The Unlikely Visitor

Chapter 23.
In which prophecies are made void… or at least altered.

He woke up feeling oddly calm and comforted, not really knowing what had happened to him. For a couple moments of blissful ignorance he didn’t remember… and then it all came back, making him curse the moment he opened his eyes. How much time had passed? Moaning, he got up from his bed.
“Ah, you’re awake.”
Námo sat in one of his chairs, blending surprisingly well into the dark interior. Sauron just wanted to ask how long he had slept, when the Vala already answered him.
“Approximately 3 months.”
What? He couldn’t have slept that…
“I kept you asleep. You needed the rest, you were an inch from spontaneously disincarnating.”
Bitterly, Sauron remarked,
“Why do you even care?”
The Vala sighed.
“We’re not as cruel as you believe.”
Sauron shook his head, not even doing the effort to answer out loud. Námo liked to read his mind, so his thoughts would do for an answer.
“How do you feel?”
That earned the Doomsman a fiery glare.
“How do you think I feel? Not only has my wife died and left the circles of the world, never to return again, I have also found out that all the years I had a semblance of happiness were actually part of some big divine conspiracy to make me more miserable! Guess how I feel!”
Námo was used to having fëar curse at him, so he didn’t really mind the small tirade. What he did mind however was the resigned look the Maia got in his eyes as soon as the outburst of anger faded. It seemed his compassion hadn’t run out yet… He read Sauron’s mind, gaining understanding of his grief, and then quietly said.
“You truly loved her.”
“I did. Conspiracy or not, I wouldn’t trade my time with her for the world. I just… It’s…”
He couldn’t find his words, and the Vala softly shook his head at his frustration.
“Ssssh… Calm down. You’re still somewhat under the spell’s influence, don’t force yourself.”
Sauron frowned at him.
“Don’t put me to sleep again. I don’t need it, I’m not a weakling.”
“Needing rest and time to mourn doesn’t make you a weakling. But no, I won’t put you to sleep. I want to show you something. Come.”
The Vala led him out of the bedroom, down the winding flights of stairs, until they reached a small living room where two people were quietly conversing. His children. Realizing that they couldn’t see him, Sauron took the time to observe his offspring.
Umátimon sat on the sofa, his long black hair falling elegantly over his shoulders as he played with a strand. He had grown into a very handsome half-Maia, it had to be said. His facial features were much like his father’s, but his eyes and expressions were softer, and the whole made for an exotic combination with his light brown skin. Sauron was well aware that his son had a whole harem of admirers… His sister was very different. Mairë’s hair was unusually short and jaggedly cut, as if she had on a certain point decided she wanted to get rid of her braid and just cut it off with the first sharp thing she could lay hands on. Knowing his daughter, that was a very likely possibility. She was very attractive, but she lacked the subtle grace of her brother. Even in her elaborate mourning robes of black silk she looked as if she could draw a sword –or whip- and engage in battle any moment. He contemplated the children. They were so different, radically different, and yet they each had something of both their parents. Sauron tried not to look for pieces that reminded him of Sinistra… instead he caught up on their conversation.
“Do you remember that we used to play in the fountain?”
“Play? You mean fight.”
“Yeah. Mom used to fish us out every time when we were doing the Fall of Gondolin.”
“I still can’t believe you managed to convince me that game was a good idea, time after time again.”
A cackling laugh resounded.
“You were really gullible when you were little.”
“You were just really good at seducing me into evil, that’s it.”
They were laughing, but Sauron could tell there was a tension under the thin layer of mirth. He didn’t really know why Námo wanted him to see this…
“Mom was never really angry with us, was she?”
“She was pretty pissed that one time you made an explosive device.”
“One time? I made a lot of explosive devices.”
“I mean the one device that was actually made specifically for explosive purposes.”
Mairë grinned.
“Oooh, that one… Yeah, she was pissed. And she was rather miffed too when I hung you from the balcony.”
“Nah. She said you were so much like dad, and that was it.”
They were silent for a moment.
“Do you think dad is okay?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“I’m worried about him. Last time I checked he was still sleeping, I don’t know if that’s good or bad... Do you think Maiar can fade, like elves?”
“I don’t think they can. At least… I hope not.” Umátimon sighed. “He really loved mom… He must miss her horribly. Maybe he misses her so much that he doesn’t want to wake up anymore without her.”
“Aren’t we important enough to wake up for?”
“We’re… we’re just his children. That’s very different from a husband or wife. And we’re adults now, so I suppose we’re expected to take care of ourselves.”
She frowned at that.
“I can take care of myself, but parents are for more than just obligatory caring. If dad doesn’t think us enough to wake up for then he’s actually saying he doesn’t love us enough.”
“Well, Miriel did love Finwë and Fëanor, but she still faded.”
“Yeah, and see how that turned out. Do you really consider Fëanor a good example? In my opinion she didn’t love them enough.”
“Did mom love us enough? She left as well.”
“She couldn’t help it.”
“Maybe Miriel couldn’t help it either. Maybe dad can’t help it either.”
As always, Umátimon was being a voice of reason. Sauron suddenly felt… guilty. His son was giving valid arguments, but his daughter was right. He had accused his wife of not loving them enough to hang on, but she truly couldn’t help it. He could, he had a choice. The Doomsman looked at him, sternly but not uncaring.
“You believed that your wife is completely gone… but she isn’t. She lives on in your children, in your memories, in the things she accomplished. It is a different way of living on than what we Ainur are used to… but that is the way of the Secondborn.” He waited a moment. “The Secondborn believe that they don’t truly die until they are forgotten. It is the task of those they leave behind to keep them alive in memory.”
A task that now fell to him, Sauron understood. To him and his children, and backing out of it would be dishonoring Sinistra’s remembrance. He eyed Námo with a strange new respect. He still didn’t like him, far from, but…
“Why did Eru do what he did?”
“The ways of Eru are unfathomable.”
Sauron raised an eyebrow. Really now. Námo stared back, unmoved. Engaging in a staring contest with the Doomsman was really not a good idea… Eventually though, it was Námo who gave in… sort of. Without averting his gaze, the Doomsman said.
“Maybe it wasn’t so much of a punishment as it was of a lesson.”
“A lesson in what?”
The moment he said that, Sauron knew. A lesson in patience, understanding, bravery, loyalty, love, loss, and a lot other things he had never grasped too well before. He had truly learned a lot. But why would Eru worry about him learning those things? He was doomed to disappear from Arda after Dagor Dagorath anyway… Námo read his mind and gave him a meaningful look.
“Prophecies are only that. They are based on a particular situation, the state of affairs in a world. When that situation changes, because worlds collide at a certain point and information that wasn’t part of the original state of affairs becomes a factor, the prophecies change as well. Maybe Eru wasn’t satisfied with the state of affairs in our world, or Sinistra’s?”
It was strangely loquacious, coming from Námo, and Sauron looked surprised. The Doomsman sent him something that could pass for a smile… if you squinted.
“I will be going now.”
“Do I have to worry about you stalking around here in the future?”
“You don’t have to worry about it.”
With that the Vala disappeared, and Sauron suddenly found himself in his room again. After the initial confusion, he realized he felt… calm. The void, the aching loss was still there… but he felt calm about it. Not as if he would implode or fade from misery anymore. He still couldn’t think about Sinistra without feeling as if he was choking though, so instead he thought about Dagor Dagorath. Námo had implied that perhaps his role in the end battle had changed due to Sinistra’s presence on Arda… Sauron found himself hoping that perhaps he would leave the circles of the world after the fight, and be reunited with his wife. It was a remarkably comforting thought… Who would have thought he’d once consider the end of the world comforting, in any way? Sauron shook his head to himself. No, that was all still very far away, he shouldn’t think about that yet… His own rationality surprised him. When had he become so calm and collected? Deciding that it didn’t matter, he went to see his children. It wouldn’t do that they thought he didn’t love them enough…

Sauron adorned his wife’s tomb to make it a resting place fit for the queen she was. A life size statue of Sinistra, forged from black iron, was put on the grave, making it seem as if the late queen was lying atop her tomb, covered in metal. The grave was adorned with a deeply carved out text in an alphabet no inhabitant of Middle-Earth, aside from Sauron and his children, could read. It seemed only appropriate to honor Sinistra in the language of her home world…

A heart of love the Void must overpower,
Peers for a vanished day's last vestiges!
The drowned sun bleeds in fast congealing seas...

And like a Host thy flaming memories flower!

Under it, a single phrase in Black Speech was written.
Trafnarub urkzû, naan lat slaiub ûkil inum-izub-ishi.
“We will not meet again, but you will forever live in my memory”

And live in his memory she did. In all their memories, even those of people who hadn’t known her. Stories about the Dark Queen of Mordor and her magic, mostly originating from people who had lived and worked with her in Minas Morgul, travelled over borders and generations until Sinistra was truly immortalized in the way of the Secondborn: in stories and tales that spun a lot of drama around a small factual core. And it hadn’t even happened on purpose. Whether she was a figment of imagination or had been an actual person was somewhat forgotten by most people, but her stories were retold either way. Sauron often wondered what his wife would think of it, would she know of it…
“Do you think mom would like her grave? And the way we buried her?”
Sauron looked at his daughter with a raised eyebrow.
“To be honest, your mother would probably scold me for daring to bury her with that heavy iron crown… She always put comfort over looks.” He smiled sadly. “As for the grave, I’m sure she would appreciate the poem. She was rather fond of that poet, Baudelaire.”
Mairë stared at her mother’s tomb, and said softly,
“I miss her.”
Sauron believed he had gotten ash in his eyes.
“So do I, Mairë… so do I.”

(Author's Apologies)

The final chapter. It's done at last. AT LAST!
The verse quote at the bottom is "Evening Harmony" by Charles Baudelaire, from the book "The Flowers of Evil". I take no credit.
Also, did anyone notice that Namo didn't say he'd stay away? He just said Sauron didn't have to worry about it xD

TRANSLATIONS:
Trafnarub urkzû, naan lat slaiub ûkil inum-izub-ishi. = We will not meet again, but you will forever live in my memory.
EXPLANATION
trafat=to meet => trafnarat=to not meet,
inum = memory, from the verb inat, according to the model istat => istum, (to know, information) or krimpat => krimpum (to bind, tie)

PLEASE FEEDBACK PLEASE!? I am really curious about how bad my story exactly is...