Chapter Forty-four
Eyes in the Sky
Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild
Miles away in His tower of black
adamant, the Dark Lord Sauron gripped the palantír and gazed into its
nebulous depths. The flame-haired fire demoness Nároméra leaned over Him,
her voluptuous breasts provocatively nudging His shoulder. Yet Sauron was
not interested in her fair charms, for He was perturbed by the globe of
seeing before Him.
"I can see nothing! Nothing!" He shrieked as He pounded the fine mahogany
table upon which the palantír rested, sending the stone bouncing up and
down. "Why doth this vexing stone show Me naught?"
"Oh, Darling, dost Thou have to be so dramatic?" Nároméra asked him
teasingly, quickly grabbing the palantír before it could roll off the table
and crash to the floor. "Such theatrics really do not become Thee."
"Nároméra, thou hast no need to be insulting," Sauron growled as He snatched
the Palantír back from her, grasping the stone so tightly that she feared He
might smash it to jagged slivers in His fury.
"Oh, my beloved Lord, how Thy words do sting my heart and crush me to the
core!" Trembling, she pressed her hands against her heart and sighed, her
magnificent bosom rising and falling. "Since my presence is not welcome, I
will leave Thee now, my Lord." Her regal head held high, she turned from him
and gracefully made her way towards the tall arched doors which led from the
Hall of the Eye. Restless and bored, she had spent the last hour with her
lover while He had unsuccessfully searched the terrain from Mordor to the
mouth of the Morguldin in a quest she deemed was ridiculous. Perhaps she
would be more sympathetic to her Lord's plight if He were searching for
something of import, but, no, Sauron was trying to find some imbecilic girl
whom the Witch-king favored. How much longer would He waste her time with
this tedious drivel?
Before she had walked halfway across the highly polished, rune-carven marble
floor, Sauron bellowed, "Hast thy vapid brain fled to some vacant corner of
thy skull, rendering thee incapable of logical thought? My lady, I must
marvel at thy presumptuous manner, and I can only attribute thy unacceptable
behavior to thy overwrought state. Full well dost thou know that no one
leaves My august presence without My explicit permission! Now lest My
patience wear thin, thou wilt return and take thy place behind Me while I
direct this rebellious stone!"
"As Thou wishest, my Lord," Nároméra murmured deferentially. Though her
elegantly sculpted face was the epitome of wounded emotions, she was fuming
with rage. How dare He talk to her that way! Making herself smile gently at
Him, she willed a single silver tear to creep down her alabaster cheek. "May
Thou findest greater success this time." Though she sounded sincere, Sauron
was able to detect a slight tinge of sarcasm which would have gone
undetected by a lesser.
No matter how humble she pretended to be, the Dark Lord well knew it was
only one of her many tricks. Once again she was trying to use His brash
words against Him, attempting to manipulate Him into feeling guilty for what
He had told her in an angry moment. If He did not keep her under tight
control, the strong-willed maia might even try to dominate Him! The idea was
so ridiculous that He found it amusing. Though she might think she was
wiser, more cunning and clever than He, she was only a fool, this beautiful,
wicked little Nároméra! No other power, Vala or Maia, would ever command
Him! He was her Master, and would be forever! After this little tantrum, He
knew that she would return to Him as she always did, begging and pleading,
debasing herself until He once again forgave her and took her into His bed.
Still she kept Him entertained much of the time, and so He did not cast her
aside.
Muttering the direst maledictions under His breath, Sauron strode over to
the table and replaced the palantír on its stand. He was silent for a few
moments as He concentrated His vast mental powers upon the object in front
of Him. Then, as though he would force the unwilling globe to His will, He
grasped it in His hands and directed His almost limitless power into the
magic orb. Nároméra leaned over him, her unbound hair cascading over His
shoulders like a river of flame. Massaging the tight muscles in His
shoulders, she attempted to relieve His tension with deft strokes.
Irritated, He roughly pushed her hands away, glared at her, and returned to
His survey of the high mountains and low valleys to the west. After a while,
He looked up, frowning, His face contorted in frustration.
"Damn! By Melkor the Holy - may His name be extolled forever - no matter
where I turn the palantír, I see nothing, nothing I tell thee! I, Sauron the
Great, Spirit of Melkor Returned to the Earth, Ruler of the World and Master
of Fate, have been thwarted by that arrogant Southern slaver!" Infuriated at
yet another failure, His body trembled in anger. "Esarhaddon uHuzziya has
outmaneuvered Me and delivered the Witch-king's would-be paramour to Lord
Kalus, no doubt at a great profit to himself! uHuzziya will pay for this...
and I swear that I will extract every last measure of vengeance from his
body and soul! He will pray for death before I am through with him!"
Spewing out torrents of venom with every word He said, Sauron's voice rose
louder and louder until He was screaming in fury. His eyes glowed red, and
the great muscles of His arms flexed and unflexed as He clenched His fists.
He was in a killing mood, Nároméra knew, and that was never pleasant. When
His temper heated up, He could turn into a firestorm of fury, destroying
everything in His way. She realized she must distract Him somehow before He
did something foolish, such as reducing the Hall of the Eye into a flaming
pile of ruin and embers.
Usually Nároméra could take her Lord's mind off whatever was troubling Him
by seducing Him with her sensuous body, but it was obvious that He was in no
mood for a flaming session of lovemaking that morning. "Oh, no," she thought
disdainfully. "He is far too occupied with His petty grudge against the
Witch-king. The Majesty of Fire upon the Earth should simply kill His
precious little Captain and finally be rid of him, but He is far too
enamored of the wraith to do that. Why, it is disgusting to watch my beloved
Lord pine for the Witch-king! He acts as though He were some love-sickened
troubadour who sets his pathetic attempts at poetry to the off-key strains
of a tortured lute, and the Lord of the Nazgûl is the ill-tempered shrew who
broke the musician's heart and drove him to wander the land, loveless and
forlorn! Sometimes I wish I could take my fiery whip and flail both of
them!"
Since fornication was out of the
question, Nároméra would have to try a different method to distract Sauron.
"Oh, my most magnificent Lord, surely thou doth overestimate the oily
Southron's abilities! He is far too simple to engage in such duplicity. Such
a barbarian is simply not capable of it!" She laughed scornfully. "Perhaps
Thou hast simply overlooked the slaver and the girl. After all, there are
many clefts, hollows, and caves in the Morgul Vale. They could have
sheltered for the night in a place hidden from the road. It is still early;
mayhap they have not resumed the eastward journey."
"My dear Nároméra, most times thy naiveté is charming, but in this case, I
find it incomprehensible. My lovely, let Me explain it in a way that does
not confuse thy pretty little head." Nároméra hated it when He used that
overbearing tone with her, talking down to her as though she were a
simpleton, but she said nothing to Him, only smiled, flashing her
pearlescent teeth. "Thou must understand, Nároméra, that Esarhaddon and Lord
Kalus are in collusion, joined together in a conspiracy motivated by pure
spite! They seek to destroy My plans to punish the Morgul Lord by denying
him the girl he desires most!" Sauron bellowed like the swell of thunder
across a tempestuous sea.
His angry eyes swept the room, as though He could find a source for His
problems there. When He saw an orcish guard who seemed far too interested in
the plotting of Gods and Great Powers, He stormed over to the startled
guard, who fell to the floor, groveling and begging for mercy. With a cruel
laugh, the Dark Lord picked the terrified orc up by the throat. His demonic
face shone with the fires of hell as He looked steadily into His victim's
eyes and squeezed the orc's neck in His mighty grip until the condemned
creature's eyes bulged from their sockets and his tongue hung out. Then with
a look to the other guards which warned them of the penalty for such
trespasses, Sauron hurled the orc's body from the Window of the Eye.
After this unexpected explosion of rage, the Dark Lord barked out a command
to the Captain of the Guards ordering the chamber cleared. As the terrified
orcish soldiers crawled backwards out of the room, touching their lips
repeatedly to the floor, the Mighty Ruler of the Earth informed His captain
that he was immediately to send in a detachment of deaf-mutes whose tongues
had been torn from their mouths. While He was in conference with His fair
demoness, He would brook no servants save those whose only method of
communication was through sign language.
Relieved that He had found a way of dissipating His frustrations, Nároméra
smiled as Sauron stomped over to the table and sat down heavily. Crossing
His arms over His mighty chest, He glared at the palantír. Although Nároméra
thought - but would never voice it - that such displays of power upon petty
creatures were absurd, such outrageous behavior did relieve the monotony,
but this was not the time for amusement. Now that Sauron's rage had
lessened, He might be calmer and more agreeable to reason.
"My Lord, the scum deserved to die." She rested her hands on His shoulders
and resumed her kneading of His tension-locked muscles. He grunted in
reluctant pleasure as she worked loose the tight knots. "Thou knowest how I
love Thee," she teased His ear with her lush ruby lips, "and my only aim in
life is Thy welfare. I would give my all for Thee, my Love."
"Save it for the bed-chamber, Nároméra," Sauron growled.
"Thou hast always insisted that we be perfectly honest with each other.
Though I fain would not say it, I cannot help but think that there is a
slight problem with Thy logic," she offered, her breath a hushed whisper.
"What is it?" He asked sullenly, puffing away a wayward tendril of ebony
hair which had fallen over His range of vision.
"Perhaps I am wrong, and then I pray my darling Lord will forgive me for
being so presumptuous ever to have brought this up. But as I reckon it, how
could the Southron and the Lord Seneschal be in league? Esarhaddon uHuzziya
has no inkling of the importance of Elfhild of Rohan, for he is only an
independent merchant and not privy to the elite councils."
"But Kalus--" the Dark Lord started to protest, His temper flaming up and
threatening to boil over. No one ever interrupted the Dark Lord unless it
was a wretched prisoner screaming in agony!
"No, my Darling," Nároméra looked up into His piercing eyes, "hear me out,
please!" She held her hands imploringly, and His expression softened at her
loveliness.
"Speak!" He commanded. "But it must be worthy of My hearing!"
"Lord Kalus knows nothing of the girl's existence!" she told Him ever so
sweetly. "Perhaps with the war weighing so heavily upon Thy mind, Thou hast
forgotten. Lord Kalus never received the order from the Witch-king
concerning Elfhild. Somehow Lord Skri erroneously delivered that message to
us, and we never forwarded it on to the rightful recipient. My Lord, dost
Thou not see?" Her voice was pure honey. "There is naught for Thee to fear."
Sauron sought in His mind for the memory of the misdelivered letter that had
come into his possession a little over a month ago. "Where did I put it?" He
wondered. Then His mind sprang like a trap around the image of the missive,
seeing every rune, every fold of parchment, every smudge. Though He was
loath to admit it, Nároméra was unequivocally correct. There was no possible
way that either the slaver or the Seneschal could know of the existence of
the Witch-king's correspondence, for it was locked away in the vaults of
Bard-dûr. The Dark Lord felt somewhat foolish, but when one was trying to
conquer the world, it was easy to forget trivial matters.
"I told Thee, my Lord, that Thou shouldst put Thy fears to rest." Nároméra
smiled radiantly. "Angmar will have neither Elfhild nor her sister to tickle
his jaded desires. When the Witch-king returns to his city and finds that
the maidens are not there, it will not take him long to realize that his
Master is responsible for this calamity." Beneath her fingers, she could
feel Sauron's muscles relaxing, and a slight smile flickered over her lips.
"Doubtless the Witch-king shall confront Thee, and rail at the so-called
injustices that Thou hast heaped upon his head. It is then that Thou shalt
remind Thy servant of his duties and forbid him from claiming either girl as
his companion. Instead, he shall watch Esarhaddon uHuzziya sell Elfhild and
her sister upon the auction block in Turkûrzgoi. After some lecherous
Southron deflowers them and plants his seed in their bellies, Angmar will
lose all interest in the girls. Thou wilt deprive him of what he craves and
Thy vengeance on him wilt be complete."
"Thou art clever, My beauty," Sauron chuckled as He patted her hand.
"Perhaps I have allowed doubt and uncertainty to command My mind and cloud
My memory. The defeat of Mordor at Helm's Deep a fortnight ago was quite
unsettling." The Dark Lord's face clouded over with pensive shadows. "There
have been many things in this war that have disturbed Me greatly... Enemies
lurking upon My doorstep... names and lineages thought lost to history...
the scheming wizard who manipulates kings and armies into doing his
bidding... a blade which did Me much harm, reforged again. Indeed, there
have been too many coincidences and calamities that have almost happened."
He rubbed a fingertip protectively over the smooth surface of his Ring, and
then cast a downward glance at the tiny figure who cowered beneath His
throne. It would take more than a
wretched Halfling and a Wizard's plot to bring about His downfall!
"This time, my Lord, all will go as Thou
hast planned," Nároméra assured Him.
"I long to believe this, but there is
only one problem with thy assessment. Where are the slaver and his party?
Why have I seen nothing of them since they passed into the Morgul Vale?"
Sauron tapped His finger on the table, His cat-like eyes glowing
impatiently. "Perhaps the Witch-king wrote other missives to Lord Kalus, or
met with him in secret. My wayward servant has had an entire month to scheme
and plot. Mayhap he has even cast a spell of concealment over the valley to
foil the palantír and hide his transgressions."
"Oh, my Darling, if only the rebellious
palantír would behave and allow Thee to have a glimpse of Esarhaddon
uHuzziya and the slave girls! Then Thou couldst put Thy worries to rest."
Nároméra shook her head. "Sometimes the stone of seeing is almost...
living... in its vagaries." For her own sake, she prayed that her Lord would
see what He wanted to see, and quickly. She grew weary of Sauron's constant
fretting and imagined conspiracies.
"Seldom have I seen it so unreadable. The whole matter is puzzling
to Me. Perhaps, My charming Nároméra, I have missed something that thy keen
eyes might descry. Sittest thou down at the table and thou canst play with
the stone as thou wilst." Sauron laughed arrogantly. Since Nároméra believed
that her knowledge was superior to His, He would allow her an opportunity to
prove herself! When she failed just as miserably as He had, He would laugh
even harder. Such comeuppance would be fitting for one who harbored vain
imaginings that her knowledge was greater than that of the Master of Arda!
"Certainly, my Darling, if that is what Thou wishest, I will try my hand at
this mettlesome problem," Nároméra purred in her throaty, sultry voice and
gently squeezed His hand. "Play!" she flared within herself, not showing Him
even the slightest trace that she was angry. "Again He insults me, treating
me as His inferior!" She felt her inner being trembling in rage, but she
controlled her volatile temper lest she explode into flames. Though her own
power was considerable, she would never dare challenge Sauron in a battle of
force and will. Still, though, the prospects of lashing His smoking black
arse with her fiery whip were very arousing, and she felt a moist trail of
steam ooze down her inner thigh. "Perhaps some night He will let me..."
"I wish it!" Sauron's cold, sarcastic laughter sent a chill rippling down
her spine.
"Thou dost?" she asked incredulously, her emerald eyes widening in surprise.
Had He penetrated her thoughts and divined that she would enjoy a bit of
rough bed-play with Him? She remembered those hot, sweltering nights in the
dungeons of Angband...
"Proceed, My sweet lady," He rumbled as He pushed His chair back and stood
to His feet. "Play with the palantír as thou wilt, but remember the vast
power between thy hands is potent!" She squealed in surprise as He grabbed
her by the waist and slammed her shapely bottom down in the seat.
"Softly, my lord, softly," Nároméra winced as she rubbed her maligned
backside. "Now let me concentrate." She could feel a burst of incredible
energy course through her arms as the ball vibrated beneath her touch. "Such
astounding power resident in such a simple object," she mused, gazing into
its misty depths. Turning the orb slowly, she moved the palantír over a
broad arc. Finally she smiled as she held it in a southwesterly direction.
"I have discovered what Thou hast sought, the location of the slaver and his
men. Behold, right now he sports with one of the pretty little twins."
"What?" Sauron bellowed incredulously. "This cannot be! There is some
mistake here! Let Me see!" He stomped over to the table where the palantír
rested. He pushed Nároméra's chair aside, jarring her with a force like a
small earthquake. Her beautiful smile faded into a denunciatory frown until
she quickly regained her composure.
"Yes, my Lord, right there." She pointed a finger to a spot where a
golden-haired maiden stood looking down into the clear waters of the
mysterious spring. As the dawn broke over the heavens, the first flush of
golden light reflected off the girl's glistening skin and turned the
droplets into sparkling diamonds. His arms crossed over his chest, Shakh
uHuzziya watched her, his glittering eyes roaming over her naked body.
"Oh, my Lord!" Nároméra chuckled, her dulcet voice deep and husky. "What a
pretty little toy she is! I can see why the slaver wants her, even though
she does seem rather vapid with her large, cow-like eyes. And, oh, he is so
handsome in that primitive barbarian way of his people. Thou knowest what
that pair was up to last night, and now she is washing the stains from her
body."
"And the other girl, Nároméra? Hast thou found her, too?"
"Yes, my Lord." Nároméra moved the palantír slightly and the scene changed.
An identical golden-haired maiden was sound asleep on a small rug, the
blanket drawn up around her shoulders. "What a charming scene of
domesticity," she purred as a cat does when it sees an unwitting prey
unaware of its presence. "Thou seest, my Lord, that the slaver and the girls
were in the valley all along. This is proof that Thy plan is working
magnificently."
Gazing at the palantír, Sauron leaned over her, planting his sinewy hands
upon the edge of the table. "Thou sorcereress! Thou hast made the palantír
captive to your magic! Congratulations, Nároméra!" Instantly, his hands were
around her breasts, squeezing them and pinching the nipples painfully. Heat
rolled off His massive body in searing waves. The Dark Lord was enraged that
He had been outwitted by one of His own minions, but at the same time, He
was also highly aroused by her intelligence.
"Now the Southron and his slave are walking down the hill, where his men
have saddled their horses. Look, now they are leaving." Nároméra's breath
came heavily as Sauron's fierce, determined hands kneaded her breasts.
Pushing her hair aside, He kissed down the back of her neck, His sultry lips
leaving trails of desire in their wake. She moaned as He pushed up her skirt
and pawed the inner recesses between her thighs, which grew damp at His
touches. "Oh, my Love!" she gasped breathlessly. "Canst we not take this to
the bedchamber? The guards will see us!"
A scratching knock at the great door caused Sauron to turn His
head and watch as the doorman answered the summons. Sauron nodded, and the
servant opened the door to admit the Eighth Nazgûl.
The Great Dark Lord rested His hands on Nároméra's shoulders, His mouth
teasing her earlobe as He whispered, "The Palantir can wait, enchantress.
Mayhap Lord Skri has mistakenly brought Me another delightful message, and
we can learn more of the Witch-king's plans to deceive Me."
"That would be most amusing, my Beloved,
but such good fortune is like lightning, and rarely strikes twice," Nároméra
remarked as she watched the tall, cadaverous figure glide towards the
throne, his tattered black robes skittering like wounded bats across the
polished marble floor. "Ah, poor hapless Skri!" she mused to herself. "Thou
hast inadvertently betrayed thy king, but thou hast brought thy Master so
much enjoyment!"
The Eye: that horrible growing sense
of a hostile will that strove with great power to pierce all shadows of
cloud, and earth, and flesh, and to see you: to pin you under its deadly
gaze, naked, immovable.
--"The Passage of the Marshes," The Two Towers, p. 238
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