1. The Turning Of Gandalf
I listen to Saruman’s words, sweet, dripping honeyed promises, as he tries to sway me, turn me from my mission- what had been our mission! – lies mingled with threats, all in a subtle tapestry of deception.
I look into his dark, endless eyes. Where is the friend, the Maia I believed I knew so well, my brother, ally?
He has been corrupted himself, now, and it seems useless to try to change his mind, though I will try.
Saruman has fallen to the lure of our most faithless and treacherous kinsman, Sauron, who prefers to go by Annatar the Fair. Giver of Gifts. Yes, he is a giver of gifts. But those gifts lead to the grave.
But he is fair, that is true enough.
Fair in face and body, foul in words and deeds, and most of all, thoughts.
“We must join him…join Sauron..” Curunír says to me, in his careful drawl, in elegant Quenyan.
Join him? Indeed! We came here to disarm him, to end his threat, and if need be- his life- if he will have it no other way, and I fully expect that of him.
“You are…joking!” I say to him, hopefully, and the stung and angry expression tells me he is not joking at all, far from it.
I turn away, then, and he takes my arm, gently enough- “Wait- let me show you- come with me.”
I follow him in silence, and he takes me into another large and very dark room- in the middle, there is a pedestal, and atop that- a Palantir!
Any lingering hopes I had for the situation with Saruman, dissipate in my mind, as we approach the orb.
“Restrain yourself from foolish commentary yet, if you can manage to do so!”, Curunír says to me, in a sly tone, and moves toward the seeing stone.
He waves a long hand slowly over it, and it comes to life, bidden and aroused.
My heart leaps with fear and dismay in my chest, and I want to speak, to tell him to cease, but I cannot speak at all. My voice chokes in my throat, as the globe glows red, then blue, then green, mists falling, forming. And then…
Not just a face- a glimmering, radiant, matchless face.
Soundlessly, it fades in and out, and then comes into focus. The eyes are bright living sapphires, the hair spun gold, lurid waves of molten metal cascading down an unseen neck. Youthful, perfect, deceptively sweet.
“Sauron!” I mutter, too loudly.
I look at Curunír- he is transfixed, staring at the young Maiar face in the Palantir. His eyes radiate love, terror, and wonder, all at once. His knuckles are white, as he grips his Staff in a death grasp.
//Olórin…// I jump, startled. Nectared and fragrant, his voice, not harsh. He is calling to me! No!
Yet, I do turn and look again, and lose my soul as I do so, though I would never have imagined it could happen. I suppose Saruman did not either. What a fatal error!
What do I see, when I turn back to look again…I cannot really describe it. But I will try.
The Palantir seems to vanish, and a mist arises over it, materializing a form, vaguely man-like, in a rainbow of hues. A good head and a half over me, and then it takes shape.
The beautiful being has formed a temporary body for himself, no permanent shell, to be sure, but enough to stand before us.
He smiles at us, warmly, as a long lost brother ought to, and not as a mortal enemy, sworn to destroy us. He wears a long red robe, trimmed with what first looks to be skulls.. and then, it is only roses.
Yes, it is roses I see.
The molten golden magma of his hair falls to his shoulders and beyond, down his back. His eyes, not red in rage now, but only that dark fiery blue, gaze upon us.
I suddenly ache with desire for him. Not just desire, more of…more of a madness.
His hips move ever so slightly, I think it is a trick of the eye at first, so subtle is it. But no, he is swaying to some unheard music, with unspeakable grace.
Wavering in the air, a few inches off the floor, he drifts towards us, and touches Saruman’s arm, gently, tenderly. I hear Curunír sigh, deeply, love and devotion in the sound.
I try to think, to remember what I need to do. Subdue him, capture him! This is your chance! Without bloodshed, you can capture him. Take him to Minas Tirith, hold him there, a prisoner…no, no..I cannot do that…
Just look at him.
The word beauty does not do him justice. This heartbreakingly radiant butterfly must not be caged.
How long would he live? Endless, he is a Maia! How many thousands of years would he be caged! Execute him? No, no, I cannot do that. He is unarmed, and although he has hardly surrendered…I find my will to subdue him, to capture him, is flowing out of me, all the reasoning dying…
//You could never capture me!// he whispers, in a sing song voice, laughing like music. //I am ethereal, I am not incarnate, this body is only for our mutual pleasures…//
//Annatar…//… I move towards him, and he watches me, unafraid, the long body still swaying softly, hotly before me.
I close my eyes and his lips are upon mine, soft, poisoned.
Curunír moves closer, and Sauron stops him with one slender hand, saying, “Nay, Curumo, you may observe, but that is all… this time.” He obeys immediately.
I try to make my mind work, I cannot think, what is the matter with me? I cannot put two thoughts together for more than a moment!
The music of his laugh, again. Light, yet somehow far, far away.
//You think too much, Olórin…//, I hear in my head.
Again, I close my eyes, and his newly formed body is against mine, pressing with surprising strength. Coaxing, eager. I look into the blue jewels that are his eyes- and the urge becomes vast, and unstoppable. I reach for him, and pull the lithe body against me hard, my hands wrapped around his back.
Now his eyes close, and he arches back in my embrace, our bodies tight together, facing each other.
( there was something I needed to do….)
( something important… )
His wet mouth is on mine, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Curunír, watching, leering, his eyes wide and amazed. Enjoying the show.
Sauron’s hips move up towards me, and I can feel his hardness against my own straining arousal. I reach down lower, and with both hands, pull him up even closer to me, grasping him desperately.
He opens the perfect mouth to say something, and I put a finger to the full lips. “Don’t.” My mind has all it can bear, as it is. I cannot take any more words from him, I know they are all lies, all deception.
He closes his eyes again, and leans forward, resting his face against my neck, and I feel his tongue in all its sweet horror, caressing my throat.
I pull him down, not caring anymore. He gracefully sinks down to the cold floor with me, and I forget all about Saruman’s presence. It doesn’t matter now, if we are observed.
I open his soft robe he has created around his body, and lay him bare before me. He allows it, submissively, or seemingly so.
As he lies before me, in golden-skinned glory, I suddenly have a terrible thought: what if he stops me, what if this is a trick? I could not bear it if I were..prevented! I must have him. I must!
I can feel my mind sliding on a glassy lake, unable to regain any footing. But my body..that is a different matter altogether.
I want to see his face while we do this. Lust roars through me, strange and unfamiliar. I hurt with excitement, desire, raw arousal.
He smiles at me, and then, of course, comes the bargain with the beast:
//How badly do you want me, Olórin?//
( You can see for yourself! )
//I do not give myself lightly//
I seize his shoulders, pinning him to the floor.
( What do you want! )
//You. I only want you. As you want me. Will you give yourself to me?//
I lower myself onto him. I can hear Curunír gasp softly behind us. Perhaps he is surprised. Where did he think this was going, if not here?
//Give me your answer, Olorin, or I shall vanish under you as a mist at dawn//
( No! Please! )
//Give me your heart, and I shall give you my body, and all that I am//
I lean in and kiss him, but his lips are cold, now, frigid, unresponsive. The gemlike eyes are icy, stern, unloving now.
//Submit to me, and I shall return the favor//
( Annatar…please )
He begins to fade, and suddenly he is only a mass of spiderwebs, silken tendrils.
“Come back!” I shout, distraught, horrified.
He does so.
I moan inside myself, somewhere in my soul. And then, I give him what he wants, so he will give me what I must have.
In a few words I consent, and assent, and damn myself.
I do not sell my soul, I merely exchange it. I exchange it for relief of the Maiar fire between my legs, aching and burning, driving me to madness.
“Now.” I grasp his face a little roughly, angry at him, but far more so at myself- after all, he is only following his own nature, and I am corrupting mine.
I stroke his sleek sides, and the cobalt eyes, loving again now, flutter shut. His beautiful large cock is fully engorged, thumping with its bizarre ill-begotten life. I touch it, fascinated, sickened. He moans and writhes under me, as my fingers trail over the bulging veins, rippling with power.
But I cannot wait any longer, I cannot dally.
“Now.” I say again, to no one in particular.
He looks at me patiently, and then lifts his long legs up around my hips, high. Something nudges my shoulder and I look to see- Curunír is handing me a small flask of something- oil for the lamps. His face is set with the expression of a man who is about to see a very beautiful woman, or perhaps a once-in-a-lifetime sunrise. Nearly ill with anticipation, and dizzy to have it begin.
I take the oil flask, and our eyes meet, and we understand each other. He smiles slightly, and then moves back to his place, waiting.
Sauron squirms, also waiting. I can see the heat in his eyes, feel it in his tawny flesh. His excitement is real, even if all else is false.
I pour the oil over my fingers, a good amount, and insert one finger into his tight opening.
More moans, more writhing.
He tightens around my finger, and I add one, then another. I can feel the sweet sensitive bulge within, he has forgotten nothing when he made this body, or perhaps it is simply second nature. I scrape a fingernail gently against the swollen area, and he actually cries out, softly, surprising me.
//so good, so good, Olorin//
I cannot bear to wait any longer, and I lift him up again, and then as I lie down on him, I find my way, carefully, so tight, how can I ever get inside him!
My lost purity, my forsaken future, do not trouble me as I push relentless into him, feeling his insides gradually relax and loosen slightly, the oil warming around me. At last, I sink into the deadly abyss, sweet, enfolding me, devouring me whole.
Maia to Maia we move together, and his arms slink around my neck. He groans in my ear, further exciting me, and I begin to pound into him in earnest.
The sensation of being inside him is incredible, and I am being burned alive. The fire of his inner self is a flame of terrible beauty and passion, and our souls are very close now.
I raise my head, and turn his face so I can see it. I want to see it.
His expression is one of great pleasure, and I do not think he is feigning this- there is no need for that, now. His eyes lock with mine, and then he cries out in a different tone, urgent, frantic.
//Oh, it is too much, I am nearly there, so close, close, close…//
His long hands move to around my hips, and he pulls me into him harder with each thrust- then the jewels of his eyes close tightly, and with a deep shudder he lunges upwards, screaming in my head. His nails dig into me, and I can only see his face, grimly stricken in ecstasy, sharp white teeth gritted together.
Thrashing, screaming, clawing me.
A dam breaks somewhere inside me, and I feel the cascading flood of my own pleasure, unnaturally intense, powerful beyond belief.
Doomed, and defeated, and beyond caring, I collapse on him.
It is easier, now.
I remember so little!
I know the memories are there, and if I chose to, I could grasp them. But I do not choose to.
I told Sauron where the Ring was, and the Nine found it and took it, and brought it here. To him. How many years ago?
Saruman and I are no longer in Isengard.
This is Barad-Dur, the Capitol.
Wise indeed, I was, when I chose to submit to his Will. For Curunír was correct, after all, when he told me there were none who could resist.
Sauron, the Black Hand, the Giver of Gifts, is the future, the only future, the only hope for Middle Earth.
Every day I discover more and more, that this is the case.
I gave him my soul, and he gave me himself.
I got the better part of the bargain.
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.