Morals

Mellow Soulmate AU.  The realizations of a son of the House of Fëanor.  Quenya names used in some cases (Maglor = Makalaurë and Maedhros = Nelyafinwë).  I kept Erestor's name in Sindarin because I'm a lazy bitch.  Also, Ereinion is addressed by his epesseë, Gil-Galad, out of respect of a servant to his king, even though Ilession tends towards seeing his father's half-cousin's son as more of a cousin in full blood than as a distant ruler.  And if you don't know about Ilession, he's an OMC who shows up in "Worst Day" and "Villain", so if this doesn't make sense to you at all, it's because you haven't read those two pieces.  Takes place well after the destruction of Eregion and the death of Celebrimbor, thus also after the creation of all of the Rings of Power, but before the Battle of the Last Alliance (obviously).

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion.  However, Ilession (a.k.a. Manafinwë) is most certainly mine

Pairings: none

Characters: Ilession (OMC), Sauron (mentions Maglor, Maedhros, Erestor, Gil-Galad and Elrond)

Warning: follows canon plot but is an AU, OMC, spontaneous non-canon family relationships, war, death, torture, mutilation, non-explicit rape, semi-explicit violence, ambiguous ideology, family feels, past mass murder, past insanity

Song: Where Do We Draw the Line

Words: 1,099

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moral (noun): the moral significance or practical lesson; [of or relating to principles of right and wrong in behavior: ethical] practices or teachings
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/moral 

The world of morals was a gray and confusing tessellation.  It could not be defined with straight, organized lines and ideals.  There was a miasma of color, confusing to behold and impossible to follow, one that led into a dizzying spiral of senility if left to its own devices.

That much, at least, Ilession had learned over his many long years of service to his king and his people.  In service of the only family he had left to protect.

He had done many things his younger self would once have sneered upon is disdain and disgust.  Tortured.  Mutilated.  Murdered.  Things that were wrong, his young image screamed in the back of his mind, no matter the context or the situation.  Things that should bring shame down upon him in great waves and leave behind a broken and battered aftermath full of guilt.

But thus was the life of a spy.  And the fortress of Barad-dûr was an unforgiving prison.

Beneath the watchful eyes spitting fire and brimstone, Ilession dared not even for a moment hesitate or cower in fear and uncertainty, for any weakness could be exploited and any second thoughts could be questioned.  Wholly and completely, he needed to belong to his master's service.  No questions.  No hesitation.  No remorse.

No compassion.

And, on a lucky day, Sauron would not even glance twice in his direction.  His master and teacher would merely give him simple instructions and send him on his way without care or concern.

On an unlucky day, there would be interrogation.

And Sauron enjoyed the pain of his servants every bit as much as he enjoyed the suffering of his enemies.

Cuts, bruises, burns--there was nothing much short of permanent crippling or mutilation that Ilession had not experienced by now.  His body was riddled through with scars and two of his fingers were well and truly missing, no doubt having been thoroughly digested by a warg or troll by now.

But none of that mattered.

It didn't matter that he sat through hours of agonizing torment for his master's enjoyment and amusement.  It didn't matter that he met familiar faces of friends in the dungeons and turned away from their cries and pleas for help.  It didn't matter that it was his job to break those poor souls into a million shards that could no longer be pieced together.  It didn't matter that, when finally came the moment that he severed apart their minds, they looked upon him with such terror and betrayal, as though he were a true traitor to the cause, and he refused to feel pity or sorrow or guilt.

It didn't matter, because everything he did, he did for family--for Gil-Galad and for Elrond and for Erestor.

His definition of right and wrong had changed.

Once upon a time, he had scoffed at his father's insistence that war was a necessity.  Scoffed at his uncle's insistence that their Oath must be kept.  Scoffed at his brother's wholehearted agreement thinking it naivety.

Scoffed when he was told that there was no other way to keep safe and secure his father's broken family but to slaughter the innocents of Doriath and destroy the Havens of Sirion.  Because how could there be no other way?  How could his father and uncles revel in such death and destruction and sin?  How could they believe it was right?

Yet, standing where he was--one of the most loyal and faithful servants of Gil-Galad--deeply entrenched in the territory of the Dark Lord, a student of torture who smiled gleefully at drawn blood and screeches of agony, he thought perhaps he understood.  Understood that morality wasn't as simple as black and white right and wrong.  That, in the end, perhaps there really wasn't a perfectly flawless answer untainted by wickedness--that pure white was a fantastic, unrealistic dream.

Understood that, when Makalaurë begged him to listen and follow, it was protection and salvation of Nelyafinwë and his children that he sought to secure.  Understood that, when Nelyafinwë would not throw away their quest to save innocent lives, it was because the redemption and fulfillment of his younger brothers laid on the line--prisoners of doomed fate--as well as his own sanity.

He understood why they had not been able to surrender--to give up and let go of those ridiculous stones.  That same blood flowing with wrathful flame and vigor ran through his own veins.

And no matter the cost, he would not cease his work here in the darkest hell still within the mortal realm.  Would not cease from stripping flesh of his allies from their bones, from whipping skin into raw and bloody chunks or from standing by and watching rape destroy light and hope in wild eyes.  This was for his king and friends and brothers and cousins.  This was for his family.

And family came before all else--oaths, promises and idealistic morals.

Or perhaps that was the moral which defined his existence.

Because the thought of seeing Gil-Galad's dead and broken body spread across the ground in a bloody mire as had been his father's--a vivid display of disrespect and mockery at the enemy's armored feet--gave him the strength to ignore screams and torture until bodies gave out in terror and pain.  Because the image of his little brother--his beautiful, snarky Erestor with his huge, dark eyes and shy little smile--pinned beneath these monstrous servants of Sauron because of his own failure and ravished to death made him cold to his bones.  Left his blood rushing with enough potent rage and fear to slit throats without second thought and watch crimson splatter across his face, clothes and boots, soaking into the black ground, and not feel a droplet of remorse.

Thinking of his family losing the long and bloody war--of his master gaining complete and tyrannical dictatorship over all the free peoples of Middle-earth and parading them in chains--gave him the vehemence and courage to do whatever was necessary to gain information and pass it through enemy lines.  Even if his actions were wrong.

Terrible things he might have done.  More still he was certain he would be tasked to complete before the end of this tenure in Mordor beneath the hot breath of Orodruin and the stinging gaze of those glowing, volcanic eyes.  But it was worth it in the end.

Morals be damned and shattered.  And redefined.

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This story has made me nervous--I mean, the posting part.  I know people tend to shy away from stories about OCs (even I do that), but I wrote about Teldanno (like ages ago) and I wrote about Valthoron (not so terribly long ago), and this story touches on canon characters and events and has context (if you've read the stories I mentioned in the opening AN), thus I did it anyway.  I mean, I thought about writing it with Celebrimbor, but I thought there needed to be father-son re-bonding involved in that particular epiphany if I'm to stay true to my Teldanno-canon, so I went this direction instead.

Besides, Ilession has almost zero characterization.  I made him up on a complete whim in "Pauses" way back in February.  He needs to be "created", so to speak, just like the rest of Tolkien's characters.  That's half the fun anyway, right?  In any case, usually Erestor plays the "spy" role in the few stories I've seen with this sort of backstory context, and I wanted to try it out for myself.  Without the sexual aspect that usually shows up.  Sauron may not have problems with sexing-up inferiors, but seriously, not everyone.

I'm excited to see where this arc goes, actually.  Maybe it will bridge me over into the Second Age, which I've sorely neglected for the most part.  That would be fun. :D

Lastly: song is Where Do We Draw the Line by Poets of the Fall.  More for the atmosphere than anything else, and because I happen to rather like the bass effects of the song.  I couldn't actually tell you what the song is about because I've never cared about the lyrics enough to actually look them up.  So yeah, all about the atmosphere.  Enjoy.