Category: Tolkien-Universe
Rating: M
Couples: -
Warnings: AU, blood, mentions of torture, character death, Loss of bodily autonomy (no Non-con)
Chapter: 33
Copyright: Characters & places © By Tolkien Estate, Plot & OC´s © by me
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They arrived late that night, when only a servant youth was still awake. He attended their horses, as they carried their things up to the top floor of the two-story building beside the massive black mansion that could only be the 'Zwarte Donjon' of Sauron.
"You think...?" The three youngsters had gone to sleep on the beds, having pushed three together so they could cluster together like they'd gotten used to on the journey. Huan had planted himself at the top of the stairs, blocking anyone from getting upstairs without alerting him, while the two older elves were still awake.
Seated on his bed, Fëanáro looked over to Ñolofinwë. They both had felt the Power peak briefly on the way here, and had no doubt that it had been also their brother they'd felt.
"He wouldn't give us the easy out of killing them." And wasn't that a thought, that death was truly an easy out in this matter. Indis' older son shook his head, looking outside through the large window. "No, he'll make us grovel, promise everything for even a chance to just see them." He bit his lip, eyes shimmering.
"We'll get them, Nolo." Miriel's only child offered. "We're not leaving without them. All three of them. No matter what it takes."
Yet both of them knew that it would not be easy, if it even were possible.
The next morning the old innkeeper bowed them to a breakfast, assuring them all had been arranged by the Lord. They were still eating when Thuringwethil arrived, leading them to her Master.
The inside of the building was very much to the taste of the maia, pools of fake magma illuminating a black and red mosaic of a large eye.
"Take a seat." Sauron was expecting them, gesturing to the luxurious pillows in his throne-room, the wooden construction as elegantly carved as the large murals on the walls that were in stark contrast by the fires.
Servants appeared, laying out a simple spread of dried desert-fruits and cool tea. It was to be according to the customs of these people then, food and drink first.
Still Fëanáro was suspicious, as the servants were clearly on edge about something.
"You will have to forgive them any mistakes. I usually have my slaves attend me during these things." The Lord of these lands smiled innocently, as Tyelkormo hissed behind him. There were only three slaves he'd suddenly keep from their duties over their arrival.
"They live then." With his brother disallowed to barter, Finwë's eldest had quite decidedly put himself up as spokesperson.
"Currently, yes." The redhead opposite him had an unreadable face. "I might change my mind, at the rate things are going."
It was a bait, but two centuries in the Halls of Mandos had taught him a new kind of patience. "That would be a waste, either from what you gain of them, or what you can gain from us in exchange."
"Somehow, I doubt you could match my price. Mostly because I myself cannot imagine what it would be."
"That is to be seen." He countered evenly. "I find it easiest to find the baseline and work from there. They sold themselves to you, swore themselves, if I may believe Námo."
"They did." Again his third son hissed, and he could hear shifting fabric behind him. He'd have to hope that Nelyo would be able to keep his brother in check. How long would his sons keep their calm? How long could he keep his in the face of the smug amusement of their opponent - for opponent was the only way he could think of it?
"Then, what price did they pay?" It was a dangerous question, leaving too much in the Maia's hands, but they had little choice. They were distinctly limited in options, this far from any back-up. It had taken them almost seven years to get here, who knew how long it'd take the next group?
"Too high for you to match." He didn't need Sauron to tell him that, he could make a good guess based on the fact that the Silmarils had been restored to him.
"Still, I would like to know." He was kneeling, simply because that was the polite position in these regions, but his back was ramrod straight.
"Your sons... paid with themselves for my return of the Silmarils, and the fulfillment of the Oath of Fëanáro, the safety of themselves and their kin from the Everlasting Dark." It was as he had feared, having seen the corner with Tyelpë and his gems and hearing Namó speak of swearing. "So for easy of calculations sake, let's say one is the three Silmarils and the other the Oath."
"And Arafinwë?"
"You care about him?" He did not deign that with a reaction, merely awaiting the answer to his own question. "I think he's the least likely to be bought..." The eyes were liquid flame, having no true iris or pupil to track, but he was certain they briefly slid over to Ñolofinwë behind him. "He bought the lives of all your children... all your descendants... all nineteen Finwëans after his children."
Now he hissed himself, recoiling briefly. To the pleasure of their 'host'.