Author's Note: Soooo, it's been a while. The meeting of PostRing!Sauron and Morgoth is one of my favourite things to think about. This is not the only version of this I've written, but it might be the most recent? I'm toying with the notion a Young Wolf Sequel, and I keep waffling over what I want deranged and broken Sauron to do. What I forgot is that a scene very similar to this would have played out in The Last Days, and since he has to meet Morgoth first in that fic for the sake of plot bunnies, it makes more sense that instead being enslaved to Morgoth, Sauron should wind up a prisoner of the Valar from the get go. So no spoilers here. (The version for LTD was better written, and ironically much darker.) So here another Young Wolfy thing for the never ending scrap heap.
Disclaimer: still don't own
This dark. This unlight, he'd seen once before, from afar when it swallowed the light of the Two Trees, and then tried to devour his master. The sun, had been slung from the sky, crashing into oceans, and mighty waves had sloshed inland snapping trees, and flaying the landscape as rocks, and silt were stolen out to sea.
Forests of splintered tree stumps stretched before him, and lowlands had become pools of salt water, and the oceans had risen, swallowing cities, and coastlines, and the whole world had shuddered to its very foundations, and he'd felt it in his spirit, a terrible pang, of such horror, fear, and loss. It had sent him careening into darkness, plummeting as a tower fell, as his power was rent from him, and he was torn apart, his body broken, until he'd emerged sore, shaking, gasping, and clutching at himself.
Mercifully, he'd come too, deeply wedged among jagged rocks, and there he'd remained, as an inky river of mangled twisted shadow, apprehensively collecting himself.
It had gotten better. He had been getting better, but every once in while there'd be a catalyst for an unexpected fall into taunting memories, and miserable pain, that left him reeling in senseless, screaming agony, as he scrambled for an escape from his mind, often shredding himself in the process.
This episode had been bad, and he was grateful for the small mercy of the jutting stones around him, keeping out of the seeking cruel wind, while he stared up a dark sky full of stars, without sun nor moon, and in his delirium he had forgotten the sun exploding, the earth crashing, and moon turning blood red as a massive shadow covered it, before it was torn apart, and chunks of the silver fruit rained down, in a cataclysmic shower to follow the sun.
For a moment he had truly thought time had merely slipped from him, and he'd been caught in so prolonged an episode that day had turned to night. But then he'd smelt the sulphur, and heard the crashing and cracking of snapping land, and seen in the distance the glow of fire welling up from some fissure in the earth, and it had almost overwhelmed his senses, as the pieces fell into place.
Somehow. Someway. Morgoth had done the impossible, and returned.
He clung to himself, kneading shredded tendrils of his own spirit, to ground himself, as he gathered his thoughts into order. What to do? What to do? What to do?
His former master had returned. He could try to reach him, all the while hoping some hideous breeze did not pick him up and carry him off, before he could make it. Oh he'd have to- a fissure wracked him, as the humiliation crept over him, burning through him, as he imagined in the vaguest of detail how that meeting would go. What bitter scorn and mockery he'd be forced to endure, as his former master took in the sight of him, torn asunder and laid bare.
The other option, was to try and flee west, hoping once again, that the wind would not deny him his destination, and beseech the lords of the Valinor, for their pardon. Their scorn and mockery he would also have to endure, and if he could not receive that pardon, the Void would be his destination.
What to do? What to do? What to do?
Confusion ate him, and he suffered the vaguest sensation of unease, as if he was missing something vitally important.
A tremor wracked him, and the world groaned, as the very bones of the earth fractured. The earth's blood oozed and dribbled brilliant red from festering welts and deep craterous wounds. He could see the angry glow on the horizon as voices of animals, people, and trees wailed and bayed in a cacophony of pain and fear.
Things twisted, or he twisted, it was impossible to say, as he felt himself falling, falling, falling, into frigid deep water, as dark stones fell above him. Lightning crackled, and there was laughter- some fool standing proud before a throne, sneering at a rising storm- a swallowed star, and excruciating pain, as wolves howled. Wolves were quiet. There was only screaming, and then far away there might have been a voice that was calling.
Tumbling on the hateful wind, forever pulled this and that, by its capricious fury, clarity was slow return.
When it did, the voice was louder, hastening him hither, yanking on him, and dragging him ever closer as every instinct insisted that he flee, but he couldn't. It wasn't possible, but then he shook himself unsure why he was so afraid. He knew that voice…it was… familiar. Familiar, yes. Ages, had been spent harkening to that voice. And then he wondered why wasn't as bothered as he should have been.
Something, some vague awareness was warning him that he should be afraid. That he should be clamouring to get away. That he was a fool, laughing at another storm –that gave him pause- what storm? The skies had always been dark. The real question was when had they ever been clear? There must have been blues at one point, and once there had been a sun. Another sun, more recent still, and a smiling face. A light when there had been no other light, save a burning ache in his blackened hand. It filled him with a profound mix, of protectiveness, confusion, envy, distrust, anger, and horror it was sickening. He clawed at himself, futilely attempting to gauge it out, to expunge those feelings and those memories he did not want.
He couldn't do it. He couldn't do it. He couldn't do it. What to do? What to do? What to do?
There was firelight. Sulphur. The earth's blood, dribbling bright red. A heavy hand. Three brilliant white lights, and the voice louder than before, cutting through the delirium, as it reverberated through ever trembling fibre of his being.
Too loud, and heavy, like falling mountains, the scornful guffaw beat down on him, sending his spiralling into another frenzied attack on his own self. If he could just get away! If he could just cease it would all go away!
Sharp things grabbed him, held him, pinioning him in place, and still the laughter rolled over him like an avalanche. He wriggled and squirmed, uncaring of the damage he did himself, but it was a vain attempt.
"I never thought I'd see my mighty lieutenant, so proud and lordly, stripped of all his pretences." The words broke and boomed meaningless about him, as the mangled Maia writhed and twisted like a maddened worm.
"Are you so utterly broken, you can't recognize your own master?"
Something must have gotten through, as the wretched scrap of waster Ainu fell limp.
Master…? There'd been of those once. He'd betrayed his master-or had he not? Lamps had been broken. The world had been broken. The world was broken still. Things were always broken. He wished he could fix something. Had there been a master-yes he must have had one once? That felt right, but there was a strange unease rising once more, in some dreadful warning he couldn't make sense of.
Laughter answered his silence, and for a fleeting moment he saw. Taller than the mountains, stronger than the foundations of the earth, powerful beyond reckoning, a shadow looming above all his distorted memories, there appeared a grasping hand, and gleaming eyes.
Panic undid him, even as word 'master' fell feeble and sickly between them.
Something about him changed. Then he was being pulled, pushed, and pummelled. It tore anguished screams from him, as he clawed, and fought, and gnawed at whatever was in reach, trying and failing to get away. He was being constricted, and suffocated, puissant barbs of cruel power, like so many hooks, binding him to what he wasn't sure, but he didn't want it! Didn't want it! Didn't want it!
Then as abruptly as it started, it was over, and he felt heavy and light, winded and drunken, bent staggering, and blinking, as cold stone bit his feet, and a chill breeze nipped his skin, and then darkness took him, and he knew no more.
