Plague Comes to Dol Guldur by Uvatha the Horseman

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Day 0 – Waiting

The first few cases of plague have come inside Dol Guldor. It is feared that everyone within the fortress may eventially fall ill.

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Day 0 – Waiting

Dol Guldur, TA 1637 - Summer

Kip stopped brushing Kestrel and leaned against the horse’s flanks for a moment. I just do not feel good today, he thought. He was grateful to have a place in the stables at Dol Guldur, the fortress above his village. The wages were good. He didn’t want to be dismissed for slacking.

“Kip, don’t just stand around, get a move on!” Old Tom cuffed him on the side of the head, then, more gently, touched his face.

“You’re burning up, lad. Go lie down while I get the midwife.”

The midwife didn’t just deliver babies, she also sewed up wounds and mixed draughts for fevers. But when Old Tom came back a few minutes later, instead of the midwife, he was brought one of the black cloaked creatures that ran this place. There were two or three of them at least, servants of the Necromancer, but Kip had never seen one up close before.

The creature filled the doorway, blocking the light. It entered the room, and the muggy air in the stables suddenly felt cold.

The creature knelt beside him. He closed his eyes and turned away. Icy hands touched his face, then probed under his jaw, his armpits, and low on his belly. The creature’s touch was expert, and surprisingly gentle. He felt the fasteners of his shirt being undone and the fabric lifted aside.

“Do you see that rash? Each spot is surrounded by a rosy ring.”

“What does it mean?” asked Tom.

Please no please no please no …

It’s Plague.” said the creature.

“I want to go home! I want my mum and dad!”

“We can’t risk of infecting them, too.” said the creature.

“I’m sorry, lad, I know. It’s hard.” said Tom.

ooooo

Even since the Plague claimed its first victim a week ago, the leadership of Dol Guldur met every day, to plan how they would fight it.

Akhorahil, the fifth Nazgûl and an able physician, slipped into the room and took his place at the table. The plague ward had become so busy, he was almost always late to these meetings.

Akhorahil saw his Master at the head of the table, his face invisible under a hood. For as long as they’d been in Dol Guldur, his Master kept his identity hidden. He concealed his face, spoke in a whisper, and forbade any of them to speak aloud any name he’d ever used. He was the Necromancer, a masked figure with no other name, and no past.

His gloved hands were steepled as he listened to a speaker giving a report. Akhorahil turned his attention to the speaker.

“We finally figured out how the plague got into Dol Guldur. The first victim was a boy who worked in the stables, whose duties included buying grain and produce from local farmers. The next two victims were also people who went outside the fortress walls. One hunted deer in the forest, and the other was courting a girl in the village.”

The man finished his report and got up to go. After the door was latched behind him, his Master pushed back his hood and took off his mask. The only people in the room were Nazgûl. Sauron didn’t need to conceal his face from those who already knew him.

Akhorahil spoke next.

“Now that it’s arrived, it’s possible the plague will infect everyone within these walls. How should we defend ourselves? I suggest we do what we do best, run a military operation against it.

“As you know, I’ve set up the plague ward in the Great Hall, the largest room in the fortress. I want to run it with the order and efficiency of our armies in the Second Age.

“We’re setting up stations throughout the ward for preparing medicines, the infusions, elixirs, tinctures, salves, and ointments we’ll need to fight the plague. Each station will be stocked with medicinal plants, a charcoal hearth for boiling and distilling, and all the tools an herbalist could desire.

“We’re also creating central locations for storing linens, the sheets and nightshirts used by the patients. We’ll need a lot, because after they’re used, they’ll be burned.”

“Make them as cheaply as possible. I’m the one who’s paying for all this.” said Sauron. “And if you think I’m rich, think again.”

“But our best efficiency of all” Akhorahil was particularly proud of this idea, “is to write down everything about a patient: fever, symptoms, fluids taken, medicines given, and a general impression of how they’re doing.”

“That sounds like more work, not less.” said Sauron.

“It’s more work up front, but it saves work in the end. Every shift change, it takes a while for the medics to figure out how each patient is doing. But with a written record, within five minutes, they know everything there is to know.” said Akhorahil.

“Couldn’t you just cluster all the patients with the same symptoms together? Then you’d know how they were doing based on their location in the ward.” said Sauron.

 

There was a knock on the door, and the Chief of the Nazgûl entered the Council Chamber.

He was tall, and the heavy wools and furs he wore made him look even bigger. He’d just come from Carn Dûm, his fortress in Angmar. In the far north, especially at high altitude, bare rock and ice persisted even in summertime.

A steel crown sat upon his brow. This was the first time most of them had seen him wear it.

Most of the Nazgûl were kings in life, but their Chief, the younger brother of a king, became one himself only three hundred years ago, when Sauron sent him into the far north to establish the Witch Realm of Angmar.

Sauron crossed the room and embraced him warmly.

“Er-Mûrazor! How long has it been, fifty years?”

“Closer to a hundred.”

“You’re earlier than expected. You must have left the moment my summons reached you.”

“Things were quiet in the north, so I was able to get away promptly.”

Sauron sat down at the foot of the table, and invited the Witch King to sit at his right hand. He pushed the hood back from his face.

“Tell me everything. How is your mission going?”

Khamûl, a gifted military tactician, moved to the foot of the table and took a seat at Sauron’s left hand. This just turned into a military strategy session, thought Akhorahil. I wonder if I can slip out unnoticed.

“Carn Dûm dominates the North. The three splinter realms of Arnor have fallen, vanquished by the Witch Realm of Angmar.” the Witch King said. “Gondor no longer has a northern ally.”

“I did well when I make you Witch King of Angmar.” said Sauron.

“Then may I ask a small favor from you, as a reward? I’d like to be known by my title from now on.”

“You mean, I should call you The Witch King of Angmar? That takes a long time to say.”

“Angmar, then.”

“Done. Now tell me about your second mission. The one that’s more secret, and more important.” asked Sauron.

“I regret to report that I’ve learned nothing. Isildur and his sons left Gondor carrying a great heirloom, but as far as I can tell, they never reached Arnor. There’s no local story that says what happened to them.” said Angmar. “They vanished somewhere along the way. There’s no reason to think the heirloom ever made it to Arnor.” said Angmar. [1]

“Sometime soon, I may have another mission for you.” said Sauron. “The Great Plague devastated Osgiliath last year. The King of Gondor and both his sons died from it, along with half the city. Osgiliath was so weakened; their watch on Mordor was relaxed, and then abandoned.

“When I judge the time is right, I want you to capture Minas Ithil and occupy it. It’s not part of Mordor, but it controls the road to Barad-dûr. Once we control both entry points, Minas Ithil and the Morannon, we have Mordor.

“You’re in hiding. Won’t that draw attention to you?”

“By then, I’ll be ready.”

 

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Chapter End Notes

[1] At that moment, the Ring was in the Gladden Fields, quite close to Dol Guldur. It wouldn't be found for another 825 years.