The Eyes and Ears of Melkor by Chilled in Hithlum

Chapter 1 The Seat and The Orb

No sound of labour, or mockery, or anguish dared enter the chamber where Melkor sat. Only silence, solid and cold and angry, hummed about that vast cavity. His ironclad granite throne rose to the lofty roof and its huge, dark and heavy occupant remained motionless therein. About his feet were ten lesser seats arranged in a semicircle and set upon a dais. The larger of these seats stood facing Melkor and remained empty, as did eight others about it; only the seat to its right was taken and within that sat Gothmog the Mighty High-Captain of Angband. Gothmog's powerful hand held a tightened chain that attached to the collar of a man bound and kneeling before him. Hurin Thalion was he, the son of Galdor and named The Steadfast; and he had just affronted The Great Enemy with mockery and scorn. Hurin gazed up at the dumbfounded king at his front and fixed upon the two gems in his iron crown. How brilliantly the Silmarils had shone in the free air, only a short time ago, at the Haudh-en-Ndengin; but now they dimmed, as in mourning, in that subterranean prison. As though reading Hurin's thought, Melkor exhaled loudly and called out, deep and slow, "Sauron!" Hurin heard steady footsteps advance behind him and a silken cloak wafted about his head. Then, Sauron, there he was; not terrible but tall, resplendent and beautiful. "My Lord" said Sauron bowing low before Melkor. "Do not seek to flatter me with fair seeming" said Melkor, "See thou there before my feet a whelp on a leash? I find it to be a poor replacement for the one that THOU lost me". Sauron shuddered within and remained silent; Melkor continued, "Since that day my crown lacks a third of its light and you remain unseated awaiting my judgement". "And so I do, My Lord, with a full heart", ventured Sauron. "SILENCE CUR, I HAVE NOT FINISHED SPEAKING!!!" spitted Melkor; and regaining his composure he went on. "This is my judgement..." he said, "Let the greater give up his seat for the lesser. Thou, Sauron, are hereby banished from my sight. Go now to your isle and tend to your ‘Half-Breed Mongrels!' My Mighty Gothmog shall provide you with an orb. There, in solitude, thou shall await my commands. There also shall we see, in the end, to which thou does obeisance. Get thee gone!" With that Sauron turned and left the chamber; and so it was that never again did he look directly upon the face of his sovereign.

Melkor's eyes now lighted upon Hurin, only to find his unblinking gaze returned. "Gothmog, let the dog have its reward, let it rest on the big chair" said Melkor. Hurin drew not back his eyes as the bonds were loosed; Melkor resumed "Do not seek to run ‘Hound Hurin', one crack of Gothmog's whip should break your legs and we would not want to put you down... now would we?" For some sixty seconds Hurin stood free, wondering if he should dare to dash, but knowing it was a hopeless chance he turned towards Sauron's vacant chair. "Good boy; Sit!" said Melkor laughing wildly. Hurin walked slowly around Gothmog's hulking frame, red fire broke the fissures of the Balrog's skin as he sat there conceitedly. Abruptly, Hurin was felled by a huge black foot and Gothmog laughed "Ha! ‘Hound Hurin' that is funny"; and he looked up towards his master for approval. Hurin arose, and wiping his bloody mouth he shambled on to the High Seat of Sauron. The burnished black stone chair was surprisingly comfortable; and Hurin noticed graven runes in devious speech all about its arms and legs, the back support was crowned with carved forms of cruel beasts. Presently, Melkor intoned a song of power in a tongue that Hurin knew not, ever steadily and ever louder the deep voice grew, and Hurin fancied that he heard trumpets braying repeatedly in of support that dark enchanted mantra. The graven runes upon the chair illumined with a sickly pale light and Hurin's limbs became as lead. Melkor ended his song and the Binding-Spell was complete. Hurin, at last, realised that he was wholly under the power of Morgoth, the Black Foe of the World. He would have wept but dared not, for shame. Again that same shattering silence filled the immense mausoleum and all within sat immobile. Gothmog finally put in "My Lord, if you will not be..." and before he could finish, Melkor gestured him away with a hand. Gothmog meekly slunk away. Melkor's eyes flashed in wrath; he reached out over Hurin's head and wrenched the seat away from is platform. Ever after that day the dais appeared though a ravened creature had bitten out a chunk from it; for even so it had. Now Melkor with chair, and Hurin, in hand limped out from his hall. Before-times, at the hill of the slain, he was loath in showing Hurin his disability; but now he was undeterred. The uneven footfalls resounded through all Angband and many there quailed in the light of Melkor's scarred countenance. They passed through many corridors, hewn from living rock, and came to the mines where Hurin had recently worked. The slave drivers ceased their duties in expectation of some new orders, but Melkor passed them by. Ultimately he passed the Troll-Guards at the mine entrance and stepped outside on to the edge of a gaping volcanic crater. Many hot cinders swished about Hurin's face; he was unable to bat them away and endured many burns.
The mine's entrance stood beneath the central, and loftiest, peak of Thangorodhrim and there also now stood its creator, dark and terrible. So vast were these thunderous towers that many from without who could descry them deemed simply that the brazen doors far opposite were their only main entrance. None who entered in thraldom ever saw the desolate scene that Hurin viewed now. His spirit would have failed him had Melkor not leapt upwards. Around and around spiralled Melkor; up the conical tower he ran as rapidly would a lizard. Towards the top the air cleared but the heat from furnaces below increased as the funnel narrowed. At approximately three quarters of the way up Melkor stopped, and hanging from one arm he surveyed the vista. In his free hand he held the seated Hurin. Suddenly and without warning, Melkor smashed the back of Sauron's old chair into the tightly compressed ash and slag of Thangorodhrim's highest peak. The impact would have sent Hurin hurtling to his death but the Binding-Spell was too strong. For a time though, Melkor wondered if he had overreached his aim; for Hurin had sat lifeless in the chair but it happened that he was heavily concussed by the force of the crash.
The monotony of Hurin's days soon became apparent to him and long he remembered the words that Morgoth had last left him with. "Sit now there and look out upon the lands where evil and despair shall come upon those whom you have delivered to me. For you have dared to mock me, and have questioned to power of Melkor, Master of the fates of Arda. Therefore with my eyes you shall see, and with my ears you shall hear, and nothing shall be hidden from you." At this last part he still wondered much and he feared what may soon come to pass. For now, all he could see were his distant homelands and longed he for his loved ones; all he could hear was the machine of brutality below him. A bitter wind whipped up about him and he remembered ‘Sweet Lalaith' and at last his tears were unloosed. Ever after, if a sudden wind came it would recall the memory of his lost little girl and this brought him comfort in the lonely years ahead. But now, he remembered his wife Morwen, proud and beautiful; and Turin his compassionate son. He knew not (yet) that Morwen would bare him another daughter. He remembered Huor his valiant brother and his newly-wed bride, the delicate Rian. He wept again, at seeing the arrow that pierced his brother's eye and all of his soldiery that fell about him. He smiled, at last, remembering King Turgon's escape and how this marred Morgoth's victory. The autumn months drew on, Hurin’s memories tormented his soul and hatred for his captor intensified.  The runes about the chair still glowed pale and Hurin knew this as a sign that the Binding-Spell continued its evil work.  Once only for five minutes each day would the runes on the right arm of the chair dim down, and this meant that the time for Hurin to eat had come.  A carrion bird would bring aloft a hemp bag, stained and dripping, stuffed with Orc leftovers soaked in water; and what Hurin could not consume within those five minutes would be taken away and returned the next day, and so on.  For as much as Orcs love excrement; Men cannot survive for long surrounded filthy germs, so once weekly Orc children would delight in drenching Hurin with pales of freezing, unsullied water.  This ritual became a boon to Hurin during the summer months, and even in wintertime; for a long as the runes were lit he was protected from all other illness, except of course from aging which is not in the province of Melkor to hinder.  This protection did not dull Hurin’s senses though; and was subject every change in climate, every stench of death, every scream of anguish, every taste of sulphur, every view of horror and he especially feared the night.

Now when Hurin completed the eighth week of his undetermined sentence on high Thangorodhrim, Melkor visited him again.  He came this time not as a running lizard; but he ascended smoothly, and majestic, on a mechanical platform.  Hurin mocked him, “So the Lizard King wearies of the chase,” he said “has he spent himself again?”  Melkor sneered so that the scarred marks on his face wrinkled in their furrows, and despite himself he discharged a perceptible grunt, and Hurin smirked.  “You think you have nothing left to lose - do you not?” asked Melkor.  “Only my life” answered Hurin.  “Nay, Mortal, there is much more to see, we have much to share, you and I” retorted Melkor.  At this he stooped down and picked up two large curved brazen rods with splayed iron claws at each end; Hurin gasped, but Melkor raised his index finger and shook his head, now it was his turn to smirk.  “There are many beneath us who would happily tear you to shreds, I need no device for that” said Melkor; and he set about attaching the rods to the arms of the chair.  He arranged them thus, the rods projected away from the chair and the ends faced inward with a ten inch gap between them; and so it was in Hurin’s direct eye-line, three feet away from him, there were two vicious claws grasping at nothingness.

Melkor seemed pleased with himself, as a carpenter fitting a tricky joint, and gazing upon Hurin he said, “I made this for you, do you like it?”  Melkor waited expectantly for a reply that never came; he shrugged and said “No matter”, at this Hurin wondered much.  “Before we use our plaything let me impart some Elven lore of my own” said Melkor.  He began, “Long years ago when I was in Valinor there was a despicable Elf name Feanor.  He was quite good at gem-craft…” Melkor tapped his crown, “… and he discovered the art of producing seeing-stones.  As much as I tried to cozen him into revealing his proficiency in their making, he would not shift on the matter.  I could not move against him openly as yet, for my plans were unripe.  So I stole one from his workshop, while Feanor was away hunting with his dratted sons, and I discovered its essence.  I replaced it before his return, and Feanor gave no outward sign that he knew anything of my molesting.  And so when I returned to my beautiful Angband, I sought in my mines for an appropriate ore to produce my own so-called seeing-stones.  My search did not take long, and I found a mineral much more conducive to my needs.  I have it in abundance, and now I can see, AND HEAR, all the doings of my captains.  This is how I gave the command not to kill you; and soon you will know the power of my Orbs and THOU WILT RESPECT MY SKILL!” After speaking Melkor rose to his full height, but still Hurin gave no reply.        

The Dark Lord looked down again on his fixed captive and he said, almost fondly, “Thou art no craven, I know it”.  With that he reached into his robes and plucked out, between two fingers and a thumb, a black sphere which he then inspected.  And ever so gently, Melkor placed the globe between the claws of the device he had just erected and stepped back.  To Hurin’s eyes ‘The Orb’ appeared as polished obsidian, but on its inside there were constellations of twirling flecked gold.  This new thing absorbed him, totally, and he soon began to hear sounds from places other than were he was.  He heard many feet stamping across rough ground; and unexpectedly a thin horizontal band of light appeared which bled gradually downwards and soon grasping fingers came down and snapped up suddenly, but not disappearing, in one dizzying motion the face of an Orc appeared and said “Nothing to report, Sir”.  The scene changed; Hurin saw wolf-forms patrolling around a figure frantically trying to rebuild a tower with Elven foundations.  The images sped up, he saw a fiery whip crack down upon a thrall, he heard screams, laughter, unfinished phrases from many mouths, and he saw faces, limbs, eyes and all blurred together.  The images stopped as Melkor removed the Orb from its holder and Hurin was gasping uncontrollably.  “Distressing at first - is it not?” said Melkor, “But with practice, you will learn control”.  The next day Melkor came, and the day after; and still beyond many others he persisted.  By now Hurin had lost count of the times he was forced to look into the dreaded Orb before ending up in a drenching sweat.  

There came a day of winter, harsh and cold, and Hurin was gazing passed the iron claws into the chasm of his own thought.  He was young again, he was panting, ahead of him his lean younger brother was sprinting on.  Huor laughed as he came to a running stop, and Hurin catching him up said “We shall have a longer race next time”.  “We loved adventures and were seldom parted” he thought.  Hurin conjured the mighty Eagles and he re-enacted how Thorondor might have marred Morgoth’s face.  He saw bold King Fingon ready for battle, and the raven-haired Meaglin watching his every move in Gondolin.  He heard “It is time”, spoken in a familiar voice, and shuddered at sight of Melkor before him with the Orb in hand.  When all was set for the next practice session; Hurin a heard gravel voice, for sound always came first, “There’s a dead woman, look!”  Before his eyes the ghastly vision of the Haudh-en-Ndengin unfolded before him, with all its rotting corpses. “Where?” said another guttural voice, “Down there, are you Blind?” said the first.  Hurin’s saw the form of Rian lay completely motionless and still beautiful among the decomposing bodies.  He shouted aloud “No” and the vision ceased.  Melkor clapped his hands slowly, but not in mockery, for he was pleased; “You wanted the vision to stop, so you willed it to end, it is that simple” he said.  “Simple?” shouted Hurin with tear stained eyes “My dead brother’s wife lays for carrion food on your stinking mound”.  Melkor remained impassive “I know it well,” he said “but you are missing the point of the lesson.  Do you not see?  It took such a shock to break you free from your cycle of failure”.  Hurin looked up in horrified amazement “Then did you know afore-time that she was dead and showed me this to prove your point?” he asked.  “That is true” said Melkor “Was I not right?”  Hurin replied “Oh, there is a much about you that is not right, Morgoth Bauglir; but answer me this, did you have her killed just to illustrate this so-called lesson?”  Melkor spoke truthfully, “Nay, as I understand it the flower wilted in Mithrim when your brother returned not.  My spies tell me also that she bore him a son, which she abandoned with some Elves and she, in despair, volunteered herself to the mound.  So, do not dismiss my lessons too rashly, there is much you can learn from me and closer to home, but now you tire and a few days rest are in order”. 

One year of his sentence had passed, and indeed Hurin learnt much from Melkor; he was now master of the Orb, and he chose what to see and hear and from which source, and nothing was hidden from him.  The Orb showed him nothing as yet of his kin, but Melkor shared many rumours with him in that year, which later proved true; of Turin’s departure down into the Vale of Sirion and into Brethil, of the birth of, Nienor, his unknown daughter in Hithlum and many others besides.  Melkor cursed the ineptitude of Brodda and his Easterlings; and did sincerely offer to Hurin that an Orc host be posted in Dor-Lomin so as to watch Morwen from afar, but not wanting to reveal her, Hurin declined.  Melkor also learnt much; he realised that he previously had underestimated the minds of Men, that preferred them to Elves and that he secretly enjoyed teaching.  He took to calling Hurin by his name, and he even tolerated his slight remarks as would an elder with an over-exuberant, mischievous adolescent.  Although, Melkor never in that time decreed to any that Hurin’s daily and weekly routines should be improved, or that he should receive better treatment.  And always he considered Hurin’s fealty to Turgon. 

Melkor sat alone in dark thought and he became restless in mind; he had been appraising his victories, and especially the unleashing of the dragon at the Great Fourth Battle.  Now the fact of Turgon’s absence in that onslaught gnawed at him and he knew in his heart that this was significant.  “What was Turgon doing at that time?” he asked himself, as his eyes lighted on the Orb mounted by his throne.  Then Melkor said aloud “Ha! I am looking at this from the wrong direction”, and he summoned his record keeper and demanded all the logbooks from the time of the Dagor Bragollach until the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.  Every report and update, no matter how futile, had been recorded by Melkor’s administration ever since his return from Valinor; now he felt sure that these pages would yield something useful, “Search for anything, anything out of the ordinary” he demanded of his clerks.  For two hours they droned aloud any log they thought might aid their lord, and he listened.  They went on in this fashion, “Dorthonion: Phantoms witnessed in black trees, Brethil: Boys lost in mist at the ford, Falas: Unknown ships sailing west…”  Suddenly Melkor shouted “STOP! The ships that is it”, and to himself he said “So Turgon you seek unseat me by going the long way around, craven, at least your father and brother dared to face me and mine in battle, and you will fail as did they”.  Melkor turned again to his record keeper and demanded that every log concerning the Elves of the coast be presented to him in writing without delay, and so it was done.  The next day Melkor sat poring over the hastily prepared document, and a picture as yet unforeseen grew in his mind.  He began to understand the prominence of Cirdan the builder of ships, he rued his lack of sea faring capability and cursed Ulmo, and he guessed near at the subtle alliances between Cirdan and the other Elven Lords.  He noted how that folk from seemingly unconnected places now flocked towards the coast, especially in the vicinity of the Havens at Brithombar and Eglarest.  And finally, Melkor resolved to put at an end to the puny coastal landings that now disrupted his captains.

Once Melkor had made ready his plans he visited Hurin again.  “The day has come”, said Melkor gleefully “Ah Hurin, now at last I have something to show you that I can be proud of, shall we see it together?”  Melkor brought forth an Orb more than ten times the size of Hurin’s and held it out with his outstretched arm, “Live sport is so much better on a bigger screen” he said licking his lips.  Hurin amazed on hearing Gothmog’s voice answering his master’s transmitted call; Melkor smiled and said “Yes, my larger Orbs have the capacity to work both ways.  It pleases me, Hurin, that you are finally impressed by my skill, but this is not even the beginning of it, watch!”  Melkor turned his attention to his Orb again and said “My High-Captain Gothmog, we have a guest for ‘Today’s Entertainment’ therefore if you would be so kind as to appraise us once more of our status thus far!”  Hurin flinched at how the Balrog’s head appeared larger then life-size before his eyes.  “My lord,” said Gothmog, looking askance at Hurin, “The machinery has moved through the mountains of Hithlum and Nevrast…” Melkor interrupted impatiently “Yes, Yes that was days ago, I meant today, Oaf, what is happening now?”  Hurin’s thoughts turned immediately to his wife in Dor-Lomin, that place lay between the regions that Gothmog had just identified; Hurin now regretted not taking Morgoth’s offer of being able to look upon his homeland.  “My Lord,” resumed Gothmog, now sneering at Hurin, “As I speak to you now our strength advances freely along the rivers Brithon and Nenning and shall reach ‘The Havens’ directly.  I have already posted Orb Officers at strategic vantage points ahead of our forces so that you may view all the proceedings, and I await your further commands”.  “Very good, carry on!” said Melkor “… Oh! And Gothmog, DO NOT, EVER AGAIN, BE ILL-MANNERED TO ANYBODY I NAME AS GUEST!!!”  The abashed Balrog nodded as his face faded from view.  “I see that you have been newly cleaned…” Melkor said, rubbing his thigh, “Have you yet dined, Hurin?” he asked.  “I have” replied Hurin; at that Melkor produced a freshly severed Troll leg and began to devour it, and whilst still chewing and with blood dripping from his lips, Melkor said “Let us have some sport!”

Hurin watched in helpless revulsion as the day’s events disentangled ahead of him.  He saw Gothmog’s blood-thirsty Orc hordes come in many waves of stealth and brake upon the under-equipped and under-prepared Elves of the coast.  Hurin tried to divert his gaze by looking into own Orb, and therefore elsewhere, but he found the lesser was subject to the greater and he could not un-view the horrific events.  For overlong had Cirdan trusted in his mighty walls and towers; but now his enemies came with engines that undid brick and stone, and they brought fire and many citizens were cruelly slain.  The Havens were utterly destroyed and many of Cirdan’s folk were cut off and driven into the sea, or taken as captives; but some escaped.  Cirdan himself took to his ships and sailed to the Isle of Balar, and with him went his ward, Ereinon, the son of King Fingon who died at Gothmog’s hand some years before.  Beyond the water Gothmog would not go, and so those that could go on followed Cirdan to freedom.  Hurin was suffered to look upon every evil deed else that followed in the aftermath until Melkor had his fill. 

Melkor put down his Orb and extended his tired limbs saying “Ah! It is good to stretch - is it not? …Hurin?”  But Hurin was sat in traumatised silence.  Melkor asked “What ails you Hurin?”  On receiving no reply, Melkor spoke again as one realising something new, “Oh! Of course, you have not stretched your limbs for over a year have you?  Well you cannot run from here, I suppose I could give you five minutes…”  But Hurin interjected, “You truly are The Morgoth; you slaughter the undefended and innocent without restraint and this delights you, then you speak to me of stretching my limbs as though I am a child, your child.  You are the child, Morgoth, a treacherous wicked child that knocks down what is not its own, and one that knows no boundaries.  You are the deadly brat that cannot share with its siblings, and I pity you for it, but all the more do I hate you.  I am not your secret friend, I am not your confidant, look at me I am your prisoner but I will no longer be your plaything.  I say to you now Morgoth, with the eyes of death - keep your plans to your own and get thee gone from my sight!”  And Melkor went; for a long time he spoke to no other, and he never forgot Hurin’s words and he never forgave them, but Hurin he slew not.