Elegy for Númenor - Volume 1: Journey to Umbar by elfscribe

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Chapter 6 - A Wolf in the Wain

Chapter summary:  Sûla has a conversation with Sauron and promises to keep a secret.

 

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Note: Aphanuzîr is Amandil’s name in Adûnaic and Nimruzîr is Elendil’s name; the Zigûr is Adûnaic for sorcerer, which is what the Númenóreans called Sauron.

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Snowflakes drifted down in desultory silence; one lit on Sûla’s wool cloak and glittered for a moment before it was gone. All about him the great army was on the move, churning up the road into mud. Wains creaked, whips snapped, and drivers shouted. Sûla saw the wain that carried the Zigûr swaying up ahead. For a time he agonized over whether or not to approach. He remembered elders of his village, their faces starkly lit by firelight, telling horrific tales about him. He still shivered at the memory. But the figure of willowy, epicene beauty that had been revealed in the tent did not match what he had heard. Sûla had to know more. He nudged his horse into a trot to catch up, even though the jerky motion was not pleasant, given his tender condition. He was glad that, at least, he had changed into sturdy leather breeches.

Four bored guards escorted the wain, which was partly filled with the bright gold color of the King’s folded canvas tent. At the back of the wain the Zigûr sat in a nest of grey blankets with his back to a large trunk. His head, covered by the dark hood of his cloak, was bowed to his chest. Was he sleeping? Did he sleep? There seemed no threat there, but Sûla knew better. He could feel the Zigûr’s presence thrumming about his head like a wasp. What had he called himself amongst all those names he’d trotted out this morning? Annatar?

Sûla hesitated and licked his lips. “My Lord Annatar,” he called.
                                                
The head lifted and he found himself pierced by a glance from those strange, golden eyes. “Ah, a visitor.” There was a pause. “Well, what do you want?”

“Ar-Pharazôn, I mean, his Majesty assigned me to serve your needs,” Sûla said.

“Did he now?” Annatar studied Sûla. “Would you keep me warm then?” Sûla hesitated and Annatar gave him that sly smile. “I remember you from the audience this morning. You are the pleasure-boy.”

“I’m the King’s cupbearer,” Sûla corrected.

“I’m sure you are,” said Annatar, “and that’s why you sit your horse so gingerly.” A soft laugh.

Angrily Sûla said, “I came to see if you wanted anything. If you were thirsty or hungry.” He lifted his water gourd from the shoulder strap. “As is my duty. But I see I was in error.” He turned his horse’s head.

“Pray forgive me,” Annatar said, his voice becoming honeyed. “Now that you mention it, I am thirsty, and also in need of pleasurable company. These mailshirts,” he jerked his head at the guards, “are unbearably dull. No conversation.”

Sûla hesitated.

“No need to fear me,” Annatar said. “They have me well secured. Don’t you, lads?” This was addressed to the guards. He raised his manacled hands with a sharp clink.

“Hey, no one said you could talk,” a guard named Dâur declared. He looked at Sûla. “Shove off, mîki.”

“I’m here by order of the King,” Sûla replied.

“He didn’t tell us about it,” Dâur growled.

“Do you not know who I am?” Sûla asked.

The guards chuckled. “Aye,” said a craggy faced guard with a leer, a man named Hozdûnik. “Will you serve our needs too?” He cupped his crotch, gave it a little shake.

“I may have to report that to the King,” Sûla said smoothly.

Hozdûnik’s smile melted away. “No offense meant,” he mumbled.

There! They dare not trifle with me, Sûla thought with a glow of satisfaction.

“What harm can the boy do,” Annatar said to them, “if you are here watching?”

Something happened. Sûla wasn’t sure what, but the guards blinked.

“Very well,” said Hozdûnik and waved him forward.

Sûla came alongside the wain and extended his canteen towards Annatar, but he was just out of reach.

“Tie your horse to the back and come aboard. No doubt, it will be more comfortable than riding,” Annatar said.

“This is difficult while we’re moving.” Sûla glanced at the driver of the wain who showed no inclination to stop.

“Take a risk, mîki,” Annatar snapped.

After some false tries, Sûla managed to tie his horse to a hook on the back of the wain, and toss in the canteen. He grasped the top of his saddle cloth, stood upright, and, for a frightening moment, balanced there before half leaping, half falling into the wain as his horse startled under him. He landed hard and painfully in the blankets, then gathered himself upright.

“Well done,” Annatar said.

Pleased, Sûla settled against the canvas opposite Annatar who was now regarding him with amusement. Sûla handed him the canteen.

Annatar took it and drank thirstily. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Tell the King I thank him for sending me such a lovely retainer.” He smiled widely. Sûla felt it as a sudden heat. He could not reconcile this charming being with all that he had heard about him. He had to know. He opened his mouth, then faltered.

“Ask your question,” Annatar said. “That is why you’re here, is it not?”

“I am merely doing as I was bid,” Sûla said.

“If that were so, you’d have lobbed your canteen at me and been on your way.”

“Perhaps,” Sûla shrugged.

“Tell me your name, man of Umbar,” Annatar said.

“It’s Sûla. How did you know where I’m from?”

“Your accent, the rolled r’s and the musical cadence. Not to mention you have the Umbarian coloring, that dark, wavy hair and golden skin. I’ve spent much time there myself . . . in years past.”

“You study people well, don’t you?” Sûla said, to which Annatar merely widened those half-lidded, feline eyes. “You are correct, that is where I’m from,” Sûla conceded. “Actually from Brûni, a village further down the coast. There were tales of you in my village. Of your deeds. And so,” he plunged into it, “I would like to know, please, can you really turn into a wolf?”

Annatar laughed. “Tales told among the kindred of men are often exaggerations or outright lies.”

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed, Sûla. Why did you want to know?”

“I just . . . I always liked those stories. When I was young, I wanted to be able to do that, to turn into a wolf. A great big black one with knives for teeth.”

“And why should you wish to do that?”

Sûla frowned. He did not like to speak about his past, but the fantasy he’d had when young rose unbidden, of himself in wolf’s form shaking Khunig, his stepfather, to bloody rags.

“I wanted to be stronger than I was, so I could defend myself,” he replied.

Annatar quirked an eyebrow and settled back against the trunk. “Was someone hurting you?”

Sûla tossed his head. “It does not matter. Not now.”

“These things always matter,” Annatar replied. “What happens when we are young shapes who we are later. Having power over others is a way to feel safe.”

Sûla pondered the truth of that.

Annatar looked at him as if sizing him up. He said, “I will confess to you, my friend, that the tales are true. I could change my shape into that of a wolf—a hideous brute with strength enough to rip a man in half quite as easily as tearing up reed paper.”

Sûla leaned forward, entranced. “Marvelous! Could you change my shape?”

Annatar chuckled softly. “Thirsty for power are you, my friend? Don’t make the mistake of thinking it enjoyable to manifest the beast within. It took days to fully resume my normal form. I would be wrapped in a choking gloom and only able to eat raw meat, which under normal circumstances I abhor.” He clacked his teeth together. “However, sadly, that skill is now lost. My powers changed when I took this form and I can no longer become a wolf or any other beast.”

“Truly?” Sûla replied. “Are all your powers diminished? Is that why you suffer this captivity? Because your sorcery cannot free you?”

Sûla thought he caught a gleam in Annatar’s eyes, but he merely nodded. Sûla wriggled about, trying to sit more comfortably. The chains chinked. Annatar lifted his face to the sky. A snowflake landed on his cheek and disappeared. Sûla could almost hear it hiss and had to resist putting his hand on the sorcerer’s smooth face to feel if the skin was hot. He glimpsed another delicate flake floating down, opened his mouth and caught it tingling cold on his tongue, a feat that seemed to amuse Annatar greatly. He joined Sûla, extending a pink and mobile tongue. For a time, they chased snowflakes with their mouths, like children. Sûla laughed in delight.

Annatar eyed him sidelong. “Not enough to quench a real thirst, are they?”

Sûla shook his head and offered the water gourd.

“I’d rather have some hot wine,” Annatar said.

“I’m afraid I haven’t any until we stop for the night. I’ll bring some then.”

“Good boy,” Annatar said. “So you are the King’s . . . cupbearer. An enviable position, perhaps?”

“It is,” Sûla said with pride. “He listens to me.”

“Does he? And what do you say to him?”

Sûla stopped himself before blurting out that the reason Annatar was on this journey was due to his counsel. He wasn’t sure how the Zigûr would take such a revelation, but it was likely Annatar might hold it against him. He said, “Little things, here and there.”

“And would you tell him everything I say, even if it was told you in confidence?”

“I can keep secrets,” Sûla huffed.

“Can you? I’ll trust you with one, then.”

Sûla looked up, startled, into Annatar’s eyes and saw what appeared to be a fire crackling in their depths. It drew him in. Secrets? Always useful. He could decide whether or not to tell the King— later. He nodded.

“Come closer,” Annatar said in a lowered voice. Sûla shuffled forward on his knees. The wain hit a bump, knocking him into the sorcerer’s arms. He let out a little squeak but Annatar took hold of his shoulders to steady him and then breathed in deeply. Sûla felt the softness of his exhalation upon his neck. His body was indeed quite warm. “Enticing perfume,” Annatar said. “I could smell you on the King earlier. You are charming, Sûla. I can see why you are a favorite.”

Sûla’s face bloomed hot; there was a slow coiling of interest in his loins. This would not do at all. The King did not tolerate competition on the sly. Sûla could dally with others only when performing for him. Abruptly, he pulled away. “What is this confidence you said you’d share?” he said, more roughly than he meant.

“Your King is interested in prolonging youth. I know how to brew an elixir that will do that. The key ingredient is men’s seed, taken fresh.”

“By Zizzûn,” Sûla said in soft awe.

“Disgusting stuff to choke down, but then perhaps he wouldn’t mind so much.” Annatar’s lips quirked upward. “The process of obtaining it is quite pleasurable to the donor. Useful knowledge, don’t you think?”

Sûla thought that the King might receive this news rather well. As for himself, he'd certainly performed such tasks often enough.There were worse things he could imagine having to do. He nodded. “Why do you tell me this?”

“It’s a test to see if you’re trustworthy.”

“Why should I care what you think of me?”

“Because you do,” Annatar said. “Because you want to learn how to become a wolf.”

“Ah. So, what is the test?”

“Do not tell the King what I just said. Leave the timing of it to me.”

“Very well,” Sûla said, “as long as you tell him soon. It would not go well for me if he finds that I’ve withheld information.”

There was that gleam of the eyes again. “No, I expect not. So, tell me then, Sûla, who does the King listen to at court? Aside from you, of course.”

“Who does he listen to? Most often Lord Azgarad, I expect.”

“I met the Lord Azgarad this morning. A most imposing figure. What can you tell me about him?”

“He’s very disciplined. Up early every morning. Knows everything that’s going on. He’s in charge of the finances and the military. You don’t cross him.”

“Is he well liked at court?”

“Yes, well enough. He has no use for me or the other zirâmîkin.”

“Really? He disapproves of the King’s . . . um . . . entertainment? Does he have any vices himself?”

Sûla looked sharply at Annatar, realizing perhaps a little late that these questions were not asked merely to pass the time. “Why do you want to know?”

“You should be able to figure it out, my young cupbearer. I’m being taken prisoner to a foreign land and I have no idea what they plan for me. It is terrifying. I need to know what to expect of my captors.”

Sûla nodded. In the Zigûr’s place, he would do no less, however, he suddenly realized that he had been lulled into allowing his tongue to wag too freely and that this could be a dangerous game. Perhaps it was time to go. Just then he heard a voice shouting and sat up to look.

“Hoy, you! What are you doing there?” It was Lord Aphanuzîr riding up through the wains. The snow was coming more steadily now and his beard was white with it. Behind him rode his son, Nimruzîr, wearing a green hood, pulled low. Lord Aphanuzîr came level with the wain, his rangy grey horse moving at a brisk rolling walk. “What is this boy doing with the prisoner?” he barked at the guards.

“He said the King told him to take care of the prisoner’s needs. He wanted some water,” Dâur replied.

“That should not involve riding in the wain with him! You, boy, get out at once!”

“I can’t while we’re moving,” Sûla replied, peeved at the tone the Councilor was taking with him.

“Halt! Halt!” Lord Aphanuzîr roared at the driver. He rode up alongside him, waving his hands. Slowly, the wain lurched to a stop and the wain behind them went around, narrowly missing them. Its driver waved his fist at them. “Jump on your horse before we have a pile up,” Aphanuzîr snapped.

Sûla stood, untied his horse, and then climbed over the side of the wain onto the animal's back.

“Your company was most pleasant, Sûla,” Annatar said. “Thank you for the water.” For a moment he held Sûla’s gaze with those cat-like eyes.

“It was my duty, that’s all,” Sûla said, taking up his reins.

The wain driver snapped his whip; the horses leaned into the harness, and the wain shuddered into motion. Sûla watched Lord Annatar slowly recede. He and Aphanuzîr and Nimruzîr became like an island with the current of the army eddying about them.

“What in Ossë’s name were you doing?” Aphanuzîr growled.

“Nothing, my Lord. Just keeping him company,” Sûla replied. “I didn’t see any harm in it.”

“Stupid boy!” Aphanuzîr said. “That creature you were so cozy with is entirely evil and of immense guile. Stay away if you know what is good for you.”

“The King assigned me the task of seeing to his needs,” Sûla said stubbornly.

“Then, do it without speaking to him!” Aphanuzîr replied. “Elendil, you should stay to help guard that wain and make sure Sauron has no more visitors. Drat, our company is way up ahead. I’ll see you in camp.” He sent his horse into a canter.

“Hunh,” Sûla said as he watched him go.

“My father may be gruff, but he has your best interests at heart,” Nimruzîr said quietly.

“Does he?” Sûla replied. “I’m sure he wishes I didn’t even exist. None of the Councilors do.”

Nimruzîr gave him a troubled look. “His advice is sound,” he replied. “Is there someplace I can escort you?”

Sûla shook his head. “I have no place to go other than the King’s tent once they've set up, which I hope is soon. It’s getting cold.” He blew on his chilled hands.

Nimruzîr squinted up at the sun, visible only as a pale, wavering globe amidst grey skies. “We have three hours of daylight left. I expect they’ll push on at least another two. You can stick with me until then. We’ll ride behind the Zigûr’s wain. Just don’t talk to him.”

“My Lord, I assure you, if he wishes to talk with you, that’s what you’ll do, before you’re even aware of it,” Sûla replied. An image arose in his mind of a huge, black wolf pacing the King’s halls with himself at its side, his hands buried in soft fur.
 

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Chapter End Notes

The Zigûr is Adûnaic for sorcerer and is what the Númenóreans called Sauron.
Khunig - name for Sûla’s stepfather, an elfscribe invention with help from Mal.
mîki - mîk means baby boy in Adûnaic. In this fic, I’ve made it into a slang word, mîki, which has a slightly jeering meaning, like saying “dude” or “pal.” It should be pronounced "meekie."
zirâmîkin - beloved boys. An elfscribe-invented word for Númenórean male courtesans, and in particular for Ar-Pharazôn’s boys. Zirân - beloved or desired and mîkin come from canon Adûnaic, but I’ve combined them into a new word. This is a polite word like “courtesan.”
Zizzûn -- (elfscribe-invented Umbarian name) Master of Fate, a god of the peasants around Umbar.