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 reviewing!

Author's Note: I will be unable to post any Strange Alliances for the next few weeks, due to the fact that I will be in a different country, and unable to do any writing. Sorry for the short notice.

CHAPTER FORTY

"Indeed he is in great fear, not knowing what mighty one may suddenly appear, wielding the Ring, and assailing him with war, seeking to cast him down and take his place."'

-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Two Towers'

Sauron sat at the foot of the throne that now belonged to Melkor, and thought some more. He enjoyed thinking, though he wished he could concentrate better. Having two broken legs was proving to be rather a distraction.

Actually, he doubted they were broken. They were probably just badly sprained. Not a problem. Hardly detrimental at all. He could grin and bear it.

Sauron was an incredibly optimistic Maia. A lesser being would have despaired after suffering two or three crushing defeats at the hands of lesser beings, but Sauron had persevered. He had even done rather well in the end. He'd made his mark. His legs were probably fine.

Sauron wished he had paid more attention during Aulë's lectures on First Aid. He sighed. He started counting by prime numbers in a pointless experiment to see how high he could go. The experiment was pointless because Sauron could count as high as numbers reached.

He had not counted for long before Fëanor returned, with Amanda-Lynn following. She had sheathed her enormous sword, and was trying to sneak quietly through the shadows. Her chainmail kept rattling, and her sparkly hair caught the nearly nonexistent light and shimmered in a very eye-catching way. Her attempt at sneaking was a dazzling failure.

"6991, 6997, 7001," muttered Sauron, watching them. Fëanor, he knew, tended to be unpredictable to the point of predictability, a quality that would make proceedings infinitely more interesting.

"Still conscious?" asked Fëanor unkindly.

"7013," said Sauron.

Fëanor frowned, wondering if Sauron was attempting to make him feel confused and uneasy. He shook the worrying thought away, crossed his arms, and glared down at the Maia. "Amanda-Lynn can heal you," he said, "but first we will lay down our terms."

"All right," said Sauron.

Oh dear, thought Fëanor. His nerves felt wracked.

Sauron looked up at him expectantly.

"I want a body," said Fëanor. "As soon as possible. I'm sick of accidentally slipping through solid objects."

"You shall have a body," said Sauron munificently, with a little wave of his hand. "Anything else?"

Fëanor was worried. It worried him that Sauron was being so obliging. Either Sauron was a lot more desperate than he looked, or he had some amazing plan up his sleeve and was about to double-cross them all.

Fëanor floated backwards the distance of about two steps. "Actually," he said, "I can't trust you. I would be a fool to trust you. Why should Amanda-Lynn heal you?"

Sauron smiled. "I don't even know if she can heal anything," he said.

"We seem to have reached an impasse," said Fëanor after a moment's pause.

"Yes," said Sauron. "And Lord Melkor is returning, so you should probably hide. Or, Amanda-Lynn, you could do something melodramatic and pointless, like challenge Him to single combat. That could prove to be amusing."

Amanda-Lynn glared at him.

"Don't listen to him," said Fëanor. "He's just being obnoxious."

Sauron sighed. "Run and hide, both of you," he said. "I'll distract Him," he finished, assuming a self-sacrificial air.

"We'll be back," said Fëanor.

"Oh, good," said Sauron. "I do so look forward to seeing you again."

It was Fëanor's turn to glare at the Maia, but Sauron pointedly pretended not to notice. At last the two hurried away.

"All right, Mouth," said Sauron after a few minutes, "you can come out now."

The MoS slunk out of his hiding place, and Elfdeath lowered herself towards the floor on a strand of gossamer. Sauron smiled, not at them, but to himself. "How good of you to come," he said.

The MoS bowed, but was silent. One of the things about being the Mouth of Sauron was that the Mouth of Sauron had to know when not to talk.

Sauron closed his eyes. "If you would like to kill me," he said, "you may do so now."

"My lord?"

"Don't worry. I won't be offended. I'm tired and wounded and weak. You could kill me and endear yourself to Melkor."

"I do not think Melkor would be very pleased if I killed you, my lord," said the MoS carefully. "I think he wants to keep you alive and unhappy for a very long time."

"Yes, I think so too." Sauron bit his lip. Then he opened his eyes and announced, "Well, if you aren't going to kill me, then you could do something more constructive, like get me out of here. I need to buy myself some time, and the only way to do that is to get out of Melkor's way before He damages me any more."

"I will help you, Master!" cried Elfdeath enthusiastically, running to his side and fawning over him.

"I will help you as well, my lord," said the MoS. "How can I be of service?"

"You're going to have to pick me up," said Sauron. "I can't walk, unfortunately."

The MoS edged forward nervously. He was afraid to even touch the Maia, let alone pick him up and carry him somewhere. "You're so tall now, my lord," he said. "I don't think I can pick you up."

Sauron took a deep breath. "Then you'll have to drag me to safety," he said. "Come here."

The MoS went to his side obediently, and stared down at his lord and wondered what was going to happen next. He glared across at Elfdeath, who had forced him to come and be helpful. He hated that spider.

"I'm not going to enjoy this," said Sauron, "and therefore I will make sure that you do not enjoy it either."

The MoS felt sick, and his hands felt clammy. "Maybe I can pick you up, my lord," he said.

"Try," said Sauron.

The MoS tried. Panic made him clumsy.

"This is not fun," hissed Sauron. "Not fun at all."

"I'm sorry, my lord," gasped the MoS, and promptly dropped him.

"I did not know there were clowns in Mordor," remarked Maedhros.

"I don't think that's a clown," said Lúthien. "It looks like one of Sauron's minions."

"Sauron certainly knows how to hire bumbling idiots," said Maedhros. "Maybe they amuse him."

"He doesn't look much amused at the moment," returned Lúthien.

Elfdeath and the MoS gaped at the two Elves.

"No, he's not amused," said Maedhros. "I think his minion knocked him unconscious."

"Congratulations," Lúthien told the MoS. "You've made our job a lot easier."

Sauron sat up, fully conscious and unamused. "Stay away from me," he said, glaring at the Elves. "I bite."

"We just wanted to talk with you," said Maedhros, holding out his hands in a pacifying gesture.

"I don't talk much when I'm unconscious," said Sauron, not pacified, "so I don't understand how the MoS's rendering me so could have made your job easier."

"Please," said Lúthien, "at least hear us out."

"You have my undivided attention," said Sauron, stroking Elfdeath absently. The MoS thought he could hear her purring.

"We want to defeat Morgoth," said Maedhros. "We need your help."

"We hoped you would know some of his weaknesses," said Lúthien.

"Allow me to tell you a story," said Sauron. "Once upon a time, there was a Vala who turned evil and took over the world. He created orcs. He created balrogs. Because of Him, the people of Middle-earth lived in helpless fear for hundreds of years. It took Manwë's right-hand Maia and a bunch of troops from Valinor to defeat Him. The end."

Lúthien and Maedhros exchanged a look.

"Was that some kind of cryptic hint?" asked Lúthien.

"No," said Sauron, "that was a cautionary tale."

"What do we have to do to persuade you to help us?" asked Lúthien. "Surely you want to vanquish Morgoth. He's not done much for you."

Maedhros had been silent for some minutes, but now he said, "Morgoth is powerful, but I don't think he's very smart. He relies on Sauron, and that's his weakness."

"Because Sauron would gladly double-cross him?" asked Lúthien.

"There's that," said Maedhros, "but there's also the fact that Morgoth would be a lot less efficient without his number one minion."

"That is the nicest thing anyone has said about me all day," Sauron murmured, pretending to dab at his eyes with the corner of his robe.

"So what should we do?" asked Lúthien. "Kill him?"

The MoS, feeling that this was a good moment to demonstrate his loyalty, said, "If you want to kill him, you'll have to fight me first."

"And me!" cried Elfdeath, running at Maedhros to gnaw on his ankles.

"We probably should kill him," said Maedhros doubtfully.

"Not a good idea," said Sauron. "Let me tell you another story."

"Is it cautionary?"

"No, explanatory."

"Then please proceed."

"Once upon a time," said Sauron, "there lived a Maia. He made a powerful magic Ring. Using skills he had learned from Aulë, he put most of his power into that Ring. When Melkor unexpectedly returned, He learned about the Ring and decided to use it to control the world. If the creator of the Ring were to die –or even be killed– all his power would go to the Ring, Melkor would become twice as powerful when He claimed it, and no one would be left to stop Him. The end."

"That seemed more hypothetical than explanatory," said Lúthien.

"You made a magic ring?" demanded Maedhros.

"Let's just say the hypothetical Maia made one," said Sauron, rolling his eyes.

"So we can't kill you?"

"Not unless you want to be crushingly defeated for all time."

"Why did you have to make a magic ring?" yelled Maedhros.

"Believe me, I wish I hadn't."

"Curse you and your stupid plans for world domination!" Maedhros cried.

"Thanks."

"You liar," said Fëanor, dashing through the wall. "Morgoth wasn't coming! You told us that to make us go away!"

"Yes, and it worked," said Sauron. "People wouldn't lie if lying didn't have temporary benefits."

"Father," said Maedhros, "we're trying to decide if we should kill Sauron."

"I think we should," said Amanda-Lynn, who had been more conventional than Fëanor, and entered the room by the door.

"I don't think we should," said Lúthien. "It wouldn't be fair."

"Why are you so concerned about being fair?" asked Maedhros. "You put Morgoth to sleep so that you could steal a silmaril."

"We didn't kill him in cold blood," said Lúthien.

"You should have," growled Fëanor.

("Say the word, my lord, and Elfdeath and I will kill them all," whispered the MoS.)

(Sauron smiled and shook his head.)

"He says that if we kill him, Morgoth will be unstoppable," said Lúthien.

"That's just the sort of thing he would say," said Fëanor. "Anything to extend his miserable existence."

("My lord," said the MoS, suddenly confused, "did you not ask me to kill you not long ago?")

(Sauron smiled again. "If you had actually tried to do so," he said, "you would have died very quickly.")

"We don't have to kill him," said Lúthien at last. "We could just take him to a place where Morgoth wouldn't be able to find him."

"Good idea," said Maedhros. "If he's not helpful, we could kill him later anyway," he added threateningly.

"I assure you," said Sauron, "I shall be extremely helpful."