Chapter Text
It was the first of April in the year TA 2951. Blue light flickered against the walls of the Nazgul break room. On the screen were images of a distant war, or possibly a natural disaster.
Khamul wasn't really watching. He slid over on the sofa until his knee touched Adunaphel's and then oh-so-casually rested a hand on her thigh. He would have done more, but her uncle Akhorahil was standing directly behind them. Curse the old man's bad back.
They were lucky to have this space. Ji Indur had created it by altering a construction drawing and then forging Sauron's signature. He then found some unguarded furniture and gave it a new home.
Outside, muffled sounds of construction made it through the walls, the click-click of a ratchet lifting stone and the shouts of workers. The new tower was going up with astonishing speed. It gained a new story every few days. They were currently on the tenth floor, which had only existed for a week. The twelfth floor was at this moment being assembled above their heads.
"Where's Sauron?" asked Ji.
Khamul's head snapped toward the door, but it was safely closed. "You know he forbids that name to be spoken aloud. We're supposed to call him Lord Zigur."
Ji Indur rolled his eyes. "He's not outside the door, Khamul. He's still down at the construction site. And technically, Sauron's not his given name. That's just an insult the Elves hurl at him. It means filth."
"I realize that. When we first met, he introduced himself as Mairon" said Khamul.
Click. Images of devastation gave way to a reality show about teams about Orcs raiding villages. Ji acted like having obtained the break room for them entitled him to total control of the remote. Flames rose from the thatch to the sound of Orcish drums.
"I could watch that," said Ren the Unclean, pulling up a chair.
"Ji, just pick a channel and stick to it. Or give the remote to someone else," said Dwar.
Click. Ji's voice was teasing. "On public television, there's a documentary on the early days of Valinor, 'From the Ainulindale to Melkor's rebellion. Filmed in Valinor, with subtitles.'"
"Boring," said Ren.
At Khamul's side, Adunaphel went rigid. "Filmed in Valinor? On location? When I was growing up in Númenor, I'd have given anything to see Valinor. We have to see it, we must!"
Dwar looked up from his jigsaw puzzle. "No subtitles. I can't read subtitles and do my puzzle at the same time." The dog at his feet thumped its tail against the slates.
"My niece is right. We Númenorians longed to see Valinor, so tantalizingly close and just beyond reach. When I was young, I climbed to the peak of Mount Meneltarma, hoping to get a glimpse of those sacred lands, but I never did."
"Sorry, Númenorians. You've been out-voted." Ji clicked back to the reality show.
The Witch King's large Númenorian frame filled the doorway. "Where's Uvatha? I need him to carry a message to … Is that a program about Valinor?" His face filled with longing. "I used to sail as close to their shores as I dared,. Probably too close, when I look back on it. When the ship lifted high on a swell, I'd climb into the rigging and look west, but I never saw more than the green reflection of fields and meadows on the underside of clouds."
"So that's three votes for the documentary. But I still have the remote," said Ji.
"I'm bigger than you, and less patient," said the Witch King, exuding menace.
With a sign, Ji pointed the remote and clicked on the public television channel.