Strange Alliances

by Erestor

Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, or the Harry Potter series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! It means a lot to me!

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

'...But Ungoliant belched forth black vapours as she drank, and swelled to a shape so vast and hideous that Melkor was afraid.'

- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion'

Varda and Manwë met each other in the star-port. Varda was thankfully disembarking and fleeing Eärendil's ship, and Manwë was waiting to get on it. Varda halted in mid-flight, growing worried as she took note of the haunted look in her husband's eyes.

"Manwë?" she asked. "Is something wrong? Why are you holding a birdcage?"

"I smashed Vairë's loom," Manwë confessed. He stared miserably at the birdcage, which was small and black and battered.

"You what?"

Manwë gave Varda a panicky look, and she calmed herself. "You smashed Vairë's loom? Why?"

"So that I could pry Morgoth out of it," said Manwë. "He was inside it, messing with the history of Middle-earth that way."

"How very sneaky of him," said Varda. "I suppose he's the shadowy thing in the birdcage?"

Manwë nodded. He looked traumatized. Varda could only imagine the state Vairë was in, if the simple act of loom-smashing had done this to Manwë.

"You are going to put him back in the Void?" she asked.

Manwë nodded. "And then I will go to Middle-earth. Most of Morgoth is there, in Mordor, causing all sorts of trouble. I must stop him."

"Oh, do take care," said Varda. "I know that Morgoth has such a way of making you feel sorry for him. He's shamelessly manipulative, remember that."

Manwë promised her he would remember it.

"And," said Varda, lowering her voice and leaning forward conspiratorially, "don't encourage Eärendil to whistle any anthems for you. It's awful. Such a horrendous experience would only serve to shatter your somewhat fragile nerves."

"I'll remember that too," said Manwë, smiling. He kissed Varda goodbye, and hurried aboard Eärendil's ship.

"Good luck," murmured Varda.

Sauron and Elfdeath came before Morgoth in fear and trembling.

The entire room had been transformed. Sauron's throne had been made much bigger, so that Morgoth could fit into it. Candles were burning here and there, casting ominous, flickering shadows. The room was filled with Morgoth's new minions, and the last of Sauron's most loyal servants were dying painfully in a corner.

"What is that?" brayed Morgoth, pointing at Elfdeath.

"That? I think it's an arachnid of some sort, Master," said Sauron vaguely.

"It's a spider!" said Morgoth. "I hate spiders!"

Elfdeath scuttled from the room, squeaking in terror. Morgoth nodded, and a few of the minions went dashing after her, waving their weapons in vicious anticipation.

Morgoth said, very clearly and distinctly, "No. More. Pet. Spiders."

"Yes, Master."

"Now, why did it take so long for you to come?"

"You nearly crippled me with a chair, Master."

"Oh, yes." Morgoth had forgotten about the chair, especially in light of recent revelations. "I have been hearing fascinating things from your most loyal servants," he said.

In its corner, the last loyal servant died painfully. Sauron did not even glance in its direction.

"Master?"

"They told me all about a certain... Ring of Power," said Morgoth with a meaningful pause.

Sauron almost looked startled. "A Ring of Power?" he echoed blankly.

"Please get that innocent, confused expression off your face. It makes you look like a goldfish," said Morgoth abrasively. "Yes. The Ring of Power."

"I do not–"

"Oh, yes, you do."

"Oh, no, I don't."

"Yes, you do, Sauron," said Melkor, very, very firmly.

"I, Master?" There was no hope for Sauron but to look innocent and confused again. And loyal. Very loyal.

"To the best of my knowledge, you are the only one in this room named Sauron," said Morgoth.

"You are all knowing, Master," murmured Sauron, hoping he was not.

"You enjoy the taste of power far much more than is healthy," said the Vala. He chuckled. "When the Ring is mine, I will possess all your unique gifts and talents, and I shall no longer need your direct service. It is a perfect arrangement."

Sauron hoped that Mandos, Lórien, and Nienna would be good at hiding from the various evil forces Morgoth would send after them.

"Now," said Morgoth, "perhaps I should pay my three prisoners a little visit." The Dark Lord stood up, and crossed the shabby, bloodstained red carpet in a few paces. He stared down at Sauron, and Sauron, glancing up, looked him in the eyes for the very first time.

"But first I'll deal with you," Morgoth said.

"Wake up, Lúthien," said Fëanor, prodding her ineffectually. He could come nearer to her than Maedhros could, but he still could not touch her. His ghostly hand passed through her perfect shoulder, instead of grasping and shaking it.

Lúthien opened her eyes blearily. "What?" she asked. "Ai, Fëanor, stop bobbing about. You are going to give me a headache."

It was the next morning. Maedhros and Lúthien had been sleeping fitfully in a large storage closet, exactly a meter apart, amid piles of disgusting, blood-encrusted weaponry. Fëanor, however, had been exploring Barad-dûr. No one was well rested, and no one was in a good mood.

Fëanor's mood was the best. He had discovered that he could fly. Having no actual weight, he had been walking on the floor merely out of habit. Fëanor flitted about, bouncing off the walls, turning somersaults, and performing other wondrous feats. Maedhros and Lúthien glared up at him.

"Guess what I found out!" said Fëanor, pretending to alight on the ground in an effort to appease the living. In reality, he was hovering slightly.

"I have no idea what you found out," said Maedhros.

"Morgoth has captured Mandos, Nienna, and Lórien!" said Fëanor. "He has been clobbering them all night!"

Maedhros rubbed his eyes. "Are you upset by this, Father, or just really thrilled?" he asked. "It's hard to tell."

"I'm upset," said Fëanor. "I think. I'm not sure."

"Nienna was my friend," said Lúthien. She looked horrified. As was the way with Lúthien, she also looked beautiful and endearing and lovable.

"Nienna may have been your friend, but Mandos was our jailer," said Maedhros.

"We should save them!" said Lúthien. "Perhaps they can help us."

"If we have to save them," said Fëanor, "then I doubt they could really help us. If they escape, then Morgoth will search everywhere for them, and we would all be caught. We cannot risk that."

Lúthien bit her perfect lip, considering.

"What about Sauron? What is he doing?" asked Maedhros.

"I do not know what he is doing," said Fëanor. "I could not find him."

"That's worrisome," said Maedhros. "He could be planning all sorts of evil. We cannot leave him to his own devices."

Lúthien and Fëanor nodded their agreement.

"I shall go and look for him, then," said Fëanor, and floated away.

The MoS was sitting in a large cabinet in the kitchen of Barad-dûr, drinking a vile concoction of dubious origins and eating a tomato. He had found a large vine in the garden outside the kitchen, and had picked an extravagant amount of the fruit. It was good. Nice and juicy. It left sinister red stains around his mouth. He munched it contentedly, and pondered the new turn of events.

There are things that money can't buy. Loyalty is not one of these things.

However, Sauron was at heart a stingy individual, which was why disguising himself as kindly, gift-giving Annatar had been such a masterpiece in irony. Sauron was not fond of giving his minions any kind of monetary reward, not when he could simply scare them into serving him wholeheartedly. He had assumed that there was no chance of someone scarier showing up in Middle-earth and stealing his minions.

It had been a bad mistake on his part. The MoS was not sure he wanted to serve a lord who made such mistakes.

At the same time, the MoS did not want to risk changing sides. After all, anything Sauron perceived to be treachery on his part could be fatal. Of course, if Morgoth discovered the MoS, he would probably kill him out of hand, not fearing any particular threat, but being careful anyway.

The MoS hated dilemmas. He was happiest when someone was telling him what to do and what to say. It was one thing to serve a Maia, but it was another thing to be dealing with Valar! The MoS was only human, even if he was a very long-lived human, and the thought of serving a god so directly terrified him.

That was another problem. Sauron had been so very eager to advocate the worship of Morgoth back in Númenor, but as soon as Morgoth had showed up in Mordor, Sauron had started threatening the MoS with a violent, painful fate the instant he 'switched sides'.

Clearly Sauron and Morgoth were not on the same side. Did Sauron have the slightest chance of defeating a god?

Of course not.

The MoS was torn.

Before the MoS could determine the course of action that would be least hazardous to himself, the cabinet door began to slowly swing open.

The MoS found himself staring into the many eyes of Elfdeath.

"Quick, quick, Mouth!" cried Elfdeath. "Master is in trouble! You must help him!"

"In trouble?" asked the MoS nervously. He hoped, for one brief moment, that perhaps Sauron was dead.

"Morgoth has decided he doesn't need Master any more," squeaked Elfdeath, nearly overcome with emotion. "He will kill him!"

The MoS let out a soft sigh of relief. "That would solve our problems," he said.

"What?" Elfdeath's mouth dropped open. She had, the MoS noted, two long fangs, all the better for sucking blood from her unfortunate victims.

The MoS did not bother to explain. "Go away, Elfdeath," he said. "I need to think."

"You're a minion!" screeched Elfdeath. "You aren't supposed to think! You are supposed to aid your lord!"

"Have you considered our fate if Morgoth wins this war, and we are on the wrong side?" asked the MoS. "We all have to take care of ourselves. We must be selfish, because those we serve are selfish. If my lord could save himself by sacrificing me, he would do so without a second thought. I would like to survive, so I must let my lord cope on his own. I must save myself."

"Morgoth does not like spiders," said Elfdeath sadly. "He never has."

"Too bad," said the MoS.

"I'll tell my master you betrayed him!" said Elfdeath, hopping backwards and glaring at the man.

"You won't!" snarled the MoS, scrambling out of his cabinet. "I'll squish you first."

Elfdeath skittered back further, still glaring. "If you want to save yourself, Mouth, you had better help Master. He is not forgiving. If you do not save him from Morgoth, he will find some way to destroy you."

The MoS had an uncomfortable feeling that this was true.

"He might reward you for saving his life," said Elfdeath.

The MoS snorted.

"Well, he might," retorted Elfdeath defensively.

"He might," said the MoS. "And perhaps the sun will turn blue and come crashing from the sky. That would surprise us all, wouldn't it?"

Elfdeath huffed. "He might reward you by letting you live," she said. "Follow me."

TBC...