I sighed as I set aside the repoussé punch and hammer I was currently using. I rubbed my temples in soothing circles as the jingling sound echoed in my head, trying to relieve some of the dull ache. Goodness, I'm going to have to remember to wear earbuds the next time.

Wait…

My hands stilled suddenly, my lips pursed. Why was I suddenly overcome with a strange sense of déjà vu?

"Perhaps", started the small, and yet oh-so-annoyingly persistent voice, the sarcasm dripping from it akin to drops of venom, "Because you made the promise last time".

Hm, I suppose I did, didn't I?

Purely out of spite towards that inner voice – despite it being part of me – my thoughts turned to look at the positive side. At least now I'll know how to get out of unwanted socializing, right? Not that I wasn't good at faking a headache, it honestly was one of the simplest things to do. But I wouldn't have to feel particularly bad about lying.

Trying my best to ignore the forming headache, I lifted the heavy bowl of wood tar. In the center, a thin, small sheet of brass was safely secured.

Now, I must admit I was still new in this particular area of art, and was far from being a master. Despite that, I felt my lips stretch into a victorious grin as I studied the pits in metal, their shape and direction already resembling what I was aiming for: a dragon eye. Or rather, part of it, as the eyeball I will make from copper to compliment the golden color and add depth.

I set the bowl back down on the table and stretched, trying to get rid of the stiffness in my back from sitting for so long. A heavy groan escaped my lips in the process, capturing the attention of the other person in the rather small workshop.

– What was that?

I whirled around, and my eyes were met with a disbelieving yet amused expression on my teacher's face.

To be fair, I completely forgot I wasn't alone.

Now, to give you some idea of what he was like: imagine a tall, bulky man in his late forties, with a beard and a balding head. And a disastrous music taste, but that was beside the point.

I straightened my chair and let my hand lay comfortably on the armrest.

– What was what?

– The sound that you made, obviously.

– I mean, it was just a…

– Morgoth was destroyed, so was Sauron. Arda is free.

I blinked slowly, feeling the confusion and disbelief mingling in my head. Could it be… did I find another Tolkien geek? Yes, there were plenty of people who liked LOTR, but there was so much more to it!

I mean, I knew my teacher liked the trilogy and The Hobbit, but that was a little unexpected! Not unwelcome, no. I could ramble about Tolkien's works for hours, so to have somebody to be able to talk to… let's settle for saying I was thrilled.

I felt a small smile tugging at my lips, and I turned back to my desk to hide the delighted grin, slowly but surely making itself visible in my features.

The next logical step, of course, was to give an appropriate answer, which lead me to murmur:

– Until Dagor Dagorath.

– What?

– Until Dagor Dagorath.

My teacher – or mentor would be more appropriate, now that I thought about it (since it was him that wanted to train me, and it was also him that wanted no money in return) – smirked in response.

– Damn right.

I sat in my chair for a full minute after that without moving, torn between wanting to just stare at my project for a while and continuing the conversation, now that I actually felt like talking.

Having made up my mind a few heartbeats later, I turned again to inquire:

– How exactly was that unusual?

My mentor – or, as I recently nicknamed him, Aulë (not that he was aware of it) – answered without looking away from his work.

– Well, since you only ever seem to concentrate on your work and not speak a word, it was a little odd. You almost sounded… human.

I shook my head in mock annoyance at the obvious layer of sarcasm in his sentence.

– I do it plenty of times at home.

– Home is home. This is different.

Refraining myself from rolling my eyes, I glanced back down at my project.

I finished bringing out the eye – quite literally, might I add. Unfortunately, time was ticking, and there were still plenty of things to get done today, so… I should probably be on my way home soon. The next step will have to wait until the next lesson, then.

– Well, I guess I'm done for today.

My teacher grunted in acknowledgement, and made his way towards my table while wiping his hands on his apron.

He picked up the bowl and studied it carefully, tilting it, twisting and turning.

– Hm. Decent, very decent… there's a small curb here, although smoothing it down shouldn't be a big problem. On an unrelated note – he said, for some reason accentuating the words. – I'd like you to write a short work describing what you think and feel while working on this project.

Still busy studying my work, my teacher probably didn't notice my scrunched brows.

– What for?

– So that I can know, since you won't talk. I'm your teacher, after all. As in, I'm teaching you. I should know your thoughts on this, don't you think?

For the sake of my headache, I decided to ignore the small jab.

– Like an essay?

– Think of it as writing down your precise trail of thought.

And here I thought metalworking was a homework-safe kind of area. I mean the paper, stiff academic-style homework. Though, maybe I could find a way to make it more entertaining and casual… as my thoughts tended to be, I thought with a small grin.

Masterfully hiding my distaste at the thought of doing something that even slightly resembled school homework that left me scarred and traumatized for life, I simply agreed. I will not seem discouraged – or lazy, uncreative, unthoughtful, uninspired – in front of my teacher. Because he should know that he is not wasting his time and effort by passing down his knowledge to me. That he's not making a mistake. And I am saying this with all due honesty, despite his sometimes uncaring attitude or downright irritating remarks.

So I smiled, and when I stood up to fetch my coat, I said a quick goodbye and left.

As I was making my way back home, the prospect of having some alone time somewhat lifted my spirits. I could, perhaps, sit down with some tea and put on the LOTR movies…

Or I could not.

I couldn't help myself from glowering when my eyes settled on a still empty canvas, impatiently waiting on the easel in the corner of my room. The very idea that art – something I enjoyed, adored, admired – could turn my relaxed and almost gleeful mood sour was laughable. And yet, it happened.

Grumbling under my breath, I collapsed on my bed and stretched, uncomfortably aware of the work I still had to do.

I completely lost track of time (despite the watch on my wrist), so now I was resigned to painting a puppy portrait and forsake the idea of a nice, long movie night. And yes, I'll have to – because it was an order I'd receive money for, and though the idea of starting a small art-selling business was absolutely thrilling… couldn't I have just a little time for doing something less productive but more entertaining? Of course, I could've done that yesterday or even before, but still!

Don't get me wrong, painting was something I very much enjoyed. But I hate to admit – and am even a little bit ashamed to announce – that I, Aiden Flannery, unfortunately just recently lost my fight with that one illness that, when it gets hold of you, is very difficult to get rid of.

… yes, I'm referring to the artist's block.

A grunt of displeasure escaped my throat as I remembered that it wasn't a simple session of "painting for fun and practice". And I needed the money, if I was going to pursue my newest passion. I know, I did say that my lessons were free; but the materials were not.

Going back to the subject at hand… like with most orders, there was a deadline.

Which was due in two days.

And now I was procrastinating. Honestly…!

Sighing wistfully, I stood up and went to fetch my painting supplies.

– Shiiiit… – I trailed off and swiftly grabbed a cloth, wiping the drop of coloured water steadily marking its path to the bottom of the canvas in a deep red. How the hell did I even manage to dry the brush so ineptly?! I was supposed to be a professional!

Cursed headache.

Throwing the piece of fabric aside, I stifled a swear word threatening to break free from my throat as my eyes were met with a faint streak of red on the painting.

Damn.

Although, I must admit that it did make me chuckle a bit afterwards. The trail started at the bottom of an eye, making the puppy look as if it was crying bloody tears. Of course it didn't look in any way realistic, as it lacked all the details I'd have to add. My mischievous side perked up at the thought of the prank I could play, and all the effects it would undoubtedly cause. With shame, I have to confess that the tempting idea was rather hard to banish from my mind. But that could potentially ruin my yet-to-bloom good reputation, so – with regret – I started working on covering up all proof of the setback.

Time seemed to flow, and I soon realized the sun had already set. Frowning, I looked at my phone. Aaand… It would appear I've been painting for a few hours already.

Huh.

Oh well. I guess I could use a break anyway.

With that thought in mind, I cleaned the brushes and palette before heading downstairs to better appreciate the comforts of my small home. Well, not exactly mine. Mine and my parents'. But they were gone for a few days, so… temporarily mine. And wasn't that great? Oh, all the things I was free to do… hah!

I stopped in my tracks when my phone buzzed. Fishing it out of my pocket, I quickly typed in the password. And behold: a text from my friend that hasn't responded to my message from four days ago appeared. And he wanted to play Assassin's Creed. Tonight. In my house. It was already past ten, for heaven's sake! Besides, I already had plans, and didn't feel like socializing. No, scratch that; I just really didn't feel like socializing on my last day of being blessedly alone.

So – bemused – I typed a response.

"It's late".

That should do it.

It didn't.

"I bought Syndicate, could bring it over. You can tell me some facts about lotr".

Okay, that was a little tempting. Not tempting enough, but… nobody ever really wants to listen when I obsess over something. Which happens quite often, and my current obsession was – as you can most likely tell by now – LOTR. The Hobbit and Silmarillion too. Everything Middle Earth related, actually.

And it wasn't even the first time. It was that one obsession that refuses to completely let go. It fades one moment, and returns the next, but more intense.

Like Sauron. Heh.

I didn't care what other people said. He was cool, and one of the best villains to ever exist. Not dull, not boring, not incapable. Even if he wasn't a full-blown villain, in my opinion. He did have noble intentions, after all. At least in the beginning. And who's to say he had a good life in Almaren, or Valinor? For all I know, he could've been underappreciated. Underestimated. Heck, it could've been Aulë that was the main reason for his fall. After all, weren't Mairon and Curumo both apprentices of him? And coincidentally – or not – both strayed from the light. Perhaps the vala was a strict perfectionist, seldom giving compliments. What if Mairon just wanted to be appreciated? To live up to his name? And frankly, I didn't blame him. If he was able to do all the work he's credited for, Aulë was being awful if he didn't pay much attention to his maia.

Unless – of course – the Smith was like the "Aulë" that I meet every week (or every other day), because then the maia really didn't have a valid reason for leaving. But that was beside the point.

Going back to the matter at hand…

I thought for a moment longer whether I should let my friend come over, even if I didn't feel like it. My parents complained about my (in their mind) antisocial behavior to the point of nearly driving me mad, so they'd be overjoyed if they heard about me inviting someone to hang out with. But, as somebody wise once said: "All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us".

And I decided I wanted to spend the last day of having the house to myself alone.

With a lighter heart, I quickly typed a response.

"Sorry, but I really have to go to bed early today, I have a headache. What about tomorrow?"

There. That'll do it. My parents will even witness me socializing, and perhaps my need for solitude will fade a bit.

Everyone will be happy.

And besides, I did have a headache. I didn't lie.

Meanwhile elsewhere…

The sun neared the horizon, drowning the vast forest once again in impenetrable darkness. Its residents hastily scurried to their homes, not wanting to have an unfortunate meeting with the… less docile beings.

Especially the ones that came to inhabit the woods not so long ago. They creeped around unseen, lurked in the deep shadows. They were tough to evade, and even tougher to kill. Only skilled hunters were able to deal with them, but even they were not able to keep the dark creatures completely at bay. Beings that existed only because of the darkness that occupied a seemingly abandoned fortress.

Seemingly being the key word. For behind its walls, a certain someone was putting into action his horrid plans.

Sauron thoroughly scanned Dol Guldur's surroundings, invisible to anyone who would venture so far south. Not that there were many who did. The elves were wise enough to stay in their kingdom deep within the woods, and all untainted animals were repelled by the darkness. And so, the Necromancer was free to carry out his plan.

And yet, a part of him was hesitant.

Oftentimes, though he hated to admit it, he found himself missing his incarnate form. Not the armored, dark, abhorred form – his previous form. His admirable, beautiful, perfect form. Mairon's form. Long, dark hair of a deep cherry color, impressive stature, and the eyes – oh, the eyes! The eyes that resembled molten gold, or swirls of a raging fire, or… why was the saying about not appreciating something until it was truly gone so true?!

He always knew that his actions could bring unpleasant consequences – yes, he was well aware. But even he couldn't have foreseen Ilúvatar himself to interfere. He didn't while Melkor reigned on Arda, so why would he when the Dark Lord's lieutenant was all evil that was left? Was the maia somehow worse than his master?

He doubted it. Nobody could be worse than Melkor… depending on the side one looked at, of course. The fallen vala wasn't exactly unpleasant to him, no. He was too valuable of an asset. But he could see why the others viewed his lord as terrible. After all, he was named Morgoth Bauglir for a reason.

Sauron would be lying if he said that he regretted everything he'd done while serving his master. He didn't. And yet, a small part of him – the small light that took so long to completely disappear from his being, despite his desperate attempts – missed the old days.

The Timeless Halls. And even moments from Almaren. Not all, but there were fond memories. And he couldn't rip them out from his head.

He lacked the ability to clench his fists, but this is what he would've done when the thoughts surfaced.

It wasn't a new occurrence, and it would pass within a few days or shorter, he knew it. What he didn't know was why. Why it even happened. Was someone forcefully trying to unharden his conscience? All that those moments achieved was fueling his rage, and therefore, making him more brutal towards his servants.

And then, there was the voice.

The small, but insistent voice. The stubborn voice. The utterly infuriating voice.

He could hear it, sometimes. He tried, time and time again, to quench it. To drown it. To incinerate it. Yet nothing seemed to work! It was always there, mostly dormant. But now…

Now it was speaking. Whispering. Coaxing him to…

No! He would not repent. He will not be redeemed. He didn't need to be! He was right. Right in doing everything, and all those that were too blind to see it were simply venom-spewing, small-brained, uncultured heretics.

Right…?

Despite – or maybe in spite – of the whirlwind of contradicting thoughts and emotions, he couldn't stop his voice from forming two very spontaneous, ill-fated words:

– Eru, help.