Artíre's Revenge by WendWriter

Chapter 12

I added the story of Beren and Lúthien to this story to anchor it to canon and to explain the amazing things that happened.

Huan raced baying towards the brothers and pursued them for miles. Artíre followed him and told him of a herb the Elves used to treat bleeding wounds. Finding the herb, Artíre bade Huan to carry back to Lúthien in his mouth. With the herb Lúthien staunched the bleeding, and using her power, she healed her lover. When Beren recovered, they made their way back to Doriath.

From time to time Artíre, mindful that Lúthien might well be aware of his presence, whispered to Beren when he could do so without Lúthien's knowledge. He reminded him that though he could enjoy the company of the Elf-maid, he could not take her as his wife unless his oath to bring the Silmaril to her father was fulfilled. Fearing to lead her into danger, Beren crept away just before dawn, prompted by the Watcher. Committing Lúthien to the care of Huan, he mounted the horse of Curufin and rode away while she slept.

Artíre was frustrated by this thing the Man and the Elf-maid called love. He could understand the need to have someone to protect and to aid, but to leave a powerful companion for fear that she might come to harm was ridiculous to the Watcher, and not what he had intended at all. Calling to Huan, he bade the hound to rouse the maid and carry her on his back to Anfauglith, where Beren was singing a Song of Parting in her honour, unafraid that evil ears might hear him.

When he heard his song, Artíre led Huan and Lúthien to him, and hid as Huan spoke to them of the doom they were to face. The hound parted from them, taking the same path as the horse which Beren had freed; and Lúthien used her powers to disguise herself as the vampire Thuringwethil and Beren as Draugluin the werewolf.

Artíre, meanwhile, put the next part of his plan into action: the part that would absolve him of any blame in this affair. He wanted no part in the actual theft of the Silmaril, and he wanted to be certain that Sauron would be blamed for what would surely happen. With that in mind, he went to Melkor at once to warn him that Huan had returned to make war on him.

In his throne room, Melkor heard Artíre's report and was afraid. "Are they far from here, Artíre?" he asked.

"No, my lord. Should I tell Sauron that the Elf-maid who defeated him may have come with Huan?" the Watcher asked. "He will need to prepare for battle."

"Go," said Melkor. "I have a weapon of mine own, long prepared against the might of Huan. Carcharoth the Red Maw will not easily be defeated, for I have raised him myself, and put mine own power into him. Here he lies before my feet, huge and hungry. I will send him to wait for Huan before the doors of Angband, and there the doom of the hound of Valinor will fall upon him."

Artíre fled at these words, hardly daring to look behind him as the mighty werewolf of Melkor arose from before his master's feet and went outside to stand in front of the gates.

In his chamber at Taur-nu-Fuin, Sauron was informed by his servants that Artíre had come with urgent news. He admitted him, eager to hear what he had to say. His hatred of the Watcher had not lessened in the months that had passed since the Man and the Elf-maid had defeated him and left him weakened and ashamed in this fortress, and he held him responsible for all of his woes, both real and imagined.

"So, Artíre, you have come here to gloat at my distress, have you? Speak! For I would hear your excuses and lies. Word has come from Rhûn that Narcawë has turned against me and has taken the temple of Moko as his own, declaring himself lord of Rhûn. Surely this is your doing!" Sauron declared.

"I had nothing to do with that, nor was I aware of it," Artíre replied. "I have come to warn you that Huan of Valinor has returned to make war on us, and to bid you prepare yourself. Our lord Melkor has sent Carcharoth the Red Maw forth to defend his gates and has sent me to tell you to be ready when Huan returns."

"Where were you when the Man and his Elven spies came here to attack me?" Sauron countered belligerently. "I believe you had a hand in it somewhere! Surely you hate me and wish to destroy me? When Narcawë is questioned he will tell me all, and your schemes and lies will be exposed, for I have sent my servants to arrest him and to bring him back here."

"While it is true I bear no love for you, Sauron," Artíre reasoned, "I see no reason to continue our feud when the powers of Valinor approach us both arrayed for war. The trouble with Narcawë surely stems from your choice of an arrogant Maia to take your place in Rhûn while you laid plans to continue your plots against me here. Why do you continue with this when all you can achieve is your own ruin? Do you think I would permit you to succeed in turning Melkor against me? Do you think I will allow you to have me driven away to be unwelcome anywhere I go? Of course not! Take counsel with yourself..."

"Do not think that honeyed words will convince me that anything you say is true, Artíre!" Sauron interrupted him. "Begone, Watcher, for all you have ever achieved is the ruin of my plans to bring this Middle-earth under Melkor's control. Everything you touch turns to dust and rot because you cannot make things and you will not fight in times of war. You can only skulk and lurk, looking for news to bring to whom you will in an effort to gain favour with the winners and to entertain yourself with the chaos that results from your meddling!"

"But Melkor says..." Artíre began, only to be shouted down.

"I care not what you say Melkor says, Artíre!" Sauron roared. "I have spies of my own, and I will trust their word above your own every time. Begone from here - go and find a place to hide while those of us with the courage to do so go forth to fight our enemies!"

The Deceiver watched as Artíre went forth, clearly frustrated at his latest effort to stir up trouble. Maybe the Watcher was telling the truth after all. His news was usually reliable, but Sauron had decided that attempting to separate the nuggets of truth from the Watcher's intentions was no longer worth the effort. He was better off without him. As Artíre made his way out of the fortress, it occurred to Sauron to have a servant watch the Watcher and report on all of his doings from now on. This would surely keep Artíre from doing him more harm.

As he made his way outside, Artíre considered the best course of action. Should he find a place to hide from the wrath of the Valar or should he go back to Melkor and tell him what had transpired at his meeting with Sauron? He had noticed a difference in the Deceiver: he seemed weakened somehow. Had his form died while he was still bound to it? Sauron had not tried to detain him. Was the Deceiver afraid of him now? A dreadful noise caught his attention, and the Watcher went to investigate.

Fleeing Orcs and other monsters brought a terrible report: an Elf-maid of incredible power had caused Draugluin to forsake his master and had defeated Melkor in his own lair. Carcharoth had gone mad and was slaying everything in his path as he fled towards Doriath, and the Eagles of Manwë were attacking the defenders of Angband. At this moment Artíre remembered the words Sauron had spoken in anger to him.

"Everything you touch turns to dust and rot because you cannot make things and you will not fight in times of war. You can only skulk and lurk, looking for news to bring to whom you will in an effort to gain favour with the winners and to entertain yourself with the chaos that results from your meddling!"

Whether he wanted to acknowledge this truth or not, he would have to do something more than running and hiding or simply reporting this matter to Melkor, who surely knew all about it by now. Something changed in the Watcher as he realized he would have to take responsibility for the first time in his existence. Calling on the Orcs and other monsters, he gathered them together and bade them form into their companies as best they could and prepare to face the onslaught that was surely about to take place. As soon as he could ascertain the situation at Angband, he sent word to Melkor to tell him that his followers in Taur-nu-Fuin were ready to carry out his orders, then he set guard on the borders of Melkor's realm and ordered all of the Orcs back to their posts.

Sauron came out of his tower and, seeing Artíre working for the benefit of his master, was amazed.

"Let us put aside our differences, Sauron," said the Watcher. "It makes no sense to continue in this manner."

Sauron, wearing his accustomed form, regarded Artíre with a baleful expression on his face. "I will never fully trust you, Artíre," he announced, "but I see that continuing this feud can only lead to our destruction. I do not wish to fight you any more."

"Agreed," said Artíre, not believing a word the Deceiver said. The Watcher left Taur-nu-Fuin in a much stronger position than when he had first arrived. He had taken his revenge, and was thoroughly enjoying it. Sauron was weak and Melkor was aware of his lieutenant's defeat at the hands of an Elf-maid, a Man and a hound. Surely Melkor would blame Sauron for the loss of the Silmaril from his iron crown, since the Deceiver had been charged with the defence of the realm? Artíre's leadership after the attack on Angband had sharpened the contrast between the Watcher and the Deceiver. Even if Melkor did not punish Sauron, he was unlikely to regard him with the same favour as before.

Artíre gloated at the notion that he would rise in Melkor's estimation while Sauron would have to work hard to regain his former status. He would have to put aside his enmity with the Watcher in order to do so, since both of them had other enemies to contend with. Continuing their feud would surely lead to their mutual destruction if the Valar should return. The Elves had won a great victory this day. The next step would be to gather their forces and prepare to attack while Melkor was still reeling from the theft of the Silmaril, and Sauron was diminished after being attacked by Huan and his form destroyed while he was bound to it. Now was not the time for infighting.

'Vengeance is a complicated thing,' thought Artíre as he made his way to Angband, 'and it can be perilous to all concerned. I will stop trying to bring about Sauron's demise as long as he upholds the truce he has declared. I may not be even with him but he knows not to trifle with me. That will suffice.'

The End.