Lords and Lordship by WendWriter

After the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, when Morgoth was the undisputed master of the North and Húrin was captive in Angband, the Dark Lord set his thought on Rhûn and the temple of Moko. Word had come to him of the treachery of Narcawë, a Maia who had been given command of that land and of the temple Sauron built for him. Maiar who dwelt there reported that Narcawë had become overbearing, claiming lordship of the land and the worship in the temple for himself.

Morgoth was furious when he heard this news. He summoned his most trusted lieutenants, Sauron the Deceiver and Artíre the Watcher, and took counsel with them. "I have received news that Narcawë has turned against me. He has claimed lordship over the land and is demanding worship for himself in my temple. He must be brought to me for judgement!"

Sauron said nothing, for he had elected to leave Narcawë there in the first place, and everyone knew it.

Artíre spoke up. "My lord, who wilt thou send to fetch him back?"

Morgoth regarded the Watcher, a Maia who had risen in his estimation since the battle with the Eagles. Artíre's leadership in the tumult had astonished the Dark Lord, who had never imagined the Watcher as being capable of anything other than spying.

Morgoth was aware of the feud between Artíre and Sauron, though he never mentioned it. He was also pleased that they had called a truce. It seemed that both Maiar realized that mutual destruction would be the result if their warring continued.

As it was, Sauron had striven to raise himself from his wretched state after his mauling by Huan of Valinor, and had almost regained his former strength. Once Sauron felt himself to be in a strong enough position, Morgoth knew he might well be tempted to try to exact revenge on Artíre, whom Sauron blamed for his downfall. He claimed that an Elf-maid could not have achieved what Lúthien did by herself, so she must have had help. Sauron believed the Watcher was that help.

Morgoth was unwilling to delve into the matter, given that it might result in the loss of one or both of his best lieutenants. Getting Artíre out of Angband would keep him out of Sauron's way.

"Artíre," said Morgoth, "go thou to Rhûn and bring Narcawë back to face me. I give thee authority to do what thou wilt, for he may not come of his own accord. Do not return without him."

"I will," replied the Watcher, and went at once to obey his lord.

At Taur-nu-Fuin, Sauron was working on a project to improve Orc breeding rates. His sorcery and other skills had enabled him to recover from his defeat and to regain his position at Morgoth's right hand. Ending his feud with Artíre had allowed him to do this unhindered. The Watcher's rise in the ranks, however, was beginning to make him uncomfortable. Now that his position was more secure, he believed the time had come to bring Artíre down.

The Watcher's leadership during the attack of the Eagles at Angband had impressed Morgoth, and this had led to his promotion to a position of authority. Artire was now responsible for overseeing the Orcs who guarded his realm, giving them orders rather than simply making sure their work was being done. Sauron was unhappy that the Watcher was gaining influence at Morgoth's court. The idea that Artíre might one day usurp Sauron's position as chief lieutenant was never far from the Deceiver's mind. Indeed, Sauron's aide Rautanor never let him forget it.

It suited Rautanor the Plotter to be an assistant rather than seek power on his own. That way, if something went wrong, there was someone to hide behind - or to blame. He prodded the embers of Sauron's feud with Artíre, knowing the Deceiver would depend on his loyal aide to help keep the Watcher's ambitions, real or imagined, in check. The Plotter preferred serving Sauron over Morgoth, for Morgoth had always been too interested in domination, but had little interest in ruling the realms he acquired. Rautanor liked order and the things for which Sauron stood. He also liked to have another's name to act under. He was ever in the shadows, a whisperer in the dark, and was rarely in the firing line when battle was joined.

The hatred Rautanor affected for Artíre was not real. He had no true enmity towards the Watcher, but he did see Artíre as a hindrance to the advancement of his master Sauron, and anything that was a threat to Sauron's position was a threat to him as well. Inventing or exaggerating a threat for the advancement of his master was his stock in trade. Many of the enemies Sauron had among the Maiar were due to Rautanor's plots as he strove to assert Sauron's authority and might on Middle-earth. It was Rautanor who had aided his master's recovery after his defeat by Huan. The Plotter had worked hard to keep the fear of Sauron's wrath fresh in the minds of Morgoth's minions to prevent anyone usurping his master's position as chief lieutenant. As a result, although Artíre had risen high in Morgoth's estimation, it was Sauron who still had the greater regard in the Dark Lord's court.

On the way to Taur-nu-Fuin, Rautanor discussed the meeting at Angband with Sauron. "My lord, why was Artíre sent to Rhûn to fetch Narcawë back, and not yourself? While it is true the Watcher did some good at Taur-nu-Fuin, was that not to compensate for the harm he did you at Tol-in-Gaurhoth? I am convinced it was he who bound you to your wolf-form so that the Hound of the Valar could defeat you! Surely the Elf-maid could not have composed such a spell? How would she have known of such a thing?"

"Rautanor," said Sauron, unwilling to discuss the matter yet again, "I am weary of this subject being brought back up again and again, and to no good purpose! What if you are right, and it was indeed Artíre and not Lúthien who bound me to the wolf-form I took? What difference would it make? The feud between us must be laid to rest else we will destroy each other in the end! My heart forebodes that we will need the Watcher on our side until the end comes. The fact that the Valar have not yet come to make war on us again does not mean they never will. We are not yet in a strong enough position to make enemies of other Maiar."

"But my lord, does this mean that Artíre may deal with you as he desires, with no consequences?" asked Rautanor, his shocked tones betraying his confusion. Sauron never admitted defeat, and never gave in to an enemy while victory was within reach.

"Of course not!" declared Sauron. "However, Artíre would be more useful to us if he believed our feud was over than if he had an inkling that his doom was being planned even now."

"Ah!" said Rautanor. "So you have a plan for dealing with him, then?"

"Indeed I do," replied the Deceiver. "And I will entrust it to you and to no other. Heed me, Rautanor, and do not let me down!"

"I have always been loyal to you, my lord!" Rautanor asserted.

"Good," said Sauron. "I want you to refrain from any attempts to bring Artíre down. My desire is to use him to increase my influence at Morgoth's court, which cannot be achieved if there is dissension between us. By subtle means, we can persuade the Watcher that we are on the same side, and use his skills and reputation with our lord to our advantage."

"How can this be done?" asked the Plotter, intrigued.

"If I can bring him under my dominion, the doom I plan for him will not be the great downfall you may have had in mind, but I will be his master, and that will suffice," replied Sauron. "For you know I crave order, and that cannot be achieved if we are fighting on more than one front."

"What do you want me to do, master?" Rautanor asked, hoping it would involve some punishment for the Watcher.

"I want you to go to Rhûn and aid Artíre in bringing Narcawë back to Morgoth for judgement," Sauron instructed. "You may help him in such a way as to gain the credit for your endeavours, but you may not frustrate his efforts. Is that clear, Rautanor?"

"Yes, my lord," the Plotter agreed. This was going to be most interesting. "Of course, if Artíre should misinterpret my assistance it would make him look like the trouble-maker in Morgoth's eyes."

"Precisely!" said Sauron with a grin. "Now you understand!"

"Thank you, Sauron, for entrusting me with this task," Rautanor crowed. "I will enjoy it very much!"

Rautanor the Plotter left soon afterwards, intent on fulfilling his master's wishes. As he made his way to Rhûn, he wondered if Artíre had spoken yet to Narcawë, and what was happening. Since Narcawë also knew the binding spell, there was a good chance that Artíre would need Rautanor's help after all.

Rautanor caught up with Artíre as he approached the border of Rhûn. Since they were both Maiar, they could choose whether or not to wear a bodily form. Most of the time, Artíre chose not to, for it made spying on others much easier. Rautanor had elected not to wear a form either, since maintaining one or assuming the body of another creature would require concentration. It was easier to travel without one. Each of them was able to detect the other, though, for the Ainur were able to see without eyes the nature of every creature. However, intent as he was on making the journey to Rhûn, Artíre was not aware of Rautanor drawing near until the other Maia addressed him.

"Hail, Artíre!" called Rautanor. "What news?"

"Rautanor!" Artíre replied, turning to the Plotter. "Why have you come here?"

"I have been sent here to assist you," Rautanor informed him.

"By your master!" Artíre said pointedly. It annoyed him that Sauron was trying to use this occasion to advance himself. Were there not other tasks he could engage himself - and Rautanor - in? The Watcher knew well why Rautanor was called 'the Plotter,' and mistrusted him on principle.

"My master deemed it necessary, and Lord Morgoth does not disagree," smiled Rautanor. "I hope you are not going to make my task difficult."

"I thought you were going to do that to me!" snapped Artíre. Really, this was too much! He was perfectly capable of dealing with a single vain Maia who had set his sights too far above his station. All he had to do was flatter Narcawë into thinking that Morgoth thought well of him. He would convince Narcanwe that their lord desired his presence in order to reward him for his work at the temple of Moko. Why did Rautanor have to come along? Surely this was Sauron's doing, an attempt to make trouble for the Watcher by reigniting their feud. 'Very well,' thought Artíre, 'if Sauron wants trouble, he shall have trouble. I beat him before and I will beat him again.'

"Do not be foolish, Artíre!" shouted Rautanor. "Morgoth will punish us all if there is dissension in the ranks. He cares not if the Orcs should quarrel, but the likelihood of the Valar returning to fight us again means we cannot afford to be at war with each other. You know Sauron was diminished after his battle with Huan. He cannot risk that happening again. He has ordered me to aid you."

"Very well, Rautanor," said Artíre, "I will accept what you say for the moment, but if you give me any trouble, you will find that I do not suffer fools gladly. If you should betray me, I will pay you back double for whatever you do to me!"

"There is no profit in being suspicious of each other, Artíre," Rautanor reasoned. "Know you not that Narcawë knows the binding spell that was used on Sauron at Tol-in-Guarhoth?"

"I thought you were going to aid me, Rautanor!" argued Artíre. "Behold! You cannot let it lie, can you? Your master has imagined all kinds of plots and plans against him, and attributed every one of them to me without any proof! Yet despite his policies, I am in favour with our lord Morgoth. He himself asked me to go and bring Narcawë back to Angband for judgement. I was not there when you were asked to come to help me, so I must accept the word of one who accuses me behind my back at every opportunity, to make trouble for me when he can!"

"I did not say it was you who cast that spell, Artíre!" shouted Rautanor. "But you cannot deny that Sauron was diminished by it, or that he was made to look a fool before our lord, who suffered as a result of that treachery! I know you and Narcawë were deep in counsel before you left the temple of Moko, so it stands to reason that he, who knew the spell, taught it to you."

"Is that all the proof you can muster, Rautanor?" snapped Artíre. "I know Sauron your master planned to trap and imprison me at the temple of Moko, and if our lord Morgoth calls you to account, you will not be able to hide this truth from him. He will wrench it from your mind like a man pulling a weed from among his crops!"

"And what would Morgoth wrench from your mind, Artíre?" asked Rautanor. "Come, this bickering is pointless. If we fail in this mission, we will be subject to punishment, for you know how Lord Morgoth deals with those Maiar he mistrusts."

"Aye," said Artíre. "I have no desire to be made into a Balrog."

"On that I am certain you trust we agree," replied Rautanor. "I would rather have my own will than be unable to think for myself without Morgoth knowing about it."

"What of your loyalty to Morgoth?" asked Rautanor, clearly irked by the intimation that one had to be made into a Balrog to be loyal to Morgoth.

"There is nothing I love enough to betray Morgoth for," Artíre replied. "I have no policies of my own, or any ambition."

Rautanor went quiet, clearly considering this.

Artíre regarded the Plotter, mistrusting him, but realizing that continuing their argument would keep the conversation going in circles. The best thing to do, he decided, would be to ignore the bitter feelings of suspicion and creeping fear he had for Rautanor and try to work with him as best he could. The Plotter was right: Narcawë knew the binding spell, and might use it against either of them. Artíre might need Rautanor's help after all.

"Very well," said Artíre, "I will accept your aid, Rautanor, though I do not trust you."

At the temple of Moko, Narcawë the Defiant was holding court. Some of the Maiar who had once worked for Sauron had joined Narcawë, at least for the moment. It was easier than arguing with him. Narcawë had always been self-willed, unable to accept being told what to do by anyone, whether Valar or those who opposed them. When Morgoth rebelled against the Valar, Narcawë had joined him because it pleased him to rebel against the authority of the Valar, not because he had any disagreement with them.

When the rebels set up their fortress at Utumno, Narcawë helped build it and worked for Morgoth until he realized he had traded one kind of authority for another. During the War of the Powers, he fought for Morgoth because he feared the judgement of Manwë. Narcawë hid from the Valar until it was safe to emerge, and had sought out Morgoth because he felt the need for the safety offered by being part of a large group. As soon as he realized that the Valar had left Middle-earth and there was no risk of his being arrested and brought back to Valinor for punishment, Narcawë began to consider how he could establish a realm for himself in Middle-earth. Morgoth had done so.

The convenience of finding a realm already made and needing a ruler was a great boon to Narcawë, and he seized Rhûn for himself when Sauron left to pursue his feud with Artíre. Sauron clearly was not interested enough in the realm to maintain it as his own, after all.

"My lord," said one of the Maiar minions, "I bring word of two of Morgoth's servants who are approaching the temple. What shall we do?"

Narcawë considered this. He was aware when he seized the realm that as soon as Morgoth had the chance to do so, he would send his servants to see what was happening in Rhûn. He had a plan for dealing with them, but it depended on the number of enemies arrayed against him. "How many are coming?" he asked.

"Two," replied the servant. "Rautanor the Plotter and Artíre the Watcher. Shall we put your plan into motion?"

"No," said Narcawë. "Let us see what they have to say first. I will give the order if I deem it necessary. Make ready to receive our guests. I would be ashamed if they found the hospitality of Narcawë lord of Rhûn wanting."

As they drew near to the temple of Moko, Artíre and Rautanor could see the changes wrought in Rhûn under Narcawë's rule. The land, once a patchwork of fertile farmers' fields, with flocks of sheep and goats grazing contentedly among the groves of fruit trees, was an eerie dustbowl. Famine had stalked the country for a long time. As Artíre and Rautanor passed through towns and villages, they could see starving people lolling in their doorways, scanning the road for signs of the caravans of merchants that once travelled the roads. Scrawny Men, women and children could be seen searching the dried-up fields for any kind of food, and when they opened their mouths, their stumpy teeth were falling out from lack of nourishment; they were reduced to eating the leaves from the few trees that had any.

Many of the villages were completely empty, their folk having left in search of food, abandoning their fields and homes. In the towns, the few folk dwelling there were either too old or too young to travel far, and scavenged where they could. The absence of dogs, rats and small birds told its own tale. Most of the rivers were either dried up or oozing sluggishly along in their muddy channels.

The invisibility of the two unembodied Maiar allowed them to pass unseen through the land. Any traveller passing through was usually accosted, and more often than not, robbed and killed.

"This is appalling," said Artíre. "I have never seen the like. It is like..." he stopped himself just in time. He had almost said "Angband." That would have given Rautanor ammunition to use against him in Morgoth's court. The Watcher would have to be careful, weighing every word before it left his mouth.

Rautanor was clearly too horrified to answer. Though the plains of Anfauglith looked very much like the wasteland they saw before them, the creatures that lived there were fed and watered, to keep them in readiness for service to Morgoth. "So this is the realm of Narcawë," Rautanor remarked. "He has no concept of lordship at all."

"Indeed not," agreed Artíre. "He has brought ruin to this land, but for what purpose? I could understand the need to reduce the harvest to ensure the obedience of the people, but to utterly destroy them is to diminish the lord of the realm. It is a foolish policy." The Watcher was bemused by the fact that anyone would consider doing such a thing. The scenes he witnessed as he passed by made him uneasy. What was he going to discover in the temple of Moko?

"Agreed," declared Rautanor. "We must find out why he has done this. What do you think?"

"It seems he may have done this to spite our lord," said Artíre thoughtfully. "Perhaps he did not truly believe he could hold on to this realm in defiance of the will of Morgoth."

"It is unlikely he has many who support him," Rautanor added.

"True," said Artíre, "but if he has Maiar on his side willing to fight for him, we may have to bargain with him to avoid being made captive." The memory of having been bound to the body of the beetle the last time he was there rose unbidden to torment the Watcher. If that should happen again, would Rautanor aid him - or join forces with Narcawë and continue the feud that Sauron had declared to be ended?

"Are you aware of any other malcontents, Artíre?" asked Rautanor, anxiety tainting his voice.

The Watcher fell silent. Answering that question straight away, without considering every possible inflection, could easily cause the smouldering resentment Rautanor bore him to reignite. "I only know what I have been told: that Narcawë has turned against our lord and seized control of Rhûn to rule it as a realm of his own. I have not been back here since the time Sauron was holding the land in trust for Morgoth." Surely there was nothing contentious in those few words? Artíre hoped not. The continuing sensation that he was walking on the edge of a razor was beginning to show in the slight tremor his voice had acquired.

Rautanor considered this for a while, then said, "We must tread very carefully, Artíre. If we walk in and make demands, those who may have been undecided will turn on us. If we are respectful towards the Defiant One, he may agree to come back with us of his own accord."

"I had a plan for dealing with him," said Artíre.

"Tell me," Rautanor demanded, stopping for a moment.

Artíre faced the Plotter, his steely gaze demanding the respect he believed was his due. "I was going to tell him that Lord Morgoth was pleased with him and wished to reward him. I hoped that flattery would blind him to the fact that our lord desires to punish him."

Rautanor scoffed at the Watcher. "Surely you are under a delusion of some kind, Artíre! How do you think such a plan would work? Why would Narcawë believe such a thing?"

"Because," declared Artíre, "I would have convinced him that Sauron your master had fallen out of favour. Your being here means I have to think of something else!"

The tension that had built up steadily up due to Rautanor's presence erupted in Artíre's outburst. The Watcher had made it clear that he resented Rautanor's presence and that his assistance was not only unwanted but was potentially a liability. Hopefully, the Plotter would consider working together with him instead of attempting to undermine him, which was a possibility. Why else would Rautanor laugh at his plan? Artíre had successfully persuaded others to believe what he wanted to, so why would he fail this time? The more time he spent with Rautanor, the less he trusted the Plotter to aid him. Artíre was convinced that Rautanor had come to restart the feud with Sauron, and to exact revenge for the events at Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Surely the Plotter's dismissal of the Watcher's plan was proof of that?

Rautanor was silent for a while, pondering Artíre's words. "We cannot fail in our mission to bring Narcawë back to Morgoth for judgment. If we do, the consequences will fall on both our heads. I have no doubt that our presence here has been declared to the Defiant One. I know the two of you were friendly the last time you were here. If Narcawë still believes that you and Sauron are still at war, let us use that to our advantage. We can let him think he is playing us against each other, and convince him to confide in one of us. We may be able to trick him into coming back to aid one of us against the other."

Artíre considered what Rautanor said. The advantage of the plan was that Narcawë would easily believe that Rautanor had been sent to spy on the Watcher. The disadvantage was that it would be difficult to tell if Rautanor was playing a role or not. The plan was fraught with danger, with no guarantee of success, but to oppose the plan could lead to more trouble from Rautanor, so Artíre said, "Let us see how he receives us first, then we will decide what to do."

It occurred to the Watcher that it was possible to play Rautanor and Narcawë off each other. If anything happened to Rautanor, Narcawë could be blamed. "It is a good idea," he said aloud, smiling at the thought that the Plotter believed he was referring to his idea.

By the time Artíre and Rautanor arrived at the temple of Moko, night had fallen. Thick clouds blanketed the sky and the air was hot and humid, promising rain it always failed to deliver. The two Maiar were aware of being watched by other Maiar as they approached the steps of the temple, which, of all the buildings in the city, was the only one in good repair.

The door swung open to admit them, and they entered. Near the altar stood obscenely fat priests bowed in prayer before the statue of Moko, which looked a lot like Narcawë did when he assumed a form. The Defiant One stood, unembodied, near the foot of the dais the altar sat upon. "Hail, Artíre! Hail, Rautanor! Well met!" he greeted them.

"Hail, Narcawë lord of Rhûn!" declared Artíre. "I see you have made improvements to the realm since I saw it last."

"Indeed," added Rautanor, getting into the spirit of the moment, "I would say it looks like home." It was not hard to hide his distaste - the ability to do so in Angband was a requisite for survival there.

"I thank you both," said Narcawë, the flattery carving a smile onto his face. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?"

"We have come to see what you have achieved here, that we may learn from you," said Artíre.

The Maiar who had been watching them when they arrived had come inside the temple, and were beginning to surround them.

"Indeed," said Rautanor, noticing this, "we were most impressed at the way you have stamped your authority all over this land." The Plotter stole glances around the temple, aware of the impending danger. Having been there when Artíre was bound to the body of the beetle, he knew what was likely to happen now, and inwardly cursed the Watcher for allowing this. What could either of them do? Would Artíre, who had so much reason to hate him, side with him or take sides with Narcawë to protect himself?

Rautanor was about to find out. He and Artíre were completely surrounded.

The other Maiar gathered around Rautanor and Artíre until they were completely encircled. Looking nervously from one Maia to another, Rautanor decided that it would be wiser to permit Artíre to do the talking than to make any move of his own. By siding with the Watcher, he might win Artíre's trust and persuade him to protect him long enough to allow him to escape if he had to.

"Your welcome is warm," Artíre remarked, looking around him.

"Have you not been sent by Morgoth to spy on me, Artíre?" asked Narcawë.

"I have been told to look at how things are being done in Rhûn," replied the Watcher. "I do not like my arrival here being called 'spying,' as though I had crept in and disguised myself in some way. No! I came openly and brought a friend. Is this the act of a spy?"

"I do not understand why you would bring one with whom you were at war with for so long," Narcawë said coldly. "Or was I wrong to think that Rautanor is the servant of Sauron? Were you and Sauron not at odds with each other for ages? How is it that you and Rautanor the Plotter are now as thick as thieves?"

Rautanor started at this use of his name. While he was aware that he was called 'the Plotter,' no-one ever said it to his face. Narcawë had grown bold indeed. Surely he was going to bind and diminish them!

"I was unaware of this development," said Artíre, with a laugh. "Surely I have much more in common with you than with this fellow here." He indicated Rautanor. "Was he not with Sauron making plans to bind me when you arrived? You saved me from their plots and for that I am grateful. I never thanked you properly, Narcawë."

Narcawë considered this for a moment. "Then why are you here?" he asked. "And with Rautanor?"

"I told you," Artíre replied. "We were ordered by Morgoth to see how you fare here in Rhûn, and how the temple of Moko is being maintained."

"I do not like the idea that I am being watched," Narcawë said, his tone soured by his suspicion of the two Maiar.

"Are we not friends?" asked Artíre, with genuine surprise in his voice.

"I find it hard to be friends with people who speak against me!" the Defiant One declared.

"Who told you I said anything against you?" Artíre asked, utterly shocked.

Rautanor shifted uncomfortably. His misdeed had come back to bite him. He remembered what he had said to Narcawë when Artíre left Rhûn.

Narcawë came back inside the temple after speaking to Artíre. Sauron was still there with the other Maiar. They were angry with him for speaking arrogantly to Sauron, but said nothing till their master bade them.

"Artíre has returned to Angband," he said. "I know not when or if he will return."

"Do you intend to leave too?" asked Sauron, clearly hoping that the answer would be 'Yes.'

"No," replied Narcawë. "I will stay here awhile, and see how you do things here in Rhûn. Morgoth bade me learn from you, Sauron, and to report back when I have learned enough."

After that, Rautanor had made up his mind to rid them of the Defiant One as soon as they could, and spoke to Sauron about it the first chance he got. "What shall we do about Narcawë?" he asked.

"The Defiant One?" asked Sauron, his voice dripping amusement. "Why, nothing."

"But he means to make trouble for us!" Rautanor pleaded. Was Sauron joking with him? One could never be certain of what Sauron was thinking.

"Narcawë craves lordship, Rautanor," Sauron explained. "I have a plan to rid us of him, but it is not one that involves confronting him. I propose nothing less than handing this realm over to him and leaving him to oversee it."

"But he will destroy everything we have worked for!" wailed Rautanor. "Narcawë loathes responsibility. He wants the position and honour due to a lord, but is unwilling to actually work for it. His arrogance alone is proof of that. Everyone else, even our enemy Artíre, has respect for you, Sauron. Narcawë has none because he has never actually tried to take charge of anything. He simply goes around complaining and making enough noise to get the attention he craves. His defiance is not a sign of allegiance to anyone - he never truly sided with Morgoth, he simply dislikes the idea that he has to answer to anyone for anything he does. I am convinced of this!"

"And I agree," said Sauron, with a wolfish grin.

Rautanor feared that grin. It was a sure sign that trouble was coming. "What do you mean, my lord?" he asked nervously. He did not like not knowing what his master was thinking. While he nominally trusted him, he knew what Sauron was capable of.

"I mean that I will ask Narcawë to take charge of the work here in Rhûn, and to keep order for us until I return. I intend to go back to Angband to report to our master myself, for I know not what Artíre is telling him about us. Narcawë will accept at once, and without question. He will be unable to resist the opportunity to exercise power over others. I know he will ruin what we have been working for here. In fact, I am counting on it!"

Rautanor grinned hugely. "That is a master-stroke, my lord!" he cried. He went at once to find Narcawë, who was standing in front of the statue of Moko. "Sauron is planning to go back to Angband to discuss important matters with Morgoth. He has asked me to tell you to take charge here, Narcawë. We believe you have the qualities of a great leader, and we know that Rhûn will be safe in your hands."

Narcawë stepped back in surprise. "Why would you offer me this position?" he asked. "How can I be certain it is not a trick?"

"Because we will have to answer to Lord Morgoth for this," Rautanor replied, "and since he trusted you to come out here to see for yourself what we are doing, we believe he will approve of our decision. That is, unless you would rather not take on the responsibility."

"I am perfectly capable of taking on the responsibility!" shouted Narcawë. "Did Morgoth not send me here?"

"I was only asking..." Rautanor faltered. The Defiant One had taken the bait.

"You asked nothing," Narcawë stated. "I will bear this burden, which has clearly become too heavy for you. Why would Sauron wish to leave in such haste?"

"We know not where Artíre is, Narcawë. He is either skulking in fear around the city, or has gone to Morgoth to complain about us. We intend to counter him and his vicious lies," Rautanor told him, his rage barely concealed. If the Watcher did anything to sunder him and his master from Morgoth's goodwill, he would personally pursue him until the whole of Eä came to an end. "Besides, you know not what he is saying about you."

"What do you mean?" Narcawë asked, his tone suspicious.

"What did you discuss when you were outside with him?" Rautanor asked. "He may well use that against you at the court of Morgoth."

Narcawë stood still, thinking about the implications of what Rautanor was saying. "I told him how to protect himself against binding spells," he said. "I also told him to speak well of you at the court of Lord Melkor. Yes, I told him to speak well of you so that there would be no dissension in the ranks."

"Is that all you told him, Narcawë?" Rautanor pressed. "You know how he dislikes taking sides. You know how much he enjoys turning people against each other. Did you tell him anything that might do any of us harm?"

Narcawë said nothing.

"I sincerely hope you did not," said Rautanor, and walked away.

Rautanor baulked. Narcawë had taught Artíre how to protect himself. Surely he had taught him the binding spell as well. Oh, with that morsel of information, he could bring Artíre down forever! Was this not proof that the Watcher had bound Sauron to his wolf-form to aid Huan at Tol-in-Guarhoth? Only Sauron and his Maiar knew that spell. The fact that Artíre knew it too was proof, at the very least, that Narcawë had taught him the spell. At the moment, Rautanor needed the Watcher. What could he do?

It occurred to him to confess his attempt to turn Narcawë against Artíre. The honesty might effect a reconciliation between them all for a little while. Then he would work out a way to accomplish their mission. "'Twas I, Artíre. I am sorry, but I honestly thought you were going back to make trouble for us," he said, genuine contrition in his voice. He was sorry for the mess that had resulted from his sniping at Artíre. It had got him into trouble too.

Every voice was stilled as the assembled Maiar digested this information.

"Indeed you did," spat Narcawë. "And now, Rautanor, since you are in such a penitent mood, have you any other confessions to make?"

Rautanor went silent. He knew he had just made a huge miscalculation. Narcawë was unlikely to forgive him, and admitting to anything else would simply get him into more trouble. Worse than that, he had given Artíre ammunition to continue their feud. What could he do?

Narcawë moved closer, and the atmosphere in the temple grew increasingly tense as the other Maiar waited for the explosion of rage that was sure to follow.

Artíre was shocked at how easily Narcawë had turned against him while he was away. It seemed that if anyone revealed their hatred of another, the Defiant One would seize upon it at once without question. He remembered his last conversation with Narcawë.

"What are we going to do about Sauron?" asked Narcawë.

"Nothing, for the moment," replied Artíre. "Let us do as we said we would, observing the progress of Sauron's work here in Rhûn and preparing the reports to bring back to Morgoth. Our lord told me he would have no squabbling in the ranks, so our report should contain nothing bad about his lieutenant. Let Sauron believe about us what he will. His own suspicions may yet condemn him."

"Indeed," replied Narcawë, "for he ever seeks to sunder us from our friends, and if we present a better picture of him than he does of us, then he will be seen as the one who is working against our lord's interests when he complains about us."

"Then that is what we should do," said Artíre. "Give him as little to say about us as possible while intimating that we are not impressed with him at all. His own mouth will condemn him at the throne of Morgoth in Angband.

Narcawë had feared and hated Sauron then. Did he feel the same way, Artire wondered, or was there another reason for this change in his attitude towards the Watcher? One thing was certain: it would be a mistake to underestimate the Defiant One. He was like a lion with his prey where maintaining his power and position was concerned - unwilling to give it up and insistent on saving face in front of Rautanor and Artíre. Did Narcawë take to hatred so easily because it gave him a reason to gather other Maiar to fight for his cause? It seemed so. Strong emotions, such as hatred or anger, were like a beacon to some beings, drawing them into situations they would normally take no interest in. They could then be induced to form factions to war against others, and all on the basis of another person's feelings!

Artíre had seen such things before, but never as plainly as this: Narcawë's fear and hatred of Sauron had led him to look for sympathizers. He had discussed his bitterness towards Sauron with the other Maiar, and found they felt the same way. Constant repetition of their grievances had compounded, not resolved them, and had led to their rebellion against Morgoth's rule, for Sauron was the chief lieutenant of Morgoth, so to rebel againt one was to betray the other.

Clearly, Narcawë felt he owed his lordship of Rhûn not to Sauron, who had given him charge of the realm, but to those Maiar who had joined with him in rebelling against Sauron's overlordship. The Watcher knew he would have to be very careful of every word he said, for Narcawë seemed to be afraid that his realm would be taken from him as swiftly as he had gained it. At least twenty Maiar had joined Narcawë, all of them following the one who would ultimately bear the blame for their revolt.

The Watcher looked warily around at the hostile crowd, aware he was on very thin ice. One misstep would send him crashing through.

Narcawë glared at him. "Well?" he shouted, "have neither of you anything to say to me?"

"I do," said Artíre, hoping his gamble would pay off.

"And what is that, Artíre?" asked Narcawë, loathing in every syllable.

Artíre knew he needed protection from the spells Narcawë was sure to use against him. Being surrounded and outnumbered, the few protective spells he knew were unlikely to avail him now, for any spell he used would quickly be countered by the others. It occurred to him that he did have something to use as a weapon. He had some information that might frighten Narcawë's rebels, at least enough to allow himself and Rautanor to escape.

He had no intention of befriending Rautanor - Artíre knew that the first chance the Plotter got, he would find an excuse to persecute the Watcher again. However, there was a chance that he could use Rautanor as a shield, or even a distraction of some kind. He would have to be very careful how he used this information, but one thing was certain: silence was not an option.

"Well?" Narcawë interrupted the Watcher's deliberations.

"I was sent by Morgoth to arrest you and to bring you back for judgement. Rautanor was sent by Sauron to make sure I did not befriend you instead," asserted Artíre.

Everyone went silent. They had not expected anything like this.

Narcawë took a step back. "Arrest me?" he asked, trying to sound unconcerned but not convincing anyone.

"Yes, it is true," replied Artíre. "Rautanor?"

Rautanor was silent. The Watcher had served his dish of revenge cold, garnished with a lie. He looked at Artíre as a condemned man would at his executioner as he approached the scaffold.

"Rautanor agrees," said Artíre. "And I think you can all agree that any attempt by myself to take your lord away without his leave would be a foolish thing to do."

"True," said Narcawë, looking warily at the Watcher. "So what will you do? If you fail to report back to Morgoth, will he not send others here?"

"Are you not the lord of this land?" asked Artíre. He could see that Narcawë was caught off-guard, and knew it. Truths were filtering through the defences of denial he had erected in his quest for power. To quail before these two underlings would be to admit failure. He sensed a trap, and was being careful to avoid being caught. The Watcher noticed his confusion and pressed home his advantage. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

"Sauron asked me to hold this realm in trust for him while he went back to Angband," said the Defiant One. "This I have done. I see no reason for you to have come here, other than to spy on me, and to bring back a bad report if you can."

The other Maiar shifted anxiously. They were afraid of being thought in league with The Defiant One, especially now that Narcawë appeared to be changing his mind about holding a realm of his own. They began to back away from Artíre and Rautanor.

Narcawë saw this and realized he was not only losing face, but the control of his realm and his followers was slipping away. "You and Rautanor have come to make trouble for me!" he accused.

"What are you going to do?" asked Artíre, on a knife-edge of suspense. One false step could lead to both himself and Rautanor being destroyed. He had heard rumours of such a thing taking place at Angband, and did not want to discover whether the tales were true or not. He hoped that, by keeping his tone firm, he could convince Narcawë of the possibility of an army from Morgoth coming to take him prisoner. This possibility was all that stood between himself and annihilation.

Narcawë considered this, then said, "If you and Rautanor have not come here to make trouble for me, and you are telling the truth, why have only two of you come?"

The time had come to offer a sacrifice here in the temple. Artíre had used up all his options. Morgoth had sent him here alone because he had faith in the Watcher's wiles as a spy. Rautanor's presence had complicated matters. Narcawë was confused, but he was also unwilling to give up his position and power. One thing was certain: while he believed in the possibility of the army of Morgoth coming to bring him to judgement, he did not believe in the certainty of it. That small difference in the Defiant One's perception was going to lead to the demise of Rautanor.

"Because Rautanor suggested deceiving you into coming back to Angband to be rewarded by Morgoth for your service to him!" shouted Artíre, pointing dramatically at the Plotter.

"That is a lie!" Rautanor wailed, desperation dragging the last word to a high-pitched tone.

"He honestly thought you would believe it!" Artíre sneered, moving towards Narcawë, who was standing near the altar. There was a grille on the floor beside it, where the blood and fluids from the sacrifices drained away.

"He is lying!" screamed Rautanor, looking around in terror.

The other Maiar gathered around him, feeding on his fear.

"Can you not see he is lying?" Rautanor wailed. "Deceiving him was Artíre's idea! He is the one who said it! When I return to Morgoth, I will tell him..."

"You will tell him what, Rautanor?" asked Artíre. "Are you not Sauron's servant? Working for Morgoth would leave you vying for power among the other servant Maiar. At least under Sauron, you are closer to a position of power. Sauron has always had your first loyalty, and everyone here knows it!"

Narcawë grinned approvingly at the Watcher, who was now standing beside him while the other Maiar gathered around the hapless Rautanor.

"How easily you change sides, Artíre!" Rautanor roared. "If the one side seems likely to win, you join it, but if the other one does, you go there instead. You care not who wins in the end! Do you know why I hate you, Watcher? I hate you because you have no concept of loyalty! For you, there is no cause, there is only a show for you to observe - and I despise you for it! Curse you! Curse you to the Void forever!"

With that, the other Maiar drew even closer to Rautanor and waited for Narcawë to speak.

"Seize him!" the Defiant One ordered. "Let us take portions of his essence for ourselves, stripping layer after layer off him until there is nothing left!"

The Maiar complied at once, chanting the spells that tore strip after strip of being from Rautanor, who screamed and struggled all the way through the process until only a whisper of a memory remained. They stood aside to let it drift sadly away.

"Where is Artíre?" asked Narcawë, who had taken a greater portion of Rautanor than any of the others.

The Watcher was nowhere to be seen.

When the Maiar surrounded Rautanor to destroy him, Artíre seized the chance offered by the distraction of their feeding frenzy to slip between the bars of the grille by the altar. As a spirit being, this was a simple matter for him. There were advantages to not having a solid form.

Stretching forth his senses, the Watcher discovered a series of grilles leading up to the main bed of the altar, on which some remnants of the last sacrifice still smouldered. He poured himself like smoke up through the grilles and hid among the embers so he could observe what was happening to Rautanor.

The Plotter's end was horrible. Artíre discerned Rautanor as a spirit of malice and deceit, and he watched as this cloud of suspicious malevolent intentions was torn asunder as wisp after wisp of his essence was wrenched from his being by the other Maiar. Artíre shuddered as he lay hidden among the embers. The heat of the smouldering ashes did not harm him. If he had not disappeared when he had, that could easily have been him in the circle of evil Maiar being ripped apart.

When they were finished, Narcawë asked, "Where is Artíre?"

The other Maiar looked around, and did not notice the Watcher hidden in the embers on top of the altar.

"Search the city. He cannot have got far!" instructed Narcawë. "No doubt he is making his way back to his master to report, as is his wont. Ingrate! I thought it would please him to see his nemesis destroyed once and for all!"

The other Maiar dispersed at once, seeking the Watcher out. Since Narcawë's attention was on them, Artíre seized his chance to cast the binding spell, fastening the Defiant One to a corpulent priest as he waddled past, oblivious to the horror that had just occurred. Repeating the spell over and over again, Artíre reinforced the spell before assuming an Elf-like form and punching the old priest, who was alone at the time. By the force of his will, Artíre blinded the priest and crushed his vocal chords so he could not speak the words of the unbinding spell. Unable to articulate himself, the priest was now dependent on the Watcher.

"Come, Narcawë," said Artíre, "it is time to leave Rhûn now. We are going to Angband, to face Morgoth."

Narcawë croaked and gasped, unable to speak.

Artíre led the priest to the robing room, his memories from his time possessing Eshtun, servant of the High Priest, guiding him. He found some cowled robes with hoods, and put one on. Finding a heap of cloaks, he put one on himself and another on Narcawë to disguise them. The Maiar who were hunting for the Watcher were unlikely to see past the flimsy disguises if they did not look too closely at them. Besides, they were looking for one Maia and not two priests. Artíre cast a spell of concealment on them both, to be on the safe side. This was not guaranteed to protect them, since the Watcher's knowledge of magic was scant, but it was as effective at concealing Artíre and Narcawë from the gaze of the Maiar searching for them as a black cloak in the shadows.

The journey to Angband was fraught with peril, since robbers lay in wait round every corner and Narcawë's followers were ever watchful. They soon realized their leader had also vanished, and rightly attributed this to the wiles of the Watcher. They also discovered that one of the priests was missing, and were searching for him. This, they believed, was the key to the mystery. They knew that when Artíre returned to Angband, he would tell Morgoth about the demise of Rautanor, and they feared the wrath of Sauron, Rautanor's master.

They laid plans to destroy Artíre, and to conceal their deeds by pretending that the Watcher was to blame for Rautanor's death. When their searches failed, they began to panic, and dispersed in terror of Morgoth's wrath.

The disguises affected by Artíre to conceal himself and Narcawë were many and varied. Sometimes they were starving peasants, at others they were heavily-armed bandits; Narcawë trudged along, unable to see or to speak, but waving a sword around as if he was as dangerous as Artíre.

Narcawë, unable to see or to express himself, and distracted by the aches and pains of the journey as he stumbled unwillingly along, had a great deal of time to reflect upon the events that had led to this outcome, and came to the conclusion that it was all Sauron's fault. 'Yes,' he told himself, 'Sauron left me in charge of Rhûn and of the temple of Moko, then decided to abandon it altogether. Someone had to take control, and I was the most suitable person to do so. Now he is jealous of me and of the followers I have gained, and that is why he sent his minions to come and seize me. The lies he has told about me! What chance will I have of telling my tale at the court of Morgoth, with my throat so cruelly squeezed so that I cannot speak?'

"Stop that!" Artíre shouted, and struck Narcawë, who recoiled in pain, hating the Watcher more than ever.

Though the Defiant One now knew the Watcher could detect his thoughts, his arrogance continued to pour selfish malice into his heart and soul, further entrenching him in his position as the victim of a conspiracy by those Maiar loyal to Sauron and Morgoth, and diverting him from the truth of his actions as a rebel and a traitor to both the Valar and to Morgoth.

Artíre transformed the Defiant One into a horse and rode upon him for a while, past the starving peasants who stood listlessly in the rain that now fell on the land, too late to water their crops, which had dried out months before. The curse was lifting from the land.

'How cruel he is - he will ruin the land and do great harm to the people, who trusted me to attend to their welfare. How will they survive without me?' Narcawë whined in thought. The humiliation of being a beast of burden for his enemy burned his soul, and he formed plan after plan to gain revenge on the Watcher, who seemed to be amused by his thoughts.

Many were the shapes Artíre imposed upon himself and on the body Narcawë inhabited as they journeyed. Most of this was for his own entertainment, if truth be told. The Watcher rarely affected a form, and was discovering the different shapes he could construct for himself and for his prisoner by the force of his will. He needed a body to control Narcawë, anyway. The Defiant One was blind and unable to speak, and was completely dependent on Artíre for everything.

The strain of the many changes to a body that was never meant to be stretched and shortened the way Narcawë's was by Artíre began to tell, and his bones creaked and groaned in protest as he trudged along, his joints swollen stiff and his skin laddered with stretch-marks. The Defiant One's skin went yellow with jaundice as the damage to his internal organs took effect. The Watcher noticed this and realized he would have to stop or his prisoner would die before he got him to Angband, and Narcawë might escape the prison of the old priest's body and wreak a similar revenge on his captor. This was a risk the Watcher was unwilling to take, so he eased the effects of his abuse of his captive by the force of his will, repairing the damage to the innards and the joints enough to allow the Defiant One to continue to travel. Artíre knew little of medicine and healing, but he did know from personal experience how a Man's body was supposed to work.

Eventually, they reached the borders of Morgoth's territory, and began the ascent the highland path by the river Narog as it flowed past the Shadow Mountains. The scrubby terrain clawed at Narcawë's feet and legs, and the feeling of being constantly watched never left the two travellers as they walked through the land.

The Defiant One felt the weight of his impending doom increase with each step he took. He slowed down as much as he could, dragging his aching feet and protesting with gasps and wheezes. He tried to reach out to Artíre in his thoughts, begging him to turn around and at least restore his sight so he could flee and be gone forever, but the Watcher was having none of it.

'Release me!' cried Narcawë in thought. 'In the cruelty of your malice, you have humiliated me in front of everyone, Man and Maia. You have made sport of me through all the lands of Men so they could laugh at me. I am the song of drunkards and the joke of mockers!'

"Your conceits will not avail you in the court of Morgoth!" replied Artíre, loud enough for all to hear.

'How dare you call me conceited, you who plot and scheme against me, and other Maiar?' the Defiant One wailed mentally. He felt defensive enough without Artíre shouting their business abroad like a street hawker selling his wares.

"Let Morgoth decide who has plotted and schemed when he pulls forth your memories like a Man pulling carrots from the ground," Artíre declared. "I will say no more. Spare me your constant complaining, or I will take a stick and beat you with it."

'You would not dare!' Narcawë asserted. He was a Maia, a lord among Maiar. The Watcher would never get away with such an act, and in front of everyone, too!

The Watcher snapped a dry branch of gorse from a dead bush and beat the Defiant One with it until he ran, stumbling, falling and rolling, to get away from the sting of the swipes Artíre gave him with it. He was quiet after that. Only his wheezing and gasping punctuated the journey as the two Maiar made their way to Angband, Narcawë limping heavily on a sprained ankle. The pain shot up his leg with every step he took, but the Watcher gave him no rest.

"We are approaching Haudh-en-Ndengin, the Hill of Slain," the Watcher announced.

Narcawë felt his heart drop into his boots, the soles of which had come loose long ago. The doors of fate were closing, and he was being locked in. Was there nothing he could say or do? Morgoth would side with his treacherous minions, no matter what he said. This was so unfair! How was he going to speak in his own defence, anyway? Artíre had seen to it that he could not speak aloud, and his thoughts were jumbled up, swirling around and around in a maelstrom of terror as they drew nearer to the fortress of Morgoth. He did not need the Watcher to tell him they were nearing the gates of Angband - the horror was growing greater and greater in his mind, crushing him with the weight of the certainty of his demise.

A harsh voice crashed into the Defiant One's reverie. "Who approaches the gates of Morgoth?"

"Artíre the Watcher, and Narcawë the Defiant," announced Artíre.

"What is the password?" asked the guard.

"Ungoliant's Web," replied the Watcher.

"Enter," the guard said, and let them in.

The dust in the air caught in Narcawë's throat and he choked and coughed as he limped in. He could feel the crushed bones and lumps of pumice from Thangorodrim underfoot. Every step was torture of the worst kind, worse than having his Man's body stretched and bent into unnatural shapes by Artíre, because he knew that when he stopped going forward, it would be because he was finally in front of Morgoth's throne.

In the throne room of Morgoth, Maiar, balrogs, wraiths, high-ranking Orcs and other evil creatures gathered for the trial of Narcawë. No clarion call went out to alert them - they were drawn to the spectacle of an Elf-like being calling himself 'Artíre the Watcher,' and the abject Man he held prisoner 'Narcawë the Defiant.' Rumours were spreading like wildfire of the triumph of Artíre over twenty rebel Maiar by the skill of his sorcery. One tale even told of the Watcher's having moulded a body for Narcawë out of the dust of the ground, fastening him to it and changing its shape at will for his own entertainment.

Beings who had never entered the presence of Morgoth suddenly found reasons to flock to his throne room, filling the vast chamber to capacity. This was the scene that greeted Sauron when he came, summoned to give evidence at the trial. Taking his place at his lord's left side, he waited for the prisoner and his accuser to enter the room, his ears filling with the chatter of the assembly.

Artíre entered before his prisoner. The Watcher remained embodied in Elven-form, and wore dark robes befitting the occasion. He took his place before Morgoth, at the head of the crowd. A sussuration of whispers broke out around him as he stood calmly, waiting for the proceedings to commence. The Watcher nodded respectfully to Sauron, who glowered in return. Where was Rautanor? Sauron, dressed in Elven-form, raised an eyebrow in silent query, but Artíre simply dipped his head as he looked straight at the Deceiver. The message was clear: wait and see.

The prisoner entered next, a shambling old Man, his belly sagging like an empty old sack under his tattered robes, his hair long fallen out. His eyes were dark - one big black dot in each reddened eyeball. He was blind, and groped around as he was dragged along, wheezing and gasping his complaints, which he was unable to enunciate. Thick heavy chains hung from shackles on his wrists and ankles, though these were for show - there was no hope of escape. There was no hope at all for him, and he knew it. Tears leaked pitifully as he made his way forward, limping as he stumbled along.

Focusing on him, Sauron reached out with his thoughts to discover if this really was Narcawë. It was! Sauron baulked at the revelation, not because he had thought the Watcher to be lying, but because of what the Defiant One was now reduced to. He had never seen a Maia brought so low. There was something different about the Defiant One, though. Something undefined, but a difference, nonetheless. The Deceiver began to probe, trying to ascertain what this difference was, and as he did so he encountered other consciousnesses doing the same thing. It was confusing for him, trying to distinguish between the other beings, Narcawë, and... something else. Something familiar, like the scent of blood or a snatch of melody from a well-known song...

Morgoth rose from his throne. "Silence!" he roared.

The room went quiet, and all eyes turned to the lord of the realm.

"I am informed that one of my Maiar hath turned against me, and in defiance of my wishes did set himself up as lord of Rhûn, there to hold a realm of his own. He is accused by Sauron and Rautanor of taking the temple of Moko, which had been established as a centre of worship for me, and altering it so that he was worshipped there instead. Moreover, he hath defied a summons to return here to Angband to make account of his actions to me," stated Morgoth, his tone severe. The Dark Lord lifted his mighty right arm and pointed at the prisoner. "Artíre sayeth thou art Narcawë the Defiant. What wilt thou say in thy defence?"

The prisoner looked up at the sound of the voice. He was moving his head and upper body in response to the probings of the other beings in his mind. He croaked a response, waving his hands at his throat.

Morgoth cast a spell. "Speak!" he commanded.

"I am Narcawë," the prisoner replied. "See what Artíre hath done to me! He hath tortured me! He hath abused me in ways too numerous to tell, from the temple of Moko to this place, my lord! Give me justice, I pray thee! Justice!"

"Silence!" shouted Morgoth. "Artíre, is this true?"

"My lord Morgoth," said Artíre, "it is true that I bound him, and that I beat him. I blinded him and rendered him dumb to prevent his escape, for he is wily and apt to deceit. I deemed him too dangerous to do otherwise."

Whispers went the length and breadth of the room as the assembly deliberated. Many of the rumours accepted as fact were being destroyed, and the crowd was anxious to get to the truth of the matter. Sauron spoke up, "My lord Morgoth, give me leave to speak, I pray."

"Thou mayest," said Morgoth.

"Artíre," said Sauron, his tone deliberate and deadly, "Where is Rautanor, whom I sent to aid thee?"

All eyes turned to the Watcher. Everyone in Angband knew about the feud between Sauron and Artíre, and the beings in the room were debating among themselves whether this was another salvo heralding a new outbreak of hostilities between the two Maiar.

"Rautanor hath been destroyed by Narcawë and his followers," announced the Watcher, looking Sauron in the eye.

Sauron baulked for the second time that day. The horror of the Watcher's announcement struck him with the force of a boulder cast from a trebuchet. A wave of rage swept over him for a moment, and he could not speak. While he could not be said to have loved Rautanor, the Plotter was a good lieutenant, and had served him loyally and well.

"How did this happen?" he asked.

"Ask Narcawë - he knoweth!" Artíre replied, his gaze unwavering.

"That is a lie!" the Defiant One objected.

"How is it that thou and thy followers did slay Rautanor, Narcawë?" asked Morgoth.

"'Twas Artíre!" cried Narcawë in desperation. "He did it! Release me and I will show ye how it was! O, 'twas cruel! Most cruel!"

"Artíre, how did Rautanor meet his doom?" asked Morgoth, ignoring the Defiant One, who shouted and wailed his rage and fear to the room.

"In terror and torment," replied the Watcher. "They surrounded him, my lord, and cast spells that tore parts of his essence away in strips, and used them to strengthen themselves. This they did till only a whisper of memory remained, which they permitted to depart, deeming Rautanor to be a threat no more. I made my escape as swiftly as I could, and lay hid till I could cast a spell on Narcawë and render him harmless. Then I brought him back to thee as thou commanded me."

Sauron roared, raising his hand to his mouth. He had done this to Maiar and other beings who opposed him, sometimes with the aid of Rautanor. Doing this had altered them, darkening their beings and tainting them more than their other sins. The remnants of the others clung to them like the stink of smoke on one who escaped from a burning house. It was like wearing armour that had been in a fire - singed and stinking, but wearable nonetheless. They were strengthened, but the memories of their victims lingered in the recesses of their minds, popping up at odd moments when triggered by a sight, sound, feeling or smell.

If Narcawë was strengthened thus, by what means had Artíre subdued him? This was strength indeed! It was small wonder that he sensed something familiar in the Defiant One - it was a memory of Rautanor! There was a portion of the Plotter mingled with the essence of Narcawë. Knowing this made him feel as though he had inadvertently swallowed a goblet of Rautanor's blood, thinking it was wine. He felt sick inside. Anger rose within him, a rage that threatened to turn the trial into a violent farce. Seizing control of himself, Sauron bit back the words of fury he wanted to spit, and stood glaring furiously at the prisoner.

"Dost thou deny this, Narcawë?" asked Morgoth, anger twisting his voice into a snarl.

"B-but, my l-lord," wailed Narcawë, "Artíre did spy on me, and caused a riot in the temple. He possessed a Man, and killed seventeen. He bound me to the body of a priest and turned me into a horse, and rode upon me!"

"Narcawë, dost thou plead guilty, then?" asked Morgoth, his voice low and dangerous.

Sauron was becoming increasingly irritated by the whining of the Defiant One, who wailed, complained and tried to blame Artíre for what he had done, but would not answer the questions put to him. "I tell thee, Narcawë, if thou wilt not answer plainly the charges put to thee, thou wilt be condemned!" he declared.

Narcawë went quiet.

"Now tell us, Narcawë, is the tale of Rautanor's doom true or false?" asked Morgoth.

"I do not understand why I am brought forth to give testimony about my doings in the temple of Moko, and Artíre is not," replied the Defiant One.

"I sent Artíre to bring thee before me for judgement, and this he hath done," replied Morgoth. "The Watcher hath shown himself loyal and obedient to me, and thou hast not even answered one question put to thee. Artíre hath answered every question truthfully, and thou hast tried to hide behind thine excuses and complaints, but they will not avail thee, nor will any charge thou layest against my servant Artíre. Thou standest accused of bringing about the doom of Rautanor and of treason against me. Wilt thou answer yea or nay to these charges?"

"Why wilt thou not hearken to my complaints?" asked Narcawë, "or must I alone answer for the events in Rhûn?"

"Thou alone art on trial," replied Morgoth.

Narcawë fell silent. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Artíre came with Rautanor to the temple of Moko, and the twain contended with each other before me. My followers surrounded them both. Rautanor called down curses on Artíre, and we fell upon the Plotter and devoured his essence. Artíre hid from us, and we searched for him. By base treachery he rose up and bound me to the body of this priest, then he brought me here."

"Is this true, Artíre?" asked Morgoth.

"For the most part, though lies are mingled with his testimony as the essence of Rautanor is mingled with Narcawë's," declared the Watcher. "I went as thou commanded me to the temple of Moko, and Rautanor came also. We could not agree upon a strategem for dealing with Narcawë, and when we entered the temple, he feared the worst and turned on me. Narcawë's followers surrounded us both, and Rautanor believed it was a trap set by me. He cursed me, and Narcawë's followers assumed this was because I intended to join them. They destroyed Rautanor, and I hid, knowing they would do the same to me if I did not. When they saw me not in the temple, they went to seek me, and I cast the binding spell on Narcawë while he was distracted with ordering the search for me."

"Thou didst hide, and not render aid to Rautanor?" cried Sauron, his fury breaking free as his self-restraint wavered.

"Rautanor turned on me!" Artíre shouted. "We were surrounded, and when Rautanor turned on me, I saw there was no hope, so I hid."

Sauron went quiet as the truth hit home. His feud with Artíre had cost him his lieutenant as well as his standing with Morgoth. The loss of Rautanor was another charge to lay at the Watcher's door since accepting responsibility for it was too much for Sauron to bear. As quickly as the truth smashed into his mind like a hammer onto a nail, he rebuffed it with an excuse that Artíre was to blame because Rautanor would not have been sent with him if the Watcher could have been trusted to carry out the mission by himself. The fact that it was Sauron's idea to send Rautanor along was not one the Deceiver was willing to accept.

Morgoth rose again from his throne to pronounce judgement. "Narcawë, called the Defiant One, thou hast been condemned by thine own mouth and by the testimony of Artíre the Watcher. Thou hast admitted to the destruction of Rautanor, and to rebellion against my lawful rule of Rhûn by setting up a realm for thyself there with followers of thine own in the temple of Moko. This judgement I render: thou wilt be served as thou and thy followers served Rautanor, thine essence stripped from thee wisp by wisp until thou art no more than a memory. Sauron and I will do this, giving shares unto those we deem worthy. Take him away until I call for him again!"

The guards on either side of the Defiant One seized him and dragged the protesting Maia away, still bound to the body of the priest. The crowd in the room began to disperse until Morgoth, Sauron, Artíre and Morgoth's personal servants remained.

"Go," said Morgoth to Sauron and Artíre, "I give ye leave to depart."

The Watcher went, shedding his Elven-form, invisible to all but the Maiar and to Morgoth, who were aware of him.

Sauron watched him depart, then went to his chambers, mulling over his loss and the plans he could make to avenge himself. Taking part in the execution of Narcawë would be vengeance enough, but what of the Watcher? One thing was certain - he would have to be careful in his dealings with Artíre, for though he desired no lordship of any realm, he was a lord nonetheless, and not to be underestimated.

Sauron the Deceiver considered the matter for a while, then prepared to carry out the sentence on Narcawë, who was defiant to the last.

The End.