Chapter 10
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Chapter 10
When Sauron at last surrendered to mental fatigue that night, he was sorely disappointed to be greeted not by a meditative oblivion but rather by a familiar sense of twisting disorientation as his spirit tumbled down the Path of Dreams.
A thousand jumbled recollections of the day's events flashed before him- his visit to the school, that unsettling encounter with the strange toxic force in the marketplace, his dealings and manipulations at the party. Most interesting of all were his words with the Twilight creature, whose profane nature straddled the line between spirit and Incarnate, earthly and eternal in a way that not even the deviant line of Luthien daughter of Melian (may the worms gorge on their sullied flesh) had managed.
These blasphemous 'Alicorns' had given Sauron conniptions after discovering that these mere fleshlings had the audacity, the gall, the absolute cheek to play-act in the roles of their betters. Though he held no special regard for Arien and Tilion, the Maiar responsible for guiding the Sun and Moon, he had some modicum of respect for them as Eternal peers and for their role in helping to mitigate the wasteful consequences of Melkor's spiteful lust toward all things incandescent.
It almost felt as though Ungoliant was a bad influence on the rogue Vala, and as with all things concerning the Lady of Unlight that was simply not something he wished to think about.
In any case, Sauron's encounter with Twilight had firmly settled in his mind that whatever the Alicorns were or how they came to be, they were most definitely not Maiar. If the youngest among them was any indication they were possessed of a unique hröa, a specific physical body linked firmly to their souls rather than the mutable flesh-cloak continually formed and discarded by the purely spiritual Ainur. They were inarguably Incarnates, born of flesh and bound to it, and yet it was uncomfortably clear that they were more than flesh in a way that other ponies or even Elves were not. Even weakened as he was Sauron had faintly sensed something within Twilight, something that absolutely did not belong there.
A Concept.
The Ainur, having been born wholly and directly from the thoughts of their Creator, were inherently conceptual beings. They were ideas and notions given life and a will of their own, and though they could change and evolve due to their choices and experiences, deep down they would always remain rooted in the fundamental Concept that formed the core of their nature. In contrast Incarnates were born as blank slates, leaves in the wind with no clear purpose whose identities sprang from chance and circumstance unless directed by someone who knew better such as himself or, Sauron supposed, whatever was responsible for Cutie Marks. Feeling the pure and elemental essence of *EMPATHYSYNERGYHARMONY* staring out at him from within Twilight's meat-locked, two parent-having self had raised some difficult and uncomfortable questions which Sauron was going to have to address.
For the moment, though, he was far more interested in using the beasts for his own ends. To his incredulous delight Sauron had discovered that the youngest Princess would, with only the barest coaxing, hemorrhage the arcane lore and crafting secrets of its kind with a blithe eagerness that would send any Elven wright or Dwarvish grandmaster into a fit of mouth-foaming rage.
Sauron was no stranger to machines; indeed, they formed an important part of Mordor's industrial might. Channelized rivers, the tides of Nurnen, and magma-induced steam from the abundant reserves of brackish groundwater powered a vast collection of power hammers, trompes, and mills of all kinds to greatly magnify the productivity of an already vast workforce to levels which no power after the collapse of Numenor could hope to compete with. Electricity, that fickle toy of the Wind Lord, had never been more to him than a mere curiosity for eccentrics like Curumo to aimlessly puzzle over. To think that the key to controlling such tremendous power was something as simple as some copper wire and a lodestone, and that these creatures squandered it away on banal luxuries, save for the preservation of foodstuffs. Such a waste. He was going to need to do some tinkering, when he got the chance…
All too soon, though, Sauron's vision cleared and he found himself in a small space dimly lit with floating motes of cerulean flame, their gently yet eerie illumination revealing a pair of elegant silver benches in the Umbari style padded with cushions of dark blue velvet and sable satin which glittered like gloaming stars. Silken rugs of navy and dark aubergine pooled across the floor in a midnight sea, only distinguishable from black in the wan light by contrast with the opaque and featureless walls. Whether these were indeed the walls of a room or merely the edges of light in a tenebrous void Sauron could not say, but the latter idea invoked far too many negative associations within him to be anything other than a gentle but deliberate threat, a barely subtle reminder of the only alternative to his present condition.
A light haze of herb smoke scratched at his nostrils, and Sauron scowled. "Smoke in your own dreams, degenerate!" he called out to yet unseen ears. "Now get out here, Olorin; I still owe you some chipped teeth for making me illiterate."
"Come now, I could hardly deny you all of the pleasure in learning a new language," the former wizard answered, his bearded unicorn form now occupying one of the benches. "Putting you in a position that required you to seek help from others through positive social interaction may or may not have had something to do with it, though." He put out his damned pipe, at least, but Sauron could not find it within himself to be grateful.
"I had thought that you preferred a more rustic style, Olorin," said Sauron, shelving the quarrel for a time of his choosing. "This place seems more to Alatar or Pallando's taste than your own."
"I'm afraid I wouldn't know," Gandalf replied. "I haven't heard from them in several millennia, unfortunately."
Sauron narrowed his eyes at the other Maia's vaguely accusatory tone. "Do not blame me for that; they were even more frustrating for my spies than you were. The last report I received of them was a century ago in Northern Rhun, where one of them was squatting in some minor khan's yurt reading made-up omens from tea leaves and moldy cheese." He left unsaid that the khan in question had abruptly stopped paying his taxes that year and disappeared with his tribe somewhere near the Iron Hills. These Easterlings had not been seen again until they began raiding his force's supply lines during the Siege of Erebor, flying a banner with a blue lion.
Sauron had never figured out what exactly the Blue Wizards had been doing while gallivanting all over his territories for thousands of years, only that uprisings and desertion followed in their wakes like plague ships making port. Extremely annoying yet completely non-confrontational, one would never have suspected them to be disciples of the hot-headed and impulsive Huntsman Vala had they not been so ridiculously difficult to track.
Gandalf shook his head in puzzlement. "Well, I do hope that they return home eventually. In any case, I was not the one to choose our venue tonight."
"I was," declared a sonorous feminine voice as an equine figure emerged from the darkness.
The female was tall- taller than any pony Sauron had yet seen by at least half a head. Its proportions were different as well, more elongated and explicitly horse-like, lending it a more streamlined and elegant air than its stockier kindred. A long mane and tail, indistinguishable from windows into a starry sky, flowed eerily in an unseen breeze over a dark blue hide and large folded wings of the same color. A black steel gorget depicting a crescent moon covered its chest, while a wickedly spiked crown of carved jet perched behind a massive, almost sword-like horn.
If Sauron had even the slightest doubt regarding this creature's identity, it was dispelled by the looming metaphysical presence of *CYCLEDARKNESSREPOSE* that suffused its entire being with an alarming intensity, so much more ingrained than the Concept that Twilight carried as to be nearly indistinguishable from the creature itself. If Sauron had not known better, as he always did, he would have mistaken it for a Maia under casual observation.
The idea horrified him, and the longer he looked at the creature the more uncomfortable he became. Its resemblance to one of his own kind was uncanny, but there was just enough that was off about it, a touch too many indications toward its true nature as an Incarnate, that the end result was uniquely disturbing. Sauron glanced at Olorin, but if the other Maia was at all perturbed he did not show it, the bastard. On the contrary, he actually seemed pleased to see the unholy thing.
"Princess Luna," greeted Gandalf, dipping his head. "It is good to see you again. The Dream Lord sends his love."
"Thank you, Gandalf. You may send him mine in return," the horror replied with a smile, hooves of polished silver crossing the room before taking a seat next to the unicorn shape. It blinked in apparent surprise. "My friend, why do you resemble Starswirl the Bearded?"
Gandalf glanced down at his flesh-cloak with a furrowed brow. "Who the what, now?"
Luna shook its head. "An old mentor of mine. Coincidence I suppose." It turned its head to give Sauron a cool, appraising look. "You are looking better since last we met Mairon, though that is not to be wondered at. Sit. There is much to be said."
Sauron bristled at the abomination's commanding tone and presumptuous familiarity, but took a seat on the bench opposite Gandalf, putting some modicum of distance between himself and the object of his distaste.
"What is it doing here, Olorin?" he asked pointedly in Khuzdul, not bothering to guard his words.
Gandalf gave him a sly smile, as if laughing at some joke yet to be told. "Princess Luna is a friend of Lord Irmo and the one responsible for bringing you into Equestria, and as such you are under her indefinite supervision. She is here to review the reports she has received about your behavior thus far, and to help us discuss how you might improve."
"It can also understand you quite well. Dreams do not support language barriers," said the Alicorn dryly, raising an eyebrow as she summoned a sheaf of papers, their stark whiteness almost luminous in the gloom.
"How convenient," muttered Sauron, and after a moment blinked in surprise. "Wait, reports?"
"Indeed," answered Luna. "You are, after all, my responsibility. I would be remiss not to take an interest in your progress." She gave him an imperious look. "And to ensure that you remember to behave around my subjects."
Sauron smiled disarmingly, pushing down his distaste for the creature. "And am I? Behaving, that is."
The princess glared at him. "You tried to drown yourself rather than live as a pony. I do not know whether to be concerned for you or insulted."
"I admit that we should have prepared you better, though," said Gandalf, looking contrite. "Lord Irmo wished to wash his hands of you, and I was too eager to see you transferred quickly, before anyone stumbled upon us. After all, everyone believes that you were cast into the Void save for the Dreamlord, the Elder King, and myself."
So nice of the Grey Git to use his powers of conspiracy for good, thought Sauron sarcastically. He amused himself for a moment by imagining how Tulkas and Oromё would react if they knew the truth. They'd probably have to be locked in Nienna's closet for a week just to keep them from shredding a few mountains like loaves of wet bread.
Luna shuffled through her papers and sighed in annoyance. "I shall repeat the relevant observations verbatim to preserve nuance, but please keep in mind that I do not approve of my agent's choice of diction."
Sauron listened intently, hoping to pick up some clue as to who or what had been spying on him for the past week. He had noticed no tails, no vantage points near his window, nor signs of secret passages within Rarity's abode. This meant nothing, though, in the presence of these ponies' confusing and frustratingly ill-defined witchery. Invisibility, scrying? These things he could discern and obfuscate, as they were done by elves and the like, but he knew next to nothing of the means available to a unicorn trained for espionage. He couldn't rule out the Princesses having a few of those Changeling horrors under their sway, either.
It could be someone completely unnoticeable, or innocuous enough to be beneath my notice…
Luna cleared her throat and read with a serious expression, "Subject cracked doctor's ribs, suckered the prissy one into feeding him pancakes in bed for the rest of the week."
"They were bruised," Sauron protested. "And perhaps if you had not dropped me into a forest full of monsters, I would not have gotten that concussion!"
The Princess had the grace to look embarrassed. "Yes, well, I had never attempted magic like this before- no pony has. You were supposed to awaken in a secure cabin outside Ponyville with a letter of introduction waiting for you, but I am sorry to say that I … fumbled the transmutation by a couple of miles."
"You were very fortunate that Rarity and that serpent friend of hers were in the right place at the right time," said Gandalf, but that annoying twinkle in his eye said that he didn't believe luck had anything to do with it.
Not everything that goes your way is divine providence, Olorin. Such arrogance.
"Considering the circumstances, I can accept that you felt you needed to…hmm… creatively reinterpret certain facts about yourself, but I would urge you to curb such impulses in the future. Equestrians are, for the most part, kind and generous folk; you've no need to manipulate them into helping you," the wizard continued.
"None more so than young Rarity," said Luna. She looked at Sauron suspiciously. "I must warn you, however, not to think of abusing her Generosity. Ponies are not as naïve as you may believe, especially not those so well versed in our politics as her."
"I will take that under advisement," Sauron replied blandly, suppressing the urge to scoff at what must pass for 'politics' in Equestria.
"See that you do," said the Princess, not entirely convinced as she shuffled through her papers again.
"Beyond that, I have been pleased to find that you have made an effort to be friendly, even if your motives are likely selfish," said Luna before reading from the next page. Sauron craned his neck and saw that the reports had been sloppily scrawled in an uneven hand that wound haphazardly all over the page, seemingly using the same thick nubs of colored wax that he had sometimes seen Sweetie Belle drawing pictures with. Sauron's train of thought paused at this.
…Surely not.
"Subject played board games and made literal friendship bracelets with the Tween Templars. Assessment: Adorable." She flipped the page over and showed the other side to the two Maiar. "An illustration has been included."
Sauron's heart sank as he beheld the crude drawing depicting himself and the three young fillies of his acquaintance in various scenes: learning how to play the local strategy games such as chess and checkers, and of course their impromptu crafting session. The centerpiece of the illustration showed the three girls perched on his knees and shoulders while hugging him fiercely, pink hearts floating around their happy faces. Drawing-Sauron appeared to bear this attention stoically.
"That is indeed adorable," deadpanned Gandalf, nodding to himself as he fought a grin.
"That part in the middle never happened," Sauron defended half-heartedly, his mind racing through the implications laid before him.
It was ridiculous, absurd to even consider. And yet, was that not exactly what made it so probable? Sweetie Belle had likely spent more time in his presence than any other single pony, and not once had he suspected the child to be anything more than it seemed. Sauron knew from experience that children could be made into useful spies: innocuous, doe-eyed, and naturally inquisitive as they were, but he also knew that these Equestrians were far too timid and sentimental to put their spawn through the brutal training needed.
Unless… Sweetie Belle is NOT a child, OR EVEN A PONY AT ALL!
Of course, it all made sense! No wonder the creature had been so blasé about the changeling menace; it was trying to change the subject before he thought too much about it and unraveled their secret! What had this horned freak done to Rarity's sister after inserting their insectoid spy? Did Rarity even HAVE a sister!?
Sauron suppressed a triumphant grin. I am on to you now, fools.
"Indeed, you seem to have gotten on very well with everypony you've met, despite radical differences in personality and temperament. You've been unfailingly polite and gregarious, even self-deprecating. Which, considering what I've been told about you and your history, is rather suspicious," said Luna, glaring at him with narrowed eyes as if to find some hidden tell.
"Why Princess, I cannot help but feel that is terribly unfair!" Sauron replied, affecting a tone of injured innocence. "Is it so strange that I should desire to be on good terms with my new neighbors? What good would it do to make enemies of them, when I have so much to gain by merely being affable? If you cannot trust my good intentions, then you can at least trust me to do what is in my own best interest. I am nothing if not pragmatic."
Gandalf scoffed. "Mairon, I think that it is rather clear that you have a very different idea of what is 'in your best interest' than we do. To be frank, it seems to me that you are still having trouble letting go of your bad habits. How many times this week have you been friendly with a pony without the express intent of bolstering your reputation or using them for your own gain? I know that you are somewhat rusty when it comes to making friends-."
"I will have you know that I had plenty of friends, you hoary goat!" Sauron said defensively. "What about the Nazgûl? Do not think to simply ignore them because they do not fit your narrative! Show my retainers some bloody respect!"
"…Slaves do not count as friends, Mairon," Gandalf corrected in an exasperated tone.
"The two are not mutually exclusive!"
"For goodness' sake, yes they are!" he snapped, the wizard's patience finally beginning to strain. "Friendship has to be built on a foundation of mutual respect and trust, which cannot exist if one party is the property of the other! The relationship has to be equal, at the very least in dignity, if not in power!"
"…Are you seriously trying to suggest that I recognize these ponies as equals?" Sauron asked incredulously. "They are Incarnates, Olorin! They are literally made of meat!" He glanced over at an unamused Luna. "Meaning no offense," he added unconvincingly. The Princess sighed and rubbed her temples with her eyes closed.
"I still cannot believe you two are siblings," she said in an aggrieved tone, but blinked and took on a chagrined expression. "Then again, perhaps I can. You certainly bicker like family."
"Cousins would be more accurate, and even that is really stretching an already tenuous analog," grumbled Sauron. "But putting that aside, what more do you expect me to do? You yourselves said that I have been perfectly civil. Agreeable, even! What have I done to earn this kind of mistrust?"
His handlers glared at him.
"…Recently, I mean!" Sauron clarified, his mind racing. It might be difficult to spin things for the Princess with Olorin breathing down his neck, but all he had to do for now was plant a seed. He had all the time in the world to let it grow.
"Your Highness, I admit that in the past I have needed to deal harshly with those who opposed me, perhaps even cruelly by your culture's standards, but never more harshly than I needed to. I was never cruel for its own sake, as some would claim in their understandable grief, nor ever for the pleasure of it."
"Olorin, wise though he is, has never known the burden of ruling, and those he serves have shirked that duty for so long that they have forgotten it altogether. But you understand, Princess! You understand the weight of the crown you wear, of the things that you have had to do in order to protect and lift up those who trust you to lead them. You understand the need to make difficult choices, choices that others cannot or will not make. You understand that some pony always needs to get their hooves dirty, even if the world will not acknowledge or appreciate their work."
He gesticulated with his forelimbs in an attempt to convey passion, losing some of the effect by stumbling awkwardly as he lost his balance.
"The ponies of Equestria are not my enemies, Princess Luna, and they never will be," Sauron said emphatically once he recovered. "And even if they were, what possible harm could I do to them? I am less than a shadow of myself, without lands or armies and barely a copper piece to my name!" He took a deep breath, and when he exhaled he sighed and let his muscles relax and sag slightly to seem tired and heavyhearted. "You doubtless have many a care already, Your Highness. I do not need to be one of them."
Luna gave him a long, searching look as she mulled over his words, and Sauron was pleasantly surprised that the normally meddlesome Gandalf allowed her to think without a single word of rebuttal, no doubt overconfident in his ability to maintain influence over the creature. We will see about that…
"If you mean that, and perhaps some part of you actually does," Luna began slowly, her voice still heavy with skepticism, "then a good start for proving it might be to begin acknowledging us as actual people, rather than particularly chatty chess pieces."
"This might also be a good time for us to talk about the issues that you've had with forming interpersonal connections, before and especially after Eregion," broke in Gandalf, to Sauron's immense annoyance.
Butt OUT you nosy prat! I was just starting to get somewhere with her!
"I thought we established last time that we are not going to discuss that place!" Sauron snapped. "And what do you know, Olorin? Were you helping to pick up the pieces after your masters were finally guilt-tripped into doing their damn jobs just long enough to sink a continent? No! You, like them, were lounging about in your thrice-cursed bubble on the other side of the world making flower-crowns, patting yourselves on the back, and listening to your pet elves sing your praises while Middle-Earth fell apart! At least I tried to fix things after everyone else just gave up!"
This little rant, partly made out of sheer irritation but mostly for Luna's benefit, appeared to have some effect at least. The Princess raised her eyebrows at Olorin, seemingly caught off guard by these accusations against her friend.
Gandalf paused to think for a moment and sighed. "I could say several things to try to justify that, things that we have repeated to ourselves for millennia. About how we had learned our lesson about direct interference, or perhaps how we realized that we did the elves no favors by coddling them and should have allowed them to make their own mistakes in order to grow. But I will not say any of those things; do you know why, Mairon? Because despite how truthful they are, you are not completely wrong."
Sauron couldn't stop himself; he gaped like a landed fish, and Luna wasn't much different. Gandalf glanced at them both and chuckled at their reactions.
"Why do you think that I was the only one to speak on your behalf? Even Lady Nienna, at whose feet I learned patience and empathy to begin with, merely mourned the 'loss' of who you once were. I was the only one present for your judgement who had actually walked among the peoples of Middle-Earth in recent ages rather than safely observe them from afar and, it must be admitted, with a certain degree of detachment."
A look of pain crossed the Maia's face as he relived centuries of wandering. "In the two and a half thousand years that I lived among the Children, ate with them, laughed with them, bled with them, I cannot tell you how many times I felt doubt about my mission and felt tempted to do more to help than simply advise. There were many occasions where I grew frustrated with my role as a mere counselor and thought about how easily I could prevent their suffering if I simply made them listen to me. Believe me when I say that I understand at least some small part of how you feel, even if I strongly disagree with why you felt that way and absolutely revile the methods and reasoning you used to act on those feelings."
Sauron took a moment to process this disclosure, and quickly recognized it for the manipulation that it was. Phrases like "I understand how you feel", "I'm on your side here", or the particularly banal "we're not so different" were rather standard when getting someone to lower their guard around you and persuading them to take your intentions at face value. Whatever his pretensions of mystery, Olorin was hardly an expert in the arts of subterfuge, despite having over two millennia of practice with sabotaging Sauron's attempts to shepherd mortal-kind. Perhaps, perhaps, the fool meant what he said in some capacity, but some faint shadow of patronizing sympathy could not possibly be the entire reason Olorin had masterminded this whole misadventure, especially not after their recent antipathy.
Sauron searched the other Maia's microexpressions for some clue, some subconscious indication of what this was really about, even if Olorin himself did not realize it. The slight furrowing of his brow, the brief downward flickering of his pupils when he broke eye contact… Olorin was feeling regretful, guilty about something. Certainly the thrice-cursed meddler had done much to be ashamed of, but what was troubling him specifically?
Gandalf's face cleared as he returned to the present. "But don't think that you can change the subject so easily, Mairon. Tell me, why exactly is befriending Incarnates such a difficult idea for you to accept?"
Sauron measured his words carefully, mindful of the Alicorn sitting a few feet away whose spiritual strength currently dwarfed his own to a mortifying degree.
"Was it not you who claimed that friendship had to be founded on equality?" he pointed out. "Surely you must acknowledge the vast gulf of perspective and experience that exists between our kind, who were ancient before time was a concept, and even the mightiest of the Eldar? How much more difficult must it be then to connect with mortals, most of whom struggle to stretch their lives to a single century?"
"I never found it challenging," remarked Gandalf, his eyes regaining some of their smug twinkle. "Nor did Melian- she married an Incarnate, after all."
"To my lasting consternation," muttered Sauron in disgust.
"…Nor can I help but think that you're being a tad hypocritical, considering how the only person that you've ever acknowledged as a friend was 'merely' an elf-," the wizard verbally tip-toed, but was cut off when Sauron threw a cushion into his face hard enough to knock his hat off.
"We are not. Talking. About. EREGION," Sauron snarled loudly, barely keeping himself from shouting. "And especially not about that backstabbing, plagiarizing piece of-."
"ENOUGH," said Luna, her voice breaking through the tense air with its more-than-physical volume, causing the Maiar to flinch away from the sudden thrust of her consciousness.
The Princess huffed in exasperation. "Gandalf, if he is this unwilling to talk about this 'Eregion', then trying to force the topic will only serve to antagonize him."
The wizard seemed for a moment like he would bristle at this chastisement, but conceded the point with a nod.
"Ember," Luna said calmly, turning to address the still twitching stallion with an imperious expression. "It's clear that this is a challenging area for you, but we need to start working to overcome these manipulative impulses of yours if we are to make progress. To that end, there is an exercise I want you to try that I believe will be helpful."
Sauron couldn't help but snort. "By all means, Your Highness. What wisdom would you like to offer me?"
"For every pony that you speak with," Luna explained slowly, ignoring his tone, "I want you to try talking about at least one thing solely for entertainment or personal interest, rather than attempting to influence them somehow. Do you think that you can do that?"
"…Very well, then. If you think it will be helpful," replied Sauron, trying to sound sincere but unsure of how well he managed based on the look she was giving him.
"Good, then with that, our time tonight is at an end." The dream began to dissolve around them like smoke in a breeze, and Sauron felt the strangely light-headed rising sensation that he realized must be his body's return to consciousness.
"We look forward to hearing about the fun you had," Gandalf quipped, which was the last thing Sauron heard before finding himself face first on the floor of Rarity's guestroom with a dry, gummy mouth and a throbbing headache.
I am really starting to hate dreaming.
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