Another Man's Trash by Uvatha the Horseman

Chapter 3 - Inside Barad-dur

Chapter 3 - Inside Barad-dûr

Saruman watched Worm disappear into the Elvish camp, then turned around and squared his shoulders. The entrance was a tunnel that passed through the thickness of the base of the Tower. At its far end, it widened into a high-ceilinged passageway.

Inside, the air was dusty and cloyingly hot. Heat was to be expected in a desert, but with no breeze, the sweat soaked through his clothing which stuck to his skin and made it uncomfortable to move. Further in, he was hit with the smell of new wood and fresh paint. It gave the impression this ancient structure was still under construction.

Gray light illuminated the walls around him but didn't reveal any detail. Ahead, the passage disappeared into the murk. He took a few steps into the darkness, feeling ahead with his toe. He regretted the loss of his staff. He knew how to light a torch, but it wasn't the same. Torches sputtered and emitted oily black smoke.

He lifted an iron torch from a finely-made bracket and spoke the words of a spell. An unsteady flame sprang to life, throwing a circle of light around him and pushing back the darkness a little. Now that he could see again, the bowels of the ancient building seemed slightly less intimidating.

He took a corridor leading into the heart of the Fortress. Torch brackets appeared at regular intervals along both sides of the walls. He spoke the spell as he passed to bring each one to life like a woodsman blazing a trail.

Graffiti defaced the walls. The symbol for an Orcish tribe had been scratched into the new plaster. Nearby, a door had been ripped off the hinges, and a pile of crates knocked down and smashed.

Footsteps echoed in the distance. Saruman stiffened. They stopped, then started up again. He had a terrible feeling he was being stalked. A pair of Elves jogged down the passage, confident-looking and armed with longbows. One held a dagger that glowed a steady blue. They paused every few steps to listen, like hunters stalking their prey.

"Are you here to bring out the prisoners?" Saruman asked.

"No. We're tracking some Orcs on the main level."

A few minutes later, the pounding of drums reached him from a distance. There was a clash of metal on metal, along with curses and screams. They fell silent and the Elves hooted in victory.

In the lull that followed, Saruman flattened himself against the wall and listened. The Fortress groaned as it settled on its foundations, but other than that, all was quiet. There were more Orcs out there. He hated not knowing where they were. He'd feel better if he could hear their drums or the sound of their chanting.

The passageway ended in a pair of metal doors, flung open to expose an archway that yawned black and empty. The doors disappeared into the shadows beyond reach of his torch, but they were easily the height of three men.

He looked more closely. The doors had been cast from bronze and the workmanship was exceedingly fine. They were one of the first things visitors would see inside the Tower. He stepped into the doorway but saw only blackness, yet he sensed a great void. He felt sure that he'd found the audience chamber, and that the Dark Throne lay at the far end.

It was unlikely, but there was a remote chance Sauron had kept important papers in by his throne. Checking to see that he was unobserved, Saruman stepped inside and raised his torch. The circle of light fell on the paving stones around his feet, but beyond it, there was nothing. He strode down the length of the room. Every so often, the flickering light picked up one of the columns that formed an aisle. His footfalls echoed from the unseen walls. The answering sounds suggested the ceiling soared three or four stories above his head and the far wall receded in the distance.

A corner, the edge of a platform or stage, appeared in the torchlight. It must be the dais. He stepped up onto it, and for the first time, he saw the Dark Throne with his own eyes. Torchlight reflected from the polished granite. It was massive and utterly plain, without ornament of any kind, impressive because of its intimidating size.

Perhaps it contained some secret compartment, a place where Sauron might have hidden important papers. He sensed what was inside the stone, hoping to find a hidden cavity or recess. Unfortunately, it was a solid block of granite. There was nothing hidden in it.

He turned to leave, but on impulse, he sat on the throne and laid his arms along the armrests. The thrill of it made him shiver. He wasn't tall enough rest his back against it, either. He and Sauron were much the same height, at least, Sauron was only a few inches taller. The polished granite pulled the heat from his body. Saruman pushed his sleeves down to his wrists to keep from touching the stone surface, but the fabric of his clothing felt chilly as well.

The ceiling was lost in shadows, but he could sense its arched shape, and the double row of pillars that formed the central aisle. He sat there for some time, lost in thought. He imagined armies of Orcs answering to his commands, advisors deferring to his wishes, and foreign ambassadors awed to find themselves in his presence.

All this could be mine.