Iron Ember Chapter 2: The Cutie Mark Conspiracy
Thank you so much to my reviewers; you guys have really kept me going.
The Tolkien Legendarium is owned by the Tolkien Estate, and My Little Pony is owned by Hasbro.
Grass, thought Sauron sourly, laying in bed. My first meal in 4000 years, and it's GRASS.
To be precise, the ceramic bowl sitting on the tray in front of him contained a mixture of grass, sliced cucumbers, carrots, and dandelion stalks.
What was he, an elf!?
Still, as his aching stomach gurgled audibly in a passable imitation of a dying hill troll, it was undeniable that this new body required additional energy to properly function. Sauron grabbed the fork and started shoveling plants into his mouth.
I forgot how annoying it was to have a metabolism, he grumbled internally.
"You look like something's bothering you, Mr. Ember. Do you not like it?" Sweetie Belle asked, looking at him with wide eyes from his bedside.
Sauron schooled his expression as he turned to face the young filly, carefully hiding his annoyance. He had been less than enthused when Rarity had returned downstairs shortly after his arrival, leaving her younger sister to watch over him until she closed her shop for the day. His 'amnesia' wouldn't remain plausible for very long, and he had a very narrow window of time to gather information about this strange realm before his ignorance began to draw suspicion. Sauron had been counting on being able to subtly pick Rarity's brain while confined to his bed, but that plan was currently dead in the water. Children were gullible and easily deceived, but were a poor source of reliable information.
Still, he couldn't afford to slack off. If he handled Sweetie Belle properly, she could be a useful tool in gaining the trust and respect of her elders.
"No, it's perfectly fine, thank you," Sauron replied honestly. Despite his reluctance, he could find nothing in the flavor of the salad to complain about, and it was a perfectly reasonable source of vitamins and carbohydrates.
Sauron took a moment to stare at the fork (wooden, to his distaste) that he was somehow holding in his hoof, as if demanding it reveal its secrets. The same pseudo-magnetic adhesion that he had observed in his… hoof-shakes… with the ponies seemed to be causing the implement to cling to his appendage. If that wasn't odd enough, he seemed inexplicably able to articulate it just as he would if he had fingers. There was some sort of magic at work here, there was no other word to use, but damned if he could figure out how it worked.
Nor did he particularly care at the moment, as he was too busy imagining that the fork was a hammer, and that he was standing over an anvil beating a sheet of high-carbon steel into submission. The thought sent a jolt of pure glee coursing through his body, and he had to suppress the urge to giggle maniacally. His joy was short-lived, however, as he remembered his current situation.
Damn it all! I can't work my craft if I'm stuck in this bed! There weren't any suitable tools or materials on hand, and the air circulation in this room was deeply suboptimal for his purposes.
Oh, and I would burn down Rarity's home and leave her destitute, I suppose. But that wasn't important.
Sauron saw Sweetie Belle looking and realized he hasn't answered her yet.
"I was just thinking about what I'm going to do with myself for the next couple of days," Sauron deflected.
Looking around Rarity's guest room, there wasn't much in the way of diversions. On the smaller side, perhaps a converted storage room, around a third of the room's floor space was taken up by the bed itself. There was a bedside table with an empty flower vase, and a wooden armoire dominated one side of the room. The wall by the door was occupied by a sparsely populated bookshelf, and sunlight filtered through a glass-paned window by the bed, providing a view of the town's agricultural hinterlands and the snow-capped mountains beyond.
Sweetie Belle was saying something, but Sauron barely heard her. He was busy trying to anticipate what kinds of ore and minerals those mountain would yield.
Based on their color, height, and comparative lack of weathering, they seem to be relatively young igneous formations created from either a coastal subduction zone or a mid-continental mantle plume. The resultant magma intrusions will have left high concentrations of useful elements, but I shall need to research the region's hydrologic history to determine whether or not coal will be present in sufficient quantities for-
"Mr. Ember?"
Sauron emerged from his geological reverie to see Sweetie Belle staring at him with a concerned look on her face. He mentally scolded himself. Stay focused, dammit! Business before pleasure.
"I'm sorry," he lied easily. "I'm still rather disoriented. What were you saying?"
"Well, I was just asking what you usually like to do with your time, Mr. Ember," Sweetie Belle replied patiently. "Maybe we can figure out something similar to keep you occupied?"
That was an easy question. Even if he had a reason to lie, it was the one part of his nature that he was incapable of concealing. "I'm a smith," Sauron answered immediately. Sweetie Belle's eyes widened.
"Really? Wow, that's so cool!" she cried excitedly, jumping up and down. "What kind of smith are you? A blacksmith? A silversmith?"
Sauron gave her a gratified smirk. You're damn right it's cool. "A master smith, actually," he answered proudly. "If something is made out of metal, I can make it, though my best work is with jewelry. I'm also a fair hand at gem-cutting and stonework."
Sweetie Belle looked suitably impressed. "Well, I guess that explains your Cutie Mark!"
"…"
Sauron stared at her numbly for a long moment. Then he took a deep, steadying breath, and slowly exhaled.
Just go with it. "…Explain, please."
If the young filly was confused by his inquiry, she didn't show it. Sweetie Belle pointed vaguely toward his flank. "Well, I figured that you were some sort of craft-pony based on the imagery, but I didn't want to assume. After all, my sister has diamonds on hers, but that doesn't make her a miner!" she giggled.
With no small amount of trepidation, Sauron craned his neck and examined the indicated flank. Now that he was lying down he was able to get a better look at it, and in doing so noticed an irregularity. There was a distinctive image standing out against the charcoal-grey of his hide: a hammer, its head glowing cherry-red with heat, striking an anvil in a flurry of sparks and cracking the thick steel in half under the force of the blow. Rather than being branded or tattooed into place, the pattern simply seemed to be part of his coat, almost like a birthmark. Sauron realized that he had seen similar marks on the flanks of every other pony he had encountered so far, but had been too distracted to consider whether they were significant or not, erroneously assuming them to be some sort of meaningless accessory.
Sauron decided to probe for more information. "You mentioned that Rarity's mark had diamonds on it, but that it did not necessarily indicate her profession. What does it indicate, then?"
Sweetie Belle shrugged. "Well, my sister's special talent involves using her magic to find gems, which she uses in most of her fashion designs. So I guess it's kind of related…"
Sauron grunted in acknowledgement. So, these 'Cutie Marks' were a physical representation of an individual's natural talents and abilities. That was… actually quite brilliant.
Such distinctions would hypothetically make the formation and maintenance of an efficient, orderly society much easier. There wouldn't be any need to waste time and resources training and educating individuals who were innately suboptimal for a particular task, since everyone would be pigeon-holed into doing what they were best at from the beginning. Only the best possible stonemasons would be stonemasons, only the best glassblowers would blow glass, and so on. Naturally, there would be those whose talents were too niche and circumstantial, as well as tasks and professions that did not require any real skill, but that was what slavery was for.
Unfortunately it seemed that these ponies, like all mortals, allowed themselves to be constrained by sentiment and the vapid pursuit of fleeting 'happiness'. In an ideal world, Rarity would spend her every waking moment chained to a mine cart being used as a mineralogical dowsing rod, rather than wasting time making dresses. All in due time…
"I see. And what, may I ask, is your special talent, Sweetie Belle?" Sauron asked innocently.
The young filly lowered her head with a crestfallen expression, and he realized that he may have accidentally committed some sort of faux pas by asking.
"Actually, my friends and I haven't found our special talents yet. We're the last ponies our age in the whole town without Cutie Marks…" Sweetie Belle muttered to her hooves, a brief flash of frustration and disappointment crossing her face. She shook it off and gave him a determined smile. "But it's ok, we're gonna get them real soon, count on it!"
Sauron blinked at her owlishly as he put together the implications of that. Burning indignation coiled in his belly like a snake, and he seethed inwardly at the profound foolishness of it all. Why in Creation were these marks not assigned at birth!? These ponies were potentially wasting years, YEARS of productivity before receiving them. Men, elves, and the like were handicapped by ambiguous destinies; as such they could almost be forgiven for their disgusting worthlessness during the first decade or so of their lives. These ponies, though, with their "cutie marks", had absolutely no excuse. Who is responsible for this travesty?!
"Have you tried submitting a formal complaint with one of the Princesses? I understand that your sister has the ear of one of them. Who is responsible for dispensing Cutie Marks, exactly? I am sure they could be persuaded given your family's connections," Sauron advised helpfully, fishing for names upon which to visit his displeasure.
"Um, I don't think it works like that," Sweetie Belle answered sheepishly. "Once you find your special talent, it just sort of…happens." She appeared dissatisfied with her answer, as if she felt that she should know more. "You should ask Twilight, she's the expert on magical stuff."
"Oh, I intend to," Sauron replied earnestly. He had much to discuss with this so-called 'Princess'.
Much. To. Discuss.
Sweetie Belle suddenly perked up. "Hold on, I have an idea," she moved over to the bookcase on the wall and started rifling through its sparse contents. After a few moment she returned to his bedside, clutching a slim volume bound in some sort of stiff cloth.
"I think Twilight left this behind for me to read after one of her visits," she said as she handed the book to him. "It's a primer on the basics of Cutie Mark theory from the Royal University in Canterlot."
Sauron tried not to snatch it out of her feeble mortal grasp. Finally, raw information that he didn't have to probe and fish for! He glanced at the cover, which was bare except for the image of an interposed sun and moon, which he took for some manner of official insignia. Sauron eagerly pulled the pages apart and started scanning the off-white paper. Slowly, he frowned, and after several seconds closed the book with a soft sigh. Dammit, Olorin.
"Well, Sweetie Belle," he began, his voice deceptively calm. "I appear to be illiterate."
"Let's see, if I organize the authors chronologically and the subjects by alpha, Cloudmane's 'Dissonance of the Spheres' would go here. However, if I organize the authors by alpha and forego delineating subjects entirely, I would need Starswirl's '27th Lesser Key'. What do you think, Spike?"
"I think you need to make up your mind," the young dragon answered briskly, his voice muffled by the tower of books he carried in his arms. "We've reorganized the library 5 times already. Is this really necessary?"
Twilight Sparkle rolled her eyes at her assistant. "Don't be foolish, Spike. Optimizing the organization of the new library is critical. What if I had to find a book, or five, or twenty in a hurry? Even I can't memorize the exact location of every single one." Not for lack of trying, of course, but she tended to lose track after about 20,000. There were a lot of books.
Many of them were coronation presents, rare tomes and limited editions sent to her by well-to-do well-wishers from across Equestria and beyond upon her ascension into an Alicorn. She had kept them in the old library's magically warded, climate controlled sub-basement, and as such most of them had survived Tirek's attack 6 months ago.
Unlike my home, Twilight thought with a brief pang of anguish. She could still feel the ash on her hooves as she sifted through the smoking wreckage of her former life, trying to salvage anything, anything at all from the place where she had made so many wonderful memories.
But there had been nothing. Nothing left but a few documents in burnt out filing cabinets, all but illegible from the smoke. Tirek had taken everything from her.
Not everything, Twilight Sparkle reminded herself firmly. She still had her friends, and there was nothing in the world that could take them away from her. And they had been there for her, not just in Ponyville but all across Equestria, sending her books and clothes and even furniture to replace what she had lost in the battle. She had finally come into her own as a Princess: bringing communities closer together, fostering better relations with the other nations, and solving social issues all over Equestria.
Life is good, she thought contentedly. No matter what I have to face next, I'll get through it with my friends by my side.
Inspiration struck. "Spike, we're starting over," Twilight said cheerily, sweeping hundreds of books off the shelves with her horn and stacking them in neat stacks on the floor. "Let's try subject by alpha, author by alpha, volume by publication date. Get me Amber Autumn's 'Broken Coil'."
Twilight's ears twitched at the distinct lack of exasperated groans from her assistant, and she turned her head to investigate the anomaly.
"Can I take your coat, Rarity?" Spike asked with a besotted expression on his face.
"Ah yes, thank you darling," the lavender-maned unicorn responded distractedly, passing the young dragon her white wool cardigan.
"…Good evening, Rarity!" said Twilight, quickly pushing her dynamic mental map of the shelving arrangements to the back of her mind and allowing her 'social framework' to take over, a transition which she had seriously struggled with in the past. Fortunately, she had gotten an endless amount of practice with it since she had moved to Ponyville, and what had once involved several minutes of awkward verbal floundering was now reduced to a split-second hesitation.
"Is there something I can help you with?" she continued smoothly, climbing down from the ladder she was perched on top of.
"Good evening, Twilight," Rarity replied politely, winding through the columns of stacked books. "And yes, as much as I enjoy visiting you, I must admit that this isn't purely a social call. I've just come from the mayor's office; they mentioned that you were holding some of the census records that survived the attack?"
Twilight glanced at the charred filing cabinets in the corner. "I am, but why are you-"
She paused as the wheels turned in her head for a moment. The alicorn smiled knowingly.
"Ah, I take it this has something to do with your new friend?" she continued.
Rarity started a little, her eyes wide with surprise.
"Ah, so you know about that already. And here I was trying to help him keep a low profile, too. Really, I should be the last person to underestimate the town grapevine," the unicorn said with chagrin.
Twilight nodded sagely. "Especially when it sprouts from Pinkie Pie. She got a glimpse of you two through the bakery window and… well, you know how she gets. She's already planning one of her usual 'Welcome to Ponyville' surprise parties for him." The hyperactive mare had begun literally bouncing off the walls in excitement at the prospect of a new friend, causing some minor collateral damage in the process.
Rarity gave a dainty cough and shifted nervously. "Ah, about that, Twilight," she replied, looking anxious. "Ember's situation is somewhat... sensitive right now. It may not be the best idea to introduce him to the public just yet."
The fledgling princess frowned at that, and with a glance she dismissed Spike from the room. As her assistant reluctantly closed the door behind him, Twilight turned back to Rarity and said in a low voice, "You mentioned keeping a low profile. What is going on, exactly?"
Rarity told her, and Twilight felt her frown tighten as the unicorn related how the stranger had found his way to Ponyville. Inter-pony violence was relatively rare in Equestria, at least during the Celestial Diarchy era, but it was by no means unheard of. The situation needed careful handling to avoid escalation or misunderstandings, especially with the stallion's apparent amnesia complicating things further.
"I can see why you're concerned, Rarity," the princess stated at length. "And I agree. Until this 'Iron Ember' either regains his memory of the attack or we manage to find some record of his origins, we should try to control the number of people beyond our immediate circle who know about him being here."
"What about this family of his?" the unicorn pressed anxiously. "If they did attack him-"
"We don't know that they did, Rarity," Twilight replied evenly. "At least, not for sure. We need to keep in mind that Ember is not in the best state of mind after his injury. He could easily be misremembering; perhaps he argued with his family and ran away, but then was attacked by something in the forest? Perhaps he is simply confusing the two events together."
"Regardless," she continued, cutting off Rarity's protest. "We should proceed with the assumption that his recollection is accurate, if only so that we are prepared for the worst case scenario."
The princess gestured toward the burnt out filing cabinets in the corner. "These are the remaining overflow census, birth, marriage, and tax records that the library was storing," she told Rarity. "If the Mayor's archives didn't have anything on your new friend's history, then we might find something here."
Twilight really didn't want to believe that any family in modern Equestria would stray so far from the path of Harmony that they would intentionally harm one of their own, but the more she thought about it the more she had to acknowledge that it wasn't impossible. An isolated clan of Earth Ponies in or around the Everfree Forest, involved with their own affairs and customs which were no doubt quite different from those of mainstream Equestria…There really was no telling what such a group would or wouldn't do.
And if they don't recognize the Crown's authority, Twilight extrapolated, then there wouldn't be any record of them paying taxes or answering the census. They might as well be invisible, legally speaking.
Taken with the fact that any pertinent records that did exist had a decent chance of having been destroyed in Tirek's attack, their odds of finding anything to shed light on the mysterious stallion's history were not great. Still, if it would help put Rarity's mind at ease, it couldn't hurt to search.
"Where is Iron Ember now, Rarity?" Twilight asked as she pried open the first cabinet and noticed, with a grimace, that the records still hadn't been placed in proper categorical chrono-alphanumeric order. Dreadful. Shame on her predecessor for letting it slide, and shame on her for overlooking it. She immediately set about correcting the aberration.
"Oh, he's staying at the shop; Sweetie Belle's been minding him," Rarity answered as she magically cleaned out the stray soot from the reams of manila folders. "I think that she was a tad wary of him at first, but it seems that they've been getting on quite well! He was asleep when I left. He certainly seemed like he needed it, the poor dear."
After a few moments, Sauron decided that he rather disliked dreaming.
He had slept before, of course, but that was merely a matter of ceasing strenuous thought and action to maintain his current body's biological rhythms and control stress; essentially a period of advanced meditation. This loss of consciousness however, this utter lack of control as his spirit left its meat-shell and wandered the Path of Dreams, the labyrinthine domain of one of his most recent and bitter enemies: that was new, and he hated it.
And then there were the damned hallucinations.
After a brief period of furious, panicked flailing, Sauron suddenly found himself ankle-deep in a muddy street. More properly, he was fetlock-deep, as it seemed that he was still a bloody HORSE! Of course he was, how dare he believe that he might escape this base humiliation for even a moment?
Huffing in annoyance, the once Dark Lord took stock of his surroundings. The buildings that lined the street were an eclectic mix of wood and stone construction following no real style and, while he curled his lip in distaste at their lack of symmetry or homogeneity of design, he had to admit that they were relatively well-kept. Other…ugh…ponies walked along the street around him, but a cursory examination determined that they were mere phantasmal automatons: scripted scenery conjured by the dream like so many potted plants. Sauron promptly knocked a few of them over and managed to improve his mood somewhat.
As he plodded along the street, which took a winding path upward toward the top of a hill, Sauron began to experience a creeping sense of familiarity. It wasn't much at first, mostly just a few moments of déjà vu at certain turns in the road and a handful of ancient-looking wells, and it wasn't until he reached the top of the hill that he realized where he had seen this place before.
Near the summit of the hill was a large sprawling building, reaching three-stories high in some places. Practically a complex, it was apparent that most parts of the structure, such as the stables and various annexes, had been built at different times around a squat rectangular core made from ancient mossy stone. Warm light emanated from a myriad of scattered windows, and he could hear the sounds of muffled conversations and laughter from inside.
Sauron stared up at the carved sign hanging above the door and rolled his eyes. Damn it, Olorin.
The Inn of the Prancing Pony was much, much older than many knew or even suspected. It had stood here for nearly as long as Bree itself, and there had been a village on this hill since before Melkor's defeat at the end of the First Age, nearly six and a half thousand years before his own final defeat. The Bree-landers had lived and thrived here and in the surrounding hamlets even as empires rose and fell around them, weathering even the Kingdom of Arnor's devastating collapse. While the Northern Dunedaín were depopulated by the Great Plague and their wars with the Witch-King, reduced from great kings to a tiny tribe skulking in the woods, their subjects in Bree had simply endured and gone about their business as usual.
Sauron had come here himself several times in the Second Age, in humble guise of course, while he went about his business in Eriador. Messy architecture aside, he'd found the Inn clean and tidy, the proprietors consistently polite and courteous across generations, and the food wholesome. Truth be told he had eventually grown slightly fond of the place, and in a rare fit of nostalgia had instructed his Nazgul not to wreck the place too badly when they passed through while hunting those filthy halflings. The Witch-King hadn't been pleased with that, as the Bree-landers had fought against him on the side of Arnor all those centuries ago, but the wonderful thing about slaves was that they didn't need to like their orders.
Sauron barged in and quickly scanned the common room, ignoring the innkeeper's warm scripted greeting. The room hadn't changed much in the millennia since he had last visited, but that could just as easily have been a ruse by that bastard Dreamlord Irmo, playing to his expectations so that he would let his guard down.
And his damned student, Sauron thought resentfully. There, at the corner table. Grey coat, white mane, pointy blue hat, smoking one of those foul-smelling pipes; damn his twinkly eyes, he wasn't even trying.
"I suppose you believe that this is all terribly clever, Olorin?" he demanded, slamming his hooves on the table and gesturing furiously between them, at the other patrons, at the inn, at everything.
Gandalf met his glowering gaze evenly, a tiny smile curling around his pipe. "It is not difficult to believe," the former wizard took a long puff, "what one knows, kinsman."
Sauron glared at him furiously for a few moments before slumping into the opposite chair and burying his face in his hooves. "Why…just…why?"
"Why what?" asked Gandalf. "Why the scenery? I thought a nostalgic setting might put you at ease without breaking your immersion-"
"WHY HORSES, OLORIN?!" Sauron snapped out in an enraged, baffled tone. "Magical talking deformed horses with magnetic hand-hooves! How is this even a thing that exists?!"
"Father's ways are indeed mysterious," Gandalf agreed serenely, ignoring his outburst. "But Middle-Earth alone is brimming with equally strange things. If you think about it, the entirety of Creation is absolutely absurd; things only seem normal because they are familiar."
Sauron rolled his eyes impatiently. "Is this why you're holding my sleeping spirit hostage in this phantasm? To debate philosophy?"
Gandalf shrugged. "If you wish, but I suspect that you are hardly in the mood at present. No, you are here so that I may check up on you and monitor your progress." His eyes twinkled infuriatingly. "I must say that you're adjusting better than I had hoped."
"You're awfully concerned about my well-being, for a jailer," Sauron sneered.
"As well I should be," Gandalf said, quirking an eyebrow. "This is all being done for your benefit, after all. And please, think of me more as your counselor and appointed advocate. If anyone is your jailer…well, I suppose you'll meet her eventually."
"And there you go, being needlessly cryptic, as always," Sauron snarled, baring his teeth. "Even now you play your games and taunt me, not content with making my every waking moment a tasteless mockery!"
With a sigh, Gandalf put out his pipe and shook his head. "Mairon, I'm beginning to think that you're taking the entirely wrong attitude about this whole affair."
"I think righteous indignation is a perfectly reasonable attitude about being turned into a mutant equine," Sauron sniffed condescendingly. "But by all means, tell me; what would you consider an appropriate attitude toward this fiasco?"
"A little gratitude would not be misplaced, to begin with," said Gandalf sternly. Sauron met his eyes, and they were harder than steel. "You chose this fate for yourself, if you recall, and it is only due to my efforts and Father's eternal love and mercy that you were given a choice at all."
"If I'd known the specifics, maybe I would have chosen the Void instead," muttered Sauron. Though the loss of proper hands hadn't turned out to be as debilitating as he'd feared, he couldn't help but resent having the absurdity of his new form and surroundings concealed from him upon his choosing.
Gandalf's eyes narrowed. "Yes, about that, Mairon. While I sympathize with your initial distress, given the shock of your new body, I must strongly warn you against repeating that stunt you attempted at the river. You've made your choice, a meaningful one, and you won't get out of it that easily. Should you attempt to destroy your body again, Dreamlord Irmo and I will be forced to restrict your freedoms."
Sauron laughed humorlessly; it was an ugly sound. "Freedoms?! What freedoms?! Here I am, bound to a single wretched form, powerless and at the mercy of my enemies. I have never been less free in my life!"
Gandalf's eyes softened, and their blue depths shone with a gentle compassion. "You are wrong, Mairon," he said, his voice low and sad. "You are so very wrong. You have been a slave ever since you took up with Melkor; first to him, and afterwards to your own fears, ambitions, hatred, and shame."
"I've done nothing to be ashamed of," Sauron snapped. "Everything I did was for the sake of the world."
Gandalf held his hooves up disarmingly. "As you say. But now you're free, Mairon. Free from the responsibilities you claimed for yourself, free from the enemies you have made, free from the cage you built around yourself over the millennia. No empires to manage, no wars to fight, no plots and conspiracies to fret over. You've been given a second chance, brother, and a second chance you could never have expected and which almost no one thought you deserved. Please, I beg of you, put aside your mad pride and just take it!"
"And do what, Olorin?" Sauron asked, now only half in mockery. His rage was starting to burn out, leaving doubt and confusion in its ashes. He slumped wearily in his chair. "Where do I go from here?"
"Make some friends," Gandalf answered easily.
"…What?"
"Make some friends," Gandalf repeated, his voice taking on a slightly urging tone. "Work your craft, explore some hobbies, have some fun. For Father's sake, have a LIFE, Mairon! When was the last time you had an honest-to-goodness life? Not since Eregion, at least-"
"Do NOT speak to me about Eregion!" Sauron hissed, as if someone had rubbed salt in an open wound. "You weren't there! You don't know how I-"
Gandalf made a placating gesture. "Peace! I did not mean to upset you. I am sorry I brought it up, truly. But should you ever wish to talk about it-"
"I won't."
Gandalf nodded. "As you say. In the meantime, promise me that you will at least try to get along with the Equestrians? You may find that you have more in common with them than you think!"
Sauron balked at that suggestion. "You're a sick man, Gandalf," he muttered.
"I have absolutely no doubt that you believe that," the former wizard replied cheerfully.
"…Fine," Sauron said at length, sighing and shaking his head ruefully. "I make no promises, but I shall try to remain friendly with the natives, if only to advance my own interests."
"That's all I ask," Gandalf chuckled. "Now, wake up. It's morning, and you have visitors!"
"Wait, what?" Sauron mumbled blearily as his eyes slowly opened to reveal Rarity's ceiling.
He was still scraping the crystalized mucus from his tear ducts – mortal bodies were disgusting – when he heard his door creak almost imperceptibly. He glanced over and saw three small pairs of wide eyes watching him through the crack.
Sauron forced himself not to roll his eyes. "Come in before you break the hinges."
Sweetie Belle sheepishly entered the room, accompanied by two other young ponies. One was a light yellow color with a bright red mane and matching bow, and the other was orange with a pinkish mane and…yes, those were wings.
Of course.
"I'm sorry Mr. Ember," said Sweetie Belle. "Did we wake you?"
"You did not, young miss, though your timing is fortuitous," Sauron answered politely, glancing out the window. He noted the sun's position and his eye twitched; he'd wasted almost an hour of sunlight. Such sloth! Olorin would pay dearly for this.
"Now then," said Sauron, putting thoughts of vengeance aside for a few moments. "Who are these…ponies you've brought with you?" He wasn't going to risk using gendered pronouns for these creatures until they spoke- even among familiar breeds of mortals Sauron could only distinguish male and female juveniles around 65 percent of the time.
The one with the bow, prior embarrassment forgotten, stepped forward enthusiastically.
"Howdy!" it mewled with an accent that Sauron's pony brain interpreted as rustic. "I'm Apple Bloom, it's right nice ta meet ya, mister!"
Sauron rapidly consulted his growing mental flowchart of the local community. Apple, rustic, no horn…AHA! He found the appropriate node and updated it with the creature's name. Based on the information he had, it was obvious that this pony was a member of the Apple family that Rarity had mentioned. They were a locally important farming clan and one of the largest landowners in the area, which would explain why his host had befriended their chieftain, Applejack. It would also explain why Sweetie Belle was mingling with ponies of lower caste; it was the custom of noble children everywhere to choose boon companions among prominent families in order to cement loyalties later in life. It was either that, or Sauron had completely misinterpreted the basics of the Equestrian social hierarchy.
That didn't seem likely, though.
"And I'm Scootaloo," said the winged one, giving him an appraising look. "Wow, wicked scars!"
Sauron smiled thinly at that, carefully suppressing an eye twitch. "I am Iron Ember, the pleasure is mine," he replied, moving his blanket to better cover his chipped hoof and the ruined flesh around his neck. He put her name under a new section of the chart, tentatively labelled 'Soldier Caste' until he obtained more data points. "Where is Miss Rarity?"
Apple Bloom gave Scootaloo a reproachful jab in the ribs, eliciting a startled yelp and a chagrined expression from the latter. Sauron smiled truthfully now, feeling the familiar warm glow of social schadenfreude.
"My sister's making breakfast right now," Sweetie Belle said, ignoring her friend's faux pas. "Anyway, we brought something for you, Mister Ember!" Her horn glowed and she brought a small box in from the hallway, depositing it next to Sauron on the bed.
Sauron glanced at the fillies with a raised eyebrow, and at their encouragement opened the box.
The inside of the box was divided into a number of small compartments and contained a small assortment of materials such as little caches of semi-precious stones and colored glass, neat coils of copper wire and steel thread, a spool of sturdy twine, tiny jars of paint with brushes, and even a few pairs of pliers and a small awl.
Sauron's lips moved silently as he ran the edge of his hoof over the cold gleaming metal, almost a caress, feeling it yield slightly to his touch and rapidly warm from the growing heat of his body. Through the tattered remains of his spirit he could hear the metal crying out to be shaped, to be guided, for him to tease out its full potential.
It knew him; even in his ruin, it knew him.
Sauron felt his nose and the corner of his eyes begin to water slightly. Stupid mucus membranes getting irritated.
"We haven't found our special talents yet," Sweetie Belle said somewhat awkwardly, watching as Sauron stared wordlessly at the box's contents. "But we figured that it must be pretty hard to be stuck in an unfamiliar place, not being able to use it."
"And so we figured, what if we could help you use your talent at least a little bit? It could give you something to do, at least!" Scootaloo broke in enthusiastically. "And maybe if we helped, we could get awesome metalworking Cutie Marks!"
The others gave her a reproachful look. "Oh, um, haha, but that's not why we decided to do it, of course!" she added hastily.
"Um…are you ok, Mister Ember?" Apple Bloom asked tentatively, his silence making her a little nervous. "I know you told Sweetie Belle you was a master smith, but if this ain't the right kind of stuff for you to use then we can try somethin' else…"
Sauron slowly reached out and grabbed the pliers, opening and closing them a few times. It felt good to hold them in his hands, though a hammer would be better of course. He allowed himself a small smile.
Olorin's words arose unbidden in his mind. 'Work your craft…have some fun…'
Sauron mentally shrugged. Humoring children would only help his reputation, and truth be told he had been getting very bored with nothing to do but plot and fish for information all day. He glanced at the materials and took another quick inventory; it wasn't what he was used to, but it was SOMETHING.
He leaned forward and passed each of the young fillies a pair of pliers. "Follow along carefully, and try not to hurt yourselves." That would be inconvenient.
Ignoring their happy titters, Sauron started to grab things out of the box.
"Take four lengths of copper wire about this long, gently clipping the ends with the edge of your pliers like so. Line them up against each other and – Apple Bloom, that second one is a little too long, correct that. Good. Now take the steel thread and make a loop about the size of-"
Rarity bustled up the stairs, carrying a stack of pancakes and a pitcher full of orange juice with her horn. She had been uncertain about allowing Sweetie Belle to bring her friends to see their guest, thinking that having so many visitors might be too much stress for him in his condition, but ultimately she had relented. She just hoped that they weren't bothering him too much.
"Breakfast!" she called softly, but received no response. Rarity opened the door to the guest room and was met with a rather unexpected sight.
"-and remember that the fit has to be quite tight, since we aren't using any sort of adhesive. Don't be concerned if you have trouble with this part; many beginner jewelers heat the metal for this part, and doing it cold requires a rather special touch."
Her sister and her friends were all sitting on and around Ember's bed, fiddling with bits of metal with rather humorous expressions of intense concentration. There was a small popping sound and Sweetie Belle's face lit up in elation. "I DID IT!" she cried excitedly, clutching whatever she was holding close to her.
Rarity floated the breakfast over to the bedside table, and looked over to Iron Ember with a questioning expression. He was laying back in bed with a tired but satisfied expression, and when he saw her met her eye with a smile. "Quite the talented young ponies you have here," he said with a bit of humor.
Her guest gestured at her sister. "Are you done? Let me see, then." Sweetie Belle eagerly showed him whatever she was holding, and Ember seemed to examine it for a few moments with an intense look in his eyes before smiling again. "Apprentice level work, but solid. Keep it close- a craftpony's first work is important." He handed it back to Sweetie Belle and she suddenly seemed to notice that Rarity was in the room.
"Look what I made, big sis!" her sister squealed with delight, holding up her creation. It was a bracelet of thick copper wire wrapped tightly around with coils of polished steel thread, probably both to protect the more sensitive metal from the elements and to prevent that nasty green stain copper jewelry sometimes gave to ponies. Nestled into a tight basket in the wire was a small violet amethyst which nicely complemented Sweetie Belle's mane. All in all it was a cute little piece, like the things her sister would bring home from school sometimes; charming in its own small way but precious mostly because of who had made it.
Rarity smiled indulgently at her sister. "That's lovely, Sweetie Belle! You made this yourself?"
The young filly nodded excitedly. "Uh-huh! Mister Ember walked us through it!"
Rarity looked around and saw that Apple Bloom and Scootaloo were indeed fiddling with similar baubles, their tongues sticking out as they concentrated on some minute and delicate task.
"Oh, that was sweet of you Ember," Rarity said as she turned back to her guest, who had just finished advising Scootaloo on some minor issue she was having. "But you really shouldn't trouble yourself so much!"
The dark grey stallion shook his head. "It was no trouble at all, Miss Rarity. After all, I still had to find some way to thank you." He handed her something while the young fillies were distracted. "Just a small token of my appreciation."
Rarity felt her breath catch as she gazed at the bracelet he had handed her.
It was…stunning.
The bracelet was superficially similar to the one Sweetie Belle had made, but it was like comparing glass to diamonds. The contrasting bands of metal had been seamlessly interwoven into a beautifully complex latticework of dense geometric shapes, reminding Rarity of the expensive artisan basketwork she had seen on display in Canterlot. The weave had been imbedded with tasteful arrangements of polished black jet and violet-white spinel, contrasting nicely with the metal and subtly bringing out the colors of the whole piece. It looked like something that belonged in a premier boutique, rather than a half-hour's worth of idle tinkering.
He made something like this from a box of scraps? Rarity thought with numb wonder. With almost no tools?
What in Equestria could he create if he was properly equipped?
"Th-thank you. It's…lovely," Rarity fumbled, turning the bracelet over in her hooves. Ember gave her a satisfied smile.
"I'm glad you like it," he said almost absently. The stallion reached for the plate of pancakes. "Now what's this you've brought me?"
(A/N) Writing this chapter took awhile; graduate school is troublesome. Drop a review if you have any thoughts, and I will return with the next chapter in time.