I did not ask you. You are a fellow Maia. You can shape yourself however you wish; that is not news. I, too, could fashion gills, if breathing underwater were a concern of mine, or had I any desire to.
(I don’t)
(Not after last time)
(Mostly.)
Yes but I am also her parent, you grumbly bearscruff. If anyone were to notice and understand anything unusual about my Little Storm, it would most likely be me, would it not?
Interesting how fast you go from curiosity to defensive snapping. One would almost think you bitter!
–Spare me your sarcasm. Would you not be bitter also, were you treated as an uninvited and unwanted guest whenever you spoke to someone you were fond of, whose wellbeing you were invested in? Am I not allowed to show a little concern and interest in my goddaughter for myself?
You are not infallible, and what you gain in a breadth of interests you lack in specialization, Mitsanar. Another set of eyes on the matter would do no harm.
…Particularly if she continues to ask for my advice on technical matters. It would be well for me to be informed.
I did not ask you. You are a fellow Maia. You can shape yourself however you wish; that is not news. I, too, could fashion gills, if breathing underwater were a concern of mine, or had I any desire to.
Oh ho, do not think you can wriggle out on a technicality! I will write the letter and the law– If I choose the nature of the dance to be performed with the full extent of your power, then so be it. …But of course, I may simply ask for an evening of pleasant waltzing. Time will tell.
Take care with those loopholes! Ah, and take care with your phrasing as well; not even I know the full extent of my power, and I doubt you would like it should I come to a more permanent harm just dancing for you. What if I could not do the same ever again?
Don’t get too ahead of yourself little one. There is nothing yet for you to find a loophole in.
Of course I shall take care not to injure you with some careless demand! But how I exact my due will be up to me; I need not debate it with you before then.
Twist and turn around the wording all you like for now, but if it comes to a contest of wills between us at the time of repayment, I will take what is owed me. I was serious when I said to think carefully before accepting… I do not plan on letting an opportunity this valuable slip away– even if the better part of the arrangement is purely for our amusement. (In truth I did not think you would have many qualms about allowing me a kiss or three, or I would not have asked it.)
I do like you, Mitsanár. I do not wish to ensnare you to wicked purpose, or set after you like a hunter with a trap; but a power like yours is too unique to ignore, and the task I’ve set will likely take every resource I can secure if it is to succeed.
…May we not forget such matters until they arrive, and in the moment enjoy a dance together? I should be happy to sing for you.
“Ah, not just anything that glitters will impress Aulendur Mitsanár, will it? You will be wanting something unique, something you cannot make yourself, won’t you, forge-spark?
I have something that might interest you– and I know you have seen nothing of the kind, for I developed the technique myself:
Did you know, you can facet pearls? Of course, many have carved pearls, but carving is to the detriment of its luster; faceting enhances it.
One must be very careful, as with a gemstone, or the nacre will be spoilt, and it is best to choose pearls with the thickest layer. A finely cut example will leave the looker wondering if the cuts are concave or convex; a poorly cut one will simply look like pockmarks.
If you wish to study them and learn how this is done, they are yours– the rings are not enchanted, and they bear no curse, however, they do come at a cost:
A song, a dance, and a kiss for each is my price, the nature and time of which shall be of my choosing. Think carefully if you wish to accept– it may be more than you bargained for.”
“Oh, splendid– I’ll simply have to hunt for you up every river in Middle Earth! That does narrow the search down.”
The smith feigned petulance, but sincerely made note to use his Cousin’s full name in the future. He knew first hand the irritation of being called names not of one’s choosing.
Mitsanár’s captivated examination gave him great satisfaction. It was a recognized weakness of his, a foible he suspected was engrained in him since the beginning; some part of him would always seek to impress, and would chafe at disregard.
“I have no idea. I’ve never seen its like again, and I did not have the luxury of excavating it,” he confessed with regret. “Many things were born out of Melkor’s progenitive chaos, some of which even he was not aware of. Perhaps it was unique, living and dying in secret, only to be discovered as a fossil, preserved in the ice of primeval seas… Who knows,” Sauron shrugged, “but it made for a pretty locket.” He smiled; “Keep it, if you wish. Maybe you can learn more about it than I did.”
Another weakness of his, giving gifts. He did not covet the products of his labor so much as the experience gained in their making, and it pleased him to know others kept artifacts of his; small reminders of his influence turned over in many hands, looked at and admired.
He blinked, finally registering something said full minutes of conversation ago. “…Did you just call me Thoughtful-One?”
“I did not say if water was the only hint… although I did not say if you could ask for more either. Mm, but you can’t stick a waterwheel in any old river, can you? Surely a mind as sharp as your own could narrow it down even farther than that?”
Mitsanár looked up from the clasp and smiled sweetly. Games were a habit as much as a hobby, but he knew if Sauron truly wished to find his workshop it would be just a matter of time. Still, it was more pleasant to play with one who knew the rules better than most. He was curious how quickly the bigger Maia could find it, not only for the game’s sake, but to see how much Sauron had guessed or already knew about him, as well as to see his wit at work firsthand.
And all that aside he’d never mentioned how many places he’d settled in. He liked riverside dwellings in general, but which was the real workshop and which was just another house?
He wouldn’t tell Sauron of course. That would ruin the surprise.
He turned his eyes back to the strange gorgon clasp, watching it stare at him no matter how he tilted the thing. His silent laughter from earlier faded into a thoughtful hum. He stood by his earlier statement that it was creepy; if he kept the gorgon he’d have to hide it from Laume lest it frighten her. “…I wonder if it was frightened to be alone,” he found himself murmuring. He could almost imagine the lines etched into its face built from worry as well as age. Had it known what it was? Where it had come from?
“You know, for all the wandering I’ve done I haven’t really gone exploring. Not properly anyhow. I sort of wish I had, now. Thank you,” he said with another smile as he carefully pocketed the piece. “I’ll be sure to let you know should I learn anything new.”
His smile simultaneously spread and softened as Sauron recognized his nickname. “Mosanwë? Yes I did. It’s a tendency of mine to give names, and I thought you would like it better than naming you after your generous body hair.” He slid part of the smith’s glove down to pat his forearm hair. Oh it was warm! “If you dislike it I can find you another one.”
“I’ve had so many names over the centuries, it seems irresponsible to add to that ponderous list… Of course many of them are less flattering than this one.”
The little Maia suddenly pulling down his glove made him startle and blink with a perplexed expression, but he made no move to pull away. Mitsanár’s warm brown hands seemed impossibly delicate against his arm, pattering up and down like a squirrel on a cedar tree.
“Since I came to Middle Earth I’ve been called Cruel, Abhorred, Foul, Dark, and even Unnamable– I suppose ‘Sauron the Hairy’ is rather a step up from that,” he considered. “What other names would you give to me, Pîn-Caranmîr? For now I’m curious what you think my most noteworthy traits are.”
sweetMahal it’s so small it’ssosmallMitsaMITSA IT’S THE SMALLEST I LOVE IT I’VE NEVER LOVED ANYTHING MORE THAN I LOVE THIS VERY SMALL ANVIL MITSA I’m GOING TO cRY
“How cruel! You have me at a disadvantage, Mitsa! You know where to find me, but I have never been to your workshop,” Sauron touched his chest plaintively. “I can infer its existence by little Laumë’s messages, but my only contact with this mysterious island has been by courier bird. The game is hardly fair if it is always you hiding, and I seeking…”
He rolled the parchments up carefully and placed them in a cabinet neatly arranged full of similar scrolls, muttering lightly about their classification before finding a satisfactory bracket under ‘lenses’ and ‘magnification’.
“I hope you know, it’s very difficult for me to hear something like that without immediately hunting for something that will impress you,” he chuckled, scanning his workshop for inspiration. “It’s always been my regret that so much of my time was spent developing machines and strategies for the war… Thankfully I’ve found a little time in the interim to experiment with personal projects, but alas!” he turned up his palms, “…no one to share them with. –Ah!”
It was a particular alcove behind his guest that drew his attention, farthest from the heat of the forge, lined with various coffers and shelves beneath vaulted arches. He beckoned for Mitsa to follow him, smile glinting.
“Your visit and this marvelous little invention have made my day very memorable; I hope you’ll forgive me for wishing to prolong your stay. I’d never forgive myself if you left my forge disappointed.”
Lifting the creaking iron lid of a massive chest with no visible strain, he withdrew a single piece from the glittering treasures within. The little gorgon-headed emblem was not precisely beautiful, but it was undoubtedly memorable; surrounded by golden serpents, its central jewel contained a portrait that stared ahead with eery, transfixing eyes, its features fractured by competing reflections in the crystal’s surface. As one moved, the face seemed to flicker and follow the viewer with its multitude of of shifting eyes as if through a broken mirror.
“What do you think? Clever, isn’t it?” Sauron turned the clasp in his hand fondly, passing it to Mitsa for inspection. “We were just discussing ice… the muse for this piece was a creature I found entombed in the glaciers around Thangorodrim, frozen in ancient sea-ice.”
Mitsanár let loose a very unprofessional snort. “That’s how the game has always been on my end. But it isn’t as if I have only the one workshop! The islands are recent, and I did live elsewhere before them. Did you think I wandered for ages without so much as a place to put all the whimsical carvings I made? Even now that I have a proper home I still use the mainland workshop for things to delicate or- ahem- volatile for Storm. It should be easier to find than a hidden archipelago across the ocean,” he said with a slight smirk. “I’ll even give you a hint: the lathe is water powered.”
But as Sauron turned to organizing scrolls his smile dropped and he bit his lip. “…If you must shorten my name, do not make it small. And you will make me blush if you put too much effort into trying to impress me! After starting from scratch on a chain of barren islands I will admit even seeing proper mirrors is a delight.” He paused, an idea from the back of his mind surfacing, and his smile returned wider than ever. “I may have to come back now that I know how quickly you can make them.”
He wiggled his dangling feet (a newer habit he’d picked up from Laume) as he watched the bigger smith search around. Sauron’s forge was fascinating enough on its own, but it was static, unchanging for the mostpart. It had to be, when one played with fire. Yet its craftsman seemed anything but; his outward form was sturdy enough, as all smiths grew to be, but the mind behind it was always ticking away like the fine gears of complicated clockwork that tuned and changed all on its own. The more he watched the more it drew Mitsanár in, mesmerized him to the point where, when Sauron beckoned, he slid to his feet automatically to follow.
“Disappointed?” he laughed, thankful for the layer of his mind that wasn’t playing moth to candles. “Dear Mosanwë, the entire reason I came here was to raid your mirror supply and here I am with improved lighting for my device and pleasant conversation. I’d say disappointment is the least of your worries.”
Mitsanár ducked soundlessly under the smith’s arm, watching his jeweled clasp with wide-eyed interest. “…Especially when you show me things like this.” He took it carefully and spent several breaths just staring as the reflections changed with every tilt and turn. “Creepy little darling. How long had the creature been frozen for? Do you know?”
“Oh, splendid– I’ll simply have to hunt for you up every river in Middle Earth! That does narrow the search down.”
The smith feigned petulance, but sincerely made note to use his Cousin’s full name in the future. He knew first hand the irritation of being called names not of one’s choosing.
Mitsanár’s captivated examination gave him great satisfaction. It was a recognized weakness of his, a foible he suspected was engrained in him since the beginning; some part of him would always seek to impress, and would chafe at disregard.
“I have no idea. I’ve never seen its like again, and I did not have the luxury of excavating it,” he confessed with regret. “Many things were born out of Melkor’s progenitive chaos, some of which even he was not aware of. Perhaps it was unique, living and dying in secret, only to be discovered as a fossil, preserved in the ice of primeval seas… Who knows,” Sauron shrugged, “but it made for a pretty locket.” He smiled; “Keep it, if you wish. Maybe you can learn more about it than I did.”
Another weakness of his, giving gifts. He did not covet the products of his labor so much as the experience gained in their making, and it pleased him to know others kept artifacts of his; small reminders of his influence turned over in many hands, looked at and admired.
He blinked, finally registering something said full minutes of conversation ago. “…Did you just call me Thoughtful-One?”
*fetches the longest fur coat he can find and glues a leaf to his chin in place of a proper beard*
*perches atop ladder and flicks his hair dramatically*
Shall I summon my personal orchestra and woo your secrets from you with music and pretty dresses? Or shall I whisper science in your ear until– *leaf falls off*
…You know, I had something clever on the tip of my tongue but that about covers it, I think.
“I don’t believe in blasphemy… least of all towards Melkor,” Sauron replied wistfully. “To blaspheme requires the existence an authority one cannot question or renounce… He would have hated that. But it is true that ice was a child of his thought, in the beginning. Before that, water did not change states; it was considered a perfect, immutable entity. You can imagine what a disaster it would have been if that idea had made it through to the final draft of Arda.” He laughed and snorted, still bent over the lens of the microscope, watching the feathers of ice grow.
“….You’re much better at that than I,” he remarked. “And to think, I was trying to impress you with my little trick!” He clucked his tongue in acknowledgement of superior talent. “I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that your Song is so flexible; you’re rather unique as a disciple of Aulë, aren’t you?”
His brows raised in faint alarm as Mitsa handed over the schematics of his device. “Did you? It seemed like you barged into my forge knowing exactly what you wanted and expecting to get it!” He grinned lopsidedly, accepting the prints with gusto. “Oh, but these are a delight! Thank you, little ruby. But you should know I am always at your service. There is no need to ransom my hardware.”
“And what a boring world it would have been without him,” Mitsanár mused softly. His words lacked hesitation; this wasn’t the first time he’d had such a thought, or spoken it aloud, and it wasn’t likely to be the last. There was much he owed to the world as-is, places and events that never would have happened if it hadn’t been for Melkor’s- erm- help.
“I find I am not all that impressed with grand shows of power,” he said, tilting his head to give the other Maia a stare. He was inclined to be wary of compliments to begin with, but when Sauron phrased it like that he couldn’t help but feel mild alarm. How much did he know?
Mitsanár pushed his thoughts to a corner of his mind. He wasn’t about to panic, but neither would he stop being suspicious.
“I’m more the puzzles and games type,” he said lightly. “If you want to impress me, go subtle. Gem etchings that can only be seen under certain conditions, boxes with no visible seams…” He trailed a hand through the air, indicating the list went on. “Stealing your favorite soft mallet and leaving it on the roof sounds like a fun time, if I am to be honest. And if you somehow sneak into my workshop for revenge I call it an average day.”
“How cruel! You have me at a disadvantage, Mitsa! You know where to find me, but I have never been to your workshop,” Sauron touched his chest plaintively. “I can infer its existence by little Laumë’s messages, but my only contact with this mysterious island has been by courier bird. The game is hardly fair if it is always you hiding, and I seeking…”
He rolled the parchments up carefully and placed them in a cabinet neatly arranged full of similar scrolls, muttering lightly about their classification before finding a satisfactory bracket under ‘lenses’ and ‘magnification’.
“I hope you know, it’s very difficult for me to hear something like that without immediately hunting for something that will impress you,” he chuckled, scanning his workshop for inspiration. “It’s always been my regret that so much of my time was spent developing machines and strategies for the war… Thankfully I’ve found a little time in the interim to experiment with personal projects, but alas!” he turned up his palms, “…no one to share them with. –Ah!”
It was a particular alcove behind his guest that drew his attention, farthest from the heat of the forge, lined with various coffers and shelves beneath vaulted arches. He beckoned for Mitsa to follow him, smile glinting.
“Your visit and this marvelous little invention have made my day very memorable; I hope you’ll forgive me for wishing to prolong your stay. I’d never forgive myself if you left my forge disappointed.”
Lifting the creaking iron lid of a massive chest with no visible strain, he withdrew a single piece from the glittering treasures within. The little gorgon-headed emblem was not precisely beautiful, but it was undoubtedly memorable; surrounded by golden serpents, its central jewel contained a portrait that stared ahead with eery, transfixing eyes, its features fractured by competing reflections in the crystal’s surface. As one moved, the face seemed to flicker and follow the viewer with its multitude of of shifting eyes as if through a broken mirror.
“What do you think? Clever, isn’t it?” Sauron turned the clasp in his hand fondly, passing it to Mitsa for inspection. “We were just discussing ice… the muse for this piece was a creature I found entombed in the glaciers around Thangorodrim, frozen in ancient sea-ice.”
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 