For the Sake of Alliance by wind rider

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For the Sake of Alliance

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For the Sake of Alliance

 

1. Voldemort: The Assignment

 

Lord Voldemort was reading a very old, fragile-looking manuscript when the door to his study was knocked. “Enter,” he called in a loud hiss.

 

The door crieked open, and Bellatrix Lestrange came in. He smiled his cold smile and rose from his seat, skirting the desk. “I have a task for you, my dear Bella,” he crooned as the woman knelt and bowed low, kissing the hem of his robes.

 

“As you wish, my lord,” came the expected answer in a simpering voice, and his smile stretched wider. He caressed the top of the woman’s unkempt head and she shivered in delight.

 

“Rise now, my faithful,” he said, and Bella obeyed. “Severus will come by in a moment,” he continued. “I need you to go retrieve an ally to help me find that stupid prophecy from the Department of Mysteries – without telling him what I want to do with him once you have retrieved him, of course. You are the only one I trust to do it.”

 

The woman bobbed her head enthusiastically and knelt again, kissing his robes with adoration. It was to be, he thought to himself; a perfect servant, indeed. A little flattery would secure her faith to him, and hopefully also her earnestness in carrying out his assignment.

 

2. Bellatrix: The Potion

 

She thought she had gotten rid of the awkward brat after Hogwarts, but no… He had to dog her everywhere. And now he was striding into the room after just a purfunctory knock at the door, courtsying like a nancy boy with a foul-smelling, smoking goblet and without kissing the hem of their lord’s robes also – stealing her master’s attention away from her in the most bracent manner possible. But Bellatrix Lestrange was a good servant to her master – to their course – and so she would quietly wait for her master’s instructions, standing off to the side and seething just inside.

 

And then the brat stalked towards her, looking at her quite smugly, proffering the disgusting potion in a mock-gallant gesture. If her master were not there, Bella would have upended the potion on his greasy head and bang the goblet on his skull for added measure.

 

Her master was now looking at her too, though, returning his attention to her – as well it should be! So she took the goblet from Snape and raised it to her lips.

 

– Oh no. What had Snape put in this vile potion? She could smell onion, garlic, snakefruit and durian…

 

She lowered the goblet and glared ferociously at Snape. That half Mudblood mongrel!

 

But just as she was glowering at the twinkle-eyed brat, her master was also glaring with displeasure at her; so, trying not to heed the smell, he quickly downed the potion in just two gulps.

 

– It even tasted most like onion!

 

3. Sauron: the Madwoman

 

The one known to the – foolish – nancy Elves of Eregion as Annatar was currently miffed and rather mystified.

 

It was so, so, so hard to keep up being pleasant and lordly and accomodating when faced with this creature whom Celebrimbor had sicked on him. Perhaps the Elves were not as foolish as he had thought – or perhaps just this particular Elf. Anyway, now he had to deal with a madwoman of the Secondborn, with wild eyes and aggressive but cloyingly subserviant mannerism, who desired his allegiance. He did wish “allegiance” with Elves and Men, but not like this – or this woman! She was hiding something quite big from him too about this purported offer of alliance. (She was less skilled in people manipulations than that entirely-too-powerful, blockheaded, wild, turncoat, but at the same time entirely-too-mysterious Ossë, which was saying something.)

 

What did she have that he would desire anyway? Nothing she had proffered him interested him any.

 

(Her) body? Disgusting. Even the thought of touching her was revolting. He could take a willing Elven woman – or more – for himself all the same; better, far prettier.

 

Immortality (shared with her purported master)? Well, he was an immortal spirit himself, so what of it? Ainur were true immortals, unlike Elves who would die when the world ended. And he was not about to share his immortality with anyone, too, including her stupid master.

 

(Questionable) troops? Only a hundred Secondborn and a few dozens of creatures?! He did not know if even that pitiful claim was true, and he definitely did not need them all the same. He currently had thousands of orcs and wargs and they were spawning more in secret places, and his nine wraith servants, and a slew of other creatures both legacy from Melkor and his own creations. He–

 

“Please, Lord?”

 

The madwoman – he did not care to know what her name was – simpered and kissed the hem of his robes. He flinched back. Thankfully, she had the desency to freeze on the spot, although he could not detect any repentence (much less apology) on her bearing. – Father! He had not been this unnerved and lost since Melkor’s second imprisonment in the end of the First Age! Eönwë had been much more dignified and much, much saner than this,however he despised the other Maia.

 

And it was the first time after however many millennia of unbroken record on not addressing his creator, too. Damn woman.

– “My lord, I–“

 

She took his hand and kissed it. It was the last blow he could endure moderately unphased. And so he did the sensible thing to do, which he probably should have done the moment that damn Elf-boy had sicked this creature on him: send her back to her proper place, with some breakages.