The Unlikely Visitor

Chapter 22.
In which there is rain in Mordor, and other tragedies.

Many years had passed, and when he looked back on them he could hardly believe the life he had led. Two hundred years, a small period compared to the time he had lived already… but every moment had been meaningful, and when he was honest Sauron knew that he hadn’t felt more alive in ages. He had even gotten that exact thing the Mirror of Erised had shown him he wanted most… Standing on the balcony of the rebuilt Barad-dûr he had kissed his wife and shown her the magnificent view over Mordor, only afterwards realizing the resemblance with his mirror-vision. He had indeed exactly what he wanted, and more even. Children had never been included in the original equation, but Sauron was happy with them either way. It had turned out that children were far from as infuriating and annoying when they were your own… or maybe his heritage just made for non-annoying children. It was probably that.
Mairë, his youngest, was very much like him. She had an unusual outlook on life, both dark and innocent, that hadn’t made for an easy childhood… But as she had gotten older she had grown into her talents, becoming a feared and highly skilled warrior. Her brother Umátimon was a different story. Sauron had worried about him, because he was a dreamer and always seemed much tamer than his little sister… But Sinistra had told him to be patient, and indeed time had shown that what he had perceived as tameness was a balanced and patient character, and that behind his calm, dreamy ways Umátimon hid great power. He was a gifted speaker, and already working in the diplomatic corps. Sauron didn’t know if his children were aware of how proud they made him. He didn’t make a habit of public displays of affection after all. But they did make him proud, more than anything.
He was standing on the balcony, on his own this time, thinking. He indeed had more than he had ever imagined he would… but there was one thing that still served to remind him of the fragility of it all. His wife. Sinistra had remained young and beautiful thanks to his magic. He had never told her all the details of his rituals, for fear of her refusing their aid; she would have been angry to know of bloodshed for something she considered pure vanity. Some things were worth whatever it took though, and protecting his wife from being marred by Time was high on that list. Yet protecting her from Time’s decay wasn’t enough, and he knew it. It hadn’t been an issue a couple decades ago, but it was now. Sinistra’s time was running out, he had stretched her life as far as he could without venturing into the territory that had been his downfall last time. He had promised her and himself not to go there again, but the idea became more tempting with every passing day. It wasn’t that Sinistra was ill or weakening… it was in her eyes, a tiredness that no amount of sleep could cure. The Doom of Men was slowly creeping up on her.
Sauron knew ways to lengthen her life indefinitely… but those ways would require great sacrifice and broken promises from him. And he was prepared to make such sacrifices; he would do anything to keep her with him… if only she would accept it. Yet she wouldn’t, she blatantly refused and left him to watch her grow wearier of life every day. If he had thought he could die he would have said it was killing him.
Implementing his go-to strategy in case of trouble –ignoring the trouble- Sauron had moved into Barad-dûr, leaving his family in Minas Morgul. Everything not to be confronted with Sinistra’s impending death... But being in the dark tower with only servants and soldiers for company brought him no peace of mind. He wasn’t used to being without her anymore, and the knowledge that sooner or later he would be without her forever gave his “alone time” a bitter aftertaste.
“Are you done moping yet?”
He hadn’t heard or seen her arrive. He supposed she had used her broom and landed on the roof, apparating inside. He didn’t turn when he stated, with a dangerous edge to his tone,
“I’m not moping.”
“Yes, you are. You forget how well I know you, Sauron.”
He stubbornly stared in the distance, not facing his wife.
“If you want me to stop “moping”, you know what to do.”
“Don’t be like that. Emotional blackmail doesn’t work on me; I’d think you know that by now. You can mope all you want, but I will not change my decision. You’re only making things harder.”
This time he turned, sending her a fiery glare. The frustrated indignation was clear in his voice when he exclaimed,
“How can you so easily decide to leave me? Do I, and our children, not mean enough for you to want to hang on?”
Sinistra was undeterred. She slowly approached her husband and embraced him. Sauron didn’t back away, but he growled.
“Who’s doing emotional blackmail now, huh?”
“I’m not blackmailing you into anything.”
She let go of him and sat down on the stone floor, uncaring about her elaborate robes. She sat in silence for a while, staring at the inky black sky.
“Do you remember that we used to sit on the platform of the Hogwarts astronomy tower?”
“Why do you think I would have forgotten that?”
Sinistra shook her head.
“I just… realized that it’s been a long time since we last did that. Just sit and look at the sky.” She looked pleadingly. “Please, Teferi. Sit with me.”
She used the name her mother had given him, and it struck a chord. He had used the name as an alias in the early years of their return, but it had never lost its strange magic… He sighed and sat down.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me.” Sinistra’s hand ran through his hair in a comforting manner. He closed his eyes and savored her touch. “When you leave…”
“You can use the word “dying”, you know. I am well aware that I won’t be coming back.”
She had taken over a bit of the harshness in speaking that came naturally to the people of Mordor. Usually it amused him, now it only made him moan.
“If you are so aware of that, how… why…”
“When you first told me of your ring… the Treacherous Ring… I told you a story as well.”
“The Tale of the Three Brothers. I remember.”
That conversation was burned in his memory… Sinistra leaned against him, and automatically he wrapped an arm around her. She softly said,
“This, we… it’s like the second brother and his lover.”
Sauron remembered the story in its entirety now, in peculiar the second brother who had recalled his lover from the dead. He even remembered thinking of his Ringwraiths at the description Sinistra had given of the revived lover. A shade of life, she had called it. Bitter irony…
“It wouldn’t be like the Rings of Power. I could change the properties, you wouldn’t turn into a wraith, I assure you that there…”
Sinistra shushed him by holding a finger to his lips.
“You misunderstand. No man has more time than given him, and trying to claim more of it always ends in sorrow.” She smiled sadly. “That was the curse of the resurrection stone, and that would be the curse of any object of power you would make to keep me alive. I am mortal, that is my nature. Rather than seek something else, I want to be like the third brother, who laid off his cloak when he grew weary, and left the circles of the world at peace with himself.”
Sauron knew, with his fëa, that she was right. With his mind however he just couldn’t accept it yet.
“But I don’t want to let you go.”
“I know.”
Once upon a time he would have simply forced her. Tricked her, claimed her, preserved her like a trophy in a display case for all the ages to come… Now however, he knew there was no way he could bring himself to do that. Even when he had believed she would never return his feelings, he had refused to deceive her. He had wanted her whole or not at all; any deception would have been a mockery of his love for her. And thinking about that, Sauron realized that this situation was not so different. Forcing her to live, until she would grow so weary that her life would be a mere continued existence, without true value… that would truly be a mockery, not just of his love for her but of all the time they had shared. That knowledge didn’t make it less painful, though.
“I once promised myself that Námo would never lay hands on you.”
“In time I will follow him, but he better keep his hands to himself. Even in death I will always be yours and yours only.”
Despite everything, Sauron chuckled darkly. Then he sighed.
“Maathûn-izub… I don’t know how to live without you.”
“You know that’s not true. You lived thousands of years without me.”
And in all those thousands of years, he had never felt as he did with her. Sauron couldn’t exactly bring it under words, but to be without her forever was just… he couldn’t and wouldn’t imagine it. It was too painful. Sinistra looked in the distance and smiled.
“Maybe you’ll finally find the time to conquer Gondor when I’m gone.”
He doubted it; there would be too many obstacles for that, not in the least his own lack of enthusiasm for the conquering business lately. Her voice was playful, but he couldn’t smile about the comment. When she was gone… He didn’t want to think about that.
“Maybe. There’s nothing in Gondor that I want, though.”
All he wanted was right there next to him. He didn’t say it out loud, but the thought hung unspoken between them. As an answer, Sinistra crawled a little closer in his embrace.
They sat in silence on the balcony for a long time, both lost in thought, hands entangled.
“There still is time, Teferi. I’m not gone yet.”

She died about a year later. One evening she simply went to bed, declaring that she was horribly tired, and never got up again. Her death affected every member of the family differently. Mairë was furious, screaming in rage that could be heard all the way to Cirith Ungol. Umátimon climbed in the only tree in Minas Morgul and refused to come out. And Sauron… he didn’t cry. He didn’t even show the slightest bit of emotion.
They buried her at the foot of Barad-dûr, and it seemed as if the whole of Mordor had gathered there in a grim procession the day of the funeral. The army stood in formation, wearing full battle garb. The diplomats, the engineers and workers, even the servants of Minas Morgul were there when the body of Sinistra was carried to the prepared grave. There were thousands of people, but the silence was as complete as it was suffocating… Sauron watched how she was lowered into the tomb, feeling a frightening absence of… anything, really. He had prepared her body himself, not wanting anyone else to touch her. Put her in her most beautiful dress, braided her hair elaborately, and adorned her with the ceremonial tokens of power that she had rarely ever worn during her life. And he had felt nothing. Still didn’t. Someone had seemingly cut out the part of him with which he was able to feel. He looked at the events without truly registering them.
When Sinistra’s body was in the tomb, their children came forward. It wasn’t exactly clear what had to happen now, at least not to Sauron… but when Mairë opened her mouth he knew.
She sang. Mairë had a dissonant, harsh voice, unsettling to listen to when used for singing, but for the song she sang no other voice would have been suitable. It was a song of power, filled with burning rage and indescribable sadness, pain and desperation in every syllable. As it echoed through the crowd, Sauron felt the notes resonate with his numbed feelings… And as it resonated with him, it seemed to resonate with the ground they stood on as well. It started as a tremor, but soon they all felt how the fiery innards of Mordor trembled under the magic of Mairë’s song. And then her brother joined her. Umátimon had a light, airy voice, reminiscent of the wind chimes he was so fond of, yet still his song was as notable as his sister’s. Next to Mairë’s raw anger he sang of loss, of emptiness, of a hole that couldn’t be filled or mended, his words entangling with his sister’s in terrifying strength. The sky had turned an inky black, the earth shook, Orodruin smoked and burned fiercely, and Sauron was starting to feel as shaken as the ground below his feet. At long last, he added his own voice to the song, no longer able to contain the emotion that suddenly overwhelmed him. It was majestic in its terribleness, the song of their three voices that resounded over Ered Lithui…
From the dark clouds, thick drops of ash-laden water started falling, leaving stains as from black tears on the clothes and faces of the funeral goers. Harsh winds carried the weather over the mountains, spreading the ash rain far into Ithilien and beyond. It was an impressive display of power… but most of all it was a display of sadness. Mordor cried for its queen, or so it seemed…

After the funeral, that had left everyone distraught and literally shaken, the rain continued to fall. Rain was rare occurrence in the desert of Mordor, especially in the quantities it now fell from the skies. Sauron watched it on his balcony, getting thoroughly soaked in ash and water. As much as he hated getting wet, he couldn’t get himself to go inside. He couldn’t get himself to do anything. The song had broken through his numbness, only to reveal an excruciating truth to him. Forever was in front of him, and forever meant never again. Never again seeing her face, never again hearing her voice, never again feeling her long dark fingers stroking through his hair. Every moment was a moment without her. Every place was a place where she was not. It was as if his whole view on the world had been rearranged in terms of Sinistra’s lacking presence, filling him with an agonizing sense of loss. It was a phantom pain, a pain in something that wasn’t there anymore. It was paralyzing, and he couldn’t really grasp it. Nothing could have prepared him for this aching nothingness that filled him…
“Sauron.”
The stern, cold voice was familiar. It was the same voice that had spoken his sentence, centuries ago now. Of course he would come here now, the bastard. Without turning, Sauron growled.
“Námo. Come to gloat, have you? Or have you decided that I need to be thrown back into the Void after all?” His bitterness was biting. “Well, be my guest. Throw me back, I don’t care.”
He really didn’t care anymore. Everything there was only reminded him of what wasn’t there, and rather than to live like that he would spend his unending years around nothing at all. The Doomsman didn’t answer him though.
“His spirit travels and the eye has opened again… The mirror will be the answer, the enemy, the gate. The daybreak of darkness will arrive, and when he embraces it he will know the truth of the Void…”
Now Sauron turned. Námo had repeated the exact words of the batty Hogwarts Doomsayer, to the letter. He stared in shock at the Vala, who looked unmoved at him. Eventually Námo sighed.
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever asked your wife what her name meant?”
In fact, he had. They had even had a laugh about it when she had told him that, “Sinistra” meant, among other things, “dark, inclined to darkness”. Not waiting for his answer, the Doomsman continued.
“Aurora Sinistra. Daybreak of Darkness.”
And with those words, the cryptic prophecy of Trelawney became crystal clear to Sauron. The mirror of Erised, Sinistra… This punishment was crueler than anything he could have imagined the Valar thinking out. Indignation came over him.
“Melkor was right about you lot. You are no better than him.”
They were worse, at least Melkor had been honest about being a cunning sadist. He wanted to scream, yell, curse, do anything… but it just wasn’t worth it anymore. Powerless despair had overtaken him, and his voice sounded bitter yet flat, devoid of any conviction.
“I didn’t know. None of us knew.”
“Yeah right.”
“I do not lie. Although I was drawn to your lands ever since you returned, I never knew why, and I have never told the others.”
“You were drawn to my lands?”
“I have observed you, and your family. Something told me that I had to. I could feel your doom, but it was not mine to speak… Only now, when I was called to collect your wife’s fëa, Eru deemed it fit to unveil it to me.”
How much worse would this get? Not only was it apparently Eru himself who had thought out his cruel and unusual punishment, he had also had a stalker for years in the form of one Námo Mandos, out of all the Valar his absolute least favorite. Sauron felt more miserable than ever. The rain still poured down on him, but he didn’t feel it anymore, so lost he was in his own grief. Not even attempting to hide his misery, he asked.
“What do you want with me?”
The Void? It would be a blessing. Solitary confinement? It wouldn’t really do him much. Death, if that was even possible? He’d request it rather than anything else. He had a black suspicion though that his punishment was simply this, to live with this void inside him, the half-life he had spared his wife from.
“I don’t want anything with you.”
“Then go away.”
With that, he turned away again from the Vala. He was shaking slightly, as if he was cold, or crying, but the rain effectively masked any tears. If Sauron had looked at the great Doomsman of the Valar then, he would have seen something more rare than rain in Mordor... It could only be described as compassion. Námo Mandos was known to be stern and unbending, merciless but just… yet as he looked at the grieving Maia, he couldn’t help but feel for him. He had heard the funeral song, and it had touched him, moved him like rarely anything did. It was rather ironic, but there was nothing to do about it. Calmly he put a hand on Sauron’s shoulder.
“You should come inside.”
Sauron had hoped the Vala would just go away, but of course he hadn’t. It was Námo after all. So he shrugged the hand off and followed him inside, hoping that whatever it was he wanted from him, it would be over soon. He barely took notice of Námo magically drying him up and removing the ashes that covered him… When suddenly his vision became hazy and he felt languid and exhausted, he didn’t even try to fight it. The forced sleep was a relief, and Sauron gladly surrendered to oblivion, limply dropping against Námo…

(Author's Apologies)

My major plot twist! I'm so proud that I made this plot twist all the way back in Chapter 7... xD
And then there is the possibility that you guys hate it, and I'm bragging basically about being a moron. Again. *sigh* I apologize.
Does anyone feel sorry for Sauron? I do.
Referring to a comment in the AA's of a previous chapter: eternal youth but not immortality, the reversion of what the goddess Aurora procured for her husband...

Maathûn-izub = my beloved, my sweetheart

This was an exercise in empathy. Seriously. If it sucks, blame it on my psychopathic condition. Writing mourning scenes is always especially challenging for me as I am a very stoic and generally unmoved person.