sent more and more frequently against soft targets - especially healers and other maiar who served those Valar of more peaceful persuasion. They always left behind a calling card of sorts: the weak will perish painted in their victim's blood.
After one particularly devastating raid in which hundreds of maiar of Estë were slaughtered, Ilmarë ordered her husband to retaliate in kind - which he desired to do. He took a small force and flew to the castle above Utumno where many of the most respected vampires made their abode. In a single night, while nearly all of Morgoth's soldiers were far afield, more than one hundred vampires were put to the sword and fire. Those who mustered a resistance had no more success than those who pleaded for mercy. When it was clear the battle was lost, Thuringwethil fled through the raging inferno in the form of a bat. Eönwë gave chase but she proved the faster.
When she returned with Sauron and his werewolves the next morning she found the attackers gone and none of her brethren alive. Above the castle gate was a message painted in the blood of her brothers and sisters: The weak have perished. The remaining vampires were considerably more cautious in their attacks from that day onwards. The physical scars of that night healed the next time she fed, but the memories haunted her still.
"How can we be of service?" asked the former Lord of the Rings.
"I am unable to decipher this," said Thorongil, handing Sauron the packet of messages. "I believe it is employing a variant of a First Age code developed by…"
"I have no need of your theories," interrupted Sauron.
"Though you are right," he admitted after a moment, upset he hadn't interrupted him sooner. "Without the cypher key I don't know if this can be decoded. Perhaps with a sufficient number of messages we can reverse engineer…"
"I know," interrupted Thorongil in turn. "I am here because your knowledge of orcish dialects far exceeds mine, and…"
"I understand," said Sauron. "You know, if I had space to work this would go a lot more quickly, and if I had a room up in the Citadel you would not need to come down here to…"
"Oh, are the accommodations not to your liking?" laughed Thorongil. "This is certainly nicer than where I wanted to put you…"
"Oh, an 'it's nicer than a coffin' joke, how original," laughed Sauron in turn. "You are not half as scary as you used to be."
Eönwë stood up and sparks leapt between his fingers as the light in the room dimmed and his eyes flashed red. "Don't test me, Sauron! This pathetic body may hide my power but it's still there, and even like this I can kill you. Your record in personal combat includes losses to a few mortals and a dog."
Thuringwethil, with speed only a vampire could match, cowered behind Sauron's chair.
"I'm glad that fire is still in you, we may need it," replied Sauron, hiding his concern.
Thorongil rolled his eyes before turning to leave. "I'm sure you are."
"It was a big dog," muttered Sauron after he was gone.
Late that night Sauron went to Thorongil's room. Elerína opened the door.
"This had better be important," she said.
"Thorongil needs to see this," he replied grimly.
Thorongil came to the door and Sauron handed him a page of tables and charts. Thorongil at once understood that they were possible decodings of a single word. Sauron pointed to the second most likely result, "Ingacarca"
Thorongil looked very concerned.
"Isn't that roughly 'first fang' in old, mangled Quenya?" asked Elerína, not understanding why everyone seemed so troubled.
"Ingacarca - Inga as the orcs called him - was one of the first orcs Morgoth created," explained Thorongil. "He commanded legions of Morgoth's finest troops. He was a match for the greatest elvish warriors and a brilliant strategist."
He turned back to Sauron with a look of great skepticism. "How could you not know if he is alive?"
"There were always rumors and whispers that he lived, but orcs are incredibly superstitious creatures," replied Sauron. "Inga is a legend, and since no one knows what happened to him after Angband fell, every orc battalion has somebody who swears they know somebody who has seen him. It is possible some unusually clever orc has just taken his name."
"We can hope," agreed Thorongil. "I'll bet on it really being him. He was a survivor."
After some deep thought Thorongil settled upon a course. "Tell Thuringwethil I want to see her."
"She'll be thrilled," chuckled Sauron.
Down on the fifth level Astra and Aldamir were having a late dinner with Eddil. Astra was enthusiastically telling the tale of their encounter with the orcs.
"And then the orcs came charging at us! I killed one with my first shot, and then wounded a second. It came at me and I fought it off with my bow until Aldamir came and stabbed him from behind! It broke my bow though."
"I am glad you made it here in one piece," said Eddil.
"Where is Caranel?" asked Aldamir.
"She was assigned to the Cair Andros garrison," replied Eddil worriedly. "I thought that would be a safe assignment…"
"I'm sure she'll be ok," said Astra cheerfully. "I have never seen so many warriors assembled for battle as we saw at Cair Andros."
Eddil and Aldamir smiled. That garrison was but one of many along the border, and even with Aderthon's reinforcements it was still 'lightly defended' by Gondorian accounting in times of war.
"The worst part is she is probably excited to be on the front lines!" laughed Eddil.
"That is for certain," said Aldamir. "She's never liked waiting."
"Where is Timothy?" asked Aldamir.
"I'm not actually sure," Eddil replied. "I know he took a trip back to his home village but that was many weeks ago."
As it turned out Timothy was only a day away from Minas Tirith. He had spent a long time in the village of his birth, where he was well liked - though considered odd for leaving the life of a farmer. Not long after the gates of Minas Tirith opened the next morning Timothy went looking for Eddil and Aldamir.