Chapter 359: Morgoth
The vast eyes of flame that had opened above the altar were only a projection cast across an immeasurable distance, but their gaze swept the plain like a storm.
Even that single glance was more than the Ringwraiths, the dark sorcerers and the Orcs around the altar could endure. Terror crushed them to the ground. They lay prostrate, shuddering, unable to bear His sight.
Shrouded in smoke and fire, the gaze passed over them as if they were ants. It fixed instead on the burning Eye that crowned Barad-dûr.
"Sauron, my servant," a voice said, echoing through stone and spirit alike. "Why have you called me out of the Void?"
That will, born in the altar's fire, slipped past the outward Eye with ease and locked on the hidden soul within the Dark Tower.
Seeing his former master, Sauron, Lord of the Dark, bowed in fear.
"Great Lord of Darkness, Morgoth," he said. "Since you were cast into the Void, I, your servant, have carried on your will to conquer all Arda and bend the world to your worship.
"But the Elves and Men, aided by the emissaries sent from the West, rose against me. I was struck down and lost both form and strength. I can no longer carry out your designs. So I have turned to sacrifice and prayer, calling upon you to descend, to grant me power again.
"When I have subdued all Arda, I will break your chains and bring you back into the world."
Morgoth laughed, low and cold, his flaming gaze resting on Sauron with twisted amusement.
"My most trusted servant," he said. "You have ever been cunning and smooth of tongue. I see your hunger as clearly as any. You who would rule the world would like it no better than those hypocrites in the West if I never returned.
"And now you summon my will here only because you are cornered, and would use my strength to mend your fortunes."
Having his heart laid bare, Sauron dropped the last shreds of feigned humility. His own will and towering ambition showed plainly.
"Morgoth," he said, "let us strike a bargain. Lend me your power and help me rule this world. In return, I will help you break your fetters and return from the Void."
"Now you show your true nature," Morgoth said. "Well spoken. No wonder that, after my fall, you rose as the second Dark Lord. I find myself admiring you more than ever, Sauron."
Banished beyond the edges of the world after the War of Wrath, Morgoth had drifted in the Void. Yet through the sacrificial array, a single thread of his will had been drawn down.
In that instant, he had drunk in the history of Middle-earth from his defeat until now.
He knew well what his former lieutenant had done, and he was not displeased. For a Maia, Sauron's achievements were astonishing. Through craft and treachery, he had sunk Númenor beneath the sea and come near to subduing Middle-earth entire.
Of all the Maia who had once served him, none had equalled Sauron.
"I will accept your bargain," Morgoth said at last.
Joy flared in Sauron's spirit.
He knew his master's might. If Morgoth chose to uphold his side of the pact, then even without the One Ring, Sauron could regain a body and return to the height of his strength.
"But," Morgoth went on, "I am far from Arda, in the Void beyond its walls. My hand cannot yet reach into the world. If you would wield my power, you must feed the channel with more life. Only with sufficient sacrifice can my strength pour fully through and help restore you."
"That will not be a problem," Sauron answered without hesitation. "However many offerings you require, I can provide them."
He had nearly a million Orcs under his command, bred as fodder and weapons. To sacrifice half for power would cost him nothing.
Morgoth's eyes flicked over the armies below, and he dismissed the thought with contempt.
"Not these," he said. "These wretches are my flawed creations. I require the children of Ilúvatar. Only their blood and souls can truly nourish me and punch a hole in Arda's walls, allowing my power to take root in the world and raise you up."
Sauron hesitated. "How many?" he asked.
Hundreds, even thousands, he could have snatched with raids and war.
Tens of thousands would mean a great campaign against Gondor or Rohan, but it could be done.
Morgoth's answer went far beyond his first guess. "If you would regain your full strength and your body," he said, "you will need no fewer than a million of Ilúvatar's children."
Even Sauron started at that.
Together, Gondor and Rohan did not hold a million souls.
To gather so many would mean not merely defeating those realms, but emptying them, and then turning also to the Easterlings, the Haradrim, and others beyond.
The slaughter would rival the Great Plague.
Yet to seize such power, Sauron did not think of shrinking back.
With that strength, he would crush every foe before him and take the One Ring once more. With Ring and borrowed might together, he would stand above all powers in Middle-earth.
There was only one shadow on the prospect.
Once the sacrifices were made and Morgoth's gift had poured into him, the Dark Power in the Void would also be fed and strengthened.
Sooner or later, Morgoth would tear free his bonds and descend upon Arda in person.
Then Sauron would face one far mightier than himself.
He had tasted rule and would not willingly bow again. To surrender his crown and kneel as a servant once more was unthinkable.
Yet, however far a Maia might rise, he could not match a Vala in raw power.
For now, Sauron set such thoughts aside.
First, he must rise again, conquer the world, and become its master.
After that, perhaps he could find a way to stay his old lord's return.
For Morgoth and Sauron alike, rule was more than pride. There was a deeper secret at stake, one few knew.
Whoever held the world in their grip gained with it a fragment of Ilúvatar's own authority.
Morgoth, greatest of the Valar, had longed to steal that high place, to overthrow Ilúvatar and sit as creator in his stead. That was why he had tried to dominate Arda.
By right, a Maia such as Sauron should never have learned such things.
But as Morgoth's favoured servant, he had been steeped in his master's ambitions. In the days when Barad dûr had stood unchallenged, and Middle-earth had nearly fallen into his hand, Sauron had begun to glimpse the truth for himself.
That glimpse had set his course.
No price was too high. No scheme too ruthless.
He had walked among the Elves, masked as Annatar, Lord of Gifts, coaxing them into forging the Rings of Power for the kings of Elves, Men, and Dwarves so that through them he might bind all three races and, in time, the world.