A/N: Thank you all once again for your patience while waiting. Happy Valentine's Day to all my readers! My love comes in the form of a new chapter! I hope that it meets expectations. - SG

Chapter 19

"So, the day is finally upon us. It will be most interesting to see how it goes."

"We are not spying upon him, you know. That is not what this is about."

"No, but nonetheless, it may prove interesting to see how he handles himself. It will be good for him, I think, and it may grant us a better gauge of how he is doing. I worry about keeping him cooped up in the Halls under the eyes of only Aulë and Yavanna. Many tapestries have been woven of his history with them both, and once the course of Doom is set it is difficult to divert. Yet that is what we seek to do. But here, here the very first thread has barely touched the loom for him, and he may feel the weight of his Doom, or what he deems to be his Doom, less heavily. One way or another, as I said, it should prove interesting."

"If nothing else, I can grant him a day of rest. If he will allow himself to take it."

"An 'if' of great proportion, I fear."

"Perhaps. But the power that sleeps in these halls is not one he is used to encountering. The power locked in his fëa has been twisted almost beyond recognition of what it once was, yet it cannot wholly be changed nor corrupted, and once that power was the balance of mine. It may affect him in unexpected ways."

"Are you worried?"

"No, he is strong. I am not worried."

"I did not mean for him."

"I am strong as well."

"I know you are. Yet you know better than any of the rest of us just how dangerous that Maia is. He is cunning and willful in his own right, and combined with what lies within, he is powerful and dangerous beyond what Manwë cares to acknowledge, I fear. I would not see him hurt you."

"He and I are alike, far more than he knows. I am willing to take the risk if it means it changes the course of his Doom. I am not afraid to face him again, in whatever form he may take. From him I learned much strength, more than he ever would have guessed, the strength of sorrow that he never could have comprehended."

"I would expect nothing less of you. But be on your guard. There is something greater at work in that he chose you first of all the Valar, but I do not think he knows it. I suspect he simply thinks you are easy prey."

"That may be. With your domain, he does not understand and he knows well that he does not. With my domain, he simply thinks he understands."

"I would almost feel sorry for him, did I not know that he will be in the very best of hands."

"No harm will come to the Maia, though I make no promises that he shall leave here the same as he entered."

"Just promise me that you will protect your own heart, sister. It is no weakness to acknowledge that he will bear great pain for you into these halls. If it grows to be too much, promise me that you will seek help."

"I promise. Now, don't you have dead people to watch?"

"Hmmm, and they say you are the Valië of Compassion."

"Oh, I am, dear brother. As a certain Maia is about to learn. But I am also the Valië of Sorrow, and now it is my profound grief to send you back to your duty, while I await the arrival of mine."

"I shall take my leave then. Oh, and Nienna?"

"Yes, Námo?"

"Don't break the Maia too thoroughly. That would ruin all the fun."

"Goodbye, Námo."

"Goodbye. And I love you."

"I love you too."

"Take care."

"I will."

~o~o~o~

Sauron grumbled incoherently and adjusted his hips for what seemed like the millionth time in the last hour, glaring at the back of the head of the horse he was currently sitting on and trying to remind himself that at least he wasn't chipping stone blocks in that damnable quarry. He'd secretly been looking forward to this day since Aulë had informed him about it last week, but at the moment the combination of his protesting tail bone and the anxiety of his mysterious destination had him longing for an end to it. He wiggled again in a vain attempt to ease the sharp pressure of his tail bone pinched against the horse's bare back. At least the few times he'd ridden any distance before, he'd had a leather saddle and it had been on the back of a smooth-gaited warg. The horse snorted and shook its mane at him, clearly displeased with Sauron's fidgeting. Sauron responded by jabbing his heel into its side as sharply as he could. I'm just as miserable as you are, you stupid brute, he thought at it viciously. Except when we reach our destination, you will probably get apples and sugar, while I will most likely face a thorough interrogation.

To his left and slightly in the lead, Erenquaro rode quietly, ignoring or failing to notice the passive-aggressive exchange going on between Sauron and his mount. The younger Maia had been even quieter than usual today, and he'd skipped supper in the great hall the previous night. Sauron wouldn't have cared, but Aiwendil, who had been there, had spent the whole meal looking plaintively about for his friend like a little lost bird and speculating aloud about Erenquaro's absence to the point where Sauron had hoped he'd show up just to get Aiwendil to stop jabbering. So far, Erenquaro had spent the whole ride brooding – Sauron recognized the signs well enough – but Sauron did not particularly care what it was about. He had quite enough to brood over himself.

What would the Halls of Nienna be like? What was the Valar's purpose of sending him on these visits? (Because of course there was a purpose – they wouldn't just hand him a day of freedom otherwise.) Was Nienna going to try to wheedle information from him? Or was it more about trying to get him to "mellow down"? Nienna was the Valië of Compassion and Sorrow after all; he could see the possibility of a very long and tiring day of sentimental lectures. Sauron groaned inwardly and mentally rolled his eyes. That was what it was going to be, wasn't it? A day of being told how very bad he'd been, how much grief he'd caused, and how he should be so very, very, very sorry about it?

An improvement from the quarry, but not by much.

Still, there was his back-up plan. Of all the Valar, Nienna seemed the most likely to be susceptible to his charm. He'd have to tread lightly and carefully, but he might have a shot at it. He'd groomed himself carefully that morning, taking a little extra care than usual with his appearance, braiding his hair back, applying a soft streak of liquid gold under his eyes that brought out their color, and donning a sapphire blue doublet with silver buttons and a mist-grey cloak pinned with a brooch he'd been working on for several weeks. Between his fair seeming and his honeyed tongue, he might be able to wheedle his way out of some of the unpleasantries and perhaps, if things went well, gather some information of his own.

The only source of relief from his anxious thoughts (and his aching rear end) was venturing into the vast, unknown interior of Valinor and watching the changing landscape. His natural curiosity was piqued as they traveled west, leaving the familiar scenery of the plains that surrounded the Gardens of Yavanna and Valmar and riding gradually up into a land of rocky brush that opened up into a hilly highland cloven by shallow valleys, many of which cradled hidden lakes that were so blue they were almost painful to look upon. To the north, he could see the dark crags of a mountain line that he presumed to be the region of Araman, whereas to the south he could glimpse distant swaths of forest and winding rivers that glinted in the high sunlight.

There had been a strong breeze from the south all morning. As Sauron twisted once again to stretch his aching hips and thighs, he caught a strong waft of…something, something that made his head turn sharply so that he was gazing down the ridge towards the lowlands. The glint of distant water captured his attention and he narrowed his eyes against the brightness, trying to make out what had caught his eye. He could see a cluster of trees and water in the midst of the grassland, and if he squinted just right, he could make out what might be a dwelling place. The scent blowing up from the plains was fresh and…sleepy…and something else that he could not quite name. It was a warm, soft smell and it somehow reminded him of sunlight glowing against his skin. He could feel it creeping in with each breath he took, deeper than his nostrils and lungs, seeping into his mind and heart.

Flashes of forgotten memories rose unbidden. Golden light wrapped all around him like arms pulling him in close as his eyes drifted shut, music humming along his fëa; grass tickling against his bare back and the sound of voices on either side of him laughing; his chest vibrating with a soft laughter of his own as he wrapped his arms around a small, furry bundle that licked his jaw and pressed soft paws into his stomach…

The feeling of a dark mist in his inmost being that Sauron had taken to simply calling the Shroud reacted violently, striking out at the rising memories and slashing them to shreds before he could grasp any of them. It surrounded his psyche like a protective moat from the invading scent and shoved his fëa back sharply, causing Sauron's entire body to stiffen, his heart suddenly racing, his breath hissing harshly, his chest seizing up painfully. Everything in him reacted like a deer catching the scent of a wolf, his very skin vibrating with some unknown sense that screamed danger at him. His horse detected its rider's sudden change and danced sideways nervously, tossing its head, its ears twisting back.

"Are you all right?"

Erenquaro had stopped his horse several paces ahead and twisted around to look at Sauron, his brow creased with concerned confusion.

Sauron gulped in a deep breath, seizing control of his body once again and taking his mind back from both the Shroud and the scent, forcing his heart to still and his limbs to relax. He spurred his horse forward at a quick trot, passing Erenquaro with barely a glance at the other Maia. "I'm fine."

Another hour passed, and the highland ridges gradually guided them downwards into a single, long valley. A path appeared, simple pale-grey stonework that ran ahead of them and caused the horses' hooves to make a soft clip-clop that echoed from the cleft walls which rose higher on either side the deeper they went. The sound of water stirred around them in musical whispers. Rope-thin waterfalls cascaded over the sides of the ridges above them at intervals, feeding into a grey stream that flowed beside the path, its soft murmur seeming to guide them even further in. Sauron's anxiety crept to his stomach, causing him to clench the reins tightly, his back stiff. Everything in Valinor was touched with power, but there was a strong magic in this place that Sauron neither knew nor trusted. There was a feeling of ancient power in the falling water and the winding stream and the grey path that he could feel as a cold prickle across his skin. It made him feel small and vulnerable, a single thread in a tapestry far greater and longer than his eye could reach, and it was not a feeling he liked in the least.

Finally, a fork in the cleft - and in the path - yawned in front of them. The grey stream flowed across the path in front of them and wound its way down the left fork. Sauron's gaze followed it. The air was still and heavy, like a breath held or stopped, and Sauron could feel the electric pulse of the ancient power that permeated it. He closed his eyes, trying to brush his fëa against the old magic and divine its nature, but as he did so, a flash of something that was almost like a memory, save that he knew it was unlike anything he had experienced himself, jolted through him, causing the hair on his nape and arms to prickle and his heart to beat raggedly. For a moment, his mind's eye showed him that winding path and that grey river flowing up to great, dark gates set in the stone, gates that yawned open suddenly and swallowed him down into a darkness filled with the sounds of weeping and cries of anger.

Lord Melkor had described this place, Sauron realized suddenly, that last night of the War of Wrath. That path led to the Halls of Mandos.

He quickly wheeled his horse around to the right, panic welling up inside, and followed Erenquaro who had already started down the other fork. Erenquaro's horse was belly-deep in the middle of the grey stream, and Sauron's horse stepped into the flowing water without hesitation or fear. However, the moment the flow of the grey water brushed against his boots, a feeling of crushing Doom seized him in an iron grip. Sauron choked as the feeling saturated him, stifling his breath, causing his heart to tighten like a fist. A vision flashed before his eyes of a gigantic gate etched with stars opening up before him, and the terrifying Nothingness that lay beyond reaching out its tendrils and dragging him in. In that moment, he knew with absolute certainty that he was seeing his inevitable Doom.

He was vaguely aware of his horse rearing underneath him with a startled whinny as he slumped sideways. For a moment of a moment, he was weightless and then there was water everywhere, clutching at his garments, groping at his face, sending out seeking tendrils of darkness to claim his nostrils and his throat. The Void, the last piece of his consciousness screamed before everything faded.

~o~o~o~

"My dear, Erenquaro, he will be fine. Unless, of course, you continue to hover over him like a twitterpated bird, in which case I can make no guarantees for either his fist or your chin."

Sauron gave a loud gasp as he returned to the waking world with a jolt, his last memory the distorted half-nightmare world that had claimed him when he'd fallen off his horse into the waters of Mandos. He flailed against the phantom tendrils of magic-tainted water that still seemed to slither across his skin and felt the back of his hand whack something solid. There was a yelp that sounded more like surprise than pain, followed by the same sardonic voice that he'd heard from a distance as he drifted back into consciousness. "I do believe I warned you, Erenquaro. Now keep a watch on him like a good fellow while I go and inform the Lady that he's awake."

The contact of his hand against what must have been some part of Erenquaro's body had helped to ground him in reality. He opened his eyes a mite and saw the back of a tall figure clad in grey disappearing around a corner. Still slightly groggy, he glanced about until he noticed Erenquaro, now standing a respectable distance away and staring uncomfortably at his feet. Sauron gingerly raised a hand and touched the side of his head, which throbbed lightly. The pressure of his fingertips caused the pain to flare, and Sauron hissed under his breath.

He was propped in a reclining position on a bed with several grey blankets laid out beneath him. As his awareness increased, he realized his hair was damp and his clothes clung unpleasantly to his body, and the blankets beneath him were wet as well. He shuddered, instinctively trying to wriggle away from the all-encompassing clamminess, with no success of course.

Instant disgust and anger coursed through him. What a grand entrance! Any chances he'd had of appearing suave and dignified before Nienna had just gone down the drain spectacularly. And now he was going to start his visit shivering in soaked and ruined clothing, still unsure where exactly Nienna's Halls were located (seeing as he'd missed his own arrival), and looking like a complete idiot who couldn't even cross a shallow stream without having a mental meltdown. He wouldn't be the least bit surprised if Námo had fated him to fall off that horse into his stream, just to make sure Sauron didn't forget his place as the unluckiest Maia in all of Valinor for so much as a minute. Curse it all, curse it all.

He turned his festering gaze back to Erenquaro, who was awkwardly rubbing at his jaw and judiciously avoiding eye contact. "Well, I see at least one of us made it safe and dry to the Halls of Nienna," he sneered.

Erenquaro looked up and blinked hesitantly. "Actually, my boots got wet," he said in an apologetically quiet voice.

Sauron held up his hands defensively and let his head plop back against the pillows propped behind him to stare at the ceiling. "Oh, I beg your pardon then. My mistake," he muttered bitterly. Unlike the Halls of Aulë, the ceiling here was rough, as if it had naturally formed from the stone, with swirls of deep blue running through the grey and specks of tiny crystals that glinted whenever he turned his head. "Just the warm welcome of the Valar that I was expecting," he said to the ceiling, shivering in his damp clothes to emphasize his point.

"There's dry clothing laid out for you over there," Erenquaro said.

Sauron lifted his head and looked in the direction that Erenquaro indicated. Indeed, several articles of clothing were draped over a wooden dressing screen at the far end of the room. "Well you could have mentioned that sooner," Sauron snapped as he swung his legs around, making sure his dizzy spell had worn off before he pushed himself to his feet. Erenquaro looked abashed at Sauron's sharp tone as he swept past and snatched the garments, stepping behind the screen to strip off his clammy, half-wet outfit and exchange it for the simple grey smock and loose-fitting trousers. They were hardly flattering, but soft almost to the point of being ridiculous, and more importantly, they were dry.

"I…I'm sorry you fell off the horse," Erenquaro said from the far side of the screen. "I dragged you out as quickly as I could."

Sauron's scowl deepened as he viciously tied a provided sash (also grey) around his waist. "And I suppose you think I ought to thank you for being the one Maia in Valinor who wouldn't have left me to drown."

Erenquaro made several confused noises. "No…no, I…wasn't…I just wanted…"

Sauron's scowl morphed ever so slightly into a sneer, a sneer to hide the mortifying thought that Erenquaro (dull-witted Erenquaro of all people!) had now seen him at his most vulnerable. "I know what you wanted, Erenquaro, and your assurances are not helping." He tugged the sash tight enough that it pinched into his skin. "I think you need to accept that you are not half as helpful as you think you are and you are unlikely to start being of help anytime soon."

There was silence from the other end of the room, and then Erenquaro answered in a stolid monotone. "I'll go see if I'm needed elsewhere."

"As long as it's not my hair you're in, suit yourself," Sauron responded. This time there was no answer, except the heavy tread of Erenquaro's boots as he exited the room. He combed his fingers through his hair, attempting to salvage the limp mess that his usually silken locks had been reduced to. He was well aware that he had hurt Erenquaro's feelings, but what did it matter? If Erenquaro was naïve enough to expect anything different, it was his own dull-witted fault. And it wasn't as if Erenquaro's deed had even been particularly altruistic, seeing as he'd been tasked by the Valar to watch over Sauron, and he certainly wouldn't have earned any points by standing by while Sauron disembodied himself.

If Erenquaro wanted to think he had done something "nice", let him, but Sauron knew the truth. People did not do nice things for ex dark lords.

He snarled under his breath as his fingers caught on a stubborn tangle in his hair. He tore ferociously at it with his nails, even though it hurt, but the pain focused his frustration, anger, and embarrassment with the entire situation.

"There are better things to direct your anger at than your hair," a soft voice came from behind him, causing him to startle and nearly knock over the dressing screen. Nienna stood in the doorway, deep grey eyes fixed intently upon him. She wore a dark blue gown with a laced grey bodice and a wispy grey cloak over the top with a cowl that draped lightly over her silver hair. She took him in slowly, then smiled faintly. "You look comely in the garb of my folk."

He tested her words and demeanor carefully, trying to determine his best approach. "So, I'm here for anger management with a side lesson on style, is it?" he said, keeping his voice as cool as he could, still unsure whether his stunt with the horse and literally being dragged here sopping wet and unconscious had totally undermined any attempt at being suave.

Nienna's smile grew, a small curve of her pale lips. "I believe you were the one who requested to see me," she replied, her eyes still fixed appraisingly on him. "Come." She held out her hand in a soft gesture. "I'm guessing you will feel more comfortable once you have seen more of my home than the four walls of a guest chamber."

Cautiously, he followed her from the room, picking at the hem of his cloud-soft smock. A flight of stairs led upwards towards a soft, white glow that cast rippling patterns of light over the grey stone of the passageway. Distantly, he could hear a patter of water, deep and steady, which brought his nerves back as he recalled his most recent experience with the substance. The air was light enough to suggest that they were at a great height, though not so extreme as to make breathing difficult, and there was a sensation on the edge of his fëa that he could describe only as having the same quality as the sound of a violin played slow and gentle. With it came the brush of some power of an old kind that filled the air like motes and settled silently over everything like dust upon ancient books. It was akin to the power that he had felt on the journey here, wafting up from the Gardens of Lórien, but it was far less potent and did not arouse the wrath of the Shroud in his heart. He examined it in his spirit briefly, wary of any foreign magic and its potential effect upon him, but it was a gentle, silky magic from which he could sense no harm, and from there he dismissed it as the stairway opened up into a great hall.

In truth, Sauron did not know whether to properly call the cavernous space a hall or a cave. Though the floor was smooth and paved with grey stone tiles, stalactites hung from the ceiling and several natural columns divided the room. The walls remained rough, swirls of blue and grey that danced across the dark expanse of the room. The domed arch of the ceiling was covered with millions of silver and blue crystals that winked down at them like the night-time sky on a clear, star-studded evening. In the middle of the room, the ceiling curved downward into a shape like a great, open funnel, and from it a ring of clear water cascaded downward into a pool that filled the center of the cave-like hall, permeating the room with the musical murmur that he had heard in the stairway.

To their right, a huge lit fireplace was set into the stone, with a deep plush rug laid out in front of it and several items of furniture gathered around it into a sort of lounge. The fire itself, strangely, was emitting a white glow instead of a natural red, and the feel of the old, soft power grew stronger about it. Sauron shifted his weight, hesitating at the top of the stairs as he took it all in.

Nienna, on the other hand, moved unhurriedly but without pause towards the fireplace, the train of her gown making a soft swishing sound against the smooth floor. She approached a wooden cabinet beside the fireplace, from which she took something and tucked it inside her cloak. Sauron watched her every move with keen suspicion, while simultaneously making sure to keep up his air of suave indifference.

Standing straight once again, Nienna stretched her hand out towards the far side of the cavernous hall. "Perhaps you would care to see my view."

Sauron moved slowly around the columns, past the rippling pool, and saw an immense, arched doorway that opened up upon…nothing. Beyond the arch, all he could see was a strange empty greyness. Despite himself, he felt his curiosity piqued and he approached the archway carefully. As he came closer, the truth of what he was seeing caught on his heart, sparking an inadvertent flare of raw wonder as his eyes settled upon a sight that was entirely new to them.

He was literally standing at the Edge of the World.

Nienna's house was carved directly into the side of the Last Mountains, the furthest reaches of Valinor that stood at the shore of the Outer Sea. Long ropes of water cascaded down from some unknown heights even further up, falling in twisting skeins to either side of the archway. Down and down the water fell, until it was met by the lapping waves of the Sea that spread out underneath and before him for as far as his eyes could see. Far, far away, the grey of the Outer Sea met the deep blue-black of the Walls of Eä. And there, where the waters met the wall, Sauron felt more than saw a great Shape: a Door so vast that he struggled to wrap his mind around it, a Door as ancient as the world itself. The Door of the Night. The Door Beyond the World. The Door to the Void.

Memory of the terrible vision that had struck him as he touched the waters of Mandos flashed once again through his mind. Fear bit down on his heart, instantly dissipating any wondrous awe into a flurry of too-rapid heartbeats and too-hasty breaths. Once again he felt as he had as he sank into the water: the inevitable Doom that that Door was an inescapable part of his future. In that moment, he knew with absolute, crushing certainty that one day that Door would open before him and he would pass beyond it into the Void.

He stepped back quickly, catching at the front of his smock that suddenly seemed too tight against his windpipe and his chest, his cheeks flushing with fiery heat, his breath rasping with a raw, nightmare fear in his throat.

A thought seared through his mind like wildfire, irrational yet at the same time dangerously potent. They lured me here to get me close to the Door. They mean to throw me in.

"The Door is not for you."

Sauron whirled about, startled by the voice of Nienna, who he had forgotten for a moment was there. He narrowed his eyes, not appreciating the fact that the Valië had been so easily able to divine his thoughts, or else that his fear had been so easy to see and interpret.

"It is not for you," Nienna repeated, and there was a weight of sorrow in her voice that he did not understand. "Only those who wish to enter pass the Doors of Night."

"Like Lord Melkor?" Sauron snarled, his foul temper rising up again and scorn rising with it.

A flash of…something…crossed Nienna's face, a pain that brought weight to her shoulders, and for a moment Sauron thought that it was not a dignified lady standing before him, but an old, crumpled creature with wrinkles and lines upon its ancient face and a fathomless sorrow etched into its bent figure. He stepped back, startled and disturbed by something he could not name, but then it was only Nienna again, dark robes pulled about her, the strand of black in her hair standing out against the silver.

"No one who is part of Eä can be forced beyond the Doors of Night against their will," she said, voice soft yet clear. "Yes, Melkor feared the Void deeply, but it was Eä that he hated." The sorrow remained in her face and upon her shoulders, lurking deep in her eyes. "But you, it is not so for you."

That's right, Sauron sneered mentally. Make yourself feel better for what you did to Lord Melkor, you and all the Valar.

"I suppose this is the part where you sit me down and tell me I'm really a good, little Maia at heart and I didn't really mean all those things I did, and I can change," he said aloud. "That's why I'm here, isn't it?"

To his surprise, Nienna smiled faintly. "No, you are here to rest, or explore if you will, or both. I have no intention of ensnaring you in a debate, unless that is what you would prefer. But I think it is not." She came towards him and turned her hand over, revealing the object which she had taken from the fireside cabinet. "And I think you know what this is. If I guess rightly, it will give you what you seek far more than my company or conversation."

She set the object in his hand and turned immediately, heading back towards the stairs. Sauron blinked, the only outward expression of his sudden surprise. "Where are you going?" he asked, unsure if he was meant to follow.

She turned, and this time the smile she flashed at him had an edge of something almost akin to mischief. "Somewhere you are not, as I imagine you prefer," she replied simply. "I will check with you later." And before he could respond, she had disappeared.

Sauron stood blankly for a few seconds, staring in the direction she had vanished, puzzled and disconcerted by this turn of events. So far, nothing was going as planned, and he did not know what to make of it. Nienna was somehow not what he had expected, though he could not quite put his finger yet on what it was that discombobulated him so about her.

He made his way to the fire and sat down on a settee, looking at the object that Nienna had given him, turning it this way and that. It was a strange mess of a thing that somehow also had a complex order to it that immediately drew his interest. Wood loops, metal rings, corkscrews, balls, and twists revealed themselves to his examination. Almost from nowhere, a thrill of anticipation darted through him, surprising him with its exuberance. He did indeed know what the object was, and almost of its own accord his mind was already clicking.

He'd first seen such things in Nogrod, when he had disguised himself in elven form and traded with the dwarves on behalf of Lord Melkor, though how Nienna could have gotten her hands on one, he could not guess. They were puzzles – intricate, tricky things that tested your mind and challenged you to look at the mess of rings and twists from a different perspective, the goal usually being the seemingly impossible task of separating the interwoven pieces. This was a particularly hard one. Sauron couldn't help the small grin that worked its way across his face. He was well aware that it was a bribe to win his favor, but it was admittedly a very good bribe. And just because he had no intention of letting the bribe work on him didn't mean he couldn't still enjoy the challenge of the puzzle.

He sank back into the settee, head propped comfortably on the armrest, the fire casting a pleasant warmth over his skin, and set to work on the dwarven ring puzzle. It was even harder than he had expected, and soon his mind had sunk into an intense, almost meditative focus. After ten minutes or so, he had a fair idea of which pieces were supposed to come apart, but it was deliciously complex. Everything else faded out of his mind as he worked slowly and methodically, turning the puzzle round and round as he worked his way through each step.

Almost unconsciously, a good mood settled softly around him. He'd had a severe lack of opportunity to truly use his cunning mind, beyond his endless scheming that brought him as much stress as it did relief. But with this, there was no ultimate Doom at stake, no threat to his wellbeing or his life or his dignity, just the simple purity of strategy and intellect.

Three hours later, he was down to the final step of the puzzle, the solution to which was eluding him. His tongue pinched gently between his teeth and his head craned like a curious cat, he worked at the final ring that would separate the last two pieces. He lay down, flat on his back, and held the pieces over his head, changing his perspective, and gave the ring a few intricate twists. It came free, and Sauron's entire being flooded with a delighted sense of victory that he had not felt in so long that it made him almost giddy. He grinned smugly at the defeated puzzle, then flopped backwards again to stare at the ceiling, only then realizing how strangely and absolutely pleased and relaxed he felt.

As much as he hated to admit it, this was actually…not so bad.

He frowned a little, the small voice that always told him to be on his guard whispering, and he considered that Nienna's bribe might actually be working. No, his wit wasn't that dulled from chipping stones. A good mood didn't mean he was going to spill his guts to Nienna or anyone else. He closed his eyes. Good moods were so very hard to come by, and so what did he have to lose by enjoying this one for a little while? Just as long as he kept his wits about him.

He wasn't aware that he had dozed off in the cozy warmth, with the patter of watery music in his ears, until he started slightly, his eyes snapping back open to the soft, white glow of the hall. He had rolled onto his side and was curled up upon himself comfortably, his hands tucked underneath his cheek. He lifted his head, glancing over the armrest which he'd been using as a pillow, feeling groggy but at the same time more rested than he could remember feeling in a long while. Vaguely, he was aware that he had woken from a pleasant dream that left him feeling peaceful and happy. The relaxed exhilaration that had been with him since he solved the puzzle lingered, like gentle, invisible finger strokes against his fëa. Without thinking, he leaned into the feeling and to his even greater surprise, he felt a soft hum of music shiver through his spirit. His eyes rolled back and he gave the softest little shudder of pleasure.

No!

He yanked himself out of the pleasant haze with the mental equivalent of a slap to his jaw. He shook his head, trying to dispel the drowsy pleasure, and it swirled away from him like disturbed dust that had been settling over him for hours. I thought you were going to keep your wits about you, he snarled at himself. You didn't even stop to think where such power was coming from, or who might be wielding it.

He looked about, suspicious now, though part of him whined piteously at him to sink back into the delightful warmth and comfort that had taken hold of him a moment ago. But he shook that part of himself off and, standing, he strode back to the archway that looked out over the Edge of the World.

The light had changed, less grey and more golden now, which he assumed meant that it was getting late in the afternoon and the Sun Chariot was drawing nearer to its harbor on the western shore of the world. At that thought, his stomach growled. He'd had some bread and cheese in his saddlebag, which he'd eaten that morning during the ride, but he'd had nothing else since then.

He looked around again, wondering if he should leave the hall in search of something edible – Nienna had said he was welcome to explore – or if he should stay here and await Nienna's return. He had just made up his mind to explore when something brushed like the lightest feather against his mind. His mental shields were already up, but he withdrew sharply, jerking mentally away from the source of the touch.

The other mind gently pulled back, immediately giving him space, but a moment later he felt the familiar aura of Valarin power as Nienna entered. She glanced at him, but then went and sat by the fire while Sauron hovered awkwardly by the archway, not sure now what he should do.

"I imagine you are growing hungry," Nienna said without looking over at him. "When I checked upon you early, you seemed to be enjoying a bit of a catnap." She smiled faintly. "Now that you are awake, will you join me for tea?"

Sauron was fairly positive that was a question he'd never been asked before. There was something almost comical about it, as if he were some dainty elf or Maiarin handmaiden, not the former Black Captain of Angband. A fresh herbal smell mingled with the whiff of bread, reminding him of his growling stomach, and he approached cautiously, senses alert and tingling. He sat on the far side of the settee from Nienna, still waiting for the inevitable doors of the trap to snap shut.

Nienna poured two cups of tea. A plate of pastries, sweetmeats, and fresh bread that both looked and smelled mouthwateringly soft sat on the table already. Perched warily on the edge of his seat, Sauron took a cup and a piece of bread.

Nienna sipped her tea and ate one of the pastries, not looking at him or interacting with him in any way. The fire crackled. Every moment, he expected her to attempt some type of conversation with him – why had she bothered to let him come here if she wasn't at least going to try to talk to him – but the silence drug on. Usually, Sauron didn't mind the quiet, especially when the alternative was a meaningless debate or a mind-numbing lecture, but slowly and surely this quiet began to eat into him. It was almost as if the fact that she wasn't living up to his negative expectations was rankling him, the fact that so far she had not done a single thing to make him actively dislike her in particular.

Unbidden, he remembered that pleasant, soft happiness that he had woken to and that tender, stroking feeling against his fëa that had so unexpectedly drawn a tingle of music from deep in his spirit. Despite himself, a craving rose up in him to feel it again, that trembling of music in his inmost being. With it arose an almost numbing longing for conversation, something, anything. His chest felt so tight with it that he thought he might explode.

The part of him inside that was always angry and suspicious and bitter was to the point of spitting. What nonsense is this?! it fumed at him. What are you, a cat in a Vala's lap to be petted? You've gone ages without any feelings of this sort or the need for coddling, so why all this drivel now? She's doing this to you, you know she is. Get out now while you still have some wits and dignity left about you.

But I want, that soft cat-bit of him whined, almost imperceptibly, though he was not even sure what it was that he wanted.

Nienna's cup chinked lightly against her teeth as she took another sip, still gazing with maddening calmness into the fire, as if completely unaware of the total wreck into which Sauron was quickly dissolving at the other end of the settee.

He took a huge bite of bread and chewed it with all the fury and frustration he could muster. The pressure in his chest built to the point of exploding. The dainty silence roared in his ears.

"All right!" he exploded, his voice shaking with anger and with that edge of something soft and yearning that he decided he hated more thoroughly with each passing moment. "Are you going to tell me why you brought me here or not?"

Finally, Nienna looked at him. "I have already told you," she said. "You are here only to rest, if that is what you seek. This is a place where hearts that are heavy and full of much sorrow may find their burden lifted for a time, if they allow it to be so."

"That is never all," Sauron said in a low voice, but his head was aching. "That is never all with any of you. Not Aulë, not Yavanna, not Manwë, not Námo, not Melkor, not you."

Nienna smiled, but this time it was a sad smile. "And unfortunately, if I had another motive, I would not tell it to you, would I? And thus, there can be no certainty, only the choice of whether or not you will trust me. And you have no reason to trust me, therefore you do not. Do I strike near the mark?"

There was no accusation in her words, just quiet, sad statement, which riled Sauron more than any self-righteous drivel would have. He could sense absolutely nothing from her beyond that serene, dignified air and that kind sadness that he wanted to trample violently under his feet. The very thought that all of this – the warm clothing and the hours of quiet and the delightful puzzle and the simple, comforting food – that all of it had been given to him out of pure and unassuming kindness drove him to the point of a maddening fury that he did not understand. It was not the fiery rage that he was wont to direct at his foes, nor the cold, calculating anger that always simmered in his spirit, but a wet, heavy fury that clogged up his throat and built pressure behind his eyes and in his chest. How dare she be kind to him?

He had come here expecting a diatribe on how he should be better behaved, how he should try to appreciate everything the Valar were doing for him, how Aulë was just doing his best, how he should be a better person, how he should feel so very, very, very sorry for all the terrible things he'd done. That was Nienna's realm, was it not? He had expected self-righteous lessons about how to be more compassionate and how to feel sorrow over his wrong-doing. He wouldn't have been in the leastways surprised by a melodramatic show of tears from Nienna at some point over all the hurt and suffering that he and his master had wrought upon the Valar's precious world.

But instead, the compassion was being offered to him, whether or not he acted in any way contrite. And that, oh, that he had not expected.

Deep, deep down, something whispered to him that he did not deserve such kindness, and that made him hate it all the more passionately.

She should hate him, like everyone else did. How dare she not hate him? He would make her hate him like all the rest.

He picked up the entire tray of tea and pastries and that delicious bread and flung it towards the white glow of the fire. Tea splattered against the rough-hewn wall and fruit-filling stained the plush rug and the bread flared and burned bright white in the fire. But that was not enough. Sauron turned, and before he could think through the consequences of his actions the Shroud uncoiled its length from about his spirit, and together they lashed out at the Valië with a white-hot blast of power so strong that it shocked Sauron even in his rage.

He felt Nienna's spirit crackle and splinter and sear under his onslaught. With his fëa so close to hers, he felt the cry of her pain and he caught a glimpse of something like a long black, ragged scar that ran down the center of her spirit, like an ancient burn from long, long ago.

Fury and unchecked, chaotic energy radiated from the Shroud, and Sauron was almost frightened by the pure strength of his emotions and the lust for pain pouring out of him. Now she will hate us, the voice inside whispered. Now she will know better than to be kind.

The other part of him, however, the rational part, was suddenly panicked as he realized what he'd just done. I just attacked a Vala. Now she will hate me and she will give me over to Mandos and I will be thrown into the Void after all!

But Nienna slowly gathered herself and stood. She was still looking at him, and the sorrow in her eyes was fathomless, utterly without hate or anger. Her skin seemed almost translucent, so frail, and for a moment he thought there were long, cruel scars carved just underneath her flesh that were glowing through. Her lips pursed and then opened, and the way she looked at him made him want to scratch her eyes out with his bare hands. A single word slipped from her lips like a sigh. "Oh, Mairon."

Memory burst in Sauron's mind like fireworks.

The One who had formed him of Thought and golden light cradling his new-born fëa in hands made of the softest light and the gentlest music.

The grass of Almaren against his back, the golden light of Aulë's lamps glowing across the sky, Eönwë, Curumo, Ilmarë, and others on their backs around him, all of them laughing together.

His chest vibrating with laughter as one of Oromë's wolfhound pups leapt ecstatically up at him, lapping his face with an eager tongue, little paws kneading his belly and chest, as this strange, new creature jumped on him and protective affection swelled in his heart.

Aulë pulling him into a tight embrace, his master's hand resting on the back of his head as he melted into his lord's arms and buried his tear-stained face into Aulë's strong shoulder.

Mairon.

Admirable One.

The darkness that had shrouded the memories from him all these years scrabbled frantically inside, but it was no use. The dark mist of the Shroud was shredded by the rays of light that suddenly pierced through Sauron's fëa. A deep pain stabbed to the depths of the Bound heart of his fëa, and a loud, long wail filled his ears, a cry of such agonized pain and sorrow that he almost felt sorry for whatever wretched creature was making the terrible sound. It was only when he felt his throat burning and his lungs struggling for air that he realized the heartbroken sound of loss immeasurable was coming from him.

He choked and gasped, trying to stop the glow of memories and contain the ones already set loose, trying to bring order to the chaos that the name had unleashed in his fëa. Frantically, he tried to shove the memories back from whence they had come, tried to forget the name that had ripped like lightning through his soul, tried to forget all that he had once been once upon a time and all that was gone forever.

I am Sauron. I am Sauron. I am Sauron.

He felt himself stemming the tide, asserting control once again over his emotions, but he was just slightly too late.

A single tear slid out of his eye, traced its way down his cheek, and fell.

But it was more than just a tear, and he knew it. A part of him had been broken, and he loathed himself for it.

Nienna's eyes were deep and dark, like an unfathomable pool under the starlight, and the pull of her will was stronger than he had realized, persistent and steady. His own will cowered away from her, suddenly frightened of this being whose power he had not guessed and angry that he had allowed himself to underestimate her strength, that she could thus break him with a single, piercing word.

Nienna reached out her hands and cupped Sauron's jaw in the tip of her fingers, her gaze soft and still tugging with its alluring pull at his inner being, summoning a long-dormant part of him forth with a call he could only just resist. "You are going to go now," she said, her voice both sad and matter-of-fact, and somehow more sad for the matter-of-factness and certainty, "and you will punish yourself for that tear. You think it is a weakness unpardonable. You believe that you yourself are weak." Compassion and pity welled up in her eyes and she stroked his cheek with a gentleness he could not understand. "Oh, but Mairon, you are strong, stronger than you dare to let yourself believe."

He yanked himself away, even though that gentle touch of her fingers against his skin was strangely sweet. He staggered back and up, nearly tripping over the foot of the settee, horror clawing at him. What had she done to him?

He could not bear to look in her eyes and see the kindness in them. He could not bear her touch that did not hurt and hate him. He could not bear her words.

So Sauron, the Black Captain of Morgoth the Enemy, turned and fled.