After leaving Aulë's Halls, Sauron wandered through the tranquil gardens of Valinor. The night air was cool and fragrant, filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers. The soft hum of nocturnal creatures created a serene symphony. Trees, ancient and majestic, spread their branches wide, casting deep shadows on the lush grass. Everywhere he looked, there was beauty—perfect, untamed, and harmonious. Yet, to Sauron, it felt alien, a stark reminder of how out of place he was in this realm of peace and light.
As he strolled along a winding path lined with glowing blossoms, his thoughts churned with disquiet. The time he had spent with Nárie working on the memory orb had only reinforced how different things were here compared to Mordor. The memory orb had been a project of pure creation, untainted by ulterior motives, a far cry from the dark, utilitarian creations he had forged in Mordor. In Mordor, every creation was a weapon, a tool of influence or torture. The contrast was glaring, unsettling.
Sauron paused by a crystal-clear pond, watching the silver fish glide effortlessly beneath the moonlit surface. Their movements were graceful, unhurried, a stark contrast to the frantic pace of his thoughts. He knelt by the water's edge, his reflection wavering in the gentle ripples. The serene surroundings only amplified his inner turmoil.
The last time he had worked on something purely for the pleasure of creation had been in Eregion. Even then, it was a facade, a meticulously crafted deception to win Celebrimbor's trust and manipulate him into forging the Rings of Power. Every stroke of the hammer, every twist of metal, had been a means to an end. The artistry had been genuine, but the intent had been corrupt.
Sauron sighed, his breath stirring the surface of the pond. The simplicity and purity of Valinor's beauty seemed to mock him. Here, everything thrived in harmony with Eru's vision, a vision he had long rejected. He felt the weight of his choices, the path he had taken, pressing heavily upon him. The gardens were a testament to a world he had forsaken, a world where creation was an act of joy and reverence, not manipulation and control.
As he stared into the pond, lost in his conflicted thoughts, Sauron froze when he felt an extremely familiar presence appear nearby. His body tensed, recognizing the dark, potent aura that could only belong to one being.
A falsely warm voice broke the silence, dripping with a mixture of charm and menace. "I have missed you these past few days. If I didn't know any better, I would think you were avoiding me."
Sauron turned slowly to face Melkor, his expression carefully neutral. "Melkor," he greeted calmly, stoically, "I have had a lot on my mind."
Melkor was tall, his presence commanding and intimidating. His dark, piercing eyes seemed to bore into Sauron's soul, and his long black hair framed a face that was both beautiful and terrible. Clad in armor that gleamed with a sinister light, he radiated an aura of raw, destructive power.
"Have you?" Melkor purred, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scrutinized the Maia. There is something different about Mairon Melkor mused. The last time he had spoken to him, there had still been an air of naivety around him that made it much easier to manipulate him to his side. But now, Mairon's eyes and expression were carefully guarded, watching Melkor's every move with a wariness that had not been there before.
Melkor took a step closer, his presence imposing even in the tranquil surroundings of Valinor's gardens. "And what thoughts have occupied you so completely?" he asked, his voice a silky blend of curiosity and command.
Sauron hesitated for a moment, his mind racing. He knew he had to tread carefully. "About what you said before," he began, his voice calm and measured, though inwardly he cursed the fact that he couldn't remember the exact words. Due to the Valar's meddling in the previous timeline, he would have to make assumptions about what exactly Melkor had said—this was around the time Melkor had started convincing him to join his plans, but had he already done so?
He carefully watched Melkor, analyzing every nuance of his expression and tone, seeking clues that would reveal the current state of their dialogue.
Melkor's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity in their depths. "What I said before?" he repeated, his voice a smooth blend of curiosity and amusement. "And what part of our many conversations troubles you, Mairon?"
Sauron met his gaze steadily, choosing his words with precision. "You spoke of a vision," he said, his tone thoughtful. "A vision of what Middle-earth could become under our guidance. You hinted at a world where our talents could be fully realized, unbound by the constraints imposed by the Valar."
Melkor's smile was slow and calculating. "Ah, yes," he purred, his eyes gleaming with a malevolent light. "The world we could shape together, free from the petty restrictions of those who fear true power. Do you not see the potential, Mairon? The greatness that awaits us?"
Sauron nodded slowly, careful to mask his inner turmoil. "I see the potential," he replied. "But I wonder how you plan to do so. From what I heard, your previous plan involved a lot of destruction and chaos. How do you plan to create a new order through those means?" This was Sauron's last-ditch attempt to see if Melkor could be convinced to change his path to a more subtle one, one he could join without destroying his bonds or fearing it would lead to the same terrible end. However, the most convincing argument—how his plans would fail—Sauron refused to mention.
Melkor's eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and calculation as he considered Sauron's words. "Destruction and chaos," he repeated, almost mockingly. "Yes, they are powerful tools, but they are merely means to an end. The true goal is the creation of a new order, one where we hold the reins of power, where our vision shapes the world."
Sauron held Melkor's gaze, his expression impassive. "But chaos breeds instability," he countered. "If you are to build something lasting, something truly great, you must consider the foundations upon which it stands. Destruction alone cannot create; it can only clear the way."
Melkor's smile turned cold, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You speak of balance, Mairon. Of subtlety and finesse. And perhaps there is wisdom in your words. But understand this: the Valar and their followers will not yield willingly. They must be broken, their influence shattered, before one can rebuild."
What had remained of Sauron's hopes sank. Well, that answers it. Despite Melkor's carefully chosen words, implying he was willing to listen, Sauron had a significant advantage here. He held memories of many such future conversations where, despite sometimes grudgingly acknowledging that Sauron had a point, Melkor invariably followed no one else's advice but his own whims and desires. The Silmarils were a prime example. Melkor had become obsessed with those jewels, so much so that he disregarded the armies arrayed against him. His only goal had become to destroy everything and everyone, abandoning the strategic plans they had once made together.
"I see," was all Sauron said, his voice measured.
Melkor's eyes narrowed at the noncommittal response. "See what?" His voice turned dangerously low, a sinister edge creeping into his tone. "I didn't think you were so weak-willed, that your ambitions would fold so easily."
Sauron held Melkor's gaze, his own eyes calm but guarded. "It is not a matter of weak will, Melkor," he said. "I just don't foresee your plans fulfilling what you promised. You spoke of a better world, but I don't see how destroying it will improve it."
Sauron had already glimpsed what Melkor's world would look like—destruction, death, and suffering. There was little of the vision Melkor had promised him in that future. And the more Sauron strove for it using Melkor's methods, the worse it became. I don't want to do it again, a quiet part of him whispered.
Looking at Melkor, at the way his anger was already taking him over, Sauron had to suppress another flash of fear. He knew Melkor was dangerous, even at the best of times, even as an ally. And this time, Sauron was making it clear that he wouldn't support him. Pretending to consider it or helping in some way might help in the short term to avoid Melkor's wrath, but those methods would be too destructive for his long-term plans.
When Melkor would be defeated again (and he definitely would if his means of conquest didn't change), the Valar would find out all about Sauron's involvement. That would lead him to only two paths—both of them awful. One, Sauron would be punished, though to a lesser extent than Melkor. If he had already been sent to Middle-earth as an Istari and started working his influence, those plans would be permanently disrupted. And in the second path, if Sauron decided to run away from any punishment, he might end up on a similar path to when his Ring was destroyed—left to wander about, alone, only with a body and his abilities intact.
"You know, I didn't want to believe it," Melkor slowly hissed, tilting his head as he gazed at Mairon. "But I guess you really were the coward who went running to the Valar for help."
Melkor was infuriated by all that the little upstart Maia had said. How dare Mairon criticize his plans, as if he had any experience in ruling or battle strategy. The audacity of it made Melkor's rage simmer beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.
"...What?" A slight show of surprise slipped through Sauron's carefully crafted mask of unflappability. He hadn't expected Melkor to accuse him of betrayal. His mind raced, analyzing the accusation and searching for the right response.
"You heard me," Melkor snarled, taking a step closer. "I can see it now. You must have gone to the Valar, spilling secrets, hoping they'd protect you. Such treachery. Such weakness."
Sauron took a deep breath, steadying himself. He needed to navigate this confrontation carefully. "I didn't say anything about you. Why would I admit that I've been talking about betraying the Valar and Eru?"
"Well, someone certainly did," Melkor drawled, his narrowed eyes not lessening. "As the Valar saw fit to inform me. And Aulë was the only one to complain that there was something wrong with his 'little Maia.'" The last two words were accompanied by a sneer.
Sauron inwardly cursed. He hadn't expected that his inability to present a normal front to Aulë would be brought up not only to Melkor but to the other Valar. Sauron saw his chances of being trusted enough by them to be sent as one of their emissaries to Middle-earth rapidly slipping away. He would need to either adjust his plans or somehow earn back their trust before it came time for that decision.
But there was another thing that bothered him—in the previous timeline, Melkor hadn't been summoned before the Valar like that. So what had changed? Who had said something?
Wait... a slow realization started to form. It WAS me but through Olórin. How had he not foreseen that Olórin would immediately betray his confidence to go to the Valar? Sauron ignored the sting of betrayal that accompanied that thought—after all, he had betrayed Olórin plenty.
Now there really is no chance for the Valar to ever trust me. If Olórin told them I was considering Melkor's offers, they might punish me anyway, even though in this timeline I haven't done anything yet.
In his shock, Sauron hadn't masked his emotions well enough, and Melkor's sneer morphed into a thoughtful expression. "Your surprise wasn't feigned, so you weren't the one who went to the Valar," Melkor spoke slowly, his voice laced with a calculated curiosity. He scrutinized every move and expression of Mairon, who quickly regained his composure and hid his emotions once more.
"But I think you know who did," Melkor continued, his eyes narrowing further. Sauron stood frozen, his mind racing for a response that wouldn't implicate Olórin. Melkor's keen insight and ability to detect lies were legendary, and any falsehood would be as damning as the truth.
"There aren't many Ainur you would so desperately seek to protect," Melkor observed, his gaze intense as he watched Sauron's powers fluctuate slightly with agitation. "So, it's either Manwë's little pet or your useless little friend."
Sauron's expression tightened, the weight of Melkor's words pressing down on him. The idea of Melkor harming Olórin or Nárie was unbearable. He had already lost them once, he couldn't bear to do it again.
Melkor took a step closer, his voice lowering to a menacing whisper. "You know, Mairon, every Valar has the power to unleash a devastating attack, one that could turn your precious companions into nothing but ash and shadows. It would take little effort for me to make that a reality, if you continue to defy me."
Sauron's heart raced, his mind screaming with the need to protect those he held dear. "You wouldn't dare," he said, his voice trembling slightly, though he fought to keep his tone steady.
Melkor chuckled darkly, the sound chilling in the silence of the night. "Dare? Oh, Mairon, you underestimate my resolve. I don't make empty threats. You see, while you were busy pondering your loyalty to the Valar, I was busy crafting a world that will bend to my will. And if your so-called friends stand in the way, they will be the first to fall."
The words struck Sauron like a physical blow. The thought of Olórin, always so serene and wise, reduced to nothing but a smudge of light on the fabric of existence, was too much to bear. Nárie, who had shown him kindness and loyalty, would be no more than a whisper in the void.
Sauron clenched his fists, the tension in his body palpable. "I will not be threatened," he said, his voice low and steady, though his mind was in turmoil. "If you think you can break me with such fear, you are mistaken."
Melkor's eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. "Join me, and you will have the power to shield them. Refuse, and I will make sure they are nothing but memories in the wind."
The threat hung in the air, suffocating and undeniable. Sauron felt the weight of Melkor's ultimatum bearing down on him, before he abruptly left, leaving Sauron alone.
Sauron's breath came in short, sharp bursts as he struggled to regain his composure. His hands, usually steady and precise, trembled slightly, a physical manifestation of the storm raging within him.
Running a hand through his hair, Sauron paced relentlessly along the water's edge, frustration boiling over in a low growl that escaped his lips. Each step echoed his inner conflict, each moment of silence punctuated by the weight of his thoughts crashing against the walls of his mind.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," he muttered bitterly, his calm facade shattering in the solitude. How had he allowed himself to become entangled in Melkor's treacherous game? The delicate equilibrium he had painstakingly maintained now teetered dangerously on the brink of collapse.
Taking a deep breath, Sauron attempted to steady his racing thoughts, but the faces of Olórin and Nárie haunted him. Their potential suffering gnawed at his resolve, threatening to unravel the carefully constructed walls around his emotions. He knew Melkor's capacity for cruelty all too well; the darkness within him was a force to be reckoned with. The mere thought of losing Olórin and Nárie clawed at his soul.
Closing his eyes, Sauron sought refuge from the onslaught of fear, anger, and frustration. He needed clarity, a strategy to shield his loved ones without yielding to Melkor's demands.
"I can't let him win," he whispered fiercely, reopening his eyes to the world around him. A newfound resolve flickered in his gaze, steeling his determination. Sauron knew he had to act swiftly and decisively. There was no room for hesitation, no allowance for doubt.
Melkor had presented Sauron with only two stark choices: join him and ensure the safety of those he held dear, or refuse and condemn them to Melkor's wrath. The weight of this ultimatum hung heavy on Sauron's mind as he paced through the serene groves of Valinor. His thoughts raced, grappling with the implications of each path laid out before him. Joining Melkor meant embracing darkness once more, a path he had walked before with disastrous consequences. Yet, refusing meant risking the lives of Nárie and Olórin, two beings who had shown him kindness and loyalty.
The evening breeze whispered through the leaves, carrying with it the scent of blossoms and the distant murmur of Valinor's tranquil beauty. Despite the calm surroundings, Sauron's heart churned with turmoil. He knew he lacked the power to confront a Vala like Melkor directly. But he also knew that the other Valar possessed the might to challenge Melkor, to protect their own from his malevolent designs.
So his path was clear—Sauron needed to warn the Valar about Melkor's threats so they would be able to protect Olórin and Nárie. He desperately didn't want to do this—revealing the fact that he had been talking to Melkor about crafting a new kind of order in Middle-earth would likely invoke a punishment for him. For Ages he had done his best to avoid the Valar—was he really going to throw himself to their so-called mercy? They didn't know about his future atrocities, but who knew what kind of price they would make him pay for contemplating betraying them.
The idea of facing the Valar was daunting. Sauron had long been a master of manipulation and deception, his skill in crafting lies and hiding truths unparalleled. The Valar, with their immense power and wisdom, represented everything he had once sought to undermine and control. To go before them now, in a position of vulnerability, was antithetical to everything he had become in the shadowed lands of Middle-earth.
As Sauron, he had wrought untold suffering and chaos. He had bent nations to his will, corrupted the hearts of Men, and waged war against the free peoples of Middle-earth. Though the Valar were not aware of these future crimes, Sauron feared that any hint of his treachery would be met with severe consequences. They would never trust me if they knew, he thought, a shiver running down his spine. I would be cast out, or worse, destroyed.
His mind raced, considering every possible outcome. What if they decided to strip him of his powers? What if they banished him from Valinor, condemning him to wander the world as a shadow of his former self? Or, perhaps worst of all, what if they deemed him a threat too great to be allowed to exist and chose to unmake him completely? The uncertainty gnawed at him, feeding his anxiety.
And yet, the alternative was unthinkable. To do nothing would be to abandon Olórin and Nárie to Melkor's malice. Despite his own ambitions and fears, Sauron could not ignore the bonds of loyalty and affection that tied him to them. Olórin, his older brother, had always been a guiding light, a beacon of wisdom and kindness. Nárie, with his unwavering dedication, had shown him a gentleness he scarcely deserved. He could not, would not, let them suffer for his silence.
What was even worse was that he somehow must reveal his conversations with Melkor without also revealing that he still hoped to gain power in Middle-earth—just not through tyranny and destruction like Melkor.
At this thought, Sauron groaned in frustration. He cursed Melkor at that moment—if he hadn't threatened Olórin and Nárie, Sauron could've kept everything to himself—never revealing he had even talked with Melkor. Though, considering what Melkor had said earlier, Olórin might have already told them about it. Considering how loyal Olórin was to them, he shouldn't have been surprised.
Sauron paused in his pacing, the soft rustling of the leaves and the distant call of birds filling the air. I cannot let pride endanger them, he thought, clenching his fists. I must act, regardless of the cost.
With a deep breath, he resolved to take action. The Valar needed to know, and he would face whatever consequences came his way. Transforming into his eagle form, he soared into the sky, heading towards Ilmarin, the grand palace of Manwë and Varda. The journey was swift, his powerful wings carrying him with purpose. As he approached the palace, he descended gracefully, landing at the entrance where the golden light of the Two Trees mingled, casting a serene glow.
"This is later than you usually come to visit Olórin," Eönwë said, raising an eyebrow at the way Mairon was almost dragging his feet, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here.
Eönwë, the herald of Manwë, was a figure of striking presence. Tall and regal, his silver hair fell in waves to his shoulders, and his eyes shone with the light of the stars. Clad in a flowing robe of white and silver, he exuded an aura of strength and wisdom, his posture always upright and dignified.
Eönwë's wings were a marvel to behold, crafted with a blend of divine grace and celestial elegance. Spanning wide, they were composed of countless delicate feathers that shimmered with hues of silver and azure, catching the light like the iridescent surface of a vast lake under the noonday sun. Each feather was perfectly aligned, forming a seamless expanse that seemed to effortlessly support his towering stature.
Sauron sighed deeply, once again cursing the necessity of this. This plan was so foolish that even Melkor wouldn't have foreseen it. Why would someone willingly walk straight into a punishment? Every instinct screamed at him to run away while he could, while he still had his powers and wasn't imprisoned.
I must be mad, he thought, his mind a storm of doubt and anxiety.
"I need to talk to Manwë," Sauron reluctantly informed Eönwë, the way someone else might have said, "I need to go jump in a volcano." His voice was thick with resignation, each word feeling like a weight pulling him deeper into the earth.
At Mairon's tone, Eönwë's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Are you quite alright?" They had never been exactly friends—their only conversations usually happened when Olórin, who was close to both of them, wanted to hang out with both of them at the same time. But still, Eönwë had come to care for Mairon if for no other reason than because Olórin loved him, so the look on Mairon's face as if he was walking to his doom concerned him.
"I'm fine," Mairon said tonelessly, earning him a disbelieving look from Eönwë.
"Manwë is at the Máhanaxar with the other Valar currently," Eönwë informed him, studying Mairon's strained expression. The sigh that escaped Mairon at that moment sounded so doomed and resigned that Eönwë couldn't help but feel a surge of concern.
"You could wait here until he comes back?" Eönwë offered cautiously, though his curiosity was piqued. What in the name of Eru has Mairon done? he wondered. The only reason Eönwë could think of for Mairon to be this reluctant to face the Valar was if he had committed some grave transgression. Usually, none of the Maiar had any reason to fear the Valar. The Valar had been ordained by Eru to take care of the Maiar, even as the Maiar served under their command. It was an unspoken understanding that their relationship was built on mutual respect and protection.
But looking at Mairon now, it was clear that something significant had happened. Eönwë noticed the tension in Mairon's posture, the way his eyes darted around as if seeking an escape route. 'This is not the Mairon I know,' Eönwë thought. The Maia he was familiar with was confident, almost to the point of arrogance, not this hesitant and conflicted figure before him.
Sauron was really tempted at that point to just say, "Nah, that's fine. Wasn't that important anyway," and leave. But he couldn't leave Olórin's and Nárie's fate in Melkor's hands. He had witnessed the extent of Melkor's mercy—nonexistent—and he knew very well that Melkor would do his very best to fulfill his threats if for no other reason than to make Mairon pay for not joining him and criticizing his plans.
"No, it can't wait," Mairon finally said, his voice strained but resolute.
"Okay," Eönwë replied, looking at Mairon with increasing concern. When Mairon teleported away to the Valar meeting place, Eönwë decided to follow.
When Eönwë appeared next to him, Mairon blinked in surprise, his eyebrows raising.
"Olórin would murder me if I left you to face their judgment for whatever you've done alone," Eönwë simply stated. "Although..." he trailed off while looking around, "Why isn't he here?"
Mairon studiously looked at the ceiling, pretending to not hear him. "...You didn't even tell him?"
"This wasn't exactly... planned," Sauron muttered. He was extremely unhappy to be here and it was almost ironic that he was being escorted by Eönwë. At the end of the War of Wrath, he had been the one to urge his return to Valinor to face the Valar's judgment and repent, if for no other reason than for the sake of his brother Olórin, who had been miserable since he had left.
Well, Sauron thought humorlessly, Here I am. He wondered if his previous predictions of his likely fate would be fulfilled in this timeline.
At that point, the Valar must have either sensed them or heard their conversation, as Varda appeared in front of them, her radiant presence immediately commanding attention. Her gaze flickered briefly with curiosity before settling into a calm expression. She greeted them with a dignified nod, acknowledging their presence without revealing any hint of her inner thoughts.
"Eönwë, Mairon," Varda greeted, her voice gentle yet firm. "What brings you here with such urgency?"
Sauron took a deep breath, summoning all his courage. "I need to speak with Manwë and the other Valar," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. "It concerns Melkor."
Varda's expression grew serious. "Come with me," she instructed, leading them through the grand halls toward the Máhanaxar, the Ring of Doom where the Valar held their councils.
As they walked, Eönwë glanced at Mairon, noting the tension in his posture and the furrow in his brow, and sent an almost helpless look at Varda. She was also watching Mairon's tenseness with worried eyes, remembering what Aulë had said earlier about Mairon's strange behavior.
'I think it's safe to say that Mairon is definitely one of those approached by Melkor,' Varda told the other Valar through their bond, her voice carrying a note of concern.
'He is here?' Aulë asked, his voice laced with surprise. He reached out with his senses, attempting to locate Mairon's presence. Usually, the bond between them would have made it effortless to pinpoint Mairon's location, but this time, it was different.
'You couldn't sense him before?' Irmo asked, his curiosity piqued. While it was true that the Valar had to concentrate to identify individual presences, the bond they shared with their dedicated Maiar usually made the task much easier. The fact that Aulë had struggled to sense Mairon's presence was unusual and concerning.
'He's been blocking me,' Aulë admitted softly, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. 'And he was evasive when I asked him about it. I could sense his unease, but he refused to share the reason behind it.'
'Hopefully now you will get your answer,' Námo noted, as the trio finally entered the Máhanaxar, where the Valar were gathered.
The grand hall of Máhanaxar was imposing, its high arches and intricate carvings a testament to the Valar's craftsmanship. The light of the Two Trees cast a serene glow, but the atmosphere was tense with anticipation. Sauron, despite his resolve, felt a wave of anxiety as he stepped forward, Eönwë and Varda flanking him.
Manwë, seated at the center, radiated an aura of calm authority. His deep blue eyes, filled with wisdom and compassion, turned to Mairon. Manwë's presence was serene yet commanding, his silver hair framing a face that was both ageless and kind. Clad in robes of sky blue and white, he seemed to embody the very essence of the heavens.
As Sauron stood before him, he couldn't help but compare Manwë to Melkor. Though they were brothers, they were complete opposites in both appearance and the aura they exuded. Manwë's demeanor was soothing, his gaze gentle and understanding. In contrast, Melkor's dark hair and piercing eyes were filled with a malevolent intensity, his presence always tinged with a sense of danger and chaos. Where Manwë inspired trust and reverence, Melkor instilled fear and awe. Two sides of a coin, Sauron thought, his mind drifting to the times when Melkor's charm had masked his true, sinister nature.
"Mairon," Manwë greeted, his voice gentle yet commanding. "What brings you here with such urgency?"
Seeing the Valar gazing at him with curiosity and, for some reason, concern, Sauron hesitated, unsure where to even start—with what he had done or with Melkor's threats. If he started with Melkor's threats, the Valar might even forget to ask what else they talked about, but on the other hand, if he admitted to being tempted and then brought up the present danger to Olórin and Nárie, the Valar might forget to give him any punishment.
As he considered his options, his eyes caught Námo's, and he couldn't look away. Too late, he remembered Námo's powers—not only to see nearly all things that were and shall be, but to also see into the heart of each being. Powers granted to him by Eru, so that his judgment could be as fair and fitting as possible. Sauron's heart sank, expecting Námo to immediately order to have him cast in chains and sent into the Void. He recalled the countless tales of Námo's piercing gaze, said to strip away all pretenses and lay bare the truth within.
A shiver ran down Sauron's spine as Námo's unyielding eyes seemed to delve into his very soul, uncovering every dark deed, every malicious thought he had ever harbored. He braced himself for the inevitable verdict, his mind racing through the myriad of possible punishments. Perhaps this was a mistake, he thought, panic clawing at his insides. Perhaps I should have fled while I had the chance.
But instead of the harsh condemnation he feared, Námo's head only tilted slightly, his gaze remaining steady but not hostile. It was as if he was examining a complex puzzle, trying to understand all its pieces and how they fit together. There was a depth of understanding in his eyes that Sauron had not anticipated, a hint of empathy that caught him off guard.
Námo's silence stretched, a palpable force in the room. The other Valar watched the exchange with bated breath, their own concerns and curiosities simmering beneath the surface. Sauron could feel the weight of their collective attention, each of them assessing him in their own way. He felt exposed, vulnerable in a way he had not felt for ages.
"Mairon?" Aulë prompted, looking at the exchange between the Maia and Vala with great confusion.
The silence grew heavy, and the tension in the room was palpable. Sauron swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their expectations pressing down on him. He had to speak, to explain himself, but the words seemed to stick in his throat.