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Elrond didn’t know how he ended up on the planning committee for Sauron’s surprise birthday party. He wasn’t sure why they were even celebrating the birthday at all—could someone who had been alive since before the beginning of time even have birthdays? Surely no one knew how old he was. How did one fit an ageless amount of candles on a birthday cake?
That was, fortunately, a problem for Ugpak and only a minor problem for him as Celebrian had volunteered him to help with the baking at first chance she got. Based on the look of joy on Ugpak’s face, Elrond had the sneaking suspicion that the uruk had requested his help. He wasn’t sure if he should feel flattered or just plain annoyed.
It was all he could do to keep up with Ugpak’s instructions. There was no denying the uruk’s passion for baking as he went down a list of the various types of flours and the benefits and cons to each of their uses. He then compared duck eggs to goose eggs to chicken eggs to snake eggs. And then the various types of lards and their uses in baking. Man lard was apparently superior to pig lard but neither was as good as some good old goose grease. As Elrond looked at each ingredient laid out on the table, he tried not to think about where everything came from.
Ugpak gave the instructions as Elrond tried to follow them the best he could but the uruk went quickly.
He stopped suddenly and smacked the elf on the back of the head. “What are you doing?”
“Mixing in the eggs like you said.” Elrond looked down at the batter in his bowl.
“Tell me,” the uruk said. “Did the eggs run over your dog? You’re mixing them in like you’re punishing them. Be gentle. An angry batter makes an angry cake.”
“I was being gentle.”
Ugpak rolled his eyes. “Now add the flour gently…GENTLE!”
Elrond jumped and flour went everywhere.
The uruk sighed and made a tsking sound. He pulled out a cake pan and set it on the floury table. “Once that’s mixed we can pour it in the pan. Gently.”
Elrond poured the mixture into the ready pan as slowly and gently as he could. Probably not gentle enough as Ugpak continued a quiet chorus of “Gently. Gently. Gently. Gently. Oh, just let me do it.”
The uruk snatched the bowl from his grip and finished pouring the batter into the pan. He then took the pan and put it inside the nearby waiting oven.
“Now the ovens tend to run a bit hotter here than the ones you’re probably used to. Fires of Mt. Doom and all that. So you’re going to want to watch it carefully. It won’t take long to bake.”
“What am I watching for?” Elrond tried to look through the tiny window on the door but couldn’t see his cake through the grime.
Ugpak pushed him out of the way and looked through the glass. “Well, flames isn’t good. Your cake’s on fire.”
“So what do I do?”
“Probably want to put the fire out. Unless you’re baking a cake for Gothmog.” He chuckled. “Gothmog likes them flaming.”
Elrond opened the oven and sure enough flames shot out. He looked around for water and spying a pitcher, dumped the contents onto the cake. The flames shot up in a giant fireball that singed his eyebrows.
“Water usually works better than ale,” Ugpak said, completely unfazed. “Here.” He took a second pitcher, one that Elrond now saw was clearly labeled ‘Water,’ and poured it into the inferno. A great deal of smoke rose up with a loud hiss. He took the smoking brick—which was the only way to describe the blackened lump-and set it on the table.
The two of them stared at it for a moment.
“It’s not the… worst …for a first try,” Ugpak said, at last. “We’ll just cover it up with a lot of frosting and the Dark Lord won’t know the difference.” He patted Elrond on the back. “No use crying over burnt cake.”
“I’m not crying.”
“That’s the spirit. Chin up. I’ll fix it.” He studied it for a moment before turning to Elrond. “Why don’t you go see if Celebrian needs help with the decorations? She should be in the Torture Room.”
“The Torture Room?”
Ugpak nodded. “Yes. The Torture Room. Named after Sydney Torture, the Dark Lord’s favorite author.”
Elrond entered the Torture Room and stopped and stared. Uruks were running hither and thither hanging decorations while Celebrian stood in the center directing like a conductor at a symphony. Already the room was a bizarre mixture of themes. Paper mache palm trees lined the walls, interspersed with racks and spikey instruments.
“Oh, there you are!” Celebrian said as she saw him. “What happened to your eyebrows?”
“Cake accident.” He looked around the room. Two uruks bumped into him carrying a large suckling pig complete with an apple in its mouth. “What’s the theme we’re going for here?”
“Tropical torture.”
“Tropical…torture?”
“Yes. That bear trap goes by the door,” she said to an uruk who was passing by. “Isn’t this going to be wonderful?” She said to her husband. “Good food and dancing and—“
“Dancing?”
“The Ringwraiths have put together a band.”
“Can they even sing?”
“Of course they can. They have lovely voices.”
Elrond laughed. “That can only be heard by dogs.”
“Stop it.”
She smacked him gently on the arm. "That's very rude. They've all been working very hard."
An uruk scurried up to them with a large box in his arms. He attempted to bow but with the box in the way, the best he managed was smacking Elrond in the chest a corner. “Here are the costumes you were wanting. Took me all morning to track them down. They were in Adar's room for some reason.” He handed it to Celebrian.
She smiled. "Thank you so very much for looking." She took the box and held it out to Elrond. “Here. Take this to Khamul.”
“And Khamul is?”
“One of the Ringwraiths," she replied, rolling her eyes. "They’re practicing in the garden.”
He was certain that the word ‘garden’ was being used loosely. It wasn’t his first time in Galadriel’s Garden but it never ceased to catch him off guard. In his experience, gardens involved flowers. This garden was simply a bunch of spiky shrubs. Poisonous shrubs from what he had been told. As he walked through the garden path, he kept his arms held tightly to his body. Always the shrubs seemed to reach for him.
“Hello?” Elrond approached the group nervously. They’re just wraiths in robes. They’re just wraiths in robes. They’re just wraiths in robes. Nothing to fear. He repeated the words to himself over and over again. Wraiths always made him nervous no matter how many nice things his mother-in-law said about them.
All nine hooded heads turned toward him with a hsssss.
“I’ve…um….I’ve brought this. It’s from Celebr—“
The wraiths descended on him and pulled the box from his hands. Immediately they began to rifle through its contents. One wraith remained standing apart and stared at him.
“Are you Khamul?”
The wraith pointed. “That issssss Khamul. I am… Steve.”
“I’m sorry. You all look the same.”
The wraiths all hissed in unison and Elrond knew he had messed up. “I’m so sorry. It’s just the robes that all look the same.”
“Nonsensssse. Thissss robe is black and that one is charcoal and that one is ebony and that one isssss sable and—“ Steve pointed to each one as he spoke.
“Alright. I get it. I’m sorry again.”
The wraiths had emptied the box of its contents…grass skirts and coconut bras which they had all put on over their black, sable, charcoal, and ebony robes. They pointed and snickered at one another. An unsettling sound that sounded a bit like a leaking radiator.
“I’ve heard that you guys have started a band,” Elrond said, trying to be polite. “What are you called?”
“Khamul and Steve and—“
“No, no. I meant your band name.”
The wraiths quickly put their heads together and whispered a moment.
“The Ringwraithssss,” Steve said proudly once they had finished.
“Clever. Very original. I look forward to hearing you guys perform later.”
“Would you like to hear us now?” All nine wraiths looked at him expectantly.
He tried to think of an excuse but nothing came to him. “Oh, very well.”
They quickly lined up. Steve looked down the row before beginning, “One and a two and a—“
“SCHREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEH”
Elrond had to listen to four songs before word arrived that the Dark Lord and Lady were on the bridge and would soon be there. All four songs sounded the exact same and yet he was forced to choose a favorite regardless. He chose the second which earned Steve a high five from the others in the group.
They arrived in the Torture Room at once. The lights were put out except and everyone hid behind palm trees and implements of torture.
The door opened and everyone stood up and shouted. “SUPRRISE!”
Sauron jumped. He grabbed his mace and swung it around, striking a nearby uruk. Everyone froze.
Galadriel broke the silence at last, stepping over the dead uruk to kiss her husband on the cheek. “Happy birthday, my dear. Ugpak, the cake.”
Ugpak, with his bowtie in place, walked forward carrying a small cake, smothered in black frosting with a hundred tiny pink rosettes pipped around the top. Elrond briefly wondered if it was his own cake beneath the decorations or if Ugpak had baked a new one just as soon as he had left the room.
“Elrond helped a bit with the baking,” Ugpak said, a note of apology in his voice.
“I’m sure he did the best he was capable of,” Sauron said with a smirk in Elrond’s direction.
“Shall we sing?” Celebrian joined in. “Happy birthday to you…”
The rest of the room joined in, overshadowed by the ringwraith’s screeching. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Mairon, Gorthaur, Zigûr, Annatar, Artano, Aulendil, the Dark Lord. Happy birthday to you!”
Elrond could’ve sworn that there were tears in the Maia’s eyes.
“Thank you all so very much,” Sauron said, looking around the room. Ugpak, in particular, beamed from ear to ear. “I couldn’t have asked for a better…how old am I?” He whispered to Galadriel.
She shrugged.
“Well, however old I am, I’m lucky to have such wonderful friends and family here. And also, Elrond. Nice to see you again. You must’ve been up early helping with the party. You certainly look exhausted.”
Celebrian elbowed him in the ribs and he replied, “Not at all. It’s been my pleasure.”