Reforged: aka Sauron Did Nothing Wrong (LOTR and Silmarillion/MLP)

[Arawndil]

Plot Summary: After a delusional Sauron is defeated, he is sent to Equestria to be "rehabilitated". Refusing to believe he did anything wrong, he decides to "fix" Equestria instead. Absurd skulduggery ensues.

This story takes place after Sauron's final defeat at the end of the Third Age and after the end of MLP Season 4. Cross-posted with SpaceBattles.

I realize that the Silmarillion isn't that widely read, so this should be enough for you to follow along if you're unfamiliar:

Arda: Tolkien's world, upon which Middle-Earth is a continent.

Valar: Great spirits/Archangels. They function as a pantheon, but are not all-powerful and answer to Eru (Judeo-Christian God), who created them along with Men and Elves.

Maiar: Lesser spirits/Angels. Sauron is one of these, as are the five Wizards (Istari) and the Balrogs.

Melkor: "He Who Arises In Might." The elves call him Morgoth. The 'strongest' of the Valar with a share in the powers of all the others, he went rogue and became the first Dark Lord. Basically Satan.

Disclaimer: Arda and all of its inhabitants are under the dominion of the Tolkien Estate and Eru Illuvatar, and MLP is owned by Hasbro.

Chapter 1​

"I did nothing wrong," Sauron stated evenly.

A chorus of sighs and groans arose from the fourteen thrones encircling him. His former mentor Aule the Smith covered his face with a huge calloused hand, Nienna the Mourner quietly opened the floodgates on another round of dignified tears, while Tulkas the Wrestler and Orome the Hunter looked ready to break his spine and be done with it. Only Namo the Judge was unmoved, watching him impassively as ever next to his brother Manwe, the Elder King and Father's viceroy within Arda, the world.

Sauron rolled his eyes at the Valar's dramatics and idly jangled the chains binding his wrists and ankles. The very same chains that had bound his former master Melkor, their brother, when he had stood judgement here in Mahanaxar, the Ring of Doom, shortly before his siblings had banished him from Arda and into the Void.

A fate I am obviously to share, he thought with annoyance, not so much with his inevitable and long accepted fate as with the Valar's insistence in conducting this sham of a trial. After his Ring had been destroyed and he had drifted in the wind, formless and powerless, he had assumed that the Powers of the West would either leave him to gnaw harmlessly on his failures for eternity or take their standard approach and throw whoever didn't agree with them off the edge of the universe.

It seemed, however, that they intended to rub it in his face first.

"You actually believe that, don't you?" Vaire the Weaver asked softly, her face burdened by incredulity and…was that pity?

Sauron considered how to respond. Vaire recorded the history of Arda; she was privy to many hidden details and circumstances surrounding the events that transpired in Middle-earth and elsewhere which escaped others. She knew that history was written by the victors; her husband Namo often called on her help when judging the souls of the dead, especially those defamed by the living. Perhaps she might have enough perspective to understand why he had been in the right. If Sauron was going to be thrown out the Doors of Night, he at least wanted to set the record straight.

"Of course. Everything I have done has been for the good of Arda and Father's Children."

The Valar sat still as statues, but sounds of outrage arose from scores of his fellow Maiar gathered at the feet of the great thrones. Sauron allowed himself a tiny, contemptuous smirk at his pathetic kin. Sycophants and toadies, content to blindly follow the instructions of their elder brethren and beg what scraps of knowledge and power they could from their tables. Their passivity and lack of vision had always disgusted him. Even the mighty Balrogs had only been Melkor's slaves.

"Enough," Vaire called, silencing them with a slender hand. "Let our brother speak."

Yes, we're just one big happy family, aren't we? Sauron thought bitterly, and forced himself to nod respectfully.

"Brothers and sisters," he began without inflection, watching the surrounding spirits with a trained eye. Smoldering rage, bitter grief, and some undercurrent he couldn't quite identify. Contempt, perhaps? It was all to be expected.

"When I said that I had done nothing wrong, I fear that you may have mistook my meaning. I misspoke, and for that I apologize. I have made mistakes, and the greatest among them was following Melkor."

That got a reaction. Surprise, confusion, a flickering of hope and relief tempered by wariness. Good.

"I won't trouble you with the promises he made to me, but suffice to say he wasn't able to keep them. In retrospect, he probably never intended to." He turned to Aule, who refused to meet his eyes. His wife, Yavanna the Earth-Queen, glared at him venomously as she held his former mentor's hand in support. Sauron suppressed the temptation to glare back; he'd never gotten along with that tree-loving harpy.

"Master Aule, you taught me more than Melkor ever could have, and I have regretted my betrayal of you countless times these past three Ages. My time under him was utterly miserable, and not a day went by that I did not miss the warmth of your forges."

The Smith looked down at him with wide eyes, and moisture welled at their corners. "Mairon," he said softly.

Sauron felt a surge of comforting nostalgia at the sound of his original name. It had been so long since someone had called him that; it brought back a great many distracting memories.

He mentally shook himself. Go away, feelings! I'm trying to be manipulative here!

"For one thing, you knew what the hell you were doing. You had clear, realistic goals for your projects and well thought out plans to complete them. Melkor, on the other hand, was horrifyingly scatter-brained with the attention span of a caffeinated hummingbird. He flitted from one ridiculous scheme to another, each more impractical and convoluted than the last, and yet I was expected to make them all work flawlessly! I can assure you that none of the nonsense that took place in the First Age was my idea, and that I saw it through only under great duress."

Something was wrong, he could feel the eyes around him hardening. Did they feel nothing for his plight?

"That is why you regret serving Melkor? Because he had poor management skills?" Manwe asked with heated incredulity.

Sauron blinked. "Of course. His methods were horribly inefficient; I could list half a dozen ways he could have wrested control of Middle-earth in half the time with a quarter of the losses! Hell, I implemented some of them myself later on."

Angry mumbling broke out amongst the throngs of Maiar, and the enthroned Valar traded hard, tired glances.

One of his brethren spoke up in a low but furious voice. "Was it efficiency that prompted you to have Finrod and his companions mauled to death by werewolves?!" He turned to see Eonwe, Manwe's herald, staring at him with thunderclouds in his eyes.

Sauron frowned. "That is unfair. That pretender king and his pet hobo Beren slew my faithful servants and snuck into my stronghold under false guise, and I won our duel fair and square. Besides, my Gaurhoth were hungry, and I hate letting corpses go to waste."

Eonwe recoiled with disgust for some reason, and barked back a retort. "A stronghold which you had stolen from him!"

Sauron rolled his eyes. "Please. I didn't steal that tower, I conquered it. Conquest is an old, established right. The precedents I could show you!"

Eonwe fumed, but Manwe stayed him with a raised hand. "Enough. He has had millennia to rationalize his deeds to himself." He turned back to Sauron. "You have not yet explained how any of your actions were in the best interests of anyone but yourself. What of after Melkor's defeat? If you so loathed serving him, why did you not sue for pardon and return to us as a number of your fellows did?"

"I am glad you asked, Elder King," Sauron replied confidently. "The reason I did not 'sue for pardon', as you put it, was because I saw what needed to be done, but was no longer confident in your willingness to do it. And sure enough, you did nothing."

There was a moment of stunned silence before the smoldering anger of the assembled Maiar was kindled into wrath. Tulkas and Orome made to leap to their feet, restrained only by their wives' soft words. Namo continued to watch him silently. Listening. Judging. Sauron felt a chill run down his spine.

Manwe's eyes flashed with a blue light, and a clap of thunder shook the earth. "Silence," he said, refusing to raise his voice. There was no need to; his voice was Father's voice, and none dared to raise their own against it. "Judgement approaches. The prisoner may say what he will, ere it comes." Namo, Master of Doom, waited silently by his side, a raven circling in the storm's shadow.

Sauron fought the urge to swallow nervously. I'm running out of time, he thought. I have to make this good.

"When you defeated Melkor once and for all and sank the entire Beleriand subcontinent in the process, you left Middle-Earth in shambles! True, you were quick enough to shepherd your precious elves to safety, and even granted a fertile and prosperous island to that handful of Men who had managed to gain your favor. But what of those you left behind?"

He spread his hands emphatically. "Without proper supervision, the Children ran amok! Languages changed and evolved, cultures splintered and mutated, kingdoms rose and fell overnight! It was chaos!"

Sauron clenched his hands into tight, tight fists at the memory of such mayhem. Such untidiness.

"The world was becoming unpredictable! It needed to be managed! None of you were willing to get involved, to do what needed to be done."

Sauron smiled triumphantly, and his broken spirit blazed with joy at the memory of victory, of law and order.

"But I was! It was I who destroyed the cancer of Numenor, freeing the world from the tyranny of Mortal rule. It was I who tutored and shepherded Man, uniting their squabbling nations under my banner. Tempering them, refining them, bringing out their full untapped potential! It was I who revealed the truth that has evaded you for so long; that the Incarnate races cannot truly flourish if they are allowed free will."

His joy faded, swallowed by a bitter, desperate frustration.

"In the end, it was the elves who disappointed me. They proved intractable in their arrogance, remembering well their shameful history of madness and rebellion. They repaid my goodwill with treachery, and if they had just used the Rings I'd given them instead of making their own, using my designs without permission I might add, then everything would have been fine!"

He took in the faces of those around him; most of them didn't seem nearly as angry as they had been before. He felt a surge of hope; they were starting to see sense! Their once furious eyes were wide with shock, confusion and…wait, was that pity?! THAT WAS PITY!

Sauron fumed at the injustice of it all. They weren't looking at him like the tragic hero he was, one who had thanklessly sacrificed everything for the greater good. No, they gawked at him like their favorite hound had become rabid and was eating its own legs.

It was Ulmo, the normally taciturn Lord of Waters, who broke the stretching silence with a heavy sigh, sending a salty breeze across the gathering. "Sophistry aside, this explains a lot," he muttered to himself.

Nienna choked back a sob. "Oh Mairon," she said quietly. "You don't understand at all. You never truly did, did you?"

Sauron looked around, baffled and suddenly afraid. "What? No, it is you who do not-," he began with panicked frustration. His defense had been perfect, airtight. What was going on!?

"It's my fault," Aule professed wearily with his face in his hands, cutting him off. "I was too caught up in my work, and too blinded by his talent and potential. I should have seen it, seen that he needed help."

"None of us did, husband. Only Father is omnipotent," Yavanna comforted him, taking his hand again.

"Melkor saw it," Manwe said gravely. "And he used it as only he could. Yes, much is now clear." His shoulders slumped a little, and for a brief moment all the cares of the world could be seen in the lines of the Elder King's face. He shook his head slowly, and the moment passed. He turned his carefully dispassionate gaze to Sauron, shackled within the Ring of Doom.

"The prisoner has spoken," he said flatly. "He has shown no remorse for his sins, nor the pain and ruin they have wrought upon Middle-Earth, and upon all of Arda."

Sauron said nothing, paralyzed with sudden, frigid dread.

The Elder King nodded slowly, decisively to the Judge at his side.

Namo stood.

His voice was not a sound so much as a force, as absolute and inescapable as gravity.

"The Doom of Mairon called Sauron is thus: exile. Thou shalt leave the Circles of Arda, and never return hence until all is fulfilled unto the will of our Father, Eru Iluvatar." The world seemed to shift at the most sacred of names, and Sauron felt his legs crumple beneath him.

Namo slowly sat back down, and Manwe rose next to him to address the assembly. "Judgement has been given. So may it be."

"So may it be," echoed the gathered spirits, as they began to vanish one by one into the ether.

"Irmo, step forward, dear brother."

The hitherto silent Lord of Dreams rose from his great seat and approached the center of the Ring, and through a thickening cloud of despair Sauron felt the Vala's presence at his side.

"I have put your request before Father, and He has granted it with His blessings. I leave the prisoner in your hands; go in peace." With one last glance, the Elder King was gone, and Sauron was alone in the Mahanaxar with Irmo.

Even in his stupor, Sauron found this highly irregular. He had expected Tulkas to be the one to shove him out the Doors of Night, and indeed it seemed highly unlikely that he would allow anything short of Father's intervention to deny him the satisfaction. Yet it seemed that just such an intervention had taken place, at the request of…Irmo?

"You?! What did I do to cross you?" Sauron asked, flabbergasted. He could scarcely conceive how such a thing was possible, much less recall anything he might have done to earn the Dreamlord's ire. The Vala was difficult to offend, and his sphere of control nearly impossible to intrude upon.

Yet somehow, somehow Sauron had managed to upset him so much that Irmo had clashed with his much more assertive brothers for the dubious honor of disposing of him, going so far as to go over all of their heads to Father Himself in the process.

Wait, Sauron had a sudden thought. Irmo also rules over visions and omens. But that was thousands of years ago! Surely, he can't still be angry about…

The Vala put a hand very firmly on his shoulder and began to lead him away from the Mahanaxar. Travelling as unclad spirits, without physical forms, they passed swiftly west over the green fields and pristine forests of the Blessed Realm. Towards the Walls of Night. Sauron cringed.

"Is this about when I made what's-his-name hallucinate about his dead wife so he would tell me where his friends were hiding? That was one time!" the fallen Maia whined.

"Gorlim," Irmo replied softly but rather tersely. "His name was Gorlim. And yes, I am still angry, but that was not why I requested to preside over your banishment. In fact, I only did so on behalf of another. If you feel the need, you may ask him yourself."

Sauron abruptly felt another presence join them, and he took in its character. He felt the brush of coarse damp wool and smelt the fragrant smoke of some strange herb. A warm basso voice reached him across the wind.

"The road goes ever on and on…" it sang contentedly.

A form coalesced beside them in a rush of soft light, an ancient yet spry-looking Man in robes of undyed linen, his long beard and hair white as fresh snow. He leaned casually on a plain staff of pale wood and smiled at them, deep laugh lines creasing his weathered face.

Sauron felt a surge of rancid, blistering hate at the sight of him, and crimson rage seeped through the cracks of his crippled spirit like molten lava.

"And so the puppet-master reveals himself," he spat venomously. "You look ridiculous, Olorin. How long do you intend to mock me by clinging to that decrepit shell?"

The old man quirked a bushy eyebrow. "I would never presume to mock you, brother, not when you so excel at making a fool of yourself without my help." He stretched wearily, and Sauron twitched at the disconcerting cracking noises the motion produced.

"This form may have its challenges, but I've grown rather attached to it over the last few millennia," confided the old man as he rubbed the small of his back ruefully. "And please, call me Gandalf. All of my friends do nowadays."

Sauron glowered. "How interesting. I had not been informed that we were friends. Perhaps I should check my mail."

"We were friends once, were we not? Before you turned?" Gandalf asked quietly. "Can we not at least be cordial in the time we have left together, for old time's sake?"

"Please, we were acquaintances at best. More to the point, friends don't destroy friend's industrial utopias, Gandalf."

The former wizard rolled his eyes. "Really, Mairon? Really? You ordered numerous genocides, committed countless environmental atrocities, and enslaved two continents for thousands of years while pursuing a third."

"Slavery is so gauche. I prefer the term, 'societal optimization'." Sauron said primly.

Gandalf closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes. Yes, you would, wouldn't you? And therein lies the problem."

"We are here," interrupted Irmo, having ignored their exchange with his usual placidity.

With what was definitely not near catatonic terror, Sauron extended his senses back into the physical world. What he saw was far more disturbing than he had anticipated.

"What fresh hell is this?" he whispered.

Rather than the bleak, barren shore of a lifeless monochrome ocean, he found himself standing knee-deep in the soft grass of a rather pleasant meadow. Wildflowers grew in abundance among a scattering of limestone boulders, lupins and periwinkles in cool shades of violet and blue.

Gone were the grim pair of dull, black needles of obsidian and unknowable metal between which the invisible fabric of Creation simply ceased, and all was swallowed by an infinite abyss of oblivion empty of all but one's own self-loathing and the dubious company of what most were pleased to call The Great Enemy.

Rather, the center of the meadow was occupied by a rather handsome oak tree, its leaves stirred faintly by a cool breeze descending from distant snow-capped mountains. The air was thick with the smell of lavender and sweet clover. Sauron sneezed rather violently.

"I'll admit that it's been quite a while," he muttered, squinting his eyes as if to peer past a desert mirage. "But I personally remember the Gates of Night being marginally less…pastoral."

This insight seemed to somewhat alarm Gandalf, while Irmo silently marched him toward the oak, which was beginning to look decidedly hostile to Sauron's eyes.

"The Gates of Night?! Merciful Father, is that where you thought we were taking you?" the former wizard exclaimed with what could almost be mistaken as concern. Sauron shrugged helplessly in Irmo's grasp.

"Well, 'banishment from the Circles of the World' can only be taken a certain number of ways, right? And it isn't as if my situation doesn't have a rather conspicuous precedent," he replied dryly.

Gandalf gave him a cold far-away look, and Sauron was surprised by how difficult it was to meet the pain in his eyes. "Mairon, you are responsible for inflicting an unspeakable amount of death and suffering upon the people of Middle-earth, many of whom I deeply loved. You may never truly understand how much pain and horror that you wrought upon the world, and for that I am not sure that I will ever forgive you."

He took a deep breath, sighed slowly and heavily, and when he met Sauron's eyes again it seemed to him that the moment had passed.

"Be that as it may, I would never be so vindictive as to petition Father for the right to personally cast you through the Gates," Gandalf continued evenly. "I am not you, Mairon, and you are not Melkor. Not even you deserve such a fate."

Sauron really didn't know how to take this. "But my Doom said that I would leave the Circles of the World-."

"Your Doom said that you would have to leave the Circles of Arda," Gandalf corrected him patiently. "There is an appreciable difference."

There was a rather pregnant pause.

"….What."

Gandalf quirked an amused eyebrow at Sauron's expression. "You're confused? I suppose that makes sense. You were off playing Junior Dark Lord when the rest of us were briefed on this. Suffice to say, while Arda is The World, it isn't the only world." The Istari stroked his beard pensively. "Or, well, it used to be. And in a way it still is. Kind of. Except, not really."

Sauron stared at him.

"…What."

Irmo rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Olorin my beloved student, you have many talents, but teaching is not among them. Sit down and I shall explain."

The Dreamlord pushed Sauron gently toward the broad trunk of the oak tree, and appeared entirely unconcerned when his prisoner tripped over a root and landed face-first in a patch of honeysuckle.

"Essentially," he began. "When Father first had us Sing the universe into existence, we initially created only Arda, the World, encircled within the sphere of Ea, That Which Is. That single-"

"That single beautiful point of Being within the infinite nothingness of the Void, etcetera, etcetera," Sauron interrupted crossly, returning to his senses now. "Yes, I remember. I was there too, if you recall."

One of Irmo's eyes may have twitched slightly. "You were, and I do. But what none of us knew at the time, save for Father obviously, was that the Music continued to ripple and echo across the Void long after it was performed. And though these echoes became more and more distorted as time went on, they always retained aspects of the original Music, as did the worlds that developed from them."

The Vala quirked a little half-smile and gestured at the boughs of the tree above them. "Much like an oak tree dropping acorns that never grow in quite the same way."

Sauron sat at the base of the oak and leaned against its broad trunk, idly picking apart blades of the long grass with his fingers as he digested this information. He frowned.

"Did you drag me all the way out here just so you could make that analogy?" he asked.

Gandalf's eyes twinkled in amusement. "Partly. The other reason is that this place is as isolated as it is pleasant, and as such it is unlikely that anyone will interrupt or interfere with what we came here to do."

Well, that sounds ridiculously ominous. Sauron began surreptitiously feeling around for a sharp rock, but unfortunately was only able to find a handful of delectable looking mushrooms.

"Aaaaaaand what would that be, exactly?" drawled Sauron, stalling for time amidst his own increasingly outlandish and panicked conjecture.

"Why, carrying out your sentence, of course."

My spies weren't exaggerating when they described him as 'unconscionably cryptic', thought Sauron, more frustrated than terrified now. It's enough to make me feel bad about executing them.

Irmo glared at Gandalf and huffed with annoyance.

"Really? Very well then, I will be the adult here," he said.

He turned a level gaze to Sauron. "Certain parties are convinced, given your circumstances, that imprisoning you in the Void for all eternity is too severe a punishment."

Irmo jerked his head to the Istar next to him. "Those parties being Father and Olorin here, literally no one else. Personally, I would gladly slam the Gates of Night on your sorry ass myself if given half the chance."

Sauron schooled his expression to one of calm compliance, inwardly shocked by this uncharacteristic display of vitriol from the normally sedate Vala.

Damn, and I thought I could carry a grudge. It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?

Sauron would know, he had been one of the quiet ones.

He turned to Gandalf, silently resolving to cling to his unlikely advocate for dear life.

"And what circumstances are those?" Sauron asked innocently.

"Namely that you, through no fault of your own, are a psychopath," said Gandalf, not unkindly.

Sauron bristled and gave him an injured look. Slander and calumny!

"How DARE you!" he hissed. "You can make any justifications you need to about working against me. You can call me evil, cruel and more besides. But I am not MAD! I am the most logical, intelligent person I know!"

He jabbed a wispy finger toward his captors. "Stop rolling your eyes, damn you! And weren't you just saying that I wasn't like Melkor?"

"I stand by that statement," said Gandalf. "Melkor is a nihilistic sociopath, his issues are completely different from yours. But the important part is that he forged his own path into darkness, and has no one to blame for his sins but his own baseless jealousy and spite."

His eyes met Sauron's again, and they were once more filled with that same disgusting, infuriating pity.

"You, on the other hand, were tempted down your path, coerced and manipulated while at your most vulnerable," Gandalf continued sadly. "In some ways, you are a greater victim of Melkor's machinations than nearly anyone else."

"I resent your implications and deny them profusely," responded Sauron evenly, his mind racing to analyze where this conversation was going. What the hell is your game here, Olorin?

"Melkor possessed neither the skill nor the intellectual capacity to manipulate me; if you had known him like I did, you would understand. Moreover I cannot recall, in all of my millennia, ever being in a situation where I would describe myself as vulnerable."

"I seem to recall an incident with an elven princess and a talking wolfhound-" interjected Irmo.

Sauron stiffened and reflexively clutched at the ancient white scars circling his throat.

"That was an intentional omission, thank you, and not remotely relevant to this conversation." Sauron hated dogs; he still had the occasional panic attack.

"Do you recall the circumstances under which your acquaintance with Melkor began?" Gandalf asked patiently, not missing a beat.

Sauron had to ponder this for a minute; that was not a part of his life that he had given any thought to for a long, long time.

"I was alone in one of Aule's workshops, laboring on one of my projects long after everyone else had left."

"Where had everyone else gone?" asked Gandalf mildly.

Sauron shrugged. "Damned if I know, some festival or another. In any case, I was-"

"Why did you not join them?" asked Irmo. "It must have been a fairly major event if all of them decided to drop their projects in order to attend."

Sauron glared at him for this meaningless interruption. "That is a stupid question. I am a craftsman. I was working. What could possibly be worth delaying my progress for? Besides, it wasn't as if they had invited me along. They knew I would refuse, and Aule had instructed them not to bother me." Gandalf and Irmo exchanged a significant look.

"I think I understand," said Gandalf wearily. "Indulge me, if you would, as I try to predict what happened next."

Sauron waved him on impatiently. "Whatever," he snapped. "I'm in no position to deny you your games."

"I imagine that, before this encounter, Melkor would at times come in to discretely observe you working at a respectful distance, saying nothing and being as unobtrusive as possible. As such, you and everyone else had become accustomed to his presence in the forges and workshops, finding nothing unusual about him being there whenever it suited him," Gandalf began.

"Yes, but that was common knowledge," Sauron confirmed indifferently. "Though his presence never caused problems, Aule did not like having him around and was not shy about complaining about it in public."

Gandalf nodded slowly. "But Melkor did not keep his silence in the workshop that day, did he?"

Sauron shook his head, his brow furrowed in recollection. "Apparently he had overheard an argument between Aule and myself earlier. I had requested some rare materials for my project, and Aule had refused me with some worthless excuse about 'extreme risks to public health'. Melkor offered to change his mind."

He chuckled at the memory. "The next day, I arrived to find the materials I wanted neatly piled in a lead box on my workstation. Apparently, Aule had spent most of the previous day's festival being berated by everyone and sundry for 'neglecting his students'. I later asked Melkor how he did it, and he offered to teach me in return for a few favors."

"And it was only a matter of escalation from there," Gandalf muttered pensively, stroking his beard. "Yes, that adds up nicely."

A contemplative silence fell for a few moments, or rather it would have if Sauron hadn't begun loudly tapping his foot almost immediately.

Gandalf met the former Dark Lord's eyes slowly, patiently.

"I don't suppose you would care to share your insights with the rest of the class?" Sauron asked primly. There was a sudden snorting noise, and both Maiar turned in surprise to look at Irmo. The Vala had the sleeve of his robe over his mouth and was doing a poor job of imitating a coughing fit.

After a moment, the Dreamlord recovered his aloof, regal bearing and stared at them placidly, as if daring them to make something of his outburst. His juniors elected the path of discretion.

"What I mean to say," Gandalf replied evenly, "is that much of your behavior these past Ages can be explained by the fact that, for a very long and formative period of time, nearly all of your positive social interactions were with Melkor."

He met Sauron's eyes with a piercing blue stare, and held out his hands emphatically. "Melkor."

Sauron's retort froze on his lips. He felt his insides grow cold for a few, agonizing moments. Melkor was no one's idea of normal. He had seen that hollow, infantile madness up close many, many times. Could he have been tainted by it, all those eons ago?

Yet logic prevailed, and he scoffed at the idea. "Really? Just like that, I'm supposed to be some sort of emotionally-stunted, socially inept basket case? My political career would beg to differ."

Gandalf and Irmo traded a look.

"Your words, not ours," the former Wizard replied demurely. "I was going to say that you are almost completely unable to form meaningful relationships or engage in social interaction outside the context of manipulation and power games."

Irmo cut in. "You are also an obsessive-compulsive egomaniac whose delusions and tunnel vision border on self-destructive. Not to mention that your sense of empathy is so microscopic that you barely qualify as sapient."

"Harsh, but true," Gandalf agreed ruefully. "You have a long way to go, Mairon."

The meadow was quiet. Sauron reflected on their words, pondering them with all his might.

And then he laughed. Hysterically, contemptuously. He laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

"Is that what this is all about?" he finally wheezed. "You're trying to redeem me?!"

"I feel a more accurate term would be 'salvage', but yes, that is the plan," said Irmo.

Deluded fools, Sauron thought smugly. You can't fix what isn't broken.

"And who shall be my would-be counselor?" he sneered. "You, Olorin? Going to put that famous wisdom and patience to use?"

Gandalf clicked his tongue. "Heavens, no. Not even I have what it takes to deal with you long-term; no one in Arda does. Which is why we're sending you to some 'specialists'."

Sauron kept sniggering. "You're actually doing this? You're sending me to another world? For therapy?"

"We won't force you, of course. We are simply giving you a choice," Irmo assured him with a small, frosty smile. "You can either live out the rest of Time somewhere pleasant where you can do no harm and might actually learn something-"

The Vala's eyes glowed with a harsh green light. "Or you can spend eternity in the Void. Alone. With Melkor."

Sauron's eye twitched.

"Therapy World it is," he said. "Now, how are we going to do this?"

"Just close your eyes and lie down," Gandalf said with a triumphant grin. "Lord Irmo will send your spirit down the Path of Dreams until you reach your destination."

He patted the former Dark Lord on the back. "Cheer up, will you? If everything works out, maybe Father will let you return when the world is renewed at the end of time."

Sauron scoffed at this false comfort, but did as he was told.

"Just don't make me wear pastels or write poetry," Sauron begged reluctantly as he closed his eyes.

"I make no promises," he heard Irmo say.

And then he knew no more.

 

[Arawndil]

A/N: Minor warning for suicidal thoughts.

Chapter 2

When Sauron awoke, the first thing he noticed was that he had a body. A healthy body at that, strong and hale, without the sickliness and fatigue that he had become accustomed to after his Ring was taken from him.​

For a moment, he felt a surge of insane, desperate hope, only for it to be snuffed out like a candle flame when he reached for his Power and found…nothing. No, he was still a hollow, frail shell of his true self.

Still, he felt...not whole, but solid. Like he could get up and meet the world head on, without the first gust of wind out of the West tearing him to shreds.

It's a start, Sauron thought, with reluctant optimism.

Though his eyes were still closed, he could feel gentle morning sunshine on his skin, and many years' worth of soft loam from an ancient forest beneath his back. Birdsong filled the air, and a loud rushing sound told of a nearby river.

The thought of water helped Sauron to notice the dryness of his mouth and throat, and he sighed in annoyance. Bodies were useful tools, but like any tool they had to be maintained. Still, he would cope.

He flexed his limbs, preparing to lift himself off the ground, and in doing so made a disturbing discovery.

"You can't be serious. You just can't," Sauron whispered. Half to himself, half to the cruel, cruel universe.

He was a quadruped. A thrice-damned quadruped. The former Dark Lord held up his erstwhile hands, and opened his eyes to confirm the nightmare.

Hooves. He had hooves. Hooves didn't have thumbs.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" His scream of despair echoed through the forest, scattering a flock of brightly colored birds.

Sauron hauled himself up as he began to hyperventilate. It wasn't his new form itself that was the problem. He was a shapeshifter by nature; he had been a quadruped many times before, and he knew how everything worked.

But it had never been permanent before!

I'll never work a forge again, he thought numbly, as ice crept through his veins. The idea was almost incomprehensible.

Sauron had played many roles. He had been a Dark Lord and a god-emperor, a general and a spy, an advisor and a saboteur, a student and a teacher. But he had always been a craftsman.

A smith.

The caged, tamed heat of the forge. The perfectly controlled, perfectly precise blow of the hammer, shaping strong and stubborn metal in perfectly predictable ways. Cowing and cajoling it into conformity, wheedling and flattering it into place. Cleansing it of flaws and imperfections until only simple purity remained. Taking something crude and chaotic and refining it into a thing of value and purpose.

That was the core of his identity, the fundamental concept from which he was born in the thoughts of his Creator. It was the lens through which he saw everything around him, and the driving force behind his every goal and deed.

And they have taken it from me.

Sauron's vision was slowly tinted red as despair turned to rage. His was a rage as strong as an earthquake, as violent as a volcano, hot as a star's heart, and older than Time. Nations had burned in that rage. Millions had died.

And yet, Sauron was calm. For in the shadow of rage had come spite. Bottomless, black, toxic spite.

They called me the Cruel, he thought. And rightly so. I tortured people. I had them killed. Horribly. But I never took a man's hands. Never. How ironic, that his oh-so-holy kin had surpassed him in cruelty.

Sauron listened for the sound of the river and followed it, grinning wickedly even as he pushed through the thick brambles in the undergrowth. I'll show them.

Based on how his body was moving, he surmised that he was some sort of equine. A relatively small one at that, unless the trees around him were just unusually large. The parts that he could see when he craned his neck were charcoal grey in color, so perhaps a donkey or mule.

So this was their plan? he thought contemptuously. For me to live as a beast, hunted by predators and scrambling from one meal to another? I'll show them. The sound of the river grew closer.

That couldn't be it, though. They had mentioned sending him to 'specialists'. An even more infuriating thought occurred.

Perhaps they mean for me to be found by some peasant or tramp, to serve as a beast of burden and learn about humility or something asinine like that? I'll show them.

Arrogant fools. He wouldn't play their game, not if it meant losing his hands and with them everything that made him who he was. The sound of the river grew closer.

While the memory of his last drowning in the Downfall of Numenor was still quite uncomfortable, it was still the most convenient method available at the moment. I'll show them.

Once he destroyed this stupid body, he knew that he wouldn't be given another. It would be straight to the Void for him. Forever. He'd been resigned to that anyway, and if he could spit in the eyes of his enemies one last time, all the better.

Sauron found the river. Pulling himself free from the briars that wound in between the trees, he approached the bank with a purposeful stride. The river was wide enough to sail a modest ship through. The water was flowing swiftly, and a cursory examination told him that it was deep enough for his purpose. I'll show them.

As he prepared to jump, Sauron happened to see his reflection on the water's surface. Some sort of equine, yes, but nothing like anything he had ever heard of.

The basic body shape was the same, but his limbs were far cobbier than they should have been. They were stocky and muscular, lacking any of the spindly boniness that normally characterized equines. Most of his body was a solid dark grey, but his mane and fetlocks were a peculiar shade of brownish-red that didn't belong on any sort of horse. It reminded him strongly of rust, or the color of a coal slowly dying in a cold hearth. His muzzle was short and blunt, with an unusually expressive mouth, currently scowling. His eyes-

Sauron gaped in shock; his eyes were huge. Enormous, blindingly white ovals with large golden-yellow irises and rapidly dilating pupils. They had to be half the size of his entire head, it was baffling that they weren't crushing his brain like an egg.

"What the hell am I!?" he exclaimed, utterly baffled.

"Oooh, existentialism, huh? Are you a philosopher?" a loud, lispy voice asked.

Trying to move as little as possible, Sauron raised his head very, very slowly.

In the middle of the river in front of him, seemingly ignoring the swift current, was an enormous dragon-like creature. It was covered in bright purple scales and had a full head of fluorescent orange hair, as well as bushy eyebrows and a comically large mustache. When it spoke, it flashed a set of razor sharp teeth.

"I took a class for that in college. Interesting stuff!" the creature went on as Sauron continued to freeze in place.

"Say, are you okay there? You look like you've seen a ghost!" It started to lean toward him.

His purpose forgotten, Sauron's instincts took over as he frantically tried to scramble away from the flamboyant but obviously dangerous carnivore. In doing so, his hooves suddenly slipped on the wet grass and he fell backward away from the riverbank.

For about two feet, until his head hit an unfortunately placed boulder.

As he lost consciousness once again, it occurred to Sauron that he may have underestimated the universe's desire to mess with him.



Dr. Horse listened carefully to his stethoscope as he examined the unconscious pony that the sea serpent had brought them. The colossal, mustachioed fellow had not been able to fit inside Ponyville Hospital, and had raised quite a ruckus until they had agreed to examine his charge. The hospital staff was quite busy dealing with a recent outbreak of food poisoning, and couldn't afford to have the near-hysteric leviathan accidentally knocking down the walls or otherwise disturbing the patients.

The nurses had laid the stallion on the operating table, as all of the beds were occupied, and Dr. Horse had begun a basic examination for triage. After a few moments he removed his stethoscope and grunted in satisfaction. Heartbeat's normal, he thought ruefully. At least something about him is.

Medically speaking, his new patient was rather…interesting. His present condition seemed healthy enough, minus the loss of consciousness and the large bruise on his head, now covered in an ice pack. Average in size for an Earth Pony stallion, he was muscular in a thin, whipcord sort of way that suggested a life of active labor, especially his forelimbs. No, it was the history of injuries that Dr. Horse was concerned about.

First there was the mess of thick white scars that covered the grey stallion's neck, all of which strongly resembled the bite marks of a timberwolf. Based on the sheer mass of them, as well as the apparent depth of the lacerations and punctures, Dr. Horse was astonished that the fellow had managed to survive five minutes, let alone the apparent years which had passed since he had received the wounds.

Especially since it appears that he had received little to no medical treatment for them, the doctor thought with a shudder.

Secondly, and potentially just as worrying, was the jagged vertical chunk that had been gouged out of his patient's right forehoof that looked uncomfortably like a knife wound. Dr. Horse had treated a few ponies who had gotten a little clumsy while chopping vegetables, but the forcefulness of the cut made it look almost intentional.

He shook his head to rid it of such thoughts. The implications of that were unthinkable, and he was far too professional for such wild conjecture. Still, it was clear to him that this pony had led a rough life. As a doctor, it was the least he could do to make sure he got back on his hooves again.

Dr. Horse grabbed a flashlight from a shelf with his horn and carefully opened the patient's eyelid with his hooves.

…Huh. He'd never seen a pony with yellow eyes before. It was a little unsettling. Still, the patient didn't show any other signs of jaundice, so it must be natural. Odd.

He shined the flashlight into the patient's eye and sighed. Definitely a concussion, he thought as he wrote it on his notepad, disappointed but not surprised. This presented a problem.

The patient needed bedrest and to avoid over-stimulation if he was to recover effectively. Unfortunately, there were no available beds in the hospital due to the recent food poisoning outbreak, and none of his current patients had recovered sufficiently that they could be discharged.

Before he could ponder this problem further however, he had the wind knocked out of him by a powerful kick to the chest.



"Steven Magnet!" Rarity exclaimed with surprise and concern. "Are you quite all right, darling?"

She had been on her way to buy some new fabric when she had noticed her semi-aquatic friend loitering in front of the hospital, wringing his hands and looking terribly stressed.

"Rarity!" the serpent sobbed. "I'm so sorry! I swear, I didn't mean it! It was an accident!"

The unicorn winced as her friend began crying in earnest, rattling the windows of nearby buildings. A pony in a nurse's uniform stuck their head out of the hospital's doors and shot Rarity a pleading look before ducking back in.

"Steven, I know you're upset, but please calm down for a moment," she said in the most soothing tone she could manage. As she continued to console him, Steven's wails eventually diminished into mere whimpers.

"Oh, I'm sorry Rarity. I didn't mean to cause a scene," he said, drying his tears with the long, trailing ends of his mustache.

Rarity forced herself to smile at this unseemly habit. Steven was a dear friend with a good heart and excellent taste, but he had yet to master certain niceties of polite society.

"Quite alright, darling. Now, why don't you tell me what happened?"

Rarity had to calm her friend a couple more times, but eventually got the whole story out of him. Such as it was.

"What in Equestria would anypony be doing in the middle of the Everfree Forest by themselves?"

The whole area was full of all manner of dangerous creatures and strange phenomena, such as weather that appeared spontaneously without being created by Pegasi. Not to mention that the forest was almost completely unmapped and unexplored. And though she prided herself on not judging others on their appearance, part of her couldn't help but think this scarred fellow sounded like some sort of outlaw or scoundrel.

"I don't know!" Steven exclaimed. "Maybe he got lost and was trying to follow the river out." His reptilian eyes began to well with tears again. "He could have followed it downstream to Ponyville just fine if I hadn't spooked him! He could have brain damage! He could be dying! Oh, it's all my fault!"

He started to sob again, and the hospital's windows resumed their rattling. Ponies in the street covered their ears, and the nurse pony reappeared at the hospital's entrance, this time accompanied by a security guard. Rarity cringed.

"Steven, darling, why don't I go in and check on this stallion of yours? I'm quite sure he'll be alright, but I will ask the front desk when he might be released."

This seemed to reassure the distraught serpent, and Rarity sighed a little. She didn't like leaving the boutique unattended for too long, but she could certainly spare a few minutes to help put a friend's mind at ease.

No sooner had Rarity walked through the hospital's doors was there a great ruckus in the lobby. One of the doctors was clutching his ribs with one hoof while the nurses and security guard tried to corner a charcoal-colored Earth Pony stumbling around with a panicked expression. Based on his coloring and his unusual scars-

Oh dear, that must be him! Rarity thought anxiously.

"Sir, please!" one of the nurses urged. "You have a concussion; you need to sit down immediately!"

The stallion's only response was to make a mad, stumbling dash past them and to the hospital doors. Right towards Rarity.

Fortunately, before she was forced to protect herself, the disoriented pony stumbled and fell on his flank to the tile floor. He was immediately restrained by the nurses and dragged to a wheelchair, where he remained with a dazed expression on his face. Shortly after, they began pushing him back down the hallway, holding onto him all the while to keep him from getting up again.

What in Equestria have I gotten myself into? Rarity asked herself as she followed after them.



A/N: So. Yep. We're doing this.

 

[Arawndil]

Chapter 3​

Sauron's head swam, and for the first time in millennia, he cursed himself for a fool. He had allowed himself to panic not once, but twice!

The creatures- Ponies they call themselves, based on their eccentric pronouns, he reminded himself.

The ponies, after his ill-advised escape attempt, had restrained him and wheeled him back to the room he had awoken in. Despite his initial impression and the abundance of strange metal implements, it seemed that this was not, in fact, a torture chamber.

The apparent male that had been in the room with him when he had awoken was examining his flank where he had fallen to the tile floor. The careful prodding of his bones was enough to tell Sauron that this individual was some sort of healer.

Before he could contemplate the absurdity of equines having trained medical personnel, he nearly gaped in shock as the pony began to write notes using some sort of… telekinesis. A soft glow came from a stubby little horn on its forehead, answered by an identical glow around the rapidly moving writing stylus.

Sauron stole a surreptitious glance at the other ponies in the room. The two female ponies gently restraining him to the wheeled chair had no such horns, and seemed to be under the authority of the horned male. The last pony in the room did bear the mysterious horn; the white, violet-maned female that had followed them in and was watching the proceedings with a worried look on its face.

Based on his observations, Sauron deduced that these quadrupeds operated on some sort of morphology-based caste system. It made sense that individuals with the dexterity necessary for skill-based tasks like writing and healing would occupy a higher strata of society than their more bestial kin.

Unfortunately, and perhaps inevitably considering the circumstances under which he had acquired this body, Sauron was of the latter group.

He resisted the urge to gnash his teeth in frustration. Not only would his 'condition' hamper his smithcraft, it would also limit his social mobility. Which was probably intentional.

We'll just see about that! he thought, repressing a wicked grin. If his handlers intended this to be a humbling experience, then his course of action was quite clear.

Let's climb some ladders.

"I'm terribly sorry about that kick, good sir," Sauron lied easily, feigning a contrite, embarrassed tone. "I'm afraid I was not in my right mind at the time, Mr. …?"

The healer pony looked up from his examination and gave him a wry smile. "It's quite alright. You're not the first pony to panic after waking up in a hospital, and you certainly won't be the last!"

He extended a hoof toward him and, after a moment of fumbling, Sauron was able to interlock it with his own and shake it. There was an odd sort of … adhesion on the surface of his hoof, almost like magnetism, that let him firmly grip the creature's appendage. Sauron's eyes widened.

"And it's Doctor. Dr. Horse, at your service, Mr. …?" the healer pony inquired.

Sauron just stared at their interlocked hooves with a look of sheer incomprehension. "…Um…Huh."

A tense moment of silence followed, and every pony stared at him in concern. Sauron shook off his stupor and, realizing what was being asked of him, felt ice in his veins. He didn't know enough about these creature's naming conventions to create a believable pseudonym! They would realize that he wasn't one of them, and it would only be a matter of time before he was killed or experimented upon!

I only have a few more seconds before they start getting suspicious, he thought rapidly.

He scanned the room, noting the positions of each pony. By now, the hornless drudges had relaxed their grip on him, believing (foolishly) that he would cooperate.

If I take them by surprise, I should be able to break away and reach those surgical tools before the 'doctor' and its servants can react.

The white and lavender female was between him and the door. Troublesome.

I should take her hostage; they will be slow to attack if one of their elite caste has a knife at its throat.

The creatures were exchanging furtive glances. He needed to act soon.

No, a hostage situation would be too dangerous. I still have no idea what those horns are capable of. Better to just cut its throat and escape in the confusion. Sauron clenched his muscles in preparation.

"…Could it be that you don't remember your name?" Dr. Horse asked worriedly. The horned female gasped and stared at him with huge, concerned eyes.

Sauron quickly relaxed his muscles. He knew a lifeline when he saw one.

"It's strange," he mused aloud, doing his best to sound confused and anxious. "I feel like I know it, but when I try to…"

He shook his head, artfully widening his eyes in distress. "It's just not there!"

During his display, Sauron covertly monitored the reactions of the ponies in the room, namely the two horned ones. Based on their facial expressions and body language, they were both feeling sympathetic to his 'plight', but not to a degree sufficient for effective exploitation.

Let's step it up, then.

"Who-who am I?" he stammered, carefully injecting the optimal amount of panic and anguish into his tone. "I can't remember anything! How did I get here, what happened to me? Please, tell me!"

Fortunately, it seemed these 'ponies' possessed the same silly herd instincts as humans. The female in particular was beginning to yield to his expert handling.

Yesssss, pity me you fools! Sauron thought with malicious glee.

"Well unfortunately, temporary amnesia is an occasional symptom of concussions," Dr. Horse said in an apologetic tone, stroking his chin. "What is the last thing that you can remember?"

Sauron feigned a mental struggle for a few seconds while he crafted a good lie. Like all good lies, it would need to be built around a core of truth.

Time for the killing blow.

"I-I think I remember being chased into a forest by many ponies. They all-," he shuddered convincingly. "They all looked like me, but they were yelling and throwing rocks at me."

Sauron broke out one of his more advanced techniques and activated his tear ducts. It had been a long time since he'd had to use that one.

"I think they were my family! But why would they-? I don't understand!" he sobbed, still watching his marks carefully as they exchanged furtive looks. Shock, horror, sadness, and, now that it was finally useful, pity. One of the nurse ponies rubbed him on the shoulder consolingly.

Excellent.

Dr. Horse was at a loss for words, but his professionalism quickly took over, and he took comfort behind it.

"Well, if it is any consolation, your memories should return soon as your symptoms subside. I'm sure that things will make more sense in context." He sighed, and decided to address the difficulty at hand.

"In regards to your recovery, sir, I'm afraid there is a complication that we need to address." Dr. Horse's nurses gave him pleading looks, but he just shook his head. There was no helping it.

"In order for your condition to be reversed, you will need a few days of bedrest. Unfortunately, we have no space available in the hospital, and will not be able to move any of our current patients for the foreseeable future," the doctor explained gently.

As he watched the horned female's face shift between fretful and pensive, Sauron had to fight a smirk. Fight it hard.

This is too easy.

"B-but I have nowhere to go!" he exclaimed. "What if I can't find someone I know who can take me in?"

Sauron decided to push a little more. It couldn't hurt.

"Or worse, what if I'm found by those ponies who were chasing me?" he continued with an edge of fear in his voice. "What if they're already here? Oh, I don't know what to do!"

He covered his face with his hooves (which was still weird) and peeked between them to observe the aftermath of his dramatics. He wasn't disappointed.

"Ah, um, excuse me, Dr. Horse," a hesitant feminine voice called out as the violet-maned pony stepped forward.

Sauron let himself smirk, then. Just a little.



This is not how I thought my day was going to go, Rarity thought as she pushed the wheelchair through the streets of Ponyville.

Steven had, of course, been overjoyed that his charge was going to be ok. He had wanted to stay and help but, after many assurances and the omission of a few details concerning the strange stallion's condition, her serpent friend had been happy to go on his way.

"Thank you again for your incredible generosity, Lady Rarity. I am dreadfully sorry to impose upon you so," said the rusty-maned stallion, craning his neck slightly to look up at her.

Rarity smiled back at him. Despite his rough appearance, she had seldom met such a courteous and well-spoken pony. How she had misjudged him!

"Oh, there is no imposition at all, my good gentlecolt! I would be terribly remiss if I didn't help you in your time of need."

Rarity wasn't the Element of Generosity for nothing. It simply wasn't in her nature to turn away a pony who needed her help.

She chuckled. "And it's just Rarity, dear. Don't let my sense of style fool you, I'm no court Lady! Just a humble, if rather successful, fashionista."

The stallion returned her smile. "Still, it shall behoove me to find some way to express my gratitude. One good turn deserves another, after all."

He looked away. "But I'm afraid I must disagree with you, Rarity. I know a lady when I see one."

Rarity colored slightly at this praise. This nameless pony was turning out to be quite charming!

The mysterious stallion was looking around at the passing buildings with an expression of keen interest. Rarity found herself wondering where exactly he was from, and indeed if he had ever been to a town like this before. He had been found in the Everfree Forest, so he may well have come from a small village or homestead somewhere on its edges.

Even besides that, she couldn't imagine how confused and scared he must be in a strange place with no friends and no memory. And yet here he was, taking the time to be so very gracious and polite!

After the simply awful time he's had, the poor dear needs all the help he can get, Rarity thought with conviction. Giving him a place to rest for a few days is the least I can do.

"Is that…is that building made of desserts?" he asked dully.

Rarity saw where he was looking, and giggled despite herself. "Oh no, perish the thought! Though I must say the decorations are quite convincing from a distance."

They got a closer look as they approached the intersection the building was situated on.

"That's Sugarcube Corner, where my dear friend Pinkie Pie works," she continued. "Her cakes are simply divine, you must give them a try once you are feeling better."

Her charge continued to look rather nonplussed. "Her name is..Pinkie..Pie?"​

​

"Er…well, it's actually Pinkamena Diane Pie, but don't call her that," Rarity replied sheepishly.​

​

They travelled in silence until they rounded the corner, when the stallion suddenly stiffened in his chair.​

​

"And… the giant, twenty-story crystal treehouse?" he inquired softly after a few moments.​

​

Rarity looked at him in surprise. It seemed he really didn't remember anything at all!​

​

"Why, that's the Castle of Friendship! It's the home of my friend Twilight Sparkle, the Princess of Friendship," she answered patiently.​

​

He just stared up at her like she had grown a second head. "WHO, the Princess of WHAT?"​

​

 

[Arawndil]

Chapter 4​

An asylum, thought Sauron. They said I was crazy, so they sent me to an asylum.

These creature were apparently ruled by alleged immortal demigods, or 'princesses' as they preferred to call them for some reason, who claimed to control the movements of the sun and moon, among other things.

That wasn't the crazy part. No, that was normal. In his conquests across Rhun and Harad, Sauron had come across many kings and emperors who had made the same claim. He had, of course, killed them and claimed that it had really been he who made the sun rise and the moon set all along.

It wasn't like they could prove him wrong.

Hell, they might actually be immortal demigods and he wouldn't find it unusual in the least. As a Maia, he was basically one of those, after all.

No, the crazy part, the absolutely gibbering insane part, was that one of them used to be mortal. An ordinary mortal 'unicorn', as the horned ones were called, had apparently achieved apotheosis through the power of… friendship?

What?

Oh, and there was also a Princess of Love, apparently. Because if socialization could grant you divine cosmic power, then why not basic reproductive instincts?!

Sauron found it all deeply offensive. As a being who had participated in the creation of the universe, born of the very thoughts of the Creator Himself, he very much resented any mortal being put on more-or-less equal footing with him, especially through such…saccharine means.

An asylum, he concluded. And the lunatics are running it.

He would deal with these blasphemers in time. For now, he needed to focus on the present.

At present, his oh-so generous host Rarity was prattling on about her various 'friends' whom she 'simply must introduce him too!'

Indeed. A baker, a farmer, a beast-tamer, some sort of weather-shaman (she had been vague?). Oh yes, and A PHYSICAL GODDESS WITH MAJOR POLITICAL POWER WHOSE VERY EXISTENCE WAS AN ABOMINATION. He looked forward to it.

Yes, though Rarity was not as important a member of the political structure as he had hoped, she was indeed very well connected.

The silly beast will make an excellent pawn, Sauron thought. As Rarity stopped at a store to pick up some rolls of fabric, carrying them effortlessly with her horn, Sauron spent a few minutes congratulating himself on his cleverness. As was his custom.

"Well, here we are!" Rarity exclaimed, drawing Sauron out of his reverie.

They stood before a tall cylindrical building, garishly decorated with elaborate pillars, turrets, and statues in a lurid assortment of colors. A sign above the door proclaimed it the "Carousel Boutique" in large, curling letters.

Sauron repressed a sneer at such wasteful and excessive architecture. He did not know what a "carousel" was, but there was no way this edifice would have passed any of his 172 building codes back in Mordor. He would have had it torn down and the materials salvaged for the blast furnaces where they belonged.

"You have a lovely home," he commented as they drew closer to the building.

"Why, thank you! That's sweet of you to say," she replied with a smile, which Sauron forced himself to return.

"Sweetie Belle!" Rarity called when they reached the door. "Could you get the door for me? I'm afraid I have my hooves full at the moment."

After a few seconds the door opened, revealing a diminutive unicorn that greatly resembled Rarity, save for a curlier, more lightly colored mane.

"Welcome home, Rarity," exclaimed the apparent juvenile with a high-pitched cheerfulness that made Sauron clench his teeth. He felt her attention be suddenly drawn to him, with all the wide-eyed wonder of inquisitive youth.

"Wow, who's your new friend, Rarity? Is he OK? I thought you just went to get some cloth?" Good grief, was she actually bouncing?

The larger pony tutted at her. "Sweetie Belle, please! Don't be rude. This is…ah…," she hesitated awkwardly, but Sauron was prepared.

He had learned enough by talking with Rarity about her various associates to know that these 'ponies' utilized a naming system which centered around metaphorically descriptive epithets with variable binomialism and an inconsistent, possibly optional use of surnames. He could work with that.

"It's an absolute pleasure to meet you. Sweetie Belle, was it?" he interjected, simulating a warm smile. "My name is Iron Ember. Ember for short."

Rarity gave a delighted gasp. "Oh, how wonderful! You've remembered!"

Sauron grinned up at her. "Yes, I think it's starting to come back to me. No doubt such excellent company has already hastened my recovery."

Rarity smiled and laughed, but Sweetie Belle simply gave him a look that he found oddly difficult to interpret.

"Well, Ember, allow me to introduce you to my younger sister, Sweetie Belle," Rarity supplied.

The young filly smiled politely and extended a hoof, which Sauron took gingerly. "Charmed," he said, shaking it briefly.

"Sweetie Belle, this gentlecolt is going through a bit of a rough patch right now, and will be staying with us for a couple of days until he's well enough to be up and about," Rarity continued, pushing the chair gently inside.

Sauron looked around and saw a large central room filled with large mirrors and a multitude of faceless wooden pony statues. Each of the statues was festooned with elaborate and often gaudy outfits, though a few were admittedly quite tasteful. A number of doorways branched off from the central room, and a spiraling staircase rose up to the upper floor.

Sauron noticed the young filly had taken her sister aside and was talking quietly with her. Naturally, he strained to listen.

"Are you sure about this, Rarity?" Sweetie Belle asked uncertainly. "How well do you know this stallion, exactly? Did you just meet him today?"

Sauron found this sentiment reasonable, if inconvenient. Truthfully, he had been surprised how readily his host had volunteered to take a stranger into her home, especially one she shared with a child. Still, he wasn't about to complain.

I guess I'm just that good, he thought smugly.

"I understand you concern, dearie, but please just trust me for now," Rarity replied quietly, her tone kind but uncompromising. "I promise, I'll explain later. For now, can you please help me get him up the stairs to the guestroom?"

Sauron's stomach lurched as the wheeled chair he was sitting in rose gently into the air surrounded by a soft cloud of pink and purple light.

"Steady now," he heard Rarity say as the ponies climbed the stairs, with he and the chair floating between them.

Sauron balked a little at this casual display of power, but his unease was quickly overtaken by self-satisfaction.

An excellent start, he mused to himself. There will be no stopping me, this time.
​

---

The Dreamscape was a quiet place during the day. A seemingly endless expanse of soft, silvery fog, interspersed with the dreams of those few ponies who slept under the bright gaze of the sun. Infants, the elderly, invalids, and the occasional lazybones, it was a simple task to ensure that their sleep was untroubled.

A tiny newborn colt stirred in his slumber, troubled by the simple fears and needs of the young. Food, warmth, love; if only all of her beloved subjects were content with such small and honest concerns. She softly enveloped the precious child's fledgling dream in her power, as she had done for countless others over the centuries, and gently urged him back into the waking world. His parents would be happy to see to his needs.

She felt a sudden stirring in the mists. Faintly, as if from a great distance, she could hear a deep, soft voice raised in song. She could not understand the words, or tell if there were any words at all, but the sound of it sank deep into her spirit, somehow intimately familiar.

The pony's dreams around her seemed to resonate with the song, growing clearer, more vivid and intense. In their now gleaming facets she could see reflections of things far away, echoes of ancient days, and shadows of things yet to come. Shrouded in the midst, an immeasurably vast presence approached, like a great whale emerging from the ocean depths.

"Well met, Princess Luna," the presence whispered. "It is a pleasure, as always."

The midnight blue alicorn smiled warmly. Since the founding of Equestria, save for her dark years as Nightmare Moon, she had watched over the ponies as they slept, protecting them from the night's terrors and shepherding their dreams. Only recently, though, had she learned where the dreams actually came from.

"Greetings, Dreamlord Irmo," Luna replied. "The feeling is mutual, my friend."

It had been quite a shock to her when she had first encountered the great spirit, or Vala as he called himself, and humbling to discover that the universe was much older and infinitely larger than she had ever imagined. To think that there were worlds out there, full of all sorts of strange and fascinating people, which were so far away that they could only be reached on the Path of Dreams!

Since then, the two of them had often met in the mists of the Dreamscape, and it pleased Luna to no end to have such a wonderful companion ease the loneliness of her nocturnal duties. She had never known anyone with such a deep understanding and appreciation for her work, and their closeness in thought was such that Luna felt she could confide in him things she would never discuss with anyone else, not even her sister.

"Was the … 'subject's' transfer successful?" Irmo asked, sounding reluctant to broach the subject.

Luna nodded gravely. "Yes, I was able to bring him into Equestria, though he didn't appear exactly where I intended. The power you encased him in was just enough to allow him to form a body."

The fog churned silently, and Luna felt as if she were standing on the edge of a great sea, watching the gentle waves as mighty currents twisted and turned in the deep depths beneath.

"You… need not do this, Little Moon," Irmo said at length, using his pet name for her. "You could still refuse, and deny this mad scheme of Olorin's. I can find another way of dealing with the malcontent. You need not take this burden upon yourself, and those you love, for our sake."

Luna could feel the concern in the Vala's voice; concern for her. It reached out like a thick, warm blanket, trying to shelter her. Luna found it quite touching; it had been so very long since anyone had regarded her in such a protective, paternal way. It was a sentiment she shared, and as they had passed the lonely night watches in story and song, Luna had come to regard him as an almost grandfatherly figure.

It was true that when the Dreamlord and his student had approached her a short while ago, seeking her aid, she'd had her reservations. To allow such a vile and monstrous spirit, a veritable demon whose vast history of wickedness made even King Sombra look like a schoolyard bully, to live among her beloved subjects? Yet for the love of her friend in need, and at the wise words and reassurances of his apprentice, she had accepted.

Irmo had passed his prisoner's ruined spirit down the Path of Dreams, and for just a few moments Luna had cradled it in her hooves.

It was a tiny thing now, barely more than the faintest, flickering spark. The distant, broken echo of something once terrible in its power and beauty, it continued to cling to its pathetic half-existence with iron-hard determination. It had pulsed feebly with impotent rage, bitter resentment, and a ferocious wounded pride. And yet deep within, Luna could sense a core of desperate, aching sadness, and the gnawing guilt of a sacred duty left unfulfilled.

It was at that moment that, despite her revulsion for this wretched creature, Luna's heart was moved by pity. Pity, and a horrible sense of familiarity.

In the early centuries of Equestria, Luna had been content to hold dominion over the night while her sister Celestia ruled during the day. She had fallen in love with the darkness' gentle stillness, the moon's soft light as she guided it across the sky, and the timeless beauty of the stars. She had wished for nothing more than to share the night's wonders with her dear subjects.

Yet the ponies slept all through the night, oblivious to its subtle majesty even as they praised her sister and the sun she raised every dawn, Luna had slowly grown bitter and jealous. If they refused to appreciate her and all she offered them, then she would force them to. They would love her just as they did Celestia, even if it meant making sure they never saw the sun again!

Thus began Luna's transformation into the monstrous Nightmare Moon, plunging Equestria into chaos as she rebelled against her sister and plunged the world into eternal night. With great reluctance, Celestia had been forced to banish her to the moon, where she had she nursed her grievances in solitude for a thousand years. She had returned to Equestria in great wrath, seeking to reclaim her birthright and exact terrible vengeance upon those who had wronged her. If Twilight and her friends had not saved her…

This could have been me, Luna had realized. How can I deny him his chance for redemption, when I deserved it no more than he does?

Luna at last turned to Irmo and said in reply, "I thank you for your concern, Grandfather, but I must do this, for his sake as well as my own. If anyone can save this Sauron, it is Twilight Sparkle and her friends."​

---

A/N: Good luck with that, Luna.
Good. Freakin'. Luck.​

 

[Arawndil]

Chapter 5

Grass, thought Sauron sourly, laying in bed. My first meal in 4000 years, and it's GRASS.

To be precise, the ceramic bowl sitting on the tray in front of him contained a mixture of grass, sliced cucumbers, carrots, and dandelion stalks.

What was he, an elf!?

Still, as his aching stomach gurgled audibly in a passable imitation of a dying hill troll, it was undeniable that this new body required additional energy to properly function. Sauron grabbed the fork and started shoveling plants into his mouth.

I forgot how annoying it was to have a metabolism, he grumbled internally.

"You look like something's bothering you, Mr. Ember. Do you not like it?" Sweetie Belle asked, looking at him with wide eyes from his bedside.

Sauron schooled his expression as he turned to face the young filly, carefully hiding his annoyance. He had been less than enthused when Rarity had returned downstairs shortly after his arrival, leaving her younger sister to watch over him until she closed her shop for the day. His 'amnesia' wouldn't remain plausible for very long, and he had a very narrow window of time to gather information about this strange realm before his ignorance began to draw suspicion. Sauron had been counting on being able to subtly pick Rarity's brain while confined to his bed, but that plan was currently dead in the water. Children were gullible and easily deceived, but were a poor source of reliable information.
Still, he couldn't afford to slack off. If he handled Sweetie Belle properly, she could be a useful tool in gaining the trust and respect of her elders.

"No, it's perfectly fine, thank you," Sauron replied honestly. Despite his reluctance, he could find nothing in the flavor of the salad to complain about, and it was a perfectly reasonable source of vitamins and carbohydrates.

Sauron took a moment to stare at the fork (wooden, to his distaste) that he was somehow holding in his hoof, as if demanding it reveal its secrets. The same pseudo-magnetic adhesion that he had observed in his… hoof-shakes… with the ponies seemed to be causing the implement to cling to his appendage. If that wasn't odd enough, he seemed inexplicably able to articulate it just as he would if he had fingers. There was some sort of magic at work here, there was no other word to use, but damned if he could figure out how it worked.

Nor did he particularly care at the moment, as he was too busy imagining that the fork was a hammer, and that he was standing over an anvil beating a sheet of high-carbon steel into submission. The thought sent a jolt of pure glee coursing through his body, and he had to suppress the urge to giggle maniacally. His joy was short-lived, however, as he remembered his current situation.

Damn it all! I can't work my craft if I'm stuck in this bed! There weren't any suitable tools or materials on hand, and the air circulation in this room was deeply suboptimal for his purposes.

Oh, and I would burn down Rarity's home and leave her destitute, I suppose. But that wasn't important.

Sauron saw Sweetie Belle looking and realized he hasn't answered her yet.

"I was just thinking about what I'm going to do with myself for the next couple of days," Sauron deflected.

Looking around Rarity's guest room, there wasn't much in the way of diversions. On the smaller side, perhaps a converted storage room, around a third of the room's floor space was taken up by the bed itself. There was a bedside table with an empty flower vase, and a wooden armoire dominated one side of the room. The wall by the door was occupied by a sparsely populated bookshelf, and sunlight filtered through a glass-paned window by the bed, providing a view of the town's agricultural hinterlands and the snow-capped mountains beyond.

Sweetie Belle was saying something, but Sauron barely heard her. He was busy trying to anticipate what kinds of ore and minerals those mountain would yield.
Based on their color, height, and comparative lack of weathering, they seem to be relatively young igneous formations created from either a coastal subduction zone or a mid-continental mantle plume. The resultant magma intrusions will have left high concentrations of useful elements, but I shall need to research the region's hydrologic history to determine whether or not coal will be present in sufficient quantities for-

"Mr. Ember?"

Sauron emerged from his geological reverie to see Sweetie Belle staring at him with a concerned look on her face. He mentally scolded himself. Stay focused, dammit! Business before pleasure.

"I'm sorry," he lied easily. "I'm still rather disoriented. What were you saying?"

"Well, I was just asking what you usually like to do with your time, Mr. Ember," Sweetie Belle replied patiently. "Maybe we can figure out something similar to keep you occupied?"

That was an easy question. Even if he had a reason to lie, it was the one part of his nature that he was incapable of concealing. "I'm a smith," Sauron answered immediately. Sweetie Belle's eyes widened.

"Really? Wow, that's so cool!" she cried excitedly, jumping up and down. "What kind of smith are you? A blacksmith? A silversmith?"

Sauron gave her a gratified smirk. You're damn right it's cool. "A master smith, actually," he answered proudly. "If something is made out of metal, I can make it, though my best work is with jewelry. I'm also a fair hand at gem-cutting and stonework."

Sweetie Belle looked suitably impressed. "Well, I guess that explains your Cutie Mark!"

"…"

Sauron stared at her numbly for a long moment. Then he took a deep, steadying breath, and slowly exhaled.

Just go with it. "…Explain, please."

If the young filly was confused by his inquiry, she didn't show it. Sweetie Belle pointed vaguely toward his flank. "Well, I figured that you were some sort of craft-pony based on the imagery, but I didn't want to assume. After all, my sister has diamonds on hers, but that doesn't make her a miner!" she giggled.

With no small amount of trepidation, Sauron craned his neck and examined the indicated flank. Now that he was lying down he was able to get a better look at it, and in doing so noticed an irregularity. There was a distinctive image standing out against the charcoal-grey of his hide: a hammer, its head glowing cherry-red with heat, striking an anvil in a flurry of sparks and cracking the thick steel in half under the force of the blow. Rather than being branded or tattooed into place, the pattern simply seemed to be part of his coat, almost like a birthmark. Sauron realized that he had seen similar marks on the flanks of every other pony he had encountered so far, but had been too distracted to consider whether they were significant or not, erroneously assuming them to be some sort of meaningless accessory.

Sauron decided to probe for more information. "You mentioned that Rarity's mark had diamonds on it, but that it did not necessarily indicate her profession. What does it indicate, then?"

Sweetie Belle shrugged. "Well, my sister's special talent involves using her magic to find gems, which she uses in most of her fashion designs. So I guess it's kind of related…"

Sauron grunted in acknowledgement. So, these 'Cutie Marks' were a physical representation of an individual's natural talents and abilities. That was… actually quite brilliant.
Such distinctions would hypothetically make the formation and maintenance of an efficient, orderly society much easier. There wouldn't be any need to waste time and resources training and educating individuals who were innately suboptimal for a particular task, since everyone would be pigeon-holed into doing what they were best at from the beginning. Only the best possible stonemasons would be stonemasons, only the best glassblowers would blow glass, and so on. Naturally, there would be those whose talents were too niche and circumstantial, as well as tasks and professions that did not require any real skill, but that was what slavery was for.

Unfortunately it seemed that these ponies, like all mortals, allowed themselves to be constrained by sentiment and the vapid pursuit of fleeting 'happiness'. In an ideal world, Rarity would spend her every waking moment chained to a mine cart being used as a mineralogical dowsing rod, rather than wasting time making dresses. All in due time…

"I see. And what, may I ask, is your special talent, Sweetie Belle?" Sauron asked innocently.

The young filly lowered her head with a crestfallen expression, and he realized that he may have accidentally committed some sort of faux pas by asking.

"Actually, my friends and I haven't found our special talents yet. We're the last ponies our age in the whole town without Cutie Marks…" Sweetie Belle muttered to her hooves, a brief flash of frustration and disappointment crossing her face. She shook it off and gave him a determined smile. "But it's ok, we're gonna get them real soon, count on it!"

Sauron blinked at her owlishly as he put together the implications of that. Burning indignation coiled in his belly like a snake, and he seethed inwardly at the profound foolishness of it all. Why in Creation were these marks not assigned at birth!? These ponies were potentially wasting years, YEARS of productivity before receiving them. Men, elves, and the like were handicapped by ambiguous destinies; as such they could almost be forgiven for their disgusting worthlessness during the first decade or so of their lives. These ponies, though, with their "cutie marks", had absolutely no excuse. Who is responsible for this travesty?!

"Have you tried submitting a formal complaint with one of the Princesses? I understand that your sister has the ear of one of them. Who is responsible for dispensing Cutie Marks, exactly? I am sure they could be persuaded given your family's connections," Sauron advised helpfully, fishing for names upon which to visit his displeasure.
"Um, I don't think it works like that," Sweetie Belle answered sheepishly. "Once you find your special talent, it just sort of…happens." She appeared dissatisfied with her answer, as if she felt that she should know more. "You should ask Twilight, she's the expert on magical stuff."

"Oh, I intend to," Sauron replied earnestly. He had much to discuss with this so-called 'Princess'.

Much. To. Discuss.

Sweetie Belle suddenly perked up. "Hold on, I have an idea," she moved over to the bookcase on the wall and started rifling through its sparse contents. After a few moment she returned to his bedside, clutching a slim volume bound in some sort of stiff cloth.

"I think Twilight left this behind for me to read after one of her visits," she said as she handed the book to him. "It's a primer on the basics of Cutie Mark theory from the Royal University in Canterlot."

Sauron tried not to snatch it out of her feeble mortal grasp. Finally, raw information that he didn't have to probe and fish for! He glanced at the cover, which was bare except for the image of an interposed sun and moon, which he took for some manner of official insignia. Sauron eagerly pulled the pages apart and started scanning the off-white paper. Slowly, he frowned, and after several seconds closed the book with a soft sigh. Dammit, Olorin.

"Well, Sweetie Belle," he began, his voice deceptively calm. "I appear to be illiterate."

---

"Let's see, if I organize the authors chronologically and the subjects by alpha, Cloudmane's 'Dissonance of the Spheres' would go here. However, if I organize the authors by alpha and forego delineating subjects entirely, I would need Starswirl's '27th​ Lesser Key'. What do you think, Spike?"

"I think you need to make up your mind," the young dragon answered briskly, his voice muffled by the tower of books he carried in his arms. "We've reorganized the library 5 times already. Is this really necessary?"

Twilight Sparkle rolled her eyes at her assistant. "Don't be foolish, Spike. Optimizing the organization of the new library is critical. What if I had to find a book, or five, or twenty in a hurry? Even I can't memorize the exact location of every single one." Not for lack of trying, of course, but she tended to lose track after about 20,000. There were a lot of books.

Many of them were coronation presents, rare tomes and limited editions sent to her by well-to-do well-wishers from across Equestria and beyond upon her ascension into an Alicorn. She had kept them in the old library's magically warded, climate controlled sub-basement, and as such most of them had survived Tirek's attack 6 months ago.
Unlike my home, Twilight thought with a brief pang of anguish. She could still feel the ash on her hooves as she sifted through the smoking wreckage of her former life, trying to salvage anything, anything at all from the place where she had made so many wonderful memories.

But there had been nothing. Nothing left but a few documents in burnt out filing cabinets, all but illegible from the smoke. Tirek had taken everything from her.
Not everything, Twilight Sparkle reminded herself firmly. She still had her friends, and there was nothing in the world that could take them away from her. And they had been there for her, not just in Ponyville but all across Equestria, sending her books and clothes and even furniture to replace what she had lost in the battle. She had finally come into her own as a Princess: bringing communities closer together, fostering better relations with the other nations, and solving social issues all over Equestria.

Life is good, she thought contentedly. No matter what I have to face next, I'll get through it with my friends by my side.

Inspiration struck. "Spike, we're starting over," Twilight said cheerily, sweeping hundreds of books off the shelves with her horn and stacking them in neat stacks on the floor. "Let's try subject by alpha, author by alpha, volume by publication date. Get me Amber Autumn's 'Broken Coil'."

Twilight's ears twitched at the distinct lack of exasperated groans from her assistant, and she turned her head to investigate the anomaly.

"Can I take your coat, Rarity?" Spike asked with a besotted expression on his face.

"Ah yes, thank you darling," the lavender-maned unicorn responded distractedly, passing the young dragon her white wool cardigan.

"…Good evening, Rarity!" said Twilight, quickly pushing her dynamic mental map of the shelving arrangements to the back of her mind and allowing her 'social framework' to take over, a transition which she had seriously struggled with in the past. Fortunately, she had gotten an endless amount of practice with it since she had moved to Ponyville, and what had once involved several minutes of awkward verbal floundering was now reduced to a split-second hesitation.

"Is there something I can help you with?" she continued smoothly, climbing down from the ladder she was perched on top of.

"Good evening, Twilight," Rarity replied politely, winding through the columns of stacked books. "And yes, as much as I enjoy visiting you, I must admit that this isn't purely a social call. I've just come from the mayor's office; they mentioned that you were holding some of the census records that survived the attack?"

Twilight glanced at the charred filing cabinets in the corner. "I am, but why are you-"

She paused as the wheels turned in her head for a moment. The alicorn smiled knowingly.

"Ah, I take it this has something to do with your new friend?" she continued.

Rarity started a little, her eyes wide with surprise.

"Ah, so you know about that already. And here I was trying to help him keep a low profile, too. Really, I should be the last person to underestimate the town grapevine," the unicorn said with chagrin.

Twilight nodded sagely. "Especially when it sprouts from Pinkie Pie. She got a glimpse of you two through the bakery window and… well, you know how she gets. She's already planning one of her usual 'Welcome to Ponyville' surprise parties for him." The hyperactive mare had begun literally bouncing off the walls in excitement at the prospect of a new friend, causing some minor collateral damage in the process.

Rarity gave a dainty cough and shifted nervously. "Ah, about that, Twilight," she replied, looking anxious. "Ember's situation is somewhat... sensitive right now. It may not be the best idea to introduce him to the public just yet."

The fledgling princess frowned at that, and with a glance she dismissed Spike from the room. As her assistant reluctantly closed the door behind him, Twilight turned back to Rarity and said in a low voice, "You mentioned keeping a low profile. What is going on, exactly?"

Rarity told her, and Twilight felt her frown tighten as the unicorn related how the stranger had found his way to Ponyville. Inter-pony violence was relatively rare in Equestria, at least during the Celestial Diarchy era, but it was by no means unheard of. The situation needed careful handling to avoid escalation or misunderstandings, especially with the stallion's apparent amnesia complicating things further.

"I can see why you're concerned, Rarity," the princess stated at length. "And I agree. Until this 'Iron Ember' either regains his memory of the attack or we manage to find some record of his origins, we should try to control the number of people beyond our immediate circle who know about him being here."

"What about this family of his?" the unicorn pressed anxiously. "If they did attack him-"

"We don't know that they did, Rarity," Twilight replied evenly. "At least, not for sure. We need to keep in mind that Ember is not in the best state of mind after his injury. He could easily be misremembering; perhaps he argued with his family and ran away, but then was attacked by something in the forest? Perhaps he is simply confusing the two events together."

"Regardless," she continued, cutting off Rarity's protest. "We should proceed with the assumption that his recollection is accurate, if only so that we are prepared for the worst case scenario."

The princess gestured toward the burnt out filing cabinets in the corner. "These are the remaining overflow census, birth, marriage, and tax records that the library was storing," she told Rarity. "If the Mayor's archives didn't have anything on your new friend's history, then we might find something here."

Twilight really didn't want to believe that any family in modern Equestria would stray so far from the path of Harmony that they would intentionally harm one of their own, but the more she thought about it the more she had to acknowledge that it wasn't impossible. An isolated clan of Earth Ponies in or around the Everfree Forest, involved with their own affairs and customs which were no doubt quite different from those of mainstream Equestria…There really was no telling what such a group would or wouldn't do.

And if they don't recognize the Crown's authority, Twilight extrapolated, then there wouldn't be any record of them paying taxes or answering the census. They might as well be invisible, legally speaking.

Taken with the fact that any pertinent records that did exist had a decent chance of having been destroyed in Tirek's attack, their odds of finding anything to shed light on the mysterious stallion's history were not great. Still, if it would help put Rarity's mind at ease, it couldn't hurt to search.

"Where is Iron Ember now, Rarity?" Twilight asked as she pried open the first cabinet and noticed, with a grimace, that the records still hadn't been placed in proper categorical chrono-alphanumeric order. Dreadful. Shame on her predecessor for letting it slide, and shame on her for overlooking it. She immediately set about correcting the aberration.

"Oh, he's staying at the shop; Sweetie Belle's been minding him," Rarity answered as she magically cleaned out the stray soot from the reams of manila folders. "I think that she was a tad wary of him at first, but it seems that they've been getting on quite well! He was asleep when I left. He certainly seemed like he needed it, the poor dear."

 

[Arawndil]

Chapter 6
​

After a few moments, Sauron decided that he rather disliked dreaming.

He had slept before, of course, but that was merely a matter of ceasing strenuous thought and action to maintain his current body's biological rhythms and control stress; essentially a period of advanced meditation. This loss of consciousness however, the complete disorientation as his spirit left its meat-shell and wandered the Path of Dreams, the labyrinthine domain of one of his most recent and bitter enemies: that was new, and he hated it.

And then there were the damned hallucinations.

After a brief period of furious, panicked flailing, Sauron suddenly found himself ankle-deep in a muddy street. More properly, he was fetlock-deep, as it seemed that he was still a bloody HORSE! Of course he was, how dare he believe that he might escape this base humiliation for even a moment?

Huffing in annoyance, the once Dark Lord took stock of his surroundings. The buildings that lined the street were an eclectic mix of wood and stone construction following no real style and, while he curled his lip in distaste at their lack of symmetry or homogeneity of design, he had to admit that they were relatively well-kept. Other…ugh…ponies walked along the street around him, but a cursory examination determined that they were mere phantasmal automatons: scripted scenery conjured by the dream like so many potted plants. Sauron promptly knocked a few of them over and managed to improve his mood somewhat.

As he plodded along the street, which took a winding path upward toward the top of a hill, Sauron began to experience a creeping sense of familiarity. It wasn't much at first, mostly just a few moments of déjà vu at certain turns in the road and a handful of ancient-looking wells, and it wasn't until he reached the top of the hill that he realized where he had seen this place before.

Near the summit of the hill was a large sprawling building, reaching three-stories high in some places. Practically a complex, it was apparent that most parts of the structure, such as the stables and various annexes, had been built at different times around a squat rectangular core made from ancient mossy stone. Warm light emanated from a myriad of scattered windows, and he could hear the sounds of muffled conversations and laughter from inside.

Sauron stared up at the carved sign hanging above the door and rolled his eyes. Damn it, Olorin.

The Inn of the Prancing Pony was much, much older than many knew or even suspected. It had stood here for nearly as long as Bree itself, and there had been a village on this hill since before Melkor's defeat at the end of the First Age, nearly six and a half thousand years before his own final defeat. The Bree-landers had lived and thrived here and in the surrounding hamlets even as empires rose and fell around them, weathering even the Kingdom of Arnor's devastating collapse. While the Northern Dunedaín were depopulated by the Great Plague and their wars with the Witch-King, reduced from great kings to a tiny tribe skulking in the woods, their subjects in Bree had simply endured and gone about their business as usual.

Sauron had come here himself several times in the Second Age, in humble guise of course, while he went about his business in Eriador. Messy architecture aside, he'd found the Inn clean and tidy, the proprietors consistently polite and courteous across generations, and the food wholesome. Truth be told he had eventually grown slightly fond of the place, and in a rare fit of nostalgia had instructed his Nazgul not to wreck the place too badly when they passed through while hunting those filthy halflings. The Witch-King hadn't been pleased with that, as the Bree-landers had fought against him on the side of Arnor all those centuries ago, but the wonderful thing about slaves was that they didn't need to like their orders.

Sauron barged in and quickly scanned the common room, ignoring the innkeeper's warm scripted greeting. The room hadn't changed much in the millennia since he had last visited, but that could just as easily have been a ruse by that bastard Dreamlord Irmo, playing to his expectations so that he would let his guard down.

And his damned student, Sauron thought resentfully. There, at the corner table. Grey coat, white mane, pointy blue hat, smoking one of those foul-smelling pipes; damn his twinkly eyes, he wasn't even trying.

"I suppose you believe that this is all terribly clever, Olorin?" he demanded, slamming his hooves on the table and gesturing furiously between them, at the other patrons, at the inn, at everything.

Gandalf met his glowering gaze evenly, a tiny smile curling around his pipe. "It is not difficult to believe," the former wizard took a long puff, "what one knows, kinsman."

Sauron glared at him furiously for a few moments before slumping into the opposite chair and burying his face in his hooves. "Why…just…why?"

"Why what?" asked Gandalf. "Why the scenery? I thought a nostalgic setting might put you at ease without breaking your immersion-"

"WHY HORSES, OLORIN?!" Sauron snapped out in an enraged, baffled tone. "Magical talking deformed horses with magnetic hand-hooves! How is this even a thing that exists?!"

"Father's ways are indeed mysterious," Gandalf agreed serenely, ignoring his outburst. "But Middle-Earth alone is brimming with equally strange things. If you think about it, the entirety of Creation is absolutely absurd; things only seem normal because they are familiar."

Sauron rolled his eyes impatiently. "Is this why you're holding my sleeping spirit hostage in this phantasm? To debate philosophy?"

Gandalf shrugged. "If you wish, but I suspect that you are hardly in the mood at present. No, you are here so that I may check up on you and monitor your progress." His eyes twinkled infuriatingly. "I must say that you're adjusting better than I had hoped."

"You're awfully concerned about my well-being, for a jailer," Sauron sneered.

"As well I should be," Gandalf said, quirking an eyebrow. "This is all being done for your benefit, after all. And please, think of me more as your counselor and appointed advocate. If anyone is your jailer…well, I suppose you'll meet her eventually."

"And there you go, being needlessly cryptic, as always," Sauron snarled, baring his teeth. "Even now you play your games and taunt me, not content with making my every waking moment a tasteless mockery!"

With a sigh, Gandalf put out his pipe and shook his head. "Mairon, I'm beginning to think that you're taking the entirely wrong attitude about this whole affair."

"I think righteous indignation is a perfectly reasonable attitude about being turned into a mutant equine," Sauron sniffed condescendingly. "But by all means, tell me; what would you consider an appropriate attitude toward this fiasco?"

"A little gratitude would not be misplaced, to begin with," said Gandalf sternly. Sauron met his eyes, and they were harder than steel. "You chose this fate for yourself, if you recall, and it is only due to my efforts and Father's eternal love and mercy that you were given a choice at all."

"If I'd known the specifics, maybe I would have chosen the Void instead," muttered Sauron. Though the loss of proper hands hadn't turned out to be as debilitating as he'd feared, he couldn't help but resent having the absurdity of his new form and surroundings concealed from him upon his choosing.

Gandalf's eyes narrowed. "Yes, about that, Mairon. While I sympathize with your initial distress, given the shock of your new body, I must strongly warn you against repeating that stunt you attempted at the river. You've made your choice, a meaningful one, and you won't get out of it that easily. Should you attempt to destroy your body again, Dreamlord Irmo and I will be forced to restrict your freedoms."

How does he know about that? Sauron laughed humorlessly; it was an ugly sound. "Freedoms?! What freedoms?! Here I am, bound to a single wretched form, powerless and at the mercy of my enemies. I have never been less free in my life!"

Gandalf's eyes softened, and their blue depths shone with a gentle compassion. "You are wrong, Mairon," he said, his voice low and sad. "You are so very wrong. You have been a slave ever since you took up with Melkor; first to him, and afterwards to your own fears, ambitions, hatred, and shame."

"I've done nothing to be ashamed of," Sauron snapped. "Everything I did was for the sake of the world."

Gandalf held his hooves up disarmingly. "As you say. But now you're free, Mairon. Free from the responsibilities you claimed for yourself, free from the enemies you have made, free from the cage you built around yourself over the millennia. No empires to manage, no wars to fight, no plots and conspiracies to fret over. You've been given a second chance, brother, and a second chance you could never have expected and which almost no one thought you deserved. Please, I beg of you, put aside your mad pride and just take it!"

"And do what, Olorin?" Sauron asked, now only half in mockery. His rage was starting to burn out, leaving confused frustration in its ashes. He slumped wearily in his chair. "What do you want from me!?"

"Make some friends," Gandalf answered easily.

"…What?"

"Make some friends," Gandalf repeated, his voice taking on a slightly urging tone. "Work your craft, explore some hobbies, have some fun. For Father's sake, have a LIFE, Mairon! When was the last time you had an honest-to-goodness life? Not since Eregion, at least-"

"Do NOT speak to me about that place!" Sauron hissed, as if someone had rubbed salt in an open wound. "You weren't there! You don't know how I-"

Gandalf made a placating gesture. "Peace! I did not mean to upset you. I am sorry I brought it up, truly. But should you ever wish to talk about it-"

"I won't."

Gandalf nodded. "As you say. In the meantime, promise me that you will at least try to get along with the Equestrians? You may find that you have more in common with them than you think!"

Sauron balked at that suggestion. "You're a sick man, Olorin," he muttered.

"I have absolutely no doubt that you believe that," the former wizard replied cheerfully.

Olorin's proposals were, of course, absurd. 'Friendship' had connotations of peerage: a commodity that, for him, had gone from impossibly scarce in Arda to nonexistent in his new environs. Despite his enemies' best attempts to degrade him, Sauron remained among the Ainur, and he had no intention of lowering himself to the pony's base level of existence.

"…Fine," Sauron said at length, sighing and shaking his head ruefully. "I make no promises, but I shall try to remain amicable with the natives, if only to advance my own interests."

This 'concession' was a meaningless one, since adopting a gregarious persona was important for building influence and social capital, but perhaps convincing his captors that he was reluctantly willing to play their game could help reduce scrutiny in the future.

"That's all I ask," Gandalf chuckled. "Now, wake up. It's morning, and you have visitors!"



"Wait, what?" Sauron mumbled blearily as his eyes slowly opened to reveal Rarity's ceiling.

He was still scraping the crystalized mucus from his tear ducts – mortal bodies were disgusting – when he heard his door creak almost imperceptibly. He glanced over and saw three small pairs of wide eyes watching him through the crack.

Sauron forced himself not to roll his eyes. "Come in before you break the hinges."

Sweetie Belle sheepishly entered the room, accompanied by two other young ponies. One was a light yellow color with a bright red mane and matching bow, and the other was orange with a pinkish mane and…yes, those were wings.

Of course.

"I'm sorry Mr. Ember," said Sweetie Belle. "Did we wake you?"

"You did not, young miss, though your timing is fortuitous," Sauron answered politely, glancing out the window. He noted the sun's position and his eye twitched; he'd wasted almost an hour of sunlight. Such sloth! Olorin would pay dearly for this.

"Now then," said Sauron, putting thoughts of vengeance aside for a few moments. "Who are these…ponies you've brought with you?" He wasn't going to risk using gendered pronouns for these creatures until they spoke- even among familiar breeds of mortals Sauron could only distinguish male and female juveniles around 65 percent of the time.

The one with the bow, prior embarrassment forgotten, stepped forward enthusiastically.

"Howdy!" it mewled with an accent that Sauron's pony brain interpreted as rustic. "I'm Apple Bloom, it's right nice ta meet ya, mister!"

Sauron rapidly consulted his growing mental flowchart of the local community. Apple, rustic, no horn…AHA! He found the appropriate node and updated it with the creature's name. Based on the information he had, it was obvious that this pony was a member of the Apple family that Rarity had mentioned. They were a locally important farming clan and one of the largest landowners in the area, which would explain why his host had befriended their chieftain, Applejack. It would also explain why Sweetie Belle was mingling with ponies of lower caste; it was the custom of noble children everywhere to choose boon companions among prominent families in order to cement loyalties later in life. It was either that, or Sauron had completely misinterpreted the basics of the Equestrian social hierarchy.

That didn't seem likely, though.

"And I'm Scootaloo," said the winged one, giving him an appraising look. "Wow, wicked scars!"

Sauron smiled thinly at that, carefully suppressing an eye twitch. "I am Iron Ember, the pleasure is mine," he replied, moving his blanket to better cover his chipped hoof and the ruined flesh around his neck. He put her name under a new section of the chart, tentatively labelled 'Soldier Caste' until he obtained more data points. "Where is Miss Rarity?"

Apple Bloom gave Scootaloo a reproachful jab in the ribs, eliciting a startled yelp and a chagrined expression from the latter. Sauron smiled truthfully now, feeling the familiar warm glow of social schadenfreude.

"My sister's making breakfast right now," Sweetie Belle said, ignoring her friend's faux pas. "Anyway, we brought something for you, Mister Ember!" Her horn glowed and she brought a small box in from the hallway, depositing it next to Sauron on the bed.

Sauron glanced at the fillies with a raised eyebrow, and at their encouragement opened the box.

The inside of the box was divided into a number of small compartments and contained a small assortment of materials such as little caches of semi-precious stones and colored glass, neat coils of copper wire and steel thread, a spool of sturdy twine, tiny jars of paint with brushes, and even a few pairs of pliers and a small awl.

Sauron's lips moved silently as he ran the edge of his hoof over the cold gleaming metal, almost a caress, feeling it yield slightly to his touch and rapidly warm from the growing heat of his body. Through the tattered remains of his spirit he could hear the metal crying out to be shaped, to be guided, for him to tease out its full potential.


It knew him; even in his ruin, it knew him.
Sauron felt his nose and the corner of his eyes begin to water slightly. Stupid mucus membranes getting irritated.

"We haven't found our special talents yet," Sweetie Belle said somewhat awkwardly, watching as Sauron stared wordlessly at the box's contents. "But we figured that it must be pretty hard to be stuck in an unfamiliar place, not being able to use it."

"And so we figured, what if we could help you use your talent at least a little bit? It could give you something to do, at least!" Scootaloo broke in enthusiastically. "And maybe if we helped, we could get awesome metalworking Cutie Marks!"

The others gave her a reproachful look. "Oh, um, haha, but that's not why we decided to do it, of course!" she added hastily.

"Um…are you ok, Mister Ember?" Apple Bloom asked tentatively, his silence making her a little nervous. "I know you told Sweetie Belle you was a master smith, but if this ain't the right kind of stuff for you to use then we can try somethin' else…"

Sauron slowly reached out and grabbed the pliers, opening and closing them a few times. It felt good to hold them in his hands, though a hammer would be better of course. He allowed himself a small smile.

Olorin's words arose unbidden in his mind. 'Work your craft…have some fun…'

Sauron mentally shrugged; he'd play along for now. Humoring children would only help his reputation, and truth be told he had been getting very bored with nothing to do but plot and fish for information all day. He glanced at the materials and took another quick inventory; it wasn't what he was used to, but it was SOMETHING.

He leaned forward and passed each of the young fillies a pair of pliers. "Follow along carefully, and try not to hurt yourselves." That would be inconvenient.

Ignoring their happy titters, Sauron started to grab things out of the box.

"Take four lengths of copper wire about this long, gently clipping the ends with the edge of your pliers like so. Line them up against each other and – Apple Bloom, that second one is a little too long, correct that. Good. Now take the steel thread and make a loop about the size of-"


Rarity bustled up the stairs, carrying a stack of pancakes and a pitcher full of orange juice with her horn. She had been uncertain about allowing Sweetie Belle to bring her friends to see their guest, thinking that having so many visitors might be too much stress for him in his condition, but ultimately she had relented. She just hoped that they weren't bothering him too much.

"Breakfast!" she called softly, but received no response. Rarity opened the door to the guest room and was met with a rather unexpected sight.

"-and remember that the fit has to be quite tight, since we aren't using any sort of adhesive. Don't be concerned if you have trouble with this; many beginner jewelers heat the metal for this part, and doing it cold requires a rather special touch."

Her sister and her friends were all sitting on and around Ember's bed, fiddling with bits of metal with rather humorous expressions of intense concentration. There was a small popping sound and Sweetie Belle's face lit up in elation. "I DID IT!" she cried excitedly, clutching whatever she was holding close to her.

Rarity floated the breakfast over to the bedside table, and looked over to Iron Ember with a questioning expression. He was laying back in bed with a tired but satisfied expression, and when he saw her met her eye with a smile. "Quite the talented young ponies you have here," he said with a bit of humor.

Her guest gestured at her sister. "Are you done? Let me see, then." Sweetie Belle eagerly showed him whatever she was holding, and Ember seemed to examine it for a few moments with an intense look in his eyes before smiling again. "Apprentice level work, but solid. Keep it close- a craftpony's first work is important." He handed it back to Sweetie Belle and she suddenly seemed to notice that Rarity was in the room.

"Look what I made, big sis!" her sister squealed with delight, holding up her creation. It was a bracelet of thick copper wire wrapped tightly around with coils of polished steel thread, probably both to protect the more sensitive metal from the elements and to prevent that nasty green stain copper jewelry sometimes gave to ponies. Nestled into a tight basket in the wire was a small violet amethyst which nicely complemented Sweetie Belle's mane. All in all it was a cute little piece, like the things her sister would bring home from school sometimes; charming in its own small way but precious mostly because of who had made it.

Rarity smiled indulgently at her sister. "That's lovely, Sweetie Belle! You made this yourself?"

The young filly nodded excitedly. "Uh-huh! Mister Ember walked us through it!"

Rarity looked around and saw that Apple Bloom and Scootaloo were indeed fiddling with similar baubles, their tongues sticking out as they concentrated on some minute and delicate task.

"Oh, that was sweet of you Ember," Rarity said as she turned back to her guest, who had just finished advising Scootaloo on some minor issue she was having. "But you really shouldn't trouble yourself so much!"

The dark grey stallion shook his head. "It was no trouble at all, Miss Rarity. After all, I still had to find some way to thank you." He handed her something while the young fillies were distracted. "Just a small token of my appreciation."

Rarity felt her breath catch as she gazed at the bracelet he had handed her.

It was…stunning.

The bracelet was superficially similar to the one Sweetie Belle had made, but it was like comparing glass to diamonds. The contrasting bands of metal had been seamlessly interwoven into a beautifully complex latticework of dense geometric shapes, reminding Rarity of the expensive artisan basketwork she had seen on display in Canterlot. The weave had been imbedded with tasteful arrangements of polished black jet and violet-white spinel, contrasting nicely with the metal and subtly bringing out the colors of the whole piece. It looked like something that belonged in a premier boutique, rather than the results of a half-hour's worth of idle tinkering.

He made something like this from a box of scraps? Rarity thought with numb wonder. With almost no tools?

What in Equestria could he create if he was properly equipped?

"Th-thank you. It's…lovely," Rarity fumbled, turning the bracelet over in her hooves. Ember gave her a satisfied smile.

"I'm glad you like it," he said almost absently. The stallion reached for the plate of pancakes. "Now what's this you've brought me?"

A/N: Graduate School is troublesome, so updates are going to slow down a bit. Thanks for your patience.

 

[Arawndil]

A/N: Due to the request of some of my readers, I'm going to resume crossposting here. Hope you enjoy!
Edit: Sorry, posted the wrong chapter there for a second. Didn't realize how far behind this thread was!

Chapter 7
​

"Now Mr. Ember, can you tell me in your own words what you can remember about the incident?" the large white stallion in gleaming golden armor asked sternly from the other side of the kitchen table, a serious expression on his face. The soldier had a sheaf of papers laid out neatly in front of him and a stylus gripped in his hoof, poised to write. Sauron heard Rarity shift in the chair next to him; whether it was due to sympathy for him or discomfort from the soldier's scrutiny was immaterial.

On one hand, Sauron rather approved of using the military as de-facto law enforcement; it cut down on bureaucracy, allowed for a simplified hierarchy, and was less conducive to the corruption and inefficiency that so often plagued local constables or 'town guards'. On the other hand, incompetence and graft would have been much more advantageous to his current position; deceiving and manipulating professional soldiers answering directly to this country's rulers was going to be marginally more challenging.

Fortunately, Sauron had had two full days with relatively little to do beyond worm bits of information out of his caretakers until he could fabricate a believable narrative to offer the authorities once his 'amnesia' subsided. Attracting undue scrutiny from this 'Twilight' pretender (much less her seniors) could prove problematic at such an early juncture, so he needed to present this as a fairly open-and-shut case; believable and not easily disproven, but without any impetus for deeper investigation or urgent action.
Sauron took a deep breath, ostensibly to steady himself emotionally, and told The Absolute Truth.

"I grew up in a rather isolated Earth Pony village in the Everfree Forest. The head of the ruling clan was not around much once I grew older, and he delegated most of the settlement's management to his eldest son, Eagle Eye."

Sauron, having begun to learn a bit more about the local naming conventions, had found that most Equestrianized aliases for Manwe the Wind-Lord sounded too meteorological for an assumed Earth Pony. He rather liked this one though, as it reflected the Elder King's nature as a voyeuristic busybody.
"He and I quarreled increasingly often about how the settlement was run, and as most of the clan was of a mind with him, I gradually found myself becoming a pariah. Things came to a head eventually, and I was banished. When I protested this decision, some of the clan decided to help me along with thrown stones. I wandered the forest for a time, and eventually made my way to the river. The rest is known to you already."

Sauron spoke tersely in a clipped monotone and carefully affected tense, defensive body language, as if to control Iron Ember's no doubt turbulent emotions. The matter of interest had the advantage of being a nominally touchy subject for his new persona, so he could afford to skimp on the details. His inquisitor would hopefully be reluctant to elicit information beyond the necessities due to a sense of sensitivity or awkwardness, which would also work to his advantage. The best lies were simple after all, and a complicated story was a fragile one.

Happily, the body language of both ponies at the table had become increasingly anxious during his reluctant explanation. Rarity's sympathetic discomfort was written plainly on her face as she placed a comforting forelimb on his shoulder; Sauron forced himself not to flinch at the unwanted contact and twist the offending limb from its socket. The soldier, to his credit, was much more reserved in his reaction.

"I see," the armored pony replied in a softer tone, and for a moment the only sound in the room was the scratching of his quill. Opal, Rarity's long-haired white cat, leapt up into Sauron's chair and onto his lap, which he permitted.

Sauron liked cats. They were clean. And useful. And NOT DOGS.

"For context's sake, Mr. Ember, could you share what you and this Eagle Eye quarreled about?" the soldier asked.

Sauron shrugged, pretending to pretend to be indifferent to such a sensitive subject. "I proposed a great many ideas for how daily life in the village might be improved. Mostly minor engineering projects; more efficient beehive designs, a system of pumps to irrigate the fields, that sort of thing. Eagle Eye wouldn not hear of it. He claimed that we had managed just fine doing things the same way for generations, and that trying to change things now was a waste of time."

The Maia made a frustrated gesture with his hooves. "Stop this nonsense and finish that batch of nails, he would say. Always with the nails! 'With my Cutie Mark, I can make anything', I would tell him. I was wasted on nails!"

There was no need to fake his feelings on the matter. Just replace 'nails' with 'templates for the crystalline alignment in the mineral substructure of specific metamorphic rocks" and you had one of his more common arguments with Master Aulё. "It was not my ideas themselves that he took issue with, but rather the challenge to his authority that he believed they represented. One particularly frustrating day, I made the mistake of voicing these thoughts where his sympathizers could hear them. Things … devolved from there."

Scratch, scratch went the quill. "One last question," the soldier said curtly, and Sauron carefully mirrored Rarity's slight sag of relief. "Do you expect anyone to come looking for you, and if so, do you believe that you are in danger?"

"No, and … no," the Maia answered at length. "As I have said, the community was rather insular; the few supplies which we couldn't obtain ourselves came from a handful of travelling traders, and very few ponies would ever travel abroad save in the greatest need." He shook his head. "With my banishment, they've officially cut all ties with me, and… in hindsight that is probably for the best. After the years of bitterness and resentment between us, I do not think I left behind anything worth keeping. Looking back, I realize that I had not felt welcome there for a very long time, and that for all our bonds of kinship I do not think that I could have ever called us a real family."

Indeed, with the possible exception of the occasional and no doubt guilt-driven nocturnal harassment by Olorin (which he could certainly do without), it seemed to Sauron that against all odds the Valar truly intended to wash their hands and leave him to his own devices, secure in their belief of his impotence. They would not mourn him: with the last voice raised in dissent against their lethargy silenced forever, they would at last be free to neglect their duties unmolested and abandon the Children of Illuvatar, now bereft of guidance, to the fickle winds of chance. The Children would have their precious 'free-will' and be damned to mediocrity, that most terrible of fates, their true potential forever out of reach.

His grand metropolis of Barad-Dur, that glorious beacon of order and progress whose unrivalled marvels of engineering and industry shamed the greatest cities of the Elder Days, lay broken and empty, doomed to become just one more wind-worn, stony hill as the deserts of Gorgoroth reclaimed it, gravel and thorns choking its boulevards and aqueducts. His legacy would remain for a time – the great works of infrastructure scattered throughout his empire would serve as his memorial long after the Elder Races abandoned by the Valar withered away, a source of wistful awe for Man as they regressed into savagery – a distant reminder of the golden age they had been robbed of until the last of their cultural memories faded away.

Arda would forget him gladly, even as he mourned what could have been but for the timid apathy of his brethren.

Scratch, scratch went the quill as Sauron came back to himself.

I will not fail again.

Once the soldier excused himself, Rarity turned to him and said, "I must say, that was quite brave of you, Ember. Having to talk about all of that dreadful business- I'm sure I couldn't have borne it half as stoically!"

Whatever. "Thank you, Rarity," Sauron replied, projecting a feigned weariness. "I think that at this point, more than anything, I just want to put the matter behind me. I'll feel better once I can work my craft without them breathing down my neck." Which craft he meant, the Maia kept to himself.

"Well," said Rarity. "Hopefully you won't need to wait long. I asked the hospital to send someone over to check on you tomorrow; hopefully you'll be up and about soon!" She seemed to catch herself. "Oh! But don't think that I'm trying to rush you out! You're welcome to stay with us as long as you need to, dearie!"

If Sauron didn't know any better, he would have counted it an enormous stroke of luck that one of the very first creatures he had encountered in his newly vulnerable state had happened to be the individual who apparently, out of every pony in the nation, best characterized generosity and was in the position to be charitable when he needed it most. However, having spent most of his existence either being or being around a micro-managing Higher Power, he knew that luck probably had nothing to do with it. His handlers probably intended her to 'be a good influence on him' or something similarly impossible. Besides, he was incredibly generous! Sometimes. In context. One need only ask Mordor's client states! What were a few taxes and military conscripts in exchange for his protection against Neo-Numenorean imperialism?
Not to mention he gave amazing birthday presents.

"Your hospitality has been impeccable, Miss Rarity, but it simply wouldn't do for me to impose upon you more than I absolutely must. Only…" Sauron feigned hesitation. "...If I could ask one small favor of you?"

Rarity gave him a knowing smile. "Oh, of course I can make pancakes again!"

Excellent. WAIT NO, FOCUS.

Sauron stroked the white cat in his lap; it seemed the thing to do. "Actually, do you know someone I can talk to about a loan?"





Twilight bit her lip as she once again scanned the notes spread across her desk. Not that there was much to look at- she and Rarity's search through the salvaged documents had turned up exactly what she had expected: nothing. No tax records, no census data, not even a birth certificate. Whatever corner of the Everfree Forest this Iron Ember had once called home, it was definitely off the grid.

Or my grid, at least, thought Twilight. It was entirely possible that the strange stallion had lied about his exact origins, but the alicorn stopped herself before she could start digging up that particular rabbit hole. It certainly wasn't beyond her power to have every filing cabinet in the kingdom emptied in the hopes of stumbling onto the smallest receipt under his name, but not without demanding hundreds of work hours from government employees for what could very well turn out to be a wild goose chase.
And that's not even considering whether or not he gave his real name, Twilight mused. A search through Equestria's mercifully short list of wanted criminals hadn't turned up any pony of his description, so even if he was using a fake name it probably wasn't for any reason that might endanger her citizens. No, she was simply going to have to give Ember the benefit of the doubt until she had a reason to do otherwise. Paranoia would only lead to stress and wasted time.

With that thought in mind, Twilight reached for the manila folder that held the results of the Royal Guard's brief investigation. Re-reading the transcript of their interview with Iron Ember, it occurred to her that the fellow seemed to have a rather distinct way of speaking. His diction was fairly formal, avoiding contractions and using larger words where smaller ones would do. Twilight suspected that this was an affectation of some sort, perhaps to help conceal an accent and seem educated in order to fit in better and distance himself from his past.

Speaking of which, Twilight grimaced internally as she finished the report. Even accounting for the bias of his perspective, this does not paint a pretty picture of Ember's home situation. Twilight did not have much experience in dealing with dysfunctional families (unless you counted Tirek or the Changeling Hive, then ohoho goodness), so she wasn't sure how to deal with the situation, if indeed it needed to be dealt with at all. Ember seemed convinced that no one was going to come after him, and though Twilight's first instinct was to try to reconcile him with his family, she honestly didn't think that she could help much by meddling – at least not right now so soon after the fact and with such limited information. Maybe once she introduced herself and got to know him a little better, they could have a talk about what he wanted to do.

Twilight considered whether to ask Celestia or Luna for advice, or even her sister-in-law Princess Cadence, but ultimately decided against it. Even after defeating Tirek, she still felt that she needed to prove herself as a ruler, and she couldn't do that if she asked for help before even trying to deal with the situation herself. Still, it couldn't hurt to mention Ember to them in her next letter, if only as a matter of local interest.

Twilight made a frustrating sound as she floated the folder back into the proper chrono-alphanumeric cabinet. I can't just do nothing, though! There has to be something I can do proactively-

She suddenly had a thought. Of course! Being proactive meant planning ahead. Planning ahead meant having contingencies prepared. Which meant…

"Spike!" Twilight called into the next room. "Bring the good paper! I need to make some Checklists."

"How much do you need?" came the answering shout.

"Just bring the stack!"

 

[Arawndil]

Chapter 8​

Sauron glared stubbornly into the light, stoically ignoring the strain on his eyes as if to cow it into submission like he had countless unworthy souls. His was the Lidless Eye, the burning gaze which pierced all shadows, the sleepless and unflinching vigil from which nothing could-

Gah, it stings! Stupid mucous membranes!

The infernal light winked out at last and Sauron unclenched his jaw, blinking furiously. He was perched with what dignity he could muster on top of an examination table (not the one he had once awoken upon, mercifully) within the hated 'hospital' compound. The misbegotten sawbones, whom Sauron was mildly pleased to note was still nursing a sore ribcage, scribbled on a clipboard and made a pleased humming sound.

"Well," said Doctor Horse at length. "Your concussion seems to have subsided- rather more quickly than I had anticipated, at that. Must be that Earth Pony constitution, eh?" He chuckled.

Sauron smiled indulgently, filing that tidbit away for later investigation. "I, for my part, would attribute it to the quality of my care," he flattered. The creature seemed to preen under his praise, evidently assuming that he meant it and not Rarity. It is good to see that these equines are not so alien that they are immune to a little egotism.

"In any case," said the medic, "if you aren't displaying any further symptoms then I can confidently say that you are in excellent health. Be sure to get plenty of rest in the next few days, though, just to be on the safe side. I hope that when we meet again, it's under better circumstances."

After a few more pleasantries, Sauron returned to the hospital's lobby where Rarity was waiting for him, Sweetie Belle and her confederates being occupied by their daily studies.

Public schooling- an interesting institution. The idea certainly had its appeal: a population with a minimum standard of basic skills, one that was literate and spoke a common language. His empire had, in spite of his efforts, been annoyingly multicultural and it had taken quite some time to ensure that as many people as possible could speak, read, and write Lugbúrz Standard (or 'Black Speech' as his detractors had so juvenilely dubbed it). It was essential that his vassals be able to communicate with him and with one another unimpeded by whatever puerile cultural trappings they had insisted on accumulating.

Some mortal rulers, presumptuous amateurs all, thought that they could better control their subjects if they were kept illiterate and ignorant. Millennia of experience had taught Sauron the pointlessness of this exercise. If people didn't know the truth of a matter they would just invent something that made sense, which wasn't always advantageous. No, better that they all believed the same thing and had approved texts and records to 'prove' it.

Universal education at a young age ensured that citizens learned their state-approved histories and were properly indoctrinated into the Official Truths, fostering hate and fear against Sauron's enemies and cementing loyalty and trust in the Dark Tower's benevolence. His enemies had always been helpful in that regard, Numenor and her non-compliant successor states with their imperialistic episodes and the elven 'daemons' with their secrecy, aloof condescension and, in the case of 'wood elves' and other Avari strains, sullen xenophobia.

The good people of Rhun, Harad, and Khand took comfort in the knowledge that, united under the banner of the Lidless Eye, they need fear no Western tyrant, whereas the men of Umbar and other former colonies of the Sea Kings took fierce pride in being the true heirs of Numenor, ready to defend their birthright against the traitorous rebels of Gondor and Arnor who had destroyed their homeland out of envy and spite.

For these purposes and others, Sauron had usually relied on state-sponsored cults dedicated to his and (begrudgingly) Melkor's worship, though their inevitable tendency towards factionalism and infection by local hocus-pocus had necessitated the occasional censure via Nazgul, sometimes making him consider more secular alternatives.
Something to investigate, Sauron thought. If I can contrive to get my hands (ugh, damn it all, 'HOOVES') into the school system then it could go a long way toward-

"What do you think, Ember?" Rarity broke in as they approached a red and white building with high gables and a short, conical bell tower. A wide sign bearing the likeness of an open book stood by the road nearby.

"I agree. It certainly needs to be addressed sooner rather than later," replied Sauron, not missing a beat. He had indulged her idle prattle on the walk from the hospital, long years playing the court sycophant having taught him how to feign full attention while filtering out useful information from verbal chaff.

As they approached, the bell began to ring and a small herd of chittering juveniles emerged from the building, some wandering off and others gravitating toward waiting adults. Sauron spotted Sweetie Belle and her friends emerging from the crowd, Rarity's sister approaching them with a confused expression.

"Mr. Ember? What are you doing here?" she asked. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo followed behind her, looking curious.

Sauron smiled down at them. "Good afternoon, girls. I have some business to discuss with your tutor. Could you tell me where I might find them?"

Scootaloo spoke up. "Cherilee? I think she's still inside the schoolhouse. But why do you want to talk-"

"So girls, what did you learn in school today?" Rarity interrupted tactfully. Sauron shot her a minutely genuine look of gratitude; this wasn't a matter he wanted to air in public. He quickly walked through the schoolhouse doors as the whelps collectively mewled about arithmetic.

The interior of the building was warmly lit by large east facing windows that, combined with the color scheme of calming greens, gave it a friendly and comforting air. Much of the floor space was occupied by comically undersized desks and chairs, with the walls being framed by bookshelves filled with reading material and presumably educational paraphernalia. A more conventionally sized desk and a large hanging slab of dark slate dominated the farther end of the room.

A surprisingly young-looking violet Earth Pony with a white and pinkish mane and tail was erasing chalk marks from the slate with a damp rag when he entered, remains of that day's lessons it seemed. She looked up at the sound of the door opening.

"Sorry, just cleaning up. Now, how can I help…Oh my. Umm," the creature trailed off as she looked at him with wide eyes.

Sauron bore her stare stoically, masking his inner impatience. Right, the scars. I'd almost forgotten. Rarity was too polite to bring them up, and the children had mostly followed her lead, but Sauron supposed that it wasn't every day these creatures had a casual conversation with the victim of a fatal mauling.

If Father has any mercy at all, this world won't have any damned dogs.

"Yes, you are Miss Cherilee?" With her mute affirmation Sauron continued. "I am Iron Ember, a recent arrival to Ponyville. I am told that you are responsible for educating the town's youth?"

Cherilee seemed to find her manners, meeting his eyes and smiling at him. "Oh yes, Mr. Ember! Scootaloo brought that beautiful bracelet that you helped her make to show-and-tell. She and her friends spoke quite highly of you!"

So my investment in the children hasn't gone to waste. How gratifying.

"That is kind of them. In any case, I was hoping that you and I could come to an arrangement. Due to circumstances that wouldn't interest you, I find myself needing to learn my letters. Do you think that you could find the time to accommodate me in the near future?"

Cherilee blinked. "You can't read? But why-"

"As I said, the circumstances wouldn't interest you," Sauron interjected airily. "I do not anticipate it taking much time, perhaps only a few hours. I would like to arrange it as soon as possible, however."

The mare looked skeptical. "I don't know about that, Mr. Ember. There's a bit more to reading than learning the alphabet."

I know that, you ruddy wench. I've mastered over twelve different scripts.

"Although…," the teacher seemed to have a thought. "I think I may have something that could get you started. Hold on a moment." Cherilee wandered over to one of the cupboards and began sorting through its contents.

Sauron amused himself by surveying the large volume of sketches, paintings, and small sculptures that littered the room, presumably the work of the students. They were all very crude, of course; amateurish nearly to the point of grotesquery in his eyes. And yet… they were honest works, and for all the lack of skill shown there was a quality of genuine effort to them that Sauron felt no need to scorn. These were things that would not exist had their creators not struggled to bring them forth, and despite his better judgement the craftsman in him had to see some faint glimmer of virtue in that.

Eventually Cherilee returned, now bearing a strange colorful tablet. The frame was sturdy and slightly cumbersome, no doubt designed with durability in mind. Most of one side was covered with a grid of raised bumps, each adorned with what Sauron recognized as one of the local characters, while the remainder was occupied by a pane of opaque glass or crystal.

"This was donated to the school a while ago, but the younger foals haven't taken much of an interest in it. You're free to borrow it until you've got the basics down." The mare gently pressed one of the raised bumps, and Sauron almost jumped as a tinny yet matronly voice suddenly emanated from the device.

"Ef. Ffu," it proclaimed. "Ef as in 'friend'!" A series of characters blinked into existence across the crystal, beginning with the 'Ef' rune.

Sauron took the artifact numbly. "I have questions."



"So it's all there, then?" Rarity asked, watching their sisters and Scootaloo play on the swing set near the school.

"Yup, just like you asked, sugar cube. Five barrels o' last winter's cider, a crock o' yesterday's milk, and sum o' that fizzy strawberry stuff fur the yung'ins."

"Excellent! Thank you, Applejack. I'm sure he'll enjoy-," the white unicorn turned and pointed toward the schoolhouse doors. "Oh, here he is now!"

So this is the 'Ember' feller that Applebloom's been yackin' about, she thought. He looked… dangerous.

The charcoal and rust colored stallion that emerged from within the schoolhouse wasn't nearly as large or bulky as her brother Big Macintosh, but his lean frame and the whipcord muscles that strained against his hide as he confidently strode toward them helped to give him an almost electric air of restrained energy and strength, like a tightly coiled spring or a prowling manticore. The impression was only reinforced by the ridges of pale white scars that stood out starkly from his dark neck. After a moment, Applejack realized that the stallion's scars formed a pattern she recognized- one that she'd seen in grisly red when she'd answered a sheep's call for help too late.

A Timberwolf that big had 'im by the dad gum throat and he walked away?

As Apple Bloom and her friends leapt from their swings at the sight of him and came rushing over, Applejack felt herself start to step in between them and the grim-looking male. She stopped herself short.

Don't be like that, Applejack, she admonished herself. Sure, this Iron Ember seems kinda rough around the edges… alright, more like razor sharp around the edges. But he's been staying with Rarity fer days now, and both her and the fillies seem ta like 'im. It ain't right gettin' ideas just from his looks.

"Did you get what you needed, Ember?" asked Rarity, either not noticing her reaction or ignoring it.

"I do believe I did, Rarity," he answered, reaching toward a saddlebag on his side. The stallion turned suddenly and met Applejack's gaze. He had yellow, almost golden eyes.

Like a snake, came the thought to her unbidden.

"Ah, you must be Applejack!" he said with a polite smile, has face softening as he gave Applebloom a fond look. "Your sister has talked about you rather often during her visits."

"Only good things, ah hope," she replied, playfully glaring at her sister, who smiled sheepishly and half hid behind Rarity.

"I'd half expected apple trees to sprout in your footsteps," he said with a chuckle. "Anyhow, I'm Iron Ember. Pleased ta meet you," the stallion extended a hoof and Applejack shook it briefly. His voice was…nice to listen to, honestly. Deep and rich with a slight, almost purring rumble; just quiet enough that you had to pay a little extra attention.

"Likewise. So what's brought ya'll to the school? I'd heard you were laid up wit sumthin," Applejack probed.

"There's always room fer more learnin'," Ember replied coyly, like he was making some private joke. "To that end, Cherilee's lent me this rather interestin' device." He withdrew his hoof from his bag and, with an air of revealing some wondrous secret, proudly presented them with… a clunky plastic toy. They all stared for a moment in incomprehension.

"The durable resin shell alone is interesting enough, seemingly composed of some manner of molded carbon polymer, though how and from what it was derived I can only postulate. Cherilee was frustratingly vague on all but the most general details, though these 'memory crystals' and the mention of chemical energy storage cells imply a wide array of cross-disciplinary confluence in both the assembly of disparate components and their application. It may prove fruitful to investigate the vectors of supply and..."
Ember, seemingly remembering that they were all there, politely cleared his throat and stowed the toy back into his bag. "Ahem. Anyhow, I'm feeling much better now, Applejack, though I appreciate yer concern."

Rarity shot everyone a stern glance. Her intent was clear: 'Not a word.'

Applejack gave the stallion a serious nod, keeping a grin off her face even as the girls fought their giggles. Ah take it back, she thought wryly. The feller's too much of a nerd to be dangerous. Might get on well with Twilight, now that ah think of it.

"Good ta hear. Well, it was right nice meetin' ya Ember. Any pal of Rarity's a pal of mine, so don't be a stranger if ya wanna visit the farm sometime." She gestured to her sister. "Come on, Applebloom. I need you ta help me with some deliveries. We can drop off Scootaloo on the way."

"See you soon then, dearie. I think we'll stop by the market on our way home," said Rarity, giving her a significant look as she walked away with Ember and Sweetie Belle in tow.

'Make sure everything's ready', it said.

Applejack winked back. Gotcha, sugar cube.



I underestimated these damned things.

Sauron hated surprises- they had a tendency to invalidate any amount of planning and forethought, no matter how exhaustive, in a single chaotic instant. One could prepare contingencies for any conceivable eventuality, yet when the boundary between impossible and possible was a polite fiction at the best of times then there was only so much one could do. He was, of course, as impeccably skilled at improvisation as he was at anything else that mattered, but such haphazard efforts should never be necessary in the first place. Indeed, unsanctioned surprises had long held a place of uncommon infamy in the Official Blacklist of Malignant Elements, which was regrettably now burnt and buried beneath the ruins of Barad-dur.

I shall have to make a new copy soon, before I forget to hate something.

Still, if anything could take the sting away it was the flood of new possibilities that this particular surprise had unleashed. These 'memory crystals' alone could have rather interesting applications if leveraged properly. Visions of mechanical Gaurhoth danced crimson through his mind for a gleeful moment before he dismissed them. It wouldn't do for him to get too ahead of himself before he put in the research- the bizarre things could be worthless to him for all he knew.

At least I will be able to read soon. THANKS FOR NOTHING, OLORIN.

As he trailed behind Rarity and Sweetie Belle through the open air market, Sauron skimmed the contents of the surrounding stalls. Produce and other edibles were expectedly in abundance, as well as processed materials such as cloth (frequent stops were made here) and a scattering of finished goods like woodwork and glassware.
It was the latter that held Sauron's attention. The ironmongery was…ugh…passable for mundane use; nails, horseshoes and the like (Do they wear those? I suppose they must), though the smattering of ornamental pieces had a slight amateurish charm, little different from the schoolchildren's fumbles he had seen earlier. A hub of exceptional artisans and luxury goods this obviously was not, but Sauron made a note of each purveyor for later acquaintance- he would need to obtain access to their suppliers for his own more worthy purposes.

That carbon polymer resin – plastic as it was apparently called -- was abundant as a component in many finished goods, and rightly so. These ponies had clearly grasped the utility of such a malleable yet relatively lightweight and durable material, whatever its arcane providence. Sauron suspected this unicorn caste had a part in it; whatever half-baked Arts they possessed would be well invested in the production of exotic materials, a precept that the inhabitants of Middle-Earth had gratifyingly embraced despite their frequent failures in preserving such knowledge. Sauron did not see anything remotely resembling his tablet device, but such peculiar items would obviously be sold in more specialized establishments, similar to Rarity' boutique.

The pony in question was approaching a low, wooden building unremarkable save for the gouts of steam emitting from a number of vents. This and the iconography of the sign suggested some manner of high-end laundering service.

"I'll only be a moment dearies," said Rarity as she entered, letting loose a diffusion of damp air into the street. "Feel free to look around, Ember. Sweetie Belle, keep an eye on him, would you?"

Sauron turned to the filly as her sister disappeared into the mists. "I am in your care," he deadpanned.

Sweetie Belle laughed gamely. "Anything in particular you're interested in?"

The Dark Lord of Mordor swept the marketplace with a practiced eye, filtering out the trivial and irrelevant. It was his ears, though, that brought it to his attention; a faint but tantalizingly familiar sound.

"There," he pointed toward a nearby pavilion, where the slight breeze mingled the dull clank of wooden wind chimes with a keener, more welcome aria. Entering with Sweetie Belle in tow and giving a suitably affable nod at the monger's greeting, Sauron quickly picked his way through a maze of cheap wicker and cheaper pottery until he found the source of the siren call.

There, dangling loosely in a row along the edge of the pavilion's canvas roof, was a motley collection of worn tools, their metallic pinging and scraping a welcome reprieve from the incessant chatter of beast-things. Almost without thinking Sauron reached up and grasped the haft of a small chipped hammer, feeling the wood's rough grain.
Nothing a little sanding would not fix, though the head would be better off being replaced outright with-

Sauron felt a prickling sensation as the hairs on the back of his neck rose. An echo of something like grease and ground glass abruptly brushed against his consciousness, faint and yet so elementally anathemic that a ghastly shiver forced its way through his body. He gagged for a moment as he smelled the colors around him, sickly sweet and acrid in the bright afternoon sun. The sensation grew marginally as Sauron heard footsteps behind him, each faint thump tasting of damp cotton and rotting persimmons.

His mind swimming from the sudden synesthesia, Sauron whirled around to face whatever foolish wretch dared to ensorcel him. But rather than an overambitious beguiler or strange spiritual predator, he found himself baring his teeth at a frail-looking yellow and pink pegasus reaching for a ladle hanging near his left shoulder. The hapless creature quailed before him and dashed out of sight into the marketplace with a panicked "I'm sorry!" Sauron blinked, baffled as the hideous sensation receded.

"What just happened?" he mumbled to himself.

"Oh, there you are Mr. Ember," called out Sweetie Belle as she ducked under a rack of brooms. "It's so cluttered in here I nearly lost you!"

Sauron quickly composed himself. "My apologies, Sweetie Belle. Come now, your sister is probably waiting for us."

As the two of them returned to the launderer, Sauron tried to make sense of the disturbing encounter. The thing had looked like a normal pony according to his frame of reference, and its lack of the horn evidently needed for supernatural feats seemed to point away from a deliberate assault, as did the very public setting. What were the alternatives then? Perhaps he was merely allergic to the creature's perfume or dander; it would very much be like his handlers to burden him with a defective bloodline. Had the creature been a decoy for some other, more sinister entity? Or worse, some sort of shapeshifting predator?

"Sweetie Belle," Sauron asked casually as they turned back onto the market's main thoroughfare. "Is there anything around here that can look like a pony but… is not?"

The filly blinked at him, seemingly rather surprised by the subject. "Um, yeah, there's the Changelings. They're this hive of creepy bug-monsters that create illusions and feed on love. They're usually not a problem unless their Queen, Chrysalis, leads a swarm, but even then one of the Princesses always drives them off. Why do you ask?" So nonchalant was she about this hideous threat to her civilization that Sauron had to crush the urge to pick her up and shake her.

Instead, he shrugged. "I saw a pony acting a little strangely, like they did not know how to use their body. Just being superstitious, I guess."
Sweetie Belle gave him an odd look. "They weren't delivering letters, were they?"

"…No, why?"

"No reason."

Sauron accepted the deflection, having more important things to think about. Clearly one of these parasites had tried to feed on him during a personal moment, and that was absolutely unacceptable. He added ways to detect and defend against them to his list of eventual research topics (DAMN IT, OLORIN) and resolved to recruit them or put them to the sword as soon as the chance arose. Possibly both, and in no particular order. In the meantime, Sauron would remain doubly vigilant against any potential aberrance.

As luck would have it, they returned to the launderer just as Rarity was leaving, a bundle of cloth tucked into her bag. "Find anything interesting?" she asked them as they approached.

"Not particularly," Sauron lied easily, quickly and subtly examining the creature before him. It looked and sounded and acted like Rarity, so it was most likely her…But it would, would it not? Just how skilled were these Changelings at mimicry? Was his generous and valuable tool even now dead or imprisoned within a hidden nest while her doppelganger grazed upon her oblivious friends and family?

It hardly matters, Sauron observed. So long as it continued to serve his interests, and made no ill-advised attempts upon him, the question of whether or not this was the real Rarity was ultimately irrelevant. Considerations might need to be made in the future concerning operational security and counter-espionage, but for the present he was keeping his own secrets.

Sauron blinked as he became aware of a folded piece of silver-grey cloth being presented to him by a pleased-looking Rarity. "I would ordinarily have wrapped this, of course, but I thought you might like to try it on while it was still warm." Somewhat puzzled, he dutifully took the cloth and felt it in his hooves. It appeared to be a scarf, middling high-quality sheep's wool by the feel and smell, knit in a small even stitch that when combined with the color made him think of chainmail. Sauron wrapped it loosely around his neck and shoulders and found that it was indeed pleasantly warm.

"It suits you," commented Rarity cheerfully, turning her head to view him at different angles. "Though of course it does, darling. I chose the color specifically for your palette, after all. I admit that I considered using some nice dark champagne that I had lying around, but I think that ultimately the neutral gray ties more smoothly into your aesthetic, especially since you are clearly a winter-."

"It is lovely," interjected Sauron. Something of an exaggeration, but the Maia had to admit that Rarity did fairly good work- the quality was such that it would not look out of place on a minor lord out riding in the countryside. "Thank you, truly. I had not been expecting such a gift." Not noticing the usual signs of contact poisons, no stains or oily textures- it could have hidden drugged needles or venomous spiders in the weave, though. Damn, I should have checked before putting it on.

Rarity laughed. "Well, it wouldn't be much of a surprise if you were expecting it, now would it, Ember?" Sauron's eye twitched, but he incorporated it into an amused expression.

"I am very glad you like it, though," Rarity continued. "With autumn coming soon I was bothered that you didn't have anything warm and fashionable to wear." Lowering her voice she added, "And I know that you're a little self-conscious about your scars, so I thought you might like something to cover them with if you wanted."

"That's…very considerate of you. I'm touched, Rarity." Sauron mimed the appropriate platitudes with practiced ease. He was…not grateful exactly, but appreciative. Rarity, or whatever was wearing her skin, continued to be useful beyond his initial, mostly political expectations. Rarity may have acquired a reputation for generosity, but Sauron was certain that she had grown accustomed to a certain amount of reciprocation, whatever her pretenses.

No doubt she will expect a return on her investment, especially after I begin properly leveraging her connections, he mused on the way back to Rarity's home, nodding and making appropriate comments at the small talk. I will need to arrange something suitable to placate her before she grows impatient.

Applejack was a good start; a powerful landowner and pillar of the community. Cultivating a connection with her and her family would likely help lend his later actions increased legitimacy. Establishing his presence in the community and gaining social and economic independence from Rarity was going to need to be his first priority- she had promised to introduce him to a local merchant-prince who might be willing to grant him a loan if he presented some of his work. It should not be too difficult to impress him if he could get access to a forge for a little while.

Rarity unlocked the door to her home and let him and Sweetie Belle in. Whenever I think that I am finally becoming accustomed to this ridiculous place, I uncover something even more absurd, Sauron groused. Strange artifice, shapeshifters, what was next? How was he supposed to properly plot the optimization of their civilization if radical new variables kept being introduced? Was this some conspiracy of his handlers to keep him off balance?

Can I at least make it through the day without any more surpri-

"SURPRISE!" a chorus of voices greeted him as he entered Rarity's parlor, and Sauron found himself surrounded by strangers, tables laden with food, and a garishly colored banner proclaiming "WELCOME TO PONYVILLE!"

…Damn you, Olorin.

 

[Arawndil]

Chapter 9​

Before there was light, before there was time, there was Music. The One who was alone raised His voice in song, and a thousand-thousand throats answered, spirit-children born of His thoughts. Each sang in accordance with their nature, their songs a reflection of the hearts given to them by their Creator. The singers formed harmonies with those of like mind; first in ones and twos, and eventually in great choruses. Joining together in the great Theme of the One, the choruses weaved their songs together in perfect synergy, slowly and painstakingly bringing the universe into being.

Even in this far-flung, distorted echo of creation Sauron could feel the reverberations of his own song. He had sung of Order, of focusing and refining. Of molding the raw, wild matter of the early universe into its ordained forms. Of passing these shapes to his kin as they built the foundation of their great work: Arda, the world that would be. Bound like a hanging jewel among the empty heavens, each singer would fill this world with the things of their heart, interwoven in the seamless harmony of the One's vision. In this Sauron, then called Mairon, had been content, as had the holy Ainur spirits of each chorus.

Save for one.

The theme of Melkor's chorus was glorious. Glorious, passionate, overwhelming, loud. Melkor's music did not harmonize with the others, for he had rejected the song put into his heart by the One and replaced it with his own imaginings. So great it was that it called a third of all the Ainur to abandon their choruses for his, until their discordance grew to rival the true theme and mar the universe beyond repair. The One had assured them that this discord, this infection, had been a part of His plan for the universe, but Sauron never forgave Melkor for ruining that perfect world. Even when he later joined his rebellion, seeing a chance through his knowledge and power to repair that flawless vision that his fellows had long abandoned, Sauron never forgave him.

As the vibrations in the air rattled his bones with their simplistic, repetitive, mindless intensity, Sauron reflected that Melkor would have coveted the music that these Equestrians produced.

He had been trapped, ambushed, trammeled like some beast of the field. Had he truly allowed himself to become so complacent, so distracted as to miss such an entry-level conspiracy? He could have been killed! Instead, it seemed that he had been the subject of a 'surprise party'- a eucatastrophe if there ever was one. Key members of the community gathered in one place specifically to meet him? He could not have asked for a better scenario.

'Only a better atmosphere', Sauron groused internally, sparing a glare at the blue and white unicorn responsible for the noise pollution. She seemed to meet his gaze under her opaque eyewear, for she grinned and gave him an affirmative gesture before increasing the volume of the banal clamor.

Sauron's eye twitched. She would know torment one day.

"I hope we didn't spook ya," Applejack chuckled over the din, passing him a plastic(!) cup of some clear amber liquid. He sniffed it experimentally, detecting a fruity aroma and the faint but distinct tang of alcohol.

"It'll take a bit more than that," Sauron retorted as he took a sip. Aged apple cider, well brewed and pleasant tasting but painfully weak. Hopefully the other guests would be drinking something stronger; chemically impaired resources were usually more suggestible. Nevertheless Sauron quaffed it greedily. A little liquid fortification would not be amiss at present.

"A mighty fine draft, Applejack. You don't disappoint," he flattered, raising his cup to her. She warmed with pride, as Sauron knew she would. He recognized it when someone took pride in their work.

"…Thanks," she said over her drink. "You know, you're not really what I was expecting."

"And what were you expecting?"

"Begging your pardon, but you seem pretty book-smart for somepony who's lived in a village out in the Ever-Free their whole life." Applejack smiled thinly at him. "Especially since you can't read."

Sauron barked out a short laugh and took another sip of cider. This one was almost shrewd. "I made a habit of pestering every two-bit tinker who passed through the hamlet. If you end up having to fix everything that breaks, you need to learn how stuff works." Economics, biology, agriculture, politics- Sauron had needed to acquire many skills in order to salvage the absolute wain-wreck that was Middle-Earth, before and after his break with Melkor. Not everything had come easily, but millennia of practice trumped talent every day.

Just look at the elves.

"…I guess that makes sense," Applejack said at length. "You do seem pretty handy. I don't suppose you'd be interested in fixing a few things around the farm? We'd pay, of course."

Is this what I am now? A destitute tinker doing odd jobs?

"I would be happy to, Applejack," Sauron replied cheerfully. It would be a fine opportunity to form closer ties with a powerful local family, and he truly was in serious need of funds. Sauron could swallow his pride if it meant getting what he wanted.

"Glad to hear it, Ember," said Applejack, before looking past him and glowering. "Applebloom, you know you can't be drinking that! 'Scuse me." She smiled apologetically before moving away toward the refreshments table.

"Coasters everyone, coasters! Good heavens Pinkie Pie, I specifically told you NO CONFETTI in my home! Oh Celestia, it's everywhere!" Sauron turned to see a harrowed-looking Rarity making her way through the crowd, a boisterous light-red pony bouncing at her heels.

"Oh come on Rarity, it's a party! What's a party without a little mess?" The magenta-maned pony replied airily. Suddenly, she met Sauron's gaze and he felt a sudden sense of foreboding.

"Hey, everypony! It's the pony of the hour!" she cried excitedly as she hurried towards him, Rarity following behind.

Damn them and their ridiculous pronouns, Sauron thought as he faked a welcoming smile.

"Thank you again for the party, Rarity. Especially for hosting," he said sympathetically, brushing the confetti on the floor meaningfully. People liked it when you pretended that they had problems.

"Oh it's no trouble at all, dearie," the unicorn said a little too quickly. "And you should really thank Pinkie Pie, here. She's the one who organized it all."

"It was all ready AGES ago, too, but Rarity and Twilight kept making me wait! Aaaah, I almost went crazy from the party withdrawal!" the mare declared shrilly.

So, the Pretender had a hand in this mummery.

Sauron considered what he knew of this Pie creature: an inexplicably well-connected baker who regularly took it upon herself to engineer elaborate and expensive-seeming social gatherings using resources of unknown provenance...

Sauron smiled a little more earnestly. Of course…

"Good afternoon, Miss Pie. It's a pleasure to meet such a pillar of the community." He wasn't surprised that someone as successful and well-connected as Rarity would have ties to the local crime lord, nor was he taken in by her bubbly, whimsical façade. Perhaps this was the investor she had mentioned?

"Yeah yeah that's great, but C'MON WE GOTTA GO!" Pinkie Pie suddenly seized Sauron with a fell strength and began dragging him across the room with alarming speed.

Unhand me you ridiculous animal! Rarity answered his beseeching eyes with a look of sympathy, despite the marks he was likely making in her floor by digging his heels in.
Sauron found himself deposited amidst a group of ponies gathered near one of the room's corners. A narrow alley had been cleared along the wall and the ponies were taking turns tossing small objects toward a cluster of small pillars some ten paces away. There was a metallic ring and Sauron watched a horseshoe of all things wrap around one of the pillars.

Is that what they use them for? Horses that had horseshoes but didn't wear them; it sounded like a bad joke.

"Hey, hey Rainbow Dash! Look, I found him!" Pinkie Pie crowed triumphantly. A blue pegasus bearing a mane with the colors of the visible light spectrum turned her head to look at them and smirked cockily.

"So you're the new guy in town, huh? Figures that you'd want to come meet the local celebrity!"

"But Rainbow, I thought you told me to go find him because he-."

"Haha! Oh Pinkie Pie, always with the jokes!" the pegasus deflected unconvincingly. "But seriously, I can't imagine what it must feel like to meet ME for the first time!"

Sauron blinked. Oh. Oh, this is going to be easy.

He gasped. "You're the Rainbow Dash? I've heard so much about you! Do you really control the weather? How fast are you really?" he asked excitedly, affecting the cheerful, fawning energy of an over-eager squire. Scootaloo had offered no shortage of intelligence on this one- the trick lied in discerning the truth from childish exaggeration. Dubious claims had been made.

"Eh, it's just a day job. It's not like it's gonna rain by itself," said Rainbow Dash, inspected her forelimb in the universal gesture of feigned humility.

"Of course not." Indeed, the extreme stability of the local atmosphere was one of the more blatantly unnatural aspects of Sauron's new environs. Even more so was the fact that the pegasus caste was able and required to adjust it manually. Sauron was no stranger to weather or even climate control, but doing so in Mordor and its periphery had required centuries worth of metaphysical infrastructure and was never by any interpretation trivial, least of all a task for Incarnate civilians. What in Eä had these blasphemous Alicorns done to this place?

"And I'm only, like, the fastest thing alive. No big deal," Rainbow Dash smirked as she tossed a horseshoe backwards over her head with perfect accuracy, much to the appreciation of those nearby. "Ever heard of a Sonic Rainboom?"

"Scootaloo mentioned something like that, but she did not quite articulate what it was."

Rainbow Dash explained. Sauron ground his teeth. I hate this place.

"You mean to tell me that not only can you move quickly enough under your own power to break the sound barrier, but that you release enough kinetic energy while doing so to forcibly disassemble sunlight into discrete wavelengths!? How do you not shatter every bone in your body? How are you not flayed by the mere friction?"

"Ha, Scootaloo said you were a nerd," the pegasus smirked. Whatever that meant. "I dunno, magic? That seems to explain most stuff. Maybe I'm just that awesome?"

"And what's so crazy about that? It's not like she turned into a giant flaming eyeball to spy on her neighbors or something!" Pinkie Pie giggled.

"That was a metaphor, curse it," Sauron grumbled. Orcs were one thing, but his real citizens should have known better than to take such rumors so literally. How would he have done paperwork without-?

…Wait.

Sauron felt a chill creeping through his body. "What did you just-?"

"Sorry, mysterious party business to attend to BYE!" Pinkie Pie trailed off as she ducked behind Rainbow Dash and…disappeared. Concerning.

"Eh, don't worry about it Snake-Eyes," Rainbow Dash said airily around the horseshoe in her mouth. "Pinkie says crazy stuff all the time, it's kind of her thing." A sort of seeress, perhaps? It seemed like the Dreamlord's idea of a lark. If that was the case then Sauron probably didn't have much to worry about- prophecy of any kind never gave enough details to actually be useful. Pie probably just thought that she was prone to odd dreams. And if not, Sauron could just buy the crime lord's cooperation until he could arrange for an extremely fatal accident.

That was to say, murder. He would have her murdered.

He turned to Rainbow Dash. "Snake-Eyes?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, seem to fit," the pegasus shrugged, waving a hoof in front of her own eyes. "Plus you're apparently kind of unlucky, so it's sort of a pun I guess. 'Cause, you know, dice or whatever?"

How droll. Still a more clever play on words than 'Sauron', though.*

Anyway," Rainbow Dash tossed him another horseshoe, thankfully not the one between her teeth. He did not even want to think about that. "You up for a round?"
Sauron welcomed the distraction gladly. He felt the metal eagerly respond to his touch as it recognized him- it knew what he wanted it to do and was, in its own way, happy to serve his purposes. The Maia measured the distance with his eyes and tossed the horseshoe gently, nodding in satisfaction as it dropped obediently onto a peg, to the surprise of those around him.

"That was..."

"How did-?"

Sauron glanced at Rainbow Dash's comically distended jaw and shrugged innocently. "What? I merely applied the correct amount of force at the correct angle and leverage. It's simple math, Ms. Dash."

She gave him a scandalized look. "You take that back!"

Rainbow Dash grabbed another horseshoe and nailed the next peg beyond his. "You see that? Pure skill! No numbers or weird drawings required." She gave him a challenging glare and tossed him another horseshoe. "Step the hay up, Snake-Eyes. We're doing this!"

Several minutes of metallic clanging later, and Rainbow Dash pumped her forelimb up and down triumphantly. "Ha! Not today, math! Rainbow takes home the gold once again!"

He'd let her win of course, though she was indeed very skilled at this trivial pursuit. It would not do for her to see him as a threat, however small.

"Hey," the pegasus extended a forelimb toward him with a grin. "You're pretty alright. No hard feelings?"

Connection established. "None at all, Ms. Dash." Sauron took the proffered limb and went through the usual protocol as quickly as he dared. He'd never cared for touching.
"It's Rainbow, you dang nerd. Don't let Rarity teach you lame habits."

"Neat work you two," a familiar voice drawled, and Sauron looked to see Applejack working her way through the group of appreciative spectators, a sharply-dressed brown Earth Pony in tow.

"A fine showing, indeed!" laughed the stranger as he smoothed out his waistcoat and adjusted his collar. "There aren't many who can keep up with our Rainbow Dash when she puts her mind to something."

"You know it, Filthy. Nice of you to come mingle with us peasants," the blue pegasus teased with a disarming grin.

The well-dressed pony gave Rainbow Dash a cool look. "I'm always happy to introduce myself to new members of our community, but I'm actually here on business Ms. Dash." He gave Sauron a winning smile and shook his forelimb. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Ember. Filthy Rich, local businesspony and owner of Barnyard Bargains. Please, call me Rich." He looked at him and Rainbow Dash somewhat tiredly. "Please."

At least it's self-aware for a change. "I am pleased to meet you as well, Mr. Rich."

"Don't see Spoiled here, Rich. Does she know you're running around without a leash?" Rainbow Dash snarked. Applejack gave her a pointed look. Behave, it said.
"Mrs. Rich is at the spa with our daughter today," he replied with impressive patience. "Actually Ms. Dash, does Ms. Fluttershy happen to be in attendance today? I need to discuss her weekly alfalfa shipment."

"Nah, wouldn't leave her cottage when I checked. One of those days, I guess." Everyone nodded in understanding, to Sauron's indifference. Rainbow Dash looked behind them and grinned. "Oh hey, piñata time! Later!"

The Maia bristled as she punched him in the shoulder before galloping off toward the center of the room, where a large circular space had been cleared. The fragile effigy of a smiling deformed dragon hung from a light rope just within reach, and ponies were taking turns being blindfolded and attempting to strike it with a stick. One struck a glancing blow and tore a hole in the flimsy material, spilling a handful of small dainties to the floor. It reminded Sauron eerily of a popular orc game, except that they merely used an effigy rather than a bloated corpse or still living victim hanging from a meat hook, and it was stuffed with candy rather than the tender parts of other, fresher corpses. Sauron found that he preferred this iteration: easier to clean up but equally festive.

"The Rich family's been friends and business partners with the Apples since the town was founded," said Applejack. "Rarity asked me to introduce ya'll since she's…"
The dragon effigy violently burst open, covering a triumphant Rainbow Dash and half of the room with candy and confetti. "PINKIE, WHY?!" Rarity wailed over the cheers.

"…Busy." Applejack finished lamely.

"Indeed, and I was quite impressed when Rarity showed me a few samples of your work," said Rich. "I think that I speak for us both when I say how very interested we are in seeing what you could create with the proper materials and equipment." That some of those things might end up on certain store shelves went unsaid. Sauron's heart soared at the glint of greed in the pony's eyes. "What would you say to a commission? I'll pay half up front to give you some seed money."

Sauron smiled warmly as he gently started slipping the noose around the merchant's neck.

"Let's talk business."

(1) Sauron is, of course, an insulting name. The most straightforward reading is "The Abhorrent One", an antonym to his original name Mairon "The Admirable One". It has some other readings though, based on what the root word is and how you pronounce it. The most common reading supposes that Sauron is a mutation of Thauron, from "thaur" (abominable, abhorrent). Alternately one could read it as a mutation of "saew" (lit. poison, also other noxious substances like pus) or "saer" (bitter). Naturally he hates being called this, and my headcanon is that the elves specifically gave him that moniker because they knew that he would be more insulted by the pun than by the actual meaning.

 

[Arawndil]

Interlude : The Scholar and the Serpent​

Twilight stood in the growing shadows of Rarity's porch, listening to the muffled music coming from inside the building. The door was unlocked, of course it was, but it still seemed as solid a barrier as any other part of the wall. She tried to visualize what was going to happen: dozens of ponies talking and laughing and playing games, completely at ease with each other. She would open the door and walk in, and everypony would stare and wonder why she had bothered to come. There would be polite, strained smiles and awkward interrupted conversations until-

Breathe. In. Out. Twilight forced herself to relax. Things were different now. Everypony wanted her to be here. She wanted to be here. She would not brush this off and cloister herself in the library all night to hide behind the illusion of productivity. Twilight restarted her mental simulation.

She would open the door. She would walk inside. So far so good.

Everypony would stare. Everypony would want to talk to the Princess. Everypony would crowd around her and- too close. Too many, too close. She couldn't move, her face hurt from smiling STOP-

Breathe. In. Out. Relax Twilight. But- NO. RELAX.

It would not be like that. Everypony here was a friend. The only thing standing between her and them was this door. She just had to open it. Yes, the door. But also my crown, my wings, my magic, my castle- JUST OPEN THE STUPID DOOR, TWILIGHT!

Riding the impulse, Twilight jerked the door open and slipped inside. To her relief and mild chagrin, her entrance was not nearly as dramatic as she had feared. No ponies seemed to hear the door open over the music, and most of those close enough to see her come in seemed to content themselves with a friendly nod or word of welcome before returning to their own conversations. It was all very… well, normal. Returning their welcomes, Twilight inwardly chided herself for overthinking things as usual. She'd known every pony here for years, and she'd attended dozens of parties with them just like this one. Eventually, she had even started to attend willingly. They knew her, and they'd treat her with the same blithe, open friendliness that they always had, Princess or no Princess. Besides, she'd come a long, LONG way from the aloof bookworm sent from the capital to do sociocultural fieldwork, thanks in no small part to her friends.

Friends who were usually bowling her over and sweeping her up like a pastel-colored tornado right about now. Confused by this divergence from standard procedure, Twilight scanned the room until she found a large knot of ponies gathered around one of Rarity's couches. Curious, she approached and found that they were all crowding in to listen to some pony speaking in a deep, husky voice that she couldn't recognize.

"So by the time we find the way outside it is well past midnight, the lantern is almost out, we are both covered in slippery green mud and smelling like the world's worst nosebleed," the voice said, and Twilight made her way through the crowd enough to see the speaker, who reclined rakishly on the couch's center holding a drink.

Iron Ember matched the description Rarity had given her fairly well, physically at least. A charcoal grey stallion with a mane and fetlocks the color of rust, with his infamous scars hidden under a soft-looking scarf. He would have seemed fairly ordinary if not for those strange yellow eyes and quietly confident air lending him a striking appearance. Those eyes sparkled with an amused intelligence as he captivated his audience, Rarity and Applejack at either side of him on the couch while Rainbow Dash lounged on the back and the so-called Cutie Mark Crusaders sat near his feet with a small purple dragon. When did Spike get here? Twilight vaguely recalled mentioning to him that she might be late, but she couldn't recall his reply and just assumed it was something sarcastic. Kids.

"Then, and this is scarcely to be believed my friends," Ember continued conspiratorially as every pony listened intently. "The fool had the absolute nerve to try talking me into buying the mine after all!" This elicited surprised gasps and a round of chuckling from the impromptu audience.

Rainbow Dash guffawed and slapped the couch. "Wow, seriously? What did you tell this clown?" she asked incredulously.


Ember gave them all a jaunty half-smile and took a long drink from his cup while every pony listening leaned in impatiently. Twilight was reminded bizarrely of her older brother reading her storybooks before bed when they were little.

He finally finished and with a perfectly serious face said, "I wiped my face off, looked him in the eyes and said 'Copper mine? No, Copper YOURS!" *

He was rewarded with a moment of stunned silence followed by a gale of laughter, Rainbow Dash actually managing to fall backwards off the couch. Even lacking context, Twilight couldn't resist a few chuckles.

"Whew, that was a good one, huh Twilight?" a familiar voice suddenly spoke very close to her ear, causing her to jump and give an undignified yelp of surprise.

"Pinkie!" Twilight cried as she turned to her incorrigible friend. "Must you? We've discussed this at length!" She looked back and saw Ember staring at her like he'd seen a ghost.

"Princess," he said in a surprised tone. "Excuse me, I was not expecting you." The stallion rose and gave her a small bow, much to her embarrassment. Ugh, please no.

"Um, that's ok, no need for that," Twilight replied awkwardly, feeling every pony's eyes on her. She forgot sometimes that most ponies weren't used to speaking with Princesses, and it was especially noticeable now that she was one herself. She knew that they only wanted to show their respect, but that didn't make her any less uncomfortable.

"Twilight dear, thank you for coming," Rarity interjected, sparing them all from an awkward silence. "I've been positively dying to introduce the two of you. Ember, this is my dear friend Twilight Sparkle. And this is, of course, Mr. Iron Ember, who we are officially welcoming to Ponyville today."

"And a fine welcome it is! My sincere thanks for the arrangements Miss Rarity, Miss Pie," said Ember, nodding to both mares in turn. "You are very fortunate to have such excellent friends, Miss Sparkle."

"Don't I know it? And please, call me Twilight. Any friend of Rarity's is a friend of mine," she replied more easily, finding her footing.

"Where've you been, Twilight? You've been missing some advanced level zingers here!" said Rainbow Dash, still chuckling as she flapped back up onto the couch.

"Journeyman level at best, Rainbow," Ember deadpanned, drawing a grin from the pegasus. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

"This coming from you? How's your daily commute from 'Nowhere', then?" snorted Applejack. A chorus of 'ooo's followed as Ember dramatically clutched his chest as if injured.

"Alas, you have caught me, Constable Applejack! But in my humble defense, you all make it too easy," the stallion cried woefully, earning him a playful smack on the shoulder from the farmer.

He seems to be fitting right in, Twilight thought happily, watching the banter between her friends and Ponyville's newest resident. She had been worried that Ember would have trouble being around so many new people, given his difficult past, but here he was laughing and joking like he had lived here for years. Twilight felt a swell of pride for her friends and the town that she had made her home. They were an eclectic bunch, but all the more close for how different they were. There was probably nowhere in Equestria where a stranger could feel more welcome and accepted, no matter where they came from or what they looked like.

Though some of that may be from the cider, she mused ruefully.

"Well, to answer your question Rainbow, I had to spend some time reorganizing the kitchen once I realized that one of the ingredients was organized alphabetically rather than by texture and geographic origin!" Twilight groused, barely heeding the tired but patient looks worn by her friends, nor the exasperated glances traded between them. If Pinkie Pie looked a tad chagrined, she did not notice. "And of course then I had to check the utensils, pots and pans, the cleaning supplies-."

"Goodness Twilight, that sounds, umm…" Rarity broke in with a tone that was trying very hard to be sympathetic but just wasn't quite there yet.

"Absolutely dreadful," finished Ember gravely, his face showing nothing but the utmost seriousness. "Is it too much to ask that things remain as you put them, logically and consistently, within your own domain without wantonly drifting hither and yon as if they knew better?" He huffed in annoyance as the eyes of those watching flicked rapidly between him and the alicorn.

A look of horror began to creep across Spike's face. "Celestia save me, there's two of them," the young dragon whispered.

"Exactly!" Twilight replied emphatically, glad to see that he understood how she felt. "How am I supposed to go about my business knowing in the back of my mind that something in my home isn't the way that it's supposed to be, that it's wrong?"

"Please don't enable her," Spike mumbled into his soda.

"You do NOT, Twilight!" Ember cried with a sudden zeal, making every pony jump as he loudly slapped his leg. "If something is wrong or not as good as it could be, which amounts to the same thing, you make it better if it is within your power to do so. You fix it!" He took a long quaff of cider and slammed the cup down onto his knee. "To do anything less is the domain of the irresponsible and the indolent!"

The stallion seemed as though he would continue, but ducked his head as if embarrassed when he noticed the surprised stares being sent his way by almost every pony in earshot. The sudden moment of vulnerability caught Twilight off guard, reminding her of the many times she had borne those silent stares after getting caught in one of her 'tangents'. She remembered what it had felt like to shrink into herself, as if she had suddenly reached out a little bit too much and had her hoof slapped back like a filly leaning too far over the dinner table.

He seemed so confident a moment ago, thought Twilight. How much of that had just been him putting on a face to fit in? She knew what it felt like to have to tip-toe around new acquaintances, wondering how much you could show of your real self without putting them off. From the report she had gotten and what Rarity had told her, it seemed like Ember hadn't come from the most accepting of homes. It must feel like he's been walking on eggshells this whole time.

"I…didn't know you felt so strongly about housekeeping, Ember," said Rarity at length. "Perhaps you can be in charge of the clean-up crew after the party?" she half-joked, breaking the ice and drawing a few chuckles.

Ember gave the unicorn a soft smile. "I believe that I would enjoy that, actually. I would also enjoy another draft of the Apple's fine craft. Would you care to join me Twilight, if your friends do not mind me stealing you?" he joked, drawing a few chuckles and shaken heads.

"You should grab some of my new cupcakes before they're all gone, Twilight! Just don't ask me for the recipe. It's a secret to everyone." Pinkie Pie stage-whispered this last comment, raising a few goosebumps on her neck. Twilight knew there was nothing to be concerned about, though.

…Surely.

"Well, alright. I am a bit hungry," said Twilight, taking a tiny step away from the pink mare.

"Wonderful," said Ember, getting up from the couch and stepping around Spike. "Pardon me, Master Dragon."

"Hear that Rarity? I'm a 'Master Dragon'!" Twilight heard her assistant boast behind them as they moved away toward the refreshments table.

"You couldn't master a can opener, Spike!" Scootaloo quipped good-naturedly, earning a high-five from Rainbow Dash.

Twilight was glad but unsurprised to see that there was plenty of food left- Pinkie Pie tended to overbake. Many-hued cupcakes were in abundance, as well as half of a chocolate cake, some raspberry tarts, and plenty of fresh fruit; she grabbed one of the former and sniffed it delicately before removing the paper cup. Twilight let out a sigh of relief. Cinnamon. It's just cinnamon. It always paid to check though, since her friend liked to 'experiment' from time to time. May that egg and mayonnaise ice cream from the Royal Gala last year never see the light of day again.

"I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Twilight," Ember said softly as he refilled his cup with cider and handing her one for herself. "I was surprised to see you, and was not certain of how you preferred to be addressed."

Twilight blinked. "Oh, that's alright. I'm still not really used to the whole Princess thing myself. It seems like only yesterday that I was just a grad student running the local library," she replied sheepishly.

"Yes, I have heard that your coronation was a rather sudden event," said Ember, idly swirling the liquid in his cup. "I do not pretend to know much about alicorns, but I am sure that such a sudden change in status and power, not to mention a bodily transformation, would be rather jarring to say the least. I truly cannot imagine how that must have felt." She thought that she saw a glimmer of something in the stallion's yellow eyes, but it was gone before she could make anything of it.

"It wasn't as bad as all that," said Twilight, thinking back to those earlier days. "Princess Celestia didn't start me out with too many responsibilities- I actually felt as if I didn't have enough to do if you can believe it! As for my wings, Rainbow Dash has been helping me get used to them." She'd been trying anyway- the pegasus was very eager to help, but she wasn't exactly known for being patient or for understanding other pony's limits. As it stood Twilight could fly decently enough, though she did not have the endurance for extended travel.

"Still, it is quite the leap from respected librarian to a ruler of the realm!" Ember said lightly. "Your magic must have been very powerful for such a thing to have occurred."

"Well, frankly yes. Even as a little filly, my magic was strong enough that Princess Celestia had to tutor me personally in order to control it," replied Twilight, trying not to sound like she was bragging. "And as the Element of Magic, I'm fairly unique in that I can learn and cast almost any spell. But that's not really what got me my wings; I'm not the Princess of Magic, after all!"

"Quite," said Ember, and Twilight began to notice a slowly growing, for lack of a better word, intensity in his gaze and countenance that made her slightly uncomfortable, though his voice remained light and casual. "Sun and Moon, Love and Friendship. A curious combination of motifs to be sure…Hmm, questions for another time, perhaps. But tell me Twilight, what does a Princess of Friendship do in her crystal castle, rising above Ponyville?"

"I have some executive powers, but the Mayor deals with most things around town. My friends and I mostly help settle disputes and act as goodwill ambassadors for Equestria." They had also slid into a role of national defense over the years as they used the Elements of Harmony to combat the likes of Discord and Queen Chrysalis, but with the horrors of the war against Tirek still being fresh, she did not wish to talk about that. Twilight resolved to change the subject.

"You seem to be settling into Ponyville well, Ember. Have you been looking into getting your own space, maybe even a workshop for your talent? It must be pretty tough trying to forge things on Rarity's stove!" she joked, thinking about how excited the fashionista had been when she had showed off her new bracelet. After hearing Rarity all but gush over the sketched designs that Ember had evidently shown her for jewelry and other things, Twilight couldn't help but feel curious about what kind of work he was truly capable of.

"Indeed, the stove simply does not have the conductive capacity to handle the amount of energy needed to melt even gold, even if Rarity was able to feed it sufficient magical power. And yes, I plan to begin searching of a suitable location very soon." Ember looked down at his hooves, moving them as if he was trying to clutch something. "It has been…difficult, being away from my craft for so long. To describe the need as an itch would fall short. Hunger, perhaps, is a better word. Fortunately Applejack has been good enough to lend me the use of her family's modest facilities in the meantime, in exchange for a few trifles."

"That's good of her," commented Twilight, knowing how unhealthy ponies could become if they could not express their talents for extended periods of time. If she had to go for more than a day without using magic she'd probably explode!

…Actually, it might be best if such a scenario remained purely hypothetical, for safety's sake.

Twilight took a bite out of her cupcake and, after making an appreciative sound at the rich flavor, saw Ember take one and delicately do the same. She raised her eyebrows in surprise at his pained grimace.

"Don't care for it?" Twilight asked curiously as he washed his mouth out with cider. She didn't think she had ever seen any pony outright dislike Pinkie Pie's cooking before, not her conventional fare anyway.

"Too sweet. Cloying," he muttered, making no sense at all. How could something be too sweet?

"I suppose Miss Pie makes these using a wood or coal-burning oven, since she cannot use a magical one like Rarity?" Ember asked idly, looking over the many-colored confections with a mildly suspicious expression that Twilight found somewhat humorous in context.

"No, most Earth Ponies and Pegasi use gas stoves, though I think some of the newer models use electricity," Twilight answered, trying not to giggle. He turned and stared at her with wide eyes, making it even harder.

"Gas… do you mean methane? I suppose that one could use that for cooking, though collecting and transporting it might prove rather difficult and does not seem worth the effort. But what does electricity have to do with anything?" he asked, a skeptical look crossing his face.

Twilight blinked. He knows what they are but not how they can be harnessed? This'll be interesting.

"Well, the Pegasi in Cloudsdale skim some voltage off of thunderstorms, but are you familiar with how water mills work? The dam down by the river works off of a similar principle, except that…"

During her explanation of Ponyville's use of hydroelectric power and in the conversations that followed, Twilight found Ember's ear-to-ear grin and eagerness to listen gratifying but, again, a little intense.


*This anecdote was inspired by an incident in which one of Mordor's copper mines became flooded and droves of orcs kept wandering in and drowning because it smelled like blood. Sauron considers it to be some of his funnier material.