.***Gandalf is Dreaming***
Sauron is standing on a balcony – it is not Barad-Dur- where, then?- looking forlornly out at the sunset, a too-red sunset.
Is this the past? Gandalf wonders in his dream-thought.
A larger figure emerges from behind Sauron, looming, taller, blacker.
Sauron turns to the approaching shape, and his face looks distraught, frightened, a dismayed tension.
The other face, he cannot see it, and troubled, Gandalf tosses uneasily in his sleep.
And then, the black figure leans over Sauron, who suddenly seems so small, and takes him in his arms, and he leans back, his long golden hair falling downwards.
The face turns, and Gandalf can see it now.
Terrible, this face, hideous in its cruelty, its sadism. It would be strikingly handsome, but the vicious expression mars the fairness.
In his deep sleep, Gandalf thrashes, unhappy images flickering in his head.
Sauron seems to cringe in his arms, and submits, the look on his face says everything, and Gandalf begins to understand, for the first time. In sheer terror, Sauron is dominated to the point of madness, in the thrall of a love so horrific it is agony.
Sauron reaches to touch his Master’s face, carefully stroking the fierce fire, in a misery of desire and fear.
Morgoth smiles down at him, and crushes him to his chest. And then lowers him to the floor, spinning him around with one magical hand.
It is black. Burned from the Sils, blackened forever.
There is no chance of escape, and even if there were, it would not be accepted.
Morgoth lowers his massive body, with all its vast Valar strength, down onto Sauron, and there is no resistance, even as the long black robes are torn from his body, and his legs are brutally spread apart by the charred ruin of Morgoth’s huge hand.
Appalled, Gandalf does not want to see anymore, he has already learned far more than he wanted to know.
But the dream will not end yet.
With Morgoth’s giant body pressing onto him, Sauron cannot even struggle, he is utterly pinned and overpowered.
Very much against his will, Gandalf sees the look in Sauron’s eyes as Morgoth thrusts into him savagely, slamming him hard onto the cold floor on his belly.
He will never forget that look.
Pain, so much pain.
With a shudder, he finally awakens, in a frozen sweat, shaking.
Gandalf looks over at Saruman, still soundly asleep, adrift in a sea of his own worries.
Unable to sleep after such horror, he rises quietly and goes for his pipe, and sits for a while, lost in thought.
**I never knew, I never imagined**.
At length, he finally relaxes again, and carefully lies down again next to Saruman, still very weary and needing rest.
But again it comes, relentless in its determination to reveal all to him.
Now it seems to be over, the violation. And was it even necessary? Would Sauron not have given himself, freely, willingly? But Morgoth desired hurting him, that was the obvious answer.
Gandalf sees the two of them sitting inside now, Morgoth on a great chair- a throne, really- and Sauron sits by his feet, silent, sulking-in pain. Morgoth is stroking his hair absently, lost in meditation of some soon-to-be-executed evil, no doubt, Gandalf thinks to himself.
Suddenly, he speaks, and the dream-air quakes with the power of it.
“He is watching us, little Maia.”
Gandalf realizes that both Morgoth and Sauron are staring at him, now, and he also sees that Sauron is wearing an iron collar, and Morgoth is holding his chain, tightly.
When is this? *Where* is this?
Morgoth begins to laugh, but Sauron only lowers his head, humbled, enslaved.
Morgoth lifts his other hand, and brings down a black whip on Sauron’s back. He collapses under it, with a choked sound.
Gandalf cries out, Stop, stop!
And then he is once again awake, this time his heart is racing dangerously, and this time he will not lie back down.
What was that? Not the past...but the future? The Void!
Sauron’s fate. To fall into the merciless and sadistic power of his master, a fitting justice.
Gandalf shakes his head, sickened.
No. That may be what he deserves, but it is too pitiless, even for Gorthaur the Cruel.
Shivering from a cold that is more than just the chill air, Gandalf looks into the sunrise, and prays the Valar may show the best way, the noblest way.
And then closes his eyes, feeling the consuming pressure from Mordor.
Dear Nienna, show me the path, show me a path of mercy and justice.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.