Aule's Dilemma by Uvatha the Horseman  

---

A Hidden Message

---

Dol Guldur - Present Day (TA 2018)

Mordor was on the eve of war. His master was planning a number of invasions, all to launch at the same moment. Khamûl was in a high state of readiness as he waited for the order to strike.

To calm his nerves, he rode patrol around the base of the fortress, his usual circuit, just inside the boundary where bare rock projected above the forest. Khamûl's mount picked its way over the rocky slope with caution. At the edge of his vision, he saw a lady in green among the old-growth trees. Dark hair hung to her waist, and the emerald hem skimmed the tops of her bare feet. He'd seen her before, more than once, but only from the corner of his eye. When he turned to look, he saw only trees and vines.

It happened often enough that he mentioned it in his report to Barad Dur. His Master wrote back immediately. "What did she look like? What was she wearing? Did she speak to you?" In his reply, Khamûl described the long black hair, the dark green dress cinched with a long-tailed belt, the silver circlet. But he'd only seen her from the corner of his eye. He had a hard time separating what he'd seen from what he'd imagined.

This time, when he turned to look, she was still there. Her feet were bare, and her dress floated around her, moving in a breeze that didn't stir the leaves of the trees around her. Khamûl tried to breathe, but couldn't use the air he took in. His vision narrowed to a tunnel. His head whirled, and he tried to grip the saddle horn for balance.

When he opened his eyes, the side of his face was pressed against the litter of the forest floor, cold and damp. Dampness from the earth had soaked his clothes from chest to knees. His mouth tasted of dirt. The lady in green spoke inside his head, which took the form of music and images. I need you to carry a message to your Master. Deliver it into his hand. Leave tonight. It's urgent.

His fingers closed around something stiff with sharp corners, a small bundle of parchment held closed with red wax.

He turned it over. A single word on the back, Mairon. Sauron had used that name when he first introduced himself to Khamûl, but that was a long time ago. Khamûl was surprised that someone who wasn't a Nazgûl would refer to him by that name.

Barad-dûr - Present Day (TA 3018)

Khamûl rode for five days, changing horses at all the regular stations. Finally, he passed through the last gate defending Barad-dûr, admitted without having to identify himself or his purpose. Foam dripped from the horse's mouth, and his sweat soaked through Khamûl's lower clothing.

It was almost impossible to grasp the size of the Tower. He was near a high wall, built directly on the foundations. There was another wall above that, and another above that. Any of the towers at the corners, which looked like ornaments on the walls of Barad-dûr, could have been a freestanding fortification by itself.

In an inner courtyard, Khamûl dropped to the cobblestones on shaky legs and headed for a stairway, the shortest route to the main level. An Orc guard jumped out of his way.

He reached the main level and grabbed the collar of the first person he saw, a plain-robed official, "Where is Sau…our Master?" Sauron forbade his name to be spoken, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"His nibs? He's in the War Room. All the higher-ups are with him. They've been in there for days."

Khamûl released the man's collar and sprinted several flights up the main staircase, then along a main hallway, then down a side hall. His legs burned from the long ride, and he hadn't spent the time to catch his breath when he dismounted.

The door to the War Room was ajar. Sauron's voice drifted into the hall. "…every barrack, kitchen, and cradle. Leave none alive."

Khamûl approached the door near the foot of the table. People were standing in front of it, blocking it. Khamûl peered between their heads. His master stood at the head of the table, leaning over a map of Gondor. Auburn hair hung in his face, half-concealing his sharp features and broken nose. Models of siege engines weighed down the corners of the scroll.

The door near the head of the table was ajar. Khamûl flung open the door, accidentally hitting his master.

"Khamûl, what the hell." Sauron rubbed his arm.

"The Lady … in Green…sent you…." He held out the letter and trailed off, breathing hard.

Sauron froze. "You saw Yavanna?" He broke the seal and bent to read. When he looked up, his face was corpse-white. He shoved past Khamûl to reach the corridor.

The Witch King jumped to his feet and shoved Khamûl out of the way.

Khamûl jumped up and followed the two of them. His legs still ached and his lungs burned, and he struggled to keep up, losing sight of them after four flights of stairs. He picked up the scent again on the eighth floor where banging sounds emerged from the volcano side of the Tower where Sauron kept rooms for his personal use.

The doorway to the antechamber stood open. Inside, Angmar pounded on a heavy wooden door with his fist. "Open this door. We need to talk."

Members of Sauron's personal guard, minor officials, and servants who didn't need to be there crowded around in the hall. Khamûl waved them away.

Sauron's manservant, a middle-aged man of Númenorian descent, busied himself in the outer room, straightening things that didn't need to be straightened. Khamûl was serious about clearing the rooms. "You too. You're done for the day." Khamûl pointed toward the door.

He was just pulling the outer door shut when Urzahil of Umbar tried to push through. "As The Mouth of Sauron and Mordor's Chief Ambassador, I need to know what's going on."

"For now, you can be the Doorstop of Sauron. Stand here and don't let anyone in." Khamûl shouldered the door and slit the bolt. Urzahil's words came muffled through the heavy planks. "Open this door at once! You can't lock me out, I outrank you." Pompous git.

Angmar tried the inner door. It was locked. He spoke an enchantment, low and harsh-sounding, over the latch. Still locked. He cursed under his breath. "That should have worked."

He stepped back and kicked the door beside the handle. The wood splintered, and the door swung open. The door jamb bloomed with fragments of pale wood where the strike plate had been.

Angmar leaned again the shattered door-jamb, his arms crossed. "Spill. Someone got to you. What was it? Blackmail or extortion?"

Khamûl stood in the doorway, hesitant to enter his master's chamber without being invited.

Inside, tall windows looked out on the volcano. The fountaining of lava had ceased, although orange light still flickered in the crater.

The shutters had been folded back, leaving the room open to the sulfur-fouled air. The breeze carried the April chill, stirring the papers on the table. Khamûl would have put wood on the fire, but the room didn't have a fireplace.

The only decoration on the walls was an ancient standard hanging above the headboard, the plain black linen faded and deteriorated with age. It bore no device, but its meaning was well-known - Servant of Melkor.

Their master lay on the narrow bed, facing the wall with his arms around his body. One arm covered his eyes, and his mouth moved in silent speech. Khamûl could read lips reasonably well. He only caught a little, but what he did see included "Creator of All Things" and "grant me courage."

Khamûl suddenly felt cold. He had never seen his master in a state of despair before. Sauron was a fighter. Once when he'd been mortally wounded in battle and bleeding out, he still had the presence of mind to slay the Elf who'd run him through. Seeing him collapse before the fight even began was not like him.

Angmar crossed the room and sat on the foot of the bed. He laid a hand on their master's ankle. "Mairon, I'm on your side. I want to help you, but you have to tell me what happened."

"Go away. You can't help me." Sauron didn't move.

"Just tell me what happened," said Angmar.

Sauron waved a hand toward a small table against the wall. On its polished surface sat the letter, with the seal broken and half open. It was folded in thirds, like a personal letter. Khamûl went to the table and picked it up.

The broken halves of the wax seals bore no identifying imprint. Khamûl unfolded the letter. There were only two lines of text, without greeting or signature.

The flowing script was written in black ink on cream-colored parchment. It was written in an unfamiliar language. He scanned the page, but didn't see a single word he knew. He read the first few words aloud, sounding out the familiar Tengwar letters.

"You're pronouncing it wrong." Angmar jumped up and snatched the letter from Khamûl's hands. He translated,

     It was given to me to destroy.
     Do nothing to save yourself.

Sauron wailed, a high, shrill keening like an animal being killed.

"So that would explain why Khamûl and I are dead, and you've been reduced to a spirit haunting the broken stones around your ruined Tower. Funny, we didn't notice when it happened," said Angmar.

"I'm aware that it hasn't been destroyed. Yet," said their Master.

"It's obviously fake, a clever ruse engineered to stop the invasion," said Angmar.

"It's not fake. I know my old master's handwriting, and Yavanna delivered it to Khamûl."

"In that case, it's exceedingly cruel. He's telling you it's about to happen, and you can't do a thing about it." Angmar's voice was steady, but the letter trembled in his hand.

"Aulë is not cruel. He's capable of dispatching his own people, but he'd do it with a single blow, unanticipated and unfeared. He doesn't make threats, and he doesn't gloat."

Khamûl said, "The letter says, It was given to me to destroy, but it doesn't say, and I'm going to do it. What if it's not a threat? What if it's a warning? It has the look of something sent in great secrecy, like a dispatch from a spy which had to pass through many hands and risk having its seal broken and its contents read. If I were to guess, I'd say your old master is tipping you off about something, and is afraid of getting in trouble if he's caught."

Sauron lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. "Then how do you explain, Nothing can save you?

Angmar took the letter from Khamûl. "The exact words are, Do nothing to save yourself."

Sauron sat up and swung his feet to the floor, suddenly animated.

"That's the hidden message! To save yourself, Do nothing. The letter arrived when we were about to invade Gondor. That can't be a coincidence. I think Aulë is telling me, If you call off the War, I won't destroy the Ring.

"Now for the unpleasant part. I have to tell my captains that the Invasion is off." Angmar's face fell. He was to have led the invasion, but was quick to hide his disappointment.

Sauron headed for the door, but came to a dead stop at the splintered doorjamb, where a decorative iron door lock hung twisted and bent from the ruined wood.

"I made that latch with my own hands. Why'd you have to break it?"

"Well, your latch almost broke my foot, so we're even," said Angmar.