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.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
"'Don't orcs eat, and don't they drink? Or do they just live on foul air and poison?'"
-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Return of the King'
Barad-dûr was exactly what they had expected. It was dark, dirty, foul-smelling, and altogether unpleasant. There were Orcs and other nasty (but fortunately unidentifiable) creatures about. Something somewhere dripped persistently. Fëanor and the Valar were very careful about where they put their feet.
"You are in time for dinner," said Sauron mildly. "Follow me, please."
They followed him.
("I don't know if this was a good idea," whispered Nienna.)
("It probably wasn't," replied Lórien.)
It was not long before they heard the unmistakable sounds of rioting and warfare. The Valar winced. Fëanor began to look interested. Sauron's face was devoid of expression, a fact that was worrisome in the extreme. By the way his mouth was twitching, he was probably trying not to laugh. That was even more worrisome.
They reached a large oaken door, and somehow Sauron flung it open without actually touching it.
The sight of Orcs met their eyes. Orcs. Orcs, Orcs, and more Orcs. Orcs fighting and brawling and killing and, in some rare cases, actually eating. Or, more frequently, being eaten.
Belatedly, Fëanor began to wonder if he would be the main course of this dinner.
The Orcs rapidly noticed that their lord and master was standing in the doorway, staring at them and tapping one foot impatiently. They went silent at once, dropping whatever grisly objects they had been holding and having the decency to look slightly ashamed of themselves.
Sauron did not bother to say anything. He strode through the crowd, with the Orcs scuttling to get out of his way, and his guests hurrying after him. He reached a large stone table, set high on a platform; climbed up the steps to it; and scrambled onto a huge iron throne, which was incongruously padded with a large red pillow. Even with the pillow, he looked very small, albeit dangerous, as he sat there.
Sauron waved his hand graciously, and the Orcs started fighting again.
"So, what do you think of the dining hall?" asked Sauron. "Does it suit your tastes?"
"Not really," said Lórien. Lórien liked fountains and flowers and beautiful maidens drifting around singing soothing lullabies. This was basically the opposite of that.
Fëanor saw several Orcs gazing up at him and looking hungry. He slouched down in his chair.
The Valar attempted have a conversation with Sauron. It was very awkward. Sauron changed the subject so often that Mandos began to suspect he was either trying to beat some previous record, or playing a game to see how much he could confuse his guests.
Eventually a man wandered through the mob, holding a large platter above his head.
"That," said Sauron, in a tone that was almost proud, "is my chef."
The man was clearly having some difficulties navigating his way amongst the Orcs.
"He is very talented," said Sauron.
Mandos could not help but notice that Sauron suddenly looked slightly anxious.
The man realized that he was heading in the wrong direction, and started wandering towards the high table. He wobbled under the burden of the heavy platter.
"He makes chopped Orc intestines taste like ambrosia," said Sauron. "Which I suppose it is, if I am eating it."
Mandos rolled his eyes. Nienna was gagging quietly in her corner, hoping that Orc intestines would not be the main dish served that evening.
The man wobbled into several Orcs who were locked in mortal combat. He nearly tipped over.
"He won the Mordor Culinary Competition last year," said Sauron.
Three Orcs tackled the man and he went down like a felled tree.
"And now he's dead," said Sauron. He sighed. "He lasted longer than the other fifteen, at least," he murmured.
Once the Orcs realized that there was something new to eat, they all flung themselves in the direction of the downed chef with joyful shouts of "Manflesh! Manflesh!". The room became even noisier. The scene became even more violent.
"Someone will probably think to bring us something eventually," said Sauron, "or else someone will die horribly."
"I do not feel very hungry, actually," said Nienna.
Mandos, Lórien and Fëanor hastily, and desperately, voiced their agreement.
"Nonsense," said Sauron. "You must be very hungry. After all, you have been traveling for a long time."
They assured him that they were not hungry.
"You wound me," said Sauron dramatically. "You greatly wound me."
"I'm very sorry," said Nienna.
"You should be," said Sauron. "By the way, can you cook?"
"Not really," said Nienna. "I didn't eat much in Valinor."
"Can any of you cook?" asked Sauron.
There was a lengthy silence, during which Fëanor and the Valar all stared sheepishly at the table.
"I can," said Fëanor at last, still staring at the table, and looking more sheepish than the three Valar combined. "I'm good at cooking."
"Thank Melkor!" cried Sauron in delight, ignoring the way they all stiffened at the exclamation. "You are most welcome, Fëanor, if you can cook. I shall be forever in your debt. Now, are you sure you aren't hungry?"
They nodded.
"Well, I'm hungry," said Sauron. "You will be glad to know it doesn't take me long to eat."
A moment later, a large wolf was devouring two or three unlucky Orcs. Mandos, Lórien, Nienna and Fëanor were alternately averting their eyes or staring in fixated disgust.
Eventually Nienna said, "You know, when we were on Earth, he could only turn into a small werewolf."
"He still not as big as he could be if he had the Ring of Power," said Mandos. "But he is more powerful than he was on Earth."
Sauron returned to them, having reverted back to his normal form. "I suppose you are tired?" he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Yes," replied Lórien.
"Do you have a guestroom where we could stay?" asked Nienna.
Sauron thought for a moment. "I do have a guestroom," he said, "though usually I call it my Main Torture Chamber. I could move the various prisoners out of it, though, and have some bedding brought in, and you would probably be comfortable. Does that sound good?"
"It sounds... great," said Nienna weakly.
"Good," said Sauron. He went to smaller door at the back of the room, and stepped through it, his guests behind him. He turned around and looked up at them. "Are you sure you want to stay with me?" he asked. "The Orcs are usually even worse at breakfast."
They did not want to stay. They wanted to be far, far away. But they had a feeling that they couldn't back out of the agreement now. They had to watch Sauron and make sure he didn't get up to mischief.
"Oh, we don't mind," said Mandos. "I'm sure Fëanor will make a delicious breakfast."
"What?" demanded Fëanor.
"I think he meant that you would cook a delicious breakfast," said Nienna.
"Oh," said Fëanor. "Oh, of course."
"Of course," said Mandos.
The sight of the Main Torture Chamber –the guestroom, that is– did nothing to soothe the nerves of our heroes. After the mayhem in the dining hall, they felt as though they were on the verge of hysteria. The guestroom was nearly enough to send them over the edge.
The guestroom was dark and foreboding.
Sauron's expression was also dark and foreboding.
Lórien chose the lesser of two evils, and entered the guestroom with a big fake grin on his face.
"I get the rack!" he cried, bounding forward to claim it.
Mandos, Nienna, and Fëanor followed gingerly, setting down their packs and claiming spots as their own.
Sauron glowered at the four of them. "Sleep well," he said. He slammed the door shut.
He could not believe that the Valar had simply showed up on his doorstep. How smugly confident they were! How incredibly annoying!
Sauron would have loved to be rid of them, but there was little he could do. As long as they kept their noses out his business, they were not much of a threat. They would never take action against him unless he willfully provoked them.
Sauron could only hope that after their first breakfast in Barad-dûr, they would flee the place in disgust.
They could not avoid eating forever...
Maedhros turned around, and saw Tulkas staring at him with great concentration.
Maedhros turned around in the other direction, doing so very slowly, and saw Nessa staring at him with narrowed eyes from where she sat at Mandos's redecorated desk. The desk had once been big and black, with hard, straight edges, but Nessa had repainted it. It was now plastered in a striking mishmash of green stripes and purple polka dots, the brightness of which threatened to do damage to the immaterial retinas of the poor fëar.
Maedhros peered covertly, and saw that the Maiar belonging to both Nessa and Tulkas were also staring at him, though they managed to do so with more tact than the Valar.
Maedhros was getting tired of being watched. It was making him jittery and paranoid, and such conditions were not conducive to thinking up clever escape plans. Probably this was the effect that Tulkas and Nessa intended.
Maedhros decided to continue to pretend that he did not notice that Valar's great interest in him. He whistled an obnoxious tune, and examined all ten of his fingernails, reflecting on how glad he was to have two hands again. All the jokes his insensitive brothers had thought up about how Maedhros was no longer able to count to ten had been very annoying.
While Maedhros whistled, he considered his situation. It had been bad enough when Mandos had ruled his Halls. It had become worse when Tulkas had taken charge. After Maedhros's first failed escape plan, it had grown still worse. After his eighth failed escape plan, it had become nearly unbearable. Tulkas and Nessa refused to let the fëa out of their sight for two seconds together. Maedhros's brothers were resentful that he hadn't saved them sooner than this. Being lazy little blighters, they weren't volunteering to help him think up ideas.
Maedhros was so engrossed in pretending to be interested in his fingernails that he did not notice the altercation until it was at its loudest.
One of Mandos's Maiar had finally snapped, and was in the process of confronting Tulkas. The Maiar that served Mandos had been suffering in silence for long enough, watching everything in the Halls of Mandos go to pieces. None of them, however, were fond of conflict. They were used to being quiet and drifting about busily. Therefore, it was a bit of a shock to Tulkas when one of them went berserk.
"–MAKING PAPER CHAINS!" yelled the Maia, brandishing a paper chain at Tulkas.
Maedhros started paying attention.
Tulkas tried to say something soothing while the disgruntled Maia flung the paper chain on the floor and jumped up and down on it. Maedhros watched, fascinated.
"You do not have to make paper chains," said Tulkas. "You could help us make origami cranes instead."
"Origami cranes?" yelled the Maia. "What do you think Mandos will do when he returns and finds us making origami cranes?"
"Calm down, calm down," said Tulkas.
The Maia looked anything but calm. "He trusted us to take care of his Halls, and you've destroyed them! He will be furious!"
"It's not the end of the world," said Tulkas reassuringly.
"It will be!" said the Maia, regaining enough of his sense of dignity to be able to make ominous prophecies. "It will be! You just wait and see."
Maedhros smiled as he watched the Maia stomp off. He suddenly had a good idea for a ninth escape plan. It would take time and patience, but it would work.
He hoped.
TBC...