Strange Alliances

by Erestor

Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to The Lord of the Rings andThe Silmarillion. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for reading/reviewing! A belated Happy Mother's Day to any mothers in the audience. :) (Though it's actually a coincidence that Nerdanel is in this chapter.)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

'And much of the strength and will of Sauron passed into the One Ring; for the power of the Elven-ring was very great, and that which should govern them must be a thing of surpassing potency; and Sauron forged it in the Mountain of Fire in the Land of Shadow.'

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

The seven sons of Fëanor were also the seven sons of Nerdanel, though none of them really took after her. Fëanor liked to make silmarils, and then kill people who took them and ran away. Nerdanel liked to paint.

Though none of his sons actually enjoyed killing people, or at least admitted they enjoyed it, they were generally quite good at killing people, and none of them had the least interest in painting. Nerdanel found most of them rather disappointing.

After Fëanor had callously suggested the thievery of more Teleri ships, and Nerdanel had lost her temper and yelled at him, and after they had stolen a surprised eagle and sent it off to Middle-earth, Fëanor clinging to its back, Nerdanel went home and made tea. Her maternal instincts caused her to suspect that her sons would soon show up on her doorstep, feeling sorry for themselves and hoping for something to eat.

It was not long before she heard a tentative rap on the door.

"Maglor," she said, easily identifying him.

Her next son with access to the door pounded on it dreadfully.

"Caranthir," she said.

"Mother, are you there?" called someone plaintively.

"Curufin," she said.

"Don't leave us out here to die!"

"Amrod," said Nerdanel. "Or Amras." She took pity on them, walked to the door, and opened it. Five anxious faces met her gaze.

"Hello, Mother!" said Celegorm. "We're back!"

"So I see," said Nerdanel coolly. "I expect you want something to eat."

"Oh, yes, please!" they chorused.

"I hope you have wiped your feet on the doormat," said Nerdanel. "Vairë wove it specially for me."

"It's very nice," said Maglor.

Nerdanel was pleased that one of her sons recognized art when he saw it. "Where are Maedhros and Amras?" she asked, smiling at him.

"Maedhros went to Middle-earth, I think," said Curufin.

"And he took my body!" said Amrod.

Nerdanel looked at Amrod again. "Which one are you?" she asked. She did not usually get the twins confused with each other, but Amrod/Amras's strange behavior was beginning to make her wonder.

"Both," said Amrod and Amras. "We both had to squeeze inside my poor/one lousy body, since Maedhros took Amras's/mine."

"It's terribly annoying," said Caranthir blandly. "Can we come in?"

They came in. Nerdanel fetched them a tray of scones and a large teapot full of blackcurrant tea. She set these treats down on the table, and watched her sons sprawl around her living room as if they had never left home.

"So," said Nerdanel eventually, after the scones had disappeared and the tea had been inhaled. "How did you get out of the Halls? Not through legal means, I assume."

"You assume correctly," said Caranthir, licking jam from his fingers. "But we invested a lot of effort in escaping, and everyone knows that if you work hard for something, you deserve to have it."

Nerdanel gave him an annoyed look. "As always, your logic is rather twisted, Caranthir."

"Life is twisted," said Curufin, "so naturally Caranthir's logic must be twisted to fit it."

"I think you deserved what happened to you," said Nerdanel, ignoring him.

"You have no idea how much we suffered in there!" cried Amrod or Amras, or perhaps both of them together.

Nerdanel wasn't the most forgiving of Elves, but that might have been because she had enjoyed the peace and quiet afforded by the absence of her sons. It had given her plenty of time to paint.

"What are you planning to do now?" she asked. "Tulkas will soon realize that you are gone, and he will come after you."

"You are giving him entirely too much credit, Mother," said Caranthir.

"Tulkas has little capacity for rational thought," said Celegorm, "and he is very disorganized. He will never notice that we are no longer with him."

"You seem very comfortable with that assumption," said Nerdanel, "but you should leave nothing to chance."

"True," said Maglor. "I think the seven of us have learned that much at least in the past years."

"I should hope so," said Nerdanel.

"Could we stay... with you... perhaps?" asked Maglor.

"Oh, now you want to stay with me," said Nerdanel. "I remember a time when you were very quick to skip off to Middle-earth with your father. Decided to rally around your mother for a change?"

"We have rethought our previous plan of action," said Celegorm. "We have realized that it doesn't always pay off."

"We would like to live here, with you, in peace and safety," said Curufin, so large-eyed and serious that Nerdanel was immediately suspicious of his motives.

Suddenly she smiled brightly. Curufin winced. "You can stay with me if you like," she said, "but don't think I'll just let you lie about."

Her sons shifted uneasily.

"You have several thousand years of chores to do for me," said Nerdanel.

Luthy was very slightly worried, because her fanfic was suddenly writing itself. She was not sure if she could even call it 'her fanfic' at this point. Having Morgoth as a muse made the writing process somewhat... different.

Perhaps Morgoth was taking over more completely than she had expected, or perhaps she had simply found her niche, one that beat flaming any day. She would write fanfics, not about Fëanor, but about all of the real villains in The Silmarillion, all the ones who unabashedly made it their mission to conquer Middle-earth, not to just retrieve some dumb silmarils.

Or perhaps she would write about Morgoth and Morgoth alone, because he was undoubtedly the most fascinating villain in all the history of Middle-earth.

It was a pity he was so annoying.

Morgoth surveyed his new realm dictated Morgoth. Luthy briskly typed out the sentence. Mordor was black and withered and barren, but the all-powerful Dark Lord was proud to call it home. Actually, scratch that. Delete that whole sentence. What are you doing, you lunatic girl? I don't want you to type this part. Stop! Stop!

"Oh," said Luthy, who had been mechanically typing everything Morgoth put before her, including his frantic appeal for her to delete his sentence about Mordor. She yawned. "I've been typing for nearly an hour," she said. "I'm getting tired."

Tired? How dare you be tired in my presence? snarled Morgoth.

Luthy was used to yelling at her computer, and she was delighted at this opportunity to do what she did so well. "How dare you gripe at me?" she shouted. "I've been typing out your stupid story, haven't I?"

I'll kill your computer!

"If my computer dies, how will your story continue?" asked Luthy. She leaned back in her chair and smugly examined her fingernails.

Luthy did not know it, but a few minutes ago, Morgoth's story would have proceeded perfectly well without her and her computer. He had been careful. He had been controlling the history of Middle-earth from both Earth and Valinor. At least, he had been doing so for some time, until his brother had caught him. His options had suddenly become rather limited.

Perhaps we should talk Morgoth suggested.

"Perhaps we should," said Luthy. "Perhaps we should get to know each other."

There was a silence. Luthy stared at her computer screen. Somewhere in there, was Morgoth staring back? It was a disturbing thought. "What is your favorite color?" she asked suddenly.

Yellow.

Luthy gaped at the monitor in incredulity. "Yellow?"

No Morgoth replied. Of course not. What Dark Lord would like a color that wasn't DARK? ...Is it my turn to ask a question?

"Yes," said Luthy.

Who do you like more: me or Manwë?

Luthy rolled her eyes. "I like Manwë as much as you like the color yellow. What made you trun to the Dark Side?"

My vaulting ambition. Who do you like more: me or Fëanor?

This was rather a hard question. Luthy pondered it briefly, and said, "You. Everyone likes Fëanor, after all, even if they won't admit it to themselves. What is your preferred breakfast food?"

The first minion to get in my way. Who do you like more: me or Sauron?

"You," said Luthy. "Sauron isn't half so powerful as you, especially now that he doesn't have his precious Ring."

His Ring? What Ring? asked Morgoth.

"I suppose you missed all the Ring drama," said Luthy, sighing. "Sauron forged a ring while you were gone. He put most of his power into the Ring, and then he went and got his Ring stolen during the Last Alliance. The man who stole it, Isildur, proceeded to lose both it and his life soon after, and ever since, Sauron has been looking for it so that he can recover all his strength and take over Middle-earth."

How do you know this?

"I have a book," said Luthy carelessly. "I know the whole story. I know how everything will turn out."

Does Sauron find his Ring?

"No," said Luthy. "A halfling gets it and tosses it into Orodruin, which is exactly not what Sauron is expecting. Sauron is defeated, and everyone is happy, except his minions, who are dead."

What is Sauron expecting?

"He was expecting someone to try and claim his Ring so that they could destroy him," said Luthy. "But it didn't work that way. They realized they weren't strong enough to wield it, and got rid of it instead."

But anyone could use the Ring? If he were strong enough?

"And if he found it," said Luthy. "It's hidden."

But you know where it is said Morgoth.

"Yes, I do," replied Luthy, and she polished her fingernails absently on her sweater.

Tell me more, please.

TBC...