unbreakable: unreachable

[lordof]

He follows a scent, a sound, an echoing presence that has lingered in the recesses of his mind. Something that neither seeks nor avoids him, something... that is his. Was, or should be.

Sauron must find it, then. Collecting a lost pet, he calls it, though he does not remember what it was that he lost. The Orcs do not (cannot) argue when they are ushered across the plains into the southern tip of the forest, scouring the area until they find the naked hill amidst the trees. In little time his minions have dug into the barren, craggy hillside and built the stone up about them, tunnelling and making the very rock itself part of the fortress. Like Angband.

And all that time Sauron spreads the tendrils of his mind slowly northward, driving back pests while searching for that which is his, should be his. Something besides his Ring, whatever it is. Perhaps it knows what has become of his trinket. Perhaps it will even help him find it-- he is still little more than a wisp of smoke, a shadow in human form, walking beneath the eaves of the woods.

But first, the pet. While his Ring does not deign to share its location, this pet of his does, like a tug on a leash, however involuntarily. Sauron follows.

Comments

[lordof]

Had it been Varda herself, it might have been different, but the mere invocation of Varda's does little to stay Sauron's advance.

The tremble that goes through the ground, however, does get his attention. While he does not stop, he does sink down closer, into the soil, as if it were possible to communicate with the Elf that way. Though even without that, it's clear what he wants to say, as the darkness creeps closer, like fingers in the night.

No. You are mine. Come with me, melindur. Come with me.

[elvenking]

This is my woods!

The forest shudders again and the wind begins to shift. This poison was swallowed long ago, and it has been in his body ever since, but while he lives he will not let it claim this forest, nor his people. No, not even without Isildur here to tell him what to do or who to live for.

I will not be yours again!

[lordof]

You have never stopped being mine, Thranduil.

But Sauron stops where he is, hovering. It is different now, he remembers, from how it was then. When the Elf had nothing, no one, when he was alone in Mordor among enemies. Here he is among allies, he is in his own home. Here, Sauron is the one on foreign lands.

(Even though all of Arda was his home. Still is his home.)

I came here for you. Softer, perhaps with a sense of sympathy and understanding. Perhaps. Come back to me, and I will leave your woods.

He does not bother saying what will happen if he is refused.

[elvenking]

No. No, no, no, no, his gut wrenches and his throat closes and all his struggles halt.

He cannot go back to that. He cannot belong to this creature again.

More than that, he cannot let it devour his woods, his people. For that reason he cannot deprive him of their king--and yet, to do so may be the only way to protect them. Above all, he cannot, he is unable to fling his power at the oncoming darkness and keep it at bay indefinitely. He will waste away far too quickly. He is one Elf, untouched by the Light of the Trees and in possession of no Ring of Power. He cannot go back, and he cannot stay back, and he cannot hold him back. Yet how much would he give to make safe his people?

He understands what he must do, though his heart recoils from it.

For one day. Only one day each year will I return to you, and you will withdraw to the South, outside my domain, and leave us here in peace.