Month: December 2017

Dearest brother. I do sincerely hope life is treating you well – That your furnace runs hot and your dungeons are full. I fear I feel the need to ask for help as I need your sturdy hand and keen mind. See I am having slight troubles finding a sword that fits in this splendid sheathe that I’ve made. There seem to be no swords in the fortress that compare in girth or length to those of your making, and I would be honored to have you join me in my Chambers tonight for this collaboration – Mairon

“Dear brother,

What on earth are you playing at? What sort of smith makes a sheath in absence of a sword? You are going about this all backwards, how did you even begin this endeavor without first having measurements for–”

This first part of the note is crossed out heavily. It continues farther down the page. 

“You were being facetious. I see the joke now. My apologies. 

I could use a respite. I’ve been working too long, it makes me over-literal, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.

Please infer the appropriate amount of double-entendre and salacious humor – Something something Well-Oiled Blade, something something Pounding something something Tightly Fitted, etc. etc.

I’ll be there at a quarter to ten, my minx. Could you find it in your heart to tuck your claws in and give me a shoulder rub? My ‘girthy blade’ and I would be much obliged. 

Yours in exhaustion, 

~Thû 

Dear Sauron: I heard you like dogs. What is your favorite kind of dog, and why did you let Huan kick your ass?

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Dearest Lady Sath, your sources betray you. 

It is -wolves- I am historically fond of, not hounds; though I have found the company of certain beasts agreeable. This is a recent development (domesticated animals, as a phenomenon, are a recent development by my reckoning). Dogs are part of the world of Men, and it was not until I joined their company that I made favorable acquaintance with any. They were bred largely to hunt and guard against intruders; a set of abilities usually pitted against me and mine– as you well know, given your last question. I cannot decide if its tone is impertinent or naively generous; ought I be flattered by the assumption that I *let* the hound of Oromë win? Or is this mockery? I shall give you the benefit of the doubt. 

I could waste a great deal of paper expounding on the nature of Maiar’s abilities (for Huan is indeed a Maia), and predestination, and the circumstances of our battle– but I will spare you the long treatise and simply say that continuing to fight would have been deeply disadvantageous to me. Tol Sirion was an important holding in North Beleriand and its loss was grievous, but not so much so that I was willing to stake my physical body on the chance of its recapture. In short, it was not a hill I was ready to die on. So, I fled. I did not throw the fight; Fate itself was against me, and if two of the Valar bowed to Luthien’s charms, a Maia like myself need not feel shame forever over such a defeat. Besides, Huan is dead, his houseless spirit fled back to his master in Aman, while I remain. 

After all that, I fear I did not answer your question, Lady Sath. I’m partial to the aloof energy of the larger Spitzes; Shepherds I admire for their intelligence and loyalty; and a Molosser is a grand, imposing companion for a lord to keep at his side.  

I hope I have satisfied your curiosity on this matter. Should you wish to make further inquiries, you should find me at the University of Umbar. 

 Yours,

The Emperor of the Eastern Kingdoms, Lord of Mordor and its Vassal States, Zîgur of the Temple of Freedom

~Ar-Anaškad Thû (Sauron) 


P.S. Cats are lovely too.

dear lord Sauron. i would like to thank you for your arms. that is all.

Another unsigned note! A secret admirer? Perhaps. But more importantly, it means someone is sneaking around in the fortress without his knowledge. He tears off a square of parchment and leaves it in letter’s place. 

To our flatterer: No need to thank me– their sight is free, and my gift to all. Meet me at the eastern gatehouse an hour past sunset, if you’d like a closer look at them. 

~S  

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[It’s not so much a *letter*, as a scrap of paper with a great big frowny-face with a sticky-out tongue drawn on it in wax-pencil, and it’s not so much *delivered* as manages to impale itself on one of the nearest dark lords’ pointy-bits. It’s not even signed.]

The note is not signed, and though Melkor speaks fluent frownyface, it seems there is not much to respond to even if he knew who’d sent it. The dark lord picks his nose with the paper and tosses it into a brazier. At least it was useful.

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Write a letter to my Muse(s)

–or a note, a secret missive, a message of any sort that can be responded to, and they will send their reply. Be sure to include who the message is intended for, and the manner of its delivery. 

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