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 THIRTY-TWO
'They lamented bitterly the fall of Felagund their king, saying that a maiden had dared that which the sons of Fëanor had not dared to do...'
-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion'
Fëanor ran out of the Halls of Mandos. It shouldn't have been possible. He was a floaty, misty fëa, bodiless, and actually quite happy. Mandos would have been horrified to see him on the loose in such a state.
Fëanor had several problems. For one thing, he wasn't certain of his method of returning to Middle-earth. It would be difficult, maybe impossible, but Fëanor defied the impossible; he was that sort of person in both life and death.
His second problem was the matter of Maedhros, who was pursuing him at a great speed.
Fëanor went a little faster, telling himself that he only ran because he was in a hurry to save Middle-earth. The preservation of Middle-earth had never been one of his chief priorities, but it's rather funny how priorities can change so quickly. Fëanor's had changed very quickly.
Just then, Fëanor ran through his wife. It was a strange experience for both of them.
"Fëanor!" shrieked Nerdanel, whirling around and pointing her parasol at him. "What are you doing here?"
Fëanor gaped at her. He was undergoing a moment where absolutely nothing seemed to make sense. Such moments tend to directly precede nervous breakdowns.
When Fëanor tuned in to reality again, Nerdanel was still ranting at him. "–expect to see you here, much less have you run right through me! What were you thinking?"
"I'm sorry," Fëanor gasped. "I'm still adjusting to disembodiment."
Nerdanel made a little choking sound, and held up a hand apologetically. "I think I need to sit down and hyperventilate," she said. "Give me a few seconds, please."
She sat down and hyperventilated quietly, being the sort of woman who hates to make a scene when a brief display of violent mental agitation will get her point across equally well. Fëanor hovered around anxiously, craning his neck to see if his eldest son was catching up with him. Fortunately, Maedhros seemed to have been thrown off his track.
Nerdanel said, "Does Mandos know you have escaped?"
"I suspect he is otherwise occupied at present," said Fëanor.
"What do you plan on doing?" asked Nerdanel.
"I'm trying to get off Valinor," said Fëanor. "Morgoth has returned, and I must save Middle-earth."
"What a noble aspiration!" said Nerdanel, surprised.
"I do occasionally have them," retorted Fëanor, annoyed.
Nerdanel supposed the statement was a manifestation of her husband's frequently expressed wishful thinking. "How do you plan on leaving Valinor?" she demanded.
"Do the Teleri still build decent ships?" Fëanor asked.
Tulkas was not particularly smart, but he was no fool. He was not particularly vicious, but he was very good at wrestling. He was one of the few Valar who Morgoth had reason to fear.
He banged on the doors of Barad-dûr again. He did not really notice that he was causing an earthquake. Nor would he have cared, had he noticed.
"Hey! What are you doing?" yelled someone from far beneath him.
Tulkas looked down, and saw a girl standing near his feet. She had pointed ears, a huge sword, and a mean expression.
"Who are you?" asked Tulkas.
"I am Amanda-Lynn!" yelled the girl hoarsely.
"I didn't ask what you are," said Tulkas. "I asked who you are."
He had, of course, thought she had said she was a mandolin.
"I am the daughter of Varda and Manwë Súlimo!" yelled the girl. "I have powers! I am here to defeat the Dark Lord!"
Tulkas had not known that Varda and Manwë had a daughter, but he supposed that they were allowed to have their little secrets.
"What exactly are you then?" he asked. "You don't look like a Vala."
"I'm in disguise as an Elf-maid!" yelled Amanda-Lynn. "Who are you?"
"I'm Tulkas," said Tulkas. He felt sad that Varda and Manwë had never told their daughter about him. He had thought that they regarded him as family. 'Uncle Tulkas' would have been such a fine name.
Tulkas smote the great gate again. Amanda-Lynn kept her balance with a cat's grace as the ground rippled underfoot.
Tulkas, squinting down at her, thought that she was very beautiful, though she did not much resemble either of her parents. She possessed cascading blonde curls, while Varda and Manwë both had black hair. Perhaps hers was dyed as well.
Tulkas brought his fist in solid contact with the gate once more, and, as if resigned to the inevitable, it slowly collapsed. Tulkas hurried inside to battle Morgoth.
Amanda-Lynn would have followed, but she was having second thoughts. After all, her powers did not seem to be working very well at the moment. She had been unable to knock holes in the wall. Perhaps she would not be able to use any of her other exceptional talents. On a good day, Amanda-Lynn could conjure up fireballs, dazzle people with sparkly stuff, and pelt them with rose petals. Vána called this 'flower power'.
Vána often appeared to Amanda-Lynn. She had helped her from the start, saying something about how the 'most annoying ones always survive'. Amanda-Lynn did not know who the mysterious 'other ones' were, but she did know that she had survived. And she had powers, too, as well as the love of several noble Elves and Men.
Amanda-Lynn thought she had seen Sauron somewhere before, but she could not quite remember. She was beginning to feel hesitant about fighting him. She had a vague suspicion that flinging flower petals at him would not do him much damage (except psychologically, if she were lucky).
She was considering her options (she could either try to defeat Sauron by herself, or give up, go back to Mirkwood, tell everyone that she had defeated Sauron, and then act surprised when he turned out to be alive), when an eagle came swooping out of the sky. A ghostly form leapt off of the eagle, and ran through the gate into Barad-dûr.
"This is all very strange," said Amanda-Lynn to herself. She decided to wait for more developments before she stormed the dark tower.
Sauron strode down the hall again, Lúthien trotting after him. He was thankful that he possessed the ability of being calm in a crisis, because so many crises were occurring so rapidly that anyone else in his position would have been a gibbering mess by that point.
"Tulkas is here!" cried Lúthien. "Surely he can defeat Morgoth."
"I don't know," said Sauron, turning around to glare at her. "Perhaps."
Lúthien gave the Maia a long look. "I suppose you only want to save yourself," she said.
"Of course. Who else have I cause to wish to save?"
"Would it be better for you if Morgoth won, or if Tulkas won?"
"I don't know. I'll find out soon enough."
"I admire your adaptability," said Lúthien. She raked her fingers through her long, downy hair, which was a very calculating move on her part. She knew that such seemingly careless gestures made her look even more beautiful than she looked usually.
To his credit, Sauron did not lose his train of thought. "My adapta–" he began, and then stopped as Fëanor came racing around the corner.
"There you are, Sauron!" said Fëanor.
"What are you doing?" exclaimed Sauron. "You're supposed to be dead!"
"I am dead, you idiot," said Fëanor. "How many of the living are translucent?"
Momentarily at a loss for words, Sauron actually growled at him. Fëanor took a step back. Lúthien smirked.
"Only someone with nothing to lose would dare to call me an idiot," said Sauron, "so obviously you are dead."
Fëanor was about to reply with another witty insult, but then he saw Lúthien. "Who's she?" he asked.
"I am Lúthien Tinúviel," said Lúthien. "You must be Fëanor."
"Have the two of you met before?" asked Sauron.
"No," said Lúthien sweetly. "His sons killed my son, that's all, and tried to kill me as well."
"Oh," said Sauron, glancing from one to the other. His knowledge of historical Elven interaction was nearly nonexistent.
"I've heard a lot about you," said Fëanor. Far too much, in his opinion."I heard that you and your mortal stole one of my Silmarils from Morgoth."
This was something of which Sauron was painfully aware.
"Yes, we did," said Lúthien. "It's rather sad that your seven sons couldn't accomplish even that much."
"You're lucky that you don't have the Silmaril now," said Fëanor, "because if you did, I would have to kill you for it."
"I highly doubt anyone in your condition could kill a fly," Lúthien retorted.
"My condition?"
"Of being dead," clarified Lúthien.
Sauron found himself in the unfamiliar position of breaking up a fight, instead of starting one, participating in one, or making one worse. "How did you get here?" he asked. "You shouldn't have been able to leave the Halls of Mandos."
"My wife and I stole an eagle," said Fëanor. "Very exciting undertaking."
"I'm sure," said Sauron blandly.
Lúthien rolled her eyes. "Eagles like me," she said. "I never had to steal one."
Sauron could tell that another spate of bickering was about to break out. He cleared his throat and said, "You both need to hide. If my Master finds you, very bad things will happen to the three of us."
They set off down the hall again. Sauron walked very quickly, and Lúthien nearly had to run to keep up with him.
"Maedhros is after me," said Fëanor, matching the Dark Lord's pace with an effort. This new, grown-up Sauron was taller than even he.
"He's your oldest, isn't he?" asked Sauron.
Fëanor nodded.
"I suppose he's wandering around Barad-dûr as well?"
Fëanor nodded again.
"I hate you and all of your brood," said Sauron. "I really do."
"Sorry," said Fëanor, surprisingly apologetic.
"Hide in the wall," said Sauron. "You're immaterial; you should be able to slip into it."
Fëanor experimented, and found that this was so.
"Sauron!" roared Morgoth from somewhere in Barad-dûr. The whole tower shuddered.
"Just hide somewhere, woman!" snapped the Maia, and he ran down the hallway, leaving the irritated Lúthien behind him.
Sauron slunk into Morgoth's presence.
Morgoth was pacing back and forth, clearly agitated. "Tulkas is here!" the Vala grunted. "What is the state of my army?"
"My Lord, many of my –I mean, Your– orcs are patrolling the countryside," said Sauron. "Your army is strong, but, at the moment, unprepared to combat a Vala."
"I think this demonstrates a very serious lack of foresight on your part," snarled Morgoth.
"I was not expecting any Valar," said Sauron honestly. "I am very sorry, Master."
"I should hope so," said Morgoth. "But that does not really solve the problem, does it?"
Sauron thought for a moment. "We could pretend You are not at home, Master," he said.
Annoyed, Morgoth slammed Sauron against a wall, but the Maia was not much disconcerted. This treatment, at least, was blessed with the feeling of familiarity. "Or," Sauron wheezed, once he could almost breathe again, "we could give him Mandos. Then he would most assuredly go away, Master."
"That is true..." said Morgoth, letting go of the Maia and looking pensive. "However, I was have been eagerly anticipating causing Mandos to suffer in all sorts of unpleasant ways."
"He might accept Lórien and Nienna in place of Mandos, Master," said Sauron, picking himself off the floor.
"We do not have to give anyone away," said Morgoth. "Tulkas is unaware that I have taken three Valar prisoner. Go and notify him of that at once."
"Yes, Master," said Sauron. He stumbled towards the door.
"Hurry up!" yelled Morgoth, throwing a chair at him. "We do not have all day!"
Sauron hurried up.
TBC...