Emissary by Uvatha the Horseman

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First Contact

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Chapter 4 – First Contact

Minas Morgul, TA 2951

It was surprisingly light inside the Great Hall. Urzahil blinked as he looked around. The light came through the clerestory windows high up near the vaulted ceiling and reflected against the polished marble, blindingly bright. It was dimmer in the shadows near the floor where the marble glowed faintly green, the color of lake water far below the surface.

Tar-Adûmir stepped through the doors, and the others followed. Urzahil lagged behind them in the dim, underwater light, his eyes on the slates a few paces ahead.

At the far end of an aisle formed by pillars of white marble, a low platform supported a throne. Behind it hung the largest banner Urzahil had ever seen, black with a red device, the Lidless Eye.

Light glinted from steel. Urzahil's eyes searched the dimness. A tall figure stood beside the throne, his gloved hands wrapped around the hilt of a great two-handed sword. His black garments were almost invisible against the banner behind him. A steel crown rested on his head. The Witch King of Angmar. On the other side of the throne, a second figure was similarly armed. For more stood at the back of the platform.

And what was that on the throne itself? Blackness filled the space, draped across its arms, swept against the floor. The shade unfolded itself and stood, liquid darkness, a blacker outline silhouetted against the black banner behind it.

Tar-Adûmir stopped ten paces before the platform.

"Ambassador from Umbar, I welcome thee." The Lord of Mordor spoke the traditional diplomatic greeting. His voice was a whisper, grating and harsh.

"Lord Zigûr, you do us honor." Tar-Adûmir spoke the customary reply.

"I offer thee my friendship. Let our two nations be allied against Gondor, our common foe. What sayest thou?"

"Umbar gladly accepts thy offer, Lord Zigûr." Tar-Adûmir mirrored Sauron's use of the ancient diplomatic language.

While they talked, Urzahil studied their host. Sauron was dressed entirely in black, without ornament of any kind. Unlike the servant at his right hand, he did not wear a crown. The light was behind him, it was impossible to see his face. Black gloves covered his hands.

Urzahil was here to watch Sauron and determine when he was lying, but how was he supposed to tell when he couldn't see him? Even if he could, it was said that Sauron lied as easily as he drew breath. If Sauron lacked remorse, as the Loremasters said, there'd be nothing to see.

Sauron took a step closer to Tar-Adûmir, leading with his right foot. That meant he was right-handed.

Urzahil watched Sauron's hands. They were relaxed and still, so Urzahil studied his feet. While Sauron was describing the strength of his army, the leather flexed over the tip of his right boot, which meant he was curling his toes. Why would he lie about the strength of his army? Everyone knew he'd just arrived here, and that Mordor was virtually unpopulated. Urzahil continued to watch him. Later, when Sauron promised to honor their alliance, his feet were as still as his hands. Good.

At one point, Tar-Adûmir gave Sauron an insincere complement. Urzahil saw Sauron's shoulders stiffen. Tar-Adûmir must not have noticed, because he did it again later. Marös, and then Mírdain also spoke to Sauron in an obsequious manner, and didn't seem to realize he found it annoying.

The audience drew to a close. It was time to exchange diplomatic gifts. Umbar's gift to Mordor was a fragment of the crystal globe that smashed when they pulled down the pillar. It was a large piece, smooth and curved on one side and ragged on the other. It was mounted on a block of white coral characteristic of Umbar, and on the side was a brass plaque commemorating the event.

Sauron's gift to Umbar was an ornamental dagger with a gold handle sat with gemstones. The blade was made of obsidian from Orodruin, the burning mountain. It was a handsome gift, worthy of the occasion.

-o-o-o-o-o-

After their audience, they had the afternoon free. Their minder took them on a tour of the fortress. They passed a small squadron of orcs going the other way, their armor clanking. Except for their guide, Urzahil hadn't seen anyone here who wasn't an orc.

"How many people are there in Minas Morgul?" asked Urzahil.

"Half the people from Dol Guldur followed him here, including myself. So let's see, Sauron and the nine Nazgûl make ten … " He countered on his fingers. "Including myself, I'd say twenty-two people."

"There must be more inside Mordor itself?" asked Urzahil.

"Mordor is empty," said the man.

The music of water reached him as they entered a courtyard in the middle of the fortress. In its center was a large fountain, alabaster white, carved in patterns of shells and vines. Water spilled over several basins before it fell into a tiled pool. The wind shifted, carrying with it a cold spray and the scent of water. Urzahil shivered. Even in the summer, it was cold up here in the mountains.

Near the fountain was the stump of a long-dead sapling, falling apart from age. Marks from a blade were visible on its cut surface.

"What's that twisted stump?" Urzahil asked.

"That's all that remains of the White Tree, the one Isildur brought from Númenor. The Witch King cut it down when he captured the fortress from Gondor."

Tar-Adûmir walked over to the fountain and sank down on the alabaster curb around it. He was a slender man with rounded shoulders, but slumped over with his white hair hanging in his face, he looked suddenly frail.

The guide crossed the courtyard to the stairway leading to the top of the wall. "May I take you to see the sights? From the Western Wall, you can look down the valley and see the meadow flowers in bloom. They have grey leaves like frost, and the flowers are a dark purple color. When you look down the valley, it's like a purple mist."

"Go on without me, I'm content to sit here in the sun." Tar-Adûmir made a gesture of dismissal.

"You don't mind being alone?" Their minder looked concerned.

"Urzahil will keep me company." Tar-Adûmir patted the curb beside him.

Mírdain's right here, why not him?

Urzahil sat down beside Tar-Adûmir and watched Marös, Mírdain, and Gaerna climb the stair and disappear along the wall. Urzahil scowled, he would've liked to see the meadow flowers too.

Tar-Adûmir's eyes scanned the edges of the courtyard. He twisted around and looked over his shoulder. They were alone. This close, the splashing from the fountain was so loud it may conversation difficult. He leaned over the water and reached for a leaf that was floating on the surface. Urzahil bent forward to see what he was looking at.

"So what did you observe of our host?" asked Tar-Adûmir, his voice low.

"He was easier to read than I expected," said Urzahil. "He lied a great deal, but mostly about insignificant things to save face, or make himself seem more important."

"What about our alliance?"

"As far as I can tell, he wants to ally with us against Gondor for mutual protection. There's no more to it than that."

"Good. You've just earned your keep on this trip."

-o-o-o-o-o-

A banquet was held in their honor that evening.

Before they left their rooms to go to the banquet, Tar-Adûmir lined them up and delivered a lecture.

"About that foolishness yesterday, when it was just us? That's not going to happen again. You're diplomats, you will behave like diplomats. I don't care what they put in front of you tonight, you're going to eat it without a single word of complaint."

Urzahil was apprehensive when he entered the feasting hall, a long chamber with high arched ceiling. They were shown to places has the High Table. Tar-Adûmir sat near the center, then the two envoys, then Urzahil, with Gaerna at the end.

Sauron didn't attend the banquet, his Chief Ambassador sat in his place.

"Why do you suppose Sauron's not here?" asked Mírdain.

"He's a supernatural creature, a spirit. I don't expect he eats," said Tar-Adûmir.

"Or perhaps he doesn't show his face to strangers," said Gaerna.

The first few removes were vegetables, bread, and rice. Then the main course was brought in, platters of roast chicken. Urzahil sagged with relief.

That night, as he lay between waking and sleeping, Urzahil saw again the audience with Sauron that morning. But in his dream, Caldûr, his former teacher, was on the stage with Sauron, positioning him in the shadow of the hanging banner and arranging the folds of his hood.

"Hold your head high and pull your shoulders back." Caldûr put a hand under Sauron's chin and tipped it up, then pulled the hood low over his eyes. "Just like that. It adds an air of mystery if they can't see your face, just like the low tones of music create a sense of dread."

Urzahil's eyes snapped open. He'd been in enough of Caldûr's plays to recognize theatrical illusions when he saw them. The whole audience that morning had been staged. Urzahil felt disappointed, and more than a little disillusioned.

-o-o-o-o-o-

They rose at first light. Urzahil dressed in the silver grey robes of the priesthood, and Gaerna put on a dark blue tunic with silver embroidery at the cuffs and hem. He struggled to fasten the closely spaced pearl buttons at the throat, which hadn't been made for a laborer's calloused hands.

When he finished, Gaerna gathered up his writing tools, and they joined the others at the long table under the dragon chandelier for breakfast. A fire was burning on the hearth. The main chamber was pleasantly warm after the unheated room where they'd slept.

Tar-Adûmir was lecturing his two envoys. "Our audience with Sauron yesterday was purely ceremonial. The real work begins today. We're going to negotiate a contract between our two nations, and record every nuance in precise legal language. It's going to be a long day. Plan to be there for eight or ten hours." Tar-Adûmir looked from Marös to Mírdain.

"Now, what should be on the forefront of your mind when you enter the Council chamber?"

"Mordor and Umbar are traditional allies, and have always helped each other," said Marös.

"And?"

"Mordor and Umbar share a common enemy," said Mírdain.

"And?"

Marös frowned, and Mírdain bit his lip. Tar-Adûmir looked impatient.

"We fear Sauron will pressure Umbar to become a vassal state. That must not happen," said Gaerna.

"That's the answer I was looking for," said Tar-Adûmir.

Then he turned to Urzahil. "Remember why you're here. Observe Sauron closely when he speaks. He may let down his guard in a way he didn't yesterday, and reveal more than he intends."

They followed Tar-Adûmir into the corridor. Their minder appeared shortly and led them to the Council chamber. Tar-Adûmir stepped inside and the others followed.

The walls of the Council chamber were the same white marble as the rest of the fortress. A long table ran almost the length of the room. Light poured through a bank of windows, reflecting from the pale walls and the polished oak table.

The Embassy from Mordor sat on the far side of the table. They were dressed entirely in black. Near the windows, a heavyset man, older and more formally dressed than the others, was speaking to a scribe. He'd been at the banquet last night, the Chief Ambassador for Mordor. The massive chair at the head of the table was empty.

Their minder showed Tar-Adûmir to a seat opposite Mordor's ambassador. Marös and Mírdain were given seats next to Tar-Adûmir, and Gaerna sat behind them on a stool near the wall, his writing box balanced on his knees. A wraith got up and moved to Mordor's side of the table, and Urzahil took its seat. The wood was cold.

A narrow door near the head of the table swung open. Something blocked the light. A figure robed in black placed a hand on either side of the doorjamb, then ducked under the lintel and entered the room.

Chairs scraped against stone. With the whisper of fabric, those on the Mordor side of the room rose to their feet. Tar-Adûmir stood also, and the delegation from Umbar followed his lead. Sauron crossed the room in three long strides. The flagstones rang under the weight of his tread. His people bowed their heads as he swept past and took his place at the head of the table.

Everything about Sauron's posture was confident, self-assured, and aggressive. Even if Urzahil hadn't known who he was, or known anything else about him, he would have been able to tell he was dangerous. Urzahil tried to see Sauron's face, but he was visible only as a black outline against the windows behind him. A theatrical trick, almost certainly done on purpose.

A second figure followed Sauron into the room. It wore a steel crown and carried a great, two-handed sword. It was at least as tall as its master, and wore the same featureless robes, but it looked utterly different. It moved fluidly, as if sliding in the shadows, unseen, invisible. Its footsteps made no sound. It reached the window and stood beside Sauron's chair, holding its weapon in both hands, the tip of the blade resting on the flagstones.

"Shall we begin?" Sauron's voice was a whisper, low and harsh. He introduced his Chief Ambassador, the older man on his right, and the junior envoys supporting him.

"And who is standing beside you? The one with the crown?" asked Tar-Adûmir.

"The Witch King of Angmar, a great general and my second-in-command," said Sauron.

The tip of the two-handed sword scraped against the flagstones, and Urzahil thought he saw the High Nazgûl stand a little straighter.

Tar-Adûmir introduced himself as Ambassador from Umbar, and named each member of his own delegation.

When the formal introductions were complete, the Witch King leaned his sword in a corner and pulled up a chair, wedging himself between Sauron and his Chief Ambassador, who moved over to make room for him. A look of annoyance flashed across the ambassador's features, but it disappeared an instant later behind a neutral expression. The Witch King moved so close to his master, there was little space between them, but Sauron didn't seem to notice or mind.

Drafting the contract was long and tedious. After they'd been working for a couple of hours, people on both sides of the table put down their quills. At the head of the table, Sauron stood up and stretched, then turned to Tar-Adûmir.

"Let me pose you a diplomatic puzzle. At the end of the Second Age, when my army was wiped out and my fortress besieged, I sent a message to Gil-galad and Elendil offering terms, which were rejected. If you'd been there, what would you have advised me to do?"

"Exactly what you did do. Retreat behind the walls of Barad-dûr and wait. You were well provisioned inside the fortress, while outside, the enemy had long supply lines and were camped on the plains of Gorgoroth where there's no water." Tar-Adûmir's voice was deferential.

"No one could've handled it better." Mírdain assured him, and Marös nodded in agreement. Sauron leaned back and crossed his arms. He looked down the table and his attention seemed to rest on Urzahil.

"What does our priest have to say?" asked Sauron.

I would have told you to not attack Gondor the first place. Then you wouldn't have provoked the counterattack that cost you your realm, and your life.

Urzahil bit his tongue and murmured that he wasn't trained as a diplomat.

"Even so, I'd like to know your opinion," Sauron said.

Urzahil weighed his words. He would be polite but honest.

"Well, I think they were options available that may have served you better. For instance, instead of meeting Gil-galad in single combat, you could have escaped through one of the sally ports and gone into hiding. You'd have lost Barad-dûr, but you'd still have the Ring."

Sauron's fingers, which had been drumming on the table, suddenly stopped. Tar-Adûmir leaned around Mírdain and shot Urzahil a look of warning.

Gaerna leaned forward from his place against the wall. "Or, after they rejected your terms, you might have had Gil-galad and Elendil assassinated."

Tar-Adûmir's breath hissed between his teeth. No diplomat in the world would have suggested assassination, not even in jest.

"Well, he killed them later, anyway," said Gaerna.

Tar-Adûmir turned around in his chair. "Gaerna, that's quite enough."

Gaerna wouldn't be going on any more diplomatic missions for Umbar. Sauron tapped a finger on the table. Urzahil thought he looked amused.

"All right, back to work," said Sauron.

By late afternoon, the envoys from the two nations began to relax around each other.

"So, how did you come to join the diplomatic service?" a young envoy across the table asked Urzahil.

"I'd always wanted to go on a diplomatic mission. There was a time I didn't think I ever would. My stepmother wanted me to do something practical, but I told her there was no way I'd ever fall so low I'd allow myself to be apprenticed to a blacksmith …"

At the head of the table where Sauron was writing, his quill froze for a moment. All conversation in the room stopped.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could he have forgotten about the Forging of the Ring? Before Sauron was anything else, he'd been a blacksmith's apprentice.

Tar-Adûmir's head snapped around. He looked daggers at Urzahil, then turned to Sauron, his eyes pleading.

"My Lord Zigûr, I wish to apologize…"

Sauron continued writing and gave no sign he'd heard. The room was silent except for the scraping of quill against vellum.

Sauron's Chief Ambassador shuffled through a sheath of papers. "I'd like to revisit the clause about establishing a permanent Embassy in each nation. Should the host supply the ambassador's residence, or should the foreign delegation rent the property?"

Everyone in the room had an opinion, and the buzz of conversation resumed. Urzahil stole a glance at Tar-Adûmir, who was looking straight ahead, his face white. Urzahil dreaded the private conversation they would surely have later. He also knew it was unlikely he'd be asked to come on a diplomatic mission again.

Urzahil remembered when his biggest fear was that he wouldn't be allowed to leave Minas Morgul. The last King of Gondor had accepted a challenge of single combat from the Witch King, rode through the gates of this fortress, and was never seen again. After the look Tar-Adûmir shot him, that had dropped down to being his second biggest fear.

It was late afternoon when the last clause was worked out. The scribes, Gaerna and a clerk from Mordor, moved to the table and laid out fresh sheets of vellum, pens, and ink. Tar-Adûmir and the Chief Ambassador for Mordor took turns reading aloud from scraps of paper covered with crossings out and marginal notes, and the two scribes wrote clean copy from it.

Soon, a dozen sheets of vellum were laid side-by-side along the length of the table. When the ink was dry, the contracts were signed by both parties, and the work of diplomacy was over.

There were no more diplomatic events ahead of them. They would dine in their rooms, and in the morning, they would begin the long ride back home. Tar-Adûmir stayed behind to speak informally with the Chief Ambassador from Mordor, but the rest of the delegation was free to go.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Back in the confines of his unheated room, Urzahil stripped off his silver robes and changed into an everyday tunic and leggings. Gaerna was sitting on the other bed, putting his pen nibs back in his writing box. Urzahil had just finished folding the priestly garments in tissue and packing them in his bag with the journey tomorrow, when there was a knock on the outer door. Gaerna got up and crossed the main chamber to answer it. An ancient orc stood in the doorway. Gaerna looked over his shoulder and shouted, "He wants you to come with him."

Urzahil's mouth went dry. Tar-Adûmir must have finished his meeting with the ambassador from Mordor, and now Tar-Adûmir and Urzahil were going to have a cozy chat about Urzahil's lack of tact this afternoon. Urzahil got to his feet, his heart pounding.

He followed the orc, who limped but moved at a brisk pace, downstairs to the main corridor. But before they reached the Council chamber, the orc turned down a narrow passage and climbed several flights of stairs into a part of the fortress Urzahil hadn't seen before. They stopped in front of a wooden door fitted with decorative ironwork. The orc knocked, then pushed open the door and stood back for Urzahil to enter.

The room looked like a private study. Tapestries hung on the wall, and there was a long table in the center. A figure in black sat at its head. His hood was pulled low, and the light was behind him, leaving his face in shadow. It was like something from one of Caldûr's plays.

Behind Urzahil, the door clicked shut. The black-robed figure placed his gloved hands on the table. One finger was missing. Urzahil backed toward the door. The roaring in his ears blocked out all other sounds.

"I want to apologize for what I said earlier. I didn't mean to give offense…" Urzahil stumbled over his own words.

"It is forgotten. Sit down." Sauron pointed to the chair on his left.

Urzahil sat. Heat radiated from the creature, far more than from an ordinary person, and he smelled of smoke. It was said the heat of his body alone had killed Elendil. Or Gil-galad. Urzahil couldn't remember.[1] It was said that Sauron's skin was black with invisible flames running over it. Why didn't his clothes catch fire?

Urzahil yanked his thoughts back to the present. He studied his host. Sauron's hands were still and his shoulders relaxed. Beneath the hood, a veil covered his face. It moved slightly with his breathing.

"I'm negotiating alliances with Harad and Khand, but I don't have enough people. Will you enter my service as an emissary?"

Urzahil blinked in surprise. He understood each individual word, but for a moment, the sentence didn't make any sense.

"It's a great honor, Lord Zigûr, but I'm bound to serve the Temple for another three years."

"I founded the Temple of Melkor, and was its first High Priest. I'm sure your High Priest would release you if I asked him to."

"This is very sudden. I need time to think about it." Urzahil just wanted to get out of there.

"Take your time. The next time you come out, we'll talk again."

It was a moot point. There wouldn't be a next time.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tar-Adûmir paced back and forth, waving his arms as he ranted.

"What were you thinking?" The ambassador sprayed his words. Urzahil stared straight ahead, his arms at his sides.

"Do you realize you just insulted the most powerful being in Arda?" Tar-Adûmir's face was scarlet, and a vein pulsed in his forehead..

"I'm sorry, it was an accident. And anyway, I don't think he was insulted, I think he thought it was funny."

Tar-Adûmir continued to berate him. The door to Marös said Mírdain's room opened a crack, and closed again. Gaerna was nowhere to be seen. Urzahil's attention wandered. He didn't tell Tar-Adûmir about Sauron's offer. It was his alone, he didn't want to share it. Tar-Adûmir wouldn't have believed him anyway.

"Urzahil, you aren't cut out to be a diplomat. You have a fresh mouth, and you don't think before you speak. Tar-Castamir was wrong to send you here. We'll leave for home tomorrow, and not speak of this again."

That night, Urzahil lay awake staring into the darkness while Gaerna snored softly in the narrow bed next to his own. Or not so softly. But that's not what was keeping him awake.

Sauron's offer was flattering, but it wasn't right for him. He was comfortable in the Temple. His position was secure, and he was well taken care of. He'd just been anointed a priest a few weeks ago, on Midsummer's Day. He still owed three years of service for his education. Even if he wanted to accept Sauron's offer, he wasn't free to at the moment, but it was nice to have been asked.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Before first light the next morning, they assembled in the courtyard behind the gates of Minas Morgul. Their horses were waiting for them, already saddled and bridled. A small group of men-at-arms would ride with them as far as Haradwaith.

Gaerna was the last to join them. He was wearing clothes unsuitable for travel, a silk tunic and soft boots, and he didn't have any luggage.

"Gaerna, you're going to make us late," said Tar-Adûmir.

"I'm staying on. I've been offered a position as an emissary."

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Chapter End Notes

[1] Tolkien told the story both ways.