Bringing Trouble to Barad-dur by Aiwen

Celebrimbor was sitting quietly in a corner in the Halls of Mandos when someone greeted him. He looked around and then realized that Lord Namo Mandos was standing right in front of him.

"Hello my Lord," said Celebrimbor cautiously, floating up from the floor. "I'm still not ready to go back yet, if that's what you're asking." Celebrimbor frowned as he realized how ungrateful that sounded. "I'd just create another mess," he tried to explain.

Lord Namo cut him off. "Actually, I was here with an entirely different proposition - if you are willing to listen before you start arguing."

"Yes, Lord Namo," Celebrimbor replied.

"Sauron is causing trouble again, and while we have sent aid there is a high chance that he will win."

Celebrimbor nodded, his heart sinking.

"The people fighting against him have a plan that may work, but they need all the help they can get. In particular, they need Sauron distracted. While we most definitely would not ask you to return in body to fight Sauron, I thought you might be willing to return as a fea with poltergeist abilities to annoy and distract him as much as possible. He would not be able to harm you in any way, but the knowledge you gained about him last time ought to let you know how to annoy him best. Once the war is over, for good or for ill, you would return here. You don't have to answer now, but we need an answer soon. Events are moving quickly."

A chance to help fix the mess I helped create, and a chance to get back at Sauron... "You don't need to wait: I'll do it." said Celebrimbor.

"Excellent," said Lord Namo, smiling.

Just then, another disembodied fea glided up to them. "I'd like to join you if I might," said Gil-galad. "I have more recent knowledge of Sauron than Celebrimbor does, as well as more knowledge of Mordor, the Kingdoms of Men, and the Ringwraiths working for Sauron."

It was Lord Namo's turn to look surprised. "I thought you liked the peace and quiet here. You were pleading with us not to re-embody you soon the last time I looked."

"No one can make me King if I'm not physically there. I've always been disappointed that Elendil and I didn't manage to destroy Sauron for good. I also left a lot of people behind who are probably in danger from him now. Surely Barad-dur is large enough for two people causing trouble at the same time?"

"I wouldn't mind the help," said Celebrimbor. "By all accounts Gil-galad has managed to annoy him far more than I ever did."

Slowly, Lord Namo nodded. "However, no more people may be added to this expedition. And kindly remember that you are there to cause a distraction, not to win the war for the living - you are just there to give them a chance to win it." He looked sternly at them and then continued when they both nodded.

"Before I send you out, I will give you three rules that will be obeyed. If they are broken, you will be brought back.

One: you are not to directly attempt to kill Sauron or his henchman.

Two: your poltergeist abilities to carry things will be limited to 2 pounds each.

Three: you will endeavor to avoid harm to prisoners and other innocents.

Do you have any questions or comments before you leave?"

"Of course we would avoid harm to prisoners!" said Celebrimbor.

"In addition to being a poltergeist, if you so wish you can cause him to see you and hear you. No one else will be able to do so, and he can only see you if you wish it. Is there anything else you want to know?"

Celebrimbor looked at Gil-galad, who smiled and then looked back at Lord Namo.

"When can we leave?" Gil-galad asked.

Lord Namo smiled at them, and they vanished from that place.

Gil-galad looked around him, seeing a narrow passage of black shaped stone lit with Feanorian lanterns. Beside him hovered a nearly transparent Celebrimbor, his feet a couple of inches off the floor. "So this is Barad-dur," Celebrimbor said.

"Yes," said Gil-galad. He surveyed the passage again. There had been a few times that he'd been terrified that he'd end up here, and now here he was voluntarily. Life was strange... even if he were technically dead. "Where in Barad-dur are we?"

Celebrimbor visibly shook himself "I've no idea. I think we need to find a window. Any preference as to direction?"

"None," said Gil-galad and floated off down the corridor with Celebrimbor following him. There were passages, and more passages which connected to other passages that led to rooms of unknown purpose that were mostly locked, but eventually they found themselves somewhere identifiable. The kitchens.

"Always useful to know where the kitchen is," said Gil-galad, looking around him at the busy meal preparation. There were soups steaming in huge kettles over an even larger iron stove, vegetables being chopped, and a pig turning on a spit. Obviously not orc food this.

"Not quite so useful to us now, since we don't need to eat," said Celebrimbor.

"True, but if we can identify food as for being for Sauron then we could do something unpleasant to it. What does Sauron hate eating? I've no idea."

"How would I know?"

"Annatar."

"Oh. He doesn't like fish. He doesn't much like anything to do with oceans or rivers either - at least if he was telling the truth. After all that's happened, he may just have been pretending sympathy because I have a foolish fear of the ocean."

"Were you afraid of cooked fish?"

Celebrimbor laughed. "No. I'd never have survived on Balar if I was, would I?"

"Then he was probably not just pretending. The vast majority of Mordor's creatures don't like water, so it would make sense that Sauron wouldn't. I doubt getting caught in the drowning of Numenor will have improved his opinion of water since you knew him."

"That would make sense. We would have to switch his plate with somebody else's, since I think people in here would notice if fish started flying through the air. I think it might be easier just to spill large amounts of salt over his food so that it is inedible."

Gil-galad shrugged. "Does he have any allergies?"

"Not that I know of, but we aren't allowed to try to kill him, remember."

"Old habits die hard. Now that we know where the kitchens are, why don't we try and find Sauron's quarters? There must be much more scope for causing trouble in there."

"When I find the dungeons, I'm going to cause metal fatigue in every piece of torture equipment I can find," said Celebrimbor, looking grim.

"You can do that?"

"I'll find a way. But first, let's go find Sauron's quarters." They started out of the room and drifted along yet another black stone passage. Celebrimbor suggested they go up: "He likes to be at the top of things, so he's probably near the top of Barad-dur."

As they climbed upwards, Gil-galad kept his eyes open for any sign of a record room, and suggested Celebrimbor do likewise.

"Definitely," Celebrimbor agreed. "We wouldn't have to make much of a mess to annoy or distract him. He's obsessively tidy, or was when he was in Ost-in-Edhil. I still think he's psychologically disturbed..."

"Crazy in addition to being evil? He seemed fairly logical to me in his pursuit of his purposes, however wrong his purposes were and unethical his means."

"Obsessive would be a better word."

"You do realize that people consider you obsessed by your craft."

"During the making of the Rings, they would have been right - although I've heard the same about you with regards to getting rid of Sauron. But where do we go from here?"

They had reached a dead end, or so it seemed. "That is a dwarf door!" said Celebrimbor, looking at it closely. "There must be something important behind here." He vanished through the door.

Gil-galad stared in shock at the wall. We can walk through walls? he thought. I have to try that. He drifted up to the wall and stuck out his hand. It it initially stopped just short of the wall, but then a spectral hand reached out through the door and pulled him through. It felt very strange.

"How did you do that?" he asked Celebrimbor, and then looked around. Lanterns were glowing far overhead, glittering off bins full of brilliant mithril, and shining from the assorted mithril arms and armor hung on the walls. The entire treasury at Lindon looked decidedly paltry by comparison.

Celebrimbor wandered over to a particularly stunning set of armour on the wall and reached out to touch it, then shook his head and turned his back on it. "Sauron's mithril hoard. He must have most of the world's mithril assembled here. For all the good it does - no one but him can see it. What a waste."

"Yes. I hadn't realized there was this much mithril in the entire world. Unfortunately it's too heavy for us to move any of it. Unless he's like a dragon and can sense if the tiniest piece of his hoard goes missing?"

"He probably doesn't come down here that often, especially in the middle of a war. Let's go somewhere else." They glided back towards the door.

"By the way, how did you get through that door?"

"You just have to think yourself through it," said Celebrimbor, sounding a bit puzzled.

Gil-galad made an exasperated sound. "But how can I do that when I don't know what's on the other side?"

"You just have to imagine being through the door and looking at it from the other side. You don't have to imagine what's on the other side apart from that. We couldn't do this in physical form but in fea alone it's easy. Here, why don't you try it now that you know what's on the other side of this door?"

Gil-galad duly tried and soon got the hang of it - once he got over his sense of panic at occupying the same space as stone and iron. It might be perfectly safe, but it didn't feel as if it ought to be possible. They moved on, moving upwards through the floor/ceiling if they began to get stuck. They found many interesting places along the way, and it took a great deal of time for them to get to Sauron's quarters.

Celebrimbor stopped and stared at the big door in front of them. It was guarded, but the man simply stared right through him.

"Judging by the big red eye on the door, this is probably Sauron's quarters," Gil-galad said. "It can't be his throne room because we've already seen that."

"I guess we'd better go in, then," said Celebrimbor slowly. He thought himself through the door. Warm sunlight greeted him, almost blinding after the dimness in the rest of the tower. They were in a nicely furnished living room, complete with silver teapot and porcelain cups set out on a table of exotic wood. Sauron himself was not visible, for which Celebrimbor was glad. Of course, he'd have to face him eventually... but at least this time Sauron couldn't hurt him.

Gil-galad appeared through the door and looked around with an astonished expression on his face. "I'd expected something darker and more gloomy," he said. "Are you sure this is his? Could it be a room for important guests instead?"

"It doesn't look all that different from his home in Ost-in-Edhil," said Celebrimbor. "Although given all that he's done and that has happened to him since, I am a bit surprised too. Perhaps this is a public living room for receiving guests? Why don't we see what's beyond that door?"

They floated across the room and through the closed door, which led through a very thick wall of stone and an outer sheath of iron onto a balcony. Celebrimbor looked down. The tower was so high that it was like looking off the edge of a great cliff.

How does it stand up? thought Celebrimbor. He craned his neck, trying to get a better look at the structure, before realizing that he didn't need to stay on the balcony at all. He thought himself through the railings so he could get a better perspective. Behind him, he heard Gil-galad yelp in horror and then start laughing.

As he floated through the air, Celebrimbor got his first good look at Mordor. Brown haze clouded the sky, there was no visible green anywhere close, and that great volcanic cone in the distance left tortured bare rock everywhere close to it. What a hideous, desolate place.

About thirty feet away from the tower, Celebrimbor turned and looked back. He still couldn't get a decent perspective on it - it was just too big. He extended his other senses, trying to figure out how something that tall kept from collapsing under its own weight.

There were lines of force all through it, acting almost as a reinforcing mesh that helped hold the tower up. The Master Ring, Celebrimbor thought. But he doesn't have it now, and the mesh doesn't smell entirely right for that anyway. The Master Ring is involved, especially at the bottom, but something else is holding the top part up. The Dwarf Rings? Probably. "I hate seeing him misuse my work that way," said Celebrimbor softly. The Rings are light. Maybe I can get hold of them and undo this... but I am not supposed to kill innocents. Knocking down his tower definitely would. What a shame. Doing that would definitely distract Sauron.

But if I can steal and hide the rings I will.

He floated back to the balcony. "Good to see you back on solid ground," said Gil-galad. "I was a little worried you'd float away on the wind out there."

"It just goes right through me," said Celebrimbor. "We should definitely take the dwarf Rings and hide them."

"Sauron has them?" asked Gil-galad.

"Yes, and he's using them. Unfortunately, I can't use them to bring the top part of the tower down because it would exceed our mandate, but I bet if we stole them it would drive him frantic - and therefore everyone else in Barad-dur as well."

"Yes, I'd imagine it would." Gil-galad smiled crookedly. "And if we hid them in the personal belongings of one of his allies we might be able to create a major breach in his war effort. If he's using them, though, wouldn't that mean he's wearing them? How will we get them away from him?"

"You're right. But if he ever removes them we will get them off him. He probably takes them off when he has a bath."

"The great... naked Sauron. Just what I didn't want to see."

"If you're scared, I can deal with it."

"I died fighting him in battle, I can certainly handle seeing him starkers if I have to. It's just not something that one seeks out. He's quite hideous enough in full armor."

"Sauron, hideous? Except when he was being an owl, he was excessively good looking."

"He lost the ability to take beautiful forms when Eru drowned Numenor. I doubt he's become any less hideous since the last time I saw him."

"I suppose not. Well, I'll deal with that when it happens." They thought themselves through the door and back into the living room where they stopped in shock. It was no longer empty.

There were two people seated around the little table. The first was a rather ordinary man in the red and black robes of Harad, complete with stylized black serpents twining round his collar and cuffs.

The second was almost invisible inside a black velvet cloak with the hood drawn up, but the hand holding his teacup was so emaciated as to be skeletal and had four fingers. They ended in claws. The hand was jet black, but not the black of anything alive - it seemed to absorb all light shining on it, as if it were formed out of a hole from which no light could escape. Of the face, all that could be seen were gleaming golden eyes, slitted as a cat's, and burning with inner fire. By his feet lay two wolves that watched all around them with half-closed eyes.

They spoke, and Gil-galad recognized the language instantly. Black Speech. He listened intently, ignoring Celebrimbor who wanted to know what was going on. The mortal man was an ambassador from Harad's northern principalities, and Sauron was demanding more troops for an upcoming major offensive against Gondor. Sauron wanted the men now rather than later. The Ambassador protested that the numbers Lord Zigur wanted were too high, and couldn't he wait until after the spring planting?

Sauron shook his head, and Gil-galad got a better look at his face. It was just as skeletal as the hands and had the same strange light-eating properties. Gil-galad might have felt sorry for him if it weren't for what he knew that body contained. Sauron twitched the hood back into place with his left hand.

They argued some more, and the Ambassador agreed that he would bring the troops as soon as possible, spring planting or no. . . they switched to less important topics, and Gil-galad turned to explain to Celebrimbor all that had been said.

Celebrimbor frowned, and said that the sooner they started causing trouble the better. An appalling grin spread over his face as he drifted towards the table where the Haradrim Ambassador was just setting down his half empty teacup. Celebrimbor tapped the teacup, knocking it over and sloshing tea across the table and towards a neat stack of mysterious papers.

"My lord Zigur, I am so sorry!" said the Ambassador. He babbled more apologies as he sprang to his feet and attempted ineffectually to wipe the tea from the surface of the table, first with a handkerchief and then with the sleeves of his robe. Sauron, meanwhile, removed the papers from harm's way and glared at him.

"That will be all," Sauron said.

The Ambassador bowed and left, his trailing sleeves discolored with tea. "I am surrounded by incompetents," Sauron said, sighing. He got up and went to the door, where he ordered the guard to find a servant to come and clean up the mess. He then stalked out through a door in the opposite wall that Gil-galad and Celebrimbor hadn't passed yet, followed by his wolves.

"Nicely done," said Gil-galad to Celebrimbor.

"Thank you." Celebrimbor grinned again. "I'm going to enjoy this assignment."

"Indeed. Shall we follow him?"

"Absolutely."

They thought themselves through the door and promptly found themselves in a dimly-lit corridor with doors off to either side. For lack of a better idea, they followed Sauron into an office which had two walls entirely covered in pigeonholes for papers, a large and very imposing writing desk, and multiple filing cabinets. Unlike the public living room, there were no windows.

"Once he leaves," Gil-galad said, "I think we should disarrange his papers in such a way to as to make it obvious that someone's rifled through them."

"And hide any that are important secret plans," Celebrimbor added. "You'll have to do that: I can't read them. We'll need to unlock the doors for it to look like somebody has been through his things. But I think we should wait a little before doing this until we get hold of the Rings."

"Even better, hide the Rings in the personal possessions of somebody like that Ambassador," said Gil-galad. "When Sauron finds them, he will damage his own support base in his rage."

"Sauron will probably kill the Ambassador if we do that," Celebrimbor said.

"The Ambassador is not an innocent. He's conspiring in a war against all the western peoples including what is left of our own. He is at a high level, and must know the risk he runs. I don't think Sauron's behavior towards him is our responsibility."

"You could put it in one of the Ringwraith's stuff instead - it's hard to kill somebody who's already undead," suggested Celebrimbor.

"But he'd know the Ringwraith wouldn't do that."

"The Ringwraiths are Ring-hungry. I don't see why they wouldn't take other Rings if they could."

"They are enslaved, Celebrimbor. I don't think they can even think of betraying their master, let alone act on any such thought."

Celebrimbor winced, visibly. "I never intended any of this."

"I didn't intend to let Eregion fall either. But before we can do any of this, we need to find the Rings. Where do you think they are?"

"On his right hand, one per finger."

Gil-galad looked over at Sauron again, who was now sitting at his desk intently reading something. "I can't believe I missed that," he complained.

"I'm probably more Ring-oriented than you are," Celebrimbor said. "I did make them, after all. If you want to cause havoc in his quarters without him realizing that anything's up, follow his pets and knock things over in their vicinity."

"You're right," said Gil-galad. "I'm to going to go look for the other wolf." He thought himself through one door and then through another, searching first Sauron's bathroom, and then his bedroom.

There he found the wolf. The animal had stood up on its hind legs and placed its paws on the windowsill. It was looking out and whining. Good grief, thought Gil-galad, it wants to go for a walk. It can't get to anywhere outside from here, so what on Arda does he do with it when it needs to attend the call of nature? Never mind, not my problem, although if I could find out and damage the arrangements so that the wolf soils his carpets...Gil-galad pondered options as he examined the windowsill.

There was a complicated and rather pretty ornament there, so Gil-galad gave it a tap and knocked it down. It landed unharmed on a thick rug. The wolf removed its paws from the window and sniffed the ornament which started playing a song in a rather tinny, out-of-tune voice. Gil-galad and the wolf stared at it suspiciously, but it didn't explode or do anything else exciting. Gil-galad shook his head as he wondered why Sauron owned an ornament that played bad music and decided there were some things in this world he did not wish to know.

The song stopped playing and the wolf picked the ornament up and tried to put it back on the windowsill. However, wolf mouths are not really made for delicate ornaments and the thing broke, making a high-pitched shrieking noise the was astonishingly loud for such a small object. The wolf spat out the pieces onto the carpet and ran out the door; right into Sauron.

Sauron glared at the wolf and grabbed it by the collar, shaking it once hard before releasing it. "I've told you a dozen times not to touch anything not on the floor. If you do it once more, you'll be orc food. Or I could demote you to a training mount for baby orcs." The wolf kept its tail between its legs, and then rolled on its belly and put its feet in the air. Sauron continued: "Stupid wolf. Not a decent werewolf to be found in the lot of you. I'm ashamed to be the Wolf Lord these days." The wolf whined again and looked pleadingly up at him, but Sauron merely stepped over it to look at the damage. He shook his head and walked back to his papers. The wolf slunk after him, its tail between its legs.

Meanwhile, in the other room, Celebrimbor had been rearranging things. Gil-galad gasped as he walked in. Both of the piles of paper to be read had fallen from the desk and was now scattered across the floor, and the ink pot was upset over the thing he had been reading. Sauron stopped and stared, then turned to yell at the wolf that had remained in the room. "Just what do you think you're doing? Out! Out!" he pointed at the door, and both wolves scrambled to get out of his sight. "Stay on the balcony and don't go anywhere." He began to clean up the mess, getting ink all over his hands in the process. Gil-galad watched with interest. Celebrimbor glided up to him, grinning.

"You like it?"

"Oh, I like it very much." Gil-galad waved his hand the mess. "However, I think we should go off somewhere and plan our pranks for maximum impact." Celebrimbor nodded and they thought themselves through the ceiling.

Chapter End Notes

A/N: Zigur means wizard in Adunaic, and is another name for Sauron. It seems like a name he would have been more willing to put up with than Sauron, which means abhorrent or abhorred one ( from the Quenya Saura, which means foul or putrid, according to Wikipedia) and was given him by his enemies. He is known to dislike the name Sauron and refuses to use it.

Celebrimbor had expected to find some sort of attic where they could plot, but they found themselves on a winding staircase that must have come up from inside Sauron's bedroom. He blinked. "Let's go on up," he said. "This staircase must go somewhere."

They floated upwards through a single locked door and into a round room surrounded by windows. In the center was a round table, and on it was a covered object. Celebrimbor pulled the cover off.

"A palantir!" exclaimed Gil-galad. "This really will be giving our friends problems."

"I've heard of the these," said Celebrimbor, "but I've never seen one before. One of my grandfather's lesser-known inventions - my father was always complaining that we should have bought them with us to Middle-earth, but he couldn't reproduce them without materials and tools that weren't available. How did they get here?"

"Elendil brought them from Numenor. This is too heavy for both of us to move even working together," said Gil-galad. "Can you break it?"

"I don't know," said Celebrimbor, an inner voice grumbling about Gil-galad's first thought on being confronted with a long-long and irreplaceable artifact being to break it. "I've never seen one before and they are supposed to be indestructable. It wouldn't be simple like causing metal fatigue. I could damage the table it's on and spill it on the floor, would that help?"

"Temporarily," said Gil-galad. "I'm sure Sauron could find another table somewhere easily enough." He shook his head. "It's not worth it. But if you could do something to the palantir..."

"I'll try, but I think we should save that for later because it will probably take me a long time and we wanted to plan out exactly what we were going to next. So let's plan."

They sat on the table, swinging their legs a little through the air as they talked.

They turned as the door squeaked to see Sauron in the doorway coming towards them. He couldn't see them, but they scrambled out of his way anyway. Sauron frowned at the uncovered palantir, turning to look at the windows as if he expected them to be open. Seeing that they were closed, he turned back to the palantir and sat down in the chair facing west. He placed his hands on either side of the stone and looked into the palantir.

The two poltergeists glided over to behind him where they could look over his shoulder. There were a variety of images, most of which Celebrimbor did not recognize. Gil-galad nodded occasionally as if he recognized something. Then a mortal man appeared in the palantir, looking right back at Sauron.

Sauron gasped as if struck, but did not speak. Instead, he gripped the palantir so tightly his knuckles would have gone white if they could. Clearly something was important about this man, so Celebrimbor examined him more closely. Dark hair, gray eyes and a very impressive sword that appeared to be somehow simultaneously of dwarvish and elvish make. Dwarf-made, and then elf-reforged, perhaps? The unknown man and Sauron continued their staring contest, but whatever passed between them was inaudible to Celebrimbor.

Celebrimbor snuck a look at Gil-galad who was staring into the palantir nearly as raptly as Sauron, muttering "Elendil!" over and over to himself and grinning. Celebrimbor had a nasty feeling that he was completely missing the point of all this.

The end came suddenly and was not what any of them had expected. The picture suddenly shifted in the palantir, and Sauron fell back in his chair, closing his eyes and pressing his hands to his forehead as if in pain. The palantir went dark.

After 30 seconds or so he removed his hands from his eyes, and stared at the palantir suspiciously. He stood up suddenly, knocking over the chair he had been sitting in. He strode through the room, slamming the door behind him so hard the floor shook. Through the door they heard him screaming curses in Black Tongue.

Gil-galad and Celebrimbor stared at each other. "You'll have to tell me what all that was about later," said Celebrimbor, "but I'm going to follow him." He floated through the door and down the stairs.

Gil-galad hesitated for a minute or so, and placed spectral hands on the palantir. It took a few moments for the dark globe to clear, and then Gil-galad found himself looking westward over the river Anduin. There was a city built of white stone. He stared at it for a few seconds before he recognized it as Minas Anor, for the city had grown greatly and it had been long since he had last seen it. With a good deal of effort, he focused inward on the citadel, looking for the descendant of Elendil he'd seen in the palantir earlier.

He was so focused on the palantir that he was startled when the door was thrown open with a booming crash. He took his hands from the palantir and turned just in time to have Sauron walk right through him. Gil-galad leapt aside, but not before feeling an all-too familiar sensation of burning heat.

For a moment all he felt was pain, especially of his throat and hands. He struggled to breathe, grabbing Sauron's arms and kicking out against something he could not conquer. He was growing weaker... then his vision cleared and he was no longer a badly burned elf on the slopes of Orodruin struggling in Sauron's grasp, but a disembodied fea floating just above the floor in the tower of Barad-dur.

Badly shaken, he sat up to see Sauron pull the cover back over the palantir. "Where are you?" Sauron growled. The Umaia stalked around the windows, checking each one as if he expected someone to have climbed in that way.

Belatedly, Gil-galad realized that Sauron could sense that someone had been looking in his palantir. That was going to be a problem if he ever wanted to get a look in again. He shivered, if fea could shiver. He really didn't want to relive his death again. It had been bad enough the first time.

Apparently satisfied, Sauron headed down the stairs closing the door, more quietly this time, and locking it behind him. Gil-galad followed him through the closed door.

Once down the stairs, he stopped in shock. Sauron's bedroom was... a mess. There were feathers everywhere and the duvet had been ripped to shreds by claws. Ornaments had fallen from their shelves and were lying on the floor, some of them in multiple pieces. Gil-galad looked back at Sauron just in front of him, who was standing very still and looking at the mess. "Curse Elendil, and curse his misbegotten and elf-tainted descendent to death and torment! Why couldn't they have drowned with Numenor?" snarled Sauron. Back erect and stiff, he walked through the room, out the door of his quarters and down the stairs, ordering a guard to send his servant Kelas to clean up the mess.

Gil-galad didn't follow, but glided over to Celebrimbor. "How did you manage that?" he asked, gesturing to the mess.

"I didn't really do much," said Celebrimbor. "When Annatar really lost his temper, he tended to take it out on inanimate objects. I wasn't expecting it to be this bad though - he seems to have a lot less self-control than I remember."

"Since there is all this mess already, why don't we go through his things and see if we can find anything that we can cause to go missing?" Gil-galad suggested. They bent down and started opening doors and rifling through files. They found a few things that might be useful, so they took them with them. Then they had to find somewhere to put them. They eventually found this in the form of an attic space just above the palantir room. That was a little awkward, as to take physical objects with them they had to unlock and open the doors. Celebrimbor proved much better at this than Gil-galad, who eventually just let him get on with it.

When Sauron's servant Kelas arrived, they snuck into the attic and planned trouble for Sauron, and for all his cronies in Barad-dur. Gil-galad also started teaching Celebrimbor Black Tongue, for the other elf was getting highly frustrated with not knowing what Sauron was saying.

Over the next few days, the other inhabitants of Barad-dur became gradually aware that there was something strange happening in the tower. Sauron's increased temper and frequent rages kept everybody on their toes, but many of the other things happening were more strange than scary. Sometimes they were even... funny.

Graffiti was a fact of life in the more orc-infested areas of Barad-dur, but it commonly consisted of repetitive strings of swear words, curses on various orcs, complaints about the food, and occasional accusations that some poor orc was romantically attracted to brewer's yeast. They didn't make fun of Sauron. It just wasn't done. Now, however, the walls were replete with complaints, accusations, and scurrilus poetry about their lord.

Gorgnash looked up at the wall and squinted, trying to see if it was coming off yet. No such luck. It wasn't as if he'd get to stop until it was off the wall, so he set back to scrubbing and amused himself by attempting to read it. He wasn't very good at reading, so it took him a while.

Sauron's Lament

Alay, alas, alack!

Oh woe, woe and thrice woe.

Woe is me for I am undone,

I must explain to Morgoth how I lost tol Sirion.

The orc frowned. He didn't know what alay, alas, or alack meant, but woe was definitely bad. And who was Morgoth, that Zigur had to care what he thought? He continued reading.

He never was inclined to listen to excuses,

He invariably follows them up with Mairin-rights abuses.

I do not want to tell him I was bested by a dog,

I would rather hide in Taur-nu-fuin as a fungus-covered log.

Sauron was bested by a dog? He ran away and tried to hide? What the?! And more importantly, who dared write this? Somebody was going to get in serious trouble when the Captain found out who the joker was. At least everybody knew he was on guard duty last night and couldn't possibly have done it. He continued reading and scrubbing.

I do not want to find myself before his throne in shame,

at being misled by an illusion and a slightly mangled name.

I do not want to let him know that in three months I learned nought more,

of Finrod than that he was the most frustrating elf I've ever had to store.

Frustrating elvish prisoners - now that he understood. Wouldn't do what you told them, whined constantly, and tried to kill you whenever you turned your back for a second. This Finrod sounded like a real pest, whoever he was. Weird thinking of Zigur bowing to someone else.

But I cannot hide forever and logs are rather boring,

I will return in hope he will only make me listen to his snoring.

Well, maybe this Morgoth person snored really badly. Probably not as bad as the fell beasts, though - he had heard you could hear them half the tower away when they had a cold. Personally, he'd never been near enough the top of the tower to find out. He squinted at the wall again. It still wasn't coming off. Shash!

It wasn't just the graffiti. The torture chambers suffered mysterious breakages of almost every torture implement, much to the disgust and panic of the torturers. The prisoners started whispering that Aule had decided to help them against his former pupil personally, and a couple of dwarves took to singing hymns of thanks in Khuzdul whenever their captors were out of earshot.

Due to a mix up in the kitchens, the prisoners in cellblock two were served roasted venison with mashed potatoes and carrots one night, while the two Haradrim ambassadors and their entourages were served inadequate amounts of gruel and stale bread. Given Sauron's recent temper and the accident with the teacup, they didn't dare complain.

Back in their attic, Gil-galad and Celebrimbor compared notes. So far everything seemed to be going well...

Chapter End Notes

A/N: Thank you AiedailWing for the idea of multiple ambassadors for Harad along with many other useful ideas. For those of you who like silly poetry, Sauron's Lament is from a series of mine called The OTHER Lays of Beleriand.

Gil-galad picked up the small plain packets that Celebrimbor threw down on the attic floorboards. "What are these?" he asked.

"The raw ingredients for our next prank," said Celebrimbor. "These are drugs used in extracting information from prisoners. They make you babble, although not necessarily on the desired topic. I think we should subject Sauron to some of his own medicine."

"That could be very effective sabotage if we did it correctly," said Gil-galad. "Can you tell me exactly what effects it has?"

"Well, I don't think this is exactly what he used on me, but..."

He was interrupted by the sound of Sauron's angry voice coming from below. "But where is my Great Seal?" it demanded. "Kelas, you are the only other person who has been in here in the past three days. Where is it?"

"I assumed you'd taken it with you, my lord," said Kelas in a voice that quavered. "I have not seen it in the past three days. Where did you last put it?"

There was a loud thump. Both elvish fea winced, and Gil-galad looked guiltily at the seal sitting on its pile of papers in the attic. There wasn't any way to get it out of the attic without revealing the altered and outright faked documents he'd been working on, along with any number of other things. He'd have to open the trapdoor itself, too, and Sauron could hardly miss that.

Celebrimbor pursed his lips and thought himself through the floor. Gil-galad followed. He'd really rather the woman didn't get hurt but quite how they were to help her without revealing themselves he wasn't quite sure.

Sauron was looming over Kelas, who was wringing her hands and looking thoroughly fearful. "I really don't know, my lord," she was saying. "Unless... could you possibly have knocked it down behind something? I can go look and move all the furniture..."

It was the wrong thing to say. Sauron grabbed her by the throat. "I do not tolerate excuses," he hissed.

Celebrimbor moved. As Gil-galad watched, he grabbed a Ring from Sauron's hand and moved it so that it hovered in front of Sauron's eyes. Then he fled, flinging the door open and running down the hall.

Sauron stood frozen for a couple of seconds wearing an expression of total shock and confusion, and then dropped Kelas with an oath and chased after Celebrimbor. Gil-galad slammed the door shut in his face, but Sauron strong-armed it open so that it slammed against the wall. He ran out the door after the Ring where it glinted in midair at the top of the staircase.

Kelas slid down the wall and sat on the floor rubbing her throat. Gil-galad frowned invisibly at her and moved a teacup. At least he could show her that the happenings hadn't really been her fault. Her eyes widened and she got up carefully.

"Who are you and what are you doing?" she asked, grabbing a letter opener off the table and holding it in front of her as if she planned to defend herself with it. "Lord Zigur will be very angry with you when he comes back and then you will be very sorry for the rest of your existence."

Gil-galad picked up the teacup and dropped it on the floor. It smashed.

Kelas lost the last of her courage and ran out the door, screaming something about Sauron's apartments being haunted.

Gil-galad shrugged. Now that everybody was out, he had work to do. He went back to the attic, got out the Great Seal and put it neatly beside the ink pot in Sauron's office. Two of the false documents he slid carefully into place among others ready to go out in half an hour. If Celebrimbor could just keep Sauron occupied long enough, certain military units would be getting different orders shortly.

Meanwhile, Celebrimbor continued his flight from Sauron down the long spiral staircase that ran the entire height of the tower. Behind him, Sauron slowed a little, chanting Words of Power. Celebrimbor's panicked flight increased in speed, and he was most startled when the Words had exactly no effect. He could feel them, vaguely, but it was as if something was shielding him. Namo, he realized. Of course.

Sauron cursed, and sped up chasing again, but just as he hit his stride he ran smack into the Ambassador of northern Harad, knocking both of them several feet down the stone steps.

"I am so sorry, my lord Zigur, I've always been a little clumsy, and my mother was always nagging at me to watch where I was going..." the Ambassador babbled as he tried to disentangle himself from Sauron's legs.

Sauron shook him off, and took off down the stairs again leaving the Ambassador steering after him. He turned round to find himself face to empty hood with one of the Nazgul. He fainted.

The Nazgul kicked him, but he didn't stir so the Nazgul set off down the staircase after his lord, who from somewhere up the head yelled loudly "after him!"

"After whom?" said the Nazgul, picking up speed down the stairs.

"My Dwarf-Ring!"

As the chase down the stairs continued, the commotion spread outwards like ripples in a pond until it seemed like half of Barad-dur was running frantically down the stairs. The commotion attracted the contents of an orcish guardroom onto the stairs to have a look. Unfortunately, they were below Celebrimbor.

Celebrimbor looked frantically around him, trying to find a way out as the rest of the guards ran towards him and tried to grab the gleaming Ring. Celebrimbor jumped to one side, and from habit tried to spear the orc with an incorporeal sword. This had no effect whatever, and the orc came within an inch of grabbing the Ring.

Celebrimbor almost dropped the Ring as the orc lunged through him. He landed on the floor in a disoriented heap, but managed to think himself to one side and to hide the Ring for a moment in the corner of the doorway. Through the guardroom, he saw an attached small room and suddenly had an idea. He couldn't actually keep the Ring from Sauron for long, but he could at least make getting it back as troublesome as possible...

Celebrimbor thought himself into the space just below the ceiling and above the orc's heads as quickly as he could, weaving the ring in front of him in the hope that it would evade the orcs' snatching hands. The orcs came within inches but it worked. He came down and ran for the other end of the guard room and into the smaller room. He hurled the Ring into the privy hole and floated to the ceiling to watch.

Chapter End Notes

A/N: A privy is a toilet.

The orcs filled the tiny room to overflowing. They looked everywhere for the Ring except down the privy. Celebrimbor stuck his hands behind his back and whistled a happy tune.

The press dispersed itself when Sauron entered. He scanned the room quickly, and then looked down the toilet. He pursed his lips, and turned to the nearest orc. "Go to the sewage pits," he instructed, "and take the enhanced metal attractors. Sift through the sewage with them until you find a gold ring set with a diamond."

The orc looked blank.

"Lord Zigur means the magic magnets," the Nazgul explained from the corner. "They are in store room 122b."

"You'll need at least five of you to handle them," Sauron continued, "and don't put them near metal. Remove your armor and weapons and anything else metal before you go near them. I want the Ring back by this evening. Now go."

"Yes, my lord," the orcs answered, before turning and trooping out of the room. Sauron shook his head and walked out of the room and back onto the stairs. He stopped and discussed events with the Nazgul. Celebrimbor floated after him, wondering how Sauron was going to explain the strange events he and Gil-galad had been causing.

"Khamul," Sauron said, "we appear to have an invisible intruder. I assume you are aware of the strange events of late?"

"The problems with the torture implements and the strange writing on the walls?"

"Yes, among others."

"What others, my lord?"

"A series of strange accidents in my quarters, including somebody messing with the Palantir and hiding my Great Seal."

"Yet there is no one to be seen." Khamul reached one arm of his black robe upward to stroke an invisible chin.

"No one, even when my Ring was floating through midair with no visible means of support. Someone or something is shielding the troublemaker. When I find them, they will regret it for the remainder of their incorporeal existence. I want you to report anything out of the ordinary, whether it seems connected to this or not."

"Yes, my lord." He paused. "I have not heard of any others that I have not reported to you yet."

"Good. How goes the preparations in Dol Guldor? Will you be able to time the strikes to coincide with the attack on Minas Tirith?

"It will be difficult, but preparations are far enough along that it should be possible. At latest, it should be a day after the first attack on Minas Tirith."

"That should do, but make sure it is no later."

Some half an hour later, Sauron returned to his quarters. For once, nothing seemed to be out of order and he went into his office to check over his spies' latest reports. He pulled out his chair and halted. His great seal was back, sitting innocently beside the ink pot. He picked it up and examined it suspiciously. Nothing had changed about it at all. He held it up to the lantern. The only fingerprints on it were his own. His invisible adversary had been at it again. He looked over at his out box. It was empty.

He then began pulling out all his files so he could examine them for alterations and things that didn't fit. He swore under his breath. He really didn't have time for this sort of stupidity, but he couldn't trust anyone else to do it, so there it was. He finished an hour and a half later, with nothing to show for his labors. Thoroughly disgusted, he stood up and stretched, then stopped still as he heard someone laughing at him.

"Show yourself!" he commanded. The laughter rang louder, and he realized it was inside his head rather than coming in through his ears. With an effort of will, he calmed himself. Showing how much he hated being laughed at would only make his invisible antagonist laugh the more. You have done well today, have you not? Very impressive, if not very wise. he told the invisible voice. I would very much like to see who has been making a fool of me. I could find a use for one with your talents.

The laughter came again. I think I'll refrain, said the voice. It was a vaguely familiar voice, definitely elvish, but Sauron couldn't quite place it. A disembodied elvish fea? But he ought to be able to sense its presence without it communicating with him... I've never gone out of my way to make your life easier, the voice continued. In fact, wrecking your plans for Middle-earth has always been one of my highest priorities.

You will regret this, Sauron snarled.

Not as much as you will, the voice answered.

Meanwhile, Gorgnash balanced carefully on a catwalk above the sewage pits, pulling the magic magnet through the muck. The magnet was hanging from a cable between him and the orc on the opposing catwalk. He wiped his streaming eyes carefully on his sleeve before continuing to pull the magnet closer. No matter how he tried, he could not shut out the vile stench. Why did he always gets stuck with the really nasty jobs?

Chapter End Notes

Gold is not magnetic, but I'm assuming for the sake of the story that the gold in the Ring has been alloyed with other metals that are.

Poor Gorgnash. Those magnets are going to pick up many, many things before they find one mildly-magnetic ring. It's going to take ages.

Gil-galad and Celebrimbor held the drug packets in reserve until they could find a good time to use them for greatest effect. Preferably in public, and when Sauron really needed to be thinking clearly. In the meantime, there were lots of other things for them to do.

Now that they no longer had to make their pranks look natural, there were plenty of new things that they could to, ranging from inconveniences like dying Sauron's underwear maroon, misfiling his papers, making the ceiling in the Palantir room leak and painting a white tree on the outside of Barad-dur, to truly serious things like the diversion of two divisions from the attack on Minas Tirith to helping the farmers of northern Harad in their spring planting. Now they wouldn't be there for the attack Sauron was planning.

Despite this, Gil-galad couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't doing enough. While Celebrimbor concentrated on driving Sauron out of his wits, he had spent a lot of time learning the enemy's plans and the current situation that those seeking to resist him faced. It wasn't good; in fact it was extremely bad. He could see why Lord Namo had sent them - what he didn't understand was how the two of them could make much difference in the outcome if they didn't resort to finding a way to kill Sauron or a large portion of his armies. And yet... there must be a way for the people of Middle-earth to win, or they wouldn't have been sent.

The only thing he could think of was if whoever had the Ring managed to destroy it in Orodruin's fires. But all the evidence suggested that Isildur's heir had been as foolish as his ancestor and had taken the Ring for himself. Gil-galad rubbed his eyes, despite the fact they didn't actually hurt, and sighed silently. He hadn't actually seen Isildur take the Ring, but it still hurts to think that his and Elendil's deaths and the deaths of so many other people had been so casually set aside. A wereguild for my father's death. Pah! As if that could possibly make up for betraying everything your father and brother died to make possible.

Gil-galad sighed again. He really shouldn't hold grudges after all this time, he really shouldn't. But they had come so close, and so much suffering could have been avoided if Isildur had only dumped the fell thing in Orodruin while he had the chance.

And now here he was, playing pranks on Sauron while so many men and elves fought and died for the fault of a man thousands of years dead. Even having been in the halls of Mandos for over 3000 years didn't prevent him doubting the wisdom of the Valar sometimes.

"What are you sighing about?" asked Celebrimbor as he appeared through the closed trapdoor into the attic.

"The whole situation," said Gil-galad. "You do realize that the free peoples of Middle-earth are not going to be able to win this war."

"You would know more about that than I," said Celebrimbor. "I take it the situation is not merely bad, but terrible."

"Yes," said Gil-galad. "I feel like I'm playing games while my friends fight and die. We aren't to win the war for the living, but I don't see how they can win this war for themselves. They would have to dump the ring into Orodruin and all the evidence seems to show that this Aragorn man has taken it for himself. The fool! And I'm not allowed to do anything about the situation but disarrange Sauron's papers and break teacups. Why did the Valar send us if we cannot do anything of use?"

"I don't think they would have, if what we are doing is truly useless. We have to trust that Lord Namo knows what he's doing and do the best we can."

"But half the time when the Valar do do something, it's too little too late! Or not even the right thing to start with."

Celebrimbor raised his eyebrows, then put an incorporeal arm around Gil-galad's shoulders. "I thought complaining about the Valar and despairing of the future was my job."

"I had another 1,744 years of fighting Sauron after you died, Celebrimbor. Struggling to keep our people alive, and watching Numenor defile and destroy itself without being able to stop it."

"Gil-galad, you aren't High King anymore. It's not your responsibility now. Let go of it." He paused. "You were probably the best High King the Noldor ever had in Middle-earth, in any case."

"You don't stop caring just because you no longer have a crown, Celebrimbor, not if you're any good as a king to start with."

"I'm not asking you to stop caring. That would be impossible. Just accept that it is not your responsibility to fix the world by yourself. That's how I got into trouble with the Rings, you know. Trying to turn back time and heal things that were never in my power because I felt responsible for the sins of my forefathers..."

"That's different."

"Is it? How?"

Gil-galad sat in silence and thought about it. "Maybe less so than I had thought," he said. "But I always hated standing around and doing nothing while others get hurt, and it seems to keep happening to me. And it is so tempting to drop a five ton rock on Sauron or start a fire in the record room."

"Or steal the Dwarf Rings and use them to collapse Barad-dur," added Celebrimbor.

Gil-galad looked at him in surprise.

"They're helping hold up the upper stories of Barad-dur," Celebrimbor said. "You are not the only one to feel this way." He grinned suddenly. "You know, we could set fire to the record room. That's a good idea."

"The lanterns they use are the Feanorian variety, so we can't just spill a candle."

Celebrimbor began to dig through the equipment they had gathered in the attic. "I know I put some matches in here somewhere..."

Just over an hour later, Gil-galad and Celebrimbor left the records room. Behind them, smoke poured out the half-open door. Both archivists had finally stopped trying to save as many records as they could and were sitting beside the door coughing while other people tried to come up with enough water to douse the fire, stepping over and around the archivists as they did so, and occasionally stepping on rescued records despite the archivists' frantic gestures.

Celebrimbor smiled at Gil-galad. "More than half the records destroyed, and no one killed. Not bad for a couple of fea."

"Not bad at all," said Gil-galad. "Although I do wonder what Sauron's reaction will be if we push him too far..."

"He can't get at us while we're in this state," said Celebrimbor.

"He doesn't need to get at us directly," said Gil-galad.

Just then a hush fell as a familiar black cloaked figure walked into the hallway. Everyone moved to the sides, and he walked through their midst to the door of the records room. "Gnash kru" said Sauron and the fire within the room died. He walked in, and the two fea followed behind to watch his reaction.

Sauron walked to the center of the room, and then turned around slowly, taking in the ruined scrolls and books, the smoke-smeared windows, the fallen bookshelf in the far corner and the pathetic attempts at dousing everything with water. He walked to the window and opened it, letting the smoke pour out.

Then he spoke. "I know you are here, and you will regret this very shortly." With that, he turned and walked out of the room.

He stopped at the door. Most of the assorted orcs and Men had made themselves scarce, but the archivists were still sitting on the floor wheezing. "How came you to allow your charge to be thus destroyed?" Sauron demanded, towering over the two.

"We have no excuse, Lord Zigur," the one on the right said, staring fixedly at the floor and shaking visibly.

"But," squeaked the one on the left, then fell silent.

"You were saying?" said Sauron politely.

"It was the invisible ghosts...the books just started picking themselves up, falling down and flinging themselves at us. We brought no flame nor allowed any to be brought in. That fire was impossible!"

Sauron stood there in silence, absently fingering one of the Dwarf Rings, then spoke, nudging aside a scroll that had rolled onto his foot. "Clean up this mess. If that is not done within three days, the remaining records organized, and a search for copies kept elsewhere started, you will forfeit your lives."

As the two archivists looked up in astonishment and stammered thanks, Sauron sent a thought to the two fea. As for you, invisible ghosts, come with me. I have something that you need to see. He set off along the hall. Gil-galad and Celebrimbor looked at each other, then followed. There was something in Sauron's tone that suggested danger. Celebrimbor had a strong feeling that he would not like whatever they were to see, but did not feel that they ought to avoid it. They followed Sauron down the great spiral stairs and right to the bottom of the tower. To the dungeons. Celebrimbor's heart sank. What was Sauron planning to do?

The guards saluted Sauron as he passed into the dungeons followed by the two fea. "Two of you follow me," Sauron said to the guards, and two of them did. The conditions in the dungeons were horrible, but the two fea followed Sauron as he walked down the corridor, looking in each cell as he passed but not stopping, apparently looking for something specific. Finally, he stopped at a cell and gestured the door open.

Inside was a rather emaciated female mortal and a small baby. The woman gasped, clasping her baby protectively, and flattened herself against the far wall. "Please don't hurt us?" she begged, too scared to look directly at Sauron, but watching him from the corner of her eye.

Celebrimbor stiffened, not sure how to protect her. Grabbing another Ring would not work now that Sauron had seen that trick.

"I won't hurt you," said Sauron, surprising everybody. "At least, I won't hurt you so long as certain troublemakers behave themselves." He paused to let that sink in. "Yes, you are hostages. Follow the guards."

They continued down the hallway. Sauron stopped twice more to retrieve a dwarvish boy and a barely adult elf-woman from Thranduil's realm, the two fea arguing frantically as they went.

"We've got to rescue them," said Celebrimbor.

"I was afraid Sauron would do something like this," said Gil-galad. "At least he hasn't actually killed them yet. Yet we dare not stop - and rescuing these four alone will not solve the problem. Sauron will merely go back and pick double the number from the other prisoners to kill."

"In all honesty... most of the prisoners here would probably be better off in Mandos' Halls," said Celebrimbor. They floated on in silence for a few feet.

"That decision is not ours to take," said Gil-galad. "Fortunately."

"Yes, fortunately. That leaves us with two choices than," said Celebrimbor. "Stop, or find a way to protect the prisoners."

"For the sake of the rest of Middle-earth, we dare not stop. If we could find a threat to hold over his head that would give him pause as much as the prisoners do us, we could continue. Or is there a way of rescuing most or all of the prisoners? You've spent some time down here in the dungeons. What do you think?"

"Ai! It would be very difficult. Let me think..." Celebrimbor went silent and thought frantically. It didn't honestly seem possible, but he ran several scenarios through his head. At last he said "It might be possible to get them out of the dungeons, but I don't think they could go very far through the rest of the tower. Getting them out of the tower would only be possible if there was something truly spectacular going on to distract everyone in the tower. Once outside the tower - you know more about Mordor and what's going on outside."

"They would not get far," said Gil-galad. "But what if we hid them somewhere within the tower?"

"They'd need access to food and water," said Celebrimbor, "and they would have to be somewhere nobody went. The best areas are probably in the lower part of the tower, which is also the closest to the dungeons."

"What about the mithril room?" Gil-galad. "No one goes in there."

"Food and water," said Celebrimbor. "There's none in there. It's also too high up in the tower. We could never get them up there unseen."

They continued discussing possible locations, but realized that neither of them were very familiar with the lowest parts of the tower and they would have to do some exploring before picking a location, if there were even any suitable locations to choose.

Chapter End Notes

A/N: A rather dark chapter, but that happens when writing a story set in Barad-dur if you try to keep people in character. I suspect the story won't get much darker, and there will definitely be some more humor in future chapters.

Four hours later, Gil-galad and Celebrimbor sat glumly on a crate of size six left boots, comparing notes.

"I haven't found anywhere with both food and water," said Gil-galad, "and most of the storerooms are much too easy for the enemy to get into."

"Too true,"said Celebrimbor. "It's the same with me - although it's true we haven't explored everywhere yet. But out of curiosity, what have you found?"

"Twenty cartons of size 12 boots for the right foot, and entirely too many weapons and armors," said Gil-galad.

"I found a lot of that too," said Celebrimbor, "but most of it seems to be full of defects. I think we're looking at the ones that need repair or were too poorly made for use. I also found a box of what seemed to be experimental siege weaponry. Quite interesting really, although most of it would never have worked... and some of it would have exploded if they tried to fire it. What else did you find?"

Gil-galad raised his eyebrows, "16 cartons of revealing dresses..."

Celebrimbor choked. "What? Never mind, I don't want to know."

"...and a box of iron high heeled shoes shaped to fit orc feet." They both contemplated that for a second, then shuddered.

"I didn't find any of that, although I did find a few art objects gone hideously wrong. Did you find anything potentially useful?" asked Celebrimbor.

"Not unless you count the potential blackmail material for use after we finished hiding the prisoners, if that is even possible."

"Blackmail? How?"

"I don't imagine the haradrim ambassadors would like having their clothes replaced by things intended for female orcs," said Gil-galad. "And the idea of a Nazgul wearing a raqs sharqi costume is so appalling as to be funny."

"What is raqs sharqi?" said Celebrimbor.

"An eastern custom that was taken up by some of the Numenoreans. It is performed only by women, and involves lots of undulating movements, dressing up in a costume with a bare midriff and assorted metallic objects that make noise when the dancer moves."

"It is hard to imagine the Nazgul doing any such thing." Celebrimbor grinned suddenly. "Can you imagine them as a dance troupe? They'd definitely be unique."

"Bring on the dancing Naz-girls!" said Gil-galad, gesturing grandly at a nonexistent audience. Both of them burst out laughing.

"Dancing Naz-girls my foot," said Celebrimbor. "How do you know about this raqs sharqi, anyway?"

"I accidentally walked into a performance in a soldier's encampment in the middle of the War of the Last Alliance."

"When you say you walked into a performance, just what do you mean?"

"I was busy discussing something or other important with Elrond and didn't pay enough attention to where we were going. He collided with one of the dancers. She asked him if he wanted to dance too. If you had only seen his expression..."

"I wish I could have seen that," said Celebrimbor. "But since neither of us have found anything we can use to hide the prisoners, I suppose we should take the next level down and search that."

Gil-galad nodded, "However, I think I may go and look through the outbuildings inside the curtain wall."

They separated, hoping to find something more useful than dance costumes and broken siege equipment.

Gil-galad looked up as he left the main tower of Barad-dur. The sky was gray with ash as well as cloud and was utterly unprepossessing, but he immediately felt less oppressed at being out of the massive tower of stone and terror.

He turned his eyes outward to his objective: a ring of outbuildings leaning up against the sides of the great tower. He'd seen them above and thought that they looked oddly glassy. Now, seeing them closer, he'd realized that was because they were made of glass. He peered inside the nearest. Plants. Rows of strawberries and lettuce. There were even grapevines trellised against the side of the tower.

Gil-galad's eyes widened, and then he smiled. Of course Sauron and the upper echelons of his human servants would want their favorite dainties available on demand. But still, finding vegetables in Barad-dur was unexpected. He didn't remember Barad-dur as having such facilities in the War of the Last Alliance. Perhaps Sauron had missed having fresh vegetables available on demand, and decided to make improvements to his tower. From a long low building near the curtain wall, Gil-galad heard a long, soulful "moo". Sauron had missed milk too, apparently.

Gil-galad wondered briefly if the prisoners could be kept somewhere out here. There was not only food available, but fresh food. Still, getting them out here would be very difficult, and sealing them off so that they would not be found would be well-nigh impossible.

Gil-galad went and poked around some of the other buildings. He found various sorts of sheds, and the obligatory guard rooms in the curtain wall towers. However, the chances of getting the prisoners all the way out to the curtain wall without them being noticed was very low, so Gil-galad turned back towards Barad-dur proper and went to find Celebrimbor.

Celebrimbor was not at the stairway. Gil-galad waited for half an hour, then went looking. He searched the entire level where Celebrimbor was supposed to be looking with no luck whatever and no sighting of his friend. Exasperated, Gil-galad started on the next level down.

Chapter End Notes

A/N: Credit (or possibly blame) for thinking up the Dancing Naz-girls goes to my Dad. Raqs sharqi is egyptian-style belly dancing. I wanted a style of dance as inappropriate to Nazgul as I could imagine.

Celebrimbor, meanwhile, had had an Idea. He went all the way down to the dungeon level and started poking around to see what, apart from dungeons, there might be down there. If there was anything suitable at all, it would be much easier to get the prisoners to it than to somewhere further away. Really, they should have started their search there in the first place...

He spent a lot of time walking through walls and closed doors looking for hollow places that weren't really attached to anywhere else. The tower down here was a lot less well cared for than further up, and cracks caused by the tremors from Orodruin were clearly visible in non-weightbearing structures.

Oh, Barad-dur wasn't about to fall down anytime soon, Sauron was far too careful for that, but if there were minor rockfalls in the dungeons and lower story rooms that killed a few orcs or prisoners, he apparently didn't care. That wasn't much like the Annatar Celebrimbor remembered. Annatar had always payed obsessive attention to detail, but then the maia he had thought he knew was barely visible in the modern Sauron. Or possibly the war was consuming so much of his attention that he wasn't paying attention to things he normally would. Perhaps even their distractions had a role...

Celebrimbor turned the next corner in the corridor he was following, feeling for hollow places as he went. He stopped. There was a very large echo coming from underneath the floor. It was dim, as if deep down, but whatever it was wasn't small. He thought himself through the floor and found himself somewhere utterly dark but very large.

Quietly, Celebrimbor sang a small light into being, which then hung suspended in the middle of the space. It wasn't empty, but was filled was much the same mess of boxes and crates as most of the disused storerooms on the floors above. However, this room appeared a lot more disused than any of those.

It was about four times the size of any of the storerooms they had yet found, with irregular walls that had been partly built of masonry and partly cut out of the living rock. This had been done so long ago that interesting mineral formations had started to form in places. There was a large pool in the left hand corner, fed from a spring coming out of a jumble of rock nearby.

This room was made by hands, but it was old, very old. There were stairs leading upwards, but they were blocked by fallen masonry. Looking around him, Celebrimbor realized that he was looking at a remnant of the original Barad-dur from before its destruction in the War of the Last Alliance. Quite possibly it had never been seen since.

Sauron would never find the prisoners down here. But could the prisoners live here? Was the air good after all those years, let alone the food? What was in those boxes? Was the water poisoned by what was going on above? Celebrimbor floated over to the nearest pallet and started examining it.

To his delight, it contained food. There was a thin but present stasis field surrounding it, almost certainly created by Sauron many years ago. It reeked of the One Ring. With such a field, the food should still be good. He checked other crates, and many of them contained food, although a couple of them had been knocked open by falling masonry and their contents had long since decayed. The vast majority of them, however, were intact. There were also several barrels of ale, and lots of arrows.

Celebrimbor paused to consider. What this room looked like was a place of last refuge in case of Barad-dur being overrun. But why hadn't the supplies been used? From what Gil-galad had said, Sauron had been in desperate straits by the time he came forth. Never mind, he could figure that out later, if the room proved useable.

He drifted down to the water and examined it. The water in the pool looked somewhat reddish. He couldn't smell it, but when he deep-read it he could sense multiple impurities. Celebrimbor frowned, and tried again. If people were to drink this, he needed to figure out just what was in the pool.

Iron seemed to be the main impurity, with lesser amounts of manganese and sulphur. That wouldn't be good for the prisoners in the long term, but it would be far less dangerous than being at the mercy of the guards in the dungeons. There were also some bacteria present, but Celebrimbor had never made a study of microorganisms and couldn't identify them.

So, good food and questionable water. The beer would be welcome, certainly, but there wasn't enough for a long stay. What about air? Celebrimbor reached out mentally and tasted the air. Stinkdamp. If he'd been incarnate, he would be dead by now. He'd have to find some way of venting this underground air to the outside world and preventing the smell from alerting Sauron's minions. However, he knew from all too much experience that dungeons and torture chambers smelled foul anyway. If he vented this carefully, it was likely no one would notice.

Even though the laboratories in the House of the Mirdain had excellent ventilation, they had quickly become defiled once Sauron captured them and Celebrimbor had shown he would be neither informant nor puppet. Celebrimbor shivered, though there was no cold for him to feel. Lord Namo had told him that he had dulled his memories of what had happened there, but he remembered enough. At least now he might get the chance to rescue others... and in many ways that would mean more to him than simply driving Sauron to distraction ever would.

I need to talk to Gil-galad about what I've found, thought Celebrimbor - Gil-galad. Oh no. How long have I been down here? He'll have no idea where I am and has probably been waiting for ages getting more and more irritated. I had better go find him right now.

Celebrimbor floated up through several floors to the agreed meeting place, but Gil-galad was not there.

As it happened, Gil-galad was two levels down wandering through yet another armory. They didn't meet again until nearly midnight when both of them finally thought to go back to the attic.

"Why didn't you wait at the staircase?" asked Celebrimbor.

"Where were you? I waited at the staircase but you didn't come, and you weren't on the level you was supposed to be on, nor were you on the next one down."

"I went down to the dungeons and..."

"Couldn't that have waited until after we had met up again? If I don't know where you are, I can't bail you out if and when you get into trouble. Your rushing after ideas without thinking them through will get you killed one of these days." Gil-galad paused and frowned at what he had just said.

"I think it's a bit late to worry about that," said Celebrimbor. "I also found a good place for the prisoners."

"You did?" said Gil-galad. "Where?"

"Underneath Barad-dur, in a chamber hewn out of the bedrock. It's full of supplies for a siege, there is water, and I think it's been forgotten about since before the War of the Last Alliance."

Gil-galad sat silent for a moment and then said "Well done. I didn't find anything really useful on either of the levels I visited, or outside, although it was interesting to learn that the inhabitants of Barad-dur include cows. Practical, but not terribly evil."

"I think we can count the cows as innocents and ignore them," said Celebrimbor. "Shall we go and visit that chamber I found? I think it will work, but we're going to have to vent the air and I'm not sure about the water. There are some bacteria in it that I can't identify - do you know anything about bacterial identification?"

"Not really. Elrond would know... but of course we can't ask him and I'm really rather glad we can't since that means he is still alive."

"I'd still like a second opinion because you can't be much more ill-informed than I am," Celebrimbor said. "And if you didn't find anything good on the levels where you were, I think we may have to risk it whether we know what they are or not. We can't leave them to be slaughtered, and we can't stop distracting Sauron."

"And the water they are drinking in the dungeons is probably contaminated with nasty stuff anyway," said Gil-galad. "Can you describe the situation the bacteria were in?"

"Why don't you let me show you?" said Celebrimbor.

"That would probably be best," said Gil-galad. "Shall we go?"

They set off through the floor and downwards through dozens of floors to the dungeons and beyond. Gil-galad reflected that that he was getting very good at this walking through things business. Probably once he got Reborn he was going to have to worry about trying to walk through walls and failing miserably.

As they came out into the subterranean chamber, Gil-galad looked about with fascination. Here for all these thousands of years, and not even its maker remembering it... on first glance, it looked ideal. But with the stairs blocked off by masonry, how were they going to get the prisoners in? He turned and asked Celebrimbor, who was in the middle of some explanation about how he planned to vent the stinkdamp outside via the rivulet.

Celebrimbor blinked, then mentally reset himself. "That is easy," he said. "Take the cracks in the rocks and widen them. A lot of this is little better than rubble and once it's in small pieces we can easily move it out of the way."

"Good," said Gil-galad. "So between that and the stinkdamp, we have got two major problems solvable. You wanted me to look at the water?"

"Yes," said Celebrimbor. "Actually, I think the main bacterial species may be one that makes heavy use of iron. It's unsightly, but not dangerous. We had a few problems with that in Ost-in-Edhil."

"And in Lindon as well," added Gil-galad. "But are there other types of bacteria present?"

"It's water and it's impure. Of course there are bacteria. But the stinkdamp is going to be timeconsuming. I'll have to follow the streamlet and create an air channel until the streamlet finally comes out somewhere, and we'll need holes in the ceiling of this chamber to create a through draft. The prisoners will need fresh air coming in at all times..."

"You don't have to tell me all the details," said Gil-galad. "I know perfectly well you're far better with technical things than I will ever be. However, one thing we are going to have to do is distract the guards, especially of the official hostages. That isn't going to be easy, as I am certain that Sauron has ordered the deaths of the hostages at the first sign of a rescue attempt."

"We also need to get the prisoners to cooperate," said Celebrimbor.

"And find a way for those too weak to walk to be moved down there."

They looked at each other. "Lord Namo never said this would be easy," said Gil-galad. "I think this is my job - to prepare them while you do the technical preparation of this chamber."

Celebrimbor nodded. "However, remember some of the prisoners are going to be too traumatized by what they've been through to act coherently even if they are physically capable of getting down there."

"We'll need to find potential leaders and get them to organize the prisoners," said Gil-galad. "I'm glad we found that chalk. I think we're going to need all of it to speak to them."

"You know, I'm glad you came along on this trip," said Celebrimbor. "You are far better at this sort of thing than I am."

"Whereas I couldn't convince rock to crumble along carefully defined lines if my life depended on it. We make a good team." Gil-galad frowned. "Now why didn't we figure that out while we were still alive?"

"I was nursing a lot of hurt feelings over being blamed for my father's deeds," said Celebrimbor, "while you were struggling to figure out how to be king in an utterly impossible situation."

"Both true, and once we'd managed to get off on the wrong foot we never fixed the situation. If only one could change the past... But we're wasting time."

"True," said Celebrimbor. "Let's get to work."

Chapter End Notes

A/N: I see the relationship between Gil-galad the very young and overstressed High King of the Noldor and Celebrimbor (the disowned?) grandson of Feanor as being quite awkward, what with Feanor's surviving sons destroying the Havens of Sirion, and later stealing the two Silmarils that had been retrieved from Morgoth's crown. My version of Celebrimbor isn't terribly good with people or politics, and he sometimes created headaches for his King by accident. or expected more help from Gil-galad than Gil could provide. Gil-galad was having to balance competing interests while worrying about Morgoth, and it wasn't easy. He didn't always manage to be patient or tactful with Celebrimbor, and  Celebrimbor ended up with a sizeable chip on his shoulder that contributed to his decision to leave for Eregion, where someone named Annatar turned up... ah, the tangled webs we weave. That's how I see it, in any case.

Duilin son of Amrod, formerly a soldier in the armies of Gondor and now a prisoner in Barad-dur, heard an odd squeaking coming from behind him. He turned, his chains clanking, and stopped in astonishment. In the dim light that came through the barred window of their cell he could see a piece of chalk moving up and down against the stone, writing: we are friends trying to rescue all of you and take you to a safer place. In two days, be ready. There was no one holding the chalk, yet there it was, writing all by itself. Impossible.

"Who are you?" whispered Duilin. He looked around at the other prisoners, and saw that of all of them all only Damrod was awake. He too was staring at the writing on the wall, and at the floating chalk.

The chalk squeaked against the dark stone. An old enemy of Sauron's, and a friend to those who oppose him.

"All hope is this forlorn in this place. How can we trust that you are not some trick of the Nameless One?"

Because your only other choice is not to trust me, and remain without hope. What do you have to lose?

Duilin laughed softly. "My life would be no loss to me now," he admitted. "I want to get out of this hell; I care not how."

Then be ready to follow in two days time. You must follow the floating chalk and help your friends to do likewise if they are too sick to walk.

"But what about the guards? And the locks?" asked Duilin.

The chalk on the wall erased itself, little dust motes of chalk floating down to lie on the floor below where the writing had been. Leave that to us, wrote the chalk. It will be dealt with. You worry about which of you will need help getting down there. We can deal with opening locks and distracting guards, but we cannot carry you, and we would leave none behind to face Sauron's wrath.

"How dare you name the Nameless One?" asked Damrod, speaking up for the first time.

There are greater powers than him in Arda, wrote the chalk. And I have always found that naming your enemy correctly is the first step in finding out how to defeat him.

Duilin's widened. One of the Valar themselves, perhaps? Who knew? "We will be ready in two days," he said. "I will do all in my power to make it so, I swear it."

In two days then, wrote the chalk. It carefully erased itself and scattered the fallen chalk so it was less noticeable before it floated out through the metal bars of the tiny window into the corridor. Duilin stared after it, then reached out to touch the floor below where the writing had been. He looked at his finger, raising it so that it was as close to the light as his chains would allow. There were a few tiny motes of chalk on it.

He turned to Damrod. "It's real," he said, "we're not dreaming." Damrod nodded silently.

Gil-galad continued along the hall, trying to convince disbelieving or frightened prisoners that the offer of a chance at safety was in earnest.

Two days later, far away in Osgiliath, the lord of the Nazgul and his troops broke through onto the Anduin's western shore, and Faramir's men began the long retreat back to Minas Tirith. Barad-dur's guards were on a skeleton staff, as many had been sent off to the war.

In the dungeons of Barad-dur, the prisoner's chains mysteriously unlocked themselves. Then the first door squeaked open.

"Now!" whispered Duilin. He stood up with difficulty and in stages, free from his chains for the first time in nearly two months. Then he helped Ioreth, who couldn't seem to straighten up at all. They left the cell.

They walked along the halls in lines, hardly daring to believe that they were not dreaming. The halls were deserted, although from somewhere not very far away they could hear a loud cacophony of yells of "Get him!"

"He went that way!"

"No you puling fool, he went this way!" The yelling and the tramping of iron-shod feet gradually receded into the distance.

Duilin squinted ahead at the bobbing chalk. His eyes still weren't used to the greater brightness of the corridor. Yes, there it was. The chalk drifted over to the wall and began to write: push the stone just beneath this writing. Duilin pushed. It went in a couple of inches. He pulled his head back and looked at it, wondering what he was expected to do now. Harder! wrote the chalk. Quickly now. Duilin placed both his hands on the rock and heaved as hard as he could, his bare feet slipping on the stone floor. There was a slight grinding noise, and the door swung inward, showing a flight of steps leading down even further underground.

"I'm not going down that," someone said. "Where are you taking us, that..."

Behind Duilin, Damrod slapped a hand over the talker's mouth. "Yes you are," he whispered, "because you know where we are. Now move."

Down they went into the darkness below - although as he came part way down the steps Duilin realized it was not in fact dark. As he went below the ceiling, he stopped, unable to believe his eyes. There was a large, well-lit chamber here, filled with what looked like food and other useful goods on pallets, and a pool of fresh water. How? Now he really did believe that rumor about Lord Aule taking his apprentice's defection personally. Duilin wondered if the Vala would show himself once they were all safely down here.

Duilin only started moving again when Ioreth poked him in the back and hissed at him to move. Over the next half an hour nearly one hundred prisoners collected in the hidden chamber.

Gil-galad looked back at the orcish guards who were milling around in confusion and staring at the very large puddle of dirty water currently flooding the hallway. "First we have orders about searching for an escaped prisoner, then I can't find them and you come down with different orders from the Great Eye to go and clean up this flood - just what are we supposed to be doing?" said an orc wearing a lieutenant's stripes.

"I don't get it," complained a rank-and-filer, and several more nodded, although those nearest the complainer backed away.

"If the Great Eye tells us to clean up the flood, we clean up the flood you idiots," said a very large orc with the rank tabs of a commander.

"But we don't know where the foul stuff is coming from," objected a smaller orc. "And if the prisoners get away it's your job to tell the Great Eye about it. He wanted to know about anything strange happening, remember? And surely somebody ought to go and check on the hostages. There are orders to kill them if anything strange happens, and this," he gestured at the flood, "is strange."

Gil-galad tensed. They'd already gotten the hostages away, but he wasn't sure if Celebrimbor had managed to get the rest of the prisoners to the underground chamber yet. It would be disastrous if they got caught with a group in the halls. He had to keep the orcs away for at least the next 20 minutes.

He eased open the hole in the damaged pipe a bit more, or that is what he tried to do. The rusty pipe crumbled, and water gushed everywhere, making it very obvious as to where the water was coming from.

"There," said the great orc, "you can see where it's coming from right now you idiots."

"Yes, but isn't it a bit suspicious..."

"It's a burst pipe, you stinking swine! They do that. We need a plumber, and unless you're volunteering to explain personally to Lord Zigur why we're standing here arguing I suggest you go and find one now!"

"Yes your ugliness," said the orc and ran off.

"Why you little chicken - I'll teach you proper respect for your betters later, just you wait. And the rest of you stop dawdling. Go on, or do all of you have your brains where you can sit on them? And you, short arms, go and find the switch to shut the water off!"

"But I don't know where -"

It took the orcs another half hour to sort themselves and the burst pipe out enough to remember the prisoners. By then, the prisoners were gone. Gil-galad stood back and watched as they ran hither and thither like headless chickens. Then they started blaming each other and things degenerated into a fist-and-knife fight. Gil-galad shook his head. Orcs really hadn't changed much in the past three thousand-odd years.

Meanwhile, down in the underground chamber...

Duilin listened attentively as Lord Aule gave out information and laid down some ground rules. When it came to the end he stood:

"Lord Aule, I cannot thank you enough for..."

The chalk abruptly fell to the floor and snapped in half. Duilin stared at it. He'd obviously said something very wrong. "Or whichever of the Valar you are?" he continued uncertainly. "We're very glad to be rescued."

Half of the chalk flew back up the wall. I'm not a Vala, it wrote. I'm just, and here it paused, a strictly temporary servant of lord Namo.

"Are you normally one of Mahal's people?" asked one of the dwarves.

Actually, I'm not Ainur. I'm just an elf who died in Sauron's dungeons a long time ago.

"You're a ghost," said Duilin.

"You mean to say we've been rescued by an elf?" said the dwarf.

I guess you could call me a ghost, though we term it a disembodied fea if you want to be technical. And yes, you've been rescued by elves.

The dwarf shook his head, muttering something inaudible into his beard. One of the others glared at him and bowed deeply to the chalk. "Whoever you are, we are deeply in your debt and I for one am not afraid to acknowledge it. What might have your name be, so that if I ever meet your descendants I may remember my debt to your house?"

"Yes," said one of the elves. "Who are you, and why do you linger on this side of the sea?"

I have no descendents, and my house is extinct. Although if you find a mad elf with a burned hand and an incredible voice wandering beside the sea, be kind to him. And my compatriot is a relative of the lady Galadriel. He should be coming back soon; he was providing the distraction that lured the guards away. I am reluctant to give exact names should Sauron find you despite everything. As for why I'm here, I'm here under orders from lord Namo.

"I hate to mention this, but won't Sauron find us eventually?" said Damrod. "We haven't exactly gone very far."

Maybe. I certainly hope not. Sauron's currently fighting a battle and may be too busy to spend much time looking for you for the next while. We'll be doing plenty to distract him, too. Bear in mind that you are one small battle in a very much larger war. I don't pretend to know everything the Valar are doing, let alone what Eru has planned. But they are doing something, you can rest assured of that.

Gil-galad stopped in to check on Celebrimbor and the prisoners. "How is everything?" he asked Celebrimbor. "I trust you have everyone?"

"Yes, all present and accounted for," said Celebrimbor. His mouth twitched. "If any of them accuse you of being lord Aule it's not my fault," he said. "I think I've corrected the confusion but the dwarves aren't any too keen on being rescued by elves and the others also looked a bit disappointed."

"You didn't tell them who we are?" said Gil-galad. "If Sauron does capture any of them despite everything the less he knows about who he is facing the better."

"I didn't give them our names," said Celebrimbor.

"Just what did you tell them?" asked Gil-galad.

Celebrimbor told him, and Gil-galad sighed and shook his head.

"There are elves here who are going to be able to guess exactly who you are at the least," Gil-galad said, "although some of them may at least get me confused with Finrod Felagund, Orodreth, Elu Thingol or various of Galadriel's other relations. Never mind, what's done is done. Just don't tell them anything else about us, please." He grinned suddenly. "Do you think you can leave them long enough to come up and watch Sauron's reaction to the orcs trying to explain this?"

Celebrimbor recoiled. "You're a bloodthirsty one," he said. "No I don't."

Gil-galad blinked. "I was just thinking his expression of surprise would be amusing. I was also wondering about finding one of his own gauntlets to throw in his face. In any case, one of us has to go up there if we are to start distracting him immediately as planned. I've got multiple things that I have been putting off until the prisoners were safe."

"So have I," said Celebrimbor, "but I think I'll wait down here with them for the next few hours to deal with any questions or panics. I don't think we should leave them alone yet."

"You're probably right," said Gil-galad. "Newly rescued prisoners are often not the most rational people to be found in Arda."

Gil-galad went up to the top of the Barad-dur and into Sauron's private chambers. There was no sign of any orcs, and Sauron was in the palantir room staring intently into the palantir watching fighting amidst ruins of what looked like it had probably once been Osgiliath. From what Gil-galad could see, Sauron's troops seemed to be winning. Gil-galad pursed his lips. He couldn't say he was surprised, but it still hurt to see it. He had to be able to help them somehow!

He reached down and untied Sauron's shoelaces before tying them together. Then he went down into Sauron's office and started disarranging everything and dumping it all over the table. Then he dumped the contents of Sauron's inkwell onto the mess. It was unfortunately the wrong time of day to introduce the altered and forged orders still hiding up in the attic. Still, this mess ought to announce their presence nicely.

He heard footsteps, and the voice of Kelas talking to an orc outside. Apparently the sacrificial orc had now arrived. Kelas then walked past the door of the office and up to the palantir room. Gil-galad followed her closely, clutching one of Sauron's gloves. After some five minutes of waiting she gained entrance, Gil-galad hiding the glove behind her.

"Yes?" said Sauron, still not taking his eyes from the palantir. "I'm in the middle of directing a battle, so keep it quick."

"You ask to be informed about any weird stuff," she said.

Sauron kept his eyes on the Palantir, gesturing irritably with one hand. "Kill one of the hostages," he said to the orc. "What have my invisible enemies done now?"

"Lord Zigur..." said the orc, visibly gulping, "all the prisoners have disappeared."

"What!" Sauron looked up, eyes narrowed to thin slits within the shadows of his hood. "Explain to me how your company managed to fail so thoroughly in their charge, and why your commanding officer isn't here to explain it in person."

Gil-galad stepped out from behind Kelas and threw the glove in Sauron's face with all the little strength Namo had allowed him in this form. The glove barely touched Sauron's shoulder before landing limply in his lap. Gil-galad winced. He really hadn't got the hang of throwing things in this form yet.

Sauron gave a quick exclamation of something anatomically unlikely before standing up, falling over the chair and knocking it over. There was an unpleasant snap. Slowly, Sauron disentangled himself from the broken chair and his snapped shoelaces and stood. "As for you, invisible ghosts, this will not help you. The prisoners will be found and tormented the worse for your interference."

He turned to the orc. "As for you, little orc, I want you to go and fetch me Khazir. Once you've done that, go and get your commander. Tell him I will have his head here immediately, whether or not his body is attached to it at the time. Be quick about it, and you may yet keep your skin in one piece." He then turned to Kelas and added "and bring me another chair."

The next morning, Gil-galad carefully eased the attic trapdoor open a crack and started pulling the documents through. One of the documents got stuck in the too-tight crack, so Gil-galad opened it a bit wider... and dropped the trapdoor. It swung open all the way with a squeak, swinging right through Gil-galad. He struggled to get it closed, but it was too heavy for him to manage by himself in this form. Oh no, Gil-galad thought, I need Celebrimbor now but he's downstairs with the prisoners - what now?

Footsteps came along the corridor. It sounded like Sauron had heard the noise. Gil-galad turned and ran with the altered orders and shoved them in with a pile of miscellaneous papers on Sauron's desk. He'd have to deal with those later. As for now, he dashed upwards into the attic and tried to hide as much of the important stuff as he could. The footsteps came towards the attic and stopped underneath, then went away with the trapdoor still open.

Gil-galad paused, then continued to try to make things in the attic look as normal as possible. Most of all, he wanted to hide the smaller and harder to replace things, like the packets of interrogation drugs that they still intended to use on Sauron at some point. Given that they were now fighting a major battle, that might well be soon. There was an odd noise from below, and Kelas' head appeared in the middle of the hole left by the trapdoor. She looked around with interest and some puzzlement.

Gil-galad looked around himself, wondering how much of what they'd done was obvious. She looked around again, then went back down, still leaving the trap door open. Gil-galad went to the entrance and looked down. Kelas had pushed a chair over to stand on, but it wasn't tall enough for her to actually get into the attic. Presumably she'd be coming back with a ladder, so he'd better use the time well.

Gil-galad went back to hiding his and Celebrimbor's materials behind the miscellaneous bits and pieces that were already in the attic when they arrived, but he expected that if Kelas actually came up there and started digging through the mess there wasn't going to be any way to hide it all.

Kelas did indeed come back five minutes later with a ladder, but she also brought Sauron with her. The Umaia was looking none too pleased by the interruption of his palantir viewing. Kelas went up the ladder while Sauron watched from one of the steps. Sauron did not seem inclined to go crawling around in a dusty attic while he had a servant available to do that for him. Bit by bit, Kelas found and removed the stack of not yet ready to go documents, the white paint, the maroon dye, the pink dye, the yellow dye, boxes of chalk, and assorted other odds and ends. But they never did find the packets of interrogation drugs.

Later, Gil-galad went and retrieved the altered orders from the mess on Sauron's desk, and stuck them in the out box. Then he went down beyond the bottom of Barad-dur to tell Celebrimbor what had happened.

Celebrimbor, meanwhile, was having trouble of his own. The ceiling was leaking dirty, rusty water from that flood they had used to distract the orcs. He came back to find one of the mortals sporting a black eye, the dwarves and the elves sulking in opposite corners, and the baby wailing.

Celebrimbor groaned. Couldn't he leave for fifteen minutes without everything falling apart? What is going on? he wrote.

"Where were you?" demanded Duilin.

Fixing the leaky ceiling so that dirty water doesn't get into your water supply, wrote Celebrimbor. I was gone all of fifteen minutes. Why do I come back to find such a mess? The blond man three steps behind you has a black eye! He didn't mention the baby. Screaming babies happen.

"Oh, you mean Finrod?" That man has a mouth on him that won't stop whining.

Finrod glared back at him in sullen anger but said nothing.

Finrod? Celebrimbor thought. Yes, it's an appropriate name for a Numenorean-descended mortal, but why this mortal of all people?

He shook his head and went back to writing. You are going to be stuck in this underground chamber for quite a while, so I suggest you learn to get along at least well enough not to hit each other. All of you! Now why are the elves and dwarves hiding in opposite corners?"

"They started it..."

"No, it's not our fault really, you..." Celebrimbor held up his hands for silence, forgetting nobody could see him and both groups continued to talk across each other. Basically, it was a case of 'he looked at me funny so I said something that he took offense at and he said something rude about my ancestry' and all the old grievances between else and dwarves got dragged out in misremembered form.

Stop and listen! wrote Celebrimbor. I was around when this particular piece of stupidity got started. What happened was the fault of both our peoples. I will tell you the entire tale if you want, but blaming this particular group of dwarves for the crimes of the dwarves of Nogrod makes about as much sense as blaming Oropher for the Kinslaying at Alqualonde. They aren't even the same race as those of Nogrod. The dwarves of Nogrod were Firebeards, and these dwarves are Longbeards. Not only that, but their great, great grandparents were not born at the time and they have no idea what I'm referring to.

Gil-galad chose this moment to enter the underground chamber. Celebrimbor grinned at him. "You get to explain the history of the dwarves and the elves to this group of idiots before they start a war," he said. "Bye!" He vanished out through the ceiling, leaving Gil-galad staring after him.

"We're going to need more chalk," Gil-galad called after him, not certain if Celebrimbor had heard. He looked in the chalk box. There were only four sticks left. He shook his head. Apparently he didn't even have to be alive to have a bad day.

Celebrimbor headed up towards Sauron's lair in the top of Barad-dur, stopping only at the mithril room for ten minutes or so. He unlocked the door and left it standing wide open, then entered and spread a few coins on the floor. Next, he drifted over to the wall and knocked down two sets of armor and a large axe. He grimaced as they hit the floor, for he hated the idea of damaging such fine work. Then he continued to the top of the tower.

He was horrified to find their attic refuge appeared to have been ripped apart. What had happened while he had been babysitting the refugees? Now he wished he'd stuck around long enough to hear what Gil-galad had to say. Never mind, he was here now. He floated for a few minutes in the attic, pondering what to do next. He decided to go and look for Sauron. Hopefully that would give him some inspiration.

He found Sauron in the Palantir room, hunched over the Palantir. Celebrimbor grinned. He knew just what to do to distract Sauron thoroughly.

He drifted over to the table and set to work on the central supporting leg, slowly weakening the metal. Just as he finished, Sauron pushed his chair back. He leaned one hand on the table to do so, resulting in a wrenching crack as the top of the table tilted towards him, landing on his left foot. The Palantir came unseated and skidded down the metal surface. It bounced along the floor, striking sparks as it went, bounced off the wall, and finally come to rest back in the center of the room.

Sauron stood staring at the table top for a few seconds, then removed it from his foot, while grimacing and muttering something untranslatable about the void. He then knelt down to inspect the foot.

Oh no, thought Celebrimbor, you mean I just injured Sauron by accident? I hope Namo doesn't decide to revoke my mandate for this... Celebrimbor waited a few seconds, but no lord Namo Mandos appeared. Well, he isn't here, and I suppose that assisting Sauron in dropping a tabletop on his own foot doesn't really count as trying to seriously injure or kill him. I thought he'd catch it. I guess he must have been really distracted.

Sauron, meanwhile, had stood up again, still scowling. He was clutching the chair because he couldn't seem to put any weight on his foot. He stood like that for nearly ten minutes before yelling for somebody to come and bring him a table while he limped slowly over to the Palantir. It was undamaged, but the lights inside it were revolving. He carefully set it upright, before turning to deal with Kelas about the table.

Celebrimbor broke tables under the Palantir twelve times that day and night, until Sauron sat with one hand holding the table steady and one on the Palantir while three new tables sat against the wall for him to use as needed. Behind him, Celebrimbor watched as fires flared behind the walls of Minas Tirith. Sauron struck a subordinate who foolishly tried to interrupt him, but his focus was so strong that Celebrimbor couldn't seem to put him off for more than a few minutes at a time.

Finally, just as dawn began lighting the fields of the Pelennor, or trying to through the foul mirk that smothered the land, Celebrimbor went back to the bottom of Barad-dur to switch off with Gil-galad. He wasn't quite certain who was giving who respite, but dealing with the prisoners would at least make a change from watching horrible events in the Palantir and trying to break Sauron's concentration.

Gil-galad was happy to see him and the chalk he'd managed to acquire along the way, although he was more than a little sarcastic about Celebrimbor's hurried departure the previous day.

Gil-galad crept up behind Sauron and looked into the Palantir. There was fire behind the walls of Minas Tirith, that much he could see from the smoke curling up and blackening the white stone of the inner walls. Sickened, Gil-galad looked away for a moment. So everything was going to wrack and ruin already... Gil-galad wondered what to do now.

There was precious little he could do directly - the Palantir was too heavy for him to unseat, and he wasn't much good at breaking tables even if Celebrimbor hadn't already pushed that idea as far as it could go. But if he could do something to call Sauron away from the Palantir, that would work. Sauron should be getting reports back on the effects of the altered orders fairly shortly, but this situation demanded something more immediate. Gil-galad bent down and tied Sauron's shoelaces together on general principle, then left through the door, intent on starting a fire among the documents in Sauron's office.

This proved to be easier said than done. Sauron was using a Feanorian lantern to light the place and the matches that had been in their attic stash were now gone. So Gil-galad started carrying the papers through the door into the living room and dumping them off the balcony. He'd done about a quarter of the office when he heard an inarticulate shrieking coming from the Palantir room, followed by a loud crash. Gil-galad blinked, then thought himself through the ceiling to see what was going on.

Sauron was sitting half-sprawled on the floor clutching his left ankle, his long robes in disarray and his hood fallen back on his shoulders showing his bald head. He was also hissing in pain, sounding somewhat like an angry snake, or possibly a teakettle, in between quietly ranted words. "Miserable little fool... I will make you pay for this." Gil-galad didn't pay too much attention, assuming the words were aimed at him, until the next words: "crazy blond girls shouldn't be allowed on battlefields."

What? He glanced towards the Palantir, but now Sauron was no longer looking into it it was dark. He looked back at Sauron, who had resumed ranting. "Zigur-adun, I told you there were plenty of other creatures than men who might kill you, and not to think you were invulnerable, but did you listen? Damn it. And now your Ring is lost, too. You pathetic fool! I disown you!"

Gil-galad listened to this and wondered what it might mean. It sounded awfully as if Sauron's chief Nazgul had managed to get himself killed by a woman. Blond girl... Gil-galad wondered suddenly what Galadriel was doing in the middle of the Pelennor.

Chapter End Notes

A/N 1: The Witch-King of Angmar is never actually given a name in the books. Zigur-adun is Adunaic and should mean "mortal male sorceror".

Later that evening, Gil-galad stood watching as Sauron attempted to clean up the mess resulting from his failed battle and Gil-galad's interference. Orcs were currently wandering around below the tower looking for the papers Gil-galad had flung to the four winds. Gil-galad grinned. Given how high the wind had been when he'd done that, they were never going to find all of them.

Sauron was sitting on his living room sofa, directing the efforts of those around him. His left ankle and foot had been wrapped in bandages, black of course, and it was obvious to Gil-galad that he was avoiding putting weight on the foot. It didn't do, after all, for slaves and servants to see him hobbling about on crutches like an injured mortal.

A hideous shriek came from the balcony, and Gil-galad turned just in time to see a Ringwraith open the balcony door.

Sauron also looked up and around. Then he gestured to the other people in the room to leave and turned to the Nazgul. "Yes?" he said. "Your leader has failed me terribly today," he said. "I am not amused."

"Our son," said the Nazgul, "is dead in your service. Is that all you have to say?"

"Do not try my patience," said Sauron. His face was grim, but his eyes blazed even more than usual. "I have no son now."

"Thanks to your orders."

"Be silent! Zigur-adun would still be alive were he not such a fool. I have told him repeatedly not to be so careless around warriors who are not mortal men. Not that it did any good."

Gil-galad listen to this exchange, and his jaw dropped. The Witch-king was Sauron's son? And one of the Nazgul was female and the Witch-King's mother? And Sauron's umm... eww.

"You pushed him too hard," the Nazgul said. "He was always trying so hard to impress you, that's why he took those risks."

"No, he took these particular risks because he was arrogant enough to believe that no one could hurt him, especially not some mortal girl who wasn't supposed to be on the battlefield at all."

"He was imitating you," the Nazgul said.

"How? I do not take unnecessary risks," said Sauron.

"Gil-galad and Elendil," said the Nazgul. "If you'd just continued running you might have managed to get away, but no you had to turn and fight Gil-galad. Then there's the whole Huan and the werewolf thing, and you fought Celebrimbor personally in Ost-in-edhil - "

"Would you be silent! I put up with a great deal from you but there are limits to my patience!" Sauron stood, then grabbed the the back of the couch for support and sat back down abruptly.

They both remained silent for a moment.

"My lord," said the Nazgul quietly, "what happened to your foot?"

The next few days passed more quietly, enlivened mainly by the pranks of Gil-galad and Celebrimbor, who now dared leave the prisoners alone for most of the day without fear that the wars between the elves and the dwarves would start up again - or at least with confidence that they would be restricted to name calling and not progress to physical violence. But down in the underground chamber, trouble of another kind is brewing...

Ioreth was lying half awake because of the pain in her back and listening to the water trickling over the rocks when she heard a noise as of something small being knocked down. She ignored it, for it was probably just somebody shifting in their sleep, or at most looking for the latrine. But then she heard the sound of a few pieces of gravel scrunching underfoot, and that was over by the stairs, not anywhere near the latrines.

She opened her eyes and looked to see a shadow darker than the surrounding dimness of the half-shielded lantern creeping furtively up the stairs towards the door. What was going on? The shadow continued up the stairs, silent now he had passed the bits of gravel at the bottom, heading for the hatch to the outside. "What are you doing!" she cried, struggling to get up using Mithwen next to her as a support. Mithwen yelped and grabbed her baby protectively. The boy started wailing, no surprise there.

As everybody muttered and groaned and woke, Duilin unshielded the lantern and took it from where it stood. He held it up, illuminating the entire scene, including Finrod standing halfway up the stairs looking sheepish. Ioreth frowned. Somehow, it didn't surprise her that it was Finrod causing the trouble. "I only wanted to take a look at the door to make sure we could open it if we needed to," he said.

"Then why are you doing that in the dark in the middle of the night?" said Duilin. "I think we have a traitor among us."

"I am not a traitor!" said Finrod.

"Then get away from the door," said Duilin, stepping towards him, still holding the lantern in one hand.

Finrod hesitated, then bolted for the door up the crumbling steps with Duilin in hot pursuit. Duilin tripped on a cracked step, and clutched at the stone to keep from falling. He dropped the lantern. This left him far behind Finrod. One of the elves caught the lantern and held it high as Finrod reached the top and grabbed for the latch, then suddenly clutched his face and fell right off the stairs, landing hard on one of the pallets, then sliding to the stone floor. Beside Ioreth, Mithwen laughed. Ioreth looked around creakily. "Never be without a rock," Mithwen said.

The elf passed the lantern to Master Nali and knelt down beside Finrod. "He's alive but he's hurt," said the elf. Ioreth squinted, but though she recognized him she couldn't remember his name. "I think his nose is broken, and he may have a concussion from where he fell off the stairs. What are we going to do with him?" he asked, looking at Duilin.

"Kill the traitor!" said Damrod. A few feet away, Master Nali nodded fiercely.

"I think we should wait for the chalk-fea," said the elf. "They have the Valar on their side and they are at least somewhat in charge of us all." The elf then wrinkled his nose slightly - "and I can't think of a reasonable way to dispose of a body down here, can you?"

"No, killing him would be dangerous for the health of the rest of us," said Damrod.

"I'd better see about fixing him." the elf replied. "If one of you could please pass me some bandages?"

"I don't know where they are," said Ioreth.

"Do we have any?" said Mithwen, peering at one of the pallets as she bounced her baby.

"This is some sort of supply depot, so there ought to be some around here somewhere," said the elf. "We could use someone's tunic, but it would be better to have something we're certain is clean." After some minutes of searching, they found the bandages and got Finrod cleaned up, after which they bound his hands.

Middle of the night or not, few of them slept much after that, including Finrod who woke about half an hour later with a headache and other assorted complaints. At some point during the middle of the next day - or what they assumed was the next date, it wasn't as if it was easy to tell down here - the chalk lifted itself and they knew that their watchers were back. Immediately the air was filled with a babble of complaints.

or: A Chalk-Fea called Celebrian.

When Celebrimbor next visited the prisoners, he was startled to find Finrod tied up and bandaged. He picked up the chalk to ask them what was going on, and everybody began talking at once. Calm down, he wrote. Duilin, would you please tell me what happened?

A long while later, Celebrimbor had gathered the gist of what was going on, and agreed that they couldn't kill Finrod. Celebrimbor also insisted on talking to Finrod. Your actions disgrace an honourable name. Why did you do it?

"Hiding like this can never work," said Finrod. "Our only hope is cooperation with the Dark Lord. You can't even get us out, and we cannot stay down here forever."

"I didn't defy Sauron's torturers only to walk back into his hands of my own free will," said Duilin.

"You wretched little fink!" said Mithwen.

Cooperation doesn't work, wrote Celebrimbor. He'll only ask you something else you cannot give the answer to without betraying everything you ever believed in.

"Are you speaking from personal experience here?" asked Duilin.

Sort of. Mostly.

"Why do you ask of us what you did not do yourself?" asked Finrod.

Because I'd rather you learned from my mistakes, than from making them yourself and learning the consequences the hard way.

"Did the Valar send you here as punishment?" asked Duilin.

I don't think so. They said I'd already repented of that particular error before I had ever arrived in Mandos. I think I was sent because I was refusing to be reborn, and so was still there when they needed a volunteer.

"Why were you refusing rebirth?" asked Ioreth.

"Yes, that's foolish," said Mithwen.

I'd messed up rather badly last time I was alive and I was afraid that I'd do it again.

"But you'd be in Valinor, so how would you have the opportunity to mess up?" asked a short elf with reddish hair named Caredhel.

I don't know, but some of my relatives managed handily enough.

"You aren't Maeglin are you?" asked Damrod, looking rather nervous.

No! I would never betray my people like that - not to mention the elleth Maeglin claimed to love - if he really loved Idril, he would have died rather than betray her, never mind that she'd married someone else! I've met him in Mandos and he still hasn't repented - why he bothered answering Namo's call instead of staying with Morgoth I will never know. But we have gotten very far from the original topic here: what are we to do with Finrod?

"I think we're going to have to keep him tied up and watch him every second," said Duilin, "since we've all agreed we can kill him and we certainly can't let him go."

Good decision, wrote Celebrimbor.

"Are you Maedhros?" asked Caredhel.

"Are you Finrod?" asked Ioreth.

"Finrod didn't tell Sauron anything, silly!" said Mithwen, elbowing Ioreth in the ribs.

"He wants too, though," said someone Celebrimbor couldn't see.

"Not this Finrod, Finrod the king of Nargothrond, friend of men and miscellaneous other titles I don't remember," said Caredhel, glaring. After that, several other people began speaking over top of each other and Celebrimbor was no longer sure who was saying what.

"Are you Beren?"

"He said he was an elf."

"Are you Celebrimbor?"

"Are you Turgon, Glorfindel, Gil-galad, Ecthelion, Feanor, Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Curufin, Caranthir, or Figwit?"

"None of them got taken to Angband except Maedhros, and I mentioned him earlier." said Caredhel. "You made Figwit up. It's neither Sindarin nor Quenya, and I'm fairly certain it isn't one of the Silvan languages either."

"Are you Celebrian?"

Celebrimbor sputtered. No comment, he wrote.

"Must be Celebrian." Several people nodded their heads in agreement. Celebrimbor shook his incoroporeal head and rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

Gil-galad looked up from the documents he'd been reading when the messenger came walking down the hall and turned up the stairs towards where Sauron was closeted with the Palantir. Gil-galad floated up and followed him, hoping to find something more useful for embarrassing Sauron than the tax records of North Harad. The messenger had a bag with him that looked almost like it contained fabric. Suspiciously heavy fabric, and what might be the shape of a sheathed dagger. Gil-galad frowned, but continued to watch. He had an odd feeling that this might be important.

Sauron looked up as the orc entered with an expression somewhere between resigned and irritated. "What have you there?" he asked the the orc.

"Lord Zigur," said the orc, "I am Captain Shagrat of Cirith Ungol. My troops caught a spy sniffing around Cirith Ungol. It carried very interesting equipment that I thought I should bring to your attention personally." He opened the bag and spilled the contents out onto the Palantir table. The orc darted a look at the huge globe, but looked down quickly at the contents of the bag. There was indeed a dagger that looked suspiciously of Numenorean make, but there was also a child-size camouflage cloak of Lorien and... Gil-galad's eyes widened.

What in Arda is that doing there? Not that I've been able to fit into it since Balar, but still... He stared at the tiny mithril corselet that he had worn during the flight to Eglarest and in the fighting in which Eglarest had fallen. It had saved his life then. Finrod had asked the dwarves to make it long before the Feanorians had forced him out to his death in the Tol-in-Guarhoth, though what had prompted him Gil-galad had never known.

Sauron moved to stare at and picked up the mithril corselet, holding it dangling and turning it this way and that. He examined the dagger, and then the cloak. Abruptly, he turned back to Shagrat. "I want to see this spy," he said.

"Lord Zigur, I... He had an ally, and they scarpered when Gorbag tried to pinch the mail shirt."

"And you did not send someone after them?"

"My lord, we couldn't, for Gorbag's people - the traitors - attacked us and we were too busy fighting them- almost all of us died. I was wounded" the orc held up a crudely bandaged arm, "and I assumed it was to better to bring you the loot than to lose everything."

Sauron looked at Shagrat through slitted eyes and drummed his fingers on the table. "So," he said eventually, "describe this spy. In detail."

The orc frowned. "He had been caught by Shelob and was out cold when we found him. He was really short, but he wasn't a dwarf because he was too skinny and he didn't have a beard. He didn't have the cruel eyes of the Elves, and tarks don't have pointed ears and they don't go barefoot. His feet were hairy, too. Weird."

"Interesting," said Sauron. "What of his accomplice?"

"I think, my Lord, that the spy we caught was more the accomplice than the one that got away. I fought the other and barely got away. He had an elf sword, was tall and wrapped in a dark cloak of shadow. Some weird elf-sorcery, probably."

Sauron's eyebrows rose, and he leaned back in the chair, deep in thought.

Gil-galad's mind raced. Hobbits... hobbits had carried the One Ring to Rivendell. Now there appeared to be at least one hobbit on the borders of Mordor. Was it possible that he still had the Ring? If so, why wasn't it here? Perhaps the hobbit's friend was carrying it. If the tall friend wasn't a hobbit himself... strange effects that the orcs interpreted as elf-sorcery could potentially be caused by the Ring if what he knew of the effects of Rings of Power was correct. He should ask Celebrimbor about that. He'd never had the chance to find out personally since using Narya when Sauron had the One Ring would have been criminal folly.

If the other hobbit had the Ring the only sensible reason for him to take it here was to throw it in Mt. Doom - which would explain why the Valar wanted Sauron distracted and why there was a point to him and Celebrimbor being here at all!

But what of Aragorn and his behavior? Could he have a different Ring? Or perhaps no Ring at all, simply the courage and charisma of the House of Elendil? Elendil had needed no Ring.

He couldn't know, not for sure, but he could hope. And now that he had some idea of what was going on he had a better idea of what was needed to distract Sauron. Sauron needed to be distracted from the hobbit's quest.

Perhaps his strategy of confusing and causing damage to Sauron's battle plans was not actually useful save in as much as it wasted Sauron's time, and of course saved lives. But to stop now might give Sauron a clue of what was really happening, which was the last thing Gil-galad wanted. He should pretend that this little spy was of no importance whatever. Still, there was plenty of scope for driving Sauron crazy - it wasn't as if Sauron needed much help there.

For now, he'd better watch Sauron and make sure he didn't come up with any of the same things Gil-galad had just thought up. After a minute or two, Sauron dismissed the orc captain. For the next 15 minutes Sauron sat there, fingering the mithril corselet occasionally, and thinking thoughts the contents of whcih Gil-galad had no clue.

Chapter End Notes

A/N 1: Celebrimbor may be being a bit hard on himself in this chapter. What happened is that under torture he revealed to Sauron the location of the Seven Dwarf Rings, but died rather than reveal where the Three Elf Rings were. In some versions of the legendarium and most fanfiction, Celebrimbor was in love with Galadriel, despite her being married to Celeborn. This is why he is reacting to Maeglin with if he really loved her, he would have died rather than betray her, never mind that she'd married someone else! here.

A/N 3: How Gil-galad's childhood mailshirt got into the hoard of the King Under the Mountain I do not know. But there's only so many little elvish princes it could have been made for without Thranduil recognising it.

When Gil-galad joined Celebrimbor in the prisoner's chamber, they both had lots to tell each other - from spies that might just be far more to why the prisoners were referring to Celebrimbor as Celebrian. They both agreed to do nothing to jeopardize any possible quest of the hobbits, but to keep their interventions much as before. Down in the dungeons, Finrod was heavily watched and make no further move to escape.

But then Sauron decided to hold a major meeting for his battle commanders where he would lay out his plans to crush King Elessar and his followers. The second Gil-galad had heard that, he knew the hobbits probably were going to Mt. Doom, because any sensible military commander would know that what Aragorn was trying to do was completely impossible. From the little Gil-galad knew about the man, he did not think he would be that stupid. If he had been, surely Sauron would have killed him long ago.

Gil-galad decided it was time to raise the stakes, and make sure Sauron's mind was focused so thoroughly on the military side that he did not think about Mt. Doom or anything else. It was time to use the interrogation drugs. Neither he nor Celebrimbor was entirely certain what effect they would have on a Maia, but if they took the dose for an elf and doubled that, it ought to have some effect. And then if one of them appeared to Sauron in the middle of the meeting...

Gil-galad watched as the commanders and a few ambassadors filed in: Nazgul, men, a few orcs, even a dwarf. The drugs were in the cup, and everything was ready. Last, Sauron came in with an honor guard of men and Uruk-hai, and those who had sat down hurriedly stood again, bowing nearly to the ground. Sauron seated himself in the throne at the end of the long rectangular table. Everyone else sat but the guards, who lined themselves up along the wall and beside the now closed double doors.

Sauron first announced the approach of Elessar's army, then began to explain his plans for trapping Elessar and his laughably small army. Unfortunately, Sauron did not take a drink from the glass set at his right hand.

Gil-galad grimaced, and glanced at Celebrimbor who grimaced right back. This wasn't going according to plan. What if Sauron didn't drink at all? How else could they disrupt the meeting? He scanned the table. Celebrimbor drifted over. "Shall I break a chair or two?" he asked.

"Not yet," said Gil-galad. "We want them to think Sauron is insane, not that they are. But we might just increase the Northern Harad Ambassador's reputation for clumsiness."

"I'll spill his drink for him," said Celebrimbor. "It might even get Sauron thinking about taking a drink, you never know. " Celebrimbor drifted over and when next the ambassador put his hand near the glass, Celebrimbor knocked it over, spilling tea everywhere.

Everyone turned to look and even Sauron stopped speaking for a moment to glower at the man. Then, to Gil-galad's delight, he did take a sip from his own glass. It wasn't much, but with any luck it wouldn't be the last, and this meeting ought to take a strange turn shortly.

"If we've now ceased being distracted by the Ambassador's clumsiness, let's get back to business," said Sauron. "Khamul, I want you to launch the third attack on Lorien at about the same time, to keep Galadriel from interfering from afar."

"Yes, Lord Zigur, I shall see it done."

"Good. Once that is done, since Zigur-adun is now dead, I now appoint Khamul as my second in command, and the Chief of the Nazgul." He turned to Khamul. "Once the war is over, you will relocate to Minas Morgul." He stopped to take a second, much larger sip.

Gil-galad smiled.

"Lord Zigur, is there any specific object if you wish me to attack or capture, or is this attack purely a distraction?"

"Pick something that they must defend, and that would be useful if you do manage to take it."

"It shall be done."

Sauron turned to the huge Uruk seated two places from the Ambassador of North Harad. "I want you, Boldog, and your troops here" - he pointed to a location on the map that Gil-galad couldn't see clearly. He moved closer, until he was hovering above Boldog's head. Ah, immediately inside the Morannon.

Sauron then turned back to the Nazgul, and started explaining to them exactly what he wanted them to do immediately before the trap was sprung. Then he stopped, frowning at the Ambassador from Northern Harad, who cowered back even further from the table. "Oh do stop cowering, you pathetic excuse for an importunate courtier. I haven't eaten you yet, have I?" said Sauron.

"No, my lord," said the Ambassador.

"That was a rhetorical question! Out! I will not have such a complete waste of air in this meeting. And get out of Barad-dur! Go home to your prince and tell him to send me another ambassador - this time one who isn't a coward and has a larger brain than a newt. I don't care if you're his brother, you're useless!"

The Ambassador left, almost at a run. The orcish guards let him out without a word. Gil-galad noticed, though, that one follow on the left was looking suspiciously as if he'd swallowed a lemon - unless he was trying not to burst out laughing. Gil-galad's insubstantial eyebrows rose. An orc with a sense of humor, whatever next?

Sauron turned back to the assembled meeting. "I've wanted to do that for months," he said, smiling.

The assembly blinked at him, then looked at each other. Sauron smiling was a rare sight, and it always meant trouble for somebody.

Sauron frowned, then took another drink, this time a good long one. Celebrimbor and Gil-galad exchanged looks. He was already behaving as if affected, and they hadn't really expected him to drink the whole thing. What was he going to do when he was really drugged?

"Back to business," said Sauron. "You are to keep the fell beasts quiet and yourselves likewise. The enemy needs to get very close to the Morannon before we spring the trap. " He smiled again, this time cruelly. "And I have a surprise for them once they get there. Mouth of Sauron..." Sauron trailed off. "I can't believe I am calling you that silly name. I have a perfectly good mouth of my own. And when was the last time you brushed your teeth? You have halitosis at least as badly as most of the orcs."

"My lord, if I may speak," said the Mouth.

"Certainly," said Sauron. "Since you are already doing so."

"It was you yourself that named me this," said the Mouth. "Call me what you will, and I shall not complain."

Sauron tapped his chin with his index finger in thought. "Keep the name," he said. "It makes about as much sense as most things that go on in this tower. Seriously, I'm surrounded by incompetents! Half the orcs seem to be unable to find the way to the garderobe unaided, given the smell in the lower portion of the tower." He frowned again. "I asked you to do something about that years ago."

"The smell has sunk into the stone and will not come out," said the Mouth of Sauron. "But weren't we discussing the upcoming battle?"

"Ah yes," said Sauron. He frowned for a moment as if he couldn't remember where he'd gotten off track, then started again. At the very beginning of the meeting.

Gil-galad watched as the assorted leaders of Sauron's armies tried to pretend that nothing was amiss, although a few darted surreptitious glances at each other when Sauron wasn't looking. They retraced about half of the things that Sauron had already gone over, but with odd interruptions, as when someone asked about Elessar, and Sauron went off into a long rant about Isildur, Elendil and how much he hated them. It took nearly ten minutes to get back to the original subject.

By this point the surreptitious glances had become much more frequent and a good deal less surreptitious. Then every pretense of normalcy fell apart. Sauron looked up from the route he'd been tracing off the map and fixed his gaze on Khamul with horrified fascination. "Why are your robes purple?" he asked. "Is this some sort of joke, or have my invisible enemies been at your laundry?"

Everyone turned to look at Khamul, whose robes were not purple but black.

"I am not wearing purple, my lord," said Khamul, clearly confused.

"Don't lie to me! It may be dark purple, but that's not good enough. I clearly ordered you to stick to black. I may not have my Ring at the moment, but you will do as I say. You will not defy me like this."

"Lord Zigur, perhaps we should adjourn the meeting for another time," said the Witch King's mother. "There are still several days before Elessar's army arrives, and surely you have preparations to make..."

"No! We will deal with this here and now."

"It was merely a suggestion," she said.

Sauron gazed at her with a disgusted expression. "You're all wearing purple," he said. A sudden air of menace filled the room, and all the Nazgul flinched backwards in their seats as if Sauron had struck them. "I will not brook disobedience," said Sauron. "After this meeting is over, you will go and find yourself something that is black, and I will not see you wearing purple again. Ever."

"Yes my lord," chorused the Nazgul. Gil-galad couldn't help but think of how his own council would have handled him behaving like this. By now the council would have been disbanded, and he would have had a healer examining him, no matter how loudly he protested that there was nothing wrong with him. But Sauron was demanding that his top commanders call black purple and was getting away with it because he hurt people if they did not do as he said. One of many reasons he lost the War of the Last Alliance, perhaps.

When he or Elendil did something stupid because they were too tired to think straight, they had had subordinates to point the problem out and hopefully fix it before it got people killed. Of course if he'd been an absolute leader than maybe he could have prevented Oropher from making that suicidal mistake... but if he'd been an absolute leader it wouldn't have mattered what Oropher did because all they had been fighting for would have been lost before the war had begun. It was also true they had been able to use Oropher's error to gain the Morannon, even if the cost had been far higher than they should have had to pay.

"Are you going to appear to him, or are we just going to let him make a complete fool of himself?" said Celebrimbor. With an effort, Gil-galad brought himself back to the present. Celebrimbor continued: "He seems to be doing a fairly good job of that as it is."

"Oh, I think it's about time we really gave them something to remember." Gil-galad floated himself onto the middle of the table about ten feet from Sauron. Then he shifted his aura so that Sauron could see him. Sauron had been in the middle of a rambling dissertation on the symbolism behind the black banners with the red eye when he suddenly saw Gil-galad. He stopped with his mouth slightly open, mid-word. He tried to jump back from the table, but his throne was in the way so he jumped up on it instead and drew his sword.

There was a collective gasp around the table, and people pushed their chairs back, a few of them darting under the table while most merely jumped away so that they were out of easy sword range.

Sauron's face contorted with hate and range. "You are dead!" he screamed. "I killed you. You are dead!" With that he jumped up on the table and launched himself at Gil-galad, who merely floated towards the high ceiling so that he was out of Sauron's reach. "Come back, you coward," screamed Sauron, "and I'll kill you like I did last time. Foolish, pathetic little excuse for a king!"

"You do realize that Elendil and I killed you too," said Gil-galad. "Considering that you're the one going around with delusions of godhood, I think you are far more pathetic than I am. You show no respect for your followers, you rule by fear, and you are to depraved to know that there is anything wrong with this."

"You couldn't even make your followers obey you!" yelled Sauron. "You didn't kill them when people were rude to you, you didn't even imprison them."

"This council is adjourned," said Khamul, "please leave." After a few more looks at their leader, who was still trading insults with thin air and dead silence, there was a stampede for the doors. The Nazgul alone stayed.

Sauron didn't notice them go, for now Celebrimbor had joined in the fun. "You!"

"Why yes, Oh-giver-of-trapped-gifts, it's me, the person you betrayed so very long ago." Celebrimbor shook his head. "I've always wanted to know, why did you do it? But I suppose the answer is all around us" he said, gesturing to the now almost empty room. "You wanted power so badly you would give up everything else for it. And you have. You have. What a waste."

The Nazgul, meanwhile, were speaking in hushed voices and shooting worried looks at their leader. Gil-galad couldn't hear most of what they were saying, but a sentence caught his attention "do you think we should go find a healer, or we should we just wait for him to fall over?"

Gil-galad grinned merrily. Oh, the benefits of not being a Dark Lord whom everybody fears! Decent medical care, for a start... Sauron saw his expression and took exception to it. He drew a small dagger and threw it directly through Gil-galad. It hit the ceiling and then fell to the floor. Gil-galad blinked, but there was no flashback to his death. "Is that the best you can do?" he asked.

Sauron stretched his hands up into claws and chanted two or three words. A cloudy darkness boiled up out of them and billowed lazily towards Gil-galad and Celebrimbor. Gingerly, Gil-galad poked the edge of the darkness with his toe. It went through the edge of the darkness, but he did not feel anything, so they let the black darkness waft around and through them until it spread out just beneath the ceiling.

"I think your target has to be alive for that to work," said Celebrimbor. Gil-galad looked back at the Nazgul to see how they were taking this. They were now clustered near the door, and one of them appeared to have left, possibly to go and look for a healer. Gil-galad really didn't envy whoever got stuck with that duty.

Celebrimbor had now drifted down below the cloud and appeared to be hovering off the far end of the table. Sauron was looking back and forth between him and Gil-galad, and Gil-galad noticed that Sauron was weaving a little on his feet. But before Gil-galad could say anything, Sauron charged directly at Celebrimbor - tripped on someone's notebook, and fell full length on the table, skidding along the polished wooden surface before being halted by somebody's chair.

Khamul and the female Nazgul traded glances and walked to the table where they tried to assist their lord. Sauron, meanwhile, had sat up. He told them angrily he didn't need their help - if they wanted to help they could go catch Celebrimbor and Gil-galad. "Lord Zigur, we cannot see Celebrimbor or Gil-galad in this room nor can we hear them. We therefore cannot catch them. Can you point out to us where they are?"

"Celebrimbor is just be on the edge of the table and he's laughing at us," said Sauron. "Gil-galad's up near the ceiling where you won't be able to get at him. They are BOTH laughing!" Khamul took out his morgul knife and began to wave it back and forth through the area Sauron had indicated. Celebrimbor, meanwhile, floated himself higher until he was just over Khamul's head. He crossed his arms over his chest and began to sing the part of the lay of Leithian that concerns Sauron's defeat at the hands of Huan and Luthien. "Above your head!" yelled Sauron. "And he's singing... that infernal thing..."

The second Celebrimbor finished that part of the song, Gil-galad started up with a song that celebrated Sauron's demise in the War of the Last Alliance. He hadn't heard it until he'd entered the Halls of Mandos, since it had been written after both of them were dead, but it seemed to suit the situation as Sauron became completely incoherent with rage.

That was the situation the returning Nazgul and the healer walked into.