The woman seems nervous and confused at first, Sauron thinks, as he considers one of the two main pieces in the game he was about to set in motion. Under candlelight, he continues to explain Middle-earth's geography, history, politics, and literacy.
Anya and Zirgur were his contingency plan. He was preparing them, shaping them to be his commanders. Zirgur would be the physical strength, though he didn't neglect the orc's intellectual aspects (surprisingly, he was smart, for an orc) and Anya would be his strategist, even though he's also teaching her how to defend herself and wield weapons. None of them would undergo less than excellent training for the purposes he had in mind. So they both became his shadow, on a mission to watch, stay by his side, and learn, until they were ready. They still didn't know what for; that was something Sauron would explain in due time.
The three were on military routine. Sauron was doubly preparing for war, covering everything that could possibly go wrong.
A routine that was certainly sudden for orc and woman, though not noticed by anyone that Sauron didn't want. He was still a master of stealth - no wonder he spent centuries as a spy for his master, Morgoth, in the blessed land. If the Ainur themselves did not suspect his schemes, no one else would find out what he planned.
They were outnumbered now too, which suited him just fine. Saruman had led his army of Orcs to overwhelm Rohan, and even now they were probably pillaging, destroying, and subjugating its inhabitants after the wait.
Just a few more months. He needed to make the survivors and the resistance just desperate enough.
Then the right time to introduce his secret commanders would come.
My commanders.
Be careful what you wish for, they say. Eowyn understood that saying now. Her blood burned with excitement in that moment of battle, values like courage and daring filling her entire body, a flaming will to protect her people.
But the moment of battle passed, the dizzying feeling of victory over the opponent was gone.
They lost.
Her people, humiliated and subjugated, taken captive in their land, those loathsome orcs under the command of the White Wizard wreaking havoc and brutality upon all, old and children, women and men. She got away – her brother pulled her out of battle, and she was proud of her stubbornness at the time, but now she was ashamed of her immaturity. There was a time to fight and there was a time to back down and fight another day, she learned over time.
Her faith did not falter.
Even when her father in all but blood consented to the pursuit, when he submitted to Saruman when he promised her hand to Grima without consulting her. She knew it had to be black magic. There was no other explanation in the world for her king to act like that.
So she survived, along with her brother's troops and a few survivors who weren't taken captive, as a wanderer, more warrior than noble, in part achieving what she longed for, to be recognized for her bravery and begin to make a name for herself in the battlefield, partly with fury and sadness at the injustice of it all.
Eowyn thought that to be a noblewoman in Rohan was to be chained. She only saw the things that irritated her, like not being heard, being diminished, not being able to live up to her potential... but at some point in those months, when she had already satiated a little of that desire to be recognized in the fights with her brother when the opponents' bloodstained hands had been washed again and again after many, many small resistance clashes when she tended to the wounded – her comrades in arms, the women and children who took refuge with them, her people...
It was only then that she realized the value of her nobility.
Unfortunately, it was late. She couldn't be the Lady they needed. She had proven herself to be a warrior, that much is true, but in that time of desperation, she realized that it wasn't just what the people needed.
Her brother knew, though. But it cost her some of his life, she realized, day after day because her brother was not just their commander, their symbol of resistance, he was their king, in a sense, after Theodred died in battle at the Fords of Exemption.
Eomer was exhausted. And she was also part of that exhaustion – because she had refused to help even after so many times he asked for her help. She assumed he was trying to protect her, that he was trying to keep her out of the battle, that he was trying to chain her to doing "a woman's duties" when really all he was asking was to share that burden.
She had been blind, childish, and foolish. She wanted so much to be a soldier that she selfishly ignored that being noble meant giving the people hope and leadership in difficult times.
She successfully managed to be a soldier. But now, how would her people trust her to be their Lady? When all she did was throw herself into battle after battle, recklessly?
Shame and embarrassment filled her and she confessed to her brother, one particularly difficult night, that she understood now.
He smiled at her wearily, and some of the weight on his shoulders seemed to lift and he held her with such tenderness and gratitude that no words were needed.
She still had a lot to learn. But wisdom is not acquired in a moment and she was willing to learn from her mistakes.
My game.
Anya took a deep breath, only to regret it when the scent of blood, fire, and smoke penetrated her nose and brought on another round of vomiting. Her hand reached out to her belly, automatically bulging and a small hand ran down her back. The woman stared at the apparent child and although he was as neutral as ever, she glimpsed a hint of concern in his hazel eyes.
Anya did not understand her young master. He could be soft on her and Zirgur, even some of the orcs – and, heavens, she couldn't get over the fact that she didn't hate those orcs in particular, but she supposed spending months teaching them morals and realizing that they too much like children looking like adults would do that to someone like her - but that wouldn't erase his allegiance to Saruman, nor his commands to dominate the major kingdoms of Middle-earth.
But now he was attacking his own allies, Saruman's Orcs, who were watching over and subjugating the small villages around Rohan. It was disorienting.
Who was he, in fact?
Sauron?
Or Riki?
"Riki. Why did he ask to call him Riki from now on?" – She wondered. But that wasn't for her to think about. It was also best if she didn't think about how her young master was, in fact, Sauron, the greatest enemy Middle-earth has ever had. She knew she should be terrified, but she was glad that her young master had done something to make that fear go away. Anya doesn't know how she would survive, or bear her baby, if not for him, even if Sauron is the source of nightmares of men, elves, dwarves, and orcs alike.
"Come on, Anya. Our orcs are already finishing their work and you need to rest until you officially introduce yourself to the people."
She obediently followed him back to their temporary tent, still processing the fact that she was about to speak with other decent humans after so many months with only her master, the orcs, and those wild men. She wanted to cry.
In fact, she was already crying.
"Here, here. There's no need to cry, woman." – He handed over a cloth, sighing in exasperation, and she wiped her face.
"Yes, I need it." - She thinks but doesn't say it out loud.
When the battle is over, Sauron and she are already waiting in front of the tents, in the temporary camp. The survivors are few, women, children, and elderly; there were barely twenty people.
She sees the confusion, reluctance, and mistrust between them and Sauron's orcs and sympathizes. Anya doesn't know what purposes Sauron has for her and Zirgur, but she will gladly do her bidding if it meant good people would be saved.
The silence stretches heavy and uncomfortable between her and the rescued people until an elderly lord steps forward and faces her, Zirgur beside her, and Sauron.
"Who are you? And what the hell is going on? Why these orcs…" – He says the word with scorn and fury. – "... helped us? What are you doing?"
Sauron was right. The survivors really had come to the conclusion that she must have the answers.
"I'm Anya. This is Zirgur. Like you, we were victims of the atrocities of the orcs and the White Wizard. Yes, the orcs too." – She stopped the noises of disgust and skepticism when she said that the orcs were also victims. – "You must have realized that by now. Look at them. Really, look at them. And tell me if you don't see more men than orcs."
The population, hesitant, did so. There was hesitation, a slight curiosity, but not acceptance.
"We are descendants of men." – Zirgur spoke, and most flinched and stepped back. – "And we chose to live for that nature, not for what Saruman wanted us to be."
"So what? Do you expect us to welcome you with open arms?" – One of the women shouted. – "Some kind of gratitude?"
"No." – He said and looked at everyone seriously. – "You are weak and vulnerable. We are offering protection."
"Why?" – The old man asked, skeptical.
"Because when this war is over, we want to co-exist with humans without fear of being slaughtered."
"Like you do with us?!" – Another woman shouted and Anya intervened, seeing the growing agitation among the survivors.
"They never hurt good people. They helped me when my husband and children were killed. If I'm healthy and about to bear my husband's last offspring, it's because of them. If you don't want to stay, that's fine, nobody is forcing you. But if you want a real chance to survive, you should take it. I'll be in my quarters, for those of you who choose to stay, we'll arrange extra tents. In the meantime, feel free to eat and drink."
Anya finishes, pointing to where the supplies were, and turns to Zirgur and the other orcs.
"Rest for now. Tomorrow we will have an exhausting day."
Sauron watches with satisfaction as they no longer question the woman's orders and briefly peeks over their shoulders at the reactions of the survivors. Of course, there were few of them, but that was how they would ensure loyalty – by slowly gaining the trust of these survivors.
When the old man from before asks to enter the tent, he smiles as he finishes another of his letters to organize the arrival of the eastern mercenaries.
Almost everything was going according to his plans. Now, he just needed to find Eiko, Katsuo, and Raijin, because his damn newly acquired human nature just wouldn't leave him alone until he found the Uchihas and that wolf.
"They are my pack." – He thinks, more than once, occasionally, when he wonders why it was so hard to be apathetic when it came to those particular humans.
As a pack, they would be stronger together, though that also meant they were his weakness.
Yes, Sauron recognized that they were his weakness. The Valar in him just wanted to deal with that weakness like every other one he's ever had— eliminate them. But that thought was soon replaced by one visceral thought.
" . .minetheyaremine."
A little over a year later, when he understands a little more about his new nature, he would realize that it's love.
It wasn't pure love at all, not even normal love, he knew. Kana had once told him that Uchihas loved too much and that it was often a twisted, obsessive love, an ugly, fierce little thing that he could even hurt.
He was selfish, he wanted them around, and he would burn in hell if someone tried to take them away from him.
My pack.
The resistance increased in numbers quickly. With each passing week, his elite group of orcs, 10 in all, and 5 that he truly considered most trustworthy, continued to prove to men and women more human characteristics than animalistic ones. There was far from being friendship between them, but the protection of the orcs, and the orcs' general atmosphere of tolerance towards everyone was really establishing the reluctant alliance into something professional. The revulsion and loathing of the beginning were slowly but surely diminishing. Especially among women and children.
Zirgur was curiously good with children.
"Probably Anya's influence." – Sauron thinks, many times noticing how Anya talked about her children, about the baby that was about to be born and Zirgur always seemed quite excited about the topic, since he found out that, under other circumstances, he would have gone through that stage too.
But that was irrelevant. At the moment, Sauron was more busy thinking about how his mission would succeed that night.
The rescue of Eomer and Eowyn, Theoden's heirs, and their soldiers.
It was a risk, of course, to release so many warriors at once, but Anya and Zirgur needed them to truly establish a solid alliance between men and orcs.
There was a flutter of anxiety in his stomach. If this succeeded, he would be irrevocably changing the course of Middle-earth.
His orcs, living peacefully among men, dwarves, and elves. It sounded crazy but, exciting, truly challenging.
These few he had chosen were his orcs, more than any he had had under his command in any previous age. Not Melkor's, not Sarumam's, they were his, for he was shaping them. They wouldn't be stupid, unnecessarily cruel, terrible to look at, or irredeemable.
And just as he was shaping his orcs, so would he shape Middle-earth.
One way or another.
My orcs.
When rest time finally comes and he lies down on his bed next to Anya's bed, the woman pulls them out of their thoughts with a question.
"Young Master... Why are we doing this?" - She's getting ready for bed, combing her brown hair speckled with some silver hair, frown lines and sun marks aging her face.
Sometimes he wonders if it's really worth investing in her. If all his work wouldn't be in vain when the baby was born – because Anya wasn't young, and the possibility of her dying in childbirth was real.
A haughty smile frames the little one's face.
"You, Anya, will be the woman who leads the people in resistance to Sauron and Saruman. And Zirgur will be the first orc to make an alliance with other races and co-exist peacefully."
Sauron could be accused of many things, but mediocrity was not one of them. Mairon, Sauron, Annatar, The Necromancer... They all had something in common.
They were written in history.
"Is It not obvious?" – He says then, a sharp intelligence shining in his eyes, even in front of Anya's confused and surprised face.
"I'm creating legends."
My Middle-Earth.