Chapter Five
Arafinwë generally stopped by Eönwë's tent every morning, to figure out what needed to be done that day and to coordinate plans. The Maiar outside knew him, and rarely bothered to announce him, just waved him in. Thus it came as a shock when he walked in and found Eönwë sitting at his desk, talking to a black haired Maia who was languidly sitting on the cot, reclining against one of the tent's support poles.
It was an even bigger shock when Arafinwë realized just who the Maia was. He'd heard the rumors that Sauron had surrendered, of course, but he hadn't fully believed them until he saw the evidence with his own eyes.
"I can come back later, if you're busy at the moment," he told Eönwë.
"I'm not, I'm just still trying to figure out how to get everyone back, including all the exiles who wish to return," Eönwë said, sounding slightly harried.
"Do you want me to help?" the surprising offer came from Sauron, as the Maia sat up. "I am better than you at that sort of thing." Eönwë looked at him gratefully.
"If you don't mind," he said. Sauron got to his feet gracefully, and walked over to the desk. He was short, Arafinwë noted with shock. Ever since he'd received the news of his son's death, he'd imagined the one who was responsible for it. It hadn't been this. The black hair had been the only thing he'd gotten right. He'd imagined a brooding presence, radiating darkness. This quiet, almost unassuming Maia would not have been out of place in Valinor.
Eönwë joined Arafinwë at the table, and they began to discus supplies and provisions, along with all the day-to-day problems that arose in a camp this size. They broke off startled, as Sauron huffed.
"Do you have an organization system?" he asked Eönwë.
"I do," Eönwë said defensively. Sauron just raised an eyebrow.
"So, it's not much of one anymore," Eönwë replied. "But I've been fighting a war!"
"So have I," Sauron pointed out dryly. "And my desk was neater."
Arafinwë found himself hard pressed not to snort with laughter as Eönwë muttered something in Valarin he was sure was uncomplimentary. The two were bickering like old friends. Arafinwë suddenly sobered as he realized they probably were.
"Yes, Eönwë, I'm an organizational freak," Sauron deadpanned. "Do you have a point?"
Eönwë ignored him. Sauron grinned, and turned back around to the desk. He accidentally hit one of the precarious piles stacked on it, yelped, and lunged for the falling papers. Muttering under his breath, he grabbed all the papers, putting them in one large stack that he quickly moved to the table, sitting on the far end away from Arafinwë and Eönwë. He quickly began to make three stacks out of the papers.
"Why the different stacks?" Eönwë asked. Sauron looked up.
"These are the reports necessary to get everyone back to the Valinor," he said pointing to the first stack. "These are the things you'll need to keep but don't need at the moment," he continued, pointing to the second stack. "And these are the things you don't need and, frankly, I don't know why you still have." The third stack was easily the largest.
"Oh," Eönwë said, lamely. "That makes…sense." Sauron looked up and grinned.
"It's called organizing," he said smugly. "I know it's a hard concept for you, but…" He broken off laughing as Eönwë started to look around for something to throw. It was a surprisingly full and engaging laugh, Arafinwë thought.
Sauron quickly continued to sort through the papers, the third pile growing exponentially bigger. Eönwë would occasionally check its growth with a chagrined expression. Arafinwë was hard pressed not to laugh at the Maia's expense. Eönwë was very good at leading armies, and was unrivaled in his skill with arms, but organization was not his strong point.
Finally finishing, Sauron picked up the third stack, and walked over to the tent flaps, asking one of the Maiar standing there to go burn it.
"Oh, stop looking at me like that," Arafinwë and Eönwë heard him snap. "It's not like I'm going to bite you." Both Arafinwë and Eönwë broke out laughing. Sauron walked back in, looking disgruntled.
"They know me; I have no idea why they're looking at me like that," he complained to Eönwë. Eönwë sobered.
"They knew you, Mairon," he said softly. "They don't know what to think anymore." Sauron's expression suddenly became unreadable, as he picked up the stack he'd designated as those reports necessary to figure out the transport needed. He quietly sat down at the desk and started working.
Arafinwë and Eönwë finished up, and as Arafinwë left, he was unable to resist glancing back at the black haired Maia at the desk. There was something defeated in his posture and the slump of his shoulders. Arafinwë glanced around the camp, and decided that he was going to find an eyewitness to what had happened yesterday, when Sauron had surrendered.
The ellon he found–after tracking down several lines of rumor–was generally reported as someone who was discerning and not prone to exaggeration.
"I could not hear a good deal of it, my lord," the ellon said, "as Eönwë and Sauron spoke in low tones for most of it. Sauron spoke first; he said that he had come to surrender and plead for forgiveness, that he regretted his choice to follow Morgoth, and that he didn't wish to serve the Darkness any longer. Then I couldn't hear anything until Eönwë said that he did not have the authority to pardon Sauron, and that he would have to return to Valinor and face the judgment of the Valar." Here the ellon paused.
"Sauron said he would," he said carefully, "But in my opinion, he did not look very happy about it."
"He looked resentful?" Arafinwë asked. The ellon looked uncomfortable.
"Closer to terrified, my lord," he said quietly. Arafinwë stood quiet for a moment, then dismissed the ellon with his thanks.
So, Sauron would be facing a trial in Valinor, and he was apparently terrified at that prospect, Arafinwë thought. That made sense, his crimes were many. But what Arafinwë didn't understand was why Sauron was still here. If he was truly terrified of what would happen when he faced the Valar in trial, why hadn't he fled? There would be no one capable of stopping him.
Perhaps he really is sincere in his repentance, Arafinwë thought. That would be the only reason he could see for Sauron's staying. Still, if his fear overcame his repentance, it could prove disastrous. Arafinwë determined he would mention his concerns to Eönwë. Perhaps he would have some ideas.
It didn't prove easy to get Eönwë alone. Sauron seemed to be staying very close to his fellow Maia, which soothed Arafinwë's fears somewhat. Eönwë was the only one who might be able to prevent him from running should he choose to do so.
Finally though, Arafinwë and Eönwë went to speak to those of the Teleri who had provided passage to Middle-earth. Sauron had done wonders in organizing everything that needed to happen, and it looked like they could leave much sooner than they had expected. Arafinwë was both excited and saddened at that thought, for though he was anxious to be home, he would be leaving behind what remained of his family. Artanis was not allowed to return to Valinor, and Ereinion was planning to remain here as king of those of the Noldor who did not wish to return. The peredhil twins were remaining as well, Elros having chosen mortality, and Elrond staying with Ereinion.
Arafinwë pushed those thoughts away, as he focused on the task at hand. Finally satisfied that everything would go smoothly for their return, they turned back toward the main encampment.
"Eönwë," Arafinwë said hesitantly. "I spoke to some of the elves who witnessed Sauron's surrender, and most seem to agree that he seemed quite frightened by the idea of returning to Valinor. I know that he's been very well behaved, but I can't help but worry-"
"That he'll run?" Eönwë finished quietly. Arafinwë nodded.
"It has always been a very real possibility," Eönwë said tiredly. "He actually told me that flat out. You've noticed that he's been staying very close to me?" At Arafinwë's affirmation, he continued. "That's why. Mairon knows that he's more likely to run than stay, but doesn't want to flee."
"Forgive me for saying so, but that seems remarkably out of character for him," Arafinwë said quietly. Eönwë shrugged.
"It probably is, and that's why I've been rushing as much as I have in trying to get us back to Valinor," he admitted. "But Mairon feels like he owes this to a few who showed him compassion in his past, and is doing his best to master his fear." Eönwë briefly smiled at Arafinwë. "Don't worry. I won't let him run."
Arafinwë smiled back, his fears quieted, though not fully assuaged. They returned to Eönwë's tent to find that Sauron had finished the massive lists of everyone who was leaving, what ship they were taking, and when they were going to leave. He had grabbed another Maia to copy the lists so that they could be posted around to let everyone know what was going on.
"I'll copy it again, so that the ship captains can make sure if they have everyone on board that they should," Sauron said, stretching.
"Good job," Eönwë said, clasping him briefly on the shoulder. "Have you decided when we and Arafinwë are heading out?" Sauron reached over and snagged two sheets of paper.
"I have who's going, and on what ships," he began. "But either you or Arafinwë need to be last; the other should probably be first." Eönwë and Arafinwë exchanged glances. Arafinwë, mindful of the conversation they'd just had, spoke up.
"I'd prefer going last," he said. "It would give me more time with my family." Eönwë nodded at that.
"Then we'll go first," he told Sauron. Arafinwë watched as Sauron's face palled, and he swallowed heavily, before nodding and sitting to write down the final details. He had clearly been hoping to go last. It seemed as though he would be facing trial sooner rather than later.