Author's Note: Proof that I haven't abandoned my fics, despite all evidence to the contrary.


Sauron Unhinged (TYW snippet)

The Lord of Mordor fell quiet and his thoughts turned inward. He rubbed his forehead, exhaling as his thoughts settled heavily about him.

"I don't know what machinations those in Aman have set their mind to, but I will foil them. I will go myself to Valinor and raise their land as Numenor was raised. The first thing I am going to do is cast those emissaries they call the Istari back into the sea, or they will remain here subjugated or imprisoned, but one way or another, the eyes and ears of the Valar will be blinded and deafened to all that moves in my Middle-earth."

"I will see myself thrown into the Void, before they take him."

Fuinur pressed his lips together, nodding along, unsure in that moment, how he was going to shift the conversation to what he'd bothered to visit for.

"My Lord, even Morgoth could not break the Doors of Night, once he was thrown behind them."

The Dark Lord's eyes gleamed. "Morgoth may be content to bask his defeats, but they will find me far less pleased to remain sullied by my failures. If there is way back, I assure you I would never rest in pursuit of finding it."

(I actually really wanted to keep this dialogue in the fic, but by the time I got to this the tone had shifted. Granted, I do sort of headcanon Sauron being somewhat manic when truly frazzled, this just felt too jarring.)

Trigger Warning

This part contains gore. It has to do with a C-section. And Sauron being Sauron. Everything you don't want together. For the final draft I scrapped a lot of this my making what is explicit more implicit, although this will probably creep back into the fic in bits and pieces scattered throughout the narrative rather than in a single giant piece.

From a gory incision he'd made, he pulled an unmoving babe from its haven and deposited it unceremoniously into the arms of a nearby nurse. His only hesitation had been loosening the umbilical cord that had formed a noose around its neck.

With knowledge of flesh craft, and the bonds between spirit and hroa, he sewed tissues together with thread and needle, as he sewed fëa and flesh together, strengthening the dangerously thin tether that kept her present. He cared not for perfection, so much that it was done, leaving the edges of that spiritual bond ragged and raw. And in hindsight it may have been that pain, and his vindictive callousness that had cost Fëatho his mother in the end, but at the time he hadn't cared overly much of what came of her, save that she lived long enough to see him get his revenge.

When layers of tissue had been sewn together, he abandoned her, wiping the gore from his hands, glad to done with the pair of them for the time being, but it was the voice of a physician that called him.

She held the babe, in her arms, looking down at it, too scared to look at him.

"I checked and the phalange to baby ratio is accurate. Do you wish to see him?"

She offered the swaddled resuscitated babe out, still unwilling to look at him. After a moment, he approached. His wife had been adamant the babe was his, impossible though it was, and perhaps in the boy's face, something of his mysterious father might be revealed.

Despising the infant, he'd taken it from her, and it fit in two hands, so small and fragile. And looking down he saw nothing that inspired love nor joy. At best he felt utterly apathetic, but because this thing had been literally born of lies he scorned it, and detested its mocking existence and all that represented. Another loss of friendship and loyalty, and so easily he could have smashed it then. So easily he could have snapped its bruised and blotched little neck.

It wasn't chubby. It wasn't cute. It was a sack of skin and bones that might make a nice morsel for one of his wolves, or perhaps it might make another slave. And nothing in its features pointed an obvious finger to the mysterious interloper that had found warmth in his consort's bedchamber.

Having seen enough he made to hand the babe back, so he could return to the matters of state he'd been dragged from. But as he moved, the babe's face was shielded from the torches, and the Lord of Mordor froze.

Unseeing, unfocused, tired blue eyes peered at him. There was a reason why it was called 'baby blue' for the blue of those irises was the purest of blues blue could ever be. A perfect blue, that looked up at him without a shred of fear, nor doubt. Of course babes were blind so young, so it wouldn't know it was in the hands of a dark lord, but that's not what held his gaze, nor what made his breath catch, or his arms retract.

Beyond the blue, there was faint light. A golden glimmer that flickered faint and astonishingly familiar. He couldn't look away, and curiously he reached out in spirit to see this thing for himself.

In his hands he held a kindred spirit, like himself and yet distinctly different, but undeniably his own. He had a son. Against all odds, she'd spoken the truth. He had a son, and he was beautiful to behold.

He pulled him towards his chest, shielding him from all the world in a shroud of utter darkness.

Staring down in wonder, he departed, paying no heed to the nurse that called to him. He saw nothing but those eyes boldly staring up at him, unconcerned by the surrounding darkness. He had a son, and he was precious. Nervously, he clutched him tighter as if the world itself would reach out to steal him away, and the Dark Lord hastened to his chambers as if that alone were the only safe haven in all the world-

From a purely self-indulgent time-travel AU

Linaer has the pleasure of meeting Sauron in the Second Age

"In the First and Second ages you enjoyed teas made with lavender, mint, and other herbs that were pungent or sweet."

Mairon's mind drifted to the pot of mint tea waiting for him, cold and forgotten in the library, as he saw Thuringwethil turn to regard him with a raised brow.

"Then during the Third Age, you enjoyed a type of tea from Harad that was spicy and sweet. A type of red tea, that only comes from those deserts. And when we met, while you had those preferences still, you seemed relieved there was even tea to drink. Though most of it was bitter and dark. And you hate coffee. It's smell. It's flavour. You turn up your nose every time I drink it, like my enjoyment of it, is some sort of crime." She smiled. "You call it boiled bean curd, and in turn I call your drink of choice 'scalded swamp water.' But that's only in private."

Having no idea what coffee was, Mairon decided to momentarily ignore that detail, to ponder the fact, his supposed future-self permitted this blunt, crude little commoner, to insult his taste in tea. He didn't know what to make of that, or her, but his curiosity was piqued, and even if this whole situation was some fever dream or phantasmal delusion conjured by his Master, he was willing to play along.

"So you're my servant."

"I-no-maybe-I don't know. I'm not sure there are words in any language for whatever we are."

He tilted his head to the side. Fiery hair, both reminiscent of molten gold, and orange flame, caught the light of the hearth and seemed to flicker with uncanny light of its own.

XXXX

"Fine. If that's how you want to play!" She folded her arms, shoving the note in her sleeve. "Lock me in a dungeon or whatever it is you intend to do! I'll be more than happy to wait. Because nothing will be funnier than watching you kick your own ass!"

"You dare-" he yanked her toward him a hiss, suddenly furious. She yelped, and fear widened her eyes.

Her eyes narrowed, and her lip was curled in soft smug little smirk. "Yes, I do. Because I know you. I know what you become. Besides you're pragmatic, and too smart to risk ruining something potentially useful."

"You're both delusional, and prideful." He snarled, eyes gleaming.
"That arrogance and your overall lack of respect will be your undoing."

"Oh." She frowned. "…Maybe. Yeah." She sighed bowing her head." You're probably right, but you're also the one who said, I should continue being assertive."

"And I allow you to be rude?"

Linaer shrugged. "I don't think you like it, but you've made it perfectly clear that you hate false fronts and being lied to, so we have a sort of understanding where, I moderate myself in public, because people are dangerous and liable to hurt you, but behind closed doors, you're a bit more tolerant."

XXXX

"You know what? No!" She bowed her head, shouting at her knees, because the weight of the Eye really did feel like a hand squeezing her skull. "This is ridiculous! You're ridiculous! You are the most unhinged, obnoxious, ridiculous, and worst captor ever! At least Morgoth gave me food before he tried to kill me! Voids-even you gave me food before you tried to kill me in the future? But you here? You don't even the decency to offer me a cup of tea before giving me the migraine of the century. What the fuck!?"

The pressure on her head didn't exactly relent, but she could hear better, or somehow hear him despite being deaf to everything but her pulse thundering in her ears.

"That is highly vulgar, and you have no right to address Morgoth as anything other than a lord."

She glowered at him, through watery eyes. "Squeezing my head like a grape is perfectly fine, but uncouth word is just beyond the pale…." Suicidal, and pained, she was beyond caring about her choice of words, or the sarcastic tone she took with him.

"Such language speaks to a lack of education, poor vocabulary, and immaturity, all of which is most unbecoming."

The girl groaned, falling back in the chair. "You sound… so old."

The Eye shifted, a tiny flex of pressure that made her see red, and feel the first lick of fire it was famed for.

"What even is the point? You clearly don't believe anything I'm saying. You might as well just say so, so we can both move on with our lives."

Her head was killing her, and she sat there, drifting in a dark see of pulsing head pain, while her conversation partner remained silent.

"How do you propose we both go on with our lives?"

Something clicked. She sat up straighter, suddenly caught off guard by an epiphany.

"Wait…" He was glowering at her, still limning faint angry light, but giddy with revelation, she risked ignoring all common sense. "That's the problem isn't it? You do believe me."

His gold eyes narrowed. "I believe," he started slowly, "that you believe what you're telling me to be true. I believe you know things about me no mere child should."

The Lord Tol-in-Gaurhoth leant forward, looming over her, darkening her little corner of the world, but where should have dread, there was a faint trickle of relief.

"So you think I'm crazy?"

"Veritably."

The girl managed a faint sardonic little smile. "You're not wrong."

Her smiled faded. "I'm not exactly sorry, but I don't like upsetting you. I know that was a sore subject, and I really was trying to be understanding, while honest about it. I'll figure it out, because it's horrible how haunted and tormented you are, back home. Actually, it's pretty horrible throughout the Second and Third Ages too-it's never not horrible-"

"Stop talking."

Mairon's voice was strained with exhaustion.