Possession by elennalore

Possession

Celebrimbor asked for charcoal and paper, and to his surprise, he got them. The Orc who was tending his needs, Lugar, didn’t comment as he laid the art supplies on the small desk, but his expression told him that he saw this as yet another quirk of his. There were even more supplies than Celebrimbor had hoped for: an eraser, a couple of burnt willow sticks and several papers of different shades. It looked like Sauron wanted to take care that his every request was fulfilled as long as they were reasonable.

Once, he had asked for a key to his door, but that request was firmly rejected.

When Lugar had left and locked the door behind him, Celebrimbor considered what to draw. First, he had been almost sure that he would draw the face of his captor, for those burning eyes and flawless features were always in his mind. He had drawn Sauron many times before, with ink and with blood. It was enough for a while, he decided. This time he wanted to draw the tower where he was held.

Barad-dûr, he had called it before, but it had another name in Black Speech. Celebrimbor’s cell was somewhere in that mighty tower; his bed was there, as well as the desk and a narrow window close to the ceiling. Sauron had his study on some higher level, and that was where the Maia spent a lot of his time as far as Celebrimbor could tell. He was rarely brought up there, but whenever Lugar let him out of his cell, Celebrimbor tried to remember his surroundings. He wanted to learn the structure of the place where he was kept.

He wanted to draw the tower – not to escape, for he knew it was not possible, but to understand. He had come to think that if he understood the structure of the tower, he would perhaps understand Sauron’s mind. Just as Sauron’s preferred body, or the golden ring in his finger, the fortress was also a creation of a Maia, and as such, an extension of his spirit.

This would mean, Celebrimbor mused, that in essence he was imprisoned inside Sauron, as much as his will was bound to Sauron’s ring, or his body to his lover as they made love. His fate was entangled with Sauron in many ways indeed.

A piece of smooth paper, slightly brownish in colour, waited in front of him.

Celebrimbor hesitated, a charcoal stick in his hand. He had no clear memory of the tower from the outside. He had been drugged when he was brought there, and he hadn’t been outside since then. He knew that he should be more disturbed by the realization, but nothing was normal in his life anymore. The tower was his whole life now – the tower, and, of course, Sauron.

He pushed his thoughts away and began to draw as if in a trance, stopping only when the daylight was waning and he had to squint his eyes to see. A diagram of the tower had appeared on the paper. It was difficult to see all the details in the now dim room, but he could imagine them well enough. They were like Sauron’s mind: intense, methodological, and repetitive.

It was a cross section of the tower. He didn’t know the exact number of floors, although there had to be more than twenty. He had carefully drawn every step of the spiral staircase – he had learned to count the steps whenever he was taken upstairs, blindfolded. It was a bigger building than any he had seen before. He suspected that there were dungeons underground. He hadn’t been there yet, but he was afraid it was only a matter of time. It was a monstrous building, adamant and unnatural.

Like its builder, a part of his mind whispered.

He wondered if the cross section of Sauron’s skull would look as organized, as repetitive as the structure of the tower. Did the Maia have a brain inside his head? Cogwheels? Staircases? No, he decided. There would be only light. That beautiful, cruel light that always shimmered around him – it had existed before any other light, and it would never expire.

Once he had thought it beautiful. Still, he found it enthralling, even though the light was tainted now.

“Planning escape routes?” asked Lugar, grinning widely, when he visited his room next time.

“It’s just a map,” Celebrimbor answered in the Black Speech. Lugar had taught him that language himself, but his vocabulary was still frustratingly limited – or perhaps it was just the nature of Sauron’s language. “I got bored, so I made it.”

Lugar studied the diagram for a while; then he shook his head in mock disappointment. “It’s no use – The King will decide where you go, and when.”

“I’m not going to use it to escape,” Celebrimbor answered sternly. “It’s just a map. I want to know where I am.”

Lugar laughed. “You want to know? Stupid Elf. You’re here,” he waved his hand, “in your room.”

“In his room, you mean?” Celebrimbor snapped. “In his room, his tower, his dark fortress.”

The Orc nodded; they understood each other. “Yes, in his dark fortress. You’re his possession. His prized possession.”

“Not his only one,” Celebrimbor muttered under his breath in his own language, but Lugar either didn’t hear him, or didn’t understand.

Celebrimbor ran his finger over the drawing, stopping at the top where Sauron stayed, and then moving the finger downwards where he suspected he was kept. Separated from his lover by many floors yet sealed inside his tower. That was his fate, and he had come to accept it.

On a whim, he picked a charcoal stick, for the diagram lacked an important detail. Soon, a tiny stick figure had appeared on one of the floors. He couldn’t be sure if he had placed himself on the right floor, but he had made his point.

Celebrimbor rolled the drawing up and handed it to Lugar who had been watching him, faintly amused.

“Take this to him,” he said. “He shall not forget me.”

Lugar took the paper roll without objection. “He won’t.”

It was difficult to tell if the words were intended as reassurance or a threat.

When Lugar was gone, Celebrimbor thumped on his bed. He fingered the red ring in his hand absent-mindedly. He was bound to Sauron with more than mere walls and locked doors. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel his attention, always turned to Celebrimbor, gently brushing his mind.

No, Sauron would not forget him.