Title: Cunning One
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Characters: Denethor/Finduilas, as seen by Saruman; guest starring Sauron
Prompt: 22: "How can you have lived this long, and not give in to rage? Don't you understand; we've both outlived our age?"
Word Count: 476
Rating: G
Summary: Sauron and Saruman plot. Denethor watches, and waits for revenge.
Author's Notes: I own nothing. The prompt screamed for this interaction, though it was hard to tie in Finduilas without resorting to "Refraction's" interpretation of canon. Curunir, "The One of Cunning Devices," was the name the elves granted to Saruman when the Istari came to Middle-earth. Both he and Sauron had originally been assigned to Aule.
They were not alone. The stronger of Aule's former Maiar spotted the intrusion first, but the White Istar could follow his ally's thoughts to the unfocused, unguarded visitor. A mortal? This creature was little more than a boy! How did he dare think that he could match wills with two of the most powerful spirits in Arda? Curunir added his own wave of hatred to the tide of overwhelming malice that the Dark Lord projected towards the mortal. The curious sensation disappeared, replaced briefly by fear, before the mortal with the dark, watchful eyes retreated completely from their shared thoughts. And that, Curunir concluded, would be the last they would hear from that mortal, unless Sauron took some joy in continuing to haunt his dreams.
As he haunted the wizard's dreams. It took nearly all Curunir's reserves to keep Sauron from the deepest places in his mind, making him resent the need for any excess expenditure to keep his thoughts to himself. The dark places were nearly all given over to the Dark Lord, but in the few stray corners he had left, Curunir plotted Sauron's overthrow. That was why he had picked up the Palantir. That was why he had worked his way into Sauron's confidences. That was why he was willing to point Sauron in the direction of the strongholds of men, the caverns of the dwarves, and the guarded forests of the elves. Let his ally weaken himself upon the lesser creatures, use up his resources in these games of conquest, and then they would see which of Aule's lost apprentices was the stronger. Curunir had let Sauron into his mind, but he had also gained entrance to that of Sauron's. And Curunir did not bother to waste his energy torturing the minds of mortals. Let Sauron play his games, darken the skies, and send his orcs into well-guarded lands. Curunir was learning from his mistakes. The Istar had not become known as the Cunning One for nothing. If Sauron conquered, Curunir was high enough amongst his allies that he might well overturn the victory to the Istar. If Sauron fell, one lord was usually needed to replace a fallen one. And who better than the most powerful member of the White Council? Either way, this victory went to Curunir.
Never again did Curunir feel the open presence of another watching them through the Palantir. There were whispers of thoughts from what might have been his broken, defeated conscience, but no feeling of those dark eyes trapping him between them and the Great Eye, revealing all his secrets. That dry, defiant voice that declared itself still there, the one that spoke accusingly of a woman dead by their devices; that had always been there. Had it not?
Only the burning hands that awaited his neck in the Halls of Mandos knew for sure.