Bringing Trouble to Barad-dur by Aiwen

More Writing on the Wall

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.