Chapter Text
Chapter 1 - The Spy
Dol Guldur, TA 2851
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“I think I can find it. I’ll be right back.” Khamûl said to his Master. He slipped through the door and hurried down the corridor.
But a few minutes later, he got an urgent summons to return. He retraced his steps at a dead run, but pulled up short in front of a heap of debris blocking the corridor. The ceiling of the corridor had collapsed. The stone dust made him cough.
A terrible thought struck him. Had the Council Chamber collapsed as well?
“My Lord! Are you all right? Adûnaphel? Uvatha?”
He listened, but there was no answer. He was sick with fear, until he heard muffled shouting and banging on the other side of the obstruction. He considered what to do next.
The rubble was shoulder high. There was enough space on top to crawl through, but the ceiling was unstable. Heavy blocks could fall at any time. He scrambled over the broken stones as quickly as possible, clearing the dangerous area without incident.
The doors of the Council Chamber were pinned shut by debris, trapping his Master and the others inside.
“I’m going to dig you out. Just give me a minute to organize the laborers.” said Khamûl.
“No. Catch the spy.” shouted Sauron.
It went against his every instinct to abandon his Master, but Khamûl obeyed him. He ran to the guards’ post and sent bands of orcs fanning out down the hillside in pursuit of the Grey Wizard.
Negligence
“You walked right by him. He was standing behind the door. You didn’t see him?”
“I didn’t look.”
“You didn’t sense his presence?”
Khamûl tried to remember.
“I did, but I was in a hurry and didn’t slow down to look. I thought there was no one here but us, so I thought I was imagining things.”
His Master turned away, his fists clenching and unclenching.
“How did he get in?”
The moment his Master asked the question, Khamûl knew what had happened, and he knew that it was his fault. The East Portal. That’s how the spy got in last time, as far as they could tell. Sauron feared the Valar were about to attack, and fled the same day.
Sauron returned four hundred years later. When they reoccupied the fortress, Khamûl should have posted a guard to watch the hidden exit, or at least secured it with a lock or bar. But the invasion was ancient history by then, and he simply forgot.
“I forgot to secure the portal. He got in the same way he did the first time.”
“You forgot.”
Sauron backhanded him across the face. That had never happened before. Khamûl put his hand to his cheek, gasping. Sauron motioned two men-at-arms to come over.
“Take him down to the cells.”
Arrested
Khamûl allowed himself to be led to the dungeons. The stone steps were narrow and slippery with algae. He smelled damp, black mold, and worse, urine. He could have overpowered his guards easily, but he submitted to his Master’s orders. A jailor showed him to a tiny cell. Khamûl stepped in, and the door was locked behind him.
Now that his Master’s identity had been exposed, the Valar might attack him here. Khamûl knew his Master wasn’t strong enough to defend himself. Khamûl also knew that Sauron feared capture by the Valar more than he feared anything else.
Khamûl was sick with self-reproach. No matter what his Master decided to do to him, he would submit to it without a word of complaint.
Sometime later, his Master came down to the cells and confronted him through the bars.
“Give me your ring.”
Khamûl would have liked to refuse, but he pulled it off his hand. It slipped off easily. Normally, he would have had to struggle to get it past his knuckle. Reluctantly, he handed it through the bars.
Without it, the connection was broken, the song fell silent. His hand touched his Master’s for a moment, but without his ring, he couldn’t read his Master’s thoughts.
Without his ring, Khamûl was mortal. He was no longer a Nazgûl, immune from death. He was aware that he might die of old age in this cell before he was released. He stood in the cell, too agitated to sit down.
He had other worries. They must be having emergency strategy sessions to decide their next move. Khamûl was a master tactician. He should be there. He was worried about his Master’s safety. He wanted to help.
There was something else. The last time a spy got in, they abandoned Dol Guldur the same day. They might already had left. Khamûl feared he’d be left behind, forgotten in this cell.
He asked the jailor to take a message to his Master, apologizing for what happened and accepting responsibility for it. The jailor went upstairs to deliver it. He was still waiting for an answer.
After pacing for hours, he lay on the stone floor of the cell. In the evening, a jailor brought a tray, but he left it untouched.
Brought to the Scaffold
He spent a restless night. Midmorning, he heard a key turn in the lock. When the cell door opened, he lifted his head from the floor.
“You’re wanted upstairs.”
“Why?”
“He wants to make an example of you, to let people know what happens to those who neglect their duty.”
Whatever happens, just accept it. He drew a deep breath, and held it, and let it out.
Khamûl walked between two guards, his eyes on the floor. They brought him out into the courtyard, which was mobbed with people. The crowd fell silent when Khamûl appeared. He was aware that all eyes were on him. He didn’t like that. As a ranger, he preferred to be the one doing the watching
The crowed parted to make a path for them to walk to a low scaffold which, he was sure, wasn’t there yesterday. The smell of new wood reached him from a distance.
He kept his eyes on the ground and focused on the gravel and blades of grass at his feet, to avoid looking at the scaffold. He didn’t want to see the gallows, or the men who had just been hanged on them. He didn’t think that he was going to be hanged. He didn’t know what was going to happen to him, but whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
His Master was standing on the scaffold. Khamûl couldn’t see his face behind the steel mask, but he didn’t need to. He could read his mood from the way he carried himself, and right now, his Master was as pitiless as a stone. He held a rod in one hand, which he slapped against his palm.
At a word from his Master, Khamûl mounted the scaffold.
“Do you have anything to say?” his Master asked him.
Khamûl fought the impulse to explain why it wasn’t his fault, and to remind his Master of his long and faithful service. If he made excuses, Sauron would have had him hanged. Khamûl lowered his eyes.
“I submit to whatever sentence you choose for me, and humbly beg pardon for my faults.” said Khamûl.
Adûnaphel and Uvatha stood near the wall. Uvatha was holding her by the arms while she fought to shake him loose. Khamûl met her eyes across the courtyard. He thought she was sending him a message, but since he wasn’t wearing a ring, he couldn’t hear her.
“Take off your mantle.”
With shaking hands, Khamûl undid the clasp at the throat and handed it to one of the guards. He started to undo the fasteners of his shirt, but stopped when his Master pushed his hand away with tip of the rod.
“Turn around.”
He did, and looked out on the sea of people filling the courtyard.
“Stand perfectly still with your hands at your sides. Don’t move unless I tell you.”
Sauron paced back and forth behind him, slapping the rod into the palm of his hand. Startled, Khamûl flinched at the sound.
“Your negligence allowed a spy to get into the fortress.”
There was a whistling sound, and a blow. Tears sprang into his eyes.
“Do you have any idea what that means? You’ve endangered all our lives.”
A second blow.
“Now the Valar know I’m here. They could attack this place at any moment.”
A third.
He lost count at twenty. They kept coming. A particularly hard one made him lose his balance and fall hard on his knees. He caught himself on the palms of his hands, which stung from getting scraped on the splintery planks.
He knelt there, frozen. He didn’t know if he was supposed to get up. He didn’t know if he could.
At a word from his Master, strong men grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. He kept his head down and didn’t look at anyone.
“Take him to his room.”
He’d expected to be taken back down to the cells. It was over. He sagged with relief.
Recovering
The guards didn’t know where his room was, so Adûnaphel went along to show them.
After they left, Adûnaphel loosened his clothes and helped him to lie facedown on the bed.
“Let’s have a look at the damage.”
She lifted his shirt and pulled the waistband of his leggings down over his hips.
“There’s no blood. The skin’s not broken, so you won’t have stripes, but your entire back is blue and purple. You have a few blows across the kidneys, so you might piss blood for a day or two. Let me take your boots off. And do you want help getting out of your clothes?”
She left the room for a few minutes, and came back with a small phial of black liquid.
“Poppy syrup. It should knock you out until morning.”
He held his breath and choked down the bitter draught. Adûnaphel got up to leave, and pulled the door shut behind her. Khamûl didn’t hear the bolt shot home. He wasn’t locked in. He heard voices in the hall.
“I thought he was going to be executed.” said Uvatha. Khamûl hadn’t known he was there.
“I didn’t. Sauron needs him, and his loyalty is beyond question.” said Adûnaphel.
That’s how she remembers it now, but I saw Uvatha trying to restrain her.
Forgiven
Khamûl lay face down, sleeping fitfully. His whole body ached, even the backs of his arms. If he attended Council meetings tomorrow, he would have to do it standing.
He didn’t open his eyes when he heard the door open. He didn’t have to. Wood smoke, fresh turned earth, and something metallic. Iron, maybe. Footsteps entered the room and stopped beside the bed. Khamûl held his breath.
A hand touched his hair, and he heard a whispered blessing. There was a metallic clink as something was set down on the small table beside the bed. A moment later, the door close softly.
Khamûl opened his eyes. His ring was sitting on the table. He reached for it and put it on.