but don't make me your enemy

[eyefire]

( from here. )


[ Adar is left alone for a night. Sauron finds him in the obsidian hallways of the palace, the parts he is allowed to frequent as a captain, standing at the end of a corridor when Adar turns. His robes are dark, simmering with a soft burn at the ends of his robes, and his eyes are the only light of any worth, fixed on his uruk. ]

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[callmeadar]

[He does stalk home, unsupervised, despite the vast swaths of land he could try to escape by. It is clear now that Sauron will burn the continent to make him come back, if need be, and so he doesn't try. There was no need to have every elf blooded and split open and devoured before they had to be.

He doesn't know what to expect when he returns, but in truth he is treated the same as ever. Some brush past him like he is nothing, others stoop and bow and call him Adar like it is a prayer only he can answer. Sauron returns, that much he knows he both hears his coming and feels it, but the Maia doesn't find him or drag him to kneel in front of him (or worse, Morgoth).

Adar cannot sleep, he paces, relentlessly through the halls, sometimes trying doors that are locked to him on the off chance he'll piss off a balrog or something equally foul and they will forget themselves and end him. No such luck.

He senses him again before he sees him, it is always as if the very air warns of his coming. Terrible Dread indeed, but Adar has none of that left in him. He is angry and upset, his eyes bloodshot with both rage and tears that he had forgotten he could still shed. Pausing mid-step he looks at Sauron, not a fire god today, but a thing of shadow and embers like so much of this place.] Master. [He says, with a perfunctory little bow.] Did you need me?

[eyefire]

[ Taking Adar's measure, he turns and the only sound is the soft sussurration of his robes. In the roofless, endless dark of the hallway, both of them lost in giant pillars that reach up in mockery of ancient trees, he barely has to raise his voice for it to carry. ]

Come.

[ He leads the way to a smaller hall, cosy by Angband's standards where a dining table has been set. Skulls sliced cleanly open above eyes, brains made into soup and pate, limbs roasted with honey and herbs, fruit pies with eyes melted atop, goblets of bloodwine fragranced with rose petals. A banquet of death.

He walks in, gesturing to a seat. ]

Eat.

[callmeadar]

[He follows because he knows he has no choice, yet at the threshold to the door, Adar nearly turns back.

Must we? is clear on his face though he doesn't so much as mouth the words as he swallows and forces himself to go inside.] I see now why you did not bother to find me. [He was concocting an extension of his punishment, one that was almost dressed up like a reward (again) and would be to nearly anyone in Angband.

He tries not to look at them, but his other choice is his master who will surely turn his gaze back and so he finds himself staring at their young faces, ruined forever. He sits, but makes no move to take any of the food.]

Would you not run? [he asks, leaning back in the chair to look at him.] If it were Manwë here instead of Morgoth and you were some cog in his machine? Would you not try? [He asks but he knows, because Sauron would preserve himself at any cost. That was the core of his being, more than anything else.]

[eyefire]

[ Sauron takes a seat at the other end of the table and helps himself to the meal, spooning a corned slush of brains onto his plate as he picks at bones, the marrow stuffed with roasted vegetables (he is not against greens, you see). Dipping each bone into the pate, he crunches down. ]

My dear captain, take this as a gesture of apology. I have let you have too much freedom, too highly vaunted for your deeds, and you thought running a realistic option. It never was.

That was my fault.

[callmeadar]

[Adar still doesn't make himself a plate, now looking squarely at Sauron without so much as blinking.

So he was pissed about Adar verbalising what they both knew, he supposed. That he had failed time and time again to make any other Uruks that compared to him, that he needed Adar and could not simply replace him with whatever elf wandered along next.]

You need not fear it happening again. [Not until he can stab you at the same time.] I have seen the error of my ways, my Lord.

[eyefire]

[ He casts a doubtful look across the table. ]

Eat, you will need your strength.

[callmeadar]

[Always and forever it was what Sauron wanted, no mercy given unless it amused him to do so. Even after all these years Adar picked hesitantly at the options until he had something of a plate of the least offensive looking "parts" that he can slowly eat with his fork, trying not to think about it.]

May I ask why? [Probably not, but he felt compelled to try.]

[eyefire]

You are my greatest captain down in the depths, this you know. It was inevitable, perhaps, that your ego would run away with you, [ haha, pun, ] but I have a solution.

[ Wiping his mouth clean, he sits straight and rests his chin in a hand to watch his uruk picking mildly at the extravagantly prepared fare. ]

You have bred many in your time, your service has been noted. However, I have been busy and it is far too long since your position has been inverted.

I am going to breed you.

[callmeadar]

Oh. [If that is meant to be shocking, the best Adar can summon is a raise of his brow. Fine. Whatever. have his body, ruin his mind. What difference did the thousandth or more time make?]

If that is your wish. [It's not like he could say no and have it be worth the effort it took to expel the words from his lips.]

[eyefire]

[ Such a smart-arse. That's fine, he expected as much and prepared for it. ]

It is.

[ He rises, taking a covered platter with him in one hand as he walks to Adar and sets it down nearby. Leaning in, he drops a soft kiss to the scarred skin where hair should grow. ]

But for a far stronger child to be born, as is true custom, I will need you willing.

[ The cover is lifted from the tray: elven broth, the same as what the marchwardens served, and clean water. It practically has its own little atmosphere of purity at the table. ]

[callmeadar]

[He is grateful for the presence of the broth, if only because it gives him something to focus on that was neither Sauron nor their beheaded almost-friends who were roasted for the table.

He had never been willing, not once, not for that, but his children were still stronger and smarter and better than the others so he blinks. Was Sauron after a new soldier or a replacement for him?]

The mother would need to be willing as well...

[eyefire]

[ Sauron's laughter fills the room, deep and lashing like flickering flames from the hearth. He gives him a pitying look, tilting his head. In a world of iron and blood where flesh is malleable, where dragons and balrogs can be created, he has no interest in involving anyone else; nor any need. What is a womb but a sac for a baby? He can build those, no problem. ]

Adar, [ he brushes his fingers through his uruk's remaining hair on the one side, petting it down on his shoulder, ] I am not made of skin and bone, my shape is only as you witness because I wish it. You and I are going to create a child, with your seed and my power.

And a lot of fucking, ostensibly. I will need much from you.

[callmeadar]

[He really should have slept last night because that one catches him entirely off-guard, snapping his attention immediately to Sauron. He did want a replacement then, or at least a Luthien of some sort. He takes a glass of water, suddenly needing the cool sweetness he had known the night before last.]

You want to be a parent? [When he had pointed out that Sauron's experiments were failures, this was not what he meant! Yet he doesn't want to be too snarky because that broth is real food and he could so easily just smash the bowl of it against the wall and give Adar a thigh bone to chew on instead.]

babymaking, cont.

[eyefire]

[ Sauron has never split himself like this before, not to such a degree. He will in the future because it is a good way to ensure power is distributed in a way he can keep tabs on, but for now ... Unearthly screams rock Angband's depthless chasms and dungeons, giving hope to the prisoners there as guards speak of their master's anguish. Could Sauron be dying? Too many hearts are kindled with a flame of hope, too many will be broken when they come to realise he is fine.

He is simply giving birth.

It's when the balrogs and dragons quail that terror falls upon all under Thangorodrim: Morgoth's shadow rumbles and all is deafening for minutes as the Dark Lord provides what is (for Sauron) a soothing undercurrent of his presence, a terrifying living brilliance in the shadows throughout his dominion. Then, even louder than the Vala and Maia, the silence is engulfing as the screaming and bellowing eventually stop at the same moment.

All the evil things are fearful and frozen as stone, waiting.

The living darkness recedes.

Noise begins to hesitantly filter back into the realm. An entwife is sent to summon Adar to the chambers of the Lieutenant with all urgency, her brown bark face oddly pale as a birch despite being oak. ]

[callmeadar]

[Though he has more of a notion than the other beings of Angband what might be going on, that doesn't stop the great thundering terror that grips his whole body at those sounds. It is unlike anything he has ever heard before (and he had thought he had heard it all), it echoes off every wall and seems to rattle his very bones. If anything could rip his fëa free it feels like it must be this noise but he is stuck in his body, bowed over and trying to cover his ears as if that would ever help with noises from such a source.

When the entwife arrives to send him to his master, Adar is still trying to shake himself out of the strange feeling that permeated every part of his being. It doesn't depart him yet, but he does at a run because he was summoned and the fact his ears still rang and he thought he might walk into a wall was really of no consequence because Sauron would not much care about such trifles.

He is there quickly, only a little shaken when he knocks once, announces himself and then pushes the door open if there is no objection.]

Master? Are you well?

[eyefire]

[ The room is emptier of furniture today than usual and its endless ceiling has been made use of: the remains of a balrog, whip still intact in a pile of ash that may have been its hand, lie at the centre of a circle echoed by entwives, some smoking from their limbs, others sporting bad burns across their bodies. There are bones there too as if things or people were ripped apart; blood is pooled underneath all around Sauron's circumference of violence in a three metre radius and soaks the lower half of his nude body, larger in his maian form as he looks over at Adar with burning eyes.

In his arms is cradled a small form, crying wetly, covered in blood. By way of an answer he shrinks to an elven height and the babe does too (for that is what it is) and as he walks out of the circle of blood, trailing it, two entwives with smouldering branches that could use the water more than their lord pour some over his head, washing the two clean. The baby cries louder but the gore is soon gone, and with an exhausted gait Sauron steps once more toward Adar, offering it over. ]

A son.

[callmeadar]

[He hadn't known exactly what this would entail (nor had he any wish too, if he was honest), but the sight he sees as it slowly registers in his mind is certainly not what he might have ever conceived of on his own. It takes a few moments for him to even settle on Sauron, there is so much blood it burns his nostrils, the metallic scent threatening to overwhelm his still dizzy head before his eyes finally settle on the fire of Sauron's and then flick down to the child.

Their child.

Somehow he didn't think Melian had had this much trouble, but he also didn't really know if Sauron had used other means to alter the child before it was born and so needed more than usual means to bring it forth. He didn't even know if there were usual means in a case like this. He talks a step inside, then another as Sauron approaches him, his eyes fixed now on the child.]

A son. [He repeats, almost disbelieving that any of this is real. It doesn't feel real. It feels like his nightmares and dreams have taken up a dance and come to haunt his waking mind. He takes the child when it is offered, easily holding him. It was a familiar thing, children were so cherished by the elves that he had before the war held many even though he had none of his own, and in Angband he had sometimes snuck in to hold the little orcs that came from his flesh before they too quickly grew and became things he could not soothe.

This baby though was perfect and Adar finds himself entranced by him. He traces, so gently, along the babys cheek, his sweet little chin.] He is beautiful.

[eyefire]

He is your flesh and my spirit, I have given him a sliver of the divine. Of me.

[ Head hanging and shoulders rounded, Sauron accepts the black robe draped over him by the entwives who begin to clean up in his wake. He ignores them, eyes on the babe and Adar, intent with interest. ]

He was difficult to bring into this world.

[ Sauron is a remaker of flesh, he cannot create from nothing; Adar was the base for the child, others shredded into the materials needed to build a powerful elven-maia without the use of a natural womb like Melian's. The baby is caramel-skinned, touched by the warmth of flames with golden hair, but when it opens its squinty eyes those are green. It is not an orc, not an uruk. ]

[callmeadar]

[It takes just one arm to support the child properly, and when Sauron is robed and after Adar has marvelled at their son for a moment or two longer, Adar does something he has never done spontaneously. Not in all the years Sauron has known him. He steps closer and then with the arm he had been letting their child grasp he hugs him if the Maia will allow it, more of a thank you than any words would ever adequately surmise.

The joy that fills his chest overrides any and all terror and confusion that the scene around them and the possibilities of the future could hold. His smile broad, tears of joy in his eyes as he turns his head enough to look at the child again. He has no words for anything in that moment.]

[eyefire]

[ He arches a brow and allows the embrace, half-leaning into Adar as they admire their work. When he offers the child a finger it gurgles and reaches for him blindly, sensing his power, and grips the tip. ]

It is a ... curious thing.

[ Love is not unknown to him, and he does care for the baby. It is part of him, his property, his ... family? The elves would call it something inanely similar. Adar is made up and that is what Sauron wanted, so all is well. A gentle prod at his heartstrings cannot hurt to tighten them further. ]

May I leave our son with you while I recover? Your rule will stand in place of mine, within these chambers.

[ Do whatever the fuck you want, buddy. Someone needs a nap. ]

[callmeadar]

[It will be a while before he notices he grabbed and hugged Sauron like he was any old elf Adar had once been fond of, though the thought may well haunt him when he does. Especially given that they were not yet alone.

He looks at Sauron when he speaks again, nodding.]

Of course, my lord. [he could not be safer with anyone else save for Sauron. The child did not yet have a name and yet Adar would gladly kill anyone who tried to harm him.] I am at your service. [Is he talking to Sauron or the babe? Only Eru knows. He does disentwine himself at least to allow Sauron to go without having to shrug him off. Adar's attention on the babe, to whom he coos softly as his little hands grasp at Adar's fingers.]

[eyefire]

[ Charmingly engrossed, just as intended. Sauron retreats for the rest of the day to take a maian version of a nap in his bedchamber, essentially sending his mind into a coma so his rent spirit and body can heal. He feels Melkor's presence in his mind and settles under a dark blanket of shadows, soothed. Praised.

Entwives bring the baby milk in bottles, apparently far hungrier than the average child. They bring a black crib with soft blankets, tiny little balls of plush sewn to resemble Simarils acting as toys. If Adar wishes to feed the boy or request nourishment for himself, they let him. He is served without hesitation or question. ]

[callmeadar]

[He spends the day hardly putting the child down at all, gladly walking with him and feeding him, singing to him softly in elvish the same songs he had once sung to his siblings to help them get to sleep. The child looks nothing like them, really, but he is family and Adar could not think about anything but that sweet face the entire day.

He eats at some point, the child eats seemingly endlessly. He notes the crib, the humourous choice of bauble for it and still doesn't set him down. He has no interest in losing any amount of time he might be granted with such a happy, perfect little babe whose life might actually be worth living.

By the end of the day he is nestled on a soft chair, the babe asleep against his chest while he croons softly to it, an old song one of his grandparents had taught him long ago. His eyes are closed as he just enjoys himself and the weight and scent of the babe that lays on him.]

[eyefire]

[ When he wakes he can sense the baby nearby, the lack of real distance a comfort. Sauron rises as night falls, not that there is much difference in hue beyond the windows, dressing simply in a red robe as he listens to the song in the other room. He is a creature of song and adores it still, not so much how disruptive it can be (not everyone can sound like mountains splitting like Morgoth) but for the spell it weaves over souls.

He has not sang in a long time.

When he does it is not what the Ainulindalë sounded like because that would be impressively foolish to imitate, but it is ... reminiscent of his part. The baby, at peace with Adar, blinks open its eyes and stares up at Adar, listening to the toned-down song as the lieutenant wanders into the room. The music sloughs off the worst of Gorthaur the Cruel and by product of what it is returns him to the fairer state of Mairon, briefly to elven eyes, than his own body can achieve when he shuns such ties.

He comes to sit beside the pair, a gentle hand curling atop the baby's head as it watches him while cradled in Adar's arms. ]

[callmeadar]

[Adar's whole world for the day had shrunk down to the child he bore with him wherever he wandered in the room, or as he did now, sat holding. He doesn't hear any telltale sign that Sauron might have awoken, or sense him as he usually might, all too aware of his master's presence. He is so absorbed in memorising the child's face that it is not until he hears the soft, haunting melody that Adar remembers they are not alone. His own song falls silent as he turns his head to look at Sauron making his entrance and then sitting beside them.

He could forget, sometimes, that Sauron was Sauron and not however he had been once (a being he knew only small moments of but could not stop being haunted by).] He is a calm child, mostly. He hungers. [Adar says softly. Of course, few elven children fussed. That was not how they were, but who was to say what this child might be like? Adar could not guess. The choices were many between the two of them, or even just in Sauron himself.]