The Great Tales of Beleriand: Definitive Edition by Chilled in Hithlum

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Part Eight: Dark Bowels

Here we look at the master/servant relationships between Morgoth/Sauron and Sauron/Draugluin.  I have invented my own origin story here for Thuringwethil mainly because I have seen no other...

Indeed any pointers pertaining to the Vampire Lady other than in the Silmarillion would be gratefully recieved...

 

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THE GREAT TALES OF BELERIAND

PART EIGHT: DARK BOWELS

Voice of Thuringwethil: “Long, long ago, and even longer still…”

[All is void…]

Voice of Thuringwethil: “In the days before days the Powers of the World contended for the dominion of Eä, and those that would be enslaved to them were made flesh, finding their own selves ejected from the Timeless Halls whence they begun.”  

[A corona of purest white arises out of black; its eye burgeons with living colour…]   

Voice of Thuringwethil: “Many were weak, meekly accepting servitude to this master or that, whilst others rebelled alongside the Dark Lord!  The Umaiar: choosing a bestial life but a life of servitude all the same… huh, males!”

[Melkor surrounds himself with Balrogs, Wolves, and other wicked creatures…]

Voice of Thuringwethil: “Yes it is true that they have the strength of the brute, but little else beside, theirs is the province of bloodlust and conquest; ha, ha, ha, conquest under the dominance of a greater lord!”

[The Fell Servants under the eye of Morgoth-Melkor erect towers to his glory…]  

Voice of Thuringwethil: “Oh please, you should understand that we Sisters alike to our brethren also crave the living blood, but the female of the species requires more than raw brutality; we desire autonomy… and the means to achieve this end… the Law!  ‘Strange?’ you might say given our part in the rebellion.  Not really, once you consider universal law and do not overcomplicate it with facile dogmata: THE STRONG ALWAYS DEVOUR THE WEAK!”

[A pallid feminine mouth bares its bloodstained fangs to feast on unholy meat…]  

Voice of Thuringwethil: “Thirteen were we until our eldest sister deserted us for a life of sole determination: Ungoliant they named her, for she took upon herself the shape of a huge and fearsome spidress.  Alas as one alone, losing the potency of the enclave, she was doomed to remain ever-famished… a fate deserved; I cannot rightly say!”

[Ungoliant takes refuge a dank and noisome ravine…]  

Voice of Thuringwethil: “Abandoned, we faltered; a twelve-spoked wheel lacking a hub in dire need of the wainwright!  Until at last, there came two, either of whom could well serve our requirements: sickened by light they had embraced the darkness!  The first came with great occasion, Mairon the Maker out of the Mansions of Aulë, but he looked only to himself enjoying his great status at the right hand of Melkor…”

[Sauron joins with Morgoth-Melkor…]

Voice of Thuringwethil: “The other came as one apart, moving in silence; there is no known name for him although we of the Sisterhood call him, The Groom, since he married his vast knowledge with our own desire and taught us the ways of the Law…”

[A coven surrounds a hooded figure in an equidistant circle…]   

Voice of Thuringwethil: “It is guessed that he ventured forth from the Halls of Mandos because of the manner of his wisdom, but even now he will not brook any discussion on this subject.  Still, it matters naught: why should we Sisters care for such triviality when our lord seeks not subordination only union?”

[The Groom produces a babe from beneath his robes and the Sisters close in to feed…]

Voice of Thuringwethil: “And so… in the long ages that followed many battles were fought, won and lost, and mighty strongholds came and went; even the Dark Lord himself departed for a time or two.  And yet, throughout all this the Sisters remained unaffected; for our Groom bends the knee and provides sound counsel, and shielding us from his master’s schemes we escape his eye… thus the circle remains unbroken… an arrangement that suits all!”    

Present day…

Angband, Morgoth’s Chamber…

[Morgoth limps impatiently about his chamber: from table to shelf and back again he restlessly fingers book-spines, ledgers, maps, scrolls and parchments, his irritation rising with each failed cross-reference.  In frustration, he thumps the tabletop unsettling an untidy stack of documents causing Carcharoth who had been sleeping beneath to dart out between his legs…]

Morgoth: “Ludicrous Whelp, you almost bowled me over!”

[The yearling Wolf is fast grown and already the size of his father but here, now, cowering besides the great throne he seems shrunken to his master’s eyes; and away from the sight of all others, Morgoth indulges in cajoling and remorse…]

Morgoth: “Aw, did Daddy frighten you?  Come on then, come on!”

[When the beast does not budge he produces a pail containing dismembered limbs soaking in the sullied blood of their former owners, Elves and Orcs alike; tempted, Carcharoth bounds across to claim his reward…]

Morgoth: “Who’s my beautiful Red Maw then?”

[In stolen moment’s bliss, Morgoth, the Great Foe of the World, wrestles playfully on the floor; a boy and his dog!]

Morgoth: “By my word, if you grow any swifter you shall soon have my hand off!”  

[He smears Carcharoth’s jowls with blood when there is a rap on the door; Sauron enters at his lord’s bidding but kneels in silence, obliged to await Morgoth’s pleasure…]  

Morgoth: “Look at him Sauron, is he not magnificent?”   

Sauron: “A credit to you, My Master, his father would be so proud…”

[Morgoth, still preoccupied, chooses to ignore his ironic tone or simply does not register it…]

Morgoth: “Well, where is the beast?  One can scarce separate you both these days…”  

Sauron: “Draugluin: come!”

[The Wolf enters as bidden, however his scion bristles at this new presence and Carcharoth leaving his master’s side lurches forward with a snarl; Morgoth finally deigns to look up…]

Sauron: “Withdraw and wait outside!”

Draugluin: “Lord, he is my issue; I must show dominion over him!”

Sauron: “Do as I bid thee!”

Draugluin: “But please, there shall be no other opportunity…”

Sauron: “Would you taste my wrath: do it!”

[Draugluin woefully bows his head in submission and departs with his tail between his hind legs.  Carcharoth barks wildly as he goes, spraying foamy saliva over his snout…]

Morgoth: “Was that really necessary?  It is bad form, Sauron, to emasculate a father before his son you know… Ha, ha, ha, look at the state of you; does that knee hurt?  Rise, you bloody fool!”

[Morgoth returns to his table and papers…]

Sauron: “You are in good spirits, My Lord…”

Morgoth: “Is that a question or a statement?”

[Sauron makes no answer; Morgoth eyes him suspiciously…]

Morgoth: “Am I not the Elder King?”

Sauron: “Indeed, Sire…”

Morgoth: “And where then is my kingdom?”

Sauron: “It is wheresoever thou would elect it to be…”

Morgoth: “Oh really; so tell me, do you see cascades of flame contending with the mighty frost or the ballet of dust riven from crumbling mountains that reassembles according to my construct, or only a rat stinking sewer?”

Sauron: “A sewer, nay Lord; these tunnels are but channels to accommodate the roots of your glorious design and this room a kernel husk to house the nub of thy genius!”

Morgoth: “Flattery, mockery; I cannot tell the difference… it is all double-talk to me!”

Sauron: “It is neither, My Lord!”

Morgoth: “Hmm, I wonder…”

Sauron: “Morgoth they name you out of fear but Melkor thou art in essence, Master of the Fates of Arda; evoke thy true name and rise in might!”   

Morgoth: “You parade adulation like a prostitute, Sauron, I should make you my jester; ha, ha, ha, oh how that would amuse me!”

Sauron: “Tread on me if it pleases you, My Master, but you cannot disguise the knot on you brow; please permit me license to aid in its unravelling!”   

[Morgoth gives no reply but leans over his table, his mighty arms locked straight across the span seeming as a great pyramid held in deep thought.  At length he lights on a severed hand preserved in denaturant brine…]

Morgoth: “I should have slain that ‘One-handed Pumpkinhead’ when I had the chance; instead all I have is this twisted thing in a pickle jar to remind me of my folly!  I admit it, Sauron, I misjudged him in Valinor and even now I cannot fathom his restraint; are not these scions of Feckless Fëanor obligated to that absurd oath of their father’s making?”    

Sauron: “Long has his holdfast stood defiantly open upon the Hill of Himring; perhaps we should consider a concentration of force to the east this time?”

Morgoth: “No, Maedhros will keep; he cannot constrain his brothers forever, besides I have tasted pumpkin and do not really care for it, there are sweeter fruits to harvest.”

[Sauron holds his tongue, sensing an outburst that does not come; at length he speaks, but without affectation…]

Sauron: “How may I be of service?”

[Morgoth inhales sharply through his nose, biting his lip…]

Morgoth: “I misuse you at times, Sauron, I know it; and I know also that you have never really done me false…”

[He falters, considering his words: Sauron interjects…]

Sauron: “But you mistrust me, Lord; you wonder still how it is that I could turn a-face from my old allegiances without compulsion, even now you doubt my choice?”

Morgoth: “Frankly speaking, yes!”

Sauron: “I can make no argument to placate such entrenchment; I can only stand on my record, my service!  What is it here, now, that concerns you so?”

Melkor: “About you, you mean?”

Sauron: “I suppose that would be a start…”

Morgoth: “Your candour is refreshing, very well: I would know whether or not you are you in conspiracy against me?”

Sauron: “What, no… who do imagine I am plotting with?”

Morgoth: “The other who turned aside and came over so freely to my cause; you know the one I mean, the Spider’s replacement!”
 
Sauron: “Him, the so-called Groom; My Lord are you jesting?  Ha, ha, ha, forgiveness please; but me exchanging my policies with that bookworm of Mandos, oh that is rich.  Had you thought I meant to supplant you I could understand it better!”  

Morgoth: “Ha, your words betray you Sauron…”

Sauron: “If naught else you know that I am not such a dullard as all that!”  

Morgoth: “Hmm, even if it were so you possess not the power!”   

Sauron: “Precisely, so I would humbly ask again; how may I be of service?”

[Morgoth’s eyes return to the scattered papers…]

Morgoth: “You ask for license to unravel knots, then set your beady eyes upon this lot and tell me what you see; there is something in there that I am missing, some clue I know it!”

Sauron: “Embroidery of this sort requires a total unpicking and reformation of the image.  I am no seamstress, Master; though I deem the tapestry would be broad and figure also that the best way to begin it would be the stitching of rumours to facts…”  

Morgoth: “Very well, you may proceed!”

Sauron: “I would require unfettered latitude with the thralls and your troops…”

Morgoth: “It is yours!”

Sauron: “And time, My Lord!”

Morgoth: “Has not forbearance ever been my guarantee; you have one month!”

[Sauron bows and rising he stands erect seeming somehow taller, with a broad swish of his black cloak he strides confidently out the chamber…]  

Voice of Thuringwethil: “Thereafter a change came over Angband, though not one instantly distinguishable to the eye, for Sauron shed his last vestige of Mairon the Maker and emerged distinctly altered; assured, swift and thirsty was he, and if indeed it were possible even more ruthless!”  

The dungeons of Angband…

[The thralls of Angband are among the first to note the lengthening shadow of Sauron when he questions many of them under pain; Gelmir of Nargothrond discusses recent events with his cellmate…]

Gelmir: “Aerandir, you are awake…”

Aerandir: “Have I slept so long?”

[Gelmir lifts a chained leg…]

Gelmir: “No, they have confined to us all to quarters; for how long, I cannot say!”

[The elder Elf stirs laboriously to sit up on his stone slab bed…]

Aerandir: “I am fettered also; huh, where do they think I will run off to?”  

Gelmir: “Fifteen did not return with us: it is rumoured that many from other sectors have also vanished, some say that they are taking workers indiscriminately, strong useful ones too, torturing or killing them for no apparent cause…”

Aerandir: “Procedures: I have seen it before, although not on the scale which you are describing… that is alarming!  Hmm, the war must have gone ill with Morgoth else he would not be venting his frustration so vehemently!”

Gelmir: “Frustration, is that what this is?”   

Aerandir: “One can only guess; who knows the will of Morgoth, who would want to?”

Gelmir: “I would rather be forewarned…”

Aerandir: “No you would not, believe me; look around you, Gelmir, this is no council of war it is hell, be inconspicuous my young friend and hope that we go unnoticed!”

Gelmir: “You are afraid; have you undergone a Procedure before, is that why you do not work?”

Aerandir: “Nay, I am grown old before my time and have outlasted any usefulness as a labourer so now they leave me to linger and dwindle away in grief.  Alas, I was alone for so long ere you came that I first thought that my oppressors had shown an ounce of compassion in delivering a companion to me.  I understand now that all this was merely a consequence of overcrowding after Morgoth’s last assault on freedom…”

Gelmir: “Ay and many more have followed since I came; perhaps they are thinning out our ranks some?”

Aerandir: “I think not after what you have told me… Morgoth is a villain certainly, but no wastrel.  Why retain the likes of emaciated me and destroy prime strength?””

Gelmir: “I know not, but I do see how your eyes betray you; you would say more!”    

Aerandir: “It does not do any good to dwell on such things…”

Gelmir: “Perhaps not but neither of us are going anywhere soon, and although we have not known each other so very long I look upon you as a friend; come, will you not unburden yourself…”

Aerandir: “Your inner-sight is keen, but you know not what you ask of me!”  

Gelmir: “I have a good ear too, or so my brother tells me!”

Aerandir: “Very well if you would have it I shall tell you my unhappy tale… Your predecessor was my wife’s brother whom I met at the great feast, Mereth Aderthad, whereat we quickly became friends; I am of the House of Aegnor and his kin hails from Nevrast.  It was whilst visiting those coastlands that I first met my beloved and for a whole summer we became inseparable… but that is another story!”

[He breaks off, pained by the memory…]

Gelmir: “How then did you and her brother come to end up here?”

Aerandir: “Our families were joined ere the Dagor Aglareb; ah, those were fine days but alas all too short lived.  We were fellows at arms in that great battle, he and I, for my wife’s kin removed to Dorthonion after we wedded.  But afterwards, after the Glorious Battle with Morgoth being so easily beaten, the Noldor became over-proud and us younger ones ignoring the warnings of our elders swaggered where we would.  Bohdan and I ventured too far north on a hunt along the eastern mountains when we were taken at unawares and brought hither in chains; I have never once looked upon the open sky since…”

Gelmir: “Oh, how sad… I myself was born in the year of the Third Battle!”

Aerandir: “Sad, yes, my wife was heavy with child when I saw her last… now where was I?  Ah yes!  For the most part my years here have been much like yours are now; backbreaking toil under anonymous cruelty and endless darkness, but in the beginning at least I had companionship in Bohdan, my kin by marriage…”   

[Again he pauses in sorrow but as Gelmir makes to speak he resumes…]

Aerandir: “There were many tales out of Nevrast telling of how that Turgon, Son of Fingolfin, became the most hated by The Dark Lord amongst all the Children of Ilúvatar.  The stories often differed all but for one point stating that Turgon would fix Melkor with his eye causing the villain to blink and flinch whenever they passed in the streets of old Valinor…”

Gelmir: “Melkor..?”

Aerandir: “Yes, that was the Dark Lord’s name ere his return to Endórë!  I am surprised that one as highborn as you has not heard it spoken…”

Gelmir: “Neither have I heard that name nor am I highborn; my ranking in the king’s guard came chiefly through my father’s service and my brother after him!”

Aerandir: “Forgive me, please I meant no slight!”

Gelmir: “Not at all; pray continue!”

Aerandir: “Now, when his lineage finally became known to the enemy Bohdan was taken and broken under many days of agony, the details of which I shall not give air to; adequate to say that this evil was done in order to gain information leading to Turgon’s dwelling place…”

Gelmir: “A Procedure..?”

Aerandir: “Indeed: alas the Power of Morgoth was too strong and ultimately he succumbed!  He was the mightiest, fiercest and most loyal Elf I have known but even he could not withstand that which they meted out on him…”

[He begins to crumble…]

Gelmir: “So they slew him?”

Aerandir: “With a fatal blow, no; rather it was the realisation that his own perceived weakness had condemned his king which split his fëa from its hröa… that and the grievous cruelty inflicted upon his intellect!”

Gelmir: “Turgon lives still, though none now know where he resides not even his closest kin; ha, Morgoth was cheated!”

Aerandir: “Quiet, you fool!  Surely you have learnt not to boast in this place, under these conditions; can you not see that we are in the same danger as Bohdan was some three hundred years ago?”

Gelmir: “Surely the peril is the same for all captives?”

Aerandir: “On the surface of things, yes; however you have shared you life’s story with me and I know where you hail from.  Alas, after such a protracted solitude I was over greedy for tales of the world without and I fear that if either of us is taken for processing then your King Felagund may suffer the consequences!”    

[As though to punctuate the gravity of his remark the familiar grinding of metal on metal screeches overhead signifying the beginnings of a night patrol…]

Gelmir: “They are early; we have not eaten yet…”

[The repeated command, LIGHTS OUT, echoes throughout the honeycombed network of detention corridors…]

Aerandir: “It is better not to speak!”

[They sit a-face in uneasy silence waiting for the lofty gaslight wall fixtures to flicker out until all that remains is borrowed light from the corridor under the slit of the door; in that dimness chains clink together as both thralls take to their granite cots…

All too close, they hear the groaning open of another cell door; an affected voice speaks unable to disguise its natural Orkish rasp, OUR LORD SAURON REQUESTS THE PLEASURE OF YOUR COMPANY!  This is followed by at least two others uttering in more accustomed tones…  

There is heard the sound of struggle and protestation but nothing avails the unfortunate whose fate to suffer it seems was chosen at random; at terrible length he is hauled away for processing and grim silence infects the dark!]

A nondescript chamber in Angband….

[A prisoner stands arms raised, chained at the wrists in the middle of the room of uncertain size; a single source of light falls from above directly onto him whilst Orc brutes beat him callously, until when at last their pleasure is halted by a prolonged CREEEAK at the doorway.  Sauron enters circling the floor, he comes clad and hooded in black robes so as to obscure his countenance; indeed he is perceptible chiefly by his sinister presence or the dulcet honey-and-treacle voice which he so often transforms into caustic bile-and-vinegar…  

WHAT IS YOUR NAME..?

FROM WHENCE DO YOU HAIL..?

WHO IS YOUR LEIGE LORD..?

TO WHOM ARE YOUR FOLK ALIGNED..?

Those would his be his four opening questions, the answers to which would then set the tone and length for the following Procedure…]

The dungeons of Angband…

[All is blackness: Gelmir suddenly awakes disturbed by a rattling wheeze opposite…]

Gelmir: “Aerandir, what is that sound?”

[Silence… besides the effected breathing]

Gelmir: “Is that you, I cannot see the torches are not lit, they have not risen yet; Aerandir, are you awake?”

[Silence… besides the effected breathing]

Gelmir: “Perhaps you are right, it is better to sleep…”

[There is a low and laboured groaning…]

Aerandir: “Gelmir… Gelmir… I am sorry…”

[Presently, the igniting of the torches outside offers scant light and Gelmir notices his companion lying unnaturally on his stone bed with limbs half hanging over the side.  The younger Elf moves in for a better look shuffling gingerly as not to disturb his leg iron.  He crawls across the floor as far as his chain will allow finding his older friend listless, wan and sweating profusely…]

Gelmir: “Aerandir, My Friend; what ails you?”

[Aerandir gestures downwards with his eyes to some stale looking clumps on the floor.  Gelmir picks up one of these bread-dumplings for closer inspection which crumbles between his fingers; he dabs his tongue to find the dough laced with finely ground metallic powder…]

Gelmir: “No: what have you done?”       

[Aerandir stirs painfully…]

Aerandir: “Please… do not judge me too harshly… leave, leave that to Mandos!  I cannot… again… bear to see another who… whom I love…. suffering.”

[As he dies Gelmir carefully retrieves another dough ball that he melancholically rolls between his fingertips…]      

The following day…

The Pass of Sirion, nigh to Tol-in-Gaurhoth…

[Two riders accompanied by a great wolfhound ride into the deserted pass…]

Curufin: “I still cannot fathom why I let you sway me to come out this far north…”

Celegorm: “I trust Huan as much I do you, Little Brother; I remind you again that he has never once let us down before!”

Curufin: “I agreed that he needed a run out after being cooped up in Finrod’s halls for so long, but not to following his blasted nose!  This is treacherous ground we could be heading into a trap: come let us away east!”

Celegorm: “You were the first to doubt Orodreth’s account of events leading to his overthrow, take this opportunity now to see for yourself!”  

[Huan presses on, and before Curufin can protest further his brother leaves his side to follow the hound…]

Curufin: “This is madness!”

[The agitated beast bounds over one of the many improvised gangways leading onto the Cursed Isle and lets out a baleful howl.  Presently seven preying Wolves issue forth from the tower to surround the riders.  The fight that follows is brief with Huan dispatching five of the prowlers before either brother has time to re-notch a second arrow; still, they dismount to pierce the carcasses anyway and stand in readiness for a renewed assault.  At length Huan leaps toward the open doorway letting out a howl of such mockery that none in earshot could mistake for aught else… yet the place remains desolate and none emerge.  In his contempt the Hound of Valinor lifts a forepaw and scratches two runes on the door before returning to his master’s side…]    

Celegorm: “We have been fortunate!”

Curufin: “Fortunate, how so?”

Celegorm: “Those creatures were wholly lupine, had they been imbued with fell spirits then I fear that not even Huan could have withstood them.  We must report what has happened to our cousin the King!”

Curufin: “Yes, this outing has proved more than enough adventure for me; let us go back to hearth and mead!”

Celegorm: “Neither that cousin nor that king; we are not so many leagues from the Barad Eithel, it is long overdue since we paid our dear Fingon a visit!”

[Curufin slumps his shoulders and shaking head in despair he remounts his steed…]

One month later…

Tol-in-Gaurhoth…

[Sauron and Draugluin return to the river stronghold after their short residency at Angband; Sauron grumbles to his companion as they re-enter the keep…]

Sauron: “They are fools all of them, Melkor most of all; he, the greatest under Eru has squandered his power by imitating that which he denies, that which made him!  How does one of such immense and impressive might fail to see the harm he does upon his own being when those that are bent to his will know it or at the least sense it..?”   

Draugluin: “I sense it not… I wear your collar not his!”

[Attendants fuss about but Sauron is in no mood for pampering and shoes them off…]

Sauron: “Have a care, Draugluin; words spoken beyond these walls have a way of frittering northward and the Dark Heart’s tongue tastes only the bitter and sour!”

Draugluin: “How is my realigning allegiance to you worse than your accusation of Morgoth’s foolish squandering of power?”      

Sauron: “You are unlearned in the art of shielding your thoughts, a fault I must remedy; indeed it is a skill I learnt but recently!”

Draugluin: “That sounds intriguing…”  

Sauron: “Yes, there are eyes and ears far beyond these walls that can undo space and stone; it became apparent to me when I encountered the daughter of the former owner of this keep!”

Draugluin: “When… How..?”    

Sauron: “As I perverted the corpses of the fallen at Taur-nu-Fuin she came unbodied before me, and understanding my plan to overthrow her folk she forewarned them and they made good their escape.  Consequently, I knew that if my designs could be so easily cheated by an Elf-maiden merely dreaming then steps had to be taken to prevent such a reoccurrence…”

Draugluin: “How then did you achieve this?”

Sauron: “I told Melkor the whole sordid tale, of course I stressed upon him the apparent dangers if our enemies perfected the skill of unaided remote vision; thereafter he was all too eager to convey his knowledge and art…”

Draugluin: “And you are prepared to endow this gift unto me?”

Sauron: “Why not; after all you have re-pledged you collar to me.  Hmm… indeed I shall implement it as a conduit and in this way should your mind begin to stray I can readily bring you back to heel; um yes, I like that!”  

Draugluin: “As you will, My Master!”

Sauron: “Ha, you are a faithful one; truly, if the Dread Lord attempted to smite me in your presence then I would wager that you would go for him…”

Draugluin: “Ay, and doubtless perish in the attempt!”

Sauron: “Naturally…”

Draugluin: “Then tell me, Master, I am confused: you say that Morgoth is immense and dreadful in one breath then berate for folly in the next, do you not love him?”

[Sauron begins to laugh hysterically…]

Sauron: “LOVE, HA, HA, HA; I never thought the day would come when such a word should dribble like the very slobber from the snout of a Werewolf!  Love is a nipple for the weak, suckling milk to keep one dependant, it promotes vulnerability and the vulnerable always have something to lose!  Love disgusts me, I hate it; and for that fact I am angered all the more at myself!”

Draugluin: “Why?”

Sauron: “Hate should be smelted and honed in the belly’s smithy to produce a fiery weapon to wield against one’s foes.  Hatred born out of contempt only sickens to the core to produce one as frail as those that would profess peace and harmony!”  

Draugluin: “Give me fear and discord anytime…”

Sauron: “Well spoken, My Friend, for those two are the keys to dominion; although do not confuse this with hatred for that is the power that impels them…”

Draugluin: “Strength is my weapon; I chose a bestial life and understand no other power, especially not that of the Great such as of thee or Morgoth.”

Sauron: “Dominion is power and power is strength, yet strength cannot be expended without yielding some personal power: understand?”

[Draugluin looks at him nonplussed…]

Sauron: “In the beginning you and I chose our own forms and allegiances under The Powers: right?  Now, for Melkor this is quite different since his being comes directly from the Old Power, the eldest, and that is something which cannot be replaced once dispersed into others.  The creatures of his design, though brilliant, are but corruptions of already existing things dominated and misshapen through the application of his own essence; but in his obsessive experimentation he has overreached his aim and become ever more earthbound…”

Draugluin: “And yet, Morgoth remains a mighty tyrant!”

Sauron: “The greatest and most terrible there shall ever be upon Arda!  It is for that reason I would urge to never utter the name Morgoth again; that name was created by his enemies in scorn of him and he hates it!”

Draugluin: “And hatred bore out of contempt….”

Sauron: “Precisely: but more than this, that dishonour reminds him that he was meant for so much more!  The realisation of it scolds him at his very foundations and none now exist that are unstained by his wrath; but what is worse for him is that he is no longer unequalled and he knows personal fear…”  

Draugluin: “So is this why he is so destructive?”

Sauron: “How do you mean?”

Draugluin: “Fear as I know it in others is primal, raw, of delicious scent and irresistible taste; it is a thing I have rarely experienced for myself.  If like to ourselves the King of Angband has become earthbound and indeed knows fear then surely his first concern lies in the preservation of his mortal form…”

Sauron: “Go on!”

Draugluin: “Well, I would seek to eradicate anything that I feared so that it no longer posed a threat to me…”

Sauron: “But if you were unable to do this..?”

Draugluin: “Then I would remove myself in order to avoid it…”

Sauron: “…and that would be pointless because?”

Draugluin: “It is a temporary measure, for whilst fear goes unchallenged it never leaves you.  I am ashamed to admit that the recent news of the Great Hound has somewhat frightened me and I am restless and eager to see him destroyed; how much more then would such fear apply to the Great Lord?”

Sauron: “I do believe you have tasted your first mouthful of profundity!”
 
Draugluin: “That is your province, Master, I recognise it not…”

Sauron: “Come now you are Umaiar, you were at my side when I joined the rebellion during the Marring of Arda; do you not remember aught else, The Music perhaps?”

Draugluin: “That was not our concern, I like so many others tried to hide from it!”

Sauron: “Weakling… I almost pity you; I immersed myself it!  And even though at that time I stood at Aulë’s side, it was then and there that I first encountered the Dark Lord; you should have seen it, Draugluin: ‘Melkor the Magnificent’ contesting with the very will of Eru!  Ah, for that one shining moment: there was nothing or nobody to compare to him then!”   

Draugluin: “And how about now; to me he seems all that and more…”

Sauron: “And how about now, hmm?”

One day earlier…

Angband, Morgoth’s Chamber…

[Sauron stands before his lord, and with scroll in hand he proceeds to read aloud; Morgoth nonchalantly sits a-throne leaning on one arm of the chair causally stroking beneath his chin with flats of his uneven fingernails…]

Sauron: “In the course of the last month Nine Hundred and Eighty-seven thralls were processed…”

Morgoth: “Sow few?”

Sauron: “Alas Lord, my efforts were hampered by a breakthrough in the Great North Wall, for the overseers there would not spare any workers; claiming that their orders came directly from your factor…”  

Morgoth: “I have heard naught of this progress until now… ah good, good!”

[After an awkward silence Morgoth senses that Sauron waits further prompting but hangs back until he is just about to speak; and then beating him to it Morgoth sweeps his fingers out from under his chin with a flourish, gesturing his ward to furtherance…]

Morgoth: “You may continue…”

Sauron: “Of the number indicated there were Five Hundred and Twenty-six fatalities, Two Hundred and Seventy-two near fatalities, the rest had nothing to offer and were so put back work without delay.  Of the Two Hundred and Seventy-two I have recommended Eighty-four for further processing once they are physically able to withstand it; their details are hereby logged.  Ah yes, there was also another fatality and near fatality, both unprocessed and from the same cell; it seems that they poisoned themselves although the younger of the two looks likely to survive, again their details are logged…”

Morgoth: “Stringent as always…”  

Sauron: “Now, given the time restraints of this exercise…”

Morgoth: “Etcetera, etcetera… What did you learn?”

[Sauron looks squarely upon his lord, un-chastened…]

Sauron: “On examining the documents that you presented to me I took my brief as the acquisition of hitherto unknown information pertaining to our enemies in the war…”

[He pauses: Morgoth chooses to ignore his insolent legalistic tone so Sauron returns to the scroll and resumes, but this time with more restraint…]    

Sauron: “I began the process with the descendants of Finwë: Fëanor and Fingolfin are as we know slain, but Finarfin of whom you wondered much is fled back to Valinor and came not into Middle-earth… although the same cannot be said of his children!  Moreover some of his progeny are closer than we thought, for you see, Lord, they claim kinship through their father’s marriage to that Thingol whom we so esteem; and it is understood that one of Finarfin’s issue, a daughter I believe, dwells within the very Halls of Menegroth.  Now, two of his sons were slain during the Great Burning and it was his grand-scion that I deposed after taking the Watchtower of Sirion.  That leaves us with but one more and perhaps the most powerful, King Felagund of Nargothrond they call him; does that name hold any meaning for you My Lord?”

Morgoth: “I do not recall hearing that name in Valinor: Felagund, Nargothrond, hmm?”    

[Morgoth scours a crudely drawn and incomplete map of Beleriand…]

Morgoth: “Curse that damnable mapmaker: I take it that you did not discover the whereabouts of this fabled kingdom?”

Sauron: “Alas not, save only that it lies away to the south…”

Morgoth: “Do we not have any of its wanderers in our prisons at all?”

Sauron: “None that I could discover within such time constraints…”

Morgoth: “Alright, alright you have found your mark; are you now satisfied?  Trouble me no further with the doings of the other children whose fathers I have already slain, I weary of hearing their names; unless of course you can offer me Turgon!”

Sauron: “Had I that prize, Lord, I would not have waited until this day to speak with you.  Those that knew him of old now claim ignorance to his whereabouts and for this many died under sufferance; indeed many hold that he departed West long ago, for there is no trace of him here in thy kingdom!”

Morgoth: “Impossible, he resides here still; I know it!”

Sauron: “There have been reports of ships unlike to those of the Mariner’s floundering at sea; perhaps…”

Morgoth: “Perhaps nothing, you are wrong Sauron!”

Sauron: “Then mayhap he has taken up residence with Thingol or his kin in Hithlum?”

Morgoth: “Both unlikely: for as you report says ‘tis Finarfin who claims kinship with the Grey-lord not Fingolfin, moreover Hithlum is too crowded to hold the whole host of Nevrast.  Drat it all, the fox eludes me still…”

Sauron: “There are many more eyes and ears in your service than ever before, Lord: perhaps their attention needs to be honed?”

Morgoth: “Ay and mayhap your own whetstone has become glazed, Master Sauron, given that I charged you personally with the taking of the Burnt Forest; I notice the absence of that matter in your report, save only for the pedigree of two long dead Elven brothers that once dwelt there…”

Sauron: “Ah well, My Lord, I was coming to that…”

Tol-in-Gaurhoth…
 

[A dark figure crosses the moon as we return to the discourse between Sauron and Draugluin…]

Sauron: “And so, Draugluin…”

[Presently a loud scuffling is heard above them: Draugluin shrinks back startled, bristling as he looks to the rafters, Sauron glances up coolly barely moving his head…]

Sauron: “Be at ease, Friend, ’tis but a messenger contracted out of Angband, the ever guileful Thuringwethil; descend dear lady and give us your news!”

[Draugluin does his utmost not to cringe as a Vampiress in bat-form flutters gracefully downward; she lands deftly, her wings splayed wide on the still Elvish-patterned floor, her rodentine features are lowered.  Quivering membranes balloon between the spindle fingers of her wings and she rises emerging as a starkly beautiful woman.  Dark of eye was she with luscious raven hair tumbling long down her pale complexion and mantle of ash-grey-black.  It seems to the Wolf that instead of arms only the batwings remain, although he does not care to inspect her too closely; in turn she ignores him utterly and stands defiantly before Sauron…]

Thuringwethil: “Lord Sauron, the Sisters of the North are ill apt to such lack; we are always provided for!”

Sauron: “Alas, Sweet Darling, this place may not compare to the higher echelons beyond Thangorodrim; but still, I like it…”

[She wriggles uneasily in her own skin casting a scornful eye over the space of bastardised design; neither Orkish nor Elvish…]      

Thuringwethil: “I refer not to lack of home-comfort but the provision to perform a basic covert task unencumbered by prying Eagles, ravening Spiders and blasted Elves in all directions; I had to take refuge amidst burnt trees and phantoms, leaving myself open to revelation!”

Sauron: “Should I have erected a belfry for you in the heart of Taur-nu-Fuin; mayhap that would have made your duty more pleasant?”     

Thuringwethil: “We Sisters are also ill apt to cynicism…”

Sauron: “Enough, Woman: what news?”

Thuringwethil: “Twelve remain by my count, desperate Men disbanded in continually mobile factions.  To my reckoning there is little or no purpose to their movements, save only that of despondent rabbits surrounded by fox dens…”

Sauron: “Twelve, only twelve… hmm; and what of the little house, was there any movement there?”   

Thuringwethil: “I found no such house at the location given; moreover living trees remain there obscuring my view from above.  Still this matter seemed important to you and I spent much of last week scouring that area but I can assure you, Lord, that region is desolate!”

Sauron: “Lack, alack: Sister I fear that you are correct, I did not prepare your mission brief properly, indeed I should have provided clearer instruction!”

[Thuringwethil sneers down her nose…]

Thuringwethil: “Quite so… and I do not think that Lord Melkor will be too impressed with your base of operations once I report back to Angband!”

Sauron: “Oh really… and pray, when will this distressing event take place?”

Thuringwethil: “This very night!”

Sauron: “Then off with you, go… there is no time like the present!”

[Draugluin prepares to lunge as she reverts to bat-form but Sauron stays him with a wave of his forefinger.  Thuringwethil takes flight but finds her exit barred by an invisible wall of dark power; unable to depart she screams her displeasure at Sauron.  The Dark Apprentice takes up his staff issuing a bolt at her and with a resounding ‘DOWN BITCH’ she crashes to the floor, a shrieking broken woman.  It is now obvious to the circling Draugluin that she indeed has arms for one them lies exposed and dislocated at the shoulder…]    

Thuringwethil: “Outrage, outrage: you shall pay dearly for this Sauron!”

[Sauron treads hard on her effected shoulder…]

Sauron: “I should have Draugluin ravish you here and now; what would your Sisterhood make of that, or indeed your precious Groom?”

Thuringwethil: “No, no; please, you must not!”

Sauron: “Ah yes, they say that Vampiri and Lycan are wholly incompatible; but who are they… and what do they know… shall we find out?”

Draugluin: “But; My Lord?!”

Sauron: “He would do it if I bade him, he would!”

[The dismayed Wolf rears back…]

Sauron: “Fret not, Dear Friend, I could never debase your loyalty so crudely I was merely stressing a point…”

[He digs his foot into her shoulder once more, she cries out in pain…]

Sauron: “Look to him, Sister Thuringwethil, and learn!”

Thuringwethil: “Learn from that creature… ha: the Sisterhood knows more than either of you could ever conceive of…”

Sauron: “And especially in the dark matters of the Law; hmm?”

Thuringwethil: “Correct… And innumerable of such laws that I shall have no hesitation in crushing you with before the Jury of One…”

[Sauron laughs incredulously…]

Sauron: “The Jury of One?”

Thuringwethil: “The Dark Lord himself!  Oh-oh, how I shall laugh when I see you quake beneath his boot!”

Sauron: “With such florid imagery how can I resist?”

[He stamps on her a third time but this time she stifles her suffering…]

Thuringwethil: “Hackneyed drolleries are naught compared with the eloquence of the Groom; you shall see!”

Sauron: “Enough of this game it bores me…”

[Sauron produces a parchment which he unfurls triumphantly in the face of the prostrate Vampiress…]

Sauron: “Look on this Sister it is a contract, the wording is my own but all importantly the signature at the bottom is Lord Melkor’s: read it!”

[He gloats as the horror of what is written thereon etches itself onto her face…]

Sauron: “As you can clearly see it states that from now on you shall serve me HOWSOEVER REQUIRED AND REGARDLESS OF ANY OTHER CALLING FOR A PERIOD UNLIMITED!  This means that the Circle of Twelve Sisters is forever broken and the Little Groom’s conspiracy of litigation is done for; ha, ha, twelve desperate Men and twelve desperate Sisters, that must be my lucky number!  Just think, Draugluin, when this is known throughout the ranks we shall be hailed as heroes; perhaps now the Vampiri will have to get their hands dirty like the rest of us!”

[Thuringwethil hisses wildly as Sauron and Draugluin howl with derision…]

Sauron: “Come now, Pretty-pretty, do not take on so; see here, we shall have your arm mended in a trice…”

[He snaps the shoulder back into place leaving her writhe and agonise across the floor; at length she stops, pounding with sweat and breathing hard…]

Sauron: “Now, let me provide full instruction that you might be prepared and lack for naught: listen well!  The house referred to earlier does exist, we know this!  You shall find it easily enough in a clearing beneath the canopy of living trees; and since you value secrecy so much the forest itself should provide cover enough to meet that need.  
You will remain there for a period of no less than one half of one year and compile for me a detailed report of any movement round and about that locality; if however during this time any of the Twelve come within your vicinity then you vacate immediately and report to me!  Is that clear enough instruction for you?”

Thuringwethil: “Yes, My Lord; would you have me go right away?”

Sauron: “You may take a night’s rest and depart at dusk on the morrow; until then we shall have to see to that shoulder…”

Thuringwethil: “By you will, Lord Sauron!”

[With a handclap from Sauron his attendants hurry in to see to her needs and carry her off to bed…]

Draugluin: “Master, can you trust her?”

Sauron: “Oh yes, she is bound to me now; you saw her face as she read that contract she knows it too!  The Sisters of the North know the penalty for breaking an indenture sanctioned by Melkor; after all, most of said penalties were drawn up by that ‘Blunt Little Pencil-point’ the Groom!”

[Both roar with laughter…]

Sauron: “Draugluin, old friend: that is the proper application of Hate against a foe!”

Draugluin: “And she now has six lonely months to mull it all over”

Sauron: “Ha, ha, ha, how sweet it is…  Now, while the mood is up, let us see if we cannot get to the bottom of this Hound of yours!  Two runes, H V; hmm..?”