eyefire | but don't make me your enemy

[As with all things in Angband, it had been settled long before Sauron deigned to share the idea with him. He could not refuse, even if he wished to (and he did), so he just nods and finishes his much-coveted bowl of broth.]

Yes, my Lord. [As you wish, always. Even in this. When he is done with his food, every last drop drank from the bowl and the water finished he rises to his feet, and bows to Sauron slightly before he walks out to "finish his affairs" by which he can only assume Sauron means scream into his mouldy old pillow, because that is what he goes and does.

But not a full hour later he is back, about as clean as anyone who wasn't Sauron or Morgoth could manage in this hellhole, in his better set of clothes.] Master. [What do you want of him you overbroiled potato.]

[ Sauron is going about his duties overseeing the running of Angband when Adar shows back up, a hand patting him on the head as the maia notices him. Yes, yes, hello. Dismissing Gothmog with a nod, the balrog trails cinders and flame as it lopes off down the endless hallway and the lieutenant's attention returns to his latest project. Captain. Same thing. ]

I must speak with Morgoth before ... we retire. You may come, but do not enter the throneroom.

[ That would explain why Sauron is at his full maian height. ]

Of course, my lord. [He had never had an urge to see Morgoth than he was forced too, anyway, and especially now with everything Sauron had said (or implied) swirling around his mind like a tempest, well he had even less interest than usual.]

Is everything well? [he kind of hoped not, but it doesn't show in his voice at least, merely a gentle curiosity does instead.]

Yes.

[ That is all he answers with, a little more reserved than when delighted at dinner. All the way down to the throneroom he is silent and at the doors he leaves Adar outside. A crack remains to see through, the maia sweeping inside without waiting to be announced.

All is silent for a minute or so as they speak without words, then Sauron's fire flares to life and all the shadows shiver, thickening as they reach indoors to blot the light from sight. Amid the writhing storm of fire and gloom, two faintly discernible figures speak standing close, like ghosts having cast off their flesh; not entirely, they still resemble the forms used in Angband, but they glow. Even the darkness has an innate glimmer as it drinks down Sauron's brightness.

When they rest their foreheads together their shapes start to unravel and are painful to look at, but soon coalesce back into two separate entities. Sauron even reaches up to brush long dark hair from Melkor's scarred face under his crown of Silmarils.

Upon exiting the chamber and rejoining Adar, he is as hot as a torch in the darkness and the hem of his robes melts the floor. ]

... Come, then.

[He follows like the good dog he is, and just like one might he spies as best he can through the crack in the door. It tells him nothing he had not long known, they do not speak as he did to Sauron, nor even stay in their fana's fully. Sauron actually loved Morgoth in the way he wanted Adar to love him.

Before he turns to walk back out to Adar the Uruk has already turned away from the door, standing like a soldier at the door. He both wished he knew what was said and was glad that he did not. He could only imagine it had something to do with his plan to bring half-maia children into the world.

Or a child, at least.

He hoped it was only one.

Adar follows, off to the side as they walk as he has never been inclined to lose a foot to the melted stone that Sauron so often leaves in his wake ~~like the dramatic bitch he is~~. Unlike usual, he doesn't say anything or ask anything. His mouth is dry, his arm throbs, he does his best to not think about anything more than keeping track of where they were in the palace.]

[ A warlike child to rival Luthien is the plan, as much as it benefits Sauron otherwise the notion of having a ready-made soldier greater than a balrog to command has Morgoth interested. Not in Adar, who is as an ant or a cog in a machine, but pleased with Sauron's cunning cleverness. Sloughing off the tension he was carrying before the audience, the maia keeps an eye on Adar as he leads him to his private chambers, the more beautiful wraiths and smart balrogs seen in passing in these levels. A small fleet of exquisite women flutter by in their translucent gowns, their faces hard and gnarled as bark when they glance over a shoulder to titter at the handsomeness of their lord; traitorous entwives, feeders of the great forge fires in exchange for safety from their brunt. At one point a huge spidery shadow crawls overhead through the shadows rattling a noise of surprise to see Adar, a secret guardian of the inner sanctum who melts into the darkness, and then they finally come to Sauron's main chamber.

He opens the door for Adar, a polite and calculated move; only slightly taller now. He can sense something is off with his uruk, an unease that makes him hold his tongue. ]

Would you like a drink?

Edited 2022-11-23 20:45 (UTC)

[Most of the things they pass draw his eye for only a few seconds, a spared glance as they move along the black stone halls, but the Entwives make his step falter, feeling again too elvish to really comprehend seeing them there. Even though there were (always) whispers about what went on and who else was caught in Morgoths web, somehow seeing them made it all the stranger, all the more unsettling.

The spider earns itself a grimace, too, for though it is nothing like Ungoliant in size it does look like the one who stole the light but he just ducks closer to Sauron in a silent I am meant to be here, fuck off.

When he enters the chamber he says thank you softly, finding somewhere not far inside the door to stand with his hands folded behind his back even though it hurts his wounded arm.]

I would, thank you, my lord. [If it was just the two of them circling each other like usual, perhaps Adar would have more to say but he cannot help but think about the child (or children) Sauron wants him to father, and the fact he had to find some way to be willing to bring them into the world or none of this would work and Sauron's anger would turn on him again. And if he did find a way that child would be forever at risk, held on the knife's edge. His mouth was dry from the mere thought of it. Elvish children were meant to be born in peace, to love. Not to be used as war machines and to whatever this relationship was.]

[ The room is all black obsidian and red velvet, furs from giant creatures draped across couches; and Adar knows what the bedroom is like, through the last door. Sauron reaches a cabinet and takes down a bottle of elvish wine, stolen but fresh, and pours Adar a tall gobletful.

His gaze rests on him as he hands it over. ]

I had this brought here for you.

[ Good food, the kind his uruk still craves, is a luxury Sauron will expend as long as Adar is his. A small concession if it helps prompt agreement between them. ]

Edited 2022-11-23 21:01 (UTC)

You are always generous with your gifts, my Lord. [He says, ducking his head slightly as he takes the wine. It is a peace offering, he supposes. You ran, I punished you, let us be allies again is what he reads into it as he gently swirls the wine in the goblet before taking a sip and sighing softly.

He could have never have admitted it before but he had missed these simple things more than words could explain. He fit with no one, anymore, to the Elves he was no elf, his heart and blood blackened by "Morgoth" (Sauron, really, but the difference means nothing outside of these halls) yet he was not like his children or the other fathers, he was in some disturbed in between that meant he could be happy and safe nowhere, ever, except sometimes when he was tucked close to Sauron and felt oddly safe there for once.]

Was Morgoth pleased? [You seem more settled than you did before.]

He was. The Dark Lord is content with the running of Angband, there is nothing to fear.

[ He moves like smoke, slow and purposeful without any sharp gestures, to wind around Adar from behind. His arms drape about a waist, chin on a shoulder. ]

You are not yourself, my love. [ Mine, my love. My creature. He wants to fix him, whatever is wrong. ] What ails you so?

[It was impossible not to love him at least a little, even when he hated him. That was more true than ever when Sauron wrapped himself around Adar like this, warm and constant and fair.

Yet fear pricked at his skin any time Sauron sought the truth from him rather than a continuation of their little dance. One wrong word and love would turn to violence again.]

My arm still aches, [he says, not as a complaint so much as just stating a fact. He turns just enough so that he can kiss his temple, nosing past the hair that fell so easily there. How could such a wicked thing be so effortlessly lovely? He had never understood it. Even he, who had once been beautiful by birth, had not been able to keep people close when he did them harm, not even before his master had reshaped his face into one only he could love.]

Ah ...

[ He appreciates the little kiss, leaning into it with a smile. He holds the hand of Adar's wounded arm, passing his other palm over it from the wrist-up: flesh reknits, stinging, and he heals the wound to return the limb to a far more normal (albeit still scarred) state. After a moment, nosing at Adar's temple in return, he rewards the kiss he received before with another pass of his palm and the scars all recede, leaving Adar with a flawless arm. A gift from the re-maker of flesh. ]

It was my fault that you ran. You ought never have felt the need to flee your home.

Edited 2022-11-23 21:30 (UTC)

[At least in private they had these little intimacies. He was allowed more grace when they were alone, more freedom to do things he would not dare do near others–save for the other night with the elves–like the little kiss or how he presses closer, instinctively, as if he too could be free of his flesh and be one with his master that he loved and hated all at once.

Being healed does not surprise him, Sauron wants him to be at his best for this, but what does surprise him is the low burning of the second pass and how pristine his arm looks when Sauron is done. Because, of course he knew he could do that but he almost never did unless some experiment or punishment altered Adar in a way that displeased him. He blinks slowly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips before he looks at his master again.] It is I who was at fault, I am sorry. Thank you. [For fixing his arm.]

[ He shifts forward, the better to see him with his arms encircling his uruk. His eyes glow softly, slits intently moving over Adar's expression as he exercises the kind of patience that will foster good feelings ... and willingness, openness even. Hopefully. ]

You are not responsible for the slain elves. It was an extension of my faults coming to pass, do not dwell on their deaths.

[ Or, you know, eating them. ]

You and I, we are reconciled. [ He is as normal as he can be while wearing elven skin and containing his spirit to glowing beauty, gently sliding a hand to cup Adar's cheek as he looks down at him. ] I forgive you.

[He was responsible and they both knew it. You did not blame a wolf for getting into the henhouse when you left the door wide open and facing its den. It was probable that Sauron could be better and once was, but it was also true that the wolf suit he wore was a more accurate depiction of who he was now and Adar had known that before he ever set off out of Angband without permission, stealing away towards the elves and hoping to join them.

If he had stayed they would have lived longer, perhaps even have never died let alone having been served on a platter for the very maia whose name could make them tremble.

He takes another sip of the wine and tries to bury the thought, he certainly won't argue about it. Not here and now, maybe not ever except to the blank walls of his own room.]

Thank you, my lord. You are most generous and merciful. [he leans into that touch, his hand coming up to slide over the back of Saurons and keep him close.]

[ His lips brush Adar's brow, fond with good favour. The room around them is toasty and so is he, embracing him with a thumb brushing back and forth over that cheek. ]

If you wish for food you can better stomach, I will have it brought up too.

[ Like spoiling his favourite pet, he wants to give him everything. Adar is, after all, his key to getting what he wants. ]

Fresh bread, my love? You ate only broth at dinner, in truth. I saw.

[He knows this is as much a game as it is anything else, yet, perhaps because he has no choice or because he enjoys the attention, Adar allows himself to go along with it, to believe it.

For a moment, he looks as if he is about to say that all the food Sauron offers him was good (which it was, which was part of why he despised it so much) and that he didn't hunger, but a low grumble comes from his stomach at the thought of real, fresh bread and he cannot escape that confession of hunger even if he tries.]

I did not feel well. [For reasons that had nothing to do with his health, but it was still true.] I would like that, thank you.

[ He nods, looking askance for a moment as he speaks with his mind to his attendants. His smile returns once done and he ushers Adar toward a cosy-looking couch. ]

Come sit while you drink, I want you near.

[He is duly ushered and sits down on it, settling in beside his master when he too sits. After taking another sip he sets the goblet on the end table, turning more towards Sauron instead of the sensible option of looking away from him.

It would be a lie to say he did not enjoy him like this, that he didn't enjoy seeing his various beautiful forms, or knowing the warmth of his hands without also burning. When Sauron was feeling generous there was no more attentive soul in the entirety of creation.

He is silent for a time, his head resting on Sauron's shoulder, his body leaning against his side. It was not unlike curling close to a hearth for the warmth it offered.]

My blood... [He begins, uncertain of if he even wants to ask the question but it blurting out nonetheless.] We know Maia can have children with the firstborn, Lúthien exists, but my blood is not that of an elf anymore. [Will this even work? It had long been his experience that want had nothing to do with his ability to bring children into the world. Sauron had broken him free of that constraint, but now he said he needed him willing not just able, which implied he could have controlled the birth of the Uruks more if he had tried]

I made your blood, I know how to use it. [ It could be a threat but he intends it to be reassuring. ] Nothing about you can hurt me or anything I create, we are a blend of possibilities.

[ His arm is around Adar's back, the other about his waist as Sauron fusses him into his lap. ]

And nothing that comes forth will be pained by such blood, if that is one of your concerns.

[He is more comfortable this close than he is a few feet away. It is as if his nerves melt away, even though he is still mindful of his words. He settles on his master's lap as if that is where he belongs (and maybe it is).]

I just... do not want to fail you. [And make some child suffer for it.]

You are not in control of what happens once I have your seed, it is not within your power to manipulate it. I will forge a child strong enough to walk through fire and command shadows, it will know the depths of Thangorodrim like the back of its hand and take after its clever elven father who knows the mountains' secrets.

I know all these things because they ring true when I look at you, [ like now, leaning in for a sort-of kiss as he speaks and words slur across Adar's lips, ] you are capable of giving me what I need to begin this endeavour. That is all.

[ The goblin that brings a tray of food does so unobtrusively, offering it until Sauron notices and takes the platter to balance on their laps for Adar: hot brown bread, soft and thick, with a pot of butter and honey beside a breadknife. ]

[It was not like he had control of truly anything except for the thoughts he had in the quiet dark of his rooms, anyway, but he had wanted to know more if he is to be made a party to this scheme. What would become of this child, should it live? What would he want with it besides something to keep Adar occupied and within the walls he clearly knew how to escape? His gentle worry about disappointing his master gets him some of the answers he desires, and at least Sauron doesn't seem to want to make it an outright slave or twisted beyond reason.

No so far.

When Sauron's lips are close he leans closer, stealing a light kiss that is more of a brushing of lips. All of this was his fault, anyway, for reminding Sauron of all his failed experiments. He should have kept his mouth shut.

There was only one thing he had that Sauron did not have on his own, and that was this, his seed, his ability to create life from almost nothing. The One's gift to his children, now twisted to other purposes.

The bread offers a reprieve from the need to think, his stomach growling again when it is laid out before him as he takes a slice and spreads it with butter and honey. He would not ask where all this came from, he did not want to know.]

That would be a mighty child, [he says eventually, just before he takes a bite of bread, a soft sigh of pleasure falling from his honey-covered lips as he does.]

Edited 2022-11-23 23:14 (UTC)

That it would.

[ There will simply be more of a person, more material to work with when binding a soul, it will not be naturally born by any means but Sauron is far beyond needing women to create monsters when it comes to his werewolves and balrogs. Mixing the two ideas, manipulation and breeding, is an exciting proposition even for him ... and it would please Melkor to no end if they did end up with a real soul in their thrall, spiting Eru's petty laws of how these things ought to be done.

He brushes down the back of Adar's neck as he watches him devour the simple but wholesome fare, smoothing his hair down neatly to keep it out of the honey. That little sigh from his uruk gives him chills of pleasure. Everything is going well. ]

How I desire you.

[ Sauron tips his head on his own shoulder, playing with Adar's ruined hair as his own golden tresses spill in waves. ]

[The orcs had real souls, or at least, their father thought so. He named every one of them in secret, visiting their makeshift little cribs and nurseries and whispering to them in the dark until they were too old for him to risk seeing them in private or telling them anything they might repeat to the wrong commander.

That gentle hand causes another sound of pleasure to fall from his lips. He could hate him all he wanted but he was addicted to his touch, his affection. There was no denying it.]

I always desire you. [Disturbingly, sometimes most of all when Sauron terrified him.]

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