Chapter 14
Sauron stumbled into his room, shoved the door shut, and collapsed against the wall with a groan, finally able to voice the discomfort that had been steadily growing during his half hour trek back from the quarry. The muscles of his limbs and torso had found sufficient time to realize just how much work they'd been put to, and the result was an agonizing combination of dull aches and lightning flashes of sharp torture.
He leaned his head back against the wall and stared dismally up at the hexagonal pattern of his ceiling, taking large, deep breaths. One day down – the quarry portion anyway.
Still, he was far more drained, physically and mentally, than he liked to admit, especially since his goals for the day were far from complete. He had sacrificed the majority of his day to the Valar's whims, but the rest of his time was his own and he planned not to waste it, even if the very thought of how he intended to spend his evening made his insides squirm uneasily.
But hadn't he experienced much worse than all this? He'd lived through the administrations of Lord Melkor's most brutal moments of training in that dark room of Utumno. He'd survived the crush of canine jaws around his windpipe and the choke of clotting blood in his lungs and the searing abject horror of his disgrace upon the bridge of Gaurhoth. He'd endured the Valar's mutilation of his spirit and the imprisonment of his powers only a week ago at the Máhanaxar. He'd had worse days than this one.
But he also wasn't going to complain if he found a way to bring this delightful new life of his to an end sooner rather than later.
He pushed himself off the wall and received the physical equivalent of a protesting moan from his biceps and flanks as he did so. The lion's share of his will wanted to collapse across the beautiful, soft, warm, fluffy bed reclining invitingly only a few steps away, but any pleasure of allowing himself to sink onto that forgiving surface would be ruined by the foul slime of sweat and quarry dust still coating him.
Glad he had no audience to witness his painful gait, he shambled to the washroom where he turned on the waterspout and lit the coal bed with stiff fingers that resisted every movement, prompting more than one curse before the simple tasks were completed. Once ready though, stripping off the clammy work clothes and slipping into the warm water restored some small portion of Sauron's faith in the world.
Sliding down until only his mouth and nostrils remained above water, he closed his eyes and sank into a soothing, dark oblivion. His mind finally relaxed along with his fána as he embraced these few precious moments of pain-lack, not because there were any fewer things to agonize over but because he knew both body and mind desperately needed this brief respite before he faced the rest of his day.
His resolve from that morning still held: he was going to supper in the Great Hall, and if doing so caused the world to cave in and implode, so be it. At least he wouldn't have to go back to the quarry tomorrow.
In the meantime however, there were arrangements that needed making to ensure his evening went according to plan. And unfortunately, he was looking forward to the arrangement-making just about as much as he was looking forward to the evening plans themselves.
After a while, he reluctantly ended the refreshing bath but exchanged his work linens for familiar silks, which were nearly as soothing against his rock-chafed, sun-scorched skin as the warm water had been. Lastly, he slipped his gold circlet around his brow, restoring some veneer of the dignity that had been stripped from him so far this day, then he glided out into the hallway as silent and dark as a shadow.
Originally, he'd planned to garrison himself the next few hours in the library with Aulë's books, but upon arriving he found a large cluster of Eldar in the alcove of the Smith's domain. Bitter indignation rose in his throat at seeing the Elves lounging across what he'd come to consider one of his places, one of the few niches in this new world where he felt…not safe, but not immediately threatened either. The few times he'd arrived previously to find an Elf or two nearby, the miasma of his hated presence coupled with a burning glare had been enough to clear the alcove, but there was no way now to claim the space for himself without making a scene, and that was the last thing he needed. So instead, he slipped a book quietly from the shelf and ghosted away, leaving his place to the Elves.
How well you are falling into the role the Valar have given you, said that insidious voice in his mind. How long before you forget that you ever were a lord? That a time existed when you when you were not so meek? When Elves would have cringed to find themselves in your way? Look how quickly Melkor's cringing cur learns his place. What, shall we bend the knee and lick their feet for them next? Ah, but you already have plans for that, don't you?
I do only what I must, he snapped back with a mental snarl. Until the time comes when I need do so no longer. And you know I'm only planning what's necessary for my future, for the lord I once was and will someday be again. I would never consider this path otherwise.
With this thought echoing through his mind, he sought out the second place in this World-That-Was-Not-His that provided some elusive feeling of protection, however artificial, where he could find the power to block out the worst of his reality and believe there was a best he could yet attain, no matter what lengths it took.
The garden courtyard was quiet and fragrant and, better yet, free of unwanted company. Sauron settled down in the corner he liked best, across the walkway from the mysterious painting of Middle-earth. Here the colonnade shaded him from direct sunlight at any given hour but the breeze from the open veranda wafted across him, bringing with it the rich scent of flowers and fruit and the pleasing tickle of invisible fingers across his face. There was no reason why this place should ease the turmoil of his spirit more so than any other place, but for some arbitrary flight of fancy it did. As he settled lengthwise onto a wide, padded bench, he glanced up at the painting. Perhaps it was the watching gaze of his one-time home, even rendered in lifeless brushstrokes, which made it easier to cling to hope in this hostile, alien place. Or perhaps in those beshadowed peaks he could sense some distant echo of Melkor's will and believe that his old master was still looking on and trusting in his faithful lieutenant to prevail. He did not know.
He dismissed the thought, and for the next hour he sank into A Treatise on the Mind and Spirit of the Smith-folk.
Yet soon, all too soon, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching upon the cobblestone broke through his reading trance, as he had known they eventually would, like the inevitability of the coming tide. He breathed a deep sigh. He'd known all along that there would be no avoiding the coming conversation, but his tactics were set on how to steer this predictable, irritating discussion to his own ends.
He lowered his book as Aulë approached but did not draw up his legs, forcing the Smith to take a seat at the adjacent bench. Nowadays, the Smith habitually looked worried and uncomfortable, though Sauron had no way of knowing whether his own return was the particular culprit or if this emotional deterioration was the general proof of how the troubled Ages had worn upon the Lord of Earth. If possible though, Aulë looked even more anxious now than he usually did; his powerful hands clenched and unclenched with nervous energy and the usually straight line of his broad shoulders did not seem as solid as it normally did. Something was afoot.
Long seconds of awkward silence hung between them as Aulë continued to fidget with his hands and Sauron continued to eye him with bored disdain. Inside, his chest tightened unpleasantly. He didn't need any more distasteful surprises today, particularly from the Valar, but waiting for he-knew-not-what was even worse.
Oh, let's get on with it, Sauron's mind grumbled, but just as he opened his mouth to give the Smith a verbal prod, Aulë finally looked up, yet his gaze rested on the book in Sauron's lap.
"I know that book – A Treatise on the Mind and Spirit of the Smith-folk, is it not?" Aulë said. He looked up and off across the garden, the distant glaze in his metallic eyes the very picture of nostalgic reflection. "I remember when it was written, not long after we fled Almaren and founded Valinor. There was so little we were able to salvage from Almaren: jewels, forges, my Lamps…all gone in what felt like a heartbeat. It was the first time we'd felt our bereavement like that, so keenly, so… so bounded to this world. There was so much we'd lost after the most abundant and peaceful Age we'd ever seen since coming down from the Timeless Halls. I guess you could say we'd grown complacent and we'd forgotten too easily how vulnerable and fragile we and our work in the world was."
He shook his head briefly and a tired chuckle escaped him. "It was a time of confusion, doubt, and darkness after a long and bright Spring, and deep down, I think each and every one of us found ourselves questioning our purposes within Eä. What was the reason for our labor if everything we did was doomed to be unmade? And what of the Children who were to come, who would never now know the wisdom and glory of our work in Almaren or the shape of the world as it should have been? We'd never thought of preserving our knowledge in any manner beside its constant utilization, for ourselves or for those to come who would never now directly know what we had known or see what we had seen. Nor had we ever thought of trying to express the essence of our work in a tangible manner. But our grief and doubt had left us in uncertainty."
Glancing back to the book, he indicated it with a vague sweep of his hand. "Thus the volume you hold came into existence, the earnest labor of many of my folk in their attempt to capture the essence of my people's work in the world and to find some comfort in the seeming futility of all they'd accomplished in Almaren. They came to me for advice several times – well, more than several – and I aided them as best I could, though I always wondered if such a thing could truly be written down. But I was not going to discourage them, not if it brought them some peace or helped them find answers for the questions we were all asking."
Finally, he met Sauron's eyes. "When you finish it, I would be interested in hearing your thoughts on the subject. You were always wise in the lore of my domain and had such talent in your labor before Almaren." He breathed a nearly inaudible sigh and rubbed a hand wearily in his beard, his eyes still fixed unnerving on Sauron, and his face cracked into a pained expression that Sauron guessed meant he was thinking about everything that had happened after.
Skirting the sensitive topic of how exactly Sauron had used his wisdom and talents in the later Ages, Aulë continued, a strained quality entering his deep voice. "I'm pleased my folk had some prescience in this at least: to provide a restored brother with the knowledge and wisdom we have gained in these Ages. It gladdens my heart to see you making use of our knowledge store and I hope your brothers' work on such a volume proves useful to you. There have been great advances in our craft since… since Almaren that I imagine you will find most enlightening."
Sauron's eyebrow rose fractionally in misshapen amusement at the slight (and undoubtedly unintentional) condescension in the assumptions behind Aulë's rambling. If only you know that Valinor wasn't the only realm where "great advances" were being made, he thought. Oh, the volumes I could fill with my own learnings and the "knowledge store" of Utumno and Angband that now itself lies lost forever in the ruins of Beleriand. I am not so ignorant and primitive in my learning as you think me, oh my wise lord Aulë. Believe me, I could single-handedly make a good start on a fifteenth alcove to your library. Hah! And I can just imagine how that would be received.
His lips quirked in dark humor at the thought. A Treatise on the Mind and Spirit of the Traitor-folk: the Memoirs of a Dark Lord. I'd be interested in hearing your thoughts on that, my lord.
Another uncomfortable silence dragged itself between them like a living thing, wounded and limping. Sauron recognized Aulë's small talk as a method of stalling as much as a desperate attempt to bond with his former apprentice, which did more to pique his interest than any commentary on Valinorean literature. Anything that could make the Smith dither and fidget like a child expecting a scolding had to have some level of intrigue to it, though whether it would prove good or ill for himself, Sauron couldn't say.
When it became abundantly clear that Sauron would make no response to Aulë's half-hearted prompts about his reading material, the Vala finally got to the point in an uncomfortable rush of words. "I've been worried about you, Nauron, so I spoke with several of my fellow Powers yesterday evening," he said, squaring his slumping shoulders as if anticipating a hostile response. "We have a proposition to make to you."
Ah, but will it be one I can refuse? Sauron thought, though he was listening carefully. Considering Aulë's desperation to get through to him these past few days, he'd guessed that sooner or later the Smith would run crying to the other Valar for help, but what the results might be he could not guess. He just hoped he hadn't miscalculated on the Valar's propensity to meddle should they grow worried about the outward manifestations of the iron will that protected the small candle of his hope.
Thus it was that he listened with cautious apprehension as Aulë outlined the Valar's plan, describing the hall rotation proposed by Námo. Aulë's open expression of anxiety and the unmasked yearning in his voice attested to his hope that Sauron would accept the offer and his expectation that he wouldn't. Observing this nauseating display of hopefulness and concern, which Aulë apparently lacked either the ability or decency to conceal, Sauron's instinct was to refuse for the simple reason of grinding his assigned lord's hope into the dirt. Yet as he listened, he found himself intrigued by the proposition, if simultaneously wary of anything that the Valar thought might be "good" for him.
"So far, your rotation would include four halls besides my own," Aulë was explaining. "Manwë and Varda, Námo and Vairë, Irmo and Estë, and Nienna have all agreed to welcome you to their realms. You wouldn't be required to talk to anyone if you didn't want to, and if all you desire is rest you would be allowed to do so in peace. But if you had anything you wished to discuss, my fellow Powers would be at your disposal, willing to listen with no repercussions for anything you might say. Of course, you needn't answer right away about any of this if you need more time to think about it, but our offer stands for you to make use of it whenever you feel the time is right." He fell into strained silence then, and despite his final words, he looked intently at Sauron, the question clear on his face, that tortured hope still glimmering in his eyes.
Drawing his own eyes away, Sauron considered the Valar's proposal. Their reasoning for such a move seemed sufficiently transparent; on the more innocent end of the spectrum, he guessed the Valar were hoping to increase his trust and comfort in their presence and thus break through his reclusive silence. On the less innocent end, he suspected they wanted to keep additional eyes on him besides Aulë's – which always saw the best but not always the truth.
Yet his intrigue remained, and to his own surprise he found himself seriously considering the idea. A scenario with no downsides did not exist; the skill came from calculating where to draw the line between advantages and disadvantages to determine whether an opportunity was worth the endeavor. And this one had potential. As much as he loved the thought of viciously grinding Aulë's vile hope to the same bitter pulp into which the Valar had ground his own hope at the trial, he couldn't discard the promise in this proposition.
For one thing, he'd be able get the lay of the land in a sanctioned manner. Though the stipulations at his trial had not preempted him leaving his assigned domain, Aulë's Halls were his virtual prison. He knew if he showed too much interest in exploration or left too often or wandered too far, there would be consequences. This proposition would give him at least some excuse to travel without suspicion. Where exactly was Lórien? Were the Halls of Mandos really the dark, subterranean labyrinth of pain and death that Lord Melkor had described? How far were the outlands of Araman? This opportunity would help him answer such questions and more.
Even if the Valar planned to use this idea to keep a closer eye on him, it also afforded him the opportunity to keep his eyes on them and learn what he could of these powerful beings who now completely controlled his life. What did they think of his return? Of his betrayal? Who believed that he could truly be healed and assimilated? Who secretly hoped to still see him slip up so that he could be condemned to the Void? No doubt it would mean sitting through some irritating therapy sessions (despite Aulë's reassurance that he wouldn't be required to interact with his hosts, he could guarantee these trips came with at least the attached price of being talked at, even if he chose not to talk back), but he felt he could endure that in order to satisfy his own curiosity. Beyond Aulë and Yavanna, he'd never known the other Valar personally, and whatever shadow-mist of time (or whatever else) had clouded his memory had left him with precious little useful knowledge of the kings and queens of Valinor.
Not that he was naïve enough to think that he would find an ally, unwitting or otherwise, amongst the Valar themselves to aid in his schemes, but the more he knew of them the better he could form his plans. And besides, these trips would also put him into contact with a wider range of both Maiar and Elves, who were more susceptible to his manipulations and less dangerous to employ in his stratagems.
Of course, his list of enemies would doubtlessly lengthen too, but that register was already so extensive that extending it a little further seemed hardly worth fretting over.
There were other smaller, random benefits too. He was not about to complain about getting authorized time off from his ghastly quarry labor or temporarily escaping the oppressive hostility of Yavanna and the mother-henning of Aulë. Finally, if nothing else, it would simply be a break from the dull monotony that was quickly becoming his life.
All this added up to a conclusion he still found himself mildly surprised to be making.
He slowly brought his gaze back to Aulë, his expression guarded. "If I agreed, would I have to complete my quota later?"
It was amazing to see how quickly and radiantly Aulë's face lit up at what was decidedly less than a statement of commitment from Sauron. For a moment, Sauron regretted his decision, hating the relief and renewed hope he'd just gifted his former master. Pathetic, he thought with bitter derision. What sort of wretched life must one have where the greatest joy of living comes from a semi-positive response from a former apprentice who betrayed you? A moment later though, his mind added a venomous answer to his rhetorical question: A better life than one built solely of misery, defeat, slavery, bondage, and pain.
"No, no," Aulë was saying, quickly, urgently, as if afraid this small point might tip the scales of Sauron's decision. "You would be given the days completely free with no make-up requirements. The work you did not complete those days would be removed permanently from your record."
Sauron pretended to ponder this, though in reality he now found it was himself who was stalling, as if waiting for some glaring, last-minute downside to this whole affair to suddenly appear. "And I decide whose hall I visit first?" he inquired after a minute.
Another enthusiastic affirmation from Aulë, whose molten eyes seemed nothing short of ecstatic at Sauron's continued responses. Dryly, Sauron pictured the Smith dashing off to the other Valar full of elation: You'll never guess what happened today! I managed to get nineteen whole words out of Sauron!
Sauron allowed another minute to crawl past, maliciously prolonging Aulë's anxiety as he double-checked his decision for flaws a final time before committing to it. Then he spoke slowly, putting an appropriate edge of feral caution in his words. "I agree to your proposition, but I also want the promise that if I decide to withdraw for any reason that I wouldn't be punished."
If one truly could be drunk with happiness, the ridiculous smile that split across Aulë's face was surely a symptom. His thoughts might as well have been engraved across his weathered face: So all is not lost in the end. Now that I've succeeded in getting through to him at last, all must surely be uphill from here. I knew I could get my beloved Nauron back!
Hah, if only you knew, Sauron thought in response. I'm not quite as fragile as all that.
"Yes, of course, yes," Aulë babbled delightedly, his voice as unrestrained as his face. "If any month you wish to refrain from your visit, we won't force you to go, and you can stop altogether if you feel the least bit uncomfortable. And if there are any halls you'd rather not visit for now, or if there's anything else you'd like done for you, I'm sure Manwë will be willing to adjust our plans to accommodate, as long as nothing you suggest goes against your oaths."
Sauron nodded, absorbing this information and allowing Aulë's hope to seem founded: that he had broken through the fire Maia's barrier of reticence. He met Aulë's eyes again with coy vulnerability from underneath his dark lashes, opening the iron wall of his will just enough to let the Smith catch a glimpse of guarded emotion. "I agree," he repeated, in that small, quiet voice devoid of threat but tinged with wary animal vigilance. "I want my first hall to be Nienna's."
Once he made his decision, there'd been little question as to which hall he'd choose first. Of all the Valar, Nienna was the one from whom he sensed the least threat. Nor had he forgotten how the Valië of Sorrow and Pity had stared at him when he chose his fána.
"Good, yes, I think you've made an excellent choice," Aulë replied, that giddy joy dancing like stars on night-clad waves in his eyes. "I will send a missive to Nienna letting her know to expect you." He rose, hesitated by Sauron's bench for a moment, then sat down on the narrow rim not taken up by the Maia's outstretched legs. He laid one fire-browned hand on Sauron's knee, the pressure of it strong and warm through his leggings. "This is a decision that will suit us all, I think. At last we've found a middle ground where we can all agree." He offered Sauron a small, hopeful smile, which Sauron did not return.
The Smith swallowed, seemingly overcome by nerves again as if he had just recalled to whom he was speaking, and patted his hand in an awkward gesture against Sauron's knee. When he spoke again, it was finally on the topic that Sauron had originally anticipated and prepared for. "So, how was your first day at the quarry, Nauron?"
Sauron gave a languid shrug. "Hot. Dusty. Lots of Elves."
"But it went well?" Aulë pressed.
Narrowing his eyes, Sauron allowed his gaze to scathe across Aulë's face and with a hint of satisfaction noted the small shudder that the Smith tried valiantly to conceal at the dark touch of the Black Captain's scrutiny. "It was not worse than I expected. But I can't say it was better either."
He paused, weighing his premeditated words carefully. "Some of the Elves, here at the Halls and at the quarry – I don't think they're happy that I'm here. I think there are some – many – who would prefer to see me condemned to the Void."
Aulë sighed. "I fear I'm not surprised. When the Valar themselves were divided in their decision, it was inevitable that the Eldar would be the same. I have no doubt though that they will submit to the official judgment of Manwë and Námo, so I don't believe you have anything to fear, if that comforts you. And as time goes by and they see that you have truly renounced your old ways, I trust that their hostility will fade." He gave a small, tired smile. "Hatred is a tiring business and I feel many of them will decide it is not worth their time."
Sauron barely held back his retort at that. Oh really? Not worth their time? The Noldor really proved that by marching half-way across the world to throw themselves relentlessly at the strongest fortress in Arda in centuries of hopeless war. And forgive me if I'm not so quick to trust that any Elf will submit to another's decision when it goes against his own will in the matter. You dotard, do you know anything about reality?
Once again, he proceeded cautiously, concealing his contempt for his blissfully clueless lord and aware that every word he spoke would eventually be delivered in one way or another to the other Valar, any of whom might not be as quick as Aulë to attribute Sauron's newfound candidness to a true change of heart. "I had a lot of time at the quarry to think, a lot of time," he emphasized dryly. "And I realized I don't want to make things any more miserable for myself than they have to be."
He skimmed his fingers absently across the book in his lap. "Frankly, I don't care whether the Elves accept me or not; I just want them to leave me alone. And I don't want more enemies than necessary. Considering that objective, I realized I may not have improved my situation during my first day here."
He paused, a frown tugging at his pursed lips, then glanced sideways at the Smith. "Do you think it would help if I compensated for splashing that Elf with wine?"
Aulë kneaded the fringe of his beard pensively, staring off over the garden again. "Perhaps. Lord Gilruin is a distinguished figure amongst the Noldorim of my halls. If they trusted the sincerity of your amends, I believe most would accept your recompense, for this deed at least. It would not solve everything, but it would help. Gilruin himself is fonder of food and drink than grudge-holding and revenge; I think he would accept your restitution and convince those of his House to do the same."
Sauron nodded slowly; this analysis matched his own brief observation of the elven lord. "You know the Noldor better than I. What do you think would be proper?"
Aulë was silent and thoughtful for a time, then he spoke in a measured tone. "If you're willing to give it, an apology certainly won't hurt. I don't think it need be public – just before Gilruin and sufficient witnesses – and his word will be good enough for his people."
"What more?" Sauron pressed. "Even I know the Noldor well enough to assume a mere apology won't suffice."
Aulë squeezed Sauron's knee affectionately, as if to say I'm so proud of you. He was quiet for another moment and his gaze wandered to the open book in the Maia's lap. "Here's my advice," he said at last. "Gilruin may be no Fëanor but he's still Noldorin through and through, and I've never met a Noldo who lacked some love of knowledge and lorecraft. You were my head apprentice, wise and skilled in your work. To extend an offer of knowledge to Gilruin or his people would be seen as a considerable honor, I think."
"Even coming from Sauron the Black Captain?" Sauron asked sardonically, raising an eyebrow.
Melancholy settled like ash over Aulë's face. "You're no longer the Black Captain, Nauron."
Sauron made no reply.
Another long, awkward silence. Aulë remained seated with the uncomfortable air of one who desperately wishes for a meaningful conversation to continue but cannot think of anything more to say, or else is afraid of spoiling what has already been said. For his part, Sauron silently pondered the various intrigues arisen from their talk. Aulë's words had stirred something in the back of his thoughts, but it flickered away whenever he tried to pin it down with his mind's eye, like a shadow before a candle's ray. His only outward sign of life was the continued repetitive movement of his fingers across the book cover.
At last, he tucked the illusive thought away in the back of his mind. Sooner or later, when it wished to present itself, it would do so.
"There was a final matter," he said, breaking the silence suddenly and causing Aulë to shift in surprised interest. "It seems that keeping myself apart is only increasing my mystery and making the Elves all the more intrigued. The more normal I seem, the more I'm left alone. As such, I wanted your opinion on the wisdom of returning to evening meals in the Great Hall."
That drunken joy returned. "For my part, I think the idea is good," Aulë answered, the strain in his voice revealing the Smith's struggle to keep his tone careful, apparently aware that appearing overly pleased might work against him. "I agree that the more they see of you, the less the people of my halls will fear or despise you. And I think you will find benefits in the arrangement, as well."
"As long as I don't cause another uproar, right?"
Aulë smiled a little. "That would probably be for the best." He nodded. "Anyway, it was not entirely your fault. I'm to blame as much as you for putting you at the head table and assuming there would be no incidents. I'll find you a better place this evening if you come early – close to my table but not as noticeable – if that suits you. Afterwards, if you're comfortable, I can arrange to have Lord Gilruin stay for your amend-making."
Sauron dipped his head, keeping his thoughts veiled behind his eyes. "That will be fine."
Aulë rose, giving Sauron a final, caring squeeze, and flashed him a deep, fond smile. "I will see you this evening in the Great Hall then. I know I have taken a fair amount of your time, and I thank you for it, but I will now leave you to your book. May the knowledge you gain from your reading profit you."
Oh, I plan to make sure it does, Sauron thought, his eyes narrowing darkly as he watched the Smith depart. And I wouldn't want to be in your boots when it does, you sentimental fool.
~o~o~o~
The Great Hall had only a few occupants awaiting supper when Sauron arrived. As promised, an awaiting Aulë situated him at the table closest to the dais and nearest the Smith's own seat at the head of the central table. Sauron kept his head down as more of the Hall's residents began spilling in, arriving with the aromatic trolleys from which Sauron had grown accustomed to swiping his meals during the last week.
Tables swiftly filled up, with Eldar and Maiar mingled once again, yet the company was nearly double what it had been previously. Sauron shifted uncomfortably, realizing now that most of Aulë's folk worked elsewhere during the day and returned only for the evening meal. As even more residents flocked in, the paranoia that had gripped Sauron so powerfully that morning crept back, eating at his stomach with unease as he comprehended just how confined he was in the immense hall, with hundreds if not thousands of Elves and Maiar between himself and the nearest exit. The first tendrils of panic clawed at his chest, causing him to begin rethinking his plans for the evening, but he brutally shoved the quavering weakness back down into the depths of his spirit, reprimanding himself that no one would dare hurt him in Aulë's presence.
Yet his own presence was not going unnoticed. A number of Elves and Maiar had already made their way over to his table, only to stop in their tracks at the sight of him and turn abruptly around with no attempt at tact, stiffly retracing their steps. As space became limited, a few Maiar claimed seats at the far end of his table, but his immediate vicinity remained conspicuously shunned. Still, other than the fact that it emphasized his aloneness, he wasn't going to complain about the arrangement.
But forming such a thought often has a way of becoming a self-fulfilling curse.
"Hello Sauron."
Sauron's head whipped up to see the good-natured, forthright face of Erenquaro as the silver-haired Maia dropped heavily into the seat across from Sauron. "We noticed you didn't have anyone else. Mind if we join you?"
There was another Maia with Erenquaro, one with a Secondborn fána, with brown hair and eyes and kind, mellow features that seemed an apt match to Erenquaro's simple honesty. Sauron squinted at him, recognizing him vaguely from the distant depths of time before Almaren – no, during Almaren.
"You're one of Yavanna's folk," he stated bluntly, suspicion creeping into his voice.
The other Maia sat beside Erenquaro, fidgeting under Sauron's burning stare. He glanced up, his expression almost shy. "Y…yes," he stammered. "We worked together in Almaren a few times, you know, when Lady Yavanna was growing her Garden. I…well…I don't know if you remember me, but I mostly work with the birds and small animals. My name's Aiwendil."
The name gave some substance to the faint memories. Now he vaguely remembered Aiwendil, not one of the most powerful Maiar by a long shot, a plain, straightforward fellow with more than a few quirks, to put it nicely. Glancing surreptitiously between the two Maiar, Sauron realized he'd just been doomed to what was essentially the table of social outcasts. Of course, now he fit that category even better than these two did, but that was little comfort.
He gave a noncommittal shrug and leaned his elbows on the tabletop, resting his chin moodily in his cupped hands, waiting for dinner to commence.
The Elves on serving duty distributed the food around the tables. The main course was a hearty stew with large chunks of potato, carrot, tomato, onion, and a dark meat that Sauron was fairly sure was some type of game bird. Fresh fruit, a heavy, creamy pastry filled with fruity jam, more of the fluffy sweetbread that had been served at his first meal, and wine or watered-down ale supplemented the stew. Erenquaro and Aiwendil loaded their plates immediately, chattering back and forth as they did so with an informality that made it clear that they spoke regularly. After several weak attempts to engage Sauron in small talk, clearly thinking themselves ever so charitable to have reached out with compassion to the pariah, the two Maiar abandoned their efforts to actively engage their companion and fell to discussing people, places, and events that meant little to nothing to Sauron.
Tuning out their chatter (apparently Erenquaro was not actually as tight-lipped as he had seemed that morning), Sauron ate hungrily and simultaneously monitored the room. At the head table, Aulë glanced towards him every other minute it seemed, though Sauron made sure the Smith did not note that he was watching him. The Vala of Earth seemed pleased with what he saw, probably still riding on the high of his perceived success in their conversation that afternoon. He wouldn't be surprised if it had been Aulë who had sicced Erenquaro and Aiwendil on him either. Making sure his poor Nauron wasn't sitting alone at table sounded just like the sort of thing he'd do.
Aulë wasn't the only one watching him though. Beside the Smith, Yavanna kept a cool eye on him as well. He couldn't read the Valië's expression, but he suspected she was wearing a mask as meticulously crafted as his own. Careful to avoid her direct gaze, he made sure his actions aroused no offense, maintaining his determination to play the role of a decent resident with nothing on his mind apart from saving himself unnecessary pain.
He also noted the Noldorin Elf, Lord Gilruin, seated near where he'd been when Sauron had flung the wine at him. The Elf's back was to him and as far as Sauron could tell from his laidback manner, he wasn't aware of his persecutor's nearby presence.
The meal came to a close without incident, and the Maiar and Elves began to disperse. Sauron remained sitting, picking at a final piece of bread in an attempt to make it last as long as possible, not because of lingering hunger but rather on account of the fact that he was not entirely sure what Aulë wanted from him next and he had no desire to be seen hovering submissively around the head table awaiting orders.
"Will you join us?" Erenquaro asked, jerking Sauron out of his reverie. "There's usually song in the Hall of the Log Fire after supper and Aranosarn if it suits your fancy." Despite the amiable words, behind the earth Maia's eyes Sauron saw the hesitancy, as if he was not entirely comfortable after all with the thought of inviting Sauron and was only doing so out of the same charity that had brought himself and Aiwendil to Sauron's table. Sauron suspected he wouldn't have asked if he thought there was any real possibility of him accepting the offer.
But as it was, even if Sauron had felt inclined to encourage the pair in their sickening pity party by joining them for singing and "king's table" (whatever that was), he had other business he was eager to finish. He gave a curt, dismissive wave, retaining the coldly polite façade he'd presented to Erenquaro that morning at the quarry. "I'm to be otherwise engaged. Thank you for the offer."
True to his prediction, Erenquaro looked mildly relieved, but Aiwendil frowned slightly as if either puzzled or disappointed. Both Maiar cleared their places from the table without further comment beyond wishing him a good evening and departed, leaving Sauron alone in the rapidly clearly hall.
A strong hand touched his shoulder, causing him to flinch away in surprise, his own hand clenching in self-defense and a curse at his wandering mind jumping to his lips, before realizing that it was Aulë standing behind him. Upon feeling Sauron's automatic reaction, Aulë pulled his hand away, realizing he'd startled his charge, but when he looked at Sauron, for a moment there was a worried, searching gleam in his gaze that Sauron didn't like one bit.
Quickly pulling his nonchalant composure together, Sauron twisted his lip into a familiar, cool sneer and raised a questioning eyebrow, just disrespectful enough to draw attention to itself but not nearly enough to push beyond Aulë's generous limits.
"Lord Gilruin and the others are ready whenever you are, Nauron."
Sauron rose and followed Aulë to the head table. Gilruin was there, along with a red-haired Elf with enough facial similarities to strongly suggest a close kinship between the two Noldor. Five other Eldar, all of whom Sauron had noticed sitting at the head table, stood further back, observing quietly. Casting his eyes sideways as he approached, Sauron also noted that Yavanna remained present, shadowed by the far wall but well within hearing and viewing distance of all that was said and done.
His midriff clenched and he suddenly regretted the heavy stew now sloshing in his belly. He had hoped that his mental and emotional preparations for this moment, along with his backdrop of schemes, would make the upcoming apologies and contrition easier to stomach, but his rising nausea proved that this was not to be the case. But his resolve was firm if nothing else, and he covered up the creeping sense of humiliation with the serene and dignified air of a true Maiarin lord, even if no Maiarin lord worth his claim would ever demean himself in such a manner. His eyes swept over the gathered Elves, and most turned their gazes away in momentary dread and abhorrence at his darkness, even as he sensed their puzzled anger at his presence. Disgust and ire towards these weak, wretched creatures crept like ice through his fëa.
I do only what I must, until the time comes when I need do so no longer.
"Lord Gilruin, Lord Gilnen," Aulë introduced the two Noldor. He indicated the other Elves and spoke a few more names that Sauron tucked into his mind for future reference, figuring they were lords of other lesser Houses, present solely as witnesses.
Sauron stepped up before them, all emotion shoved down into that deep, deep place of hiding that he would never have found except for Melkor's assiduous training. Yet, as he turned the full power of his gaze and the burning will that drove it upon Lord Gilruin, whose own eyes remained uncomfortably averted, he pictured a different scene in his mind's eye. This grand hall eaten away by flames cruel and hot. These Elves trembling on the ground, humiliated, their wills stripped to raw, quavering things. The Valar impotent, having failed at last in the greatest purpose to which they had given their all, acknowledging that their devotion to the Children and their hope in Eru's vision was in vain at last.
His revelation courtesy of Eönwë at the quarry had illuminated his best way to strike at the seemingly untouchable Valar: by striking at that which they held most dear. What revenge could be sweeter than watching the Elves rise up en masse against their doting rulers, bringing ruin upon themselves and heartbreak upon those whom they'd defied? Melkor had achieved the Kinslaying and the Exile through his cunning devices. Sauron planned to aim higher. It burned in his heart, this new candle of malicious hope: to stretch out his hand and desecrate these pretty, precious creatures that had stolen the hearts of the Valar and to revel in the Valar's grief when they themselves were forced to strike down their own beloved Children in just retribution to treachery and rebellion.
But achieving future victory required this present shame. So be it. It was but one more disgrace to endure on this long and slow path to vengeance.
Bowing his head and linking his hands behind his back, his feet planted together in a stiff, formal stance, he spoke in a voice calm and docile. "Lord Gilruin, my actions when last we met were driven by anxiety, weariness, and dread. I have no desire for the enmity of your folk. Therefore, I ask that my insults be dismissed as the rashness of a heart in chaos, without premeditation, without hatred towards yourself or your House, without full understanding of the customs of Valinor. I offer you my apology sincerely in the hope that any animosity between the Noldor of this Hall and myself might die here."
Some of the witnesses shifted suspiciously, but Gilruin and Gilnen exchanged a glance more curious than hostile. The dark-haired Elf finally lifted his eyes to Sauron's. "I accept your apology and for my part will hold no ill will against you," he said, his voice a lilting tenor of almost effeminate quality. "I speak this for my House and the House of my brother, promising in the witness of Lord Aulë that we will seek no retribution for your deeds." He hesitated momentarily then bowed his own head in acknowledgement and deference.
By now, Sauron was sufficiently entrenched in his role that his lingering anger and revulsion were but a faint pulse on the edge of his senses. The pleasing mental vision of his eventual revenge, embellished for the sake of his smarting pride as it might be, remained and fueled his ability to press forward in his charade.
"In token of my gratitude for your forgiveness and my own good will in this matter, I offer you my service in the form of knowledge. I understand that the Noldor are mighty in the lore of smithcraft and I myself have much wisdom in this domain that may benefit you and your people. If it pleases you, I will share my knowledge on any topic or skill that interests you or those of your House. I ask that you would accept my favor in recognition of our mutual good will."
There were background murmurs at that from the other lords, low and apprehensive. Gilnen raised a thin, auburn eyebrow, but Gilruin pursed his lips thoughtfully. Finally, the Noldo replied in an even tone. "I accept this offer as well. However, my son is more skilled than I in the art of the forge and hence would benefit from your proposal more than myself. I will bring this matter before him and inform you as to our decision. I thank you on behalf of my House for your generosity."
"I am glad my knowledge shall not be wasted," Sauron replied with a delicate smile.
Aulë stepped between them, beaming broadly, and placed one hand on Sauron's shoulder and the other on Gilruin's. "As Lord of these Halls and Vala of Earth, I hold witness to the promises made by you both and approve them heartily in the name and authority of Eru Ilúvatar. Go in good will, both of you."
The Elves took their leave then, eagerly enough to betray their own charade and arouse Sauron's suspicions that they had not been nearly as comfortable treating with him as they had let on. He himself waited till he reached the doorway to finally heave a deep sigh, grateful to have the dreaded evening finished without mishap. He had earned the peace and rest he sought now at last after this long, long day. The pleasant effects of his bath had long since worn off, leaving him with aching limbs and a spine that was growing increasingly stiff, and the mental image of his bed grew more gratifying by the second.
He wended his way through the darkening halls and corridors back to his chamber, rubbing absently at the small of his back now that there were no witnesses to see his physical discomfort. Despite Gilruin's agreeableness, Sauron knew Aulë would be right in this at least: plenty of Elves would hold fast to their grudges against him, for his insults towards Gilruin as well as for the countless offenses committed in Beleriand. He would almost be disappointed if there weren't. But he'd accomplished what he really needed from the exchange. The more who viewed him as crushed the better. Word would quickly get around about his humbling apology. Most would suspect he'd been forced by the Valar to debase himself thus. Though the thought made him cringe, he knew in order to succeed he must paint a picture of himself as a weak, broken thing, submissive to the Valar's wills, unable to retain his Maiarin pride, fearful of the consequences of stirring the water.
Beyond that, he had also set in motion the first step of his plan. He had put forth his offer to the Noldor in the guise of contrition, yet to any mistrustful eyes who pried deeper into the matter, it would seem as if the idea had been Aulë's and Sauron had merely been carrying out his lord's advice. That was good. The more tangled in Aulë's authority and naïve approval his schemes proved, the harder it would be for any hostile will to implicate him in what would occur should his plans bear fruit.
He stepped out onto the open colonnade that led to the dormitories and stopped momentarily, closing his eyes. The brilliant fire of the Valinorean evening had faded as Arien's chariot came to its rest beyond the Door of Night, and the fresh darkness washed across his face, cleansing what it could of the persistent itch of his shame. He breathed deeply, head tilted back, the stone cool behind him.
Let the world think he was Melkor's cringing cur, if it willed. Let them think he was the Valar's plaything, tied to the bobbing strings of their whims. He would allow it. For now.
His only warning of attack was the brush of an intense and hostile power against his fëa before a wrathful mind slammed itself against his.
He reeled back in shock, his eyes flying open and his lips parting in a desperate gasp against the crushing onslaught. Frantically, he scrabbled together the still-healing tendrils of his defenses, haphazardly erecting a mental wall to guard his inmost being, but the invading will flicked away his fortifications with terrifying, contemptuous ease.
Fear gave way to panic as something smooth and sleek as a snake curled around his wrists from behind, jerking him back against a column and pinning him there relentlessly. He struggled violently, breath suddenly ragged. Twisting his head to the side, he caught a glimpse of what held him. Vines. His heart shot up into his throat.
Yavanna stepped from the doorway, the sister vines in her hair writhing. Away from Aulë and the public observation of the Great Hall, her own mask was stripped away, and anger and loathing poured from her like noxious smoke. Her will remained thrust painfully against his own, pinning him as relentlessly as the vines around his wrists, and he ceased his struggle, wildly hoping that a show of submission would spare him the Valië's full wrath for whatever it was he had done to incur it. Still, his own suppressed fury throbbed in his neck and hatred was a white-hot glow in his chest, but instantaneous horror prickled down his spine as he realized that if Yavanna wanted, she could force her way as deep into his mind as she wished and there was nothing he could do to hinder her.
Yet for the moment the Tree Queen made no attempt to pierce his will, merely keeping her mind pressed threateningly against his as if daring him to resist. She stepped towards him, eyes glinting green and fierce, and reached out a deceivingly slender hand to close her fingers about his throat. His pulse thrashing frantically against her palm, he fought the panic swelling within him. Her fingers were not nearly tight enough to impede his air supply, but a dreadful sensation nagged in the back of his thoughts that Yavanna comprehended more of the implications of that particular grip than he liked. In this form he had concealed the scars ringing his neck, but the press of her fingertips in his soft flesh brought forth a searing flash of terrible, humiliating memory.
The black bridge. Teeth digging deep in his throat. Blood filling his mouth and trickling into his lungs. A heavy paw on his chest, pinning him to the dirt and pressing him into the spreading pool of his own sweat and gore. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.
"What do you want?" he spat, covering his terror with contempt and fury.
Yavanna merely observed him for a moment, her own aversion unconcealed as she swept her eyes scornfully across him. Her will pressed closer. Then she leaned forward, her fingers tightening ever so slightly. "I don't know what you're planning, Abhorred One," she hissed, her breath whispering against his cheek, "but do not take me for the same fool as Aulë. He may trust your worthless promises, but I do not. You are swollen with arrogance and Melkor's venom. It made me sick to hear you breathing such vile falsehoods to those Elves and my husband, but your heart is not veiled to me. I know you are neither contrite nor humbled, but know this – I will not stop until I uncover whatever scheme you're brewing behind that devious, beautiful face."
Her will forced itself closer, choking his thoughts. "And now I am going to make you a promise, one that I will witness in the name and authority of Eru Ilúvatar. If you harm a single one of our charges, if you break but one of your oaths, when your schemes are finally laid bare, I will crush you. I will crush you as the roots of an ancient tree crush a boulder until it is ground to dust. I am not blind to the secrets of what will strike you deepest and most surely. When your treachery is found out and you have nowhere left to hide, I will bring you down weeping and broken, crushed in your heart of hearts, as barren and desolate as you left my Gardens of Almaren."
She pulled her hand from his throat and the vines slithered back, freeing him. He remained slumped against the column, breathing labored, making no attempt to either fight or flee, but silent wrath and hate boiled out of his eyes like molten fire.
Yavanna smiled, a hard, bitter smile full of threat and dangerous elation. "I'll be watching you, Abhorred One," she whispered, "and when you stumble, I'll be there to destroy you."
She rose to her full height and gave him a final look as filled with hate as his own, then she released his will at last and turned from him without a backward glance.
A/N: A hearty "hannon le" to all you wonderful readers, reviewers, favoriters, and followers as Gorthauro Estel crosses its three-year anniversary mark this month! I cannot truly express my joy in seeing so many enthusiastic readers taking pleasure in my hard work or my gratitude to all of you for sticking with me and Sauron through fair weather and through foul. And a special thank you to all the anonymous folk for your thoughtful reviews of the previous chapter; thanks to Tookloops, Guest (1), Guest (2), Guest (3), Amalthea, Guest (4), Guest (5), Guest (6), Al, and Ari.
I'd like to take a moment to specifically address an excellent and intriguing question brought up by the Guest reviewer who mentioned Sauron's literacy or lack thereof. Firstly, I have seen reasonable arguments both for and against Sauron being literate; as is evident from my story, I subscribe to the camp that sees Sauron as literate, as I personally think that view best matches the evidence in Tolkien's books. Interestingly, I'd already written the rough draft of Aulë's discourse on the Ainurin book before I received the anonymous review inquiring about this very topic. Within Aulë's speech I've touched on a few reasons why I could see immortal beings wanting (if not needing) written records, but beyond that, here are my thoughts on the matter for anyone interested.
While it's true that literacy was uncommon in our Medieval period and that Tolkien based his world heavily on that time in our history, literacy does not seem rare in Middle-earth. Writing, recording, and reading are commonly referenced in elven contexts throughout the books and seem an integral part of culture (the very existence of Quenta Silmarillion being case in point). It would seem that not only is writing and reading a fairly common skill but also that being immortal does not necessarily preclude a desire to create and use books.
As for the Ainur, in my own headcanon of them I also see them as limited by their physical forms and therefore susceptible to the natural constraints of a physical body and mind, as in their ability to be injured, need for food, air, and rest, and limited memory space – far beyond the limits of the Children but still limited. Therefore, within my version of Tolkien's universe, I show the Ainur as able to forget or to have previous memories or knowledge fade over time. In FOTR, for example, Gandalf clearly has exceptional memory, but he describes having to "search his mind" for knowledge that has faded and at one point in Moria, it is said that his long-ago memories are of little use anymore.
As such, I don't think Ainur would resort to recording things in writing to the same level as the Children, but I don't think it would be a totally alien concept to them either, particularly those who've been living alongside the Elves for some time. And as I address in Aulë's talk, I think literacy and books have value beyond simply preserving memory and knowledge, value the Ainur could partake in to some degree as much as the Children.
Now about Sauron specifically… My belief that he's literate is two-fold. On the one hand, I think it's a concept that would innately appeal to a character who is clearly interested in innovation, progress, and invention and who is naturally curious. I think as soon as he learned that the Elves had come up with a system for writing, he would have been intrigued and learned both from sheer curiosity and in recognition of what use such a system could be. Within my headcanon, I see part of Sauron's job under Morgoth as basically an evil secretary. An operation like Morgoth's kingdom could not have run that long and that smoothly without some type of record-keeping and I think Sauron would have been doing a lot of this. And being able to read and write would come in very handy in keeping organized with this type of thing, something Sauron would value highly.
On the other hand, I think there's also ample evidence within the books that Sauron is indeed literate and has been for some time. First and foremost, Sauron creates his own language and attempts to teach it to his servants. As Tolkien (and anyone else who has tried to create a fictional language) well knew, creating a half-way decent "conlang" requires a strong understanding of language, grammar, and the way words and syntax work. Teaching it to other people requires an even stronger understanding. More than anything else, this fact about Sauron screams literacy to me and not only literacy but a very thorough and deep understanding of language. Sauron's authorship of the Ring poem and the Ring inscription also indicate his literacy to me.
So yeah, that's my two cents to what is a fantastic question from Guest (6). And as I'm interested in what my other readers have to say on either side of the debate, I'll turn it over to you now. So what do you think? Is Sauron literate? Would the Ainur have any need for books? Feel free to comment with the review feature if you'd like to contribute publically, or you're welcome to send me a PM if you prefer that method.
Finally, to all my fellow Americans out there: Happy Thanksgiving! Cheers!