Loyalty Unyielding by Zlu and Luff

The Return of Melkor

Warnings: None in this chapter! But slash/sexual content in the next ones so please beware.

Disclaimer: All the amazing characters in this fic and Silmarillion (c) Master J.R.R. Tolkien

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Read The Return of Melkor

 Chapter 1

The Return of Melkor

* * *

The earth trembled and the mighty walls of Angband quaked together with it, as echoes of a shrill and shattering cry shook the steppes and mountains of Beleriand. Yellow eyes rimmed with fire opened wide, as Sauron felt clearly the power of the voice. The overpowering force behind its summon caused the Maia to freeze in his tracks and for once forget about all of his duties.

The answer to the cry came almost at once and standing in the hallway many floors above, Sauron sensed the dormant fire waking beneath his feet, far down below in the deepest vaults of Angband. Balrogs, the spirits of fire that dwelled there, responded to the call with a roar of raging flames and in the likeness of a firestorm they arose, rushing up the flights of stairs and filling the corridors with their blinding, scorching presence. Like that they ascended the many levels of Angband, seeking their way outside, united by one single purpose - to help their master in need.

For there was indeed no doubt that the voice that shook the nearby mountains and cast fear into even the blackest of hearts could belong to none else but to the Dark Lord himself. Three long centuries had passed since last Sauron had heard it, yet he could never forget the timbre of his master’s voice. The voice of Melkor.

When a while passed after the fiery passing of the Balrogs and the air in the corridor where the Maia stood, was no longer too hot to breathe in, Sauron, once the master craftsman of the household of Aulë and for the last three centuries the dark lord in Melkor’s stead, walked slowly across the hallway, towards a narrow window that overlooked the lands of the North. From there he followed with his eyes to where the flaming flurry that poured out of Angband was headed. Westwards, he discerned. That was then from where Melkor was approaching.

Melkor, the darkest Vala, was finally free from his captivity in the Halls of Mandos. And whatever the cause for his call now was, be it the expression of tenebrous joy of his return or the sign of the approach of an enemy, Sauron rested assured that the horde of Balrogs would handle it with ease.

And yet despite suspecting that any further help was needless, the Maia never tore his eyes from the dark horizon. Three ages passed since the real lord of Angband had been captured and dragged in chains to Valinor by his brethren. Three overlong centuries since the once fearsome stronghold of Utumno had fallen to ruin, conquered and forever lost to the Valar. Three centuries since Sauron, the traitor of light and Melkor’s most faithful lieutenant, had hidden within the shadows and thus was left behind to save what could have still been salvaged from his master’s empire. 

Of course it was no easy feat. Soon after the fall of the first fortress of Melkor, the Valar had come to Angband as well, seeking to put an end to the darkness that dwelled within it and subdue it like they had done with Utumno before. Yet blinded by their triumph after the chaining of Melkor, whom they had seized and hurled down from his black throne in the depths of Utumno, the mighty and luminous Ainur had dropped their guard. And thus they failed to find the evil that still lurked and nested beyond the hidden passages in the nethermost halls of the second stronghold. That was where Sauron, the commander of Angband, hid from the pursuit as well and thanks to the oversight of the Valar, evaded capture.

Long years had the Maia spent in hiding, waiting for the news of his master’s fate. Yet although no news had come, the lieutenant of Melkor did not remain idle. He could not remain thus - for since the very beginning of Ea it was not idling but constant and thorough work that was in his nature. Once Mairon, the Admirable, the craftsman of Aulë and now Sauron, the Abominable, Melkor’s most loyal servant, despite his master’s absence he had once again immersed himself in his dark duties and set out to work, imposing onto himself many duties. In secrecy, decade after decade, he slowly had Angband restored, armories filled to brims with weapons, war machines built and more Orcs bred and trained in the art of war.

And yet unlike his lord and master, who in the furious haste of his malice would ere oft forget about all caution, Sauron, having assumed the position of power, proved to be a poised and clever strategist. Knowing that the odds were still against them and that they would be so for a long time to come, instead of acting rash, the Maia chose to lay in hiding and in wait. If not for Melkor, then at least for the right time to strike.

And so despite never ceasing to work, Sauron made sure that all was done quietly and that no word of the happenings in Angband would reach the curious ears. The fires of Angband although rekindled, were small and no dark smoke rose from the northern lands to make the night even blacker all around, like it had in the times before the chaining of Melkor. The same way, while inside the fortress darkness still teemed, evil dwelled and weapons were forged for the future battles, on the outside - to the eye of a beholder - Angband still seemed but a wraith of the mighty stronghold that it once was, conquered and forever fallen to ruin.

In such a way for three centuries the lieutenant of Melkor had managed to fool the enemy and keep the eyes of the Valar away from Beleriand. And now a faint smile ghosted on the lips of Sauron as the Maia gazed beyond the horizon where the cloud of fire disappeared. All this time he had been preparing for this day. Preparing everything for the return of his master. Now after long years at last Melkor was back and Sauron longed to hear the words his master would speak when he found that not all of his legacy was lost.

* * *

Even as the echoes of his mighty cry were still ringing in the far corners of the Northern regions, Melkor arose from among the ashes of Ungoliant’s webs that now no longer bound him, smitten away to nothingness by the fiery whips of his loyal Balrogs.

Behind his dark helmet Melkor grimaced and gazing into the black distance where the spider had fled, he placed the crystal casket into his left hand, no longer trusting the right one that still smoldered where the light of the Silmarils had seared it even through the crystal case. The grip of the webs had left him in great pain as well and thus, trusting the spirits of fire that had come to his aid to remain faithful for a moment longer, Melkor attempted to take on a different shape. He willed himself to discard the pained physical form, and to his greatest dismay discovered that he could not. The Destruction of the Trees that had so empowered Ungoliant, had taken its toll on the Vala, draining what was left of his own power that he had not yet dispersed over Arda.

Yet Melkor let the Balrogs know nothing of this affliction and neither did he allow them to guess the weakness of the physical form in which he was now trapped. Instead in the palm of his left hand that burnt and darkened too already as had his other hand before, he weighed the Silmarils and the awareness of their possession returned to him his lost vigor. And so before his servants could question the nature of his abeyance, the Vala rose to his full height and concealing his pain, he marched onwards to the ruins of his lesser fortress.

Utumno was lost and far beyond his reach, and thus Angband was now to be his stronghold against the Valar. The Valar and the Eldar alike, should the latter ever in their folly come to wage war upon him to take back the jewels that he had claimed as his.

As he walked, the casket of crystal in his hands blazed with the light of the Trees of Valinor and Melkor felt heat greater even than that in the bowels of the earth envelop his bloodied hands with its flame. A pure and scorching flame, that turned them forever black.

* * *

As he neared the entrance of the outwardly ruined fortress, Melkor was alone once more. His faithful spirits of fire he had sent forth to search for other allies and pass the news of his return throughout the land.

His enemies that had lost him in the Darkness of Ungoliant would know where to look for him, once they decided to pursue him again. So Melkor needed to gather his forces as fast as possible. There was much work to be done. As he walked through the rubble, between the dark broken columns of the outer yard, Melkor pondered on all the restoration and rebuilding that awaited him and his thralls in the years to come.

Yet as he stepped through the threshold beyond the first ruined chamber he was surprised to learn that the second room lay not in ruin but was already repaired and reinforced. Momentarily forgetting about the Silmarils, the Dark Foe of the World studied his surroundings, venturing deeper and deeper into Angband, where all the hallways and all the chambers were almost exactly as he had remembered.

Had the Valar then failed to destroy Angband? Had they merely swept over its perimeter and the chambers above ground? Melkor did not exclude that possibility, for as far as he could tell his brethren were never particularly effective.

In wonder, the dark Ainu walked through torchlit the corridors, yet he met no one on his way. Finally he reached the throne room and it looked just as it used to. Melkor crossed the vast empty hall and sat on his seemingly untouched dark throne, gazing about himself, wondering how much had changed in the ages he had spent in Mandos. Angband seemed to have remained exactly as he had remembered it in times before his fall.

That made the Vala wonder if the world outside had also stayed the same. He could not tell, for in his march against the Two Trees he was too absorbed by his purpose to pay much heed to his surroundings. The Dark Foe of the World had little appreciation for scenery, unless it blazed with fire and spit ash and magma high into the air and deep into the land. Reclining in his dark throne, Melkor pondered on the changes in the world now, and he strove to recollect his hasty flight from the Valar, every now and then turning his fiery eyes to the new treasure above all other treasure that he had brought back with him.

Yet not for long was the Vala meant to sit alone in the empty hall lit by the light of torches. Their flames wavered as the heavy iron door opened and a figure clad in dark armor appeared. Sauron, well aware of the arrival of Melkor and even of the corridors which the dark Vala chose to pass through on his way, had lingered in the shadows without revealing his presence before. Now however, as at last Melkor took his place of power, Sauron walked in and directed his steps towards the throne upon which sat the dark Ainu. And then, coming to a halt before the dais, the Maia fell to one knee and bowed his head before Melkor in a silent tribute and welcome back.

Melkor’s eyes stopped on the kneeling figure of his lieutenant, “Greetings, Sauron, servant mine.” A small pause was made then, before in a voice full of power and command Melkor added, “Thou mayst rise and serve me again. As thou hast always done before now.” Those were the words spoken by Morgoth, the Dark Foe of the World, as Feanor had cursed him. Yet that name had not yet left Valinor and to himself and to his servants the Dark Vala was - and would for the days to come be - known by one name only.

Thus commanded, Sauron rose and straightened to his full height, gazing at his master as he spoke. “Long time thou wast away, my lord, longer than I have expected. Yet be certain my liege that I have awaited this day with impatience, as have all thy other allies and with all my being I rejoice to see thee upon this throne once more. Doubt not that thy loyal servant I have remained at all times and although oft low the evil had to lay and in the deepest shadows to hide from the wrath of the Ainur, I have done all that could be done so that upon thy arrival thou findest not cold and empty ruins but merely semblance of such a ruin, meant to fool the enemy eye. The pits of Angband teem with Orcs and other servants of thy darkness and on all lips now is the name of Melkor and every and each awaits thy commands. Thus speak, my lord, and thy will be done.” In those words spoke Sauron long and proudly, yet as he did, he could not resist to lift his eyes and gaze in wonder at the blazing light of the Silmarils that shone from his master’s blackened hands - light so strange and bright that it nearly distracted him from his words of welcome.

Melkor harkened and was pleased. Praise of Sauron’s service was on his lips, yet as he was about to voice his approval, he noted, dismayed, that the eyes of his servant came to rest on the Silmarils and in his avaricious malice Melkor forgot about his Sauron’s loyal deeds and the praise that he meant to speak. Instead the Dark Foe of the World clutched onto the casket with his burnt, blackened fingers, snarling, “The Silmarils are mine forever, Sauron!” thus he roared in fury, that was fueled by the constant pain in his burning hands. “Thou shalt not have them, nor anyone else!” he continued, but even as he did, the look on Sauron’s face and his immobility soothed the wrath of Melkor and slowly the anger became replaced by weariness of many years and long way back.

Sauron remained silent and gazed no more towards the precious gems. At last, feeling no threat to himself or the jewels he had stolen, the Dark Foe of the World spoke again, calmly “Thou hast my thanks for thy service. We shall begin the full restoration of Angband immediately. Go now and call forth my other servants and  set them to raise once more the dark walls and towers. Thou hast proven thyself able. I shall join thee later,” Melkor announced,great fatigue overwhelming him and showing in his features and tone despite his will. Yet he looked at the casket with the Silmarils and once more envisioned a crown to fit the gems. “But now I shall retire to the deepest smithy.” It was no time now to lay to rest.

And Sauron bowed his head again, asking nothing, albeit many were his questions and even more of them formed in his mind now that he had heard his master’s wrathful tone and seen the angry fire blazing in his eyes. And although Melkor looked weary and worn out by the return from Valinor, Sauron dared not propose retiring to sleep rather than to the smithy. And so the lieutenant of Melkor simply acknowledged the words of his master and soon he left the torchlit hall, leaving the Dark Lord to his own designs.

And yet as the Vala descended into his smithy to work on the finest of crowns, he found food and drink and ointments brought to him to soothe the pain of the fresh burns. And as he found his way to his chambers late at night, he found his rooms made ready for his arrival and welcoming.

* * *

Melkor was pleased to discover his lesser fortress had not fallen into decay during his imprisonment in Mandos. Yet his return also brought new troubles with it. The triumphant rape of the Silmarils and the final destruction of the Two Trees came at the price of his power to shift shape. Melkor doubted that power would ever return, for it appeared to him that ever since his coming onto Arda his might had begun to disperse. He saw no way to mend this. Thus now, bound to a shape of flesh, a shape that could and did feel pain, Melkor did not intend to put it to harm without absolute need.

And thus when he had crafted his crown of iron and set the Silmarils in it - even as his already black fingers burnt at their touch - Melkor did not linger outside of his quarters for long. With the crown of iron on his head he retired from the smithy. Before he rested, however, he tended to his injuries with the means provided and had one of his goblins find out and report to him who had brought him the ointments. 

The discovery that his lieutenant had apparently guessed his weakness troubled Melkor. Sauron had been left in charge of Angband for an age too many. He had kept the stronghold well in order, but would he truly surrender it to his master now, when Melkor was weakened, weary and possessed the jewels that everyone on Arda desired? Sauron’s assurances of loyalty had been many, yet the corrupt Vala, himself treacherous and full of deceit, found it only the more troubling and suspicious. Despite the weariness of his body, Melkor could not sleep, not with the fear of treason playing at the edges of his dark malevolent mind. And thus the Vala lay in his chambers alert and awake, letting his body relax, while his mind labored on plans of evil and deceit. Already he had sown the seed of discord among the Noldor, and that thought pleased him, yet there was far more work to be done if all of Arda were to be his at last.

* * *

Sauron was awaiting his master in the hallway, clad in his dark, polished armor that shone all the more now as Melkor neared and the light of the Silmarils fell on it from his splendid crown. With the slightest squint of his eyes and purposing not to gaze at the jewels this time, Sauron greeted his lord and he led him away from there and through the winding corridors.

As side by side they walked, he began briefing the Vala on the events of last three centuries, reporting achievements and progress in plans that Melkor had left behind, when he was captured and which in his absence the Maia strived to continue. And there was in fact a lot of progress to report.

Despite the need to keep a low profile, during Melkor's absence, the evil did not idle the ages away. Sauron had dutifully seen to it that creatures of Beleriand had not forgotten the name of the One Who Arises in Might. The truth of that however, Melkor resolved to himself determine.

The Maia meanwhile led his master on and on through the hallways, relating the happenings recent and past and presenting the accomplished works that he had directed according to the Vala’s or to his own design. There was new war machinery, ready and waiting, being tested or still under construction. The Orcs were many and well trained and they all fell to their knees before Melkor and cowered before him in the pale light of the Silmarils, which pleased him.

Aside from the fact that they could still grovel well, however, the important fact was now that under Sauron’s supervision the army became more organized than Melkor remembered it being. The Orcs had been divided into divisions and each of the divisions was assigned to a Balrog commander, directly responsible for direct supervision and training of the troop. All of the Balrogs, meanwhile, reported to Gothmog, their captain and Gothmog - Sauron again assured - remained unyieldingly loyal to Melkor, just like other spirits of fire.

Melkor walked beside his servant, lighting the corridors and halls of Angband with his three stolen jewels. From time to time he nodded or let out sounds of approval or interest half of which were badly suppressed yawns. The constraints of the flesh were unbearable and Melkor found himself paying more attention to the ache in his black hands and the heaviness of his eyelids than some of the useful information and good news that Sauron was pouring into him. If the Maia proved not to be a traitor, Melkor concluded, the things Sauron had achieved would certainly be of great use. In fact, despite the awfully weary state he was in, Melkor was impressed. Truly impressed now that he had learnt that Angband had indeed been raided thoroughly by the Valar and since then had been rebuilt under Sauron’s command. What he had taken for the incompetence of the Valar was in reality ages of hard work on behalf of his minions.

Sauron had just finished showing his master the newly rebuilt furnaces that would be simply perfect for creation of terrible black smoke to make it even more pitch black outside, whenever Melkor’s black heart desired, when turning around towards his master he caught the tired look on the Vala’s face. He did not let Melkor know that he had seen it, yet rather than taking his master to several more halls where construction was underway, as he had earlier planned, he resolved to shorten the tour to its final attraction.

“I have one more presentation in mind now that may interest thee, my lord.” He said and with those words he led his master down the torchlit stairs even deeper into the bellows of Angband to where in the pits many strange creatures were nesting.

“Aye,” Melkor responded tiredly, but followed him keenly. He anticipated to see some survivor of the Valar’s assault on Angband, for here not all the pits had been raided. His deadly, monstrous pets that had bred and dwelt in the bowels of Utumno had all perished, Melkor knew well, for he had been dragged over their corpses in chains. The memory angered him, but he did not dwell on it now, instead looking forward to another surprise of Sauron’s, for those had been numerous.

As they descended the flight of stairs carved in stone and solid magma, the Maia caught the hold of one of the Orcs that dwelled in those parts and snarling an order at him in fluent orc speech sent him running off into the darkness beyond the flame of a single torch that burnt here. The creature ran away on its errand at once, glad to escape the two fearsome Ainur and the unwelcome blinding light of the SIlmarils and Sauron led Melkor further, to where the dark would beyond doubt be complete was it not for the Vala’s fiery hair and his jeweled crown.

At last they came to a halt in front of a dark entrance to a cave. Yet before any of them could speak a word or strive to summon whatever mysterious creature dwelt there, the Orc returned with a bucket filled with chunks of raw meat, and for a while seemed on verge of despair as he looked between the Vala and the Maia, not knowing who he should give the bucket to, the strange and mighty dark lord who had returned or to Sauron whom he knew well and to whom he had been giving it for few decades now. The Orc was not stupid and knew who the great master and who the lesser great master there was but the Orc was not quite sure what would anger Melkor more, not being given a bucket of meat or being given a bucket of meat. Quickly however the minion resolved his own dilemma by falling face-first on the ground and groveling before Melkor, while the bucket left aside, was with a sigh picked by Sauron in the end.

On any other day the Orc’s hesitation would have been very well-founded, but feeling as he did then, Melkor could not care less for buckets of meat, whomever they were presented to. He dismissed the Orc with a wave of a hand and a half-hearted snarl and stood beside Sauron, peering into the darkness beyond the light of his Silmarils from which some carnivorous creature was to emerge.

Sauron turned back to his lord and the dark cave, “I trust thou still rememberest Draugluin, my liege,” He said as side by side they peered into the darkness where a pair of shining eyes opened when the name had been spoken.

Melkor’s surprise knew no bounds. And boundless as it was it woke him and lifted his spirits. “How could I not remember,” he said and then his eyes locked with those of the beast lurking in the dark. Last time he had seen those canine eyes they were much closer to the floor and smaller too. Melkor felt refreshed and vigorous at that sight. “Draugluin, come hither,” he commanded softly, patting the plate armor piece on his thigh.

And at the command, Draugluin, the very first werewolf on Arda came thither indeed and it was not a pup anymore but a big and splendid wolf, with lean flanks, fur black and blue as was the night and cunning yellow eyes of a predator. But those eyes, although they gazed at Melkor with curiosity, turned away from its maker - for it was after all Melkor himself that three centuries ago had put a vile spirit into the little wolf thus giving form to Draugluin - and the silent paws carried the beast towards Sauron rather, for he was the one with the bucket of meat and he was the one that came to the cave each week for the centuries that passed.

The Maia however held the container outstretched towards Melkor and looked sternly at the beast, silently forbidding it to come nearer and seeking to justify the displeasing demeanor of the wolf, that almost mistook its masters, “Feed it, my liege, make it remember thee. Draugluin was but a pup when thou hadst... ” Sauron sought for appropriate words to phrase it,“... departed. And I were the one to feed him.”

Melkor held Sauron’s eyes for a brief moment and then took out of the bucket a big chunk of raw meat and regarded it with displeasure, “That is not the flesh of the Eldar,” Melkor noted, disregarding the touchy subject of his departure. He seemed for the moment to be more concerned with Draugluin’s diet than other matters.

“Nay, it is indeed not,” Sauron confirmed with a sigh, as the wolf took the meat from the hand of the true lord of Angband, “I beg thy forgiveness my liege but if in the time of thy absence I was to renew the hunting of Elves, I would have assured the eyes of Valar turning this way again and so I have decided against it, for without thee among us we would not withhold another attack. Yet now thou art here and all will change and thus hopefully Draugluin’s diet shall be enriched again.” Orcs of course, used to once be Eldar too and they were aplenty in Angband, yet giving their spoilt meat to a mighty and noble beast like Draugluin would be plainly disrespectful and most likely unwholesome as well. Thus the wolf was fed with flesh of other animals for the time being.

Melkor nodded and then reached out towards the wolf, offering the bloody treat. But suddenly his new permanent physical form came to his mind and Melkor realized just what a mighty beast Draugluin had grown into and how sharp his teeth were. The hesitation lasted merely a moment though and overcoming his cowardice, the Dark Lord’s black hand crossed the distance and let the long teeth take the meat. As Draugluin ate, the Vala petted the werewolf. He had made this beast, it simply could not rebel against him. And it did not. So Melkor scratched the beast’s head and neck and its ears. “How thou hast grown,” Melkor mused out loud, giving Draugluin another piece of meat, once the beast had devoured the first one.

Standing behind them, Sauron watched the werewolf and his master with content, “He had and he still shall grow bigger and stronger now that thou art near.” And it was so indeed, for even if the wolf did not remember Melkor well, the spirit clad in Draugluin’s flesh longed for its master’s return and now in the Vala’s presence it was going to become mightier and healthier than it had ever been and as it would grow in power so would the wolf grow. Though adding some Elves to Draugluin’s diet will also surely help.

Melkor beheld the beast awhile and then turned to Sauron. “We should begin the breeding of werewolves. The Eldar had multiplied nicely and many of them shall come our way seeking the Silmarils and vengeance for the king I’ve slain. Then Draugluin shall be the sire of werewolves and his kind shall feast on their remains,” Melkor announced and stood straight. “Thou hast pleased me greatly, Sauron. Thy deeds are many and thy achievements are great. Let us now tend to the restoration of Angband.”

“Aye, my liege.” The Maia agreed and soon they left the dark pits and climbed the winding stair again and behind them like a great faithful shadow Draugluin walked step after step.

And yet as some time later after all that was to be seen was seen and all that was to be told was told, they came to a halt in one of the hallways and Sauron bowed his head walking away, with him too went the wolf and Sauron froze in his step, dismayed and troubled.

And Melkor stopped as well. He watched the werewolf and the Maia for a long moment. Sauron had ruled Angband in his stead. He had upheld and rebuilt it in his absence. He had fed and trained Draugluin and had apparently won the werewolf’s loyalty. In dismay Melkor once again wondered if Sauron’s own loyalties still stood true. With every moment he doubted that more and more. But as of yet he did not speak his mind on the matter. Melkor simply turned and left to try once more to get some sleep and then turn to the scheming.

But the wolf, coaxed by Sauron’s hand that bid it follow Melkor and not him, trotted softly behind behind the Vala and brushed its inky flank against his side.

Sauron looked at two figures, one of the mighty Vala and one of a splendid wolf as they waned into the shadows at the end of the hallway. He had not failed to mark the suspicion in Melkor’s eyes, and he knew that Melkor would not let it rest. And so Sauron turned around and walked away well aware that soon he would be called before Melkor again and this time it would not be to hear his master’s words of praise.

Questioning was imminent.

* * *

“Hast thou sat on my throne?” Melkor demanded of Sauron, as the Dark Vala now occupied the seat on the high dais, from which he glared down at his subject. He knew the answer well, but he needed to hear it pronounced by Sauron himself. He wanted the man to admit that he had taken that liberty and then see Sauron humble himself with apologies.

Melkor felt threatened by the authority of Sauron that had grown immensely through the ages of his absence. None would speak it out loud and all were most respectful to the Vala, bowing, groveling and prostrating themselves before him wherever he went but Melkor felt that all the lesser creatures of Angband did not truly know him, or see him as the true lord of the stronghold. And many of the more ancient beings - those that knew him well, having long been his servants before his Chaining - treated him as a ghost from the past, as if his return had not yet made it through into their ages old minds.

Thus Melkor needed to re-establish his rule, and he chose to start with his lieutenant.

Sauron however did not fall to his knees and grovel in front of the Vala like all the others. No, rather than doing that, he stood straight and looking at his master upon the throne, he nodded, pleading guilty as if it was no major crime at all, “I had, my lord.” He answered simply and with great calm, and forestalling Melkor’s violent outburst was there to be one, added,“Yet I had done it for a reason and not for glory.”

“Name it then. Speak thy mind,” Melkor encouraged irritably. The fact that the Maia stood proudly before him instead of kneeling and submitting troubled Melkor. Once it was Sauron’s usual manner and were Melkor to consider this affair soundly, he would have seen that there was no reason for doubt in his faithful lieutenant. Yet Melkor was too fast and passionate to consider this matter patiently.

Still, Sauron hoped he would, at least once the reasons were known to him. Were he an Orc, he would have never allowed himself such impudence as claiming to have had reasons for usurping power this way. Yet he was no Orc. He was Melkor’s most prized servant and asset and he took his chances, speaking, “Three ages past thou left suddenly, my liege and although I have awaited long for a message from thee, none came. Angband lay in ruin and those of thy servants who survived were scattered and doubtful and lost. It did not suffice merely to call and once more take them to the task. They needed authority, needed fear to bind them into the service to darkness once more. Thou, their lord that held them in his grasp, wert gone and so I stepped forth and in thy absence I ruled them from the black throne in thy stead. Yet I always meant to step down and bow to thee the day you returned and with gladness, I have now done that. Thus before thou wreakst thy wrath upon thy loyal servant, remember, my lord that it wert thou who in the ages past made me the commander of Angband.” After those words he fell silent, thankful to Melkor that he let him say this much without lashing out in the middle like he would sometimes.

Annoyance played in Melkor’s features like a flame of a candle swayed by a draft, dying out and burning brighter in turns. Sauron’s actions and his words made perfect sense. Melkor’s anger about the matter was irrational, but he did not want to step down. Malice clawed at his mind, telling him to smash his insolent servant with Grond, show the others what would happen should anyone try to take power from him for any reason, be it valid or void. But common sense told him Sauron had acted wisely, that he was useful and had so far shown no intent of treachery, no matter how much Melkor brooded expecting it.

In the end, the Dark Vala came to a compromise between his desire to humble Sauron and his reluctance to do the other Ainu harm. “Thy words sound true. Yet in thy actions thou hast risen higher than I had intended for thee. For that thou shalt be humbled. A lowly task shall be given to thee and thou shalt fulfill it,” Melkor triumphed as he thought he had found a good way to put his servant in his place. As he spoke, Melkor rubbed his black palms together, the never ending pain in them feeding his malevolence. “Thou shalt come to my quarters when I summon thee, then thou shalt bow before me and do as I say.”

And Sauron regarded him as he spoke and when the last of Melkor’s words rang loud and clear in the hall, the Maia nodded his head, “If that is thy command my lord, so it shall come to pass.”

---

Chapter End Notes

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The Taming of Sauron

Warning: Slash and sexual content, so please read only if you don't mind ithose things!

A/N: The reasons for what occurs in this chapter shall be well explained later on. It is definitely not a pwp story with smut for the sake of smut, do not worry!

Read The Taming of Sauron

Chapter 2

The Taming of Sauron

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And so indeed it came to pass that to suffer for his three centuries long impertinence, Sauron, once a great craftsman of the household of Aulë, and now once more the lieutenant of Melkor, was summoned to the nethermost halls of Angband, where his master currently resided.

The floor of the stronghold where the Dark Vala dwelled was a place of terror and gloom, in recent days more so than ever, as Melkor no longer feeling as triumphant as he had about the conquest of the Silmarils, was now in great turmoil. The theft of the jewels left his foul hands burnt black and a source of constant anguish. The pain of the burns was never to cease and thus the most mundane tasks became a torment for the Dark Lord of Angband.

With Melkor's temper at its worst, all of his creatures and servants fled from his proximity, coming only when summoned, as all learnt swiftly and knew well by now the extremes to which their master could go, when his current affliction got the best of him.

Morgoth Bauglir - nearly two weeks it had taken for the name the Noldor gave him for his vile crimes to finally reach Beleriand - could not rest with the pain tormenting his every moment, waking or otherwise. And even now his lieutenant found him pacing across the spacious hall, that constituted a major part of his current dwelling. In his fury, or rather his frustration, Morgoth had toppled or else upset the furnishing of the hall and some of the adjacent rooms.

Even now, passing a table that he had not yet broken in half, the Vala kicked it, snarling furiously, content only for a glimpse, in that short moment when the table collapsed and fell to splinters on the dark floor. Then, abandoning his most recent inanimate victim where it lay and apparently absorbed by his anger failing to yet notice the arrival of Sauron, Morgoth progressed through the hall to finally stop, enthralled - or trying to force himself to be so - by his own reflection in the mirror.

The light of the Silmarils in his crown reflected from the surface of the looking glass, blinding him somewhat and making the Black Enemy wince and narrow his eyes, that were by now well used to the reflexions of the jewels' light on the dark walls and floors of Angband, but not yet to that of their full splendor.

Melkor stood in place awhile, fighting back the urge to rub the burnt skin of his aching hands with his equally aching fingers, for he knew it would bring no comfort, only further enhance his suffering. Despite all, he still looked splendid, Morgoth concluded. Too beautiful to bear and his hands itched and he balled them into fists and at once regretted that gesture dearly.

Sauron watched his master's silent rage from the threshold of the open door where he silently stood, a big black shadow against the torchlight that played on the walls. Clad in dark and intimidating armor the Maia was, one that he always wore when attending to his duties in the dark stronghold and elsewhere. He stood there a long while, giving his master more time to destroy the surroundings and admire his glory as he wondered what punishment Melkor had taken whole two weeks to devise for him.

In the end, Sauron entered the hall, treading as lightly as he could not to displease his lord even further. As he came closer his eyes were briefly drawn to the Silmarils that shone bright as always in his Melkor's crown and he regarded them with a hint of sadness, knowing well now how obsessed and beguiled his master was by their beauty. When Melkor had claimed the precious jewels of Feanor for himself and first brought them into Angband to set them into the crown of iron, his master's joy and triumph had known no bounds. But as days passed the dark mirth of their taking seemed to die down in the black heart of Melkor, slowly replaced by anger that now, two weeks later was taking a heavy toll on all that dwelt in the fortress but heaviest on Melkor himself.

Watching him from afar, Sauron understood the source of his master's anger. It was the price the Dark Vala had paid to win the Silmarils and the realization of its finality that Melkor was becoming so painfully aware of. Having resolved never to take the crown off of his head, the Black Enemy would each day look perforce more often at his burnt hands than at the splendid gems he took in his possession. Only in the mirrors, many of which he had in the recent days ordered to be installed all over the fortress, Melkor could now behold the three precious stones.

And behold the Silmarils he did, long and often, yet looking into the mirror and gazing upon the reflection of their light so bright and pristine, Morgoth would always and eternally be reminded of just how black and marred forever the hands that had once touched them so victoriously now were. And he would too be reminded of the pain that from that fateful day on was to forever keep him company.

Coming closer but still not too close, Sauron stopped, waiting for his lord to at last look away from his reflection. Melkor bid him to come here to at last receive the punishment that he deserved and so he had come, dutiful as always. Yet the chief lieutenant of Melkor was well familiar with the fits of anger and rapid outbursts his master was capable of - those used to happen oft in the days of yore - and therefore he made sure not to startle the Vala now. And thus patiently, he waited and only when Melkor finally became aware of his presence did he state, "Thou hast called upon me, master."

"Indeed, I have," Morgoth, the Dark Enemy of the World, tore his eyes from the looking glass and turned to face his most trusted lieutenant, impatiently. "Come with me, the time for thy new duty has come." The lord of Angband strode towards one of the doors, that was already ajar and opened it fully with a mighty kick. The sound of the door smashing against the dark wall of the chamber resonated in the empty hall. Like this Morgoth led his loyal servant into a less spacious room, that hosted a bed of enormous size. "Thy punishment shall be one that none will know about but thou and I."

Sauron, never the one to question his lord's bidding, followed in Melkor's wake, silently lamenting the fate of the finely crafted doors being opened in such a manner, most likely for days on end. Soon however he forgot all about the doors, for when he took another step, he found suddenly that he was no longer in need to step lightly. Sauron's iron clad feet tread on the fine carpet now and his eyes gazed upon the chamber that he had never before seen. Neither recently nor even in days long gone, before the chaining of Melkor.

Many ages back, given the task of overseeing the order within the stronghold, Sauron would spend his days attending to the everyday matters of Angband but that was hardly the only task that kept him busy. After a day of duties, each evening - once as well as presently - he would spend in the bowels of his own fiery smithy, forging and enchanting various objects that Morgoth desired. Every third morning he would leave to patrol the outposts manned with Orcs and Balrog captains. He would beside that inspect the ongoing construction, assist Morgoth in the matters of the army and give flesh to all the many plans and schemes that Melkor came up with but in the haste of his malice forgot about altogether, as always. Given all those tasks, Sauron had little time or reason to ever step into his master's private quarters in Angband. Especially since it was not he but lesser servants that were tasked with keeping the chambers ready for their master's return.

But he was here now. In room no other than Melkor's bedchamber and thus he had to be cautious. Given the surroundings and Melkor's cryptic words, whatever it was that his lord was about to command, it had no precedent in history of his service to the Vala. Beholding Melkor, Sauron spoke calmly and warily, "Tell me now the service thou requirest of me, my lord. Thy will shall be done." With those words said, the master craftsman of Angband awaited his dark lord's reply.

Morgoth approached the tremendous bed and he sat down on the edge of it. His fiery eyes slowly studied his lieutenant with a scrutinizing look. "First and foremost, do lock the door. Then take off thy gauntlets, for the matter is delicate," Morgoth commanded from where he reclined and as the ever obedient Maia set to work on his first, simple assignment, the Dark Lord kicked off his boots one after another and rested his bare feet on the carpet.

As the dark wooden doors, that still held strong despite the dozens of times Morgoth vented his fury on them were closed and bolted by Sauron's hand, betraying on his face no visible confusion as to what task might require both secrecy and delicacy at once, Melkor's second in command took off a gauntlet and then another as told, daring to rest them on an area of empty space on one of toppled pieces of furniture.

Sauron's hands that became revealed now from under his gloves, were big, like those of a blacksmith that the Maia originally was in the household of Aulë, before his treachery and undertaking of a more all-encompassing and satisfying range of tasks under Melkor's command. Like that, clad in armor still and only devoid of his gauntlets and helmet that he would oft chose not to wear out of convenience, while inside the stronghold, Sauron stood before his lord, looking at him with question in his eyes.

Morgoth beheld him, lost in his own thoughts and said naught for a while. Then though he stirred and it appeared that he had changed his mind, or as was usual for Melkor, grew tired of being in one place. And so the Dark Lord rose from the bed and moved to stand several steps to the side from Sauron, in front of yet another mirror, into which he peered, admiring the glow of the Silmarils once more. When finally he spoke, his words rang thus: "Come hither and undo my robe."

The eyes of the Maia widened and there was a slight hesitation - a momentary delay - after the order was spoken as for a second the Sauron was not sure if he had heard right. However asking for his lord to repeat orders was never one of the man's habits and so the dark Maia took a step forth and then the next two, until he found himself beside his lord, stealing just the briefest glance at their common reflection in the mirror that Melkor and him now both stood in front of. Then the lieutenant of Morgoth looked away from the mirror and reached out to touch the first of the fine robe's many buttons.

Before his fingers brushed against the fabric however, Sauron's hands stopped and he awaited the ultimate confirmation. For Melkor himself he had also never before touched.

"Carry on without hesitation, as long as thou remainest mindful of my hands," Melkor lifted one of his burnt hands briefly, but as the dark silhouette of his palm approached his face and the crown that framed it at the top, Melkor withdrew his hand as if still fearing new burns from the creations of Feanor.

Instructed to continue, with a nod of his head and no further delay Sauron proceeded onto the task slowly, moving button after button down Morgoth's clothes Sauron wore when in no need of armor, were always simple, practical and well suited for the work that he was doing. Melkor's robes however were always the finest of the fine and they had many more buttons, clasps and decorations than was possibly needed.

The hands of Morgoth's lieutenant although, despite being big and rough, were also taught the greatest precision since times immemorial and so soon Melkor's robes fell open and with the task at hand completed, Sauron now withdrew to stand in some distance from his lord where his reflection would no longer disrupt his master's own. There silently he awaited further orders, as he questioned himself in his thoughts what it was that his lord would now state that he required.

Morgoth appeared to approve of the performance as he now beheld his magnificent reflection with a shadow of a smirk. Despite being located in the north, Angband with its smithies, balrog pits and volcanic flows was not as cold a place as the dwellers of Middle-earth likely pictured. Not inside. And definitely not in Melkor's quarters. Thus now, as the silky robes slid smoothly down his frame, the lord of Angband stood bare in front of the mirror. "Now thy pride shall be humbled and thou shalt once more learn thy place. On thy knees," Melkor pointed one black finger at the carpet at his feet.

Hearing those words, Sauron stayed silent and for a moment he moved not from the place where he stood. To sink to one knee before Melkor's throne when it was required was one matter and to be humbled in this way, forced to his knees in the Vala's own bed chamber was quite another and Melkor knew it well and with cunning chose this way exactly to subdue his proud servant.

The Maia stayed still for almost too long. So long that his stillness began to seem to Melkor as yet another act of defiance. Then finally Sauron moved from place and he stepped towards Morgoth, slowly and with great reluctance it seemed, sinking to his knees before him.

Melkor grinned darkly, basking in the power he held over Sauron and the humiliation of his servant. The sight of the kneeling Maia pleased him so much, that Melkor's flesh stiffened without the slightest touch as in a dark and lecherous whisper he commanded "Pleasure thy lord now, Sauron."

Sauron harkened in silence from the carpet on which he knelt and his eyes, averted in shame before narrowed as the command was spoken and they rose to gaze up at Melkor, truly unreadable as flames played inside them.

"Go on," Melkor commanded sternly, peering down with satisfaction at his humbled servant.

At that, Sauron's eyes once again looked elsewhere and the command of Melkor was heeded at last. Giving no sign of what thoughts were now in his mind, the humiliated Maia slowly lifted his hands but rather than taking right to the duty of properly pleasing his lord just yet, he ran his big fingers up the Vala's calves and behind his knees, letting them slowly and gently travel up Morgoth's thighs until finally they lingered on his hip bones, almost dark against Melkor's snowy skin.

Melkor's eyes followed every movement of his servant's hands. And as those did not get right to the task, the Vala took it for signs of humility, hesitation and perhaps unwillingness. And he was almost about to clear his throat and repeat his order third time, making his impatience very clear to his servant, when Sauron bowed his head and taking a hold of his flesh, took Melkor into his mouth, beginning to please his lord in the manner he thought the Vala desired.

Yet when he had done that, Melkor barely managed to hold back a gasp of surprise. Succeeding in that, in amazed silence Melkor beheld the sight of Sauron at his feet, for the Maia was indeed fulfilling his order, but not in the way Morgoth had expected. When Sauron's hands travelled over his skin he was obviously waiting for their touch. This he had not foreseen or planned on. Having been trapped in his physical form for mere weeks now and having been too absorbed by his vile plans in ages before that, the Dark Vala had not experienced much of the pleasures of the flesh or known much about the many ways the carnal pleasure could be given. Ever since his return though, as he was forced to stay incarnate, he found his thoughts wandering back to this issue, yet burning of his hands had left Melkor quite dissatisfied with the few times he had attempted gaining at least some pleasure from his predicament. That was one of the reasons why he had resolved to leave this task to the Maia instead.

Having Sauron humbly fall to his knees please him seemed like a very cunning punishment to Melkor and Sauron's failure to simply touch him with his hands did nothing to make Melkor change his mind or regret the decision. In fact now, as Sauron's lips and tongue pleased him so skilfully the Vala concluded that punishing his lieutenant this way might have been one of his brightest ideas as of late.

As Sauron carried on, Melkor heaved a sigh of pleasure. Beholding his humbled servant, Melkor felt his breath grow uneven and heat gather in his loins. Soon however came another part that he had not foreseen or planned on and his knees began feeling weaker and weaker, threatening to give away under him if Sauron was to continue. Such was the effect of the great pleasure bestowed upon him by his servant's touch and Morgoth cursed the mirror, that he had left the bed for, now he was not looking at it.

To save himself from the prospect of an unlordly fall into the Maia's arms, or an equally shameful shaking of his knees, Melkor barked with annoyance, "Enough! Rise and stand behind me, Sauron. I wish to be able to behold my whole self in the mirror, as thou pleasest me with thy hands this time."

And Sauron obeyed him this time as well, leaving his place at Melkor's feet and rising slowly, saying not a word still and looking not in Melkor's eyes. Silently he came to stand behind his lord in such way where Melkor would be able to behold mostly his splendid self and less of his servant, and he squinted his eyes at the bright light of the Silmarils reflected from the mirror's surface. Beside the Simlarils however he saw the reflected image of his lord, splendid, pale and aroused with a dark crown upon his fiery hair and Sauron drew a deep breath, his hands slowly coming to ghost against Melkor's sides at first and then making contact fully.

The big fingers of the master craftsman ran at first down along the Vala's ribs and as they reached the line of Melkor's waist they came forth to caress the hip bones and brush against his stomach. It was a strangest choice of touch, for someone who, punished like Sauron now, was meant to feel deep humiliation and dislike the lowly duty.

Melkor wondered about his servant's motives, but only briefly, for soon Sauron's hand slid lower and fulfilled Morgoth's earlier order and all thought was banished from the Vala's mind. When his servant's hands moved between his legs, the Vala watched his reflection in the mirror, letting out another sigh of pleasure. When his breath grew shallow again, and weakness threatened his legs once more, he took a step back, leaning against Sauron. Slowly he rested his heavy head on his lieutenants shoulder and with his half-lidded eyes beheld his reflection in the mirror. Under caress of the Maia, Morgoth enjoyed himself so much, that he forgot about the purpose with which he had given Sauron his initial order.

Meanwhile Sauron's hands parted their ways and as one worked most dutifully between Melkor's legs, the other, brazen one, ventured up the Vala's chest where carefully the big fingers caressed one of Morgoth's pale, nipples that at once grew hard under the touch.

Despite being capable of cutting an elf's or even an orc's head clean off with a sword, waging war and bringing death and misery upon his foes in any shape he took on himself, strangely enough, Sauron suddenly turned out to be capable of a delicate and precise touch. However when one thought about the hundreds of decades the Maia had spent on the craft that encompassed not only the forging of weapons and armors but also crafting things as precious, miniscule and gentle as jewelry, perhaps it was not so strange a discovery after all.

As he pleased his lord, Sauron's eyes stayed hidden and his face remained obscured by the soft flames of Morgoth's hair and by the crown of iron.

But Melkor did not seek to discern the look on Sauron's face. More than that even, he studied himself in the mirror no more. His eyes finally lidded fully and slowly his awareness of Sauron's presence faded. There was touch, but he attempted to pretend it was his own, for the Vala had always been too proud to share his bliss with others, and thus having another touch him this way was new to him. And yet finally the free will of the caress that was bestowed on him became all too apparent to Melkor, for both the rhythm and the placement were foreign and the Vala felt odd excitement build in him, increasing the pleasure tenfold. And so he could not hold back a moan, that left his lips, as Sauron's touch made his knees grow even weaker than before.

The moment when the Dark Enemy closed his eyes was the moment Sauron at last lifted his own and dared to gaze upon the perfect, pale and at the same time fiery image of Melkor reflected in the mirror. And beautiful Melkor was indeed, despite having lost the ability to disincarnate and shift his shapes when he had - with Ungoliant's help - one after another destroyed the two Trees of Valar, slain Finwe and stolen the Silmarils that now shone inside the crown of iron. Back then, having taken onto himself a form of a dark lord, tall and fearsome and clad in dark armor, he was from that day on to be trapped forever in that very shape. And yet what his enemies knew naught of - it meant not that underneath the dark armor he was as fearsome and terrible as on the outside and he also retained the ability to shrink and grow taller at will.

Therefore despite not being able to travel as a disembodied spirit or take unto himself shapes of monsters, beasts and other many races of Arda, Melkor was still a splendid sight to behold. And gazing into the mirror Sauron Gorthaur fixed his eyes greedily on the image of Morgoth.

As a moan escaped his master's lips, Sauron's touch grew bolder and he pulled his lord closer against the armor that just as the fortress itself was not as cold and unpleasant to the touch as it could initially seem. The hand that before lingered on Melkor's chest now slowly slid up his skin, and the tips of Sauron's fingers brushed against the crook of Melkor's neck.

The Vala groaned quietly, obliviously thrusting into Sauron's hand. His own hands gripped the air, as he struggled to restrain himself from any touch in order not to ruin the bliss by mixing the ache of his burnt hands into it. By now he lost himself completely in pleasure, not caring or dwelling on what it was like for Sauron right now, if he was humbled or not at all. Melkor moaned loudly, feeling his pleasure escalating. "Harder!"

And once again Sauron did his bidding, one hand stroking the dark lord's erection as the other hesitated and instead of sliding higher up and touching the Vala's face or burying itself in the soft, fiery hair, fell back down and pulled the Vala closer, making Melkor lean fully against his lieutenant's armored chest. That was when Sauron's short nails ran up his master's body starting from the soft skin of Morgoth's lower stomach and ending their journey right next to his collarbone. There, hesitantly touching his neck again and ghosting against the line of Melkor's jaw the fingers lingered for a moment, before falling down once more and never coming back up again.

Melkor exhaled, groaning mindlessly, and for a moment he still thrust into Sauron's palm, until finally with a mix of Eldar and Ainur curses he climaxed, shuddering violently and leaning heavily and without restraint against his lieutenant as his chest heaved with shuddering breaths.

Only then did Morgoth open his eyes and look into the mirror again. And there he saw not just himself, but the man embracing him, and it stirred an odd, unknown feeling in his black heart, that bordered on unrest, amidst the immediate carnal pleasure. He shook it off, quickly, almost cravenly, withdrawing from Sauron's arms. "Thou didst well. And thou shalt not speak of this to anyone," he reminded Sauron, despite knowing the man always remembered orders given even only once. After a moment he noted also "Thou dost not appear humbled enough. We shall have to repeat this."

The armored Maia nodded his head, stepping away and looking away as well. Not down, Sauron never truly cast his eyes down, not even before his master - he was as proud as a Maia could be and even more so to be Melkor's right hand. He merely turned the gaze of his eyes to the side and there also he directed his step, to pick up the gauntlets he had earlier discarded.

"Would that be all thou demandest of me at present, my darkest lord?" He asked as he retrieved the missing pieces of his armor, even now keeping his eyes where Melkor could not peer into them.

The Vala regarded his lieutenant briefly and then cast his glance downwards onto his nakedness and the robes that lay on the carpet. "Not yet, Sauron Thou shalt now dress me," the Dark Lord commanded, not caring that the Maia began putting his gauntlets back on.

Without a word Sauron obliged and dropped the dark gauntlets again, lifting the previously discarded robes from the floor silently. He lifted them and he held them spread behind Melkor for the Black Enemy to slide his burnt hands into the silky sleeves.

And Morgoth Bauglir did that with a wince, as his burnt skin slid against the smooth fabric, causing him minor discomfort. Finally his hands were out of the sleeves and as Sauron began buttoning his robes again, Morgoth watched his servant with a frown of his fiery brows. Sauron was clearly eluding his gaze. "Look at me," Morgoth commanded, to see what made his lieutenant hide his eyes.

Slowly, with utmost reluctance the dark-haired man lifted his head and met the searching gaze of his master and peered upon Melkor's pale countenance with his own eyes of fire that blazed in a way Melkor had never before seen them blaze. With eyes filled to the brim with desire and lust so bright it melted into liquid flames. That was what Sauron had attempted in vain to hide from his master.

Melkor's own eyes widened and he stepped away, looking wrathful. "Forget thy lust, Sauron, for the Silmarils are mine and mine alone! Thou shalt not have them, lest I fall. And if thou darest plot against me, I shall destroy thee, so give me not reasons for doubting thy loyalty!" the Dark Vala spoke in great anger. He would not yield the Silmarils to anyone, but he valued his lieutenant and was ready to forgive this slip, if the Maia kept himself in check in the future.

Sauron's eyes widened as well for a brief moment. Then however the Maia bowed his head and quietly he spoke the words, and admitted his guilt "I erred, my liege but it shall not happen again. The Silmarils are indeed thine and thine alone and none else shall claim them." With that Sauron lifted his eyes again and the fire that blazed inside them wavered and grew dimmer but never died out completely.

Morgoth was disturbed. He had grown used to feeling secure in the halls of Angband, despite his doubts about Sauron's prideful acts, and valued the Maia too much to brand him a traitor and be done with it. Good lieutenants were hard to come by. "Finish dressing me and go then, get thy mind off of my Silmarils and dwell not on them. Thou hast not asked a price for thy service and thou shalt not be paid in these jewels," Morgoth spoke even as Sauron returned to the task of dressing him, for he felt a need to ensure Sauron did not go through with his lust for possessing the stones, for it would be most unfortunate for both of them.

And Sauron nodded his head once more, swearing on things dark and sinister that the Silmarils were forever safe from the touch of his hand. With that, dismissed from his duty he was soon gone and yet the hunger and longing that Morgoth had glimpsed in his lieutenant's blazing eyes were bound to leave the Dark Vala restless despite the Maia's most solemn vow.

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Since that day on, Morgoth's creatures spied on Sauron inside the dark walls of Angband and all his deeds were reported to Morgoth. And the Dark Foe of the World grew ever more unsettled, for he was told that after leaving his quarters on that day Sauron fled to his own rooms, where he gave in to carnal pleasures. That convinced Morgoth all the more that Sauron lusted for the Silmarils as well and would now plot against him in order to come into their possession. But despite that, Melkor did not yet want to get rid of his rebellious servant, hoping that Sauron would be wiser and realize he could not win against his lord, no matter what path he should choose. For Morgoth did not desire his death or horrible suffering, and death and horrible suffering were the least of punishments for traitors in Angband. And he had a reputation to build anew.

Moreover, Sauron had not been humbled yet and Melkor decided he should live at least long enough to learn his lesson, especially since it proved to be one, the Vala was so pleased to teach

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Chapter End Notes

Taliesin @ Thank you so much for your review, it was extremely lovely and motivating and after reading it we were happy all day long that someone enjoys this story so much! We hope to hear more from you! :3

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And thus Sauron was subdued and forever learnt his place... or did he? And is it even the Silmarills that he craves?

Love it? Hate it? Want to kill us with fire or shower us with gold for writing this madness? Should we write more or forever stay silent? Tell us! Here, on deviantart or on tumblr, anywhere you please! :3 (just please do! XD)

 

Conspiracy Unmasked

A/N Greetings, dear readers! The following chapter is rather short and light-hearted but in the next chapters the story will already become serious and mostly stay that way. But for now, enjoy some Silmarils-obsessed Melkor paranoia! ;D

Read Conspiracy Unmasked

Chapter 3

Conspiracy Unmasked

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"He hast a thing for thou, indeed," Gothmog shook his great horned head in amusement, for since few days most of the Maiar in Angband had heard the news that Morgoth had spies watching Sauron, and when sending them he had explicitly stated that he was not suspecting his lieutenant of treachery, just wanted to know his agenda better for planning purposes. Put that way the order sounded dubious and invited a particular interpretation, which Morgoth had not intended - as usual. Melkor's intention, when he gave out that strangely formulated order, was not to show weakness by hesitating to destroy a possible traitor.

The great craftsman and Morgoth's second in command rested his heavy head in his hand, "I fear that it is not what thou thinkest, Gothmog," Sauron sighed as he spoke to the Balrog King. He had almost given in to weakness on that day and yet it was not the weakness Morgoth thought it to be. The chief lieutenant did not however know what would leave his master more seething, to know the truth or to fear treachery that his own deceitful nature would make him suspect Sauron of. The Silmarils were breathtaking and admirable, of course, but seeing the price and the burden of their fate, the Maia had never, not even for a moment desired to have them for his own. Shaking his head to clear it of needless thoughts, Sauron reached for a chunk of elf meat and tossed it to Draugluin, that lay on the floor between them. Now that the evil of Angband no longer had to lie in waiting for its master, the army Sauron had raised was being put to good use, which included providing Draugluin with the best food available. The Eldar were plenty and even more were coming to Middle-earth, having sworn vengeance on Morgoth Bauglir.

"And what else could it be? Hath he thought thee erroneously a traitor, he'd slaughter thee, but he hath no reason to ever doubt thee, for thou hast served him loyally and diligently. I bear witness to thy devotion," Gothmog boomed. The measure of Sauron's loyalty was no secret to Melkor's minions.

"Roar quieter if thou mayst, Gothmog, for the matter is not one I would want the whole stronghold to hear. Our master thinks me longing for the splendid Silmarils in the crown of iron, yet I desire them not and never will." Sauron admitted in a low voice, watching as the wolf - already much more grown than few weeks back - sank his teeth in yet another slice of meat that Gothmog served to him this time.

"What hast thou done that he should think this, Sauron?" Gothmog boomed quieter this time, too curious to know the reason for Morgoth to doubt his most faithful servant so wrongly. The balrog leaned forward, and when Draugluin growled in hunger, the balrog king shoved a huge piece of elven meat straight into the beast's sharp-toothed mouth to silence the great wolf.

And Sauron leaned to him and whispered it into the balrog's ear and then he put a finger to his lips and told Gothmog to speak naught of what he had heard under the pain of excruciating torment.

Gothmog's jaw dropped open and so it stayed, he did not pay heed to wolf that gnawed on his palm. Finally the Balrog king snapped out of it and at once he boomed "Unfathomable!" But spoke no more.

Yet, this thunderous shout carried through the corridors to the ears of Morgoth's spies. And had he exclaimed just a little louder still, it would have likely reached Melkor himself.

* * *

"Darkest of Kings," said a swift-legged goblin from where he knelt before Morgoth, right after his head touched the floor as he humbled himself respectfully before the Black Enemy of the World, "The object of thy concern has been seen last in the presence of Gothmog, the Balrog lord, as they spoke in great secrecy of the Silmarils and of thou, my lord."

Morgoth could not withhold his most unpleasant surprise. His commanders were plotting against him. "Who else was with them?" he demanded in a thundering wrathful voice, that made the hall shake with his fury. But fury was not all that Morgoth felt, he felt also fear and bitterness, disenchantment and even sorrow, for he had use for both these skillful and previously most faithful servants, and there they were now begging to be properly punished for their plans of treachery that Morgoth hoped they would not act upon. He had not suspected Sauron in vain. It was most unfortunate.

The spy answered once more, and what he said had sown even more doubt inside Morgoth's troubled mind, "The Great Draugluin was with them too, gorging on meat of the elves passed from their hands, oh, Darkest Lord."

"Nay, not Draugluin!" Morgoth cried in despair. This was the blackest of days for the Black Foe of the World. His two greatest allies - he had ceased to count Ungoliant into the ranks of those, after she dared to trap him in her nets and almost stole his Silmarils - were plotting against him and dragged Draugluin into it too. But the wolf was young, despite its monstrous size and appetite and should they go through with their plans and have him on their side, the beast would have to be slain as well. Morgoth was downcast. Yet only anger he showed to his subjects. And his anger was not faked for the traitors were three and so were his jewels and now their vile plot was clear in his mind. And still he acted not on his fury and decided to wait, "Keep thy kind's eyes and ears on each of them, most of all Sauron. Of his every action, no matter how minor, I must hear."

* * *

Since that day on terribly inconsistent rumours arose all over the stronghold of Angband. What in the beginning was to be allegedly but a harmless invigilation for the sole purpose of better scheduling of operations - back then considered by many to be their lord's excuse for keeping an eye on the lieutenant's private life, or checking if he had one - now after the outburst of anger at the spy's report of the overheard conversation that concerned Melkor and the Silmarils, became yet another rumour. This time, given fuel were mentions of real treachery and yet neither the Balrogs, nor the orcs, goblins or other dark inhabitants of Angband were sure what kind of treachery it was and in what ways it could possibly involve the Silmarils. Was it that Sauron allied with Gothmog and the great pup Draugluin were planning to overthrow Melkor or was it that Melkor was simply jealous of their secret meetings? Those who knew anything of Sauron or the Balrog king shook their heads though, denying both versions. The meetings were not secret at all and both the lieutenant and the Lord of Balrogs were faithful to Melkor, the Dark Enemy, more than any orc could ever imagine being.

And so the wildest and strangest rumours spread over the fortress, but none of them kept strong, all of them doubtful and inconsistent and none of the dwellers of Angband knew what to really make of them. Yet despite of being so lacking in consistence - all of those rumours had one thing in common; they reached everybody's ears but Melkor's own.

* * *

In the weeks that had followed, Melkor had taken many a step to validate or invalidate his suspicions towards Sauron. Pursuing one of his thoughts of a way of testing his lieutenant's allegiance, he had ordered the making of a crown identical to his, but with the biggest diamonds of Arda instead of the Silmarils. A lot of orc blood was spilled, but the end result satisfied him not. He was not fooled by it and neither would Sauron be.

Uncertainty was the worst torment. It even made the Dark Lord of Angband forget his aching black hands, as he dwelt on a solution for his current problem. The swiftest and surest way would be to destroy Sauron and hope that Gothmog would be dissuaded from further plotting. Draugluin was still a young werewolf and would likely forget the Maia ever existed sooner than Morgoth himself would... And that was where the root of the problem lay. Morgoth did not want to be rid of the Maia. Sauron was an invaluable help - a passionate loyal unquestioning servant with no equals among even the other Maiar, that had crossed onto Morgoth's side.

And there also was that matter, which Morgoth did not want to admit even to himself. He was very fond of Sauron. Not only as of a tool of his Dark Will, but as of a companion. And for all the darkness, hatred and anger that was in Morgoth's existence, until now Sauron was but one fragment unmarred, at least in Morgoth's own eyes. And even though the most recent events cast a shadow on that image, Melkor did not wish to brand Sauron a traitor unless absolutely necessary.

So he had finally devised a test and summoned his servant to his chambers once more, stationing massive guard nearby, should Sauron prove to be a traitor and require capture, so that his death could be horrid, long and public.

* * *

When through one of the orcs he had received the summon to Melkor's halls, Sauron knew at once that nothing good was to come of it and it was with a heavy heart that he descended the many flights of stairs and headed, instead of his fiery smithy, into the even darker depths of Angband where his master dwelled. As he entered the very same hall as few weeks back, Sauron took in the surroundings, noting the order and lack of objects that would be crashed, flipped or broken. It was quite as if his master had forgotten about his previous rage and frustration. However with this new worry on his mind, the grand craftsman of Morgoth did not dwell on it for long. His lord was awaiting him and judging by a pair of Balrogs at each door he passed, Melkor's trust for him had really been undermined in the recent days. Undermined to the extent where Sauron was no longer sure if having lied to Melkor in order to hide the truth from him last time they had met in private, was a wise thing to do.

Morgoth awaited him, standing in the middle of the hall, black hands clasped behind his back, the pain utterly forgotten in this new mental torment. "Come hither, Sauron of the Maiar, and stand before me," Melkor commanded. As Sauron, ever obedient, greeted his master and followed his order, Morgoth's eyes stayed on him, cold and cruel and unfeeling. "Now behold the splendor of the Silmarils and do not look away. If thou shalt take thy eyes off them, thou shalt be named traitor and shalt suffer the fate of traitors of my realm," Melkor warned. And his voice allowed no disobedience

And so Sauron raised his head and gazed forth upon the Silmarils, relieved that it was them and not Melkor's own cruel and cold countenance that he was now to behold for the great craftsman of Aulë knew that gazing upon the Silmarils and the Silmarils only he could and he would keep in check the fire that blazed inside him.

As Sauron of the Maiar stood before him, taking in the sight of the Silmarils, Melkor beheld his form in every detail. His servant's eyes burnt dimly with their usual wit and energy, but none of the lust he had glimpsed in them before now surfaced. And so Morgoth looked for other signs of his servant's treacherous intent. But there were none, so far, therefore Morgoth, the Dark Foe of the World, stepped closer to the Maia, not taking his eyes off of Sauron and ensuring that Sauron's own eyes were fixed on the Silmarils in his iron crown. The light of the three stones was so bright, that if he passed the trial and was allowed to leave, on that day the three shapes would lingered long before his sight.

Step after step, Morgoth slowly approached his servant, until Sauron was forced to lift his chin and stare upwards into the high-set jewels. When Melkor stepped so close that there was merely an inch or two dividing them from each other, there was finally a flicker of flame in Sauron's eyes, right before the Maia squinted at last, blinded by the light, but did not look away.

The Dark Foe of the World remained silent for a while, watching Sauron from aclose and pondering on his dilemma. "Thou lustest for the Silmarils still, Sauron. It is clear to me now. But it is only natural and it would be a waste punishing thee for treason thou hast not committed. Look into my eyes now and open thy mind to me, so we can put this matter behind us," Melkor looked into Sauron's eyes and this time his gaze, though still stern, was softer.

Sauron's eyes widened ever so slightly when that request had been spoken for never before had Morgoth peered into his mind. Sauron's will as that of a powerful Maia was too strong for Melkor to enter his thoughts at his own discretion. And for a brief moment fear overcame the grand craftsman for in his mind dwelled thoughts he would not wish his master to find.

Yet such was the will of Morgoth and to cleanse himself from the suspicion of treason, Sauron nodded his head and looked into Melkor's eyes filled with darkness and fire and opened before him his mind, hoping his lord would swiftly find that which he was looking for and search for nothing else besides.

And fire gazed into fire for a moment, that felt like an eternity for the Maia, before Melkor's gaze shifted but did not leave his face. "That day was the first time thou hast witnessed the Silmarils in such great proximity. I understand why that would have unsettled thou, my faithful servant, for the jewels leave no living thing unmoved. Thy mind is clear of treason and my doubts too are cleared," Morgoth smiled to him and this was a genuine smile, the kind the Valar had not seen since the creation of Arda and likely believed impossible for the Dark Lord. "I value thy faithfulness, Sauron. The Silmarils are mine, but if there is something else thou wouldst want to possess, that thou now lackest, speak thy mind and thou shalt have it," Morgoth offered generously, proving he had not peered into Sauron's mind for things other than treasonous thoughts.

But Sauron simply shook his head and asked not for the things he'd wish to have. "I wish to serve thee, my black lord, and always be at thy side. I wish to be there as thy enemies fall to their knees and as the skies grow dark with smoke and ash and to still stand by thy side when days are hapless and out of luck." Those were the words that he spoke calm and slow as he beheld the smile that played on Melkor's lips, hoping that what he said would not be perceived as disrespectful by his lord.

"Then that thou shalt have," Morgoth said, smiling still and rested a hand on the Maia's shoulder. "I am glad to hear our wishes coincide. Now thou canst return to thy duties, if thou so wilst, or we could have a look at my most recent scheme," the lord of Angband smiled inviting Sauron with a gesture, that held the generously-offered option of refusal.

But Sauron knew well never to refuse his lord and feeling no need to further put his loyalty in question, he soon was once again by Melkor's side, gladly offering his advice.

---

Chapter End Notes

And now onto the already serious chapter!

Tha Fall of Mairon

A/N This is where the story gets serious. We also learn the reasons for loyalty of a certain Maia.

Read Tha Fall of Mairon

Chapter 4

The Fall of Mairon

* * *

Sauron flew in his bat form above the charred land of Anfauglith, the Gasping Dust, where almost a year ago in the battle of Dagor Bragollach, Morgoth's rivers of magma flowed, breaking the four centuries long Noldor siege as they consumed everything that lay in their path. The streams of liquid fire had left in their wake a lifeless desert of ash and roofless grave of many charred bones. Leaving it behind, the Maia flew then above the mountain peaks and volcanic craters, passing through clouds of smoke that eternally surrounded Angband.

The fortress of Angband... his home since many ages. And yet he had not set his foot within its walls since almost a year now, for he was sent on a mission and lead the troops of Orcs and Balrogs and wolves to lay siege to the tower of Minas Tirith - Finrod's fortress built on the Isle of Tol-sirion that guarded the strategically essential Pass of Sirion as well as other places where the Elves had not yielded after the battle of Sudden Flame. Even now despite having broken their defence and captured the places of resistance, not all work had yet been done. The Isle of Tol Sirion had presently become the Isle of Werewolves but there still were enemies hiding in the nearby woods and mountain passes that had to be tracked down and slain or once and for all banished from the land.

Yet despite all those tasks still to be fulfilled, Sauron, the commander of the troops was coming back now, for the tidings that reached his ears had him concerned. The High King Fingolfin was riding into these lands, headed to challenge lord Melkor. As soon as he had heard of it, Sauron, master of shifting shape, took on a form of a swift bat and made haste back to his master's stronghold.

And yet despite that, it seemed that he had arrived too late for in front of the gates of Angband he spotted clear traces of recent battle. Dropping his winged form and shifting into that of a great wolf instead, Sauron gazed upon the field, trying to learn of what the rocks and craters had witnessed. The earth was cracked and spattered with blood and there were many holes in the ground that bore the familiar shape of Grond, Melkor's great hammer. Those holes were filled with blood as well. The blood that had not even yet cooled down and smelled distinctly of Melkor, Sauron discerned as he put his wolf snout to one of the puddles and sniffed it thrice.

There was the scent of Noldor blood mixed into it as well but on the field of battle he found no bodies. Fingolfin was nowhere to be seen, while the trail of Melkor's blood led back into the fortress and so the wolf made haste for its gates, in his hurry omitting a single feather of a giant eagle that lay behind the rock, between the stones and ash that issued from the great peaks of Thangorodrim.

Thus followed the Maia the trail of his master's blood and all that saw him knew him for who he was and gave way to the great gray wolf that ran across the halls of Angband. As he drew nigh to Melkor's chambers, Sauron changed his shape again and he demanded answers from the Orcs wandering the halls and with most horrid death he threatened them if they would not give their answers clearly. They did and thus knowing now of Fingolfin's demise and of his master's many wounds as well as everything else that had transpired, Sauron turned and directed his steps to his dark lord's chambers.

* * *

When Sauron reached his master's quarters, following the horrid trail of Morgoth's blood, that now stained the dark floors of Angband, he found Melkor spread on the bed, armor stripped from him and what healers Angband could offer bent over his pale figure. The crown of iron was still on Morgoth's head, that rested on the blood-stained sheets heavily.

Melkor was a Vala and yet his body was his spirit's prison ever since in his conquest of the Silmarils he had nearly exhausted his power. Since that day his hands were black and ached without cease. That however seemed today no more than a scratch compared to the wounds that Sauron beheld on Melkor now. Wounds dealt to him by Fingolfin. The Maia knew well that even such grave injury could not kill the Vala but he also knew that Melkor's body, once marred this way would never fully heal and that he would suffer until the end of days. And with that knowledge, Sauron felt the bitterness fill him as he gazed upon his master.

Melkor's eyes fluttered open and fell closed, the light in them dim and the darkness deeper than Sauron had ever seen it. He cried in pain as one of the healers disturbed the wound on his foot and as his eyes stopped on his lieutenants figure in the doorframe, the Vala roared with what was left of his strength. "Nay! I do not need more of this torment ye call healing! Out! Out with all of ye!" and then as the others scrambled to their feet and left, Morgoth's eyes turned to Sauron and Sauron alone and he said a quieter voice, stained with agony, "Come hither, my faithful servant, and shut the door behind the last of them, I require peace and quiet," Melkor commanded with a sigh, shifting carefully to lie in a manner as dignified as his state allowed, with his head resting on the pillows and not the middle of the bed. The movement however, made him gasp in pain, as his heavily bandaged foot changed position. With great torment on his face he finally made it to his destination and rested against the pillows, breathing heavily and blinking quickly, hiding tears of pain, that again started gathering in his eyes.

As Melkor looked up at him from where he lay, so weakened and suffering, Sauron met his eyes calmly and nodded his head in silent greeting, yet when the last of the servants were out of the chamber and his face was still turned towards the door that he just locked, the lieutenant of Melkor let his expression fall, and the grief of having arrived too late cast a shadow on his face for just a brief moment. Few hours, he thought, just few hours earlier and he could have spared his master at least some of this suffering. But then again, this was Melkor's battle and none were to interfere. Perhaps then even if Sauron were there, he would still be unable to change the odds. And yet despite that, the pain and blame were in Maia's heart, as he remained convinced that had he only returned on time, he would have found a way to put a swift end to Fingolfin without his master even realizing his help. After all, he was Sauron the Sorcerer and master of illusions.

That mastery had another side to it too. It let him disguise with ease what was in his heart and mind and so when he turned back to Melkor, his face was once again calm, and his eyes were devoid of the dim flames of anguish that swayed inside them earlier for a brief, unseen moment. He beheld Melkor now, with respect, as always. Although his master's body was now even further maimed and his face was presently also marred by talons of an eagle, he was victorious, no matter how bitter the triumph. "I flew with the swiftest winds back to thee, master, setting out when only I have learnt about the challenge Fingolfin cast thy way." Sauron said and then added, with regret, "Forgive me for not being swift enough to witness how thou crashed the abominable elf under thy mighty foot." He then approached his lord slowly, mentioning not the his lord's many injuries not to cast yet more shadows upon Melkor's triumph.

The Vala however felt no such courtesies were necessary, and he addressed the matter himself, "Ah but I payed for it dearly," he groaned groaned. "I should have simply smashed the Eldar bastard with my hammer where he lay. There was no need to get any closer than that." The Dark Lord of Angband said with regret, adding, "If thou shouldest ever find thyself duelling a Noldor, remember my mistake and learn from it," Melkor advised and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. "Cover me now," he ordered softly.

And Sauron did, without a word draping the covers over the Black Foe of the World and letting himself show none of the hurt that was in his own black heart. "I shall remember and learn then. But thou shouldest now rest, my lord, for thou hast lost enough blood today to weaken even the mightiest of Valar as thyself." So ironic that once the mightiest of the Valar indeed was now trapped in the constraints of this frail shape and had to pay such high a price for his greatness.

Melkor sighed wearily and opened his eyes, where fire seemed to have almost died out and now burnt weakly and wearily as he spoke. "Stay with me, my faithful companion. Guard me and my Silmarils as I sleep," Melkor said and let his eyes fall closed again, the vision of Sauron his last on that day. And through the night and day that followed Sauron kept vigil over him in his sleep.

* * *

Sitting beside his master, guarding him and watching shadows dance on walls, Sauron felt his thoughts wander to things that have been and to things that may come. The Vala, weak, wounded, trapped in a fragile mortal shape was at his mercy now and if only he wanted, there and then, in that very moment, Sauron could have succeeded him. He could have dealt a blow and taken the crown of iron, taken the throne and the dark fortress. He could have become the new dark lord and rule for a long, long time until Melkor's spirit, likely not quite completely destroyed, would regain enough power to oppose him and take back his empire.

Yet Sauron had no such desire. He craved not to rule. The very thought of betrayal had never even crossed his mind as he sat beside the Vala, for his loyalty was not to the throne and the crown but to the one that wore it. To Melkor and none else, now and forever. And as his master slept, rather than plotting treachery, in his mind Sauron recounted the reasons that kept him beside him through all these years.

* * *

Long, long ago, in the beginning of times when the Valar and Maiar gathered in the halls of Eru to sing and together bring a new world to life, he had first set his eyes on Melkor and in Ainulindalë, the great music of Ainur, he had heard him sing. Yet his thoughts at that time had not yet strayed towards Melkor nor would they for a long time to come.

In those days Sauron had another name and another master and he loved order above all things else, thus he had frowned upon the discord that Melkor brought into the Great Music and he had not joined him in his singing, as had some other Maia, among them the spirits of fire. No, rather than falter, he held true to the leading tune of Eru and the Valar and for many years to come Mairon, back then a craftsman of Aulë would never even briefly consider that once in the future their paths would cross.

The world they brought into existence with their voices was but a ghost of a place in those days still and so they had descended upon that mirage of Arda and set to work on it, making it come true according to the plan they saw before them. The Valar went first, each of them reserving for his or her own an aspect of Arda of their liking, one that best suited their nature. Behind their masters followed the Maiar and day after day, year after year diligently they worked, giving shape and form to things.

Mairon was among them from the very first day, as according to the design of Aulë together with other spirits he shaped the surface of the world, crafting minerals and all the things that hid beneath it, as well as those that grew out from Arda's very roots, slowly, tirelessly erecting mighty mountains.

Then one day all of a sudden Melkor appeared. He came down onto the world a mountain himself, one covered by ice and with flames blazing upon its crown, and in all his glory he waded across the oceans seen from far and wide as he set swiftly to ruining things that the others had so far made. Mairon saw him on that day as had many others, yet the mighty form of the Vala impressed him not and he had no love for Melkor or his deeds back then.

It was only later that first doubt arose in Mairon's mind that would later grow and take over his thoughts and heart completely and in the end bring him to Melkor. On that day, he and the other Maiar of Aulë had just completed the work of many weeks, building a great mountain peak where it was meant to be raised. They were pleased with their hard and dutiful work and had sat down and rested when all of a sudden he appeared.

Melkor smote the mighty mountain away with one flick of his wrist and in its place he left a gaping hole that slowly filled with flames and magma and turned into a lake of fire, for he had wished the lake there and not a mighty peak. Then Melkor went away and waned into distance and behind him new mountains grew out from Arda, where he wanted them to grow.

Sitting in Melkor's chambers now, watching the Vala's chest rise and fall with breath he once had not even needed, Sauron remembered that day clearly. He remembered the anger of his fellow Maiar, remembered their disappointment and the lamenting as all the servants of Aulë gathered round the fiery lake and wrought their hands in despair that all their work was in vain and when finally the wailing and complaining ceased, setting to discuss how they would drain the lake of flames and how they would build the mountain anew, identical and in the same spot it stood before according to the plan.

Mairon however, listened to none of their voices on that day. He remembered well how instead, standing to the side from the clamouring lot, he gazed into the distance, beyond the flames right at the splendid ridge of mountains that Melkor left in his wake, so effortlessly and seamlessly right after he casually turned to dust the one mountain they had with so much hardship only just completed.

That was the first time he saw the dark Vala create and not only destroy and even though he knew it not then, a first thin thread had already been spun of the net that would later bind him to Melkor.

As the Maiar of Aulë set to work again, systematically drying the lake of lava and once more covering it with soil, that invisible connection made Mairon's eyes and thoughts turn back and back again to the haughty mountains on the horizon and to the Vala that left them there. And as the lake of flames was no more and on top of flat earth they began anew to build the very same mountain, Mairon found himself hoping he would be given a chance to witness the work of Melkor again one day. Many years would however pass before that chance arrived.

Much had been in those times already said of Melkor's malice and in consequence others of course expected Melkor to come back and once again to destroy the mountain and all feared that day. Yet a week since its second completion, as they all still held their breaths waiting for him to come and crush the peak, no dark Vala came. Neither did Melkor arrive after finally, tired of anxiously waiting, they moved to work on another peak nearby. Then several months later it too was complete and they began to shape a valley between the two mountains, as their master had said. And yet even then the Maiar still looked over their shoulders, expecting Melkor to come.

Little did they all know back then of Melkor and failed to discern yet that consistency was not a part of his nature. Neither of them could at all comprehend that Melkor had long ago forgotten about the mountain and the lake of flames he had put in its place and that perhaps never even noticed the mountain and the Maiar working on it at all, like he in later days would never notice the little things and minor events that played around him, escaping his attention that was directed on things far greater.

Then finally the day came when Mairon once more saw Melkor. The situation was much the same. The great plan brought them to another side of Arda and they chanced upon Melkor there. And so it happened that once more the Vala destroyed their hard work and in its place he set this time glaciers and amongst them a volcano, that dormant at first soon erupted, melting the mountains of ice and flooding everything that the Maiar and the Valar thought to have once and for all completed, swallowing underneath the waves even the trees of Yavanna. Ulmo himself had to come to avert that flood but as everyone fussed over the tragic events of that day, Melkor had long disappeared, turning his attention elsewhere.

Mairon's attention was turned elsewhere that day and on many days that followed as well and even as his hands worked to once more build all that was to be built, many questions already began forming in his mind. He asked himself how was it possible that Melkor alone could with one gesture do all things that took them all so long. How could he, one Ainu, hated and frowned upon, be more effective than all of the Valar and the Maiar working together?

Long had Mairon asked himself those questions as with every day he began to discern clearer the futility of their joint efforts. Their work could have been done easier and at a lesser cost, why then was it not so? Unable to keep that question inside him any longer one day Mairon asked it aloud to Aulë, his master. He had before that made a list of improvements that should be made to facilitate their work and make it more effective. A list of things that were needless and superfluous, and of those that would have to be added to make the building of Arda swifter and much less tiring. He went even as far as to propose small changes to the very masterplan of Aulë - some hills, canyons and mountains would simply more gladly stand in certain places, where the properties of the soil of Arda were more suitable for them to be.

All that Mairon said on that fateful day to Aulë, certain that the Vala would praise him and be glad. Aulë however only frowned and shook his mighty head. He told Mairon that things were meant to be the way they were, that this was the grand design of Eru and that they had to abide it and he let him speak of it no more, advising the Maia not to dwell on such matters.

But Mairon could not hold his thoughts still. Inevitably and ever quicker since that day they raced through his mind and he was now certain that none of the fellow Maiar had ever been or ever would be harbouring in their minds so many troublesome questions and so many unfulfilled ideas. Not to even mention the Valar themselves. Their minds worked in the strangest of ways. They took days or even weeks to come to any decision. And while they would sit in silence in their Ring of Doom, Melkor would ten times over tirelessly change the landscape all around them, rendering whatever the choice they came up with regarding the issue of the rogue Vala and some deed of his they had originally gathered to debate, completely and hopelessly futile, to both Mairon's frustration and bitter amusement.

As more years passed, Mairon could hardly bear it any longer. His only refuge after a day of beholding everyone around waste their potential on ineffective work that they dared not or maybe even thought not to try and question or change, was to go away and find Melkor and from a distance to watch him work. And so even though the Vala himself did not even know of Mairon's existence, the Maia saw Melkor smite and freeze and burn and then from the ashes and ruin raise things greater and more splendid than before, and all that seemingly devoid of any plan at all, completely at random and on a whim - chaos in its purest form.

That chaos was exactly what still kept Mairon away. He was fascinated by Melkor, beyond doubt at that point. He was utterly captivated by the effectiveness and swiftness with which the Vala brought his designs into motion and he cared not what it was that Melkor busied himself doing as long as he could watch it come to life so effortlessly. But despite having the efficiency, Melkor still lacked order and so Mairon could not imagine himself on the Vala's side. Yet still, already longing tore at his heart for despite his better judgement he wished to be a part of this grand and masterful work. Work so full of freedom.

Freedom. That was yet another reason for Mairon's eyes to turn to Melkor. The Vala seemed to be his own master, doing what and how and when he wanted. Setting fire where he pleased and creating - or sometimes if he pleased, ruining - the things he himself had devised. Mairon found himself craving to also give flesh to his ideas, that were many now, almost too many to be contained. Aulë, his master, had had his own joy of unrestricted creation, stepping beyond the frame of Eru's plan and bringing to life a race of Dwarves. And yet despite receiving Eru's blessing, he did not allow his own servants to follow in his footsteps and he forbid them to set out to create the things their own heart desired. And the more time passed the more of frustration gathered in Mairon's heart and the more his thoughts turned to Melkor.

And then suddenly it came, and turned Mairon's world upside down. An idea. A thought. One that began as it always had but turned into an altogether different direction. Melkor lacked order. That was what was still stopping Mairon, still keeping him at bay, for Mairon loved order and firmly believed that order well designed and effected could make things better, swifter, more effective...

And there came that thought. Why then not combine those things? Why not bring order into Melkor's chaos? Melkor would sometimes get distracted and leave things only half-complete, forget them and never come back to them and each of those times Mairon's heart stang when he saw such craft go to waste never finished. The Vala could surely use some planning, timing and better coordination. And Mairon could offer him all that. Finally he had what to offer. And with this thought blazing in his mind and heart brighter and more avidly than any thought before, the Maia at last approached Melkor.

On that day it was, according to his guess confirmed that Melkor had never before been even remotely aware of Mairon's existence, yet as he listened to the Maia and understood that even without the need of being aware, he had acquired a faithful and inspired follower, the Vala was intrigued by Mairon's offer.

And thus had Mairon sworn his loyalty to Melkor and from that time on he worked in secret at his side whenever a chance occured. In this new service Mairon found all that he had wished for and the frustration that had been pent up inside him for many a decade, vanished overnight as if it had never been there.

Melkor, in those times caring not much for what was done as long as things were happening, let the Maia enjoy much freedom at first, letting Mairon join him at work whenever the Maia would please and not even demanding of him yet to leave his master Aulë, whose service - as he no longer felt so helpless and could once more to some extent enjoy - Mairon had not yet resolved to renounce.

Allowed to spend his free time with the dark Vala, Sauron in turn tried to teach Melkor of planning and strategy and to some extent even succeeded. When he had done that however, Melkor - suddenly more concerned with the greater picture than ever before - told Mairon that for the time being, rather than at his side, he needed him among the Valar to know of their movements as he himself ventured forth into another part of Arda to raise mighty strongholds he had long envisioned.

And so the Maia had to stay away from Melkor and spy for his lord, while he still worked for his previous master. The work of a spy however was an unpleasant duty to Mairon and he only endured it for in his mind was at all times the thought of the day when - as he already decided - he would altogether abandon the household of Aulë. The day he would leave Valinor and come to Melkor's side, where wings were not clipped and time was never wasted. But still long decades were to pass before that moment arrived and in those years, when his masters were two but his loyalties were less and less equally shared between them, Mairon learnt to tell lies that all believed, for the Ainur knew not how to lie and neither would they in those days of old ever expect one of their own of any trickery.

Melkor was pleased with Mairon's service and information provided, yet when one day Mairon take it no longer and he showed up at the gates of Melkor's fortress, leaving his previous master openly and thus burning behind himself all the bridges that had once linked him to Valinor, the dark Vala did not question his arrival and simply assigned him a new range of duties and soon after that most generously, made him a commander of the lesser of his strongholds.

All this was new to Mairon at that time but then again, he was no longer Mairon at all. Melkor chose to call him elsewise, deeming a different way more fitting in a new master's service. Sauron he named his servant and thus Sauron learnt all what he needed to learn and soon began taking care of many things in Melkor's stead. Freed of some of his duties meanwhile, the Vala gladly returned to his beloved chaos, trusting the Maia to plan, handle and remember for him all that which Melkor forgot or tired of.

That he had abandoned the work with the sheer substance of Arda that he had done for Aulë and in its stead had taken to helping Melkor with many different and often contradictory matters at once never much bothered Sauron. He understood that each of the Valar had a domain of his own and that for Melkor, who came to Arda only later, not much was left to take. He took the things no other Valar wanted and them he mastered. The searing flames, the cold that chilled to the bones even the most powerful beings. The darkness.

Working for Melkor, Sauron had never planned on or wanted to become a mastermind of evil. It just happened somehow that some of the things they worked on would come to be seen as vile and insidious by the majority of the Ainur. But as long as Sauron could help improve the work of Melkor and all that served him, whatever it was that they happened to work on, Sauron could not care less of what that made him in the eyes of the Valar and the Maiar.

All that he knew was that his work for Melkor brought him satisfaction, that in it he was fulfilled. Ane even if sometimes, or even quite often, Melkor failed to notice his efforts and their effects, being far too consumed his own self and matters far more monumental, that mattered not to Sauron and the Maia was always pleased to serve his lord.

A Maia. Indeed that was what Sauron was. A lesser spirit serving at the side of a demi-god. A servant to one of the Valar once more, yet different Vala this time. Sauron never even tried to do something as absurd as befriend Melkor. Their bond was clearly professional, one of shared goals and ambition. Back in those times they hardly ever talked of things other the schemes Melkor devised and never had a thought appeared in Sauron's mind to name himself Melkor's associate. No, Melkor was the king and he was the servant. He was used to serving another and did not mind it for he had no wish to rule and conquer, merely to be able to be prove useful, to innovate, organize and change things the way he desired. That was in those times all that Sauron wanted and Melkor gave him all that and more. He was a servant yes, but one that had voice in many matters.

But even though he sometimes questioned Melkor's designs, if they could be somehow made better, never would he undermine his authority. It would be illogical to do so. According to Sauron it was much better when the leader was one, for everything ran soother when there was just a single and clear source of authority. Moreover since the day he first saw Melkor, he came to idolize him so much that he was ever since reluctant to treat the Vala with less respect than one treats a lord and master. And so he remained ever loyal and faithful and never in all the ages that passed became overly familiar, even if sometimes he felt that somewhere on the way he and not Melkor was the one who had made this choice and put this line between them.

Then a day came when as their work was at its full swing, once more all of the Valar turned against Melkor. All of them versus one, as always. And against the finesse of a his mind and the ingenuity of his tricks, they used dull, brute force and sent the Vala Tulkas into Utumno. There Melkor was hurled upon his face and captured. Afterwards in chains he was dragged to Valinor while the Valar destroyed everything that he and Sauron had worked on for so long.

The Maia of Melkor watched it from afar, and as he beheld the destruction of everything he and his master had made, the heart of Sauron turned even further away from light. Yet even though all was gone and everything lay in ruin, he had not forfeit hope and as faithfully he awaited his master, he strived to rebuild and restore all that he could reach. He wished for everything to be ready for his master return, not just restored but even more splendid than before. And as he once more united the servants of Melkor, he set to work and eagerly awaited the day when the Vala would return and they would pick anew their work.

That was at least what Sauron craved at first, to build it all anew as he waited. And in the first years after the chaining of Melkor it was indeed the only ambition that drove him. But after a decade passed with no sign from Melkor, and when the initial fever of raising his master empire and army from ash and debris had passed, something changed in the heart of Sauron.

To his own surprise, wherever he gazed places suddenly were empty, work began to seem pointless and after some time began to feel almost as futile as in the times of old when he had another name and another master. Then Sauron realized at last that even though his freedom was now unlimited and his power to shape things to his liking greater than before... it simply was not the same without Melkor.

With that realization, he found to his own amazement that he was missing Melkor. Not his efficiency - for he now had it. Not his freedom - for he abounded in it so that he was almost growing weary of it. No he missed not the opportunities the Vala had to offer. He missed Melkor himself. Missed everything about his, beginning with the passion of his master's creation and destruction, through his volatile outbursts and the manner in which Melkor spoke to the Vala's amusing lack of patience. And as he came to think of it all, suddenly Sauron discovered that in his heart, hidden from even his own awareness all those years, lay feelings that the Maia never suspected himself to possess. And from that day on he knew that if the dark Vala was ever to return, he would have one more reason to stay by Melkor's side.

Sauron however was no fool and even as the strange longing grew inside him, he knew from the very first day that the feeling would have to stay secret and that he would never open his heart to Melkor. The dark Vala knew not of love and neither was he able to ever comprehend it. In the eyes of Melkor it was but an unfamiliar weakness, and sometimes a convenient weapon to use against others. And Sauron wished not for his master to ever see his weakness and turn away from him.

And then one day Melkor returned to Angband. He came back weak and incarnate and in pain, obsessed with three precious gems and seeing nothing and no one beside them. He was suspicious of every shadow then, and in all actions of his servants he saw a plot to overthrow him, a plot to steal the Silmarils away from him. Melkor was scared and paranoid and although he did his best to hide that weakness from all eyes, it did not escape the vigilance of Sauron.

The Maia however knew well where his loyalties lay and he remembered on the day of Melkor's return as well as ages before the exact reasons for joining Melkor. The Vala gave him everything and he was everything to him. Maybe, just maybe one day he could leave Melkor but that day had not yet come and in any other way Sauron could never possibly turn against him.

Melkor however did not know all of that or any of that, for that matter. He had always been so blinded by his own majesty and brilliance that he had taken his servants for granted, convinced that those who joined him were simply unable to resist his splendor and inclined to follow him eternally wherever he went. Thus he had never bothered inquiring and truly understanding the individual nature of the loyalties of his servants. That was also why he had never asked Sauron and instead always assumed the Maia to be just like the others, a brilliant follower and a really valuable asset but one who was attracted to his power and glory.

And in those days upon his return to Angband, Melkor, even though he despised the thought, knew well somewhere in his black heart that he lost much of everything that in his understanding bound Sauron to him in first place and he was afraid that the Maia might use it to his advantage. In thrall of his new obsession, he questioned Sauron's loyalty and the loyalty of all the others and it was difficult to make him see otherwise again for every and each assurance of loyalty was but a cunning ploy to relax his vigilance.

Yet despite his master's weakened state and new obsession all was slowly falling back into its place. It almost seemed like Melkor had never left, until few weeks after his return, just as Sauron was becoming certain that aside from keeping his position he would also be able to keep his own secret from Melkor, that unfortunate incident in the Vala's quarters occurred.

For the Vala it was merely a convenient and at same time pleasant way to put Sauron in his place without harm to his servant. He could not possibly had known what havoc it wrought in the mind and heart of his faithful Maia. He could not know how much will and restraint it took Sauron not to kiss him there and then, in front of that mirror, how much it cost him not to bury his fingers in the Vala's hair and not to embrace him. It was the most refined of tortures that Melkor unwittingly devised on that day to let the Maia so close just to perform a duty and send him away. It took all the mental strength that he had to let Melkor out of his arms on that day.

Despite all that, he managed to keep himself in check of course and would almost get away from Melkor if not for his eyes that betrayed. For Sauron indeed thought in that hour that Melkor had seen right through him and guessed what hid behind the flame of his eyes.

Meanwhile Melkor knew naught of things like affection and thus did not even remotely guess right the hidden intent of his servant. Blinded by his favourite obsession, he took the Maia's concealed desire and longing for what he himself could well understand, for lust, yes, but one for the Silmarils and not him. And of that exactly he had accused his servant. Sauron recalled that moment when wide-eyed and relieved that his master would read him so wrongly, he had grasped onto what seemed back then like a perfect excuse - and one surprisingly offered to him by Melkor himself. On that day Sauron pleaded guilty, admitting that he had craved for the Silmarils. He had not known back then that this admission would likely cause more harm than telling the truth would.

But then, even after all was over and after weeks of turmoil and suspicion Melkor at last forgave Sauron for his transgression and too afraid to try his lieutenant again, he resigned from ever summoning him into his quarters again, the Maia never told him the truth. And he never would. He was just too afraid to try.

So passed the time. Years turned to decades and those into centuries. Fëanor arrived at the gates of Angband and was slain, Men awoke, Moon and Sun, so hateful to Melkor arose into the skies and once more cast light into darkness. Gondolin was built, Dagor Bragollach came and passed, the siege was broken and after all these years Sauron still was at his side, and never would he leave.

Sitting there in the dimly lit darkness, beside his lord, Sauron knew it to be true. And Melkor's tired eyes remained shut, only the four walls around them could see the frown of Sauron's thick dark eyebrows and the no longer concealed worry inside the fiery eyes of the Maia. And only the shadows cast by the flickering candlelight and the undying glow of the Silmarils embedded in the crown of iron ever saw the master craftsman gently brush a lock of soft fiery hair back behind lord Melkor's pointy ear.

Many times in the hours that came the dark Vala would toss and turn in unrest and many times would Sauron silently tuck the silks back around him and he would at all times keep a silent vigil over his lord.

* * *

Finally Melkor stirred from his sleep with a pained moan, as he shifted and his whole being was pierced with dull pain. The Vala brought a hand to his eyes and groaned some more at the touch. Then he opened his eyes and stared in front of himself, looking weary and hurt and devoid of his usual malevolent energy. Only when Sauron came into focus, did Melkor after a moment of surprise regain some of his usual self-important demeanour, suppressing the pain and weariness. He smiled weakly, but with humor. "Truly, Sauron, thou art my greatest ally. I should have never doubted thee and never will again," he promised solemnly. He knew that had Sauron wished, he could have stolen all of the Silmarils right there and left, but he was still present here, and so, Morgoth assumed - judging by the light still coming from his crown - were the jewels. He was most pleased with Sauron, which eased his suffering and lifted his spirit. "Now thou shalt rest. On thy way call my servants. I require many things now that I have rested," Morgoth said no more, his voice becoming husky, his throat dry.

"Aye, my lord, thou however requirest a drink to quench thy thirst before that," Sauron spoke and in an ornate cup he passed to his lord the water that had been brought here earlier by his master's servants. With the cup outstretched to Melkor, Sauron stood still. He would not be surprised if eternally suspicious Melkor rejected the offer, thinking the water mixed with poison but the Vala was not a stranger to logic and logic told Melkor now that Sauron had had more than enough chances before to harm him in his sleep instead of waiting for him to wake and drink and so the cup changed hands with no words spoken.

Melkor held the cup in his black hand struggling to restrain the trembling of his limb or the weakness that overcame him as he shifted into a slightly more upright position. In the end he pressed the cup to his lips and drank until it was empty. Then he just dropped the cup on the bed, resting his arm beside it. "Sauron..." Melkor hesitated. He intended to ask the Maia to visit him as long as he was bedridden, but even as he began voicing his request, he reconsidered the way how he was going to put it. "I want thee to command Angband and all my other forces in my stead, until my strength returns. And report to me directly every day, starting tomorrow," he said in a tone most official and then his look and voice softened and his eyebrows furrowed the slightest bit "But first rest well and long, until thou art recovered from thy vigil."

And at that Sauron bowed his head, a faintest of smiles on his lips, for overseeing of the fortress of Angband and commanding the forces of Morgoth since times immemorial ran in his dark blood like the fire of the forge and the music of creation. The commander of Angband he had been appointed long ago and ever since that time, even when Melkor came to dwell in the stronghold himself, seeing to its matters and keeping order within its walls had always continued to be some of Sauron's primary duties. And after almost a whole year spent away from this place now, Melkor's chief lieutenant was more than content to return to those duties, "I shall then do as thou wilt, my lord, and gladly so, for thou needest not to strain thyself in the days to come and it will be my honour to take off some burden of thy shoulders as I reacquaint myself with the fortress after my time away." Sauron stated, and knew at once that the task at hand was to be a pleasant one. He had missed these familiar walls and halls and the furnaces. But most of all he had missed his smithy and the presence of his lord.

With that thought he peered at Melkor again and lamented in his spirit the hapless state his master was now in but mentioned of it not a word. "As to my work in the south, my lord, it is now virtually complete and may carry on without me for now as the lands lost during the time of siege are once again under thy command. Recover now, as I depart to do thy bidding." Having reported of his recent ventures briefly, Sauron bowed his head once more and departed from Melkor's chambers, leaving the Vala to recover.

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Chapter End Notes

Dear Readers, we know you're there (spooky right?) and we wish for nothing else than to hear something from you! What did you like in the story so far? Maybe a random thought you had while reading? Please leave us a review and tell us, you can't imagine how happy we are about each and every review we get and how it motivates us to keep writing! Thank you in advance, we really hope to hear from you!

Your Zlu and Luff

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And now have our illustration of Sauron/Mairon, we've always imagined he'd be a rather big guy, since he was a craftsman and a smith, though of course being a Maia he can look any way he wants.

The Music of Angband

A/N Taliesin and GabbyRose, you dear, amazing people, thank you so much for your fantastic reviews, they brought us great joy and gave us just the fire we needed to keep writing! Please enjoy this chapter and do not be frightened that it may rhyme for a moment - it's merely the influence of a certain somebody's song of power! 

Read The Music of Angband

Chapter 5

The Music of Angband

* * *

It came from very depths of Angband, from beyond flames and lurking shades - and wafted up on wings of smoke, amidst the heat of burning coals. And it were not the screams of horror resounding through the stronghold's halls but voice and melody that echoed to sound of mighty hammer’s fall.

Words of the song were vague at first, for deep below was voice that sang, yet further down one would descend towards the hammer’s chiming noise, the more did shadows dance on walls and the more distinct grew the voice. And at the threshold of the forge, clear and strong rang the Maia’s song.

It was the music of creation that filled the forge as Sauron worked, and with each strike, each word, each note, he added threads to spell he wove. Flickering, twining in the air, above his anvil shadows hung and in that darkness there was fire, and ice and lightning as he sang. And it was much like the Great Music that long ago the world had shaped - yet unlike song of the Ainur this tune was marred, corrupt, with taint. At once illustrious and blasphemous, it would both allure and affright. And yet though wicked was the music, though it deluded and beguiled, a blade filled with it would be flawless - perhaps of an unequaled might.

For Sauron sang of dark perfection, of piercing flesh and cutting bone and as his hammer shaped the metal, his voice was filling it with soul. A soul that hungered, longed and craved to bestow suffering, to bring death. And then last time the hammer fell. And for the last time it arose. And silent grew the Maia’s voice as blade returned between the coals.

Yet as his song to halt did come, another’s melody began. With Sauron’s magic it entwined, and in the blade its power poured - to metal with enchantment bind. For Vala that his craft beheld, now took a part in it himself. The song from Melkor’s pitch black heart did flow and in the forge resound.

 

In dungeons dark

By fire lit

From iron sparks

Fly on each hit

As mighty hammer

In his hand

He glamour

Forges in his brand.

And soon this blade

In Mairon's hands

Will help invade

Some nearby lands

Will send our foes

To shallow grave

Those who remain

I shall enslave

And once again

In darkness deep

Our songs in twain

Shall fill this keep

As Melkor sang, the flames grew brighter and to him turned the craftsman’s eyes. And as his work again began, so did anew his voice arise.

They sang of anguish, war and fright

Of dread, of triumph over light,

Of havoc wrought, of end of days,

The shattering of Eldar race,

Of casting fear in hearts of those

Who Morgoth’s power dared oppose

And of unyielding loyalty,

Shadows and lies and treachery.

They sang of Arda, theirs and marred,

Of cities burnt and forests charred,

Of rivers dried and sunless sky.

They sang of triumph that was nigh.

 

Then the music ceased. And as the final notes of their shared song rang out and the shimmering darkness that had swirled above the two Ainur flowed down, seeping into the blade, Sauron set aside his hammer and he gazed at his master, hiding well his surprise. For surprised he was indeed and not only to see the Vala down in his smithy and not just to hear the voice of Melkor join his.

Nay, there was a different reason too. For in his song the lord of Angband called him by name long ago forgotten, name of a Maia that had fallen deep into darkness and flames in times when Arda was still young.

Melkor was watching him from where he sat, leaning on the hilt of Grond, the Hammer of the Underworld. The mighty weapon would in present days mostly serve the dark lord as a walking stick of sorts. It was with this very mace that he had defeated Fingolfin and no cane other than Grond itself could possibly cause lord Melkor to feel better about his weakened and still aching state. Likewise, no other staff could make him look as formidable while he limped through the halls of Angband as had this one. Troubled with wounds Morgoth still was and the pain of them, like that of his burnt hands, would eternally plague his days. Yet as he sat there now, beholding his servant and his craft, Melkor seemed glad and calm.

“My lord Melkor,” Sauron greeted him and then with smith’s tongs he took the red hot blade in which their music had now become trapped and he placed it in the tub filled with brine. Scalding white steam rose into the air and enfolded the smithy with its wisps.

Through its clouds, he peered at Melkor, suddenly startled further still. For shrouded in the haze of pure white, with the crystalline light of Silmarils shining above his pale brow and a peaceful smile on his lips, Melkor looked not like a lord dark and terrible but like a Vala, whom Sauron had seen long time ago, in Halls of Eru, before the Great Music had filled the Void with form and life. The way his lord addressed him earlier in his song and the flawless melody of his voice that still lingered in the Maia’s mind, now only deepened this strangest impression.

But then the steam was gone and with it vanished the mirage of light and days of past and Sauron knew then in that moment, as he had always known, that there was no going back for them, that light has gone out in their hearts forever. And so he perished that thought and veiled his mind, turning his undivided attention to Melkor.

The Vala’s own mood was excellent meanwhile, for unlike Sauron he dwelt not on that which was lost and gone. Furthermore it always pleased him to see his lieutenant at work, in the smithy or elsewhere, thus now too he observed the Maia with gladness. In his eyes, the former craftsman of Auln5; was truly a most talented and resourceful servant. Morgoth appreciated the precision and the power of Sauron’s craft and on this night now he appreciated likewise his music - their music - that filled the forge and gave form to thoughts and notions that no god above them questioned.

The Valar and Eru could think what they would, Melkor had his own taste in tunes and the one that had just come to an end, pleased him greatly. “Greetings, my lieutenant,” he echoed Sauron’s welcome, smiling contentedly. “It is as always a pleasure to watch thy work. Auln5; must have wept the day thou left his realm to dwell in mine.”

Now a smile stole over the dark Maia’s face as well and some of the grim thoughts that had come to life in his mind before, were banished. “Why, perhaps he had, my lord. If it was so however, unfortunately I was not there to see it.” He said and amusement played in his voice. Even as Melkor’s words caused him to once more reach back with his thoughts into those days filled with light, this time as he looked back and then returned with his mind to the most recent moment, in which the music of Melkor twined close with his own, Sauron became merely once more reassured in his loyalty to the Vala. “I regret not the choice I had made long ago.” He said, simply giving form to the thoughts that were in his mind, “I belong by thy side, master.”

“It pleases me to have thee here,” Melkor responded with a genuine smile. Sitting in his place, he regarded Sauron with a relaxed expression. Now that the four centuries long Noldor siege had been broken and the overzealous Eldar leader dealt with at last, some semblance of peace had come to Angband. No more Eldar thieves were outstretching their greedy hands for the precious gems in his crown and no trumpets playing outside the stronghold could ruin his mood and disturb his sleep.

In fact, unlike in the previous ages, in the recent days the dark Vala slept well and much and he cowered no longer before shadows of foes that dwelled in his own mind. Until today he had remained mostly bedridden, while Sauron, who under his orders had taken command the Angband in his stead, would visit him in his chambers each day to report of his duty and bring to him the recent tidings. This way for the first time in millennia, Melkor had time and peace of mind enough to truly rest. And although each day he felt further recovered, all his replenished energies went for the time being rather into pondering on new plans of evil than their enactment.

Sauron nodded and for a moment there was just a pleasant silence between them. The Maia had been enjoying his time back in Angband. A fortnight already had passed since the fall of Fingolfin and Sauron knew that he would soon need to head back to the isle of Tol Sirion where the siege of their own was currently underway. Coming back to his lord at the first news of Fingolfin’s mad challenge, Sauron had left the troops of Werewolves and Orcs under command of Morgoth’s lesser lieutenants. He knew that they would do well enough to keep the siege afoot, yet did not trust them to have enough spirit to deal the final crushing blow. He needed to be there in person to sway the morale of Melkor’s army, he knew that only then could they bring down Orodreth and take hold of the isle and of Minas Tirith - its watchtower.

And yet having spent the whole previous year away from the fortress, the Maia found this short stay in Angband to be a pleasing change. That too was the reason why, although he was well aware that duty would soon call him back to Tol Sirion, he was reluctant to leave Angband and sought for an excuse to linger. Under Melkor’s current orders, he had found it and as long as his lord wished to rest, Sauron would be glad to remain in the stronghold, where he felt he belonged. Although one year was but a blink of an eye in the lifetime of an Ainu, he had longed to be in the presence of his master again, just as he had longed once more to craft - and now with his master in his smithy, he had both those things at once.

And so, glad, Sauron took the blade out from the sea water with bare hands this time - for no fire or amount of heat could ever hurt him - and he put it away, to later continue his work. Then he turned to Melkor and spoke, “Thou shouldest know, my lord, that although I had allowed myself to work on this blade thou hast just strengthened with thy will, this sword is but a small break from work entirely different. In the recent weeks something else is become the focus of my craft.” Having said that, he walked across the forge where on a rack, covered with cloth, was placed something mysterious, “In fact, although it is yet hardly complete, I would wish to show thee.”

Intrigued by those words, Morgoth stood up slowly, leaning on the hilt of his mace and then lifting it with one arm, he put all the weight on his healthy foot and he crossed the small distance without a single cringe. As days passed, he was getting more and more used to the constant aches in his body and he found that as long as he had other things to dwell on, they were quite easy to ignore.

When his lord joined him in front of the veiled rack, Sauron gazed at Melkor briefly and then with one gesture of one of his strong hand, that soot-stained from his work somehow seemed like a tribute to Morgoth’s own black palms, he removed the cloth that covered it. When that happened, to the eyes of Melkor was suddenly revealed a dark and splendid plated armour.

And although many a piece in it was missing still and although the intricate ornaments were not yet fully done, the view was already stunning. The Vala studied his new armour with interest, for even now, in this half-finished state it was more glorious that his old one that after ages of use and the most recent battle with Fingolfin was far beyond recovery.

Despite the amazement he saw in the eyes of Melkor, the master craftsman of Angband quietly reminded, “Bear in mind that none of this is yet ready, my lord.” To complete the making of Melkor’s armour, much more time would still be needed. And yet considering that Sauron had managed to accomplish all this in only two weeks and that too he had done in his free time between his many duties, the progress was truly impressive. Some parts of the armour, despite the words of Maia, seemed to be almost complete.

The Dark Vala said naught. He touched the cuirass and stroked the metal with his black fingers. Then Melkor closed his eyes for a moment and he smiled studying the smooth form of the breastplate and the magic locked within, for it was the magic of Sauron’s songs, his work and thoughts.

Seeing that, Sauron spoke no more and in silence he beheld his master, glad to witness the Vala so pleased with what he sensed and saw.

Having let his burnt fingers travel over the dark polished metal for a while Morgoth picked up one of the gauntlets, that to his eyes appeared fully wrought. For a brief moment he held it in his hands and then he slid it onto his palm. Entrapped within the dark metal of the many carefully crafted and smoothly shifting plates, it seemed to have in it the ferocity of a beast. And yet on the inside, padded with most delicate leather, the gauntlet felt soft and pleasant against Melkor’s palm and pained his black hand not at all.

In further amazement, the Vala stood for a while turning his palm and flexing his wrist and he studied the flow of his hand’s movement, finding that it was not in the slightest restricted by the skilfully crafted plate armor. He couldn’t have done better himself. “Marvelous work, Sauron. Thou never failest to please,” Morgoth praised quietly.

Yet even as spoke those words of praise, his thoughts had already fled from the armor he beheld, drawn away by the light of the Silmarils reflected in it. As for a brief moment, his thoughts wandered, Morgoth did not hear Sauron voice his thanks. He stood there still, gazing into the light mirrored in the armor and then as suddenly as he had slipped into it, he stirred from this fleeting reverie, and spoke again, turning to Sauron with furrow of his fiery eyebrows.

“I should like to ask you a question, Sauron.” He said, reminded now of a matter he had come to dwell on in the recent days, when resting in his chambers, for the first time in many ages he had time to dwell on the matters of the past that in his haste had always seemed to him irrelevant and unworthy of his attention.

Melkor had never had a habit of looking at the same matter twice. It was at the same time a vice and one of his greatest fortes. For it was in this that he had so differed from the other Valar, it was the very root of his efficiency and that, which had drawn Sauron to him. This one time however, few days back, as he lay bored in his rooms, he did peer back into past and to his surprise he found something of interest there.

“As I was recovering,” Melkor began as the Maia gazed at him expectant, “At times boredom overtook me and it so happened that I looked back with my mind. Dost thou remember that day I had thou punished?” With that question spoken, the Dark Vala turned to look at Sauron and smiled, finding the memory rather humorous. In the years that had passed since that day, he had grown to trust Sauron completely, not only with his very life but with his Silmarils as well. For even when he had been at his weakest, the Maia had remained loyal and respectful, and at some point simply a day came when even the Black Enemy needed no further proof.

Presently, ages later, the very suspicions he had had towards his lieutenant in the past, seemed but a joke to the Vala and so he could not help but to speak of that punishment with amusement.

Sauron, who had been regarding the absent movements of his lord’s gauntlet-clad palm and studying with professional attention the flow of plates to spot any imperfection that yet remained to be fixed, now looked up and at his lord, in quite apparent surprise. The question indeed was unlike any that his lord had ever asked and it took a moment before quietly Sauron replied.

“How could I ever forget.” He gazed at Melkor’s face then and it was impossible to tell what was behind those words. Though just as the Vala no longer seemed to hold that memory one of treason, likewise it was clear that the Maia no longer harboured any grudge of that day either.

Melkor regarded the Maia with interest. Although he could not read Sauron now, it troubled him no longer and neither did he feel the need to himself extract the answers from his servant’s mind. In the ages of siege, unlike in the earlier times, they shared many a conversation together, and trusting his servant fully now, Morgoth found it far more entertaining to simply ask and hear, what Sauron had to say. “In those past days I have believed thou lusted for the Silmarils. Yet, presently I wonder - didst thou indeed?”

First there was silence.

Then with a sigh and heavy heart, the Maia gave his answer, for he saw no reasons anymore to hide it from Melkor, “Nay, lord. Never had I craved them.” Too many ages had passed since that day, when by strangest chance they shared such intimacy and closeness. Such chance had never since that time repeated. Decades went by and as in the course of the centuries that came, under the Noldor siege the once clear border of absolute authority that always lay between then finally began to blur.

And thus knowing now that Melkor appreciated him and that he would draw no consequences from it, Sauron found that he was no longer afraid to admit his past mistake. Neither was he afraid of anything else that Melkor would say or do, for he had long stifled in his heart the desire and gave up his foolish hope. Now, with the Dark Vala no longer doubting his devotion, speaking the truth of his admiration gone wrong and long ago already repressed by Sauron himself, could no longer possibly matter.

Melkor smiled triumphantly, for he had guessed his servant’s mind right this time. “Ah, so thou hast craved me and not them. And distrustful of thee, in my folly I have rewarded thee, while I aimed to punish!” the Vala’s voice rang with amusement. He shook his head at his own foolishness, and looked again into the eyes of his loyal servant.

Sauron knew not whether to laugh along with Melkor or to perhaps stay silent. So certain he had been that he would feel nothing now, so convinced that he had managed to perish the absurd longing. But the painful sting in his heart at his master’s present laughter, suddenly proved the Maia wrong in his assumptions. Unable to bring himself to laugh and hardly able to keep his smile from fading, Sauron said nothing, merely nodding. So long he had been striving to forget that fateful day and so sure he was until this very minute that he had succeeded.

But then Melkor laughed and mocked his desire and Sauron understood that he had been wrong. Was it all for nothing?

Melkor regarded him with curiosity. His Maia was strangely silent all of a sudden but then again, even without words Sauron had just confirmed that Melkor had been right. The Vala was now indeed intrigued and as he took a few steps to the side to lean against the smith’s working table.

Peering at his servant from there, he was the first one to break the silence, “If that passion still burns within thee, Sauron, thou hidest it well.” He began and regarded the Maia closely, none mockery at all present in his voice, “But if thou desirest me still, thou ought to know that I had enjoyed thy touch and if thou wouldst be willing to give, I shall gladly yet again accept thy passion.”

As Melkor began to speak, a shadow seemed to settle in Sauron’s features, for the words of his master stirred in his heart almost effortlessly now all that he so foolishly believed he had long managed to bury. “My lord,” Sauron spoke but said no more, lost not just for right words but not knowing even what was in his own thoughts at that moment. What Melkor just said, he had never expected to hear. The more baffling even was the tone that his master spoke in, for it was not a command. Nay, what the dark Vala gave him now was not an order but a permission. More than that even...

Melkor wanted this.

But although Sauron could no longer deceive himself that deep inside he craved his lord still, he knew not what to do and he acted not upon the words of Melkor. It was an offer, nothing more and there would be no consequences if he refused, of that the Maia was certain. Of what would be if he complied and allowed the flame inside his heart to wake and burn bright once more, he however could not tell.

All that held true once, still did so now. Melkor knew nothing of love and understood not the reasons for affection. Those thoughts and notions were foreign and strange to him. He feared and despised love, for it drove the hearts of Men and sometimes Eldar and gave them courage that he could not fathom. He used love as weapon, had taken it hostage, crashed it and enjoyed to watch it go down in flames. He expected and feared of course that, as any other weapon it may be somehow turned against him.

But never did a thought cross his black mind that it could be turned towardshim, nor did he understand what that could imply. He had no knowledge of the fact that all this time right at his side, a Maia, once pure of heart and thus to a certain extent still capable of such emotions, could love him.

Nay, Melkor knew not of any of those things, nor would he like to. He loved himself only and unaware that this understanding twisted and denied the very concept of love, he rested assured that he had the notion mastered enough to keep it well under control.

He knew of lust though. Lust he approved of and he would gladly welcome Sauron’s desire now, and for brief moment find pleasure in his touch. Yes, that he gladly would do. And then he would walk away, only to forget it for another four centuries and in the end leave nothing but dull ache in the Maia’s heart, without even coming to know it. Sauron lifted his eyes and gazed at the Vala, as all these thoughts swirled in his mind.

He discovered Melkor was watching him with his fiery eyebrows raised. “If thou art looking for a humble way to reject my offer, trouble thyself not, I shall not be offended,” the Vala spoke soothingly, assuring Sauron had naught to fear. The offer was merely a friendly gesture on his side, a show of good will and familiarity few but Sauron could ever witness.

The Maia was at a loss once more. If he rejected the Vala’s offer now, nothing would change, they would go on as they always had. Years, then centuries would pass. Perhaps in the end the stubborn flame in his heart would dim and turn to nothing more than a spark. Perhaps then that spark would at last flicker and go out completely and he would be able to serve Melkor like he once had.

Maybe then it could once more be like in the old times when the force driving him, was nothing else but ambition to do his work to the best of his skill. In the old times he would have been able to discard these hopeless desires as a superfluous notion that only hindered his work. He wished once a day would come when he would be able to once more see things this clearly.

But if he refused now, there would be no going back to this moment. The chance would be lost once and forever, for before today Melkor never had dwelt on the past and would likely not ponder on such things ever again.

Sauron cursed himself in his soul. The choice, against all reason, was in fact clear to him, clearer now than ever before, when he was only another servant to lord Melkor. If he was to regret something, if he was for the rest of his existence to pay a price for the choice that he now made, he knew what regret he would rather have and what price he prefered to pay. To continue his existence knowing that he had wasted the only chance that was given to him, was too dark and painful a notion.

And so as he peered into the eyes of Melkor, he took a few steps towards him and in the likeness of a madman trapped in a fever dream, he staked all on this one chance and he took Melkor in his arms, burying one hand in the Vala’s hair as other pulled him close. Then he kissed Melkor and thinking this kiss to be the first and at once the last, he poured into it all of the centuries old passion that never truly dead, had now resurged inside his him like liquid fire.

Melkor stiffened for a while, that was at once incredibly short and painfully long, because Sauron could not guess what the Vala would react like. When he had allowed the Maia to ease his desire, this was not what he had mind. But then, before Sauron dared open his eyes or altogether withdraw, Melkor was embracing him, kissing him with equal passion and he clawed at his shirt and pulled on his hair with the claws of the black gauntlet that was still on his palm.

The Vala seemed to have erased the cracked line of authority that lay between them. His lips and tongue moved against the Maia’s and Morgoth stroked his servant’s arms, inviting the touch, compelling Sauron to indulge his desire. The Black Enemy of the World could not see deeper than that, he could not fathom the inner conflict that tore at Sauron’s soul. To him the hesitation of his loyal lieutenant seemed to stem only from fear of displeasing the Lord of Angband.

When he had not been pushed away, Sauron’s head reeled from surprise. In his everyday duties, in the plans he wrought and in the strategies he formed, he was never wrong. And yet it was already several times on this single day that Melkor had acted nothing like the Maia expected. Perhaps it was only natural though, perhaps it was the way it should be and the Vala was just unpredictable as always. Even all these years later, Melkor did not much care about abiding plans and playing by the rules, even the ones he himself had set.

But just like for centuries he had been afraid to touch Melkor, now Sauron was afraid to him let go. He was afraid that once the kiss would end, it would all be over and so he kissed the Vala long and breathless, their mouths crashed together and his arms around his lord.

As he held Melkor in his embrace, he could feel pure power ripple through the very matter of his being and suddenly it felt as if he had never taken a single effort to subdue this flame that flared inside him. Sauron’s hands ran up and down Melkor’s sides, stroking the Vala through the fabric of his robe. Boldly, never letting Melkor’s lips escape, with his big hands Sauron began began to undo the buttons of the Vala’s robe.

And it was much like in the past and yet so completely different. For what once had been a punishment became on this night a reward. Tonight Melkor knew that Sauron wanted him. He knew that he had wanted him for long years now, and he did not seem to be angered.

Nay, he was not angered. In fact, Melkor was quite pleased. As he felt the Maia begin to strip him, he broke their kiss, yet did not pull away. Instead, with his breath still shallow from the kiss and a lecherous leer on his face, he simply watched for a while, as Sauron busied himself with his intricate robe, and he was satisfied when he caught a glimpse of sheer admiration in the Maia’s eyes. After staying idle for a brief moment however, Melkor made a move of his own and he pulled off the blacksmith’s apron his lieutenant wore, discarding it to the floor.

When that was done however, Morgoth suddenly discovered that in the meantime his own robe had been undone almost entirely and being so exposed, while he servant remained clothed in a moment of intimacy was a threat to his authority that Melkor could not disregard. And thus in one violent gesture the Dark Vala tore the shirt off of Sauron and dropped it on top of the apron, adding yet another feat of effective destruction to the long list of his achievements.

Sauron’s lidded eyes opened and his eyebrows furrowed in brief moment of confusion, as he glanced at the shreds of his clothes on the floor and then at Melkor. The Vala was looking back at him with a smirk on his lips and apparent challenge in his eyes. Seeing that, Sauron’s own eyes flashed and his nostrils flared and it seemed it was no longer blood but white hot fire that flowed through his veins. With some dark amusement, Melkor was permitting all this. The Maia no longer had to hesitate.

With confidence this time, strong palms gripped Melkor’s thighs and pulled them up, seating the dark lord on the table against which the Vala had been leaning. Then slowly, peering Melkor in the eyes and letting his lord see this time what centuries ago he tried at all cost to hide from him, the Maia undid the final buttons of his the robe and he let his hands slip underneath the fabric.

Caressing his lord’s body, he felt under his careful fingers the wounds that by now with help of magic and ointments had closed and turned into scars but which, as he knew all too well, would anguish Melkor for ages to come. Mindful of them, Sauron’s hands slid along the Vala’s sides, first up, just relishing in the touch and then down and down again, till one big palm found its way between the dark lord’s legs.

It appeared that Morgoth no longer required a mirror to feel lust. Perhaps he had lusted for his lieutenant’s touch for long moments now, or maybe his passion awoke only when Sauron’s hands finally rested on his body, but now the Maia could feel clearly that his lord was aroused. And with the same pride with which Melkor shattered mountains, boiled the seas and slaughtered the elven kind, now he parted his legs for Sauron.

Just like the Maia was guessing, for Melkor it was sheer pleasures of the flesh, but pleasures paramount. Excited by the newfound side of his servant’s utter devotion, he groaned shamelessly, when down below Sauron’s hand began to please him, “Yes... indulge thyself, my minion. Pleasure me in any way thy tenebrous mind fancies,” Morgoth whispered, his voice filled with desire.

And at those words, Sauron bowed down his head and with a growl quite befitting the Lord of Werewolves, he claimed Morgoth’s mouth once more. That of his hands which still remained free, rested now upon his master’s thigh and from there began again a slow journey upwards, until somehow in the end it wound up tangled into the soft flames of the Vala hair behind the crown of iron. All this time Sauron never ceased to pleasure the other Ainu and as his hand still moved against his lord, his lips slowly left Melkor’s and travelled lower, leaving a trail of kisses down his master’s throat.

Morgoth let his eyes fall shut and his breath once again grew shallow. His hands rested on Sauron’s shoulders and soon the Maia felt the teasing pang of pain, as Melkor’s armor-clad fingers dug into his skin.

A moan escaped Melkor’s lips and then another one. As Sauron’s lips descended lower to lock on his chest, and his tongue touched the pale bud of the Vala’s nipple, Melkor’s bare black hand travelled up to grip the Maia’s hair.

Flames that were burning in the smithy grew long and bright now, licking the stone walls as they now became witness to the avid passion of the two Ainur. Rather than sink to his knees before Melkor, they saw Sauron sweep away from his work table all the needless tools and items and push his master to lay down on it. And then, as the Maia's mouth pleased his lord still, they then beheld him stay his hand and dipping his fingers in the vat of oil that stood nearby, offer to Melkor a different kind of pleasure.

It was a pleasure that the Vala had not known existed. As Sauron’s fingers began to move inside him, at first Melkor was bewildered and doubtful of his servant’s intentions, and he almost began to command him to stop but as moments passed the moans of the Vala once more resounded in the smithy.

Dignified and suppressed sounds of pleasure were soon replaced with mindless long groans and sharp intakes of breath. At last with a loud gasp the Lord of Angband rested heavily on the table, lying breathless before Sauron, as bliss overtook him.

When the last shudders of pleasure ran through his form, he looked utterly powerless and just as vulnerable as he had been after winning his duel with the Noldor king. And once more only Sauron was there to behold him that way.

And Sauron did. He watched his master’s chest heave and his eyes lid and rather than mock Melkor or seek to use this while to his advantage, loyal as ever, silently he just treasured that moment. During his master’s moment of passion, Grond, earlier rested by Melkor against the table, struck by one of the Vala’s knees, had presently toppled to the floor now, between the scattered tools. On it, lay Melkor’s robe and somehow Sauron wished to keep this view forever in his memory.

As Morgoth was still coming to his senses, the Maia began to wonder again.

He had chosen to do what he had done for a reason. Melkor was not his for the taking, nor ever would he be, and although the Vala had granted to Sauron his explicit permission, this was the furthest that the Maia could go without overstepping the boundaries. As much as unsated still, instead of such a half-measure, in his tenebrous mind he fancied a true union with Melkor, he knew well that the Vala would never yield to him such control or allow for Sauron to hold what could be seen as a mastery over him.

Arriving at that conclusion, the Maia banished those thoughts swiftly. They would tempt him but unlike his earlier, suppressed desires, they would not plague him. For how could one ever want more than to touch and kiss a dark god? And all this, he had just been granted.

When Melkor gathered his wits and felt his blood cool down somewhat, he sat up and quickly ran his eyes over Sauron’s form, soon smirking.“Thou achest, Sauron. Please thyself now. I wish to watch,” Melkor said with carnal hunger as he looked Sauron in the eyes, and this time it was not a request but command, that perhaps aimed to restore some of the Vala’s lost grandeur and poise.

Whatever it was, Sauron did not inquire. Perishing his thoughts and instead longing now to ease his own physical craving, the Maia unbuckled his belt and indulged his master’s wish, letting Melkor behold the very proof of his lust. He shut his eyes and pleased himself, feeling the Vala’s eyes upon him. Then however, he felt more than just his master’s gaze. Morgoth discarded the gauntlet and curiously, he let his hands wander up and down the strong form of his lieutenant.

Melkor was not one to selflessly give pleasure to another and his touch was now more of a matter of exploration. He knew now for certain that Sauron’s lust for him was great and that knowledge was flattery in the Vala’s eyes. For it so happened that beside lust, Melkor understood admiration. Although he hardly ever admired anyone else but himself and anything else than his own creations, he took for granted that his enemies would always dread him and his allies would always admire him and he was glad that Sauron was so unchanging in that feeling.

However even with all these confident thoughts in his mind, as he watched Sauron’s form flicker in front of him in throws of passion, Melkor still felt surprised that the Maia found him so desirable. Trapped in one form for ages now, Morgoth had grown tired of it and when from time to time he would abandon his inherent vainglory for the sake of cool logic, he saw no reason for his servants to feel otherwise. Yet, clearly, Sauron shared not in that conviction, unless what had just occurred was the most intricately woven lie that Morgoth had ever chanced upon.

Not suspecting his servant of such ominous skill however, Melkor kept wondering and was still busy doing so even when it was all over and the Maia stood before him, sated and with his broad shoulders heaving. Only at the sound of Sauron once again buckling his belt, did Melkor awaken from his reverie and consciously look upon him. And doing so at last, already distanced from what had come to pass but still interested in finding answers, the Dark Vala asked him, “Why hast thou not spoken earlier of thy desire?”

Sauron’s golden eyes opened, yet instead of words there was silence. Incarnate once more, he beheld his lord, who although still naked was now again proud and haughty, as he sat on the table with expectant expression. He watched the Maia with furrowed eyebrows as once again Sauron seemed reluctant to answer the posed question.

Yet after silence, there finally came voice, as the master craftsman of Angband replied truthfully, “I serve thee for a long time, lord, yet even now there are lines between us that I dare not cross.” He reached down and picked Melkor’s robe and his mace from the floor, and handed the first to him while the latter he rested against the table where it had earlier stood.

Morgoth’s reply came as swiftly as ever “I draw the lines, Sauron. And I erase them. If I shall desire to restore them in this matter, thou wilt know of it.” He accepted the robe from his servant’s hands, yet did not move as he awaited a sign that the Maia understood him.

Sauron nodded but kept silent. He knew better than to heed Melkor’s words, for they would lead him into dangerous places, yet he voiced not that thought. Some things were better left unspoken.

Melkor seemed satisfied with the silent confirmation. All the doubts that Sauron had today displayed, to Morgoth were but the hesitation of a faithful servant, one who feared and respected his lord. The Vala simply could not fathom that there was more to it than the pleasure of fleshly delights. And since Sauron today proved to be even more skilled in that matter than Melkor had remembered, he wanted to let the Maia indulge in this lust now and in the days to come.

The Vala judged, that trapped as he was in his one physical shape, he could as well enjoy it, when opportunity presented itself.

With such thoughts on his mind, Melkor pulled his robe back on, but did not shut it or button it, suddenly distracted, as his mind conjured enticing images of Sauron pleasuring him in places more suitable and comfortable than the smithy. Morgoth Bauglir smiled darkly and looked at the Maia.

Sauron reflected his look, with what seemed like calm, "I understand." In case his so far silent master was still expecting to hear him speak, he put his earlier gesture into words this time. Sauron stood now before Melkor once more completely incarnate and his thoughts were hidden from the Vala, as always, but of his loyalty Melkor had no doubt. Then the Maia turned to collect the other toppled items from the floor of the smithy and he set them on the table once more.

"When thy armor is complete, my lord, I shall need to depart again to Tol Sirion and at last crush thy enemies to dust.” He said then. From tidings the messengers brought from the siege of Minas Tirith, all was progressing according to the plan and the defence of the isle and the watch tower was crumbling - and yet that was his duty and he needed to return there. His excuse was no longer valid, for now that the Vala could walk once more, Sauron’s assistance was hardly needed in Angband.

“Yes, it would be most prudent,” Melkor agreed. “When the tower is claimed I want thou to keep guard over the region,” the Dark Vala commanded, as he buttoned his robe. He got off of the table, mindful of his still aching foot and he picked Grond that stood to the side. It appeared he would just leave now and he almost did, but before that, in the doorway, he turned to the Maia one last time, hands resting on the handle of his mighty weapon as he spoke.

“Ah, and Sauron, while thou art still in Angband, do come to my chambers, when thy lust wakens. I still rest much and bore quickly,” the Black Foe of the World smirked at his lieutenant and then turned away and left.

* * *

Sauron watched his master leave and turned back to once more set his smithy in order. He put the dark gauntlet back on the rack and set everything else in places where it belonged. When that was done, he turned back to the sword he had been crafting.

His work on that blade was hardly complete. Although Sauron had already spent long hours forging and molding together twisted layers of iron and steel, many days would still be needed to complete the crafting.

The recent quenching already had granted the sword the hardness suitable for battle, yet at the same time rendered it more brittle and prone to chipping or breaking. To counter that effect, the metal needed to be now tempered, many times reheated in a temperature far lower and and quenched again. Then the blade would be sharpened, its edge honed against slow-turning grinding wheels of different grains and sizes until at last the intricate patterns of intertwining layers of metal folded inside it during the forging would be revealed.

Yet that was still not all. Soon after, the surface of the blade would be inscribed with letters and runes, and more enchantments would be laid upon it. In the end, etched in tannic acid, it would be protected from rust, while at the same time it would receive a dark bluish shine, apt for a weapon originating from one of the Angband’s forges. After all this, the need would still arise for the making of a suitable and splendid hilt.

Each of the steps of the sword-making was a precise and exacting task. For even though the magic of two mighty spirits now dwelled within the blade, its making required a mastery in craft of material world too and as much patience. Sauron had both those qualities.

Yet as once again he began his work on the blade in which Morgoth’s music was locked and woven so closely with his own, once again too did the river of his thoughts turn its flow towards his master. This time however his thoughts were strange even to him.

Melkor trusted him. That was first one of those thoughts.

That notion in itself was quite unbelievable but it was also true. Sauron felt it, felt his lord complete faith in him and he felt proud and honoured by it and knew that he would sooner be destroyed than fail it.

Yet this was not the most peculiar of thoughts. Somehow Melkor seemed different. Sauron remembered him well from a year ago. When he had last seen his lord then, right after the Siege of Angband was broken, Melkor was a shadow of himself, scared to leave not just his stronghold but also his own quarters sometimes, covering his ears each time the silver trumpets and horns sounded outside.

In those days sometimes he would talk to none and set heavy guards at his doors and each corridor that led to them, and then as if suddenly scared that the enemy was on the inside and not the outside he would have many of his servants lesser tortured and executed and only Sauron was his voice of reason in those times, the only voice Melkor still agreed to hear.

However ever since in the Battle of the Sudden Flame the siege had been broken, it all ended. In the year that Sauron was gone the shadow of fear seemed to have been lifted from his master’s heart. Nothing proved it better than Morgoth accepting the challenge High King of Noldor cast his way. Nothing proved it better than Melkor letting Sauron guard him and his crown in his sleep on the day of the Maia’s return.

And now, there was this night to further prove it. And it was not about the pleasure they shared. It was the way Melkor had acted before it that had intrigued the Maia. That he came to watch him at work... that he sang.

It was not the first time his master would sing him, yet it was first such event since very long. For ever since the Silmarils were set into the crown of iron by the Vala’s burnt hands, Melkor had ceased to share his music with any, far too consumed by his obsession to still find the needed clarity of thought that was needed to form a song of power. Or enough of it to just sing.

Yes, there certainly was now some kind of change in Melkor, of that there was no doubt for many events spoke of it. The Vala’s lack of fear that his crown could be stolen, this clear, confident music that today had filled Sauron’s forge, this name from the past on the Vala’s lips and in the end him letting another one so close. And yet at the same time it all meant nothing. It did not make Sauron think that there was still hope for Melkor - hope for what could there be anyway? -  and certainly neither did it mean that somewhere inside the fallen Vala, there was some light still.

Nay, there was no light left in either them and they were both far beyond redemption. Even if they were to forfeit their evil and crawl to Valinor on their knees now to humble themselves before Manwë, their crimes would never be forgiven. They went too far in their evil now to be pardoned.

However no such absurd notion had even come to life in Sauron’s mind. He was not going to try and begin to search for good in Melkor’s soul and neither was he going to lose his mind and try to teach his master how to love. Nay, Sauron remained reasonable as always and right now had just one definite thought on this new finding. And that thought in fact made him glad.

What Sauron thought, was that perhaps what he had witnessed in the weeks before and today had further confirmed, possibly meant that Melkor was finally becoming free from the claws of obsession that four ages back had seized his mind.

And if the Vala’s mind could be healed from it, then perhaps in the end even incarnate and with his powers dispersed as they now were, Melkor could regain his lost freedom of creation. Freedom limitless and unhindered. Freedom not curbed by fear. Perhaps if things went in this direction, once a day would come when Melkor would no longer fear at all, when again he would find courage to fight for what was worth and would flee from none but Tulkas perhaps.

With those thoughts in his mind, Sauron turned back to his work. And as he once more put the blade into the flames of the forge and looking into them he thought of Melkor freed from the clutches of the Silmarils, Sauron smiled to himself and he carried on working.

He could not have known back then yet, just how gravely he was mistaken.

---

Chapter End Notes

And so there was smithery, sex and rock'n'roll in this chapter, what else could ye possibly crave for? XD

Do tell us what you think! And if we happen to have more than two lovely readers, reveal yourselves and do let us know :3!

Next time we shall move a decade in time to witness the consequences of a certain theft.

And since you've already seen Sauron, here is some Melkor for your viewing pleasure!

Quest for the Silmaril

Very Important Plot Note (please read):

In The Silmarillion Tolkien does not tell us what happened to Sauron after he fled wounded in the aftermath of the battle with Huan and Lúthien. We know only that he escaped to the nearby forest of Taur-nu-Fuin and filled it with terror. The next thing we know is that he comes to Eönwë after the War of Wrath, already after the fall of Melkor, and tries to unsuccesfully seek pardon with him. Basically anything could have occured with our dear Maia in the meantime but working with this setting, and simply filling this gap (that's what we do! XD), we assumed that Sauron, the way we have interpreted him in this story, would return to Melkor as soon as he would be in shape to do so and he would tell his master of what had transpired. Of course Melkor would be furious since the Isle of Werewolves was lost and his favourite Draugluin was slain but he would in the end forget about it (Melkor is used to losing some things as long as he gains other) since he never dwells long on anything and forgive Sauron for his failure to stop Huan and Lúthien as long as the Maia keeps serving him well.

After all Sauron had tried his best. Both Melkor and him knew the prophecy regarding Huan but they were not sure which werewolf it spoke of then (so Sauron, being the master of shapeshifting, assumed that perhaps it may be him) - only in that year between Beren's rescue from Tol-in-Gaurhoth and Beren and Lúthien coming to Angband did it become clear that it is in fact Carcharoth and probably only then the werewolf was nurtured to its enormous size (or ever created, with some really malicious spirit)

Another interesting matter by the way is that in The Silmarillion, after Sauron "yields the mastery" of the isle to Lúthien neither side seems to be interested in Tol-Sirion anymore. Lúthien and the Nargothrond Elves do not try to rebuild it, while Melkor does not try to reclaim it. We think this is because of the fact that Sauron had scarred the place with his magic ad dark presence, so the Elves would not feel comfortable there, while the dark side doesn't want to reclaim the isle for similar reason. Lúthien spoilt it with her own magic and besides so many werewolves were slain there by Huan (including their Sire Draugluin) that we suppose no werewolves would like to live there anymore and Sauron has quite bad memories too XDD

The inspiration for this chapter was the question: why in the book Melkor had done nothing to try and reclaim his Silmaril after Carcharoth swallowed it? Well, we do strongly believe that there were attempts but they simply did not go down in history! XD

And now that you know everything about its setting, there goes the chapter, enjoy! :3

Read Quest for the Silmaril

Chapter 6

Quest for the Silmaril

* * *

Upon his arrival Sauron found Angband in chaos, with all the creatures that dwelled there fleeing through the hallways and up the flights of stairs to seek refuge outside where the wrath of Morgoth could not reach them. Even from the very entrance to the stronghold the Maia could already hear his lord roaring deep in the bowels of Angband.

"... I shall crush their bones to dust and grind their spirits into nothingness! Tear out their still beating hearts and have them eat them! But first that wench will be the mother of a new brood of orcs!"

As Sauron turned in the opposite direction than all else were headed, echoes of Melkor's furious cries accompanied his journey through the Hells of Iron, growing ever louder as he descended to seek audience with his master. The further and deeper he progressed down the labyrinthine hallways of Angband, the fewer orcs he met on his way, until at last, as he neared the underground throne chamber of Melkor, there was not a living soul still in sight.

Walking along the last eerily empty corridor, the Maia stepped over a carcass of an orc, trampled to death by his own brethren as they fled from the wrath of the Vala. Sauron did not blame them for running. It was only logical for the servants of Melkor to flee in such moments. Their life spans were brief and here, in Angband, briefer still as even in times when no great wars were waged, the minions of Morgoth had still been treated as no less expendable.

Yet though such conclusion was in his mind, Sauron himself had not entertained even a fleeting thought of escape. When Melkor was concerned, the Maia had long ago given up on his sense of self-preservation and instead of seeking a place to hide - as wisely had done most of the others - he now directed his footsteps right to the epicentre of danger to find out exactly what had occurred.

He had attempted to learn, of course, yet the few fleeing orcs that he had managed to stop on his way, failed to provide clear answers, even under pain of death. He had heard the word "thief" and "intruder" muttered repeatedly in panic but none of it yet made sense to him and he could not imagine what possibly could cause such frenzy in his lord that all his servants would flee from him like in the old times. Yet as finally he set foot in the throne room, the reasons for the terror of the orcs became all too clear.

The vast hall was desolate.

The back of the black throne lay on the floor, shattered into pieces against the dais. The floor, the walls and columns meanwhile all bore the marks of Grond.

One of the the pillars near the throne was missing altogether and in its place there lay rubble under which yet another unfortunate minion of Morgoth was buried. Amidst all this destruction Melkor stalked, his mighty mace still in his hand, as he raved and hissed, taking sharp turns and looking about himself, as though awaiting a hidden attacker to anytime emerge from behind his back. And as he paced through the ruins, his endless curses continued.

"There will not be a torture those damnable worms will not know ere at last I let them die! Find them! Crush them! Nay! Bring them to me!" The Vala shouted into the vault of the hall. His voice was wild and seething with fury. "Bring them to me alive! I shall destroy them myself! Thieves! Foul brigands!" the Lord of Angband roared threats and orders into the emptiness around him, completely unaware of Sauron's presence. Once more he struck the ground with Grond, making the floor shake and cracks crawl through the stone, as he gazed in front of himself madly, turning his head to try and discern the enemies that were there no longer.

Not even Sauron, who had beheld his master wrathful many a time, had ever seen Melkor be this way. For a moment the Maia just stood in the entryway, disbelieving his eyes. The throne chamber lay in utmost ruin, its state almost reminiscent of that on the day the Valar tore Angband down. And in the midst of the debris, with a crazed look on his face, there stood Melkor failing to note not only Sauron's presence but apparently the absence of his whole court and minions as well.

"My lord, what had occurred here?" The Maia approached him slowly and with vigilance, as he made an attempt to inquire about the tragic events that apparently had come to pass here during his brief absence. "What wretched fools dared displease thee? Speakest only their names and I shall have them thrown in shackles before thee."

Morgoth turned sharply, Grond swaying, and glared at Sauron madly. There was a thin streak of dried blood on his face, but that was not the source of his fury. "Sauron! Where wert thou?! Where wert thou when they came here and... Stole. My. Silmaril?!" Enraged, Melkor pointed presently at the crown of iron on his head, where only two jewels now shone. The central stone was gone, leaving in its wake a gaping hollow.

The Maia felt his blood run cold in his veins, for although during the four centuries of the Noldor siege not a single Elf had succeeded in sneaking into the stronghold, now, a decade later, when the Eldar had long seemed to have given up the fight and their claim for the Silmarils, suddenly there had indeed been thieves and intruders in Angband. And those more brazen and skilled than the Maia could ever expect, for how could one succeed in stealing a jewel from the very dark crown that Melkor never took off his head?

As Sauron stood immobile, and with eyes wide open in disbelief and dismay he beheld that image, Morgoth directed the accusing digit at him instead, "What excuse hast thou to give? Hast thou fallen asleep on thy watch like the other fools?!" Melkor's face was distorted with anger and his words dripped with poison.

And so before Sauron could learn more of the thieves or their tale, suddenly his master rained accusations upon him and those the Maia first needed to answer to placate his lord, ere he could ask Melkor his own questions. And thus although the Dark Vala was pointing at him in his fury and though the menace of Grond hung in the air between them, Sauron did not back away before the wrath of Melkor and he chose, as he always had, to face the rage of his master when none else would do it.

"I am only just come back after performing the duty thou hast thyself assigned me, master." Sauron answered according to the truth and calmly he held his lord's angry gaze. And yet while the calm was on his face, unrest began to already form inside him. "Three days back thou hast sent me forth to serve as the herald of thy greatness among the Easterlings, my lord." Sauron reminded, "I thus fear that I know naught of this doom that hath befallen, yet the sooner I learn of it, the sooner I shall act upon it."

Hesitation crept into Morgoth's features and he stayed his hand. "Easterlings," he muttered. "Indeed," the Vala's eyes shifted away from Sauron and blindly Melkor stared at the destruction he himself had wrought. "An Eldar witch and a mortal man invaded Angband! Unheard of! She had come to my throne and offered herself to me. She was fair, Sauron! I let her sing and dance, and then I awoke and saw them escape with my Silmaril! My Silmaril! The wretches! I will skin them and feed them to Draugluin! Draugluin, where art thou?!" Melkor called and turned away from Sauron, looking for the first werewolf of Angband, like he expected the creature to stand before him any moment now.

Sauron felt cold claws of fear touch the spirit inside him as he gazed upon his master and the gaping hole where one of the Silmarils had earlier shone. Draugluin was dead for almost a year now - had Melkor gone mad from the loss?

Until this moment the Maia had thought his master almost cured. Each year ever since in Dagor Bragollach Melkor had overthrown his enemies, his lord had seemed less afraid, less dependant on these accursed jewels. Sauron had hoped and expected that in few ages perhaps Melkor would be able to finally take the crown of iron off his head. That he would at last become the crown's master and not its prisoner.

After all once Melkor had not needed a crown to rule the hearts and spirits of all around him. Once he had not needed anything but his own authority to sway the will of his servants.

Had it all just been a delusion then? Had he imagined this change, this progress, the lessening of obsession? It did not matter any longer, for even if it were real, now Sauron knew all was ruined - there was insanity in the eyes of his master as if it were his heart and soul missing and not a gem, a trinket. The thoughts of the Maia raced and he wondered how much time could have passed since the event occurred and whether there was still time to act. He looked at his master with heavy heart, as he resolved to bring the reality back to the Vala, "Draugluin is no more, my lord, he and his brood were slain by the accursed Huan at Tol-in-Gauhroth." He informed but as he spoke the last words his fiery eyes opened wide and images from a year past flooded his mind. And as with all clarity Sauron recollected his defeat and the day he had been forced to yield the magical mastery of the isle, he knew then who were the thieves that dared take away the Silmaril.

Lúthien, the daughter of Melian was the witch Melkor spoke of and Beren, the sole survivor of the troop the Noldorin king of Nargothrond had led to their doom must have been the mortal man to keep her company. Yet if that had truly been so then this theft... could it be possible that this now was the consequence of that secret quest the purpose of which he had failed to torture out of Finrod Felagund and his companions? Suddenly as Sauron gazed upon the empty socket in the crown of iron, it all began to come together in his mind.

Luckily it had not yet come together in the otherwise preoccupied mind of Melkor.

"No, no, no, thou art mistaken, Sauron. I saw Draugluin today, with my own eyes. He hath crawled under my throne, when the witch came," the Vala argued and walked over to the throne, leaning on Grond, as he crouched, trying to look under it and beckoning with his free hand. "Come hither, Draugluin, my pet, come hither, I shall not harm thee," Melkor tried to sound welcoming, but anger broke through his gentle tone, as he was growing impatient. "Dratted hound..." Morgoth lost his patience entirely and walked around the throne and stopped still, for on the floor, half-buried under the rubble lay the skin of the werewolf, that Beren had discarded.

At that discovery, Morgoth stopped in his tracks and silently observed the tarnished, shaggy pelt, that had once belonged to a formidable beast, one of his very favorite creations. "There he is," Melkor said finally and did not move from place, standing with his head bowed and his expression unreadable. It was hard to tell if he comprehended what he saw, or if his delirium continued.

Almost fearfully, Sauron slowly walked up to Melkor and took in the gruesome sight that his lord's eyes were fixed on. Stench of decay touched his nostrils as the mangy, half-rotten pelt of their once most precious werewolf companion appeared before his eyes. What madness had played itself out here while he was absent? Was this what they had schemed, the human and the elven wench, was Angband indeed where the troop of Finrod's companions had been then headed? He had not managed to break the Elves then, while the human that had accompanied them, Sauron had disregarded, thinking the Eldar king to be the one to possess all knowledge of the mission and not the mortal man.

This had been his grave mistake, he knew that now as yet another ensuing failure came back now to haunt him and his master. "Nay, my lord, it is not our friend. The spirit of thy faithful Draugluin is gone and this is but the pelt of thy mighty wolf that hath served the intruder as disguise." Sauron spoke with sadness. Among the smell of death, he could sense the remains of magic that had bound the skin of wolf to a form of another, giving it semblance of life again. Later on that day, buried under the rubble, he would also discover the remains of Thuringwethil - his own loyal servant - and he would mourn her death again like he had once already. Yet that moment was not yet come and for now the mind of Sauron was turned elsewhere and still towards the present and as he gazed at the pelt of dead sire of Werewolves before them, another question came to life in his mind.

"Where is Carcharoth, master?" Sauron asked in dismay and wonder. The enormous werewolf that with help of the vilest magic, had in a short time been bred into the greatest and foulest of beasts to become the doom of the cursed hound Huan, had been earning its meat by keeping watch at the gates of Angband. "He was to guard the entrance. Have the thieves fooled him and managed to go past?" That was the only explanation, for none else than Huan could fight him, yet how could it be? Carcharoth would never let an intruder go past him. More than that even - the great werewolf knew well that Draugluin was dead, for all the wolves of Angband mourned the carnage of Tol-in-Gaurhoth and their Sire's passing. For a fleeting moment Sauron was afraid that Huan had also been in Angband, yet the Vala spoke naught of the hound.

Melkor turned to him slowly, his eyes dark and terrifying. "Where is Carcharoth thou askest? I am thy lord! I ask the questions here! Where is Carcharoth, Sauron? Have they slaughtered him as well and none have spoken of this to me?! Thou, thou hast not said a word of the elf maiden's plan! Thou hast had Beren and Lúthien at thy mercy and thou hast fled, surrendering Tol-in-Gaurhoth and thus allowing the events of today to come to pass!" Melkor gestured widely at the ruined throne room, once again furious. He forgot all about Draugluin and now his anger found its focus in Sauron.

Somehow however, Sauron found relief in that notion. At least Melkor spoke more sense now - after all this was indeed in part his fault, of that there was no doubt. Of course he had never quite had the daughter of Melian at his mercy and his master was completely forgetting Huan and the prophecy regarding him as well. But regardless of those shortcomings to truth, he let Melkor turn his wrath upon him without quarrel. Melkor's fury he could take, for it was violent like a firestorm but short-lived, at least most often.

"I knew not of any plan, master. If the events preceding the fall of Tol-in-Gaurhoth were the prelude to this, Finrod Felagund had guarded this knowledge well and taken it with him to his grave." He now suspected it had been Beren all along and not Finrod that had planned this, yet he found it unwise to admit it. Instead he bowed his head before Melkor, and promised, "I shall make this right, master. I shall find Carcharoth, rally a force and hunt down the thieves immediately. I shall join the chase myself and try to the best of my skill to reclaim what thou hast lost." In such words spoke Sauron as he faced his lord's wrathful countenance.

Morgoth's fury receded then and he beheld Sauron clearly for a brief moment, his madness drawing back, like a tide, before it flowed back to engulf him and he turned to the side, glaring at the empty hall. "I shall crush them and tear them and feed them to Draugluin," Melkor muttered and limping, he stalked away, out of the throne and down the ruined hall once more, smashing a fallen column with Grond in helpless cold fury.

The Maia watched him baffled, for in one moment Melkor had been shouting at him and in the next, he seemed to have forgotten about his existence completely. For a while Sauron stood there in dismay, watching his master talk to the ghost of his own mind again.

Then he too, turned away and left to carry out the bidding of Melkor.

* * * 

As Sauron had said, so too he had done. Firstly, he set out to learn all there was to still learn of the thieves and their coming and going. He soon knew much more than his master had told him. He found that Beren and Lúthien had lain great Carcharoth to sleep at first and that later they would not have escaped if they had not been borne away on the wings of mighty eagles of Manwë.

But that they had fled was of no concern to the Maia for he learnt another fact of great interest. It namely appeared that although the thieves have indeed ripped the Silmaril out of the crown of iron, they had not taken it far. There was a trail of human blood leading from where Carcharoth for the second time confronted the fleeing thieves and from the account of several Orcs, Sauron had at last put together the complete picture.

He knew then that although the Silmaril had been clasped in the hand of Beren, that hand belonged to the mortal man no more and that Carcharoth, faithful guard bred on meat of Men and Elves had swallowed it together with the precious jewel.

From that knowledge two following facts ensued. First and foremost the Silmaril was inside the great werewolf and not in the possession of Eldar just yet and secondly, it occurred that Beren could possibly be mortally wounded, for the poison on the fangs of Carcharoth was indeed deadly.

Both of those findings he had reported to Melkor, who took some consolation in that knowledge, but not enough to ease his wrecked mind or put an end to his brooding.

Then Sauron swiftly proceeded to action and together with a pack of werewolves that had survived the slaughter on Tol-in-Gaurhoth, taking on a shape of a great wolf himself, he ran across the lands of Beleriand after the tracks of Carcharoth. The feat was an easy one, for crazed and driven by pain of the Silmaril burning his entrails, the great werewolf cared no more to tell friends apart from foes and left in his wake a trail of orc bodies.

After few days they found him, in the woods of Doriath, yet that was all they could do, for no wolf dared approach their enormous foul cousin and although Sauron revealed himself to Carcharoth and tried to talk reason into him, the beast did not hear him through his madness and pain. Sauron could not take him on. None could in fact do that. Carcharoth had been destined to slay the mighty hound Huan - how could anyone else possibly oppose him?

And so as Carcharoth's location had been established, Sauron took on his winged shape and in form of a bat he flew back to Angband. The wolves that kept him company he left behind in the forests of Doriath to keep track of the Carcharoth's progress across the land. The Lord of Werewolves knew his pack well and trusted that unlike the often dim-witted orcs, his wolves were efficient, swift and cunning enough to avoid becoming the prey of Carcharoth and also intelligent enough to know when to attack and when to hide or flee if any of the Eldar from Nargothrond were to show up in the woods.

* * *

"Thou knowest it best thyself my lord that we cannot fight Carcharoth. Only when the prophecy is fulfilled and Huan dies under his claws, will we be able to stand against thy wolf and that too is not certain. Carcharoth is crazed with pain and he destroys everything around and all that approach him. He recognizes none, not even me, master. We did what we could to lure him out of Doriath and back to thee, yet it seems we can merely stop him there for now and perhaps prevent from fleeing further. From here I discern two different ways in which the Silmaril could be reclaimed."

"And what are thy propositions?" Morgoth Bauglir demanded, looking at his lieutenant from under the frown of his fiery brows. The Dark Vala sat brooding on his throne, that had in the meantime once more been made whole, unlike many other structures had suffered under Grond since the day the Lord of Angband was robbed of the Silmaril.

"First one, my lord, is to dispatch an army of balrogs, orcs and werewolves that I shall lead. Only with great force like this do we stand a chance of capturing Carcharoth and bringing him in bonds back to Angband." Sauron began to unfold his thoughts before Melkor.

"Nay! Nay, that I shall not allow. What is the thy other plan?" Melkor interrupted him angrily. He did not care to elaborate why he found Sauron's idea that unacceptable, but Sauron could guess. In the few last days, the Dark Vala had grown more cowardly and paranoid than ever before and a great army going to capture Carcharoth meant there would be fewer minions to guard Melkor.

Sauron sighed in his spirit. If this - more realistic in his opinion - idea had been so swiftly denied, then the second one he barely dared to propose. And yet propose it he did, for Melkor's solitary departure to corrupt the awakening Men few ages back, left hope that the Vala would agree to depart from the fortress again. His love for the Silmarils - if not for the wolf - was great after all. "Thou art the master of Carcharoth, lord. From thy hand he hath eaten and to thy voice he hath always harkened. Wert thou to go and speak to him thyself, perhaps the madness of Carcharoth would subside if only for long enough to follow thee back home." Sauron said and carefully he beheld Melkor.

The Vala's frown grew darker and wrathfully he spoke "Are those thy only propositions, Sauron? That I put my remaining Silmarils in danger by sending immeasurable forces after the wolf, or worse by leaving Angband? Art thou indeed as loyal as I have deemed thee? Thou makest me doubt! Those plans thou offerest look to me like plots of an usurper! Or a fool! Speak now, if thou hast any more plausible solutions or begone!" Melkor roared from his Dark Throne, shifting restlessly, as his black hands gripped onto the armrests, causing him pain. Madness and cowardice was in his voice and in his eyes.

"How canst thou still doubt my loyalty, master? I live to serve thee, thou knowest it well." Sauron's felt a sting in his soul at the words of his lord. He knew it was madness speaking through Melkor, yet to see the trust that he had worked so long to build crack and crumble this way, pained him greatly.

The assurance of loyalty however, was not what Melkor was now waiting for. The Vala awaited an answer and so with a sigh, Sauron gave it to him, "There indeed is a third way, lord, yet this one is least sure of all and most dependant on chance. The Silmaril injured Carcharoth, perhaps mortally, yet it is certain that he will not perish while Huan from the Blessed Realm still lives. If we were to assume that their fates are interwoven, as much as it pains me to admit it, judging by the state that Carcharoth is in, it should not take long ere Huan arrives to face him in the final fight. Therefore a less significant group of thy servants could lay low in the woods of Doriath, awaiting the arrival of the hound, as after his death, Carcharoth's own doom would likely soon follow. And should Carcharoth perish there or short time after the fight, thy servants would bring the missing Silmaril back to thee..." Sauron trailed off, reluctant to go on. Knowing however that with Melkor one needed to speak swiftly or not at all, he continued, "Yet there is much that may go wrong, for the Eldar, my lord, too will try to claim the jewel and if Huan arrives to meet thy great werewolf, he likely would not come alone."

Melkor's gloom had only grown as he harkened. He looked not at Sauron, but into the darkness of his empty throne room, abandoned by his court now that the Vala's moods grew dangerously volatile. "This plan of action is acceptable. Thou canst give out the orders. Send a troop, one not too large in numbers, orcs only. Let them try to reclaim my Silmaril from the hand of the thief, should it once more come to light," Melkor spoke darkly.

Sauron however was not yet done warning. He wished for his lord to know exactly what the probable consequences were before ultimately he would give the command, "Bear in mind, my lord, that where Huan goes, there might go not only other Eldar but the daughter of Melian as well. Thus it may so happen even that in the moment of truth a troop of orcs would not suffice. For even with Huan gone, they might not stand against the magic of Lúthien."

"But can she stand against Carcharoth? Nay, she cannot! The beast hath slain so many in his fury! Oh how glad I shall be if that vile sorceress at last perishes in his jaws! Send the orcs, Sauron and let us wait for the news of the thieves' demise," Melkor's mood shifted again and he was filled with malicious joy. He seemed to be already celebrating the victory in his mind.

The Maia did not share the joy of his master, yet he lowered his head in affirmation of the order. "Aye, my lord. If that is what thou commandest, I shall begin preparations immediately. Yet, what if the plan faileth and the Silmaril is lost?" That question he too had to ask, for it was more efficient to in advance know the answer.

Yet Melkor would not hear any of that, "It cannot fail! Thy duty is to ensure the host of orcs is well-trained and prepared!" The Vala barked in great annoyance suddenly, "Make sure they do stand and bring my Silmaril back to me!" the Dark Vala stood up and left his throne, picking Grond. Then he limped out of the throne room, swinging his great mace in annoyance, searching for non-vital structures in Angband he had not yet destroyed.

As Melkor disappeared in a doorway, the metal clicks and clanking of the contraption Sauron had once devised for his master's injured foot mixed with Morgoth's steps and finally died out, leaving a lifeless morbid silence in the vast empty hall, where Sauron remained.

Alone in the torchlit darkness, the Maia leaned against a chipped column and as he took a deep breath, for a moment he closed his eyes. It did not matter that deep inside his soul, Sauron knew already that the mission was doomed to fail and that the Silmaril once taken away, was not meant to be reclaimed. Melkor's will would be done and the attempt to regain the jewel would be made. And all that remained to Sauron now was the hope that when the mission fails, his master would not once again deem him a traitor. 

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Chapter End Notes

We want to once again thank Taliesin for being an absolutely amazing human being! Your reviews mean the world to us! :3

In next chapter we shall jump in time again and take our dear readers to a rather sad moment at the end of the War of Wrath.

But meanwhile, we have another silly picture for you. Luff wanted to draw an angry vicious werewolf Sauron but somehow ended up drawing a rather hot and confused half-werewolf Sauron instead... (happens all the time! XD) Anyhow, enjoy! The angry Lord of Werewolves is still to be drawn XD

The War of Wrath

In this chapter we're paying a small tribute to Blind Guardian's lovely version of War of Wrath. You can listen to it here: tinysong.com/R22F (the dialogue starts around 40 seconds).

Read The War of Wrath

Chapter 7

The War of Wrath

* * *

In the ages that came after the quest of Beren and Lúthien, Melkor never managed to conquer the madness that he had plunged into after the loss of one of the Silmarils. Yet, despite remaining a slave of his own crown, unable to think clearly or do anything without its weight upon his brow, Morgoth retained much of his scheming mind and ruthless intelligence and over time his will spread over Beleriand.

Thus Melkor remained the Dark Foe of the World, great and terrible in the eyes of both his subjects and his enemies. But, as his deranged mind saw hidden threats in every word and gesture, the closeness than had once only begun to develop between him and Sauron, turned to naught. The Dark Vala did not suspect his first lieutenant of treachery as much as he suspected others, yet their conversations and meetings grew scarce as time passed until they became only those of military council or other affairs of strategic importance.

Despite that, those were great times for the forces of darkness and Melkor's minions flourished and multiplied, while the Eldar and those of the Men, that had not been drawn into evil, lived in fear and hopelessness. The days were dark, creatures of Melkor roamed across the lands freely and heavy curtains of smoke hung over the North.

It seemed that the darkness had triumphed and that there was none left to oppose it.

Yet then a time came, when one of both bloods sailed to Valinor with the Silmaril shining upon his brow and on behalf of Elves and Men, pleaded for the help of its masters. And thus the Valar harkened and were moved by the plea and over the seas and mountains they sent forth their great host. Led by Eönwë, the herald of Manwë, to the sound of his silver trumpet there marched the Vanyar from Undying Lands and those of the Noldor that never left the blessed land of Valinor. And among their ranks, arrayed in forms fair and terrible, there went the luminous Maiar and where their songs sounded and where their light touched, the reign of darkness began to crumble.

* * *

The realm of Melkor trembled, when struck down by Eärendil, Ancalagon the Black fell from the sky and turned the three proud peaks of Thangorodrim into dust and ruin as he collapsed.

The last anguished roar of the dying Father of Dragons echoed deep down in the bowels of Angband where Melkor was hiding. And as the echoes of Ancalogon's fall filled the dungeons, the Black Foe of the World was at last shaken out of his brooding apathy and looked about himself, as if he did not remember how he had got there.

Above him stood Sauron, his helmet in his hand but his his face overcast with shadow, "Listen to me, my lord" the Maia pleaded, his words partially drowned out by the dying scream of Morgoth's favourite dragon. "The field is lost, everything is lost. Thou must go now, while there is still time."

Sauron had not long ago arrived from beyond the walls of Angband. Until last moment, for as long as there still was any semblance of an army to command, the lieutenant of Morgoth had stood his ground against the host of Elves and Maiar that arrived from Valinor and the Edain that somewhere on the way had joined the army of the West that came to face the forces of Melkor.

Now however the forces of Melkor were no more. Those of his servants that after years of war had not yet been slain, abandoned their master's hopeless cause at last. The remnants of Orcs and Balrogs dispersed in madness and despair seeking to hide in the cracks of Arda, Sauron's faithful Werewolves were slain almost to the very last, while the mighty dragons, that only few days ago issued from behind the gates of Angband and caused such great panic amongst the hosts of Valinor were now one by one falling from the skies struck by the talons of the great eagles of Manwë that arrived, led by the mighty Thorondor himself.

They had lost, of that there was no denying. There was no more army. Sauron was no longer needed in the field, his place was here, by his lord. And now, as always, the Maia offered his advice and he hoped more than ever that his lord would choose to listen.

Morgoth harkened to him, yet at first it seemed that he did not really hear the words of his lieutenant. Then however Melkor spoke and in his voice rang clarity that Sauron had not heard in many years. "Nay, Sauron. There is nowhere for me to flee. Like in Utumno, the forces of Valinor have come for me and they shall not rest before they find me," thus spoke Melkor as he regarded his lieutenant. "I cannot leave... but thou canst. And thou shalt be the one to go, Sauron. In my absence thou shalt rally what is left of my troops and until my return thou shalt rule the forces of darkness in Middle-earth, like thou hast done in the ages I spent in Mandos," the Lord of Angband said, as his fiery eyes met those of his loyal servant.

There was no insanity in the eyes of the Dark Vala, only weariness and resignation. But there was no defeat. Morgoth firmly believed that he would return. He had fooled his brethren once, and he intended to do that once more.

Yet Sauron thought that this time he knew better than his lord. Since the day when Melkor was forgiven, ages had passed. They had since that moment taken hundreds of thousands of lives, they had tortured, mutilated, desecrated and blasphemed. He was afraid that thinking of today's defeat in the manner of those ages past, his master was being gravely mistaken.

"I beg thee, my lord, hear me and listen to reason. This time thy brethren will not be fooled... It is not just Eldar and Men but Maiar that we now fought against and destroyed, there is no mercy that awaits us in Valinor. Heed my words and save thyself my lord. With what remains of thy army I shall now cover for thee as thou fleest and then I shall find thee and join thee in hiding." Sauron reasoned as a choir of triumphant screams outside Angband grew louder, spelling their final and ultimate defeat.

Morgoth did not yield. "Nay, Sauron, the armies of Valinor shall not rest, until I have been captured. They will search for me and in the end they will find me. Rather than flee from my own stronghold and hide like a coward, this time I shall face them. Let them come. Let them cast me into Mandos for thrice as many ages, I shall once more outwit them. But if I return to find no allies, then my demise would be final," Morgoth rested his hand clad in dark metal, that Sauron had forged, on his lieutenant's shoulder and looked into the Maia's eyes. There was confidence and a promise of hope in Melkor's look, but unlike his master, Sauron saw clearly how small the chance was that Morgoth should ever return. "Thus, do as I command. Leave now and remain hidden. Rally my forces and rule in my stead. Yet do not forget, thou art my servant for all time," there was no threat to Melkor's words.

It was a statement of a fact, one that Morgoth finally saw clearly, having for once overcome the madness of the Silmarils. Once more he stood proud, determined and strong, though without hope of victory. The moment of clarity had come too late.

For a long silent moment Sauron gazed searchingly into his master's eyes. He wanted to believe it the way Melkor did. More than anything in his existence he wanted to believe that his lord would escape and that all was just a matter of time and ploys well played. But Melkor's sentence in Mandos seemed now almost too distant a past. The world was young then, and everyone deserved a second chance. Back then the Valar still considered Melkor one of their own. But not anymore. Now he was Morgoth, the cursed Black Enemy of Arda and a fate of a traitor awaited him. But what fate that was, they could both only guess.

Sorrow was in Sauron's eyes as slowly, he nodded his head, obeying his master's command. The words Melkor spoke rang true. After coming all this way from Valinor and all the nooks of the world, the enemies would pursue his master to the very end of Arda if they had to, and on their way they would annihilate every last of his creations. There would be nothing left to start the rebuilding from and Melkor himself, proud and haughty, would not stand becoming an endless fugitive.

But even though the enemies came here for Morgoth and they would not rest until they captured him, Sauron knew that he, Melkor's lieutenant, could slip through their fingers again. They would remember about him later, and look for him but who was he compared to this dark god the whole world hated? It was Melkor upon whom was turned the wrath of the Lords of the West and all the Children of Eru.

Although he did not believe that Melkor was right in thinking the Valar would once more fall for the same trick, Sauron could still hope that to be true. And with that hope in his heart, he chose to heed his master's orders.

"That I shall never forget. I will be waiting for thee, my lord. Where I go, thy name shall be feared and hailed and even if long centuries pass before we meet again, thou shalt never be forgotten." So spoke the dark lord's loyal Maia, yet rather than turn away and flee into darkness, Sauron lingered, unable to move. His mind had already decided but his spirit still refused to follow. His place was by his master's side - how could he leave him here, how could he turn his back and walk away now and from a distance look at Melkor's disgrace and fall? Last time when his lord fell, Sauron had not been there, last time the Vala was taken by surprise and not by Maiar and Eldar but by another of his kind and there had been nothing to be done. And finally... back then he had not yet let his existence become so completely entwined with Melkor's own.

"Very well, Sauron. What remains of my allies and my realm is thine to rule now. With thee are my hopes and my salvation. But now go, my loyal friend. Go, or all will be lost," Melkor urged the Maia. The hand that rested on Sauron's shoulder patted it gently and withdrew, as Morgoth's eyes shifted from his servant towards the grand entrance to the chamber. Already even as they spoke, the victorious Eldar and Edaine were breaking through Angband's last defences and fighting their way down towards them. "Go," Melkor said softly one last time, as he stepped away from Sauron, but did not look back to meet his servant's eyes.

Few levels above them doors were broken down and now more than ever time was of the essence. Knowing what had to be done and why, the lieutenant of Melkor one last time looked at his master.

"Until we meet again, my lord." The Maia said then at last and with bitterness in his heart and soul he turned away from Melkor, abandoning his master where he stood as he fled among the shadows and into the secret winding passageways that would lead him out of Angband.

Only as the Maia finally turned away from him, did Melkor spare a sorrowful glance after his servant. For long time then Melkor stood there alone looking into the shadows that had swallowed Sauron and as with every passing minute the sounds of the intruders grew nearer and nearer, so melted more and more the courage that the Dark Vala found for the first time in millennia. And when the foes stormed the lowest floor on which he was hiding, there was no confidence and courage at all left in his black heart and changing his mind, Melkor turned around and like a coward that he was, he tried to run.

But as he took flight, his feet were hewn from under him and he was hurled upon his face.

Then Melkor knew then that despite his assurance, he and Sauron would after all not live to meet again.

* * *

From high above on the mountain pass where the network of underground corridors led him, as a disincarnate shadow, unseen, Sauron watched the crowds of Maiar, Elves and Men part to make way for those of the victors that dragged his lord in chains behind them. He saw his master bound and wounded, his feet cut off and no Silmarils shining on his head anymore. In the forge of his own fortress, his captors had beaten Melkor's most treasured crown of iron into a collar.

Now, snapped around Morgoth's neck, the crown enslaved its master once and for all.

It was a bitter sight to behold and anger boiled in Sauron's spirit as he saw his lord this way. Yet it was too late to feel regret. Time could not be turned and the choices he had made could not be taken back. From this moment on, he could only go forward, thrive on mad hope and strive to make true what he had promised.

Right there on the mountain side, watching the host of the Valar with loathing, Sauron took a vow of vengeance and loyalty to his master. No matter how many hundreds of years it would take, just like he had done once already, so he shall again rebuild his lord's empire of darkness.

And then, when Melkor at last returned, he would have a kingdom to rule.

---

Chapter End Notes

And now the news:

First of all, Zlu drew an illustration for this chapter:

We're also really sorry that this chapter is so short and sad - the next ones will be long and awesome! (Because no, this is NOT the end, in case someone is wondering. In fact, there are some quite amazing things to come next!)

But about that... as we're going away on holidays together now, and then Luff will have exams while Zlu will be passing her certification from programming, the next update will be a month late and chapter 8 will be up in the first week on February (4-5 February to be precise). We're really sorry and we promise these will really be worth the wait :3!

And meanwhile, to make the said wait less brutal, we will be updating with Sauron/Melkor illustrations or funny things every week on our blog:

angbandstyle.tumblr.com

so do visit us there!

And now, we would like to wish you all A Happy New Year! You guys are amazing and full of support and we love you dearly so have a lot of fun :3!

Of the Rings of Power

Hello our amazing Readers, we have returned! We're so sorry for this delay, it was just very hard to get back into writing after a month of studying for exams and then surviving the said exams. But now it is over and we're back with regular weekly updates ;D YOUR VALIANT WAIT IS OVER XDDD

Now on the serious note, a lot of lore was dilligently studied for this chapter, The Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales, History of Middle Earth and the letters of Master Tolkien, to keep all the events as they were. As always we are simply writing between the lines and finding possible reasons and motivations for the characters to act like they had. We're trying to stay at the same time true to the canon and to the vision we have of Sauron (in this particular chapter). Tolkien for instance has Sauron go spontaneously missing for thousand years sometimes and then 'arise again' - we just assume he was not sleeping curled up in a cave and snoring evilly all that time but actually doing something useful, laying some foundations for some future actions, sometimes even doing few things at once. We just try to figure out and logically explain what the heck he was doing all that time (since this is not 300 years now that he has to use up but... over 6000)! XD The incident with Eönwë should also very well visualise what we mean about writing between the lines, all in all, we believe that we did not change anything that was actually written about it and yet, we dare assure it will be quite interesting and new for you to read XD

Recommended music: something calm and instrumental!

Oh and, fasten your seatbelts and prepare for sudden time leap! XD

Read Of the Rings of Power

Chapter 8

Of the Rings of Power

* * *

Back into the fires of the mountain from whence it once came, now fell the Ring, and with it too fell Sauron and the black realm of his making. The dark towers crumbled all around him and his great armies fled or yielded as the will that bound them to the Maia slowly faded together with the last shred of his power enclosed in the melting gold of the inscribed ring.

Finally the ring was found. So long he had craved it, and so long searched for it! Incomplete and torn apart, restlessly he kept looking. Age after age until at last he felt his own spirit become nothing more than eyes that endlessly pierced the world, trying in vain to find it.

His ruling ring it was. His missing part, his precious.

And despite the gaze of his eyes reaching so far and wide across the land, he still was blind, seeing only treachery and thieves around him, all the same among his foes and among his own servants. In his insane, torn and twisted mind he had expected everyone to want it and none to resist it, he suspected everyone to desire it and crave to possess it but none... none to destroy it.

For how could anyone ever wish to destroy it? The One, the very thing that could give them such great power?

For a moment even as the Ring touched the lava and his spirit became frayed and tattered, the Dark Lord still could not comprehend, for the idea was so foreign, so distant... Yes it was distant... like a memory.

And then, as he was fading, full of anger and mad from the loss, suddenly he remembered and he then knew the answer to his own question – for there had been one being that he used to know, who would have destroyed the ring long time ago without a second thought.

That being was Mairon.

Mairon would have never hesitated to destroy it on the very day of its making. He would have thrown all the rings into the fires of Orodruin if only he could have looked into the future back then and see what he was to become.

For long, long ages ago Mairon had witnessed a very similar madness of another Ainu and he had back then so often wished that the three splendid jewels in the crown of his lord Melkor could share such fate as now did the ring.

Mairon. Melkor.

When those two names echoed in his mind, suddenly, one moment before the end, all of the madness subsided and there was once more order and clarity in his mind. And it was in that brief lucid moment as his spirit was fading that it dawned on Sauron the Maia how deep he had fallen into the claws of the same very obsession, as had been the downfall of his master before him.

It was then that he looked back at the ages past and recognized all the signs of the same slowly creeping mistrust and madness after the loss that he once with such sadness beheld in Melkor.

The One Ring was his missing Silmaril.

He, brilliant strategist, patient and rational to the core, should have known better! He should have never made the rings, never let the history repeat itself... And yet he had allowed it all to happen. Somewhere on the way he took a wrong turn and fell but now... it just no longer mattered. For now the Ring was no more and he had at last been freed of it, freed of his obsession and desire that consumed his thoughts and his dreams. Yet with the ring's unmaking so was destroyed the last of his will and of his power that still was at work on Arda.

Thus Sauron too was now ended, his spirit torn and diminished to but a shred of memory and a shadow of malice and great loss. But in that second in which he was conquered it was not the loss of the ruling ring that he mourned, and not the ring that filled his thoughts. For as he fell, defeated and forever lost, at last he remembered. And then it was the One to whom his thoughts strayed to. The One beyond the Door of the Night, his dark Vala, his master, his precious.

And then the ring no longer mattered for it was all along made to be merely a tool on his way to Melkor's freedom, it was never supposed to be nothing more than a useful trinket.

In those last moments, as he remembered, Sauron's thoughts were clearer than in the many centuries before. And he knew then who was to blame for his downfall. And it was not the Istari and not the Firstborn. Not the Men and not the Perionath, the little people with hairy legs. And it was not even the degraded creature that for many years had borne the Ring was to blame. Nay, none of them. For he and only he was at fault and he was now to pay for his mistakes.

And in this moment of clarity as the Ring was swallowed by the same fires it was once forged in, Sauron looked back at the images of the past now flowing freely before him and in the dark and the cold he held onto them for as long as he could, as he was becoming nothing more than a whisper beyond the confines of the world, he still tried to find the moment of error and to recreate the path that he had taken.

And so did they align in front of his fading eyes - the images of the days long gone - and as he fell down into oblivion, with no future left before him, the Maia of Melkor held onto the past.

* * *

On the day of Melkor's capture and defeat, even though his heart was black with woe and his spirit filled with wrath, not even for a second did Sauron let the anger cloud his judgment. Never had he let an impulse of blind rage take over. Nay, on that distant day, even as he watched his master mocked and dragged away in chains out of his fortress and even as he vowed to destroy or enslave the very last of the Eldar and the Edain, the Maia's clockwork mind stayed brilliant. And already standing there, watching his lord taken captive, he began to devise a plan.

Sauron had always been patient and shunned all things rushed. Thus just like always, carefully he would first weigh all the details. He would compare and contemplate all the possible options and then select one of them, the optimal solution and he will implement it, put it in motion, striving for effectiveness and a path free of errors.

The empire of Melkor lay in ruin, his armies slain and scattered. There was naught to be done, not then on that day, not even in the years to come. And so despite his wrath and his vow of vengeance, Sauron knew well that revenge would have to wait, centuries, millennia perhaps.

But hadn't it after all always been a dish best served cold?

* * *

They would say later that he had abased himself before Eönwë, that he had fallen on his knees before him and begged for forgiveness. And it was all true. All that had indeed come to pass.

Yet since none but Morgoth himself had ever been granted a chance to peer into the guarded mind of his first lieutenant, none therefore could truly know the reasons for this obeisance that Sauron did before the Herald of Manwë. What the few present during the event witnessed on that day, was what the dark Maia had planned for them to witness. All that they saw, was what he had wished for them to see.

None knew then nor for many ages to come that what had seemed to be an act of genuine repentance and a desperate a plea for second chance, was but an act indeed and a masterful one too. None knew that it was in fact the first and most crucial step in Sauron's plan. A plan that began with everyone forgetting about him.

It was not at once that he approached Eönwë. Nay, for some time before that he had just waited and watched, for despite no more orcs and wolves, no more trolls and dragons issued out of the gates of Angband, the ruins of Beleriand remained a very busy place. Soon after the battle was over, all the war machinery broken and slaves freed from the dungeons of the Hells of Iron, Sauron witnessed the Host of Valinor being split into two parts. And as one, less significant part stayed behind to help the people and cleanse the North from all the remaining traces of shadow, the greater part of the Host, and with it most of the Maiar and Elves of Aman, wearied by long war against Morgoth's forces, headed back for their homeland. Those that returned to Valinor on that day, took Melkor in chains together with them for him to be judged and punished in the Undying Lands.

Shapeless and invisible to the mortal eye but still careful to hide from the eyes of other Maiar, Sauron watched them until the last of the returning disappeared in the distance. And although his heart urged him to pursue their trail, his mind bid him to stay, for if he had followed his master then, he would have achieved naught and thus his vow to Melkor would be made void and broken.

And so he stayed behind instead, turning back to witness the remaining of the Firstborn and members of the Three Houses of Men hunt down those of Morgoth's servants that did not on time find shelter deep enough in the roots of Arda. He stayed behind to watch as Angband was unroofed and turned into ruin, its once mighty walls and towers toppled by the talons of giant eagles of Manwë that for days on end would still patrol the skies above the scarred lands of Beleriand, looking to find the places where evil went into hiding.

Sauron would feel their keen eyes looking for him as the giant wings and swift winds bore them across the air, yet even now, after the realm had become torn and altered by war, Sauron still knew Beleriand better than any of them and if anything the scars of war and the misshaping of terrain provided him with yet more places to shelter his spirit from the Maiar.

The skies that the eagles traversed, were meanwhile growing brighter with each day, as dark clouds of fumes and ash that had always hung above them, dispersed now, blown away by the fresh wind from the West.

It was the saddest sight to behold. The three peaks of Thangorodrin lay in ruin, no longer issuing smoke and ash into the air and all the forges of Angband too were still and silent. Watching the ruined black walls from afar Sauron knew that never again would there be fire and music in the depths of the Hells of Iron and that never again would a hammer beat against the heated metal.

None could return there, at least none of importance. Too much of attention was given to the destruction of Angband and far too many weeks have the hosts of Valinor lingered in this area for the dark Maia to ever count coming back here among feasible options.

Nay, Sauron knew even then that he had to leave the ruined fortress behind and that with it, buried among the debris and corpses, he would have to leave behind the memories of the moments he shared with Melkor.

Melkor himself he would never forget but he knew that the only way to think about his master now was as of a distant icon, of a god that he would for all time serve. He knew not how many centuries he would have to wait for the Vala's second return but in his soul, he felt that those would be not three, nor perhaps even thirty. And he discerned then that if he wanted to stay efficient, his mind had to stay clear and the direction apparent and he knew that there would be no place for longing and for guilt, none for regret and for foolish dreams.

From now on he would have to rule out feelings and work by the plan. And the first point of the plan was very clear to the dark Maia – he had to survive and safely disappear from sight.

He had to be forgotten and brushed aside.

With that thought in mind, he approached Eönwë during the second year from the end of the war, for it was only then that the Herald of Manwë had at last announced his intent to depart from Beleriand. Until that time, the luminous emissary of the Valar was almost constantly occupied helping the two lesser races – at first with concern he busied himself with the releasing of slaves, soothing their woes and providing them with comfort, then he was helping the Eldar and Men bury their dead and he partook in their mourning. Soon after he supervised the destroying of every bit of machinery that was still left in Angband and made sure that not a single stone would be left unturned in the vile fortress. After that finally there came the time of great joy and feasting and there, the Heral of Manwë of course too was present.

All this time moreover it was none else but Eönwë that kept the two Silmarils ripped from Morgoth's crown in safekeeping.

Yet as soon as the dispute arose around them and they were instead located in a secluded place and mortal guards were set around them, Sauron without any surprise watched from a distance as inevitably they were stolen away from the place where they were guarded. No walls or armed guards could possibly be an obstacle to Maglor and Maedhros, the two remaining sons of Fëanor. But who were they really, to resist the same all-encompassing obsession that devoured even his divine master?

Watching them succumb to the same madness and fail, Sauron wished he could feel some joy at the fall of Maedhros or derive some of it from at least the fact that the Silmarils were at long last being removed out of sight. Yet he felt nothing for he had forced out of his being all the emotions that could get in the way of his plan.

And so as his plan assumed, two years after Morgoth's fall he set out to meet Eönwë.

Sauron had found the bright Maia in the forest. He came up to him from behind the trees and he fell to his knees before the banner-bearer and the small group of the Firstborn that surrounded him. Before that, he had made sure to put on the fairest of his forms, and it so happened that the beautiful mortal guise he chose for the occasion was the very same one that once upon a time he had donned to lure Elves into straying from their paths and in which he had led them from their woods and into the captivity of Melkor, where they would be enslaved or turned into Orcs. Yet as none of those Elves lived to tell that tale, that fair shape was in its sinister irony perfect for what the dark Maia had intended.

Sauron had of course come in ragged, torn clothes, with leaves and moss in his long, golden hair. He had come with scratches and mud on his face and with dry tears in his eyes, for he wished to seem to the Herald of Manwë as a pathetic creature, that in the likeness of a lost, wild animal for two years was dwelling in the woods, till at last choked with remorse and tears it was lured out into the sunlight by the sound of music the Eldar made on their harps.

None of Sauron's great pride suffered at that time, for pride too, he had moved aside when the completion of his intricate plan was concerned and all of this, besides, was but an act, one where every line had been practiced, every response in advance predicted – and it was indeed so, for after preparing for it in the two years that he had spent in solitude, Sauron had made sure to put up a show that was nothing short of perfect.

He cried and he pleaded, he renounced his evil ways and begged for forgiveness as he lay at the feet of the bright Maia. He wept and beseeched until the very Eldar surrounding the herald put away their instruments and begged Eönwë to forgive this poor, beautiful creature that had indeed strayed from the light once but now at last understood the error of his ways and was ready to do anything to repent for them.

This of course too was planned, for Sauron had by no means simply chanced upon Eönwë there in the woods or found him in a random company, nay, he had waited carefully to pick exactly this moment, this stage and this audience to perform his act of repentance.

For if among these Elves gathered around the herald then were any of the Noldor, or those of the Eldar that had personally suffered at the hand of Morgoth or any of his servants, the act could have been ruined. But Sauron made sure that of those among the group were none. These were the Vanyar, and not just any of the Firstborn. And these particular Eldar had moreover one more quality to them – they never fought on the field of battle but stayed behind the frontline, with the wounded.

These few before the war had known nothing but the bliss of Valinor - they had seen him never before and heard of him only in the tales of others. They were the perfect, select audience and in front of them chose the dark Maia to play his role. And they took pity on him and cried for him, just as he expected. And just as he wished for it to happen, they softened even the heart of Eönwë, who knew all too well of each and all of Sauron's many crimes.

The Herald then silenced the Eldar and spoke strictly, as he was bidden by the Valar but even from the forest floor upon which Sauron lay, pressing his face and waterfall of fair hair into the moss, he could hear in that voice and sense in its owner genuine compassion.

And in that moment the dark Maia knew that whatever scene his master had staged millennia ago in Valinor after he was for the first time chained and captured, Sauron had just beaten and outdone Melkor thousand times over.

Yet he triumphed not, at least not then and there, for nothing, not even an inner spark of victory was allowed to distract him from his act. He harkened to Eönwë as the Maia spoke and told him all those very things that Sauron had expected the herald to tell him. Of course he had known very well that Eönwë could not pardon him – no Maia of even the greatest power could ever pardon one of his own order. The trick was to plead for mercy as if despite all his intelligence, he somehow had still been foolish enough to believe it possible.

It however seemed that Eönwë believed him, for the banner-bearer told him that although he would not be the one to pardon him, the pardon could, in theory be granted – and all that Sauron had to do was to follow them back to Valinor, and there subject himself to the judgment of the herald's master, the mighty and benevolent Lord Manwë.

As those words were spoken and the bright Maia awaited Sauron's reply, there came another step of the act. There namely was one more matter to which Sauron had diligently attended before he had even chosen to at last step out of the shadows and meet the Maia. That, to be precise, was the needed assurance that during their meeting, the herald would possess a certain piece of information, quite crucial for the act.

And so he had before that meeting in the woods made sure that messengers from Valinor had first come back and reported to Eönwë of the events that had occurred in the Undying Lands. Sauron had of course not been able to come close enough to hear the words that they spoke but the information that he was after, was of such magnitude that it must have been among the news that they had brought to the banner-bearer.

Thus now, after departure of the messengers, with a greater certainty Sauron could assume the Herald to be aware of all that had happened to Melkor. This information, Sauron however also needed not for one but for two separate purposes.

First and main reason was of course that the awareness of Melkor's fate was essential for him to begin building and complementing the further part of his plan. Yet the second reason was needed still for the success of this very act.

Sauron namely expected that whatever the sentence of the Valar regarding his master was, Melkor was found guilty and his punishment was severe. Thus asking Eönwë, at the very end of his abasement before him, to learn of Melkor's fate - and knowing at once that the honest and pure Maia like Eönwë, even after all this time still either knew not how to lie or at least would see not the reasons to deny him this knowledge – would give a credible reason for Sauron to pretend to be frightened about his own fate in the last moment.

And so he asked Eönwë of Melkor's fate, calm and ready for it, yet when he heard the answer, he trembled for real for the first time. For his master, still bound in the chain Angainor, had been locked not in Mandos but thrust beyond the Door of Night and into the Void.

The herald knew not how many ages he was sentenced to spend there and as he saw Sauron tremble and look up at him fearfully, he reassured the Maia that the same fate would not necessarily have to befall him too, for it was possible for the Valar to judge that he was but a thrall to Morgoth like had others whose wills had the Black Enemy bound with his own.

Sauron begged for time to consider and he fled into the woods, seeming to Eönwë like a poor, suddenly scared creature that changed its mind at last moment - though even as it was escaping back into the shadows of the woods like a scared animal, it still reassured and promised that it will go to Lord Manwë, when only it gathers more courage.

Thus Sauron guaranteed his repentance to be seen as truthful and his absence in Valinor purely the effect of the final fear and cowardice at finding what befell his master. In that way, although he never stood in front of Manwë, nor came to seek out the herald ever again, the threat that he posed was completely disregarded. Yet to uphold this impression even further and let the Valar relax their defences, Sauron was going to remove himself from the board for a long, long while, leaving the Men and the Eldar to thrive and prosper. 

* * *

And thus began the new century in which everyone forgot about shadows and evil. Second Age they dared to call it. A new beginning was what they had wished for.

However a new beginning indeed it was meant to be, for Sauron too, had to start over and he too needed to lay from the very scratch the foundations for his master's new empire. Yet he had to do it in secret, as in order for his schemes to succeed none was to remember him or the Vala.

In the beginning of the Second Age Sauron went not into hiding but instead used his time to better plot the rise of Melkor's new kingdom and his own vengeance on the Houses of Edain and the Eldar - and he spent the following centuries walking among the Men and Elves as one of their own, taking on a guise of a mortal being. By doing so he strove to understand the subtle mechanisms of their minds, their dreams and wishes and their nightmares. He aimed to acquire this way all that was needed to later subdue them and enslave them, control them and rule them. All that knowledge he found in those centuries. For one interesting notion that he made was that it appeared that there was much more one could learn from observing the future slaves and subjects in their native habitat than watching and learning from the broken and half-mad prisoners in the dungeons of Angband.

All that walking and learning Sauron allowed himself for he knew that Melkor was not coming back soon. And thus he would rather complete his plan in ways slow and careful, as not to incite the wrath of the Valar, than be done with it quickly and then go insane from the waiting or to fail and be crushed once more by the Host of Valinor.

In that time as he strolled among the enemies and learnt of their weaknesses, Sauron began already looking for a new land to settle in. The objective was clear in his mind – he had to prepare a kingdom of Arda, powerful, reinforced and ready for his master's comeback. He had to build a new realm of darkness, better yet, have it built by the hands of slaves and followers. Slowly, century by century and carefully – subtly, for no Ainu to notice, Sauron would then spread his influence over the lands. Cities he would build, nations he would enslave and turn to evil, until there was none on Arda that could put up any fight or offer resistance against him.

That way would create the perfect, orderly world, under his dominion yet at all times ready for his master's taking.

The vision and plan were perfect. No, almost perfect. For there was but one blemish, one imperfection in it all. The flaw was that it hinged on hope, hope that even from beyond the Door of Night where he was cast out and enchained, somehow Melkor would return or that the Valar would be so foolish as to take pity on their brother and release him. Hope was not steady ground to build anything on or good enough material to build things with. Therefore it was vital to first solidify it, for was the hope to die or crumble for any reason at any given point in time before the plan's completion, it would all be for nothing, for what use was there of an empty throne? What use of an empire where there would be no ruler to enjoy it?

And so the same way he beat metal into weapons, Sauron worked on this ridiculous hope until under the hammer of his mind and thought it had become a rock-hard conviction, steady and solid enough to be now placed in the very center of his schemes.

Of course Melkor was coming back. He was after all, the most stubborn of all the damned Valar.

 * * *

Sauron had assumed that it was none else but the Edain, who carried out the mutilation of his lord's mortal body back at the end of the war. He was quite certain that it was them that had hewn the Vala's feet from underneath him back then because he had logical grounds to believe so - the Maiar, namely, aside from a few exceptions, had in them none such malice and the minds of Eldar were still closer to the ones of Ainur than those of Men. Thus while the Eldar that partook in the overthrowing of his master, he planned to subdue, the short-lived useless Edain he had sworn to destroy for that offence against Melkor.

He had decided that in the first few years of the Second Age and oh, how furious he was when three decades later, these same Edain were given a new land in the sea, a paradise of their own and long life-times to enjoy it!

But in the course of the centuries, Sauron used this rage as well, reforging it into something more substantial and useful - a new plan, more devious perhaps than all the others. And he decided that if the Valar played their card and picked their favorites amongst the Men, a day would come when he would turn the tables and in the next round of the game he would play the very same card back against them. Yet that had to wait, for now he was but a lurking shadow and a spy. He had not yet the time for games, for now merely walking amongst the mortals and those of the proud, foolish Elves that refused to follow Eönwë into Aman, where they could till the end of days of the world revel in bliss.

Learning their ways and plotting their doom. Being confident of Melkor's return then already but knowing too that many a century would pass ere that would happen, he chose not to rush and instead let the new paradise, "Land of the Star", the so called Númenor thrive and blossom for now, away from his eyes.

Of course as ages passed the island soon became too small, too oppressive for the insufferable humans and they came back to the shores of Middle-earth but he let them do that as well, turning a blind eye to them for an age or even quite a few, for by that time he was already busy elsewhere, preparing the grounds for his return in a new land, that later would become known and feared. The land of Mordor.

 * * *

The rings of power were meant to be a useful tool, nothing else. An ingenious invention, much like those that he would make so often in Angband to facilitate his own work as well as that of the others. They were to be a shortcut to triumph and in a way perhaps also his reward for all the dreadful centuries that he had spent examining the minds of Eldar and Men until he knew too much about them even for his liking.

The rings were to be an achievement crowning all these efforts, for with their assistance he would hold mastery over the Eldar and he would ensnare those minds that he understood so well in the last centuries.

He would rule them and enslave them. Better yet, it would be not him, but his own future elven thralls that would be the ones to smelt and shape the very collars, that would be later snapped around their necks – only those would not be collars, nay, not at all. This was a new age and so the ways too were new. In this age the chains were not made of clanking iron but of silent gold. Though the real shackles would be invisible completely and they would be put on minds and spirits, not on limbs.

They had to be things small and of beauty – chains and cuffs one would be tempted to try on and admire in mirrors. And what better object would there be to enslave minds that way than precious rings, that the Eldar so loved to wear?

* * *

His primary target were the Noldor of course, always eager to learn of smith craft. Yet he could not after all come to them under his own name and form. Sauron was after all gone from Middle-earth for a thousand years by that time and everyone knew that. The hated name of that one evil Maia as well as the name of his vile master were at those serene times slowly and gladly being forgotten, and the lands were peaceful. Only nameless shadows moved sometimes between the mountains, yet came not out into the light and thus were disregarded.

And thus it was in that age of bliss and happiness that he approached the elven smiths in the fairest of his guises. A new form it was that he wore on his spirit, one that none had seen before, crafted and plotted especially for the event. Annatar, he called himself, the Lord of Gifts, for gifts he was willing to give, with both hands to the Noldor, gifts that they would never discard!

He introduced himself to them not as a mortal man or an Elf but as the being that he truly was, a Maia. And specifically - the Maia emissary of Aulë, whom the Noldor in exile kept always in the highest regard from all the Valar. And indeed, being one of Aulë's most talented Maiar in the beginning of days and then still ever refining his craft as a smith in the forges of Angband, he possessed all the skill, might and wisdom that was needed to prove his alleged identity to the Eldar.

He soon promised to them the making of new Undying Lands in Middle Earth, knowing well from the long ages of scrutiny of their thoughts, that in every of the elves that chose to remain in these lands, even most proud and arrogant, there was a spark of longing for the long lost light and bliss of Valinor and Aman to where they defiantly refused to return when Eönwë, the Herald bid them to follow him back and offered them an invitation that only their pride made them reject.

Apparently learning from error of his fellow Maia herald, this fair stranger, Aulendil, offered to them not the comeback but the help building a new Aman, splendid, safe and full of wonder right there, all around them. And the Elves of Eregion fancied that vision and trusted him quickly. They received him as a friend in their land, unlike the watchful and suspicious lords of Lindon that earlier had closed their gates before him, distrusting this beautiful and benevolent stranger, who called himself Annatar and Artano - the high smith.

Now of course king Gil-galad and master Elrond would send from Lindon many messangers who spoke warnings and words of doom but Annatar just smiled and explained their envy, for he had offered the lords of Lindon the same offer before and they rejected it and now were jealous of the Noldor of Eregion.

Pleased and satisfied with that explanation which not only soothed their suspicions but also made their arrogance grow even further, the Noldor refused to heed the warnings of their kinsmen. They were enthralled by the presence of their new friend, Aulendil, always eager to learn and they fell right into his hands like once had the first Noldor in Valinor as they harkened to the advice of Melkor.

* * *

Long years Sauron had spent in their midst, being always of great assistance and giving counsel - showing them how to make things useful and beautiful, for it was substantial to have their blind and absolute trust before he could begin with his true scheme among them.

He would in those ages come and go as he pleased of course, returning in secret to his new abode in the Land of Shadow, to oversee the progress there too, for in Mordor the thus far still nameless evil once more was at work in his service. The Elves knew not of that and although many a time they would behold him disappear into the air before them and appear only much later again, none asked about the places he went to - for an Ainu he was, and thus a holy spirit whose ways were different and more celestial than their and his business was none of their own.

And they were thankful besides, for the help he was so selflessly giving - therefore none would dare to insult him with questions or demand even more of his attention and kindness.

In those years that came, he taught them how to make things beautiful and useful. And then when they trusted him and loved him like one of their own, he showed to the elven smiths led by the greatly skilled Celebrimbor, the art of making such rings as they had never seen before.

Sauron's understanding of even the thoughts and desires of the Eldar was great at that time and as he partook in the craft of the Elves and with his smooth words directed their work, he saw to it that with their own hands and sometimes with his own touch and voice the powerful and secret magic was woven into the gold.

Little did the Elves of Eregion know that as Celebrimbor still laboured alone on the last three of the nineteen rings of power, in the fires of a great mountain, Sauron was busy forging one more ring. A master ring that would bind all the other rings and enslave the wills of their bearers. Even the three last rings that the leader of the elven smiths made himself would be in fact subject to the will of the One, for though Sauron himself took not the part in their making, they still were made to great extent by following the same pattern as the ones before them – the pattern that Annatar had shown to the Elves. And thus they too were sharing some, if not overly much, of the same magic.

Into the last ring, of his very making, Sauron had poured a part of his own native power as he chanted the words of the spell in black speech - for if the One Ring was to control the other, be it sixteen or nineteen of the rings - its influence and might had to be far greater than the one of the rings subject to it.

Yet in those days the dark Maia's power was none less than it was in the end of the First Age, when he served his lord Melkor - and over the ages after his master's downfall it grew rather than diminished. And thus the power that he poured into the ring, was at that time but a part of his inherent might and he saw back then no possible consequences that could in the future arise from that deed.

The master ring was just like the other rings, it was created to be merely a useful, but refined tool. Made to assist Sauron in his designs and hasten the execution his schemes.

 * * *

When the last hour of Celebrimbor's labour came to an end and the last of the rings glittered with precious jewel and shone with silver and gold, the Elves shared the rings among themselves and they put them on their fingers, ready to – just as spoke Annatar, do things great and beautiful with the help of their magic.

Yet here an unforeseen flaw appeared in Sauron's grand design for when in his dark land he put the One Ring on his finger and with great satisfaction he found the minds of the nineteen Eldar laid open before him and ready for the taking, suddenly the link became fractured and then even more so until within seconds it was fully broken, as detecting a foreign will inside their minds, the Elves one by one removed their rings. In that very moment it was too that they understood how blind and deaf they had been not to harken to the warnings of the elven lords of Lindon.

For in that hour they recognized Annatar for who he was, and they gave the nameless evil in the mountains a new name that was in fact the same one as it was of old. They knew from that time that they had fallen into an intricate web of lies woven by Sauron Gorthaur himself and they hid the treacherous rings away, grieving their making.

The fury of the dark Maia was cold and boundless, for not only had he spent a part of his own power pouring it into an object that in one second had gone from lethal tool and even weapon to a useless band of still warm metal but he had also wasted four centuries living openly among the Eldar, as the alleged messenger of Aulë. And far, far more centuries before that walking amidst them in secret, all that to better understand their minds that now suddenly upon sensing his intrusion had became closed and guarded!

The failure of his plan was however not completely disastrous or irreversible, for though he had since long envisioned the future intertwined with at least sixteen skilled elven thralls that would help him build a kingdom for his master, and although close to all his schemes included them, he could still change his plans easily and use the rings differently, to a satisfying effect - causing not all time and power he had invested into their making to be completely in vain.

And he could do all that if only the rings could be regained.

Yet as donning on the guise of Annatar once more he came to the Noldor and asked that they give back to him the rings that they would have never been able to craft without his guidance, they closed their gates before him and refused to return them. And so before the Elves could gather for counsel or disperse and carry the rings away from their land into safety and out of his reach, Sauron dropped the fair guise that he wore for four centuries and he came with open war amongst the Eldar, releasing upon them swarms of his minions and thralls that had multiplied in secret in the mountainous land of Mordor.

They had broken into Eregion with ruin and devastation and soon lead an assault on the very House of the Mirdain where the jewelsmiths of Eregion had their workshops and treasuries and where under the watchful eyes of the guards in the smithies nine of the rings remained temporarily hidden. Celebrimbor himself tried to prevent the enemy from entry, yet on the steps of the House of the Mirdain he was captured and later put to torment, revealing to Sauron the location of the Seven. Yet of the three rings that had been forged last, Celebrimbor would not speak for he saw them as the work of his own mind and hands, crafted with a different power and purpose than all the other and he valued them over his life.

Obliging with his apparent wish, Sauron had Celebrimbor put to death and his mutilated body, riddled with Orc arrows, was hung on a pole that the dark army carried wherever it went like a banner to inspire fear in the hearts of the Eldar and in the end of it all, the Seven too he had reclaimed, yet the Three he had not found, for they had been already taken away from there and committed into the safekeeping of the elven lords in Lindon.

Ever since this, Sauron was at war with the Elves and he did not withdraw into the shadows. Time came for his name, although much too prematurely revealed, to become known once more and for the screams to echo at least for some time between the mountains. It was the time for the Eldar to reacquaint themselves with fear and to learn to respect the Maia as a foe again, if they would not have him willingly as their master.

Yet the war with the Elves became long and wearing and brought little to no progress, as the Three rings remained constantly away from his grasp. The Eldar sent their armies against him. Elves died. Orcs were killed. It was not exactly how Sauron had the conquest of Middle-earth planned or envisioned. Rather than taking the land by brute force like he would in the old times, he had intended to slowly and smoothly dominate it by cunning. He had wished for the Eldar to be yet another instrument of destruction and creation in his hands, he wished for them to become his thralls and with him build the new kingdom for Melkor on Arda.

But all they became was the victims of war, decimating his forces and then themselves dying, impaled on black swords or with their skulls crushed under the heavy boots of his warriors. And with either the resistance or death they helped the new empire grow not at all.

The only real profit resulting from the unintended violent struggle with the Eldar was that it kept Sauron's thoughts busy. Despite how trivial that sounded, it was in fact a vital advantage, for despite succeeding to entirely banish all of the more personal memories of Melkor from his soul and subsequently reshaping the image of his master into a distant star that lit his way but did not blind him - some time ago, few centuries prior to his deception of the Eldar, Sauron had found those banished thoughts trying to come back.

He struggled against them and strove to drive them out, wanting for his mind to stay ever focused and free of the impeding past. He wished for his heart to shut and become black and frozen, as that would be the most efficient and most practical – but the thoughts cared little for his wishes and once brushed aside, each time they came back, becoming so insistent that in the end they always reminded him of Melkor himself.

In that moment he always lost the battle against them.

Thus on some black nights, when he would wander alone amongst the shadows of the tall mountains, or rest in the slowly rising towers of his new realm, Sauron would give into the weakness and let himself remember.

On those nights he let the memories overcome him and in his mind he listened to echoes of Melkor's voice. He would then think on the wonders that they made, the conversations they shared and of the music they sang. Sometimes, very rarely, he would lower his defenses further yet and he would let himself fall even deeper into those treacherous thoughts.

Then he would remember neither the victories nor the defeats, not the deeds they accomplished and not the wars they waged. Instead he then would think of the closeness that he shared with his master ever since the night after the fall of Fingolfin, when Melkor sang with him in the forges of Angband, until the very doomed day when two thieves came seeking the Silmaril and by stealing it from Melkor's crown, unwittingly yet once and for all shattered the short-lived bond that he had with his master.

On those nights, giving in to the weakness and memories that he had stifled inside his heart for so long, Sauron would think about that short decade, after Noldor siege had been broken, yet still before Beren or Lúthien ever even set foot in Beleriand.

In that time, once in a while he would return from his guard duty in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves, to report of his deeds to Melkor. Yet in truth it was hardly all that he would come back to Angband for. He still remembered the feeling of the Vala's skin under his lips and the tight grip of Morgoth's black fingers in his hair when on the nights that followed those reports he brought his lord to the peak of his passion. Sauron smiled to himself as he remembered too the way that Melkor cursed himself right after, for forgetting – as always - about his affliction and tugging on Sauron's hair too hard. The Maia would sometimes kiss those black, scorched hands then, just to see the completely amusing lack of understanding flicker in Melkor's black eyes and to watch the funny frown of his lord's fiery brow as Melkor strove really hard to understand Sauron's design behind that gesture.

He still remembered how in the course of those brief ten years Melkor's complete inability to understand the concept behind Sauron's affection progressively turned the ache in the Maia's heart into relaxed amusement. Because let to touch and kiss the dark Vala and listen to his laughter, for that short decade Sauron had almost had everything that he had ever wanted.

But then, he would stir from those thoughts and he would remember where his master was. He would realize how many centuries had passed since their parting and how many would yet need to pass before they could finally meet again.

Immediately after returning from such a journey into the past, he would always try to forget it and he vowed to himself to never again think of the Door of Night and of how his master fared beyond it. And he would curse himself a thousand times over for ever letting his thoughts stray that way. For each time such a night came, it left him reeling harder and longer from the loss that he had never really allowed himself to mourn.

Each time such a night of weakness came, it left a scar on Sauron's soul and it caused the longing to slowly seep out of the back of his mind into his everyday scheming and thoughts and become like a steady, slow burn in Sauron's spirit, distracting him from his duties and plans.

He would tell himself then that he could not afford it, that it hindered his progress and delayed him. Yet in truth by thinking that was just striving to find a way of not letting himself drown in the despair and the longing that tore at his very being.

In the end he began to consider driving any memory of Melkor from his mind completely. So far he had always placed the image of his master at the end of it all - distant and unreachable like a star he had indeed envisioned him and he treated Melkor as an ultimate goal and reward somewhere far on the horizon to which all his efforts were headed.

Yet setting Melkor even in that remote role now stopped to work and so Sauron was already close to resolving to cast his master out of his mind and desperately forgetting about him. He planned to remove the goal and devoid of the objective, instead just focus on the tasks at hand, replacing the element of hope with mundane work.

He could in theory do such a thing. The minds of the Ainur functioned differently from those of the mortals. Being a Maia, Sauron could lock some things away in the recesses of his mind as he pleased and often had used that opportunity. It was just that Melkor insistently kept coming back from each of such corners.

But it could be done. Sauron simply never had the heart to really try.

And yet before he had made that decision, there happened something, that would prevent him from dwelling on the bygone days anyway.

---

Chapter End Notes

Originally this chapter was supposed to be twice longer and encompass all of Sauron's adventures and misadventures but we decided to split it into two parts, so hold your breath and ready yourself to take a dive in the sea in the next chapter! XD

By the way, we know that it is quite sad but let's face the facts, Silmarillion is a freaking tragedy XD And yet... we have some mysterious plans that we shall not yet reveal!

For now have a belated illustration for chapter 5 (Music of Angband) with Sauron being half-werewolf for no reason XDDD

We love you guys, sorry you had to wait so damn long!

Of Númenor and the Third Age

Master Tolkien had written of Númenor falling under the shadow of Sauron - we have compared the dates, traced the lifetimes and deeds of subsequent kings and we came up with our own devious logical conclusion of what exactly this 'casting of shadow' could have looked like. We hope you will enjoy this interpretation!

This is a direct continuation of the previous chapter and picks up the story right from where the last one left it.

Read Of Númenor and the Third Age

Chapter 9

Of Númenor and the Third Age

As the long and unintended war with the Eldar ceased to reap any further rewards but brought with it only useless death on both sides of the conflict, Sauron's eyes began instead to turn more and more towards the sea and the blessed island of Númenor, from which for centuries already the glad and fair descendants of the Edain had been sailing to Middle-earth and landing their fine ships on its shores.

Those bright-faced men, the Dúnedain from the splendid kingdom of Westernesse, walked then among the benighted, fearful peoples of the mainland, where death still came swiftly and where the days were dark. Seeing their misery, the mariners from Númenor took pity on those men and they shared with them their craft and knowledge, striving to bring some bliss into those short, joyless lives.

And the peoples of Middle-earth, living in the shadow, under the yoke of then still unnamed evil in the mountains, harkened to them and admired them - for the lives of Númenóreans were long and their minds brilliant and free of evil.

Those mighty and long-lived sailors from the Land of the Star had always been a thorn in Sauron's side. And yet the Maia had been biding his time and waiting, not yet eager to come in conflict with them or even to exert his influence on the kingdom of Westernesse - for there was a valid reason speaking against such a course of action.

The Land of the Gift had been raised from the waters by Ossë, shaped by Aulë and enriched by Yavanna. Elven emissaries of the Valar from Aman and Eldar from Tol Eressëa - that also was a part of the Blessed Lands - sailed there often to pay visits and bring gifts to the Men of Númenor and the Eagles of Manwë nested in the palace of the Númenórean kings.

Given all these facts, the presence of the Ainur was much too strong on Númenor in those days for Sauron, who had until recently refrained from revealing his name. He could not afford running the risk of drawing the attention of the Valar to himself, by coming into any direct strife with their chosen nation. At least he could not risk it yet.

Thus as long as the Númenóreans merely came and went and attempted not to build their settlements on the shores, Sauron ignored them. They were but a passing problem, a temporary dilemma and once they would leave, he would each time bring the men of Middle-earth back under his shadow and all the good would be easily undone and hope extinguished. However some of the things the Dúnedain had done in Middle-earth were even quite useful – for they brought with them corn and wine and taught the weak and dim-witted folks of the mainland once more how to sow seed, grind the grain, they showed them how to shape stone and to hew wood and seeing that, Sauron was glad, for he wished for his subjects to be strong and skilled in craft.

And yet even as he was focusing his attention on the Eldar in Eregion and planned for the conquest of the whole Middle-earth, Sauron always remembered that the Dúnedain were none else but descendants of the vanquishers of Melkor and the wretched Eärendil and thus one day they had to be dealt with. And being aware of that, Sauron also knew that this fateful day was approaching, for with his most recent failure in Eregion, his name became once again known in Middle-earth and the sixteen centuries, that he had bought for himself, with the scene once staged before Eonwë, were now over.

Thus even as he laid siege to Lindon and Rivendell, where three of the rings still could have been at that time hidden, Sauron began already to gaze elsewhere and turning his eyes towards Númenor, he began conceiving a plan for the island and its people.

Yet ere he had even managed to devise it, suddenly all his schemes were thwarted completely, for before the Maia had resolved to secretly travel to Númenor and learn more of the land and the men that lived there, like he had done in Middle-earth before, the Númenórean king forestalled him and - bidden for help by Gil-galad - hastened with relief to the oppressed Eldar, crushing Sauron's forces and breaking the siege.

Sauron had never expected the Sea-kings to be much concerned with the fate of those Elves that had chosen to remain on the mainland. The sudden blow came therefore as a shock to the dark Maia and it forced his thoughts to return to survival rather than further expansion, but it also served as a distraction from his memories of Melkor. In consequence, dismayed by another failure coming so soon after the first, he drew back into the shadows of Mordor, where for a while he lay low, with a new and far more devious scheme forming in his vile mind.

It appeared to him then, how much he had underestimated the Númenóreans and what mistake he had made by letting them prosper for so many ages away from his eyes, as he busied himself with the conquest of Men and Eldar and the founding of his new realm in Middle-earth. The force that the Edain had mustered on their small isle in the time they had been left alone, overpowered Sauron's hosts much too easily for his liking.

From that day on, the Maia's focus shifted. Hiding himself for a while, he turned his efforts away from the Eldar and their lands, letting the three rings of power at last slip away from his mind.

The sixteen however he kept, and the One he wore always on his finger, for when it was in his possession, the ring amplified his power and let him sway the wills of his thralls and his enemies alike. Immense power it offered to Sauron everywhere he went and in the land, where it had been created its might was greatest, thus keeping the Land of Shadow safe from its foes.

Yet as long as the One he would keep forever, the other rings of power he had decided to once more carefully distribute among the other races.

Seven rings he gave to the Dwarves, sneaking into their underground domains and planting them in the chambers of the kings under the mountains, for he knew that although of Annatar they had heard now much evil and no stranger coming to them with an offering and bounty they would trust – trying on the splendid golden bands that they would just accidentally happen to chance upon on their very own, few of them could resist.

And yet that once more proved to have been a mistake. For Sauron had never cared much to walk among the children of Aulë and thus the ways of their minds he knew not, nor had he attuned the rings to them during their making.

The results were therefore not ones that pleased him, at least not at first. The rings failed to bind the dwarven kings to his service - like Sauron would have wished them - but instead they caused their bearers to feel great avarice and greed. And each of the Seven would later become the foundation of an immense hoard of gold and treasure.

Yet despite not being entirely pleased with that effect, the Maia resolved not to take the rings away from the dwarven kings, for he wished not to make his enemies of them in those times and he could also sense that in the end the greed that they induced in the Dwarves, would drive a wedge between them and the other races of Middle-earth, thus ending the friendships that during the Second Age began to grow between the Elves and the Dwarves.

Nine rings that were left however, the Maia decided to plant more cautiously, for there was no more room left for further error.

* * *

Since the island of Númenor was now in the centre of his focus, even as in the dark of Mordor he once again rallied his forces, in secret he meanwhile began to travel regularly across the sea to Númenor and just like he had once walked among the Elves and Men, now invisible he began to walk among the Dúnedain and study their thoughts. And while during the days, like a gust of wind he would whisper into their ears and plant in their minds desires of new lands and bright gold, at nights he would instead bleed into their dreams the fear of death and longing for life eternal.

And as he walked across Númenor, he trod carefully and silently, coming not upon or even close to Meneltarma, the Pillar of Heavens that was hallowed to Eru, and never revealing himself to either the men of Númenor or to the emissaries from Valinor that in those days still came with their gifts and counsel to the Dúnedain.

And quite often in those times he would also come back to Mordor, not only to supervise the rebuilding of his dark forces and the corruption of men that dwelled there but also to make certain that the people of Westernesse and the Valar, who still kept their vigil over the island, would think Sauron to still dwell in the mountains of Middle-earth and never expect him to be already present there, on the island, right in the midst of their favourites.

* * *

As he spent his time covertly among the Númenóreans, in the course of many decades that followed, Sauron picked three of their lords that were most to his liking and to those he gave three of the nine rings that he still possessed. The other six he offered then and some time later to the kings, sorcerers and mighty warriors of the mainland and Khamûl the Easterling was among them.

The wills of Men proved much easier to ensnare and thus came to existence the dark Maia's most faithful servants. The Úlairi - undying monsters - they were later called by the Eldar, for though once they had been mortal lords of men, falling under the sway of the One and the Maia, who wore it, they became nothing more but terrible and powerful ghosts bound in his eternal service.

The seduction of the Nine into darkness had been a pleasant sight to behold for a change, after the previous failures. While those, who received the rings from him still lived, the golden trinkets granted them power and renown, they brought them great wealth and cast fear into the hearts of all their enemies... yet they too gave them power to walk the paths of the world unseen and to behold the visions of things invisible to any mortal men.

Those very visions however were but the images and whispers of the will of Sauron, and as their addiction and dependence on the rings grew, they faded from this world, becoming deathless phantoms, and his most faithful servants. And then in the Black Speech of Mordor, the Maia gave another name to the nine – the Nazgûl, ringwraiths, he called them and among them the most powerful was one of the corrupted Númenóreans.

* * *

Sauron had since times immemorial made sure to learn from his own mistakes, as well as those committed by others around him, and above all he strived to never repeat the same error twice. Thus when the coming of Tar-Minastir, the Sea-king from Númenor, to the help of king Gil-galad took the dark Maia by surprise and meddled with his plans, Sauron swore to never allow such an incident to happen again.

Ever since, he kept a watchful eye on the kings of Andor, and thus the landing of a different king, another sixteen centuries later, as well as the march of his mighty armies from Umbar to Mordor, was not a surprise at all to the Maia. More than that even, Sauron rejoiced and welcomed that day with great joy. For although the king knew of this naught at all, his arrival was but an element of the greatest and most carefully orchestrated plan that Sauron had ever devised.

The show that he had put in front of Ar-Pharazôn the Golden on the day when the king's great Númenórean army marched unhindered all the way to Mordor, had also been long planned and rehearsed. Sauron would always count it as perhaps his third best act, right after the fooling of Eönwë and his deception of the elven smiths of Eregion. Though as the latter had not ended exactly as he had intended, this time the Maia made sure to know his audience even better and he put great attention to every detail.

What Ar-Pharazôn knew not - while he sat there like a golden peacock on his portable, equally golden throne on the hill in front of Barad-dûr and had his heralds blow their trumpets, calling Sauron to come out and yield to him - was that in a way, he and the Maia had in fact met each other many a time before and that all the pride and vainglory that arrogant Ar-Pharazôn so vaunted, had been a result of none else but Sauron's own hard and quite personal work over the ages of his visits to Númenor.

* * *

Sauron's work in the land of the Dúnedain dated sixteen centuries back. Since ages already he had been whispering into the ears of the mighty kings of that land, touching their minds and dreams but never revealing himself. He had been working on the brink of their consciousness, moving in the shadows beyond the corners of their eyes, planting ideas, murmuring quiet promises, waking secret desires. Age after age, king after king he corrupted their bright souls with his whispers of power and glory and into the fertile soil of their hearts he tossed the seeds of fear and doubt that grew and blossomed more and more with every passing century.

It all began with Tar-Minastir, of course. It was after all because of him and the help he had given to the Elves of Lindon that Sauron had lost his army and his three rings and was driven back into hiding again. Because of Tar-Minastir it was too, that his plans were thwarted. And Sauron would not forgive it.

Of mercy there was none in his heart and Gorthaur the Cruel the Elves called him for a reason. Master of lies he always had been and as age after age he became more learned in the ways of human minds, the more dangerous and exquisite became his plans. His own mind had in that time become the most deadly weapon and slowly, very slowly he began to execute his deliberate and poisonous vengeance on the king, who dared intrude upon his war with the Eldar.

And how better to take revenge on the father than to turn his own son away from him and against him?

* * *

Thus began the centuries of perhaps the most intimate, subtle and at the same time most vile work of evil that the Maia had ever been a part of.

Tar-Ciryatan, the son of Tar-Minastir, was the first Númenórean to ever fall under the shadow of Sauron. In the heart of this once valiant and noble young mariner and warrior, the scheming Ainu had planted a great longing for treasure. The longing grew and grew, until the young man's greed became so boundless and rapacious that while all the evil of Middle-earth had gone into hiding, chased back into the mountains by the combined forces of Tar-Minastir and the Eldar, to the king's dismay his own son, blinded by his hunger for gold and jewels, had soon begun to oppress the men of Middle-earth instead, tearing the treasures from the hands of its peoples and on his ships hauling them back to Númenor.

Tar-Ciryatan heeded not to his father's warnings and instead followed the pleasant voice in his head, sailing to the East, the North and the South on an endless conquest and search for more gold, until at last, with his ships heavy from precious metals and gems, he returned to Númenor and he constrained his father to yield to him the scepter and the throne, succeeding Tar-Minastir as the twelfth king of Andor.

Soon he had settlements built in Middle-earth and he brought the peoples of the mainland under his tribute, for even when he was already enthroned, no amount of gold could ever fully satisfy him and even then, he needed to keep more coins and jewels coming.

When four years later, overwhelmed by the grief of what had become of his son, the former king died, Sauron's personal vendetta on Tar-Minastir was complete, yet he was merely beginning his settling of old scores with the Edain.

* * *

The thirteenth king of Númenor, Tar-Atnamir the Great was Sauron's great success indeed. Not only did he follow exactly in the footsteps of his father and became avaricious and proud like Tar-Ciryatan before him but he was also the first of the Númenórean kings to speak up against the Ban of the Valar in the West and first one to cling onto his life and throne until he grew old and witless like had no other ruler of Andor before him. From that time on all the rulers would cling onto their lives and power beyond the end of all joy, the very same way as he.

Fourteenth king of Númenor, Tar-Ancalimon, jealous of immortal lives they had, spoke not just against the ban but against the Valar and the Eldar themselves and he renounced the language of Quenya that in those times was still used in the Land of the Star. He too, chased out the eagles of Manwë that nested in the royal palace for ages until that day and he refused to offer the first fruits to Eru at the Meneltarma, the hallowed Pillar of Heavens.

All that the king had done following the thoughts and wishes that Sauron had planted in his head and that he had always believed – as had Tar-Ciryatan and Tar-Atanamir before him and the rulers after him – to be his very own. It was also under Ancalimon's rule that the Dúnedain became split into two opposing parties, one of them the King's Men, loyal only to the throne and the other, Elendili, the Elf-friends, loyal to their king but also to the Eldar and the Valar.

So passed the ages and the long-lived kings changed slowly, yet it was always the same wind that whispered into their ears and the same song sung by the waves beyond the windows of their castles. And still the same visions came to them in their dreams, and the same soft words sounded in their minds, slowly and masterfully, lifetime by lifetime and generation by generation, preparing Númenor for Sauron's true coming.

Ruler by ruler, age by age, Númenóreans turned further away from the light of the Lords of the West and lower fell the kingdom of Westernesse. More scarce too, in consequence, became the visits of the messengers of the Valar, for often they were now frowned upon and derided – as looking beyond the horizon, at the white and golden shores of the Blessed Land, whence the Eldar came, now many of the Dúnedain felt in their hearts no longer happiness and clarity but envy and anger.

And as the ships of the emissaries of Valinor called ever rarer to the ports of Andor, Sauron deemed the time favorable enough to begin planting a different desire in the hearts of the Númenórean king and nobles.

This time it went beyond the simple wish to possess treasure. It was the craving to expand and to conquer - but most of all it was the desire to live forever that Sauron nurtured ever since in their minds. They were worth it. They deserved it. So whispered the voice they knew so well, the voice so familiar that it must have been their own.

Thus the Maia caused the pride of each king to grow until they began taking on blasphemous titles, calling themselves "Lords of the West" and "first in the world" and they sailed across the sea to South and to the East, reaching the coasts of Middle-earth again. Yet this time they built there not just small settlements but splendid harbors and cities, towers and strongholds and they were no longer the teachers and helpers but masters and oppressors of Men and the gatherers of tribute.

Sauron allowed them all that, pleased to watch the evil take even further root in the souls of the once noble mariners. The surrendering of the coastline to the Dúnedain was truly a small sacrifice to make. The shore of Middle-earth served now in Sauron's eyes as the training grounds needed to prepare the Dúnedain for his grand scheme. He had a far greater goal now in mind and in order to reach it, he first needed to give to the Númenóreans the taste of power and mastery over others – he needed them to grow even more arrogant and overconfident of their power.

And confident they grew indeed for aside of their new mastery over Men of the mainland they had also vainly thought themselves to be the very reason for the relinquishing of the coastline and fleeing further into the East of the dark lord Sauron.

Back on Númenor too, the progress was to the Maia's satisfaction. Living in the constant fear of death and longing for life immortal the subsequent kings of Andor ordered all the wise men of the land to work day and night to find cure for death - or at least a way to prolong their lives even further. They however found none of those things and only succeeded in finding a way to preserve bodies of their dead, thus filling the land with crypts and catacombs that ever dark and silent only fed their great fear of death even further.

And the more did the Númenóreans fear death, the more envious and resentful they became of the Ainur and the Eldar and the more hate was in their hearts. And during times of Ar-Gimilzôr, the twenty third king of Andor, the use of Eldarin languages was finally outlawed completely and Elves themselves were forbidden to ever again come to the Land of the Star.

Yet when even despite of the ban some obstinate Eldar still came, those who welcomed their ships and invited them to be guests in their abodes, were prosecuted. As a result the ships from the West ceased to call to the ports of Andor and many of the Elf-friends fled to Middle-earth leaving behind only the most stubborn of the Faithful.

* * *

Only one king there was in all the centuries that passed since the forging of One Ring, who had truly resisted the whispers and the visions of Sauron and instead of pursuing wealth and power repented the ways of the kings before him, wishing to return the friendship of the Eldar and the Valar. Tar-Palantir he was called, for he saw far and clear, and he listened not to the chant of the wind and the song of the waves and looked not into the shadows - but rather he directed his gaze elsewhere, far beyond the horizon and to the West, hoping to descry there one day again a white boat of the Elves from Valinor.

This king, like none of the last ten kings before him, went regularly upon the Meneltarma and there he prayed to Eru and he cared for the White Tree that had once been a gift to the kings of Andor from the Eldar.

Tar-Palantir had been a grown man already, when the throne was passed onto him and although his father was the cruel and proud tyrant Ar-Gimilzôr and his brother also followed into his father's footsteps, yet the mother of Palantir was of the Faithful and she taught him not the hate but the love and the longing for the days gone by and things lost.

Thus a man of pure and strong heart had the older of the two brothers become and recognizing very early that his mind would resist him and his temptations, Sauron wasted not his efforts on Tar-Palantir and rather amused than angered by this little man's attempts to undo in one lifetime all the hard work of a powerful Maia, instead he took to the bending of another, younger and more malleable mind.

* * *

Ar-Pharazôn was the son of Tar-Palantir's younger and satisfyingly corrupt brother Gimilkhâd, who was the leader of King's Men in that time. Yet in those days it so happened, to Sauron's further enjoyment that the King's Men had in fact secretly opposed the king, for Gimilkhâd hated his older brother with a passion, and as openly as he dared he contested his will, teaching his son to also stand against the king and all the Elendili that were returning to their homeland.

To that son, young Pharazôn, Sauron took at once a great liking and him he had chosen to play a great role in his masterplan. Thus since very early on in the youth's life a voice was present in his head that dressed in the guise of his own thoughts whispered to Pharazôn of greatness and of riches. Voice that assured him that he was special and made him yearn for life unending.

In this way Sauron had made certain that the youth grew up pompous and haughty and that his heart felt no pity. And after the death of Tar-Palantir, Ar-Pharazôn indeed had not disappointed the Maia – for soon, by force and against her will and laws of Númenor, he took Miriel, the daughter of deceased king and thus his own cousin, and he made her his wife.

With that deed, Ar-Pharazôn had not only usurped the right to the throne but also marked the beginning of the final round of the Maia's game. And for that, Sauron was grateful, for it was a game that he had been playing for many ages and of which he had already grown rather weary.

And yet although it was high time to at last to end the game and clear the board of all the pawns, before that had happened, one more figure needed to join in.

* * *

Foul in soul and heart was the new king Ar-Pharazôn and swiftly he had returned all the restrictions and bans that Tar-Palantir had abolished - and like just his grandfather before him, he waged war on Middle-earth and sought wealth and control and pleasure.

Ar-Pharazôn the Golden he would call himself and he became the vilest and proudest, the mightiest and most greedy of the Sea-kings.

And to him it was that Sauron willingly and completely alone came out on that day from his black tower. And while he took on a fair form and pretended to be humbled by the royal presence and intimidated by the great army that could in truth at least thrice overpower his own forces, in his heart he took a secret pleasure and almost fatherly pride to at last be gazing eye to eye upon this product of his wicked mind and to admire his work. For this man sitting on the throne set in the pavilion on the hill, surrounded by luxury and lacking nothing even here, in Mordor, was a true work of art.

He was the perfect weld of mortal vices and pent-up desires, shaped by the master craftsman of the Maiar himself. And now this faultlessly cut jewel of a man was right where and when Sauron wanted him to be and the dark Ainu marveled on how easy it was to bring Ar-Pharazôn to him.

All it really took was a few words.

"King of Men" Sauron dared to call himself one year and it insulted Ar-Pharazôn's pride at once - for it was he, who was the King of Men and no one else!

Just for good measure Sauron added then to that new mocking title of his also a few raids on the very same Númenórean cities that he had centuries earlier allowed to be built on the shores, and then as a final touch, he topped it off with a loud boast of his allegedly planned conquest of Númenor itself.

And then, after he made certain that the news and the challenge would swiftly reach the ears of the golden tyrant sitting upon his golden throne in the Land of the Star - his work was complete.

Just a few years later – and what was it really for a Maia, who had spent already almost two millennia on that wretched island, there he was - Ar-Pharazôn the Golden, here in Mordor, so far away from his homeland, dripping with the silks of his splendid, overflowing robes and from his throne pointing at the Dark Lord with a finger heavy from jeweled rings and telling the Maia to kneel before him.

And Sauron did, concealing in his spirit a smile.

His captive had the high and mighty Ar-Pharazôn made the dark Ainu and golden chains he had ordained to be put around Maia's wrists, daring to imagine that any chain wrought by the hands of men could ever hold down a being such as Sauron.

Then as Ar-Pharazôn himself was carried all the way in the on his grand travelling throne, he had the dark lord walk behind him and for seven days Sauron indeed days walked obediently behind the throne. And as they passed through a hot volcanic area, the Maia watched the servants fanning the king and passing him drinks, and he really wondered - how on Eä had he ever succeeded in bringing Ar-Pharazôn all the way here at all?

Because in fact, just as well, Sauron could imagine himself simply receiving a letter from across the ocean, telling him to surrender himself and his entire empire and best already in chains and bearing tribute to report to Ar-Pharazôn in his Númenórean palace.

Surely this particular man had enough self-importance in him to do such a thing and even more. Though, on the other hand it would not look as impressive in the chronicles, as this great march on Mordor.

One way or another, it was pleasant to muse on this and as Sauron walked with his head bowed in faked humility, his eyes were smiling.

And when after seven days he boarded the grand warship of the king, and felt fresh breeze of the ocean on his skin, the prideful gloating laughter of the Sea-king was music to his ears, as he was taken across the ocean right to the very center of the board that he had been preparing for so very long.

* * *

When the ships with scarlet sails called to one of the many ports of Númenor and when stepping down onto the shore, Sauron looked upon the city of Armenelos and he saw its towers and domes glittering with gold and silver in the last orange rays of sunlight, he looked overawed and envious of their beauty and it pleased Ar-Pharazôn greatly, for he did not even begin to imagine that Sauron had seen the same sight a million times before.

Now with the Eagles gone and with the white ships of Valinor unseen on the western waters for decades, the board was ready and the time perfect for the Maia's to at last begin the final game.

And Sauron yet again played his part faultlessly. It took only three years until from a captive he became the most honored guest, mere three years before from a slave and a war trophy he turned into the most trusted advisor and friend of the king, enjoying greatest freedom and renown in the land.

He walked openly through the streets of Númenor, in his grey robes, lined only with subtle silver that matched the ashen hair of his mortal shape. Gold he wore not, nor did his form shimmer with grandeur like had his guise of Annatar before – for knowing the king like no other had ever known him, Sauron deemed it most prudent not to ever - be it by words or by appearance - outshine Ar-Pharazôn the Golden, nor in any other attempt to undermine his precious, overblown ego that was so crucial to Sauron's plan.

Sauron. Nay, that was not how the Maia was called in the Land of the Star.

Tar-Mairon he asked the people of Númenor to call him and Lord Mairon they called him indeed and they grew to like him and held him in high regard – for he was kind to them and seemed to somehow know the names and worries of every one of them.

Yet in the privacy of their homes, people whispered and wondered, trying ever to guess the reason, why from a prisoner Sauron had so very quickly become their king's new favorite. They tried to guess, why it was this allegedly dangerous but so refined stranger to whose counsel their king, Ar-Pharazôn the Golden, would now harken regardless of the circumstances.

They thought that perhaps it was Tar-Mairon's all in all fair visage that was so pleasant to the eye of the king. Or that perhaps it was some secret power that the Maia held over Ar-Pharazôn - or that it was simply his words, always so cultured, ever coated with honey and so full of flattery that won the king's heart over so quickly.

In truth, the were not that far from the truth. However it was not as much the words, as the very sound of his voice that let Sauron shake off the shackles and so swiftly advance from a captive to the position of the king's closest friend and advisor.

To Ar-Pharazôn that voice of the outlandish lord, whom he had taken captive, sounded strangely familiar and welcome. In fact, it sounded to him very much like his own voice and each time Sauron spoke, it was as if the king's own thoughts were given flesh, even before they appeared in his own mind. And yet each time that happened the Maia never claimed the credit for the wonderful ideas and he that they were merely inspired by something ingenious that Ar-Pharazôn himself had a bit earlier first stated

And thus the king took at once a great liking to the Maia, for if Ar-Pharazôn the Golden truly enjoyed something aside from the sight of his reflection in the mirror, it was the flattery and the sound of his own voice. And now he had found both of those things in the Maia.

* * *

Years passed and Sauron grew in power in Númenor.

Wherever he went, he had the One ring always with him, yet at all times it remained concealed away from the sight of mortals and none knew about it, not even the king. The people of Westernesse could not sense its presence or power, for it was nothing else but the fragment of Sauron's own inherent might locked in gold and so as long as it was beside the Maia, the aura of the ring melted with his own divine presence.

The Maia however did not even need to use the ring in Andor and just carried it beside him. Minds of the Dúnedain had been wide open to him for centuries and no tool was required to further bind them. Moreover – it would be most unwise to reveal and use any of his real power and magic now, after he had taken long centuries to make sure that all the bonds with the West had been severed for the sake of none of the Ainur ever finding out about his arrival.

Yet truly, why would one need the ring, when all it took to open all the doors, was a few well phrased words?

All the other advisors and members of Ar-Pharazôn's court soon learned to fawn over Sauron and to love him, be it falsely or truly, and those who despite being a part of the king's court, were not wise or skilled enough in their diplomatic craft to fake their concord and liking or at least to mask their displeasure, soon shared the fate of the counselor Amandil.

Counselor Amandil was a whole new tale of its own, yet it was enough for the Maia that his name meant "Friend of Aman" and that he was indeed one of the stubborn Elendili still remaining on Andor. It was towards this very man however that Ar-Pharazôn's had a great sentiment, a leftover bond from their common childhood that the Maia had not yet managed to entirely uproot and sever.

Until Sauron's arrival, Amandil was still the closest friend of the king and his most trusted advisor, yet three years from his coming the Maia at last succeeded in his efforts to replace him and he had Amandil properly banished from the court and the king's palace.

Little did Sauron know back then that one of Amandil's grandsons, present on the island at that time, would later become the reason of his almost ultimate downfall. If he could have looked into the future back then and seen the image of Isildur and of the broken sword Narsil cutting through his black flesh, he would have nipped the life of Isildur in the bud before he even grew into a man and flourished and he would also kill his father, Elendil, to whom the sword belonged.

Not knowing that however, Sauron disregarded Amandil and his family and proceeded with his plan as he had intended. He had a greater design in mind that just ruling Númenor. In fact he did not desire to rule at all over those slithery maggots, who had overthrown and mutilated his master, especially now that he knew them all so well and saw each of the flaws inside them from so very close.

Well, he might have been the one to put those flaws, where they now were but still, he felt disgusted by how easily and eagerly this allegedly chosen nation took to their new vices and needs, how easily they abandoned the light of Valinor and sank into revelry and endless search for gold and pleasure. Contrary to his master, Sauron had never liked the Men much and of all the Men he had met, these were the most hateful to him. It was a thankless job, what he had been doing here in Númenor. Yet if only he had calculated everything well, his work in the Land of the Star was coming to an end and soon he would be able to return to Middle-earth and ever since that day focus again on extending his dominion over the Elves and peoples of the mainland.

At least the last thousand years had kept him eternally occupied. Sharing his time between Mordor and Andor, busy keeping up to date with all the intrigues and schemes of the men of Westernesse, he had no time for self pity and no longer did his thoughts return to Melkor.

And yet, they would now have to, at least to some extent, for bringing back the name of his lord was since the very beginning a part of the plan and Sauron's revenge on this very particular breed of mortals.

For already long centuries ago he had pondered on just how perfectly fitting it would be for them to die with his master's name on their lips.

* * *

And so with a particular intent in his mind, the Maia now began saying loudly the same questions, which the men of Andor, generation after generation, had been asking themselves silently in their hearts all their lives. And he asked them;

"Why do the Lords of the West sit there in peace unending, while you must die and go you know not whither, leaving your homes and all that you have made? And why do the Eldar die not, even those that rebelled against the Lords?"

And when at those words their hearts became filled with envy and anger that burning inside them for centuries, now had awoken and once more blazed with a hot and furious flame, he told them that the Valar had lied to them since the beginning and that there exists not - nor ever had existed - the one called Eru Ilúvatar. He told them that the Allfather, the god of gods is merely a phantom, created by the words of the Valar, to justify their self-ordained dominion over Men and to keep them under their control.

And when the people of Westernesse balled their fists and believed him, he told them of the Lord of Darkness, the true and almighty divine master, who would give them freedom and life eternal, if only they turned their eyes and prayers towards him.

"And who is this Lord of Darkness?" that fool Ar-Pharazon had asked him and hearing that, Sauron laughed bitterly in his soul. For how very ironic it was indeed that none of the descendants of Edain would even know the name of the dark Vala they took captive!

But Sauron just smoothed his tongue and told the king and his men about the master of darkness. And all the lies that the Maia had spoken to the king and his men beyond shut door at that hour, would have flattered Melkor greatly, if only inside his eternal prison, somewhere beyond the Walls of the Night somehow he could have heard him.

* * *

And thus slowly, year by year the king and members of his court turned their eyes away from Eru, whom they now believed to be but a ghost, invented by the Valar to ensnare them – and they began instead to worship a different god.

To Melkor they turned their hearts and prayers and a dark temple they built for their new god under Sauron's careful supervision and guidance. First fire in there was kindled with the chopped wood of the holy White Tree, that was at that time the very last symbol of the friendship with Valinor still present in the land.

Ever since that day, when dark smoke issued from the snowy branches of the tree, the flames always burnt bright and sacrifices were made in the temple of Melkor – first of animals and then, when the decades passed and the hearts of the Númenóreans became ever blacker, those made of humans.

All this worship was offered to Morgoth, the Giver of Freedom and prayers rose into the air, as Melkor's new followers hailed his name and begged him to grant them with immortality that these men sincerely thought they deserved, as if they ever had the right to ask anything at all of the Vala they had themselves mutilated.

* * *

Sauron became in those days the high priest of Melkor and he had often wondered if perhaps the dark smoke of sacrifice and the chant of prayers in some way, somehow could filter behind the Door of Night and reach his lord in the Timeless Void, giving him strength and reminding him that somewhere out there, on Arda, his loyal servant was still waiting. And Sauron would then think on what Melkor would have said, if he returned and saw all that his Maia had done to avenge him. Would he be pleased? Would he laugh? Yes, he would laughm Sauron was quite sure and oh, how much Sauron would like to hear that.

Yet those thoughts as always, led him nowhere and served nothing more than to reopen some of the scars that Sauron wore on his flaming spirit. And the more he thought of Melkor in the shrine hallowed to the name of his dark Vala, the more he longed to at last execute the final part of his grand plan and to be done with this place that each day forced him to remember.

* * *

In the last years of the corruption and madness of Númenor, many of the remaining Elf-friends, who had not fled, were caught and pushed into the sacrificial flames, where before only the slaves from different lands sacrificed to the glory of Melkor.

And then Sauron planted one final, crowning thought into Ar-Pharazôn's corrupt and crazed mind – he kindled inside his thoughts, already stained with the hate of the Valar, a final grand idea. And it was the thought of the conquest. Conquest on such a scale as the king himself would never dare imagine.

The Maia kindled in him the desire to take the Deathless Lands for his own, for Ar-Pharazôn believed that in Valinor he and his people could all at last enjoy the life eternal. He was a fool to ever believe that, of course, for it were not the properties of the land that made the Ainur and Eldar immortal but the nature of the creatures that dwelled therein. And yet who could blame the king for believing the masterful lies of the dark Maia, who coaxed him into thinking that?

For Sauron had said to him, "My king, the Valar have possessed themselves of the land where there is no death; and they lie to you concerning it, hiding it as best they may, because of their avarice, and their fear."

Thus Ar-Pharazôn harkened to him and he made plans for a great war on the Valar.

* * *

And so a great army was readied and more sacrifices were made and the dark smoke was rising from the temple of Melkor days and nights. Weapons were forged, great fleet of ships crafted and reinforced and mortals readied for the war against the gods.

And the Valar must have heard the clank of metal being welded into swords and amours, they must have smelt the stench of death and burning sacrifice. Or perhaps it happened so that Amandil, who had sailed westwards in secret from the king and his Maia advisor, had somehow managed to land in Valinor and that he was heard like Eärendil had once been before him – for in the months before the planned endeavor, there came clouds from the West and each of them was shaped like a giant eagle and night came with them.

Some of those eagles bore lightning under their wings and as they flew above Númenor the lightning hit the island and slew men on the hills, fields and the streets of the golden city. Then some fell on their faces and repented, for in those days, despite their worship of Melkor, rather than depart from the land, death came sooner and under many different guises.

Yet Sauron just laughed and even as a lightening stroke the dark temple and tore its dome asunder, the Maia high-priest climbed onto the highest pinnacle of the temple and he stood there unharmed among the raging storm and lightning.

In that hour people called Sauron a god and they harkened all that he said.

The Maia spoke to them and hardened their hearts and showed them that those were no eagles of Manwë but mere clouds, shaped thus by magic trickery and bearing stormy weather with them, nothing else. In his heart Sauron mocked the Valar and their pitiful attempt at a warning, for the lightning of the foolish Ainur have defied their purpose and served not as an ill omen and admonition but as the perfect means to further enrage the king and his subjects.

For as always, Sauron turned them to his own advantage and out loud he called the portents not a warning - but an attack. A first brazen strike dealt to Númenor by the cunning Valar, who upon realizing the Men have seen through their grand deception, wished to now prevent their coming.

Yet although the plotting, treacherous Ainur attacked Númenor first – Sauron whispered into Ar-Pharazôn's thoughts and the king told the people - the dealing of next, crushing blow would belong to the Dúnedain!

And so the men sailed on ships with crimson sails into the West and to war. And each lightning and each drowning ship and sail that caught fire from the heavens kindled not fear but more hatred in their hearts.

* * *

Sauron stayed behind in the temple and he was glad, for at last, after all this time, his plan was coming to an end. He was no fool and knew of course that none, not even Melkor in his mighty days, could stand against the true wrath of all the Valar. He therefore knew perfectly well that he had sent the golden peacock and all his men to certain death.

And knowing that, the Maia rejoiced. For it had never his goal to rule these men, nay. All he had ever craved for, was their destruction, all he had wanted was to kill the last of them and leave Númenor barren and waste so that never again would the Edain disturb his rule on Arda, as he brought order to its peoples, subduing and enslaving one after another all the races of Middle-Earth.

Sending Númenóreans, the chosen people, against the very ones that had chosen them, was to serve one more vital purpose however – it was to show to the Powers of the World just how thankless and vile their mortal favorites ad protégées were and it was to assure that the Lords of the West, disappointed, would turn away from the mankind forever and care no longer about the nations that Sauron planned to bring under his yoke in the following centuries.

And if Ar-Pharazôn and his men would indeed manage to land in Aman or even Tol Eressëa that was off-coast to Valinor - and not be drowned in the sea before they reached the shimmering shores - then it would be better yet, for they would kill some of the Eldar that had dared to join Eönwë, when the Host of Valinor arrived millennia ago at the gates of Angband.

And so he was pleased, when the distant tremors were felt on Númenor, running all the way from the far West, for he imagined them to be the sign that in the distance the lives of Númenóreans were being taken. Thus pleased, he withdrew into the innermost circles of the temple, and sat on his black throne, rejoicing, for in that hour the triumph was close at hand and soon the island would be desolate and his and he would take the women and children and those men that remained there and make them into slaves or have them thrown into the fires as one last tribute to Melkor, before he at last departed from the island.

* * *

He never expected what happened next. He never imagined that the Valar would call upon Eru and that he, the Ilúvatar himself, would touch Arda with his celestial finger. Sauron couldn't have know. There was no precedent of that in all the history of Eä.

But Eru had answered the call of Manwë and the punishment fell onto the lands and the whole world was transformed. The roads of Arda were bent, the seas spilled and many lands were drowned underneath them, while other lands emerged from the waters. Aman and Tol Eressëa were removed from the world, while Númenor shook and sank beneath the waves and the black temple collapsed onto Sauron.

And before be could take on another form and free himself from among the debris, among the gold and stone and he was pulled underwater by the strong currents that tore into the temple. And even when at last he had succeeded in freeing himself and he swam out from the sunken shrine, managing at last to reach the surface, he was then caught between the sea and the lightning and he was stripped from his flesh and his power.

* * *

Were it not for the Ring that he then carried, Sauron would have likely been destroyed there completely, or subdued for long centuries at least, made shapeless and unable to act.

Yet the ring saved him at that time and when the currents pulled his mortal body into the depths, the shred of his own power contained inside the One served as an anchor for Sauron's black spirit.

And thus he arose above the waters, as a ghost of black anger and malice and in the tattered, wraithlike shape of his being he clutched the golden band that once had been a part of him. Inside it, trapped behind the gold, dwelt his own power and in the hour of ruin, it sustained him.

And so together with the ring he passed above the stormy ocean to Middle-earth and to his black tower of Barad-dûr, where in the years that came, he slowly recovered and restored his mortal form.

Yet ever since that fateful day, a dark thought would always haunt him, and he would be unable to resist thinking that had the ring never been made and his power in Númenor was intact and consisting not of two separate parts but of one, he would have managed on time to cast off his form and thus he would be saved from the collapsing walls, or the sea and the lightning.

But there too was another thought that always appeared in his mind in the wake of the first one. For it could have after all as well been thus, that with no ring to save a part of his power, he would have been completely destroyed then and there.

* * *

One thing was however undeniable. From now on, the ring, once barely significant, suddenly became the very focus of Sauron's existence. Without it, he would be nothing, just a whisper on the wind. It borrowed him back the shred of power than once was his, it let him recover and decade by decade, rebuild his mortal shape – and that new shape was terrifying to look upon for there was none left in the world, whom he had not yet tried to fool and deceive and thus there was no longer a need of much beauty.

A century after Númenor's fall, the dark Maia arose again and together with him were always his nine faithful Úlairi. And though Sauron himself had fallen together with the Land of the Star, his great armies suffered not and instead thrived and multiplied in Mordor for centuries in his absence and before that.

Thus Sauron, despite himself becoming diminished, still had his black forces and soon he laid waste to the lands and took slaves again. He attacked Gondor and Arnor, newly established kingdoms of those of the Númenórean Elf-friends that were sheltered from the wrath of the Valar and he waged war on Elves and Men.

Yet he too now, much like the ringwraiths, began to grow addicted to the ring that he bore. Never did he take it off his black finger, for ceasing to feel it against his flesh and his soul even for just a moment, was like being torn apart and losing himself and drowning time after time again.

He knew then already that he would likely never be whole again and yet he still clung onto the plans that he had made and he still did all that was in his might to prepare Arda for Melkor's arrival.

Yet it was not Melkor but the ring that now filled his thoughts more and more with each passing year.

And then, barely a century from Númenor's destruction, Sauron fell once more, for the Men allied themselves with the Elves for the last time and although he killed Elendil and Gil-galad, and he reduced their armies to ashes, Amandil's grandson, Isildur still picked up the broken shards of Narsil, the sword of his father and cut through the flesh of the Maia's black hand, taking the ring and destroying the link that Sauron held onto all these years.

And with his anchor not close enough to him to bind him to the world anymore, for a while the Ainu fell into the blackness.

* * *

The Third Age was a haze of swirling shadows and longing. Years became a blur, the world swimming in and out of focus. He knew only loss and hate and solitude at that time. For although the Nazgûl were ever with him, he, once the mighty Maia, was now himself no more than a ghost, like them, a deathless phantom enslaved by the longing.

Ages passed and he roamed the world, searching for it.

Searching for the One, wherever his spirit drifted.

On the way sometimes, he would still remember the vague goal he once had of the conquest of Arda and he would whisper into the minds of men, sending them further down the paths of evil. And thus arose on their own the Easterlings and the pirates of Umbar and the Black Númenóreans, who once had been the King's Men and the enemies of the Elf-friends in Andor. And listening to his whispers those men too waged war against Gondor and Arnor and the free peoples.

Sometimes, Sauron would find the clarity of mind needed to give sensible orders to the ringwraiths, and they would build cities and realms and fight wars in his name, yet those moments were growing scarce with the passing ages.

The dark Maia himself kept hardly any control over the tasks assigned to his servants at that time, for his own years were filled with endless searching. And as he searched, he let the chief of his Úlairi see to the matters of evil in his stead.

Thus was established the realm of Angmar, where in the capital city of Carn Dûm the Nazgûl Lord ruled as the Witch-king and the ringwraiths were his court and his entourage and the evil men that lived in that land were their subjects.

From that realm it was that, at Sauron's bidding, the Nine waged constant war against the kingdom of Arnor, for it was there, to Arnor - that Isildur had been headed with the intent to make the One Ring a heirloom, when he had last been seen upon Arda.

Of Isildur's fate and thus the fate of the One, he dark Maia knew not much at first and only later, as the rumour reached him that the grandson of Amandil, riddled with the arrows of Sauron's Orcs, had found his end in the waters of Anduin, had Sauron understood that it was not the forests and fields and not the cities that he should search but the depths and the currents of the river.

And thus he had raised on one of its shores a fortress of Dol Guldur.

Yet Sauron would dwell rarely inside its dark chambers, for until the ring was found, he, who once had been the most powerful and logical of the Maiar, would never again know the peace of mind or be anything more than a shadow.

* * *

Sometimes, between the restless days and nights of searching, there would however come a moment, when Sauron's thoughts grew clear. On those occasions he would look towards the dark skies and he would recall suddenly that there had once been a different purpose that he striven to reach and that the search for the ring had not always been of the essence.

And as the Maia remembered the name of a dark Vala, bound in chains somewhere far, far away from the surface of Arda, he grew frightened of how very lost he had become, and he asked himself - how could he have ever forgotten?

On those days he would become scared of the changes that he suddenly saw in his own mind and he would fear that - as the missing ring consumes his thoughts even further - one day he would forget his lord completely.

And if in the old times, he had sometimes considered pushing Melkor beyond the outskirts of his mind, now instead, he desperately tried to do the exact opposite and he attempted to cling onto the fading memories and the name of his lord and he did everything to remember. To always remember.

It was because of this hopeless battle he waged on his memory - and the attempt to once more shift the priorities and reshape his mind, which he suddenly found himself barely in control of - that in each century Sauron would now choose among his servants one whom he called Gothmog and one, whom he would name Carcharoth or Draugluin or Thuringwethil and always there would also be a mighty weapon or machine of war that he would name Grond, in the honour of the mace of his master Melkor.

And those became his new anchors, his lights in the darkness, and when he would forget about his dark Vala, and become consumed with vain search for the ring, he would then one year chance upon Gothmog or Draugluin or see Grond used in some battle and his memories would return to him, if only for a while. And each of those times he would then drop his futile search and curse himself and his weakness and strive to fight against his obsession.

He would then for a brief while regain his focus and turn the hearts of men to evil, so that when he returns, his master has - if not the world anymore - then at least a kingdom to rule.

* * *

When two millennia into the Third Age he slowly began to once more emerge in the mortal world, he was banished from Dol Guldur by one of the Maiar, who had arrived in Middle-earth in the meantime.

Why did they come? He thought to himself and he realized that they were there to find his ring and take it away from him, just like all the surviving Edain before them had sailed from Númenor to steal it from him.

And so as soon, as the new Maia went away, Sauron returned to Dol Guldur on the hill and in the forest of Greenwood, the name of which had now become changed to Mirkwood because of his dark presence, he kept dwelling for the next eight hundred years as the Necromancer.

He caused a lot of evil there and searched the waters of Anduin day and night, still hoping to find it, even more now that he was sure that the others were looking for it as well. Thus all Men and Elves and Dwarves that came near the fortress, Sauron had enslaved and tortured in the dungeons of Dol Guldur.

Yet as he searched and searched for his ring, one day more Maiar came and they banished him from his wood and his stronghold and he had the leisure to search in the waters of Anduin no longer, for they wanted to search there surely in his stead.

From that day on Sauron suspected even more that everyone in the world was in fact secretly looking for the One. The Elves searched for it in the woods and the Dwarves sought for it under the mountains, while the Men were trying to find it everywhere they went - and now the Maiar too came to join the search.

Not even the Nazgûl did Sauron at this point fully trust or rely on, when his ring was concerned. It was his ring, after all and no one else's. It was his precious golden ring and it was a part of him that he had lost and had to find.

* * *

As he was banished from Mirkwood, it was into his old kingdom of Mordor, where his ringwraiths kept watch and order, that Sauron at last returned and just as he usually would do, when coming into some land, he chose there another Gothmog and another Grond - but as he did so, he could barely remember, why he had even once liked those names that much.

Sauron didn't dwell on it however, for all that he could think of at that time was that in Dol-Guldur, on the bank of Anduin, someone other than him was now going to find his ring. And it did not matter that he had searched the river for thousand years already with no luck, for his mind told him that surely, just now as he had left, his enemies were going to find it.

Sauron knew of course that he had to act to prevent that from happening. Sound logic indicated that if anyone was to find his ring - it would be one of those powerful beings, rather than an elf or a man, and so he set out to corrupt those envoys from some distant land, in which he himself had perhaps also once been, though he could no longer remember it now.

* * *

Thus for the next century he was once again occupied, making sure that the five would not find his missing precious. He forgot that funny name, which he had used to call their kind before but he still remembered that in some way, they were beings such as he - and that made them dangerous foes and competition in his eyes.

Thus in the East he made sure that the two blue wizards, just like the men of some island before them, got the taste of power over others, and that they would cease their search and instead find pleasure in being admired, becoming the founders of cults and objects of worship.

Then he realized that the brown one was not much of the essence, for he preferred the company of beasts than humans and elves – yet still, Sauron suspected that it might have merely been a cover, and so he kept a watchful eye on that one.

The next of the five beings - the one, who dressed in white and was most of all his companions interested in rings, and thus the most dangerous - Sauron seduced to his allegiance. And yet even as the wizard worked for him, still Sauron kept a constant vigil over his mind through the palantir, for he believed that one should keep enemies closer even than friends.

And then, after the first four were dealt with, only the gray one still remained. Yet that one kept escaping Sauron, because instead of dwelling in one place he travelled all the time and stayed never long in any single location.

Yet although Sauron failed to corrupt that gray being, it mattered no more for he heard suddenly that his Ring had been found somewhere and from that moment on all his efforts shifted and became instead focused solely on its reclaiming.

* * *

He learnt the approximate whereabouts of the One from a vile and ragged creature, whose mind had been twisted and laid waste by his own power that the ring contained. And as he tortured the wretched creature, Sauron rejoiced and hoped that he would soon be reunited with his ring – for it was so much easier to kill its owner and take it, than to find it, when it could be anywhere on Arda.

Thus he had sent his servants after the one called Baggins all the way to Shire, to Hobbiton, and then Rivendell but the ring kept moving, all the time moving - and his ringwraiths failed to bring it to him!

Then it was suddenly in Lothlórien, and about that time Sauron for the first time became truly frightened - for the Elves could try to hide it there forever and some distant memory of a siege gone wrong and three rings hidden and forever lost, echoed in his head and haunted his thoughts ever since.

Yet then the ring left the land of the Eldar and surely carried by the elf ever since Rivendell, it now headed to Rohan and then for a while stayed in Helm's Deep. There Sauron made an effort to reclaim it but somehow it slipped through his fingers again and the elf escaped him.

Then again it kept moving. But then Sauron knew where the ring was going. To Gondor, the hated city of his sworn enemies of course. What fools they were to think that the ring would be safe there! And oh, how pleased he was to at last have located it!

Soon he knew not only that the ring was in Gondor but also, who was the one that had it. It was not the elf, as he had earlier mistakenly thought. Nay, it was the heir of Isildur. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, who had been all that time hiding under the guise of a ranger to now come and challenge him like had his ancestor before him. Oh, how Sauron had laughed when that worm had taken the hold of the white one's palantir and cast a challenge his way through the stone!

He was so sure of the victory. He sent his forces and the best of the Nine against Gondor again like he had done in the past time after time, and Gothmog too he sent into the battle and the gates of Gondor were shattered under Grond, the great war ram.

But none of those names brought memories with them anymore.

* * *

And then suddenly the ring was not in Gondor after all but here, in Mordor. It was on a hand of a little man with curly hair on his head and feet, an irrelevant creature called a hobbit. And for a moment Sauron could see the One - so close and so clear and he was so glad to see it.

But then his ring was already falling and when it touched the fire, somewhere amidst the pain and the loss, suddenly he remembered.

And as his world fell into ruin around him and the time seemed to freeze among the fire and ashes, Sauron looked back into the past and he traced his path from the beginning to the very end, finding on it all the wrong turns that he had taken and all the errors that he had made, as he followed the road right into madness.

And although none of the mistakes of the past could ever be undone and even though the time could not be turned - at least for a single while there he knew again, that he was Mairon the Maia and that once he had been a skilled smith and then a devoted servant. And he knew that he had created wonders and fought in wars and that once, long time ago, there was a dark Vala that he had loved.

In this brief moment of clarity that came much too late, the Maia suddenly found himself unable to understand, how he could have ever forgotten about Melkor. Forgotten about the one, for whom he had done it all, for whom he had gone so far... for whose comeback he had always waited. Forgotten about the only purpose that all these centuries had kept him going.

And he did not understand, how could he - the one, who even now controlled minds of others with such ease - fail to notice the moment, in which he got lost in his own mind so completely?

Yet then, before he could even begin to search for answers, it was already over and the frozen time broke into shards and splinters of memories and regrets. And as among the crumbling towers and broken walls the Maia fell beyond the shadows of the world and into oblivion, to become nothing more than a howling ghost of loss and anger, there was only one thing that he knew for sure.

If Melkor was ever to return at all, he would not find a kingdom to rule and neither would there be a servant to welcome him back.

And at the end of it all, there was only one last thought in Sauron's mind.

"I failed thee, master... forgive me."

---

Chapter End Notes

A/N Now, some notes for this chapter:

0) Sauron going to Númenor: "I'm on a BOAT!" XD Ah, also we are sorry for killing you with names of Númenórean rulers but take consolation in the fact that in our version Sauron had to know ALL OF THEM and he had to sit in their heads and also keep up to date with all the court intrigues and the plans of all the people of Andor, and also at the same time multitask in Middle-earth. So think of this poor Maia and stop taking pity on yourself 8P *suddenly tempted to draw the My Brain is Full of F**k meme with him* XD

1) The questions Sauron asks the Númenóreans are actual quotes from The Silmarillion.

2) Our outrageous interpretation of Ar-Pharazôn, the King of Overblown Ego is all well based on facts XD -

"For seven days he journeyed with banner and trumpet, and he came to a hill, and he went up, and he set there his pavilion and his throne; and he sat himself down in the midst of the land, and the tents of his host were ranged all about him, blue, golden, and white, as a field of tall flowers. Then he sent forth heralds, and he commanded Sauron to come before him and swear to him fealty. And Sauron came. Even from his mighty tower of Barad-dûr he came, and made no offer of battle"

3) There is this eternal question whether Sauron did or did not have his ring on Númenor but in two sources Tolkien confirmed that he did have it (and also all the logic speaks for it) and he also wrote that after the fall of Andor, Sauron lifted it from the bottom of the sea as a ghost and carried it all the way to Mordor - we think that it was possible for him to carry a material object in this case, because inside the ring was his own power and shred of his spirit and we quite imagine it as a magnet clinging to his being and vice versa (after all the ring did try to come back to Sauron in LotR)

4) If any of you wondered about that passage about Ithryn Luin, the blue wizards, Pallando and Alatar, and them failing their mission and becoming the founders of cults and objects of worship of mortals, this is a quote from Letter 211 by Master Tolkien:

"What success they had I do not know; but I fear that they failed, as Saruman did, though doubtless in different ways; and I suspect they were founders or beginners of secret cults and 'magic' traditions that outlasted the fall of Sauron."

5) And oh, we have explained the presence of 'Gothmog' and 'Grond' in LotR... we made it sad didn't we, oh we're so evil and vile and we make people curl forever under blankets D:

6) Probably we wanted to say something more but eh, what was it... XD Anyway, if you have any questions write to us on deviantart or here just make sure we have some way to reply XD

And now, have some Annatar Sauron <3 We still have to draw the Númenórean version though, it's different :3

Dagor Dagorath

A/N There is not much information on Dagor Dagorath in the lore, so we took some minor liberties with interpreting it, while trying to stay true to what is actually said about it. Enjoy!

Read Dagor Dagorath

Chapter 10

Dagor Dagorath

* * *

Ages passed. Wars were waged. Generations replaced generations. Legends were made. Others were forgotten. But none of it echoed in the vast emptiness beyond the world.

Melkor had long since lost count of the days, weeks and even ages. A lesser mind would have been destroyed by such an expanse of utter solitude. But the dark Vala only brooded.

Chained with Angainor once more, Melkor sat on his knees, unable to move. The collar that had been made for him out of his own crown was fashioned so that he could never lift his head in pride, and thus it remained forever bowed. The physical discomfort of it was easy to bear. The humiliation - less so. The Valar intended the position to teach him humility but instead it only fed the slowly burning flame of his hatred.

Age after age, Melkor spent planning his vengeance on the Ainur, the Eldar and most of all the despicable Edain, who had dared injure him. For although his hewn feet had been restored, when he had been brought to Valinor and Manwë first learnt of the cruel act and was bewildered and dismayed by it - Melkor found little comfort in that act of mercy. For even though his feet were once more where they should be, there was no feeling in them. Indeed the Valar knew not of vengeance and hate, but of justice and compassion. And yet it appeared that even their compassion was not great enough for one fallen as low as him.

The present moment was no different from the eternity that had passed since his imprisonment or the eternity that awaited him. Melkor seethed. He was a creature of here and now, he thrived in action. Idleness was the worst torture to him. Trapped in nothingness, unable to move, at least Melkor had kept his mind busy. Over the ages he had dwelt on all the most excruciating tortures he would apply to his enemies, once he was free, he invented schemes, machines of war, lies and intrigues that he could possibly use when he broke free.

For Melkor intended to break free.

But after centuries of brooding and hatred, after the countless decades of plotting and dreaming of vengeance vile and gruesome, even Morgoth, the Black Foe of the World, at last grew weary. And on that day he bowed his head in submission, letting the image of the Door slip from his dark eyes for the first time in millennia.

Morgoth heaved a sigh, as his shoulders slowly sagged under an invisible burden. By now even he could not go on with his hate and rage any longer. The thought that the world beyond the Door had likely forgotten that he ever existed, no longer infuriated the Dark Vala. The image of prospering lands of Eldar and Edain caused no burning desire to level towns and villages to the ground. It all seemed distant, far away, like fading memories of a dream, a dream that had been left in the past forever. A dream he was not meant to have again.

Melkor let his eyes fall shut and brooded no more. For the first time in millennia his mind grew as still, as his body had been forced to remain... and in that moment he heard the clanking of Angainor, as the chain loosened ever so slightly around him.

At once the Vala's vigor was restored and flames lit up in his wide open eyes, as Melkor struggled against his bonds with a violence of a firestorm. But the chain tightened again around him, like it had never shifted in the first place. Despite that, this small rattling sound, this flash of fiery hope was enough to awaken Melkor from his forlorn trance. He could break free. Not all was lost! The Ainu struggled against his bonds for a while longer, hoping that the chain would finally give in. But it did not.

Forgetting all of his anger or his weariness, the Vala pondered on the sequence of events that had led to Angainor loosening. He had bowed his head, looked away from the outline of the Door and he let his shoulders sag...

Melkor tried that again, quivering with anticipation.

Nothing happened.

The Vala pondered on the matter again. In his mind he tried to retrace the path his thoughts had wandered. And then suddenly he thought he knew it. It was his resignation and calm that had loosened the chain. And it was his own vivacity and his anger that had kept him prisoner! The more he struggled and tensed, as with dark satisfaction he plotted revenge or hatefully swore it against his enemies, recollecting past hurts, the tighter Angainor held him. Ha! Had he just discovered a hidden defect in the intricate craft of Aulë? Or had this loophole been left to him on purpose, for some reason? It did not matter. Yet how foolish was Manwë, if he had known of it, and yet had chosen to leave it there! And oh, how will the Valar regret it. Because now that Melkor saw through the treacherous device and found a flaw in the otherwise perfect trap, he was intending to use it. It seemed to him now that to break free, he needed to purge all thoughts from his mind. It appeared so simple!

And yet, it proved much harder to actually achieve.

The possibility of escape and hope of returning onto Arda left Melkor agitated and livelier than ever. No matter how hard he tried to banish all thoughts, one or two would slip by and have him giddy with excitement and anticipation. So the chain held him firmly. And that angered him! ...in turn causing the chain to hold ever steadier. What a wicked device Aulë had made after all, and what a cruel torment it was to be so close to freedom and yet unable to reach out and take it! And yet he was determined to succeed, yes, he was going to break free of those chains and out of his prison.

After several century-long attempts to calm down, Melkor realized he must have been doing something wrong. He reached back with his memory and tried to find some method to achieving calmness. Someone he had known or seen must have implemented that at some point. He thought intently for a while, and then he knew. Back when the world was young and the Edain were not yet awoken, Mairon, the Maia of Aulë, his long-term spy, had come to join him on his Middle-Earth.

He brought with him his craft, and in Melkor's smithies he taught the Vala's other subjects many secrets of the craft. And Melkor, restless as he had always been, had seen him work on a number of occasions. There was much work for the smiths in those days, and many machines Sauron had crafted almost alone, for none other had the skill or mind to build what he had designed, before he showed them how.

Some of those tasks were tedious and exceptionally boring in the Dark Vala's eyes. And thus Melkor had found himself quite fascinated by the focus and tenacity of the Maia, who spent countless days on a piece of metal, until it was in Mairon's eyes perfect. During those most tiresome and monotonous jobs, the smith used to chant rhythmical songs of forging that entranced him and helped him work for days on end.

Now Melkor tried to recall one of those. He succeeded in the end, and muttering the song under his breath he tried to focus on it and it alone.

* * *

On one side of the Door Númenor had drowned, the Ring had been lost and found and finally destroyed in the fires of the mountain that had made it. The Eldar and a few chosen ones of the other races had departed west by the Straight Road to Valinor. Left as the hosts and masters of Middle-earth, mankind flourished.

While on the other side Melkor remained, chanting quietly a song from ages long past.

Angainor had long ago slipped off of his shoulders and his neck and lay curled around him like the skin of a serpent, discarded and forgotten. But Melkor's eyes were closed and he chanted still. His mind was not clear of thought or memory, nay. Even as he had attempted to purge all thought from his mind, that he could not do. Uninvited, the memories had still come, and unbidden as they were, they took root inside his spirit and engulfed his mind, like moss and weed devour an abandoned fastness.

Those were not memories of triumph, or hate, or war, or blood he spilled.
Not those of Silmarils in iron. Not those of Eldar he had killed.
Instead his mind was filled with moments, to which he never had paid heed
With little things of no importance, with acts for which there was no need.

The feasts he held, the ale and beer, the toasts his Balrogs raised in cheer,
The crude ork jokes, and Gothmog's leer, and how at Húrin he would jeer.
His mighty dragons made from naught, awing in clouds of vapors foul.
Draugluin's soft, yet heavy trot, Carcharoth's mighty growl and howl.

The songs he sung, beasts he sent forth. The pleasant darkness he had spread
Around his fastness in the north, that filled Beleriand with dread.
Utumno's murk and Angband's fire, Anfauglith, land forever dire.
His allies, all the fallen Maiar, whose doings he did then inspire.

Such were Melkor's thoughts.

And bittersweet they were, for the Vala realized that they were but memories and never would repeat again. For Gothmog was no more, Utumno and Angband had been destroyed and leveled to the ground, his servants, his wolves and other beasts had likely perished as well.

In truth, he doubted even echoes of those memories lingered still in the world. Melkor raised his head, as much as the collar would allow, and for the first time in many ages he looked longingly at the Door.

A moment passed before he realized he was no longer bound. Then, without any mirth or triumph he rose unsteadily, on his unfeeling feet and he stepped out of the iron coils of the chain. His black hands called forth flames, that he used to heat the collar until he could bend it and take it off. Yet he did not discard it.

Proudly Melkor approached the Door of Night and in his hands he held the crown that had been and that he now intended to make a crown once more. For Arda was to witness the return of its true king and master and he would not come crownless.

 * * *

Burning did Morgoth break through the Door of Night and as a spirit of flame, raging and terrible to behold he flew over the world. A world that he could no longer recognize. He searched the land below for the Iron Mountains, where he once had dwelt, but he could not find them.

In fact the world was not at all like he had remembered it. It was strange and twisted and it angered Melkor even to look at it. It appeared to him that his precious flat Arda had been crumpled into the awkward shape of an orb. For what reason or purpose, the Vala could not fathom. But it felt almost as if Eru had crumpled it in his mighty hand, as if Arda was but a flawed piece of parchment, waiting to be discarded. Why? Melkor tried to understand as he burnt across the skies. Was it because it bore his marks? Was it because he had once wished for nothing else than to make it his and now even in the eyes of his father it was tainted, marred, good for nothing?

No matter where he looked he saw the presence of the Edain and Edain only. Seemingly no dwellings of Eldar or Naugrim were left on the face of Arda. It was a strange new world, where no mighty force of darkness ruled the north, no mountains spat ashes into the air, no terrible shadows lurked in the forests at night. It was a land of peace and prosperity, where men lived without fear and strife, having forgotten all about dragons and orcs, werewolves and vile spirits, and all the other creatures that once did Melkor's bidding.

In truth, Melkor had not expected a welcome, but neither had he imagined his allies to be wiped out so completely by the time he would break free. No matter where he looked, he could not see a place for himself on this new Arda… his Arda, stolen from him and stripped of all its somber wild beauty, warped into a world boring and mundane. A realm too idyllic and stagnant to bear. Was this why Eru had not made up his mind about its utter destruction yet? Was it because him and his Ainur liked it better this way?

Enraged, the dark Vala flew as a comet through the heavens, making the children of Eru stop their labors and look up in awe.

And thus with their faces raised to the sky, the descendants of the first Men, saw the Sun and Moon torn asunder by the raging living flame. And fire and molten stone rained on the lands of Men, killing dozens of thousands, destroying cities, burning centuries old forests, drying lakes and rivers and making oceans boil, like they did in the beginning of times.

But it was not the end of their misery, for in that moment Eärendil caught up with the fugitive Ainu and he cast Morgoth from the sky and the dark Vala fell onto the white, prosperous city of Minas Tirith, turning it into charred, smoldering ruin.

There, amidst boundless darkness that swallowed Arda, Melkor arose again as a great firestorm. And those who survived to behold his rise either fled in terror or fell to their knees and worshipped him. For he rose high above them in his might and he lit the dark sky with his fire and apart from the cold dim light of the far away stars only Melkor was now there to light their world.

And Men, who did not flee, recognized him as their lord, their God from the Void, who had long ages ago promised to them the immortality that they deserved.

And so Melkor knew that although none of his closest servants lived now to come to his call, he was not left without allies. For the corruption and evil he had sown in the hearts of Men endured through the centuries, and only awaited the moment to bloom.

And yet despite the unexpected discovery of new allies, Morgoth still saw clearly that there was no permanent place for him in this new world. He could not rule over beings as lowly as Men without his Maiar to manage them for him. Mortal demands and needs were too petty, men's lives too short for him to pay attention.

This was not at all the return he had dreamt of in the Void. There was no kingdom to rule and little hope of building one. It seemed that now there was indeed only destruction left for him. And thus, resigned Melkor grew content with the cards he had been dealt, and he spoke to his human worshippers. He ordered them to gather their kin, gather arms and march with him on Valinor, the Undying Lands. And they did his bidding, for never had they beheld a being such as he and the shreds of old legends that still echoed in their hearts, whispered to them that once they seized the lands he spoke of, their lives would be never-ending.

* * *

In fact Melkor did not know how to get to Valinor anymore. Neither did he know that there was one way only leading there now and that this way was closed to him. But he spoke with great confidence and his followers harkened, for in the darkness that had fallen on the world, his was the brightest light and so it was him they decided to follow.

Men, who now inhabited Arda the sphere, proved to be no smarter, than those who first set foot on its flat form. And thus Melkor was delighted as he led them with war and massacre over the lands of those who had days ago seen them as brothers. And in their march all beings foul - orcs, wolves, trolls, spiders and dragons, that had remained hidden deep in the roots of Arda, now crawled out of their secret dens and lairs to join them.

And Melkor brooded no more, instead he anticipated the moment, when he would soak the Holy Lands with the blood of the children of Eru, who were going with war to Valinor of their own free will.

* * *

The bloody, dreadful march of Melkor's forces however was not unnoticed by the Valar. After he had cast Morgoth from the sky, Eärendil returned to the Ainur and warned them of Melkor's coming. And as they learned of Morgoth's promise to the vile men he led, they were distraught. For they knew that many mortal kingdoms would fall to ruin and much blood of the innocent would be spilled, if the Dark Foe of the World kept leading his followers to a land they could not reach. The Valar did not know if Melkor had lied to the mortals, or if he was himself deluded, but they decided they could not let the carnage continue.

If Melkor could not come to Valinor, then Valinor would have to come to Melkor. For such was the second prophecy of Mandos and thus such too was the will of Eru.

* * *

After a long march in primeval darkness lit only by their divine leader, invigorated with the spoils of war, the host of men, orcs, fell beasts, dragons and other creatures of darkness reached a great valley. It was a strange and ancient place, unlike any they had passed through on their way. And Morgoth, to his silent surprise recognized it as a place on Aman. His army celebrated, for they reached the land they intended to conquer sooner than they had possibly hoped. As they stood there, cheering, Melkor from his titanic height saw a small troop approaching them from the darkness of the valley. Yet those were not Eldar, like he had expected. And they came not to banish him from the land.

They were Númenóreans, those who had sailed with Ar-Pharazôn the Golden against Valinor, after Sauron had deceived them. And they came now from the Caves of the Forgotten where they had been trapped, led through the darkness by the far-off flicker of Melkor's fire, which had guided them now like a lighthouse amid the storm. Yet they were not as timid and humble as the men of Middle-earth, for they had not been conquered by descendants of the Elendili, and despite their long imprisonment by the Valar, they did not consider themselves defeated by the Powers either.

Now they came before Melkor proud and unafraid. And Ar-Pharazôn knew the mighty being of fire, who stood at the head of the host. And in his vainglory he deemed himself worthy to speak to the God he had worshipped. And not only did he speak, but he accused Melkor for failing him and his men, after they had been loyal and worshipped him many a year under the guidance of his treacherous herald, Tar-Mairon. Long did Ar-Pharazôn speak and discourteous were his words. For a man, who had dared to sail with war against those he had once deemed gods, fretted not over blasphemy.

Melkor looked down at the arrogant mortal, towering over Ar-Pharazôn like a giant sacrificial flame from the temple once built for his worship in Númenor. He did not interrupt the man, for the more Ar-Pharazôn questioned and accused him, the more Melkor learned of what had come to pass, while he had been in the Void. And he planned to use that information to his advantage.

So, when the mortal at last fell silent, Melkor responded. "Life eternal thou hast sought. And hast thou not by far outlived thy ancestors? Long hast thou lived, yet thou art mortal still. If thou art come here to question me, I shall slaughter thee. Flee now to the Valar, who have wronged thou, humble thyself and beg for a swifter end, if thou dream'st no more of immortality… Or… if thou wishest for it still, then join me in my march, King of Men, and lead thy people to fulfill your destiny, and I shall guide ye myself to the conquest of the blessed land."

Ar-Pharazôn was livid from such treatment - for he had long outlived his ancestors indeed but what life had it been in the darkness? - yet even in his army there were too few men to try to take on the God of the Void and his host. If a god could at all be destroyed by mortal men. Melkor's inhuman voice, his body of flame and the sheer power of his presence secretly terrified the King of Men, for much he had heard from Sauron about the god from the Void, but none of it could compare to the vision that stood before him now, single-handedly lighting the long moonless night that had fallen on the world. Slowly the king's anger subsided, then awe and troubled thought took its place.

Despite his hurt pride, the Númenórean king did not fail to see the futility of his other options, that Melkor had pointed out. Even if the Valar pardoned him, he would be doomed to slow decay and finally death, the end he had dreaded so horribly. The only chance to get what he had come to Valinor for in the first place, was to accept Melkor's offer. And so he did, and grudgingly he bowed before his god. Likewise did his men.

And when they arose, they were given the place at the head of the host of Men, and Ar-Pharazôn led the troops after Melkor, beside the trail of fire the Vala left in his wake, in which the dragons treaded, growing in it mightier. Much like their master had grown, since he had returned to Arda that was filled with his power and essence.

When the army of Melkor entered the valley in full, trumpets blew and the Hosts of Valinor marched in from the other end and among them were the Maiar, the Eldar who dwelt in Eldamar and even those who had returned from the Halls of Mandos. There were dwarves, who had come from the deeps, good men, and numerous other benevolent beings, who had all arrived at the call of the Valar to fight in the final battle. A large and diverse force it was.

Only the Powers themselves were not part of it. For the Valar were only to watch the conflict that was about to unfold.

And behold it they did.

Evil men, orcs and foul beasts all clashed with elves and dwarves, and those of mankind, who had not allied themselves with the Dark Foe of the World. Man fought against man, brother against brother. Vicious was the battle, and many fell on both sides, and in the fire of Melkor and his dragons blood boiled and turned into a crust on the earth around the battlefield. The earth itself was soaked with the gore and grime of war. And forever were the blessed lands marred and corrupted beyond redemption.

And Melkor triumphed. Even as his host was being destroyed and slowly overpowered, even as dragon fell, and man fled. Melkor fought ever on. And countless mortals and elves perished under Grond, the mace that he had once more crafted for himself ere the battle had begun. Many who came too close in desperate assault burned alive in the flames of Morgoth. No spear of arrow could penetrate the vile flames and hurt the Dark Vala, for he was on his Arda. And after being away from it for so long, after the hollowness of the Void, now Melkor was gorging on the power he had once poured into it, power that it now lent again back to him.

Then seeing that the battle could not be won as long as Morgoth stood, and he could not be defeated by the Children of Eru, the Vala Tulkas left the circle of his brethren and he descended onto the battlefield. And Morgoth was afraid. For as in days long past he knew that Tulkas would wrestle him, and that he would lose to the terrible laughing giant. But this time there was no running away and cornered as he was, knowing inside his very spirit that it was his last stand, Morgoth fought with all his might.

But Tulkas won. Tulkas had always won.

Restrained and forced to extinguish his flames, Melkor, now a horrid vision of himself, charred and enraged, smeared with blood of countless others, both friend and foe, was forced on his knees. Seething, he beheld his brethren, who encircled him, as he awaited their judgment. And then Námo spoke. Melkor was judged guilty and corrupted beyond all hope, and the world he had marred could not exist anymore. Thus both Melkor and Arda Marred were to be destroyed.

At those words the Vala's rage changed into sudden horror, and fire froze in is veins, for he had never expected an end so final for both him and his world. As long as Arda still stood, Melkor could not be killed. It was only the destruction of the world, in which his might was contained that could truly quench his spirit... and such precisely was now the verdict of the Valar.

Not even in his worst nightmares had Melkor imagined that his brethren would go as far as murdering him and destroying his precious Arda. It was insane, it was unjust! Melkor shouted. They might have bound him and put him away beyond the confines of the world but he could not fathom how they could intend to execute on one of their own. After all, he had never done the fourteen Powers any actual harm – despite the fact he had wished to on many an occasion – and his greatest crimes have always been against the children of Eru and occasionally those of Aulë, not against the Valar!

Thus Melkor screamed at them of injustice and treachery, and Manwë beheld him with solemn sadness. But he did not mourn his brother's passing, only what Melkor had been reduced to by his own malice.

In that moment, summoned by the Valar, a mortal stood forth. He had climbed the tall rock before which Melkor was forced to bow and stood before the Dark Vala with his black sword in his hand. It was Túrin Turambar, son of Húrin, the one of all the sons of men, whose kin Melkor had done the greatest harm. So great had been his grief, that his spirit had not departed from the world, like that of his forefathers, but had remained in Valinor, among the Ainur, awaiting the last battle, Dagor Dagorath. And now the battle was ended and it was to Túrin that the last blow belonged.

Melkor did not notice him at once. And when he did, he beheld the human with surprise. Then, as Melkor's gaze shifted to the sword, and he understood, why the mortal had arrived and what he was going to do, the surprise turned into sheer disbelief and Morgoth almost laughed, for the very concept itself was laughable – a mortal, killing a god…

But Melkor did not laugh. For even as the smile started forming on his bloodstained face, even as he breathed in the air needed for the laughter to resound in the darkness, the black sword sunk into his chest up to the hilt and it pierced his cold cruel heart.

In that moment the sight of the little man before him suddenly stopped being amusing, and Melkor gaped at the hateful look on the mortal's face, as it swam in and out of focus before the dying Vala's eyes. This was to be his last vision before his complete annihilation. The mortal was saying something, but Melkor couldn't hear it through the pounding of blood and noise in his ears. Nothing of what Túrin said entered his mind.

And through the shock and the horrid pain that overwhelmed him, not letting him draw breath or form a single word, Morgoth wondered only, who the fool before him was and what his quarrel with him had been.

Those petty mortals had always looked the same to him.

* * *

It was all over.

Death, terrifying and mysterious to the Vala, was enveloping him. Much of it he had dealt to others, but never had he imagined that he would face it himself. Now when it arrived to take him, Melkor was terrified.

The image of the foolish mortal, who had slain him was gone. Sound, vision, smell and feeling were all gone as well. He was falling into nothingness and the world was but a speck, floating swiftly out of sight. It was happening too fast, the Flame Imperishable that had always burnt inside him now became just a common flame and it was waning, dimming. Life was leaving him, and there was no way to hold onto it, no way to reverse its flow.

Melkor did not think on what he had done, seen or heard, on what others had done by his will or against it. He did not recollect his triumphs or try to learn from his defeats. Even in death Melkor did not look back, focused as always only on the present. And all he could presently do was struggle for one last breath of Arda's air – air that was rightfully his.

But in that too, he failed.

Death overpowered him at last. And Melkor finally stopped fighting and gave in to its embrace. The solemn calm it offered was not like the solitude of the Halls of Mandos or his most recent imprisonment in the dull stillness of the void. This silent darkness foreboded no further brooding and scheming, no more aches, defeats or falls. It was final, a rest he had not previously even considered. As it engulfed him, the terror, anger and overwhelming despair faded from the Vala's mind and calm took their place.

And not even being aware of it, Melkor let go of what life still flickered inside him with the same peaceful resignation, weariness and calm, with which he had once allowed himself to fall asleep guarded by a friend of old.

---

Chapter End Notes

Grand finale coming in next chapter <3!

He Who Arises in Might

A/N Some of you say that this story could not possibly give you more feels than it already has. Well, watch us prove you wrong, ehehe! XD And please listen to the theme music for this chapter as you read :3 (it's best on repeat XD). In fact this is actually a theme melody for the whole story, we think it quite inseparable from "Loyalty Unyielding": picosong.com/3M5U/

Read He Who Arises in Might

Chapter 11

He Who Arises in Might

* * *

In death as in life there was order. Elves departed to the Halls of Mandos, when they met their end. The fate of the Naugrim was less known, but if asked on the matter, the Dwarves themselves believed that in death they would reside in a special hall in Mandos, where they would continue to labor in the service of their maker Aulë. Men left Arda to a destiny designed especially for them and known only to Eru Ilúvatar.

But what would happen to a dead Vala?

The very supposition of death of one of the Ainur as an actual possibility appeared dubious. Yet, none of the other Valar knew pain or fear, or were bound to their physical forms. Yet again, Melkor was to experience something none of his brethren could even imagine.

Melkor pondered on his predicament for a while. Then however the Vala's mind came to the conclusion, that thought signified existence and he stirred.

He discovered that he definitely existed. No longer bound to a body, with the shape of his being once more undefined, but not as splendid as it used to be, diminished, tarnished and marred. And yet it still felt like a great relief compared to being trapped inside a dying mortal form, or any mortal form for that matter. Melkor almost felt happy, despite his final and irreversible defeat.

The irony of it did not escape him, but the surroundings did, for a while.

It was dark. Not like the dark beyond the Door of Night. This darkness was not the vast or endless emptiness of the Void. It felt constricted, limited, almost private. Melkor decided he rather liked it. If he had to spend an eternity in that place, perhaps he could even rest awhile, before creating a bit of homely chaos in its midst. That is, assuming, there was something to create chaos out of.

Melkor strode through the darkness idly, not searching for anything, exploring rather, and greatly enjoying the lack of mortal senses and the lightness of his being. He did not feel whole, or triumphant, but neither did he seeth with hate anymore. It was pointless now. It was all over. What went on in Arda now, if anything did at all, was not his concern anymore.

Or so he thought.

And then the darkness changed. Where there was nothing, just a moment before, a portal now formed, an archway in the midst of the emptiness. All the Valar stood beyond it.

Melkor grimaced, filled with loathing, with hatred and fear all over again. He was already dead, what could they possibly want from him now? He recoiled a few steps back, despite himself - he would not normally flee from them outright, unless attacked, but the calm of death had him taken by surprise by this sudden meeting - and then he stopped. The Valar were simply standing there beyond the arch, aloof and unfriendly, but they did not move from place. All in all they seemed somewhat lifeless. Tulkas surely lacked his usual vigor, otherwise he would have certainly marched out and struck him, Melkor reasoned, wincing.

But the massive Vala still remained in his place, merely glaring at him coldly, and Melkor, puzzled by this odd apparition, finally took several steps towards it, striving to determine the nature of the vision.

Yet as he did, the vision changed. The expressions of the Valar turned from lofty looks of disdain into those of fear and awe. They were the ones to recoil now. And as Melkor came to a halt before the portal, awestruck, they slowly sunk to their knees and bowed to him.

Melkor beheld them, speechless. Any cutting remarks he had began producing withered on his immaterial lips and left him one on one with his puzzlement. It was surreal to see his greatest enemies all bowing before him, worshipping him, as if he were some dark and twisted version of Eru, as if he were a Black Tyrant to rule them. The idea thrilled Melkor. But the vision was sheer madness, the Valar would never bow to him! Not Manwë. Not Oromë... And certainly not Tulkas!

Melkor stepped back and the Valar rose. When he distanced himself from the portal by several more steps, they stood straight again, looking at him with the same proud unfriendliness he had seen before. Melkor studied the portal baffled. It was clearly the work of Ilúvatar. His creator was giving him visions in death. Were they some trap? Were they meant to lure him into a destiny worse than spending the rest of eternity in this empty, but otherwise bearable place?

As the Dark Vala pondered on all of these questions, his gaze travelled from the arch towards the surrounding darkness and he discovered to his great surprise that there was another portal formed at a distance from this one. And a third one was slowly taking shape further still.

Melkor marvelled at his discovery. Then, cautiously, he headed towards the second portal.

Curiosity had always been his bane.

* * *

Like the Ainur had once before gazed on the fate of Arda unfolding before them, then a vision of remote future, they were now watching Melkor. Beholding the scene from the outside and not having strayed from the light of Eru, like their brother had, the Valar saw clearly the meaning of Eru's design, that Melkor so far failed to grasp.

The portals before the Dark Vala signified a choice. A choice of a destiny for all the Ainur, for Arda and life that inhabited it. And despite their loyalty and trust towards their creator, many of the Valar now fretted or puzzled over the fact that it was for an unknown reason none other but Melkor to whom the choice was given. The options provided so far also left the Valar most troubled, and some even quite outraged. The lesser of the Ainur, the Maiar, who also gathered around the vision, were mostly baffled and frightened by it. All the hard work that had been done in Middle-earth to undo the evils of Morgoth over the time of his imprisonment could not possibly be nullified by the choice of none other but Morgoth himself!

There were however some among the Ainur, who fretted less than the others.

Behind the Valar, behind the laughing Tulkas and blessed Manwë, on the very edge of Eru's light, yet still washed by it generously and welcomingly - like all that were gathered around - there stood a figure quite unlikely. Someone, who knew all too well that he deserved no forgiveness and restoration, that he deserved not to now be here.

Sauron stood silent and kept his distance from the others, from the Valar and even from his once fellow Maiar. Minutes before, when the vision of Melkor had not yet unfolded before them all stealing the gathering's attention, their gazes were lingering upon him, suspicious and disbelieving, unable to fathom why the Ilúvatar, Father for Always, would let Sauron Gorthaur, the most treacherous of all the Maiar and one most corrupted by Morgoth's darkness join them today. Disbelieving that Eru would let him join them ever again.

And they could not understand, why the Allfather would not only restore the hateful, ragged, dark spirit of Sauron back to his previous Ainu form but also welcome him by his name of old. Why he would call him Mairon, "the admirable" - a name to which the Maia had lost all right long ago, on the day when he joined the Black Enemy of Arda and forsaken the light forever.

Yes, forever - it truly had been that long. A whole eternity had passed since the first day of Creation, when last he had stood here, in the Halls of Eru, when last he had been washed by warmth and light. In truth, he could not blame the other Ainur for the way they looked upon him and the anxious murmurs they exchanged, for he too was still disbelieving.

After the destruction of the ring, just as Olórin had foretold, the dark Maia fell so low that none expected him ever arising. None indeed, not even Sauron himself.

In dark despair, devoid of a body and hardly aware of his own existence, with nothing to hold onto and nothing to ever again await, the Maia had spent ages filled with restless, purposeless wandering. Ages in deafening silence, trapped somewhere in-between cold nothingness and Arda, from where he could sometimes watch but never be able to come near enough to clearly see this world and the minor races he once strived to enslave and destroy... the world he learnt to long for and miss.

And then, in his darkest hour, when from beyond the mist far, far away, he beheld Melkor, his lord and master of old, come back from his eternal imprisonment only to be humbled and slain, and unable to help the Vala or save him from his final and ultimate undoing, the Maia felt the last desperate ray of hope die out inside him... just as he let his torn spirit finally surrender and begin to fade, devoid of purpose and with nothing left to hold onto...

...suddenly there was light on his face.

Sauron remembered now, how having expected to find his own destruction in the blinding light of Eru Ilúvatar, he had covered his face with his metaphorical hands and braced himself for the final nothingness or yet another torture.

But the light had not blinded him, it had not hurt him. Standing now among the Maiar and the Valar Sauron remembered its soothing warmth and how instead of shattering his very being, it embraced him and pulled him out of the cold, endless emptiness filled with swirling mist and echoes of his own despair. He never suspected that somewhere inside his being he had still remembered how to be thankful, how to be happy - but when the light saved him instead of destroying him, he was all that and more and he fell to his knees before his maker and he dared not even beg for forgiveness.

But he had been forgiven. Forgiven and welcomed back among the Ainur once more, and even though few understood the reason for Eru's mercy and many turned their heads away from him in contempt or gazed at him unsurely, none dared to question the will of Eru Ilúvatar.

And thus it was that Sauron stood now among the Ainur and together with them he watched, as the vision was revealed - but when he saw it unfolding before his eyes, suddenly it was no longer his own fate that his thoughts lingered on.

Melkor's image came to life before them, looking so real the Maia felt his heart sink. For had his master not just met his end, the end beyond all salvation? Had he not seen Túrin Turambar dealing the final blow?

Why was Eru showing this apparition, this wraith to them? Was this meant to serve as a reminder - was it some kind of warning?

But then as the vision unfurled further, Sauron understood that it was real - however even then, just like all the other Ainur, he could not comprehend the design of their Father or predict the possible outcome of Melkor's choosing. And yet with all his heart and all his soul, once again warmed by the closeness of Eru, the Maia hoped that just like he had seemingly received it, his master was right there and then being given another chance somehow.

* * *

The second portal, as Melkor discovered, presented the vision of Yavanna breaking the Silmarils apart. This moved the Dark Vala greater than the sight of Tulkas kneeling respectfully before him. In fact it moved him so greatly that he marched towards the image, intent on stopping the Queen of the Earth - but as he came closer, the vision changed.

Instead of breaking the Silmarils, the Vala now offered them to him.

Again, Melkor froze before the vision, shocked. The Silmarils. All three. Unbroken. Their light appealed to him, seeming to call out for his touch, begging to be owned by him and him alone. They were there, within his reach, just beyond the portal. Melkor raised a hand, but stayed it, holding it closer to his chest. This seemed more and more like a trap to him, and a good one. But his curiosity had been awoken and it would not rest until he knew what the other gates had to offer. And thus, after a while of watching the mesmerizing light of the three stones he had thought forever lost to him, Melkor finally stepped away, turning his gaze from the vision before he would be forced to see the jewels shattered again. He headed towards the next door then, keen on knowing what could be even more enticing than the Silmarils, his once greatest treasure.

The third vision was one of Arda.

While the first portal had spoken to his petty ego, and the second to his greed, the sight of the land he had marred and marked as his own stirred a whole different kind of feeling in Melkor. It was pain and sorrow, as he saw Arda crumble beyond the portal. Destroyed, abandoned, empty. A useless, moldy old world that Eru no longer deemed worthy of existence.

Melkor gaped at its destruction and then rushed towards the vision to stop it. The ultimate annihilation of the world was then averted and before his gaze, the land reassembled. It was still empty. Abandoned by the Valar, the Elves, Dwarves, Men and others that had been his foes. And yet, there were the sheer mountain ridges, cold and dark, razor sharp against a heavily clouded sky, tinted red with the light of the magma flows.

He could almost feel the smell of ash and feel the heat, carried to him by a wind that seemed to blow from beyond the portal. And it was not a wind of Manwë but a free wind, a wind that welcomed and invited him, as a servant begs his master to return home.

Melkor beheld Arda, his own Arda to do with as he pleased, abandoned, no longer of interest to his kin or Ilúvatar. And as he stood at the edge of the portal, the Dark Vala's black heart filled with longing and joy. Beyond the gate, at last there was a world to truly call his own, to shape entirely to his liking without the meddling of the other Valar. Melkor stood frozen by the portal for a long, long while, studying the landscape, that changed and shifted even as he admired it. All he wished to see sprung out of the soil or erupted before him, reshaping Arda endlessly and he was caught up in the vision for a long while, unable to step or look away.

And yet what the other Valar would see, as a dark triumph and vile mirth, was sincere joy and longing. Both of those emotions were so powerful they almost overwhelmed the Vala, pulling him closer and closer to the edge of the portal. But then, mesmerized and drawn in by the vision he had never even hoped to behold, with the corner of his eye Melkor noted the last portal. It made him pause at the very threshold of the gateway, and finally with a slight sigh and lingering last look, leave the portal to Arda and head towards the last vision, just to take a look at it.

As he went, Melkor noted that there were no more portals taking shape in the darkness. There were only four altogether. After what he had seen in the previous three, Melkor had not the slightest idea what to expect. What could possibly be more enticing than his own Arda? Or the Silmarils?

The humbling of the Valar, however flattering, was not on the list of Melkor's greatest desires. It had always been about Arda, and later both about it and the Silmarils, which were a major part of it, as far as Melkor was concerned. What else was there that he could possibly desire?

Clearly it was not what he saw in the portal, as he stopped before it. Once again the sight surprised him. This time, however, he was more puzzled than shocked or impressed. The apparition beyond the portal was a ghost of some sort. A howling spirit, tearing and gnawing at its own self in eternal agony and fury. This time Melkor took a moment to approach the vision, just like he had hesitated with the Valar. And as he did, the howling, tormented spirit was soothed and it appeared to calm down and mend, until it rose. It was one of the Ainur, a Maia... it was Mairon.

Melkor's black heart, no longer an actual thing of flesh, missed a spiritual beat as the Vala stopped in his tracks, staring at his most loyal lieutenant. So that was what had become of him after his master's fall. Melkor wondered solemnly how long it had taken for the Valar to take his loyal Sauron down and if the Maia had managed to wreak more havoc on their enemies before that.

He concluded that Sauron must have lasted at least some time after his own capture. The Maia had always been too resourceful and wise to fall with his master. He would have stayed in Arda a long while, continuing to play his part... Or perhaps even Melkor's part, when the Dark Vala was gone. The thought did not anger Melkor. In fact, he felt a desire to find out about his lieutenant's doings, about what Sauron had achieved alone. Surely, he couldn't have gone down without a fight.

Melkor smiled, watching his loyal lieutenant.

The words of Ar-Pharazôn the Golden came back to him then, strange words of Tar-Mairon, a herald of Melkor, who had made the Númenóreans sail with war against Valinor. And at that remembrance Melkor rejoiced and felt pride filling him, for that was a great achievement in his eyes, a brilliant and masterful performance of his most resourceful servant. It was Sauron, who had made Men worship the dark Vala long after Melkor himself had been imprisoned in the Void. And it was through Sauron's schemes and plans that his master had a vast host of Men at his disposal when he returned.

The bitterness of their defeat and the pain of his own death no longer lingered in Melkor's mind, as the Last Battle had sated all of his hate and rage. What he felt now was sheer gladness, satisfaction and perhaps even admiration. His servant had indeed outdone himself, and now that he was restored, Melkor considered praising Sauron. And so he took another step closer, wondering hesitantly if perhaps they could exchange a few words.

As he approached the portal, Sauron walked up to it on the other side. Then he stopped before the gateway, bowing to his master respectfully, and Melkor felt strangely happy and at home, like he had felt, when he watched Arda a moment ago, only slightly different. Arda was something he wanted to conquer and control. Mairon had always served him willingly, having joined his side on his own accord. It made Melkor think that he would miss Sauron in that private Arda of his, that he had for now picked as a personal choice among the portals.

While Melkor was busy with his own thoughts, Sauron saluted him and then thanked him most gallantly for his restoration and rescue. The Dark Vala muttered some inaudible response of the "thou art welcome" kind, studying his loyal lieutenant with a smile. It was the least he could do to repay all the good work and loyalty of Mairon.

And yet after offering him the most sincere smile and the heartfelt expression of gratitude, Melkor's lieutenant looked at the Black Enemy of the World from the other side of the portal with sadness in his eyes, and revealed to Melkor that beside those words of gratitude, he had nothing more to offer.

"Forgive me, my lord, for I cannot return to thy service again." He said and his voice was filled with regret and sorrow, "These ages of darkness had me longing for nothing more than to turn the time and go back to where it all began. To once again be the blacksmith in the household of my former master Aulë."

Disenchantment and indignation mixed in Melkor. He watched Sauron with outrage and bitterness. Sauron, who had served him so loyally over the ages and ages, now rejecting him, was not at all something he could desire. How was this portal even related to the others? What kind of mad idea of Ilúvatar spawned this ridiculous vision?

Melkor turned in disdain and marched away, heading towards the other three portals between which he was going to decide. But even as he walked away, he heard Sauron's spirit being torn asunder and once more reduced to an agonized ghost of malice, wailing and growling as it resumed the eternal self-mutilation. Melkor stopped. He glared in front of himself, not at all pleased by the sounds, or the strange feeling they woke in him. It was not right, that Sauron should suffer now. He had served him true and well. If he wanted to leave now, Melkor could not blame him. They had lost after all.

And yet, it still hurt his pride and his... feelings that the Maia would renounce him now and wish to once more be the servant of Aulë. It upset him, that Sauron had lost his lust for destruction and his vigorous malice. When had that even transpired? Surely not before the Maia had been himself defeated and tormented for a long while, Melkor thought. Otherwise wouldn't have the Valar had pity on a repenting Ainu, who wished only to return to his duties?

Melkor glanced towards the portal, where the miserable shadow gnawed on itself, and he tried to take a step away from it, towards the other portals. But he discovered he could not. Melkor hung his head, feeling down. With a sigh he turned around and went to rest beside the portal with Sauron. The Dark Vala had not made up his mind completely on whether he wished to have Arda more than he desired the Silmarils, but he was certain his choice would rest on one of those two. Nonetheless, Sauron could as well rest from the torment for a moment, while he would be pondering on it.

After that, it took Melkor many an attempt to leave the portal, where Sauron was and approach one of the two gates that offered that which he desired, but even when the sorrowful wailing and bitter howling of the tormented ghost could no longer be heard, the memory of them clawed on Melkor's soul.

Would he feel more content with the Silmarils in his grasp or with Arda under his rule? Would the light of the jewels make him forget his lieutenant and the horrible fate he had been left to? Would he immerse himself in the affairs of Arda and his minor servants, the orcs, dragons and werewolves, thus forgetting the one most loyal servant, who had guarded and nurtured him in his darkest hours, asking for nothing in return? Could he really do that? Was that appealing?

Melkor tried to convince himself that of course it was. But even as he watched the volcanic land beyond the portal, that he previously filled him with such glee, the Dark Vala no longer found its desolation appealing. Arda all to himself seemed like a great idea at first, but with no Sauron by his side he would have no one to truly share it with. The Maia was perhaps the closest thing to an equal and friend he had ever had. And Melkor discovered that once experienced, the pleasure of having a loyal assistant and friend was not easily forgotten. He longed for the days, when he had just descended onto Arda, full of malice and energy, alone and proud, unaware of all the defeats and pains that awaited him in the future. Those early days of the world, that would be followed by all the downfalls, failures and ruin, through which Mairon had always stayed by his side. Never questioning, never abandoning him or looking down on him, no matter what.

And then he longed for a different time still, a darker time, when his form had been permanent, his hands burnt and his land under the siege of the Noldor. And in that time he had been alone no longer. The spirits of fire had always kept him company, his balrogs, of whom he had liked Gothmog the most. Melkor then realized, much to his displeasure, that they would not share this Arda with him now either. The thought made him feel strangely lonesome.

He had not felt that way, before he was locked in the Void. But now he knew the feeling and it made him long for those days long past, when he would feast with his Maiar, when Sauron and Gothmog would plan battles, while he would be idling beside them, feeding one of his wolves or dragons. The memories woke an ache in Melkor's spirit. He wished that he had spent more of his time with his lieutenants and his other allies, all of whom were lost to him now.

Those thoughts made Melkor leave the landscape of Arda that spread beyond the portal, feeling that the sight of magma flows and ashen skies would ever turn his mind towards days long gone, which he could not return, and towards Sauron, the only ally of his, whom he had personally doomed to suffering eternal.

Woebegone, did Melkor pace towards the vision of the Silmarils, trying to shake off the strange feeling of hopelessness and loneliness the sight of Arda his, and his alone now gave him.

Now, the jewels at least were something he had always desired for himself and himself only. If he had them, he could admire their light for eternity and no one would ever take them away from him. And neither would his mind stray to the other things he could possibly miss. How could it, when the essence of Arda would be in his very hands? He wondered if his hands would then be scorched again. And then his mind wandered towards the fateful night, when he had allowed Sauron into his bedroom after the conquest of the Silmarils. And countless other nights that followed, after his battle with Fingolfin. Nights on which Sauron would hold him in his arms and kiss Melkor's aching black hands...

Brooding the Dark Vala paced between the four portals, gloom turning into frustration, turning into despair. He could not leave Mairon to his torment. His lieutenant did not deserve it. And Melkor knew that he would feel no joy from whichever path he took if the image of the tormented Ainu was to haunt him forever. It was ridiculous! He did not wish to free Sauron so that the Maia left him to serve Aulë!

He could not have his lieutenant back, Melkor reminded himself as he passed the portal, where Sauron once again restored to his usual form on his master's approach followed Melkor with his eyes. If he chose to free the Maia, he would most likely never meet him again. Or at least, surely Sauron would not serve him. It would be a pointless bit of mercy, a waste of his wish. Because Melkor saw clearly now he had to chose a parting gift from Ilúvatar. And freeing his loyal lieutenant from torment just to have him walk out on you did not sound like a gift at all.

Melkor seethed as he walked away from that most disturbing portal to the sound of Sauron's agonized cries. His steps stopped and Melkor shut his eyes, blocking his vision and then trying not to hear. It did not help. Even when he could not hear Mairon, his memory brought back both the image of his tortured, tattered form and his tormented screams and pitiful howls. Melkor could not take it anymore. He turned around and paced back towards the portal, until Sauron was restored and silent once more, looking at him with a thankful smile.

Melkor stood at the threshold, glaring at his servant. Why was the Black Foe of the World suddenly moved to pity? Now of all times, when at last he could have everything he had ever wished for? Melkor detested himself for this terribly timed weakness. He wanted to hate Sauron for rejecting him and just walk away, picking Arda or the Silmarils, he really didn't care anymore, which one of the two exactly. But when he looked at Mairon's familiar image, he simply could not be angry at the Maia. Not only was the sight of his lieutenant stirring odd, warm and comforting memories - Sauron beyond the portal was actually smiling at him.

It was a sad, apologetic smile. No words needed to be spoken for Melkor to know the meaning of it. Mairon had been true to him, had respected and worshipped him, but now it was the time for him to go down a different path. And he honestly told it to Melkor. Honesty, loyalty, efficiency, those were qualities Melkor always appreciated about his second-in-command. The Maia had never failed or betrayed him. And now, in all sincerity, no matter what Melkor picked, Sauron's service would no longer be required. Besides, it appeared that it had lasted centuries past the War of Wrath and that already was too much to ask for.

Melkor's just recently unburdened shoulders sagged again, as he stared beyond the portal, torn between his old desires and the suddenly awakened conscience.

* * *

If Sauron had not been so uncertain about his master's fate at that moment, seeing himself renounce loyalty to Melkor in such a way, he would have laughed perhaps. It was beyond him that Melkor would not see through the illusion at that point and know better than to mistake the apparition for Sauron. And yet the indignation that appeared on his master's face when he first heard Sauron's wish, told the Maia otherwise - the Vala truly believed what he saw.

The Maia sighed to himself. Melkor had always found much enjoyment in lying and deceiving others but he had also very easily fallen victim to lies and deceptions, particularly when in his pride he sometimes chose not to ask his lieutenant for advice.

Yet aside from the dark Vala's apparent gullibility - unless such was the power and credibility of the vision woven by Eru - there was one more thing that worried Sauron. By the time they all beheld fourth and final portal unfold before Melkor, the Maia had already become almost convinced that what many of the other Ainur still thought to be a choice of a destiny for them and Eä, was in fact solely a test meant to determine the fate of his master. That it was a trial that better than any battle would decide if the only dark Vala was meant to truly cease to exist.

And regardless of whether one would assume it to be a staged test or a real deciding of the world's future, beholding the choices that were now given to the Vala, Sauron could easily tell, which one was the one Melkor should make.

The right choice was trivial. So trivial that it hurt all the more to know the Vala would not make it.

Watching the scene, the Maia felt a dull ache inside his being. Once upon a time, long, long ages ago, he had given his heart and soul to the Black Enemy. And even though Melkor had never truly understood it and considered it to be just another tribute he had simply deserved, allowed to stay by his side the Maia had grown to know the dark Vala better than had all others.

The first three portals spoke to Melkor's vanity and pride, to his greed and his desire to possess and conquer. The fourth one... the fourth spoke to no trait of Melkor's. It asked the Vala to forsake everything he ever desired to free a tormented spirit and watch it walk away forever. It promised no reward, no bounty.

To choose the final gate was to act selfless. To chose it was not to act like Melkor.

If the Valar had thought that eternity in the Void was going to change their brother, Melkor had already proven them wrong during Dagor Dagorath. The Void had taught the Vala the only thing it could teach him. Hatred more powerful, craving more desperate.

And now he could have everything that he had been deprived of and denied.

The dark Vala that Sauron had known would never agree to forsake such tantalizing promises of power. Not even if instead of rejecting him, the Maia swore his allegiance and pledged to still serve him. It was only natural for Melkor to make a choice that would please only him and disregard all others. Sauron expected nothing less of the Black Enemy of the World.

Why then was Melkor even lingering before the last gate? Why was he turning away and back towards it? It wasn't anything like Melkor to take pity on others, even the ones most loyal to him. Or had he perhaps realized by now, as had Sauron, that it was all just a game of some sort and even though he was being drawn to the promise of his kingdom on Arda, cunning as he was, the Vala simply knew what was expected of him and would do it simply to make a good impression?

With all those helpless thoughts rushing across his head, Sauron watched his master silently pace between the portals, afraid that if Melkor was to make the wrong choice, once more he would be too far away to save him.

* * *

Melkor's choosing was not yet final, though. As he stood in front of the vision of Sauron, he glanced back towards the other three portals and discovered them gone, replaced by a larger portal, beyond which even from where he stood he could see all that he craved for: his Arda, the kneeling Valar and the offer of the Silmarils. The jewels were already fixed in his dark crown, that was being offered to him by kneeling Manwë.

Melkor was so shocked by the vision, that he gasped and turned to behold it fully.

The image was vast and vivid. It was one huge doorway before him, offering all he could possibly wish for. All in one. He was so stunned by it that he almost took a step towards it, but then a little voice at the back of his head wailed and moaned and shuddering, the Vala turned back to look at Sauron.

Despair gripped Melkor. But how could he possibly refuse the offer of both Arda and the Silmarils? He turned back towards the vast portal again. In it, the vision was changing. As he lingered in one place, delaying the choice, the Valar stood upright again and Yavanna took away the iron crown, that fell to ashes in her hands, freeing the Silmarils, which she was just about to shatter, as behind her back and the backs of the other Valar, Arda once again began falling into nothingness.

"Nay!" Melkor shouted and took a few steps towards the vision.

Arda was mended, the crown and the Silmarils once again waiting and the Valar kneeling. But at that very moment, a long tortured cry came from behind him, where Sauron's torment resumed. And Melkor dropped on the floor of darkness, clawing at his own being, torn between what he wanted for himself and what he wanted for another.

A moment later, restless, like a beast caught between fire and steel, Melkor crawled on the floor of darkness, trying to find a middle ground between the two visions, where he could find some peace.

He did not want Arda. Or the Silmarils. Not if that left Gorthaur to torment eternal. It simply would not be enjoyable to rule the Valar in his crown adorned with Silmarils, shaping Arda to his design, while he knew that the only living creature he had not himself conquered, the only creature he ever truly liked... one he did not want to lose... one he discovered he cared for, would be an agonized wraith for all eternity.

Melkor rose resigned. Step after step he walked away from the grand gateway, to the sound of jewels shattering, that tore at his heart, the sound of Arda falling apart into non-existence, that pierced it more painfully than Túrin's sword ever could and to the sound of Tulkas' mocking laughter, that made him once more taste defeat, that was his destiny. Melkor stopped before the threshold of the small, dark portal and looked back one final time. Silence fell and the appealing vision was restored, beckoning him once more.

But the dark Vala turned away from it and stepped through the archway and into the darkness to face Sauron.

 * * *

And in the very moment as Melkor made his decision, to the shock of the Valar and Maiar, who had been watching their fallen brother with growing surprise and rising murmurs, Mairon vanished from among them and appeared before his master.

Melkor, tricked by the illusion created by Ilúvatar, did not notice a change in the Maia before him and resigned, but strangely light-hearted, he now spoke to him, "It is I who should thank thee, Mairon, for thy service and thy loyalty. Be free from thy torment and do, what thou desirest."

Mairon looked at his lord in surprise. In one moment he was a world away, looking at Melkor from outside of a vision that all the Ainur were beholding and in the other... he was here, so close to his master that he could see that the ghostly figure of Melkor, stripped of flesh, no longer bore the scars and burns of his mortal shape. Once again, like at the beginning of times Melkor was a being of darkness, ice and fire, yet he was not restored in his power or his stature. His spirit remained reduced, as it had been ever since the rape of the Silmarils, perhaps even more so, as Melkor had continued spreading his essence over Arda until his very fall.

Still, even diminished as he now was Melkor was still an impressive creature, a renegade Power, and he stood straight and proud. Even though not quite as proud as Sauron remembered him. For once the Black Foe of the World appeared jaded and wearied to his very core, yet he was not lifeless and even managed a semblance of a bitter smile at the sight of his loyal servant, whom he had chosen over all the treasures of Arda, despite the knowledge that the Maia would abandon him.

As he stood there in front of the Vala, whom he had not seen for a whole eternity, beholding Melkor almost as he first had seen him, the image stirred memories so distant that for a moment Mairon forgot to speak, forgot that he had been recently addressed. Instead, looking at his former master, the Maia wondered, why Melkor had made this choice.

Had he known he had been put to a test of sorts? Had it all been a cunning display for the Valar, had the hesitation too been a part of the show? Had his master chosen to free him only because he saw through his own enemy's plans and knew, crafty as always, that the choice most unappealing was the one with which some real prize and salvation would come, a choice that Eru wanted him to make?

Or could it be real? Had Melkor changed over those centuries, when he had been trapped behind the Door of the Night - and now instead of his own kingdom and treasure, he had really chosen a reality where Sauron walks away... just to save him?

Pondering on those matters and beholding the sight of Melkor, Mairon still remained silent.

Melkor furrowed his eyebrows, perplexed by his former servant's silence and immobility. "Don't dread my vengeance and act freely, Mairon. If that is thy desire, I free thee from my service," Melkor said with a sigh and his metaphorical shoulders sagged.

Melkor's voice rang in his ears and it finally brought the Maia out of his reverie and back to where he was - and standing there, suddenly he realized that after long millennia, he truly was facing his master once more.

With that realization came a flood of thoughts, memories, emotions. There were a thousand things he could now say - he could tell Melkor about the illusion, tell him it all had just been a trickery of some sort, assure him that he would not wish to abandon his side, or ask him whether he had indeed seen through this vision himself already... Instead of any of those things though, Sauron asked quietly an altogether different question, choosing not to yet break this intricately woven strange reality and use it rather, wishing to better understand, wishing to know.

"Why hast thou chosen to free me, master when thou could'st have had everything else instead?" Even now as he asked this question, Sauron knew that his master - if he had been aware that he was being tested - could just come up with yet another lie, to make a positive impression on the watching Valar. But Sauron fancied that from such close a distance, from where he could watch Melkor's face and eyes, he would know a lie apart from a half-truth.

Melkor cringed. It was one thing to admit to himself he would not be content or at rest with all he desired, knowing that it came at a price of his lieutenant's eternal suffering. Speaking his thoughts out loud, and admitting his weakness and his folly to another was however a whole different matter.

Perhaps it had all been some kind of trap after all. Perhaps total annihilation awaited him beyond all the other three portals and the final grand one. Perhaps not, and he had just given up on everything he had ever wanted to rescue a servant, who would any moment now turn away from him. That brought bitterness into Melkor's heart and features and he crossed his arms on his chest, looking at Sauron sternly. "Do not question my judgement, Mairon," the Dark Vala said, looking proud and stubborn like he had been for all the ages they spent plotting together. These were the words he used on those rare occasions, when he did something out of fear of his enemies or some other weakness he did not wish to admit.

But then in the eyes of his lieutenant, Melkor saw surprise. Sauron recognized the words for what they were and to his own astonishment he understood that his master made this choice for real. Why else would he not tell some smooth lie instead, for the Valar to hear and praise him?

Melkor had truly chosen saving him over anything else he had desired.

Something stirred in the Maia's heart at that realization, a feeling long forgotten and he smiled to his master, nodding his head, "Yes, my liege," he said to Melkor, letting his smile reach his eyes.

Melkor's cold proud look faltered and he looked at the Maia with doubt and a ghost of hope. "Hast thou failed to grasp my meaning? I am not thy liege anymore, Mairon. Thou canst now depart and serve Aulë if thou so fanciest, I am not holding thee back," Melkor said, anxiety and hope mixing in his features and tone. He had not even considered that Sauron would change his mind and now suddenly he feared another disenchantment, or worse even, prolonging of this false hope.

He gestured forward with his arms. "Go, Mairon. I hold no power over thee," he said again. And that was true, he never aimed to dominate the Maia, it had never been needed.

Seeing the lost expression on the Vala's face, Sauron felt strange joy and longing tugging at his entire being. It was a final confirmation for him that it was real and not for play - Melkor had never been a very good actor, it was merely that the Valar had always been much too naive. And even though it was not what he had expected of his lord and the mastermind of evil, even though he was in no real peril, not anymore, and thus Melkor had not really saved him, Mairon was thankful and glad somehow, that as strange and incomprehensible as it still seemed, his master would abandon all else for him.

"In fact, I fancy no such thing, master" Sauron said, his eyes still smiling, "I had chosen to serve thee once and my choice was on that day final and holds today still. I do not wish, nor ever could I wish to walk away from thee, Melkor. Not even now, when everything else is gone and we both stand trial before Eru, our father. All what thou hast seen here now, the choice thou hast made, the things thou hast been offered, was a test of some kind, yet even now I know not the outcome. The only thing I truly know is that regardless of what thou had heard me say, I will always, as long as I exist, stand by thy side."

It was Melkor's turn to be surprised. He listened to Sauron with growing bafflement and then looked around himself, partially expecting to see Eru or the other Valar looming over them. But there was no one but Sauron in the darkness with him. And it was not like he even cared for the opinions of his enemies. They would always think only the worst of him. So if they wished to spy on him and Mairon now, let them. The news that Sauron was not leaving his side brought more joy to the dark Vala than the knowledge that what he had rejected would not have been given to him anyway.

Melkor crossed the distance between them and stopped right in front of his lieutenant, smiling brilliantly, relieved and elevated.

"Mairon," he said softly and lifted a hand to trace the side of the Maia's face with his fingers, ensuring that the other Ainu was real. Melkor's eyebrows furrowed and a strange happy restlessness came over him. Then slowly and hesitantly he took one more step towards Sauron and spread his arms, embracing the Maia and resting his head on Mairon's shoulder.

And Mairon too embraced him there and then, in this little world, where the only thing true was the two of them. And suddenly more memories came rushing in, rippling across his spirit, flooding his mind with warmth and making his heart beat and his hand bury in Melkor's ghostly hair as he held his master in his arms, still disbelieving that this moment had been given to them. Still not knowing to what end Melkor had arrived - not knowing whether this was a welcome or a final farewell. And thus he held onto the Vala, as if any moment the other Ainu could just vanish into the nothingness again.

And Melkor shut his eyes and clung to him desperately, too. He felt the uncertainty as well and dreaded that they would be separated now, that this was yet another cruel joke, that once more he would be locked away beyond the Door of Night or in some other prison of dark and solitude.

* * *

When finally he opened his eyes, Melkor saw that they were not alone. They stood in the halls of Ilúvatar, before Eru's throne. All of the Ainur were gathered there. But instead of trying to uphold some appearances and let go of his lieutenant, Melkor only lifted his head and withdrew just one step so that his hands still held Mairon firmly and Mairon's arms were still around him. Standing like that, Melkor looked up at their creator with a proud and challenging look. He would not bend to the will of Ilúvatar, and he would not let them take Sauron away from him, as long as it was the Maia's own wish to remain by his side.

And then Ilúvatar began to speak and all of them harkened. The Father of All spoke of the end of the old Arda, and the beginning of a new one, Arda Envinyanta, Arda Healed. A world that was to be brought forward by the music of the Ainur, the Eldar and the mortal races. And then it was that another mystery of Ilúvatar's wisdom was revealed to them. The world that was to come into being would not be like the Arda Unmarred, for the discord of the music of Melkor would not be a part of it.

Those words chilled Melkor's soul, as he thought he grasped the meaning of them. Some dark fate awaited him after all and he clutched onto Mairon, fearful and desperate, not wanting to be parted from the one he longed for more than Arda or the Silmarils. Sauron too held him still as they both hearkened to the words of the Allfather.

But then Ilúvatar continued and Melkor's fear turned into astonishment. All of the Ainur were to sing again, and Melkor with them. Yet, Ilúvatar proclaimed there would be no more discord in Melkor's music, for the free and rebellious Vala in his revolt and his downfall now regained the harmony he had lost, as he had in the beginning of time risen in power above his brethren. Melkor could not grasp the meaning of those words, and neither could most of the gathered Ainur, but such was the will of Eru, and it was enough to soothe Melkor's fears.

The living and dead spirits of Men, Elves, Dwarves and other races had left Arda and the Halls of Mandos now and were within the halls of Eru, waiting for a new Arda to be sung into being and thus the shattering of the old world was at hand.

The vision of Arda in its full tarnished glory appeared before them as it crumbled and the spirit of Fëanor traversed its vastness to recover the jewels he had crafted. Yet, as the substance of Arda became naught, and the Silmarils were presented to the Valar, Melkor and Sauron could hardly pay those happenings any heed, for as the ruin of the world took place, Melkor's essence that had been locked inside it, was set free and now it returned to the Dark Vala, deafening and blinding him. Shaking, he clutched onto Sauron, unseeing eyes staring up, as energy from the dying world flowed into him, restoring him to his full power and glory, long ago lost in his struggle against the will of Ilúvatar.

Arda, that had always been Melkor's Ring, was being utterly and finally destroyed, and the power that he had long ago channeled into it, was released, changed and aged as it was it flowed back into its master.

Melkor lost sight and hearing and could not tell the flow of time, as the countless lives of the creatures and men he had tainted flashed before him. The dark and vile acts without a feeling of guilt blurred and faded into darkness, but the occasional doubt, the flashes of loyalty, nobility and remorse shone on them as stars in the dark summer sky. Tears flowed out of Melkor's eyes as his very being responded to those sentiments. The decision to free Sauron, forsaking treasures he had deemed real was of the same kind, a hope of redemption made possible despite his previous misdoings.

Given freedom to destroy and dominate in the end even Melkor had learned to appreciate another, to care for another more than he cared for his own comforts.

It was a fundamental discovery for the Vala and now he made it all over in the countless lives he had affected. He saw the beauty in the things he had wrought, once they were tangled into the creation of the others. The mountains and the seas of Arda, that had been planned orderly and strict, were made all the more beautiful after he had twisted and altered them, added the freedom and unpredictability to them. His chaotic nature could not be changed, it was the essence of him, it was the purpose Ilúvatar had put in him. Yet, his malevolence was not his core function. It had been a means. A means for the Vala to stray far off the path by his own free will and then by it again, unforced, unpressed rediscover it and repent.

And Melkor repented, to an extent. He did not desire to undo what he had done, but neither did he feel the need to rebel for the sake of the rebellion itself. His connection with the other Ainur and the will of Eru was restored, his wisdom had grown. But even now he would not notice the change and would remain his own master.

As the last rock, tree, drop of water and gust of air of Arda Marred was no more, Melkor could finally see and hear again and he discovered he was still in Mairon's arms, and that his power had grown to its cosmic level, like it had been, when he had first descended onto Arda.

Melkor felt suddenly fresh and young and yet much older and wiser. But his vitality and chaos burned bright in him, and the Maia before him was now like a little ant compared to his divine glory. But having learnt to appreciate Sauron for what he was, Melkor felt all the warmth and comfort in his loyal Maia's embrace that he had felt when he was just a wraith of his former self moments before, while Arda had still stood.

Paying no heed to the Valar or Eru, Melkor stepped closer towards Mairon again and embraced him. "I do not wish thou to be my servant, Mairon. Let us be companions, friends and equals instead," Melkor proposed softly.

Sauron... nay, not Sauron anymore but Mairon again, beheld with awe as right in front of him the stunning change took place in the Vala. Now his master as well was no longer Morgoth, he was Melkor, He Who Arises in Might - purified of some of his darkness, as he was now brought back to the beginning, restored to his former might and glory. Beside him, Mairon was now - like once in the dawn of Arda - nothing more than a minor spirit, one that Melkor could destroy with ease should he only desire.

But Mairon was not frightened and he did not step away intimidated. Neither did he let the Vala out of his arms. He had respected and admired Melkor through times of his greatest weakness all the same as he respected him now that the Vala was one of the Powers again. But this time, unlike in the beginning of days, when everything was new and Melkor was too distant and too powerful for Mairon to even dare to approach him - this time, after millennia of hopeless longing, the Maia was no longer hesitant to dare to look at Melkor. No longer afraid to reach out and touch.

And at Melkor's words he smiled, closing his eyes and embracing his former master and his truest friend, and paying no heed to the Valar and the Maiar around them, he whispered into the Vala's ear, "Let it be so, my friend of old."

Melkor smiled and held Mairon in his own embrace, feeling at home and even more complete now that he was in the arms of another.

Soon it was time for the Ainur and all the Children of Eru to sing, and Melkor and Mairon joined them, holding hands, as they stood side by side. And then the balrogs and other spirits of flame, that had perished ages ago and had returned to Eru, their maker, now joined Melkor's side, like they had before the creation of Arda. The joy of Melkor knew no bounds, as he regained not only his oldest friend, but all of them, all whom he had believed to be forever gone.

And thus now he stood amongst his allies of old and no precious jewels or the entirety of Arda could compare to the gladness he felt in their company. Once again they would sing with him, and where he would lead, they would follow. In that moment Melkor was the gladdest of all beings in the halls of Eru.

And this time, when the singing began, the music of Melkor once more strayed from the melody of Ilúvatar, but it did not conflict with the song of the other Ainur, it entwined with it, enriching the organized choir, giving the creation more soul, vitality and ability to change for good or for evil, but also a never-dying hope for redemption, should the dark path be chosen. For Melkor had chosen the darkest path and payed for it with suffering and defeat. And in his downfall, his struggle and his solitude he had learnt to appreciate and care about beings other than himself, though he himself did not yet comprehend it.

Standing beside him, as the Maiar mixed with the Valar, Mairon sang with Melkor, his voice loud and clear, entangling and interweaving with Melkor's own, complementing his former master's melody, bringing more order to where there was haste and adding in it the notes and ideas which Melkor accidentally skipped over or forgot in his elation, as he always had done.

Together with the spirits of fire, they sang in the sea of others and their song was just one thread in the endless, beautiful tapestry of light and life woven anew by a thousand voices.

The Ainur sang in their orderly fashion, all feeling the design of Ilúvatar and following its pattern closely at first. But as Melkor's song entwined with theirs, once again some, hesitated. And they watched Eru Ilúvatar to see if this time the music of Melkor was indeed a part of his intention.

And seeing content in the face of their maker, many spirits joined Melkor's song and timidly attempted to derive their own ideas from it, enriching the forming world with all the more wonders and hidden treasures and possibilities. None of them however dared to improvise as bravely as Mairon did, but with every moment many more of the Ainur, Eldar and mortals felt the harmony that such mindful straying from the main melody created and they joined in, adding a note here and there, among the main melodies of the Valar.

This time it took a single song to bring the world into being. Its sight baffled the Valar, for it was bare and yet it was not symmetrical, like Arda Unmarred had been. Already there were rises and falls in the plains of the leafless world without rivers or seas or mountains. And as they watched it, it seemed to already be alive, awaiting them, like a child or a young cub of a beast, a sprout waiting to be nurtured into maturity.

And thus the Ainur poured into the world, impatient to begin their labors. And Melkor and Mairon went with them. Side by side, they descended onto the world together and while it took legions of dwarves to raise the mountains in one region, in another part of the new Arda a simple passing of Melkor made the snow capped ridges rise. But with them they brought no marring and no destruction of the work of other Ainur, for this time Melkor was mindful of the others and wished no conflict with them. And the Valar let him and Mairon and all those that joined them work on separate parts of the world, where they would not bother the lesser races that despite their minor power helped with great enthusiasm in the building of the new world.

When the first mountains of Melkor and his followers had been raised into the air, Ulmo and his helpers set to work on the rivers that would flow from the bright white mountain glaciers and slowly fill the seas. Then Melkor and his former lieutenant rested on a hill by the foot of one of the mountains, where a Maia of Yavanna had recently planted saplings of trees. Melkor's power made the saplings nearby shoot towards the sky, growing in a matter of moments to adulthood, turning into thick-trunked trees with numerous twisted branches. The first grass and trees sprung around them, offering some greenery in the otherwise still rather bleak world. And on the grass, among the roots of one of the vast trees, the two Ainur put on mortal shapes and rested side by side, watching the rivers and lakes slowly fill up in the distance, fresh, clean water glittering in the dim light that the flight of the Ainur had left in the sky. It would serve until the final means to light the new world were established.

Melkor smiled, as he reclined against Mairon, moving closer to the Maia and resting his head on his companion's shoulder. Never before had he felt this peaceful or content. There was much work ahead of them, but now none would hinder them and the ambitiousness of his plans was to be Melkor's only challenger.

"There is so much I want to know, Mairon," Melkor said softly, tilting his head to look at the Maia beside him. "When I came out of the Door of Night, Arda looked so different. How long didst thou last after my fall? What didst thou manage to accomplish? I do not desire to rekindle the old animosities between us, the other Ainur and the lesser races, but there is so much I have missed. Thou wilt have to tell me all about it," Melkor said. "Thoughts that thou might still be out there wreaking havoc comforted me in my prison, Mairon... as did thoughts of thee simply being alive and well, not sharing the punishment I received."

Mairon, who had been leaning against the trunk of the tree with his eyes closed, enjoying the texture of the bark against the mortal form, in which he was clad for the first time in so many centuries, now cracked his eyelids open and looked down at the fiery Vala reclining against his shoulder. "There is much to be told, yet not much to be proud of." The Maia said with a sigh and turned his eyes away from his former master, letting his gaze wander towards the sparkling crystalline waters in the distance, "After thy fall, I went to extremes to keep thy dominion from being swallowed by light, yet in the end a Silmaril of sorts had become my undoing."

"A Silmaril?" Alert at once, Melkor's sat up upright and arched his eyebrows at him. "But Fëanor had been long gone by that time! Or had he not..." The Vala frowned in confusion.

"He was indeed. But it was not a Silmaril - I merely named it to compare. The bane of me was not a jewel but a ring and of none other's but my own craft and device." The Maia beheld Melkor's overly curious expression with a spark of amusement and gladness. Even though the memories of the old times they now began to once more stir, still felt grim and bitter, all of it was now in the past and the funny furrow of Melkor's eyebrows suddenly mattered so much more than entire centuries of laborious construction, battles and bloody victories.

The Maia was still taken aback by the ease with which he had re-prioritized all of his objectives, scrapped and discarded all the faded notions of power and struggle, all his unfinished plans for war and conquest, focusing all his being on Melkor instead. Melkor, who sat beside him, whose fiery restless head had just a moment ago briefly rested on his shoulder. Melkor who was going to riddle him with a hundred more questions before his curiosity was even half-satisfied and who was going to anyway forget to even listen to half of the answers.

The Maia smiled in his spirit. Watching his former lord, the once more mighty but still as hot-headed Ainu, he knew why it had been so easy to leave the darkness, lies, power and control behind.

The fiery Vala had always been his one and only real purpose. Everything that he had done in the ages between Melkor's capture and his own fall was just means of achieving that purpose, of somehow, in some way reaching Melkor, of making the world ready for his comeback. And with Melkor at his side, everything else just ceased to matter.

And yet now that the distance between them was no longer the cold and unscalable vastness of space and time but a patch of soft, young grass, it all felt too surreal.

That they had been forgiven and let back into the light from, from which they had once strayed, that they were there, among the other Ainur, allowed to shape the new Arda to their liking, was impossible. Irrational. That they sung side by side in the Second Great Music, that Melkor was once more counted into the pantheon of the Valar - it was beyond all fathom, it felt fallacious.

And yet it was real, for such had been the choice and ineffable mercy of Eru.

The Maia knew that of the two of them, Melkor would be the first one to forget the malicious dark ways and to truly adapt to this new existence - he had always been the force for change in nature, he was chaos incarnate, driven by passion, and he dwelt never long on anything, and neither would he deliberate for long even on notion so complex and monumental, as being let to choose his path anew and recoin his own destiny.

Melkor was going to just embrace it and dive right into it, he was going to make new ideas and new places and enjoy each and every moment of the new creations, Mairon knew that and he was glad.

The Maia himself, in turn, would however take a long time to let go of all the past. He had always been abiding by the rules, forming and executing plans, meeting deadlines, following the ways of logic. Logic that he was trying to find even now, as they sat together among the trees.

The design of Eru was however flawless in its very assumption. Nothing could there be, no theme in the music and no creature or thing in the world that had not its uttermost source in Him, the Allfather. After dark millennia of struggle against that notion, of trying to prove it false, they now knew it to be true. They would of course not discuss it, not admit it out loud, not yet at least - but deep inside their beings, each in his own way, they both knew it.

The Flame Imperishable burnt in their souls now the same way it always had. For just like the other Ainur they had always been and forever will be the offspring of Eru Ilúvatar - the one, who did not err in his creation, the one who did not falter.

Somehow, it all had been intended, it had all been destined to be this way, they were to go the darkest road and to fall low. To learn all they had learnt.

But Mairon let go of even those thoughts now, for they did not matter either. Not yet or not anymore, not now, when Melkor was at his side, so close that he could reach out and touch him and just as expected he was asking him question after question.

The news of no new Silmarils having been made during his absence visibly calmed Melkor down and he relaxed. "How so, Mairon? Hath thou crafted a ring so fine it captured thy attention and distracted thou from thy schemes and plans?" the Vala tried to guess, remembering how in the ages past he himself would tirelessly gaze upon the Silmarils, forgetting about all else.

"Nearly. And yet even worse." Mairon said with a small smirk and heavy self-criticism apparent in his tone - he had always been striving for optimizing and for perfection and thus forgetting his own mistakes always came the hardest. In fact he would never forget them, he knew now better than ever that they had been a lesson and he was going to remember them, learn from them and never again repeat them. "In my struggle to rebuild thy kingdom I had a masterplan and the ring was to help me implement it, yet not all my calculations proved precise enough and I followed an errant path that in the end led me to downfall. During its making I have poured a part of my own power and spirit into the ring, yet centuries later suddenly that power proved to be all that was left at my disposal. At that time I lost another battle and the ring was taken from me. I recovered. Yet the search for the ring had captured my mind and in it I lost myself and my purpose." The Maia's face darkened a bit with those memories. They might have not mattered anymore, for Melkor was now with him, and yet how could he ever forgive himself for ever forgetting the Vala?

Melkor regarded him with some doubt. "Why would'st thou take away thy own power and put it into-..." he trailed off, as he drew the parallel with his own power, that had been deposited into Arda. Melkor cleared his throat and pretended he hadn't started that sentence.

The Maia saved him the embarrassment and smiled, saying, "The story of ages between thy fall and mine, is much more complex, long and dark and I would rather save it for an evening one day in the future. But believe me, it was a good plan in the beginning. Or perhaps, a decent plan at least. For centuries the ring was a powerful tool in my hands and it was not the band itself but my miscalculations that did me in. Among those was the direct intervention of our Father. I never included him as a factor, when I modelled the future of Arda. I did not expect it, he had never intervened before that." Mairon shook his head. He smiled a little, relaxed despite the memories of that time.

On the ruinous path he had chosen, he had drowned, he had fallen. Many a time he had been destroyed and in the end, he had become crazed from the loss. Quite likewise had Melkor. Yet now they were restored, purified, the world around them was new and full of possibilities. He felt no hate, no stinging in his spirit, the past was just a lesson they both would learn from.

The fiery Vala felt a little envious that Eru deemed the Maia's evil reign more deserving of personal intervention, than his own, but chose not to voice that concern, instead turning his thoughts elsewhere. "Was that He, who had bent Arda? Was that because of thou?" the grudge left Melkor's thoughts as he found himself genuinely interested and impressed by his servant's... his former servant's escapades.

The Maia nodded. "It was indeed Eru. He bent the ways of the world, removing Valinor and Aman from the face of Arda, after I had sent fleet of descendants of the Edain to the Blessed Lands for them to find death and to gift death in return..." Mairon trailed off, with a hint of genuine sadness. Both he and Melkor in their conquest and vengeance had wrought so much evil and havoc onto the world that once could have had been perfect. The Maia looked at the Ainu sitting beside him and his thick dark eyebrows furrowed, "I never even hoped to be forgiven. Never hoped to be among the Valar again. All I had ever wished for was for thee to return."

Quietly Melkor dwelt on Mairon's first words, remembering how he lead the host of Men to Valinor, and how it - as it now appeared - had in fact come to them instead. It seemed that Mairon had indeed a lot to tell him. Melkor remained silent for a while, and then he looked up at the Maia and smiled. "Neither had I ever considered being granted forgiveness as an option... And yet it gave me strength to think thou wert out in the world in my stead, and it almost sounds like thou hast outdone me," Melkor praised his Maia and rested a hand on Mairon's strong shoulder.

"Nay, never would I have dared to." The Maia replied with amusement. He was indeed never one to brag, never the one to boast, not when it was about him and Melkor. He rested his palm against that of the other Ainu, taking Melkor's hand off his shoulder. And although he claimed not to dare outshine Melkor in the work of chaos and destruction, he dared a different deed, quite as bold, and slowly he brought the Vala's hand up to his lips. Letting his eyes fall closed, he kissed the inside of Melkor's pale, unmarred palm, allowing the Vala's fingers to ghost against his nose and his forehead.

Melkor frowned. That caress was familiar. "Thou hast done this before, if my memory doth not fail me. It puzzled me then, as it puzzles me now. What is the meaning of thy gesture?" he asked. But as the Maia let go of his hand, the Vala did not withdraw it. Instead he chose to run his fingertips over the side of Mairon's face. "Not that it is unwelcome," he added with a smile. It felt pleasant, even more pleasant now when his hands were no longer burnt and aching.

Mairon opened his eyes and looked at the other Ainu - and in his gaze there was something that no words could describe. Looking into those eyes, Melkor knew that Mairon would never leave his side, peering into them, he saw the same devotion and the same strange flames that had burnt inside the eyes of his lieutenant even in times before their parting.

"The meaning of it is very simple." The Maia said quietly, as his golden eyes found the dark flickering ones of Melkor. And then, Mairon spoke the words that never before had made it past his lips. "I love thee now, as I always loved thee."

Shaken, Melkor held those eyes, feeling lost and at the same time coming to understand so much. So love was the reason, why Mairon had remained loyal to him through all eternity, till death and beyond. Melkor did not understand love, but he had heard of it countless times, and oft he had seen Eldar and mortals go to extremes in the name of it. That Mairon too was prone to such feelings was a discovery for Melkor. The Vala finally looked away, frowning, as he struggled to make sense of this new knowledge. He still could not understand it. He understood admiration, possessiveness, obsession, desire, but those were not the same as that thing called affection, no matter how thin the borders were, this much he knew.

"The notion of love is still foreign to me, Mairon," Melkor confessed and finally looked up at the Maia. "But I have always valued thy devotion, and if it stems from love, I shall accept it gladly and always be grateful for it. I may not be able to requite thy feelings, yet if there is something I could do to repay thee, just speak," Melkor offered softly and smiled to his Maia. He knew not of love, but he knew longing and of fondness, for he had missed his Maiar, his beasts and Arda, and he was glad to once more be free and among allies.

But the Maia just smiled, and shook his head, "Thou wert willing to give up Arda and all its treasures just to save me. And to save me, when thou hast thought I would have turned away from thee. What more could I possibly ever ask for?" As he looked at the Vala his own words brought a sudden understanding. The things his former master said, the way he acted around him, the choice they all had seen him make... Was it not the proof enough that not even being aware of it, Melkor learnt to care for the fate of another?

Mairon lifted his palm to Melkor's face, and caressed the pale cheek of the Vala, brushing aside a stray wisp of soft flames. "And yet, indeed I can think of one wish that I still have. Thou needst not to do anything, Melkor. Just let me be thine." And yet as he spoke those words, the Maia waited not for permission or answer. He bowed towards the Vala and pressed his lips against Melkor's. For if he had had learnt one thing in the ages when his master was away, it was to take what he wanted.

Melkor's eyes fell shut and his arms wound around the Maia, as he responded to the kiss. They had shared many kisses in that short period when Melkor had both the Silmarils and his mind intact, yet this one felt different. Quickly he discovered that his once timid subordinate was acting with perfect confidence and in a manner that almost felt possessive. It puzzled the Vala, and at the same time it excited him, this new dominance that Mairon allowed himself. And thrilled beyond his expectation, Melkor let the Maia do as he pleased, clutching onto Mairon's sleeves as their lips touched again and again.

A moment later Melkor was breathless and a little light-headed and he withdrew from the kiss, still staying in Mairon's arms. "I shall gladly have thee. Yet it appears to me, that thou desirest to possess me, instead," the Vala half-snorted.

The Maia laughed. "I could possess thee no better than one can possess a wild, living flame. Thou could'st turn me to ashes if thou only wilt. And yet thou art right, Melkor, for I have indeed grown selfish and I wish to have thy blinding light and heat for myself, if only for a while and I wish to have thee burn for me. Yet all this only if thou wilt it, all this for thy own enjoyment, all this only at thy bidding." The Maia admitted his guilty thoughts. He had not dared to ask for it once, when their power was on equal level, and not even when he held upper hand over Melkor. Yet the ages spent apart from Melkor had made the Maia confident and brazen and thus he was asking for it now, when Melkor could once again smite his being from Arda with a flick of his wrist.

The Vala smirked. "Thou hast grown bold indeed, Mairon. Thou art in luck that I have changed also," Melkor shook his head, amused by his companion's words, and then his look softened and sadness lingered in his features. "In the Void, I have learnt that I missed thee and my other allies... nay, my friends of old. I have not even dreamt of regaining all of ye. I believed ye end as well as mine was final, that Eru wanted us destroyed. But now it appears to me, that perhaps all we had wrought on the old Arda was but preparation for this. That he had planned it all that way..." Melkor looked into the distance, but his mind was elsewhere, traversing the currents of time to revisit countless moments on the face of the old world that was no more.

Then he sighed and shook off the reverie, smiling. "Of course, I am no Manwë to read Eru's mind. Still, I do believe that we are secure now, as long as we do not oppose Him, of which I feel no more desire. And if we shall have to pay heed to the Valar and lesser beings, then well, it is a small price to pay for all of this," Melkor gestured beyond them, where the valley opened onto the vast land, that, though still half-formed was already looking like nothing either of them had seen on Arda. It was a land of diversity and majesty, of chaos and order, forming a beautiful vision full of contrasts, that combined in it both the things of the light that the Valar held dear and the sharp angles and extremes that Melkor so adored.

Mairon too directed his gaze to the far horizon. And for a long while he could not look away from the miracle of the creation that unfolded around them. For although there was no dark fortress looming beyond the newly created mountains, although there was no realm to reign over and no troops to command, he did not feel their lack in the new world they were creating and he knew that neither did Melkor.

There was still a lot of work to be done, and he knew that for many years or even decades to come they would be busy crafting and perfecting this new world. But this time there would be no strife and no chaos, the oceans would not boil, the dark fumes would not rise from black towers and the ice and death would not make all the living things wither and crumble to oblivion. This time they were going to use their power to make things great and beautiful, things that all could admire. Once again Mairon would follow Melkor and once again he would strive to finish what Melkor would start and leave behind, yet this time it would not be because of furious haste of his master's malice but simply because there were so many things to do and so many distractions all around.

And still more of them were to come soon.

Already there were falling leaves and proud trees, glittering lakes and silent ponds, meadows and cryptic forest paths paved with soft moss. And soon there were going to be birds in the skies and fish splashing in the water and various animals scurrying across the lands and finally perhaps Melkor would begin to notice all those things of small importance but great beauty.

"Hm, I think I may even hazard a guess, as to why we were forgiven." Mairon said slowly after a while, with his eyes still on the snow-capped mountains and the glittering lakes in the distance. Then he turned his face to Melkor, who meanwhile arched one fiery eyebrow at him, glancing at the Maia. "Arda could never truly be complete or alive without thee." Mairon continued, "We erred, yes, but other Valar did too, for they failed to comprehend thy significance and they refused thee. They tried to quench thy chaos and thy flame instead of embracing it, they chose to stay blind and saw not what I and thy other Maiar saw in thee. Now however their eyes have been opened, as are ours. Now we are all ready for this new world. And thou hast already given it such unique, spontaneous beauty."

The Vala beside Mairon seemed to burn brighter as he absorbed the praise. Melkor looked delighted, as he turned to Mairon fully, smiling brilliantly. But then the Maia's eyes were drawn to something behind the Vala. Through the emerald green of the grass around them fiery red flowers now sprouted, like little living flames, that swung gently in the breeze. Melkor remained oblivious to their presence. At least until he followed Mairon's surprised gaze and his own eyes widened, as for the first time he noticed objects so small and insignificant. He picked one fiery flower out of the ground, and showed it to Mairon in astonishment. "Look, Mairon! What is this queer little tree? I've never seen anything like this before."

And Mairon just laughed.

And then he told him.

* * *

Their labors lasted long and they hardly rested after that. Most of the landscape had been defined and creations of Yavanna were spreading over it, wherever they could set root. While the first rain poured from the skies to feed more water to the rivers and oceans still in the making, Melkor, Mairon and spirits of fire were helping the dwarves and Aulë in with their smithies under the mountains, forging the foundations of the new Arda.

And then, when their help underground was no longer needed, they discovered the world outside too wet for their liking. Thus Melkor created a palace on the side of the mountain from which they had come out, and there in the dark beautiful halls the Maiar and the Vala hid from the rain to rest from their long labors underground. The full power of Melkor was so vast, that not only were the halls he had created on a whim breathtaking and majestic, but they already held some subtler comforts, like drapings the color of fire and dark mirror-like floors, traced with magmatic veins, that provided heat and comfort to the Ainur that now spread through the halls, enjoying the warmth and dryness, that was felt all the more starkly, when one peered into the rain outside.

And that was exactly what the master of the palace was now doing. He was alone in a vast room warmed by a huge fireplace, where flames blazed on their own, needing no wood as long as the Vala was there. Just like in the other halls of the swiftly made palace, the walls, floor and ceiling were ebony with occasional fiery glow here and there. Candles burnt around the room, adding to the heat the hearth offered.

Melkor stood by an open window, peering into the heavy rain, embracing himself. He wore his physical form once more to better enjoy the contrast of the weather outside and the comfort of his newly made residence. It lacked the monumental size of his past fortresses, but this time he was not aiming to protect and isolate himself from things other than the rain.

Perhaps he would not hide from the rain forever either. Melkor pondered on that as he watched it fall outside. Once all things of the light had repelled him, but now they were all strange and new experiences, waiting to be discovered, like the flowers earlier. The Vala silently decided he rather liked flowers. He would not admit it to anyone, for it would cause bafflement in his allies and foes alike, but he did not intend to lie to himself. He liked this new existence and all the little things he was now beginning to notice, that he had overlooked in his war on Arda.

There was light sound of footsteps behind him, muffled by the heavy rainfall outside, and Mairon joined him in front of the open window, boldly but softly embracing the Vala from behind as he too looked out into the wet world, trying to make out shapes of trees somewhere beyond the wall of raindrops. The light breeze blew miniscule droplets onto their faces, and into Melkor's fiery hair and the Maia inhaled deeply, feeling freshness of the new world in the wind. Mairon said nothing for a while, just stood there, in front of the open window, holding Melkor in his warm, steady embrace.

And Melkor smiled and leaned against him, placing his hands upon Mairon's arms and resting his head on the Maia's shoulder. And then he remembered the day, when he had first stood like this with Mairon, and how nice it had felt to share the burden of the black iron crown with another. What a fool he had been, Melkor thought. How he had strived to feel pleased about the possession of jewels that burnt and burdened him, when all this time he had beside him a being, that loved and supported him.

Melkor felt his heart beat faster at that thought and leaned fully against Mairon's front, relishing in the warm embrace of strong, but gentle arms. Neither of them could see it, but outside a weed had sprung from under the window sill and was slowly climbing the window frame, buds of fiery flowers getting covered in drops of rain as soon as they sprouted.

"Mairon," Melkor whispered without opening his eyes and tilted his head, his lips remaining parted, inviting a kiss from the Maia.

Mairon bowed his head and he pressed his lips against the Vala's, accepting the invitation. As they kissed, his big yet careful fingers came to caress Melkor's neck and face. Then his arms slid down the Vala's body and his mouth left Melkor's lips, travelling down along the line of his jaw and moving down to the pale throat as the hands returned once again, all the way up to slowly undo the buttons on the collar of Melkor's robe to reveal more skin the Maia wanted to kiss.

Melkor panted and gripped Mairon's hair with one hand, while the other arm embraced the Maia and gripped his sleeves in turns, but did not stay his hands. Soon, Melkor's robe was half-undone and as Mairon kissed the pale skin of his shoulders and the Vala's breath became uneven, Melkor gripped Mairon's hair possessively and then carefully turned to face him. He stepped closer pressing against Mairon and kissed the Maia teasingly, guiding his arms under his robe, while Melkor's own fingers set to work on undoing Mairon's shirt.

A stray gust of wind flew inside again, unsettling strands of their hair but they paid no more heed to the wind and rain, too consumed with each other to notice anything else anymore. It was so much like in the days of old and so unlike it at the same time. Mairon's fingers first ghosted and then pressed firmly against the Vala's skin, sliding underneath the open robe, slowly moving up Melkor's sides, mapping and relearning his body. When the Vala was about to lose his patience with the buttons of Mairon's shirt and tear it open instead, the Maia stilled Melkor's hands and he lifted the Vala off the floor and he carried him in his arms to the bed.

There, letting the Vala rest and pressing him down into the soft silks, he bowed down and took another kiss from Melkor's lips. This time however it was not a soft, delicate kiss like before but one filled with hunger and longing of thousands of years apart.

Melkor moaned openly against his lips, pulling Mairon on top of himself and gripping the fabric of his half-open shirt, as he crushed his own lips against Mairon's, responding to the kiss with the same hunger. He had not been touched for millennia and with his newest discovery of Mairon's feelings for him, the desire only grew in Melkor. As they kissed he tugged Mairon's shirt off and crawled out of his own robe, as they moved further onto the bed. Soon both were bare and burning with lust. Once again, Melkor welcomed the Maia on top of himself, gladly letting the weight of Mairon's body press him into the sheets. Melkor's hands explored Mairon's form for a while, learning it, discovering. He had hardly ever touched Mairon, when he used the Maia's private services in the past - those were about pleasing himself. Right now however, he discovered that touching and caressing Mairon brought him great pleasure.

Letting Melkor's hands roam for a time being, Mairon finally put an end to their venture, bringing them up and pinning them into the bed above the Vala's head, groaning with desire as he took in the sight of his former master beneath him. The Maia had never been so bold as on this rainy day but then again, he was a servant to the Vala no more.

As one of his hands still held Melkor's wrists, his free palm took the hold of Melkor's chin and once again his mouth roughly claimed the Vala's.

And his Vala did not at all mind to be restrained. In fact, Melkor looked up at him with a most clear thrill, desire and seduction in his features. As their lips met with bruising force, Melkor moaned and kissed Mairon hungrily, parting his legs for the Maia above him, surrendering his body to the other Ainu fully. "Ah, Mairon, the fire of my heart," Melkor whispered, drunk with desire.

And Mairon's eyes were filled with blazing fire indeed. He gazed at Melkor from above and it seemed that he would devour him with his eyes alone. Yet instead, he just looked at him and then letting go of his hands, reached out and softly touched the Vala's face, stroking Melkor's slightly parted lips with his thumb. The fleeting moment of tenderness lasted for brief seconds and when it ended they were kissing again and Mairon's hand was moving between Melkor's legs, his tongue licking the moans off the Vala's lips as the rain and wind swept across the world outside.

Melkor's groans were abundant. As shameless as ever, the Vala shifted under Mairon, arching against the touch, while Melkor's hands, now free, travelled from the Maia's face, down his neck, his chest and towards his loins, clearly intending to repay the Maia in his own coin.

But Mairon thwarted that attempt and shifted, his strong hands spreading the Vala's legs wide apart as he settled between them, dragging his former master down by his thighs and then moving up to loom above the Vala again, lust and flames in his eyes. Ages of reigning over his own kingdom of darkness had turned the once obedient lieutenant of Melkor into a bold and confident being. The more confident now that he finally could have what he wanted. Yet even as he swooped down on Melkor in the likeness of a hungry fell wolf, propped on one arm while the other gripped the fiery hair and turned the Vala's head to the side, pressing it down into the pillows, he paused with his lips ever so close to the Vala's ear to merely let out a husky whisper, "If thou wishest not for me take thee, Melkor, this is the moment to speak."

The heart of Melkor beat so hard he thought it might burst out of his chest. Never had he felt such a satisfying thrill. His loyal, obedient Mairon was suddenly acting like his equal, or his superior. Should have anyone else whispered such words into Melkor's ear, they would have been turned to ashes instantly, or suffered a fate far far worse. But it was Mairon. And so instead of voicing agreement, Melkor only leered at his former lieutenant slyly, remaining silent and thus giving Mairon his permission. He knew what the Maia meant and he desired this union himself. Even more so with Mairon suddenly taking the lead.

A narrowed, fiery eye regarded him carefully for a moment, as Mairon's face lingered close, the fingers gripping Melkor's hair for just a moment longer before they let go. He never quite gave the Vala his freedom back though, as his retreat was just to shift once more. His hand gripped and gathered the silky covers now, pushing them under Melkor and he lifted one of the Vala's legs higher, as with a groan of anticipation he positioned himself above his lord of old. "So be it then," he said darkly and then slowly, he thrust inside him, pressing the Vala into the silks and pillows.

Melkor gasped and bit his lip, failing to suppress a loud moan. His corporeal form flickered below Mairon. Melkor's fingers gripped the pillow by the sides of his head and he breathed in deeply, trying to relax and then moaned again, eyes shutting tight. "M-Mairon," Melkor's voice was filled with bliss and desire and at the same time tinted with anxiety. This union now felt very different from anything they had explored in the dungeons of Angband, and even those experiences were but a few faded memories of ages ago.

Yet despite being able to clearly remember, Melkor was sure he had never before felt the strange intimacy and vulnerability that overpowered him now. He trusted his Maia, thus the sensation that overwhelmed his spirit and form did not frighten or anger him. Still he felt agitated and he reached out for the Maia, pulling him down, closer towards himself, instinctively seeking comfort.

Mairon paused then, feeling the anxiety that flickered underneath the flame of Melkor's eager pride. He let Vala pull him down and he gave Melkor himself to hold onto, as he kissed his own name off the fiery Ainu's lips and for a while he waited for him to catch his breath and calm his restless spirit. Soon however, he moved again and as he buried himself deeper in the corporeal form of the Vala, close to his ear Melkor heard Mairon's voice, rich with passion and beyond any doubt possessive. "At last, I have thee, master. Oh, how long I have craved this." To those words the Maia began to move inside him. And yet at the same time Melkor felt a different kind of touch, a brush of his Maia's spirit on his own immortal soul, spiritual closeness which because of the confines of the mortal flesh he had been trapped in in the past, he could also never before fully experience.

In that ethereal touch, in this caress of immaterial being, there was everything that Melkor needed to know, and even as Mairon claimed him as his and even allowed himself to insolently use his old title, in the spirit of the other Ainu the Vala felt only soothing devotion and absolute admiration.

Moan after moan escaped Melkor's lips as his body responded to Mairon's thrusts. The Vala's fingers dug into the skin on Mairon's back, as bliss made him tense, and he clawed on the Maia with equal possessiveness. But it was not only the pleasures of the flesh that made Melkor act this way. When Mairon's spirit touched his, the feelings that the Maia kept secret for millennia overwhelmed Melkor more than any physical contact ever could.

Never before had he basked in a light as beautiful and warm, never had he chanced on a thing as beautiful. All of a sudden, the Silmarils seemed but tarnished pebbles to the fiery Vala. How could he have ever craved for those pitiful stones, when he could have had this? Obsessed and possessive Melkor held tightly onto the other Ainu, for Mairon's love for him now was the greatest treasure he had ever known. "My Mairon, mine," Melkor uttered, clawing on the Maia, as he turned to kiss him. "Mine and mine alone, forever."

The rain lashed the rocks outside and the wind came in through the window, enveloping them in a gust of humid air that cooled their rocking bodies, where sweat already pearled. But no wind and no downpour could extinguish the fire that burnt in Mairon's eyes now. To the sound of howling wind, and the sting of Melkor's nails digging into his skin, the Maia growled into the searing kiss, and then broke it, tossing his head, his hair falling out of the ponytail and spilling onto his back. "Thine forever. And thou mine."

"Yes," Melkor hissed, shuddering, as bliss ran through his body, making it tingle and arch. He could not hold back for much longer, and moments later he threw his head back gasping loudly, as passion consumed him. As he lay under Mairon, catching his breath and still embracing the Maia, Melkor struggled not to shed his mortal form, before Mairon has reached his own edge.

The love of Mairon was calling out to him and Melkor wanted it, he wanted to melt in it, consume it, claim it, just like the Maia has just claimed his body. And the moment the other Ainu reached his own peak and buried his face in Melkor's fiery hair, the Vala let himself go and he pulled half-conscious Mairon after himself, out of their corporeal forms and into their spiritual essence. Then the spirit of Melkor, much mightier than that of the Maia who just dared to stake claim on him, embraced and surrounded the small soul of Mairon, clinging onto the lesser spirit, whose core was that of hidden fire but whole essence was that of earth and of treasures yet uncovered that patiently waited and shimmered inside it.

"Mine," Melkor repeated, and as the voice rippled across his being, Mairon recognized in it the same possessiveness with which his former master used to cling to his iron crown, that held the Silmarils. "Mine forever! I shall not let another have thee or steal thy adoration from me. And I shall be thine if in exchange thou shalt give thyself and thy love to me," so Melkor spoke and although he was frightening in his spiritual form, for he was vast and powerful, Mairon felt that Melkor's hold on his spirit was delicate and mindful. Already was Melkor learning the subtle difference between greedy selfish obsession, that he had felt for the Silmarils, and the desire to claim that which was readily given to him, though he himself remained oblivious to that fact.

"Thou long hast both of those already", Mairon wished to say, yet he could not, for too overwhelming was the feeling of the Vala's presence and power all around him, especially in this very moment – for when their mortal shapes disintegrated and they rose into the air together - when Melkor's mighty spirit embraced him, Mairon at last let go of all his defences. Licked by burning flames and biting cold of Melkor's very essence that somehow brought all kinds of discord and opposites together into one perfect being, he brought down all of the walls that he had raised in his mind over the ages. Those walls were there to protect him from his love for Melkor, protect him from losing hope.

For ages, when he spent alone and struggling against whole world, they helped him keep going, they did not let him surrender. Even now after the Second Music he still kept them, in case it all was but a cruel joke, in case it was unreal, in case it all would be taken away from him.

But it was real, it could be nothing else but that. For something as astounding, unspeakable and rich as this feeling, Mairon would not even know how to imagine. And with that realization, came final clarity. He needed the defences and battlements in his mind no longer.

And thus once himself the lord of an empire, a commander of armies, deceiver of kings and bringer of death and destruction, the Maia now let himself relinquish all control and he gave in to the flames that held him, allowing them to purify him, letting them burn away all the things that had ever held him down, letting his master of old make him whole once more.

In Melkor's embrace, washed from all stain and weariness he was like a precious jewel indeed, jewel from the very depths of the old Arda. Now however his cut was far more complex that it had once been, it was polished and chiseled with experience of many lifetimes. And he was no longer just a trinket in the Vala's possession - he was a gemstone of many facets and in all of them Melkor's own light was now refracted, filtering all through the Maia's being and becoming brighter, more splendid and wondrous, casting a spectrum of possibilities on the walls of the room that was now filled with Melkor's cosmic power.

For the first time since the day of his creation, Mairon felt complete.

* * *

Once more clad in a body of flesh, Melkor lay beside his precious Maia, fingers curling on Mairon's chest in a small possessive gesture. Truly he had been a fool to chase after some lifeless gems of elven make, when he could have had a treasure like this, given to him of free will long ago, Melkor thought. And even as those thoughts travelled through his mind now, he shifted against Mairon, momentarily uneasy, as he wondered if someone could perhaps try to steal the Maia from him like the Silmarils had been.

And then he knew that nay, Mairon would be his. Through the ages of war and ages of peace, millennia of parting, the Maia had remained his and his alone. Thus he would stay. Melkor smiled at the thought and looked up into Mairon's golden eyes with vertical pupils.

The eyes of molten gold and slowly coiling flames looked back at him and Mairon's chest heaved in a pleased sigh as his lips crooked a little, reflecting Melkor's gladness. If only Mairon had known of the Vala's passing worry regarding him being possibly stolen, he would have laughed, for there was no other Maia on Arda and beyond its confines, not even Olórin, that was so persistent and so hard to get rid of.

Together they once again looked out through the distant window into the world fogged by wind and cutting rain. Soon the rain would be over and their work would resume. But for now it was still pouring and so Melkor shifted closer, running his hand over Mairon's chest and down his front, giving his lover a sly, newly hungry leer.

* * *

---

Chapter End Notes

A/N Now, if some of you read up to here and never said a word to us, this is the time when you come out and tell us about your feels, are we clear, lurkers? XD

We accept reviews/comments/anything in english, russian, polish, german and french by the way so do not hesitate to write in a different languae ;D And if anyone is scared of presenting their feelings on fanfictionnet then we made an email just for you guys: zluandluff (you know what symbol goes here)gmail . com :3

So, what do you think? Did the grand finale inspire any feels ;D? Did it surprise you? Or was everything exactly like you expected? (suuuure XD) We sincerely apologize for breaking your guys hearts with the previous 4 chapters, there was no other way!

You'll probably be happy to know that this is not really the end yet. From now on every few weeks we will be updating "Loyalty" with bonus chapters, on the further doings of two certain someones (and not only) in all kind of situations they might get into. Those will be continuing the story in a lighter way, and will be sometimes funny and sometimes pleasing in different ways. You do not have to read them, they are bonus content :3 (check for updates on weekends)

Also, as always, there will be more illustrations coming, so keep an eye on our tumblr: angbandstyle . tumblr . com

Now, in case you are wondering why we gave the story such a happy ending, while in canon Sauron and Melkor end tragically and we were sticking so much to canon before:

Part of the inspiration for this ending comes from the idea that Eru is indeed a benevolent and infallible god figure, as Tolkien had intended him to be. And if Eru is indeed benevolent, then why would he make Melkor so prone to becoming the absolute evil? Not only would creating an ultimate and irredeemable evil be rather malevolent towards its victims, but also quite cruel to the evil being itself. Thus, assuming that Eru knew what he was doing (and as a god figure we see him as infallible, all his designs, no matter how twisted, in the end lead where he meant them to lead), and made Melkor the way he wanted him, then Melkor's fall could not be final. In our interpretation, Eru made Melkor flawed, but not irredeemable, so that Melkor could fall, and fall lower than any lesser being could. He let Melkor stray from the light only to find a way back to it and give hope to the whole world of free-willed individuals, so that all that turn to evil, can also turn back.

All in all, we think we still fit into the canon. We feel that this could very much be the actual design of Eru, the way Tolkien portrayed him and understood him. And since not even the Valar knew what would come after Dagor Dagorath, we truly do not feel guilty of any AU here, just filling in the blanks, as always XD.

And now with that said, we want to give you one more song that since the very beginning was our theme for this story: picosong.com/3M22/

And the lyrics are here (we imagine some parts are "sung" by Sauron, some by Melkor, it's up to you to decide)

"Tom Jones - Never"

From the first time that I heard you I knew
I'd be hooked on you forever like the blues
People told me you would hurt me, so untrue!
'Cause after all these years, you're the one thing that's still here
'Cause of you there's no alone, you've been with me through it all

Never, never, never, never gonna give you up
Running through my blood
Never, never, never, never leaving you behind
Always on my mind

Can't get enough of your highs and your lows
You take me places where nobody goes
And if you went away, I would never be the same

Oh, your sweetness is like sugar on my lips
When you're not around it's your melody that I miss
Like an old friend you come back to me so quick
And after all this time I've still got you in my life
You and me we're going strong, you and me we still belong

Never, never, never, never gonna give you up
Running through my blood
Never, never, never, never leaving you behind
Always on my mind

Can't get enough of your highs and your lows
You take me places where nobody goes
And if you went away, I would never be the same
(Never, never, never, never)

And now, let us just say that we really, truly love every each and single one of you, dear readers! ;u; You have been a constant inspiration and without your feedback this story would never even see chapter 3, not to mention coming this far!

Thus check back here in some two weeks, for those who'll want to go on reading, we'll have some fun stuff prepared X3

And wow, we've got two epic fanarts for this chapter X3 

"Arda Healed" by cenobitesquid.deviantart.com:

And this lovely scene in the Void by waywarddesertknight on tumblr <3

Thank you guys, you're truly amazing! X3

Extras - part 1

Read Extras - part 1

Bonus chapter 1

"Retribution"

music: picosongDOTcom/nTMu (best on repeat ;D)

 

* * *

The labors and combined efforts of all of the children of Eru continued for an immeasurable while, yet before the light of the passing of the Ainur faded from the sky, the first foundations of the new world were complete. And when the vast planes of Arda Healed all bore the seeds of Yavanna's making, when the mountains had been given their general shape and the first rivers ran streaming to fill the lakes and seas, then Eru the Allfather summoned once more the Ainur.

And as they all gathered before him and silently basked in his light, he then called Melkor to step forth. And Melkor obeyed, yet even as he stood before his maker, his spirit was fearful and unsettled, for he fretted that he had unwittingly angered Eru in some way and would now be punished.

So it was that Eru indeed spoke of punishment and retribution. Yet retribution not for any of Melkor's present actions, but rather the atonement for his misdoings of old. For all his crimes against the Valar and the Children of Eru, at last Melkor would now have to pay in full.

The way of his repentance had already been decided. And as he stood now before Eru, Melkor learnt that in order to atone for his sins, he would have to perform a task for each of the Valar - one of their own choosing. And only when all of the chores assigned to him by his brothers and sisters would be completed and satisfied with his help each of the Valar would give him their leave, only then would Melkor be free of his duty.

The Vala's fear subsided as he heard those words, but he did not rejoice, for he felt the judging eyes of his brethren upon him and he knew that they would not make it easy for him, and that some would make it much worse than the others. But most of all he wished not to return to the old order of things and lose everything again and thus he bowed to their Father and said "So be it."

Thus Manwë came now before Ilúvatar and he said that he could indeed use Melkor's assistance, if it were willingly given - for he and Aulë intended to make a new light for the world in place of the old one that Melkor had destroyed. They wanted the light to be like the fruit of Laurelin, so that it would fly through the sky and light and warm the land below. But the new Arda was much larger than the old one, and they believed that, was there no mischief involved, the help of an Ainu as powerful as Melkor could truly be of use. And what better atonement for the crimes of Melkor than to make him rebuild that, which he himself had shattered?

Thus to aid in the making of the Sun became Melkor's first task.

And hearing that, Melkor agreed to help the two Valar, but he requested that Mairon, the best of the students of Aulë would also aid them. And thus Mairon was called to join them, and he stood once more before Aulë, his master of old, bowing before him. And when he lifted his head from the bow, his golden eyes smiled, as they met those of the Great Smith that were filled with calm and patience, boundless and older than time.

And Mairon remembered once more that day soon after the restoration of Arda, when he had for the first time in so many millennia looked into those very eyes. And he remembered how before the first rain fell from the skies, filling the lakes and rivers of Arda, he had stood much like now before his former master, having come down to his underground forges with Melkor, trying to mix with the Maiar and the Dwarves and together with them work in secret on the fiery foundations of the world, both eager to be of help but equally unsure if they would be allowed it if they asked.

But Aulë had come to inspect the work of his helpers back then and he saw working among them his long lost apprentice and instead of treating him with scorn or bidding both him and Melkor to leave the underground smithies, the Smith of the Valar just smiled and welcomed their help.

Back in that hour Mairon's spirit was filled with disbelief and marvel. And on that day, when he had lifted his eyes and looked upon his lord of old, he had seen in Aulë's eyes forgiveness and acceptance and instead of bowing like he did today, he had knelt.

When he had arisen from his knees on that day, proving to have known all about his Mairon's presence in the forges, Aulë gave him the hammer that he had once known so well. For it was Mairon's own hammer from the times the first world was still young. And taking it in his hands back then, the Maia remembered all that had once been and all the wonders he had once wrought for Aulë in the great waiting for the awakening of the Eldar.

With this same hammer it was that he stood now between Manwë, Melkor and Aulë, ready to bring into existence the most magnificent of Suns.

And thus as the trace of light in the sky was already fading and the Children of Eru returned back to the Allfather's halls to rest and wait for the new world to be complete, the four Ainur set to work together.

While Aulë, with Mairon's help, forged the core of the new Sun, Manwë taught it its flight and Melkor charged it with heat and energy and wrapped it in fire. Then, being the mightiest of the Valar, he carried the giant globe to the edge of the world and there he tossed it, sending it to the orbit, that Manwë had taught it to follow. Though he did not show it, Melkor was nervous. For should the ball of fire come crashing down on Arda, he was quite sure it would be him and Mairon that everyone would blame, not Manwë or Aulë.

Yet the Sun did not fail and it flew up instead, rising over the new flat world as it was meant to. And Melkor watched it and was pleased, for although he always disliked the Sun of Arda Marred, the new one burnt with the flames of his own, and caused him no discomfort. And so instead of loathing the Sun like he always would, he took pride in this globe of fire that he himself had helped come into being.

 

* * *

The next task was from Yavanna.

Though the seeds and saplings were planted all over Arda, they would take decades to grow on their own, while the Children of Eru were waiting for a new home. Thus she had turned to Vána for help, but it proved not enough still, as the two of them could only sing so much greenery to bloom and maturity.

Melkor was quite displeased with the task at first, for the two Queens of the Valar wanted him to sing bushes and shrubs into growing with them, and it seemed to Melkor both boring and degrading. He was no Vala of gardening. Fire, explosions and moving mountains were his areas of interest and expertise.

Yet as they got down to the task, Melkor soon began enjoying himself without even noticing and he flew over valleys and mountains, making pines shoot out of the snow, moss cover the stones and all sorts of beautiful flowers bloom in the fields. Destruction had always come easy to him, but he had never thought he would have such a talent for creation.

And in fact... he did have quite very little of it - the power of his songs simply woke the plants that the Queens of the Valar had seeded on Arda. For Melkor's attention was too scattered to create from nothing a proper tree with bark and many branches and leaves. Yet one day as in his triumph he flew over deserts where the Queens of the Valar had planted naught, his singing brought to light the strangest plants, that neither Yavanna nor Vána had conceived. They had no bark or network of branches, instead they were all green like one green leaf and were covered in needles, perhaps due to their maker's liking of pointy things.

The Valar were greatly puzzled when they discovered those odd creations of Melkor growing in the desert. However, as apart from having needles on them they seemed quite harmless and very few other plants managed to grow in that dry a climate, they were left alone.

As more lands were covered with thick woods and vast green fields, the work of the Ainur shifted towards the regions where the climates were more extreme. It was at that time, that Melkor found a far off northern corner of the world, where nothing could grow but glaciers and snowdrifts. And there he decided to make a new home for himself and his Maiar, since the Angainor incident of recent had left his relationship with some of the Valar most troubled. So for the sake of everyone's - and most of all his own - comfort Melkor was inclined to settle away from the center of the world and only come there to pay his dues. At least until the embarrassing matter was forgotten.

However, the work he did for Yavanna was far from over. Thus ever so often Melkor still left the new land that he and his Maiar were slowly reshaping to their liking and traveled south to help carpet Arda Healed with grasslands and meadows that Yavanna and Vána had designed and nurtured.

After a while Melkor stopped seeing planting of greenery as a degrading punishment and began to enjoy that task thoroughly. Then slowly he managed to develop a rather friendly relationship with the mistresses of the trees and flowers.

One complaint only did Yavanna have about Melkor's forests - and it was that they all started from the autumn season. Yet as coloring the woods red and orange with autumn leaves was a great improvement compared to setting them aflame and so Yavanna just sighed and let Melkor do it his way.

* * *

Greatly did Melkor dread the task that Tulkas would give him. And as he stood before Astaldo, he cringed in his spirit, expecting something most unpleasant or even painful. Excruciatingly boring at least.

For a long moment Tulkas looked down at him, harsh and serious, making Melkor's skin crawl. And then, grimly he spoke.

"Make me laugh, Melkor."

Melkor recoiled, horror apparent in his features. Tulkas' laughter was what he had once heard in his nightmares, as it was moreover always accompanied by a most shameful beating and an equally shameful defeat. How he could possibly make the Champion of Valinor laugh, was beyond Melkor. The one thing he knew for sure, was that it would not be a pleasant or easy task.

As those thoughts fleeted through Melkor's agitated mind, he was utterly startled by the horrid booming laugh of his enemy of old. Melkor gaped at him, lost for words and infinitely confused. But Tulkas roared only louder with laughter, slapping his thighs and bending over, like he witnessed the most hilarious jest ever.

Slowly Melkor calmed down, and then he felt offended. And when Tulkas was finally done cackling, looked up and saw Melkor's offended look, he burst out laughing again. "Ah, Melkor you never fail to amuse!" the Vala roared, bent in half with laughter once more. "Your task is done! Ha! I give you leave!"

On that day Melkor decided that he would really never understand his kin.

* * *

When it was Nienna's turn, to Melkor's great surprise, she asked no deed of him, but that he would come talk to her between other tasks. Sometimes they would stay in her dwelling, on other occasions she would walk with Melkor through the woods and fields of Arda, making beasts and birds of prey show mercy to their victims and kill fast and only for sustenance. On their way, Nienna would ask Melkor questions of the past, of his current doings and when she heard of his displeasure at his present tasks or of the imprisonment he had endured in the past, Nienna would comfort him.

And although it baffled Melkor at first, soon he came to like this particular Ainu above all of the other Valar, for she was the only one to show true sympathy without bitterness or disapprobation. At times she retold to him the history of Arda Marred from her point of view, and Melkor learned much of mercy and empathy, and he grew to respect Nienna, who had previously seemed to him the most useless of his kin - except for perhaps Nessa, who in his eyes only chased deer and danced on the green grass of Valinor, and was Tulkas' wife, which made her the easier to dislike. Although now, after conversations with Nienna, instead of just hating Nessa as usual, Melkor found himself pitying her instead. It must have been really hard to be stuck for eternity with that giant laughing ox, Tulkas.

From now on, when asked by his allies what he thought of his tasks for the Valar, Melkor would privately say many unpleasant things about his kin, but never of Nienna.

Many harsh words Melkor had for Varda, but he did not speak them out loud. For Elentári could hear all that was happening on Arda. And since she had cunningly wished to be the last one to give Melkor a task, he did not want to worsen his fate, which he expected to be already something quite terrible. After all the two of them were never on good terms.

* * *

The works for Aulë and Ulmo were often of volcanic nature, for Melkor was as good at shaping Arda to his liking, as was the Master Smith, and with his power being greater than theirs combined, he helped make many a geyser, hot spring, island, lagoon and underground lake. He rather liked those tasks and often would discuss them with Mairon upon his return to his new land of fire and ice they called Morlindalë, unless of course Mairon would come with him to perform them.

He did not always come, for as the children of Eru began once more settling on the world, Mairon was given a task of his own. Instead of the island of Númenor, there was an archipelago of islands now on Arda, and each of the islands had one of the former kings of Númenor ruling it. And while those rulers that Mairon had not corrupted lived in peace with their neighbours, all the descendants of Tar-Ciryatan were as troublesome and overambitious as ever and it took all of Mairon's diplomatic cunning to try to undo his previous evils and bring some semblance of peace among the minuscule empires.

But even dealing with Ar-Pharazôn and all the other proud peacocks on a weekly basis was better than what Mairon still dreaded would come. And what he feared, was the day when he would be called to stand before the elven smiths of Eregion, and in particular... before Celebrimbor.

Because that day too was bound to once come, as all that had once lived, were now returning again to life - and that too was why the new world had to be much vaster than what the old one used to be. And it would need to grow still, to host all of the new lives that would start soon upon Arda Healed.

The labors of the Ainur were far from over.

* * *

Mairon stood by the window of Ringlach, Cold Flame, their new fortress, looking out onto the peaceful mountainous landscape outside. His eyes passed over the slowly flowing lava streams and the dark irregular slopes of volcanic peaks and they smiled as they travelled further - over the roads carved in cold magma and the gorges filled with flames, until at long last they reached the horizon and lingered there, gazing upon the proud glaciers that loomed in the distance behind the mountains.

Surrounding the volcanic heart of Melkor's realm built on the northern confines of the new world, was a circle of frozen crystalline land of the Vala's own making. A wall of tall and unscalable glaciers it was, frontier that only the Ainur could cross. And it was risen there to prevent the lesser races from straying into the land of extremes the Vala so loved and to prevent them from finding unneeded death in his domain. Except for that however the ring of ice around the land, also gave it a certain formidable and distant beauty that both of the lords of the land quite enjoyed.

Mairon's eyes reached further, higher. From time to time, in the clear skies above the mountains, carried by the winds of Manwë, there flew the mighty Eagles. All the Ainur, including the messengers of Melkor's brother could travel unhindered through this land, yet when two of the giant birds attempted making a nest on the newly erected tower of Ringlach, Mairon chased them away. Partially for Melkor's sake, for they still could somehow seem to be potential spies of Manwë in the Vala's eyes, but in all honesty also because he could simply not foresee anybody volunteering to clean the battlements everyday.

Morlindalë, Music of Darkness, was what they called this new realm, and it was perfect. It was their land. His and Melkor's. And of all the Maiar, who would wish to join them.

And it was not a realm gained by conquest, not a territory wrenched by force from the hands of their brethren. It was a corner of the world gifted to them, forever to do with as they pleased. And as it was located on the outlying fringes of Arda, where the world ended and the darkness began, thus it could be stretched on and on to their liking if a need arose. For now however, the kingdom of the chaotic Vala was still rather small. But because of that, it felt the more like home.

Home. It was such a strange notion to speak out loud or even think of.

For a very long time it still felt unreal - but in the beginning of the new world, when the time flowed freely - yet untamed by days and hours - and all of the Ainur had their hands full with endless creation, Mairon dwelt not on this.

Presently however, the world was nearly fully wrought and covered in grass and sand and water, and although still much remained to be improved and enriched on it, there was now time to at last take a breath, to step back and for a moment simply enjoy the fresh vastness and infinite beauty of Arda Restored.

And when Mairon at last let the hammer drop from his hands, the sweat cool on his skin, and the fire in his spirit quiet a little, the surreal feeling of it all being just a dream dreamt in the cold foggy limbo of his exile, returned to him again.

Yet with each setting of the new sun that he had shaped together with his two former masters, it was all becoming a sliver more real for the Maia - and as days passed, Mairon at last felt that his grasp on reality had become firm enough to hold onto it and at long last let go of the past.

Thus finally he was ready to truly believe that somehow he was allowed to have it all. And as he realized that he could bask in the light of Eru and at once still find his place in Melkor's eager fire, Mairon felt mirth and peace filling his heart.

And so there he was now, looking out of the window and watching the history of his existence come full circle. In the distance, behind the mountains, he now heard the voice of his friend and master. Yet unlike it had come to pass once in Beleriand, this time the mountains resounded not with a scream but instead they rang with clear and genuine laughter of the Vala.

Mairon watched from the open window in the tower as the spirits of fire crawled out of their cavernous abodes and lava lakes and met Melkor half-way to their stronghold, welcoming their master back in the land.

For a little while longer did the Maia watch them from above with a smile lingering on his lips. And then he walked away from the window and set out on his way down the stairs.

* * *

Melkor walked through the halls of his fortress, still laughing as he retold the creation of the desert plants to his balrogs. The cacti, as was now their name, he described as gigantic green towers covered in spikes, that could impale a bird or an animal if it were stupid enough to try harming the Trees of Melkor. He laughed at the pitiful Ents that Yavanna had to make to protect her trees from harm. Now his trees would not need any protection, and no fool would even bother chopping one down, as it would not burn too well.

"And inside they have juices, that when drunk would give the drinker the most vivid hallucinations! Better than poison, because no one would blame me, if the fool would die on my tree's spikes! After all no one blames Yavanna's bears for hunting down fools that wake them in winter," so Melkor bragged and laughed and the balrogs laughed with him.

In their company he reached the large hall that was the throne room. It did not have just one throne, though, like it would have in the old days. Instead there were three seats. One for Melkor, one for Mairon and one for Gothmog, for Melkor wished to keep his friends close, enjoying their company all the more after his trips to the center of the world.

As Melkor sat down in his place in the middle, the heavy door of the throne hall was pushed open again and Mairon walked in, with a smile on his face and confidence in his step and walked across the hall, nodding to the fiery Maiar as he climbed up the dais to his lord.

Melkor rose from his seat, smiling brilliantly and he embraced the Maia, when Mairon reached him. "Ah, Mairon, thou hast just missed the tale of how I fooled the Valar yet again! Looks like I will have to tell it again," Melkor scolded the Maia light-heartedly, but in his features was just delight from seeing Mairon. "But perhaps later. I am weary from the journey. Tell me now about thy own matters and how ye all have fared in my absence," the Vala asked, smiling as he sat back down, looking at his Maia with hungry eyes. No words had been spoken between them on the matter, but Mairon could see Melkor's fondness of him growing as the time passed. Slowly the Vala was learning to take interest in beings other than himself.

"Why, all is quite well in thy realm, oh lord. Glaciers have not yet melted and the lava is as hot, as thou hast left it." Mairon spoke with good humour, "As for the news, according to thy wish, we have completed the mighty tower overlooking the land, which thou hast probably failed to notice," the Maia continued, smirking somewhat, for Melkor's lack of attention was an issue well known and ever-amusing to all and one that none of them were now afraid to point out, "Our favourite eagles however did take note of it immediately of course, and so we had a small skirmish with them at the very top of the tower, as they tried to make nest there the instant it was ready. But I am proud to announce that we have won that battle and defended thy fortress with great skill. And with no casualties on either side. Only a few oversized feathers were lost in all the commotion."

"Ah!" Melkor beamed. "That is good news indeed! The last thing I want to see on my towers are filthy nests of Manwë's uncultured subordinates! Good work, my thra-... friends, yes!" Melkor corrected himself, addressing everyone. Then he turned back to Mairon and announced. "I much wish behold and climb the tower tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, my liege?" Mairon asked, with a glint in his eye, "But the day is hardly done yet... and if both the tower and the tale of how thou hast outwitted the Valar must wait until later, then truly I wonder, whether there is anything at all that thou wouldst like to see still today?"

"Indeed there is someplace I would like to see," Melkor leered. "My bed chambers, Mairon. And later, at sunset, we shall have a large feast right here." He gestured around the hall from his throne. "But first the bed chambers. For I am so very weary," the Vala drawled, looking at Mairon meaningfully.

Mairon's brows furrowed, as quite convincingly, he pretended not to recognize the meaning behind Melkor's words. "Ah, if thou needst thy rest, my lord, then thou must have it. Thus I shall now return back to the forge, for by no means do I wish to disturb thee."

The lord of Ringlach looked displeased. He leaned closer to the Maia and spoke quietly so that only Mairon would hear him. "Oh, but I dread, dear Mairon, that I have grown so weary I may not reach my bed chambers on my own... Dost thou truly wish for thy lord to collapse and fall asleep in the middle of some hallway, all because thou hast refused to accompany him to his bedchambers? Would that not haunt thee each night for the remainder of thy days?"

Mairon arched a thick dark eyebrow at him and he grinned a crooked grin, "Ah, it certainly would, my liege. In such a case let us be on our way at once. Certainly the balrogs shall excuse us..."

Melkor just smirked and got up from the throne, announcing some more details of the upcoming feast. To the cheers of the Maiar of fire the two Ainur left the throne room and walked down the hall, that led them in the direction of their private quarters. When they finally reached the doors to the bed chamber that was as much Melkor's as it was Mairon's, the Vala turned to give the Maia a truly haughty look. "Very well, Mairon, thou canst retire to the forge now, if thou so pleasest," he pronounced in an aloof manner.

Mairon held Melkor's fiery coal eyes for a moment, enjoying their first solitary moment in few weeks. The Vala spent much time helping his brethren. But Mairon too spent long days away. "Perhaps another time," He said now wickedly, narrowing his golden eyes, "Unless that is, thou shouldst still, much like in the old days find the table in my smithy somehow more exciting..." He said with a dark smile twisting his lips and he took few steps forth, forcing his master to back against the door.

A smirk tugged at the corners of Melkor's mouth then. "Ah, what is it now, Mairon? Not intending to let thy master rest from his long, tiring journey?" the Vala teased as he leaned against the door, looking at Mairon under an angle, his head tilted.

"Quite to the contrary, my lord," the Maia answered him smoothly, "I desire thee to at last lie down amidst the silks just as much, as thou thyself cravest for it. Or perhaps more even." Mairon's eyes were those of a loyal but hungry wolf.

"Lay me down then. And make sure I can not get up afterwards," Melkor smirked fully, getting a grip on the collar of Mairon's shirt before opening the door and pulling the Maia after himself with the same hunger playing in his eyes.

* * *

As the sun set beyond the horizon, the balrogs shrugged and began the feast without them.

 

* * *

In the center of the world, where the Valar dwelt, in splendid halls a vision of Eru could be seen, when the Maker of All desired to speak to the Ainur or His Children. There he could also be found by any of the Ainur, should they desire to seek council without being called by Him.

And so it came to pass that Melkor once arrived to the Halls of Eru on Arda, with no prior invitation or summon, and that he knelt before the Allfather and he spoke thus. "I come to ye, my maker, to ask for a privilege I may not deserve, but crave for with my entire being. Eru, the Allfather, let me make my orcs again!"

A murmur rose among the Ainur who had gathered from all around the world, hearing the news of Melkor arriving to the hallowed shrine in the center of the world, which he and his allies had left to dwell in their own northern land after the Angainor accident. Many of the Ainur now saw seeds of treachery and evil in Melkor's design to bring back the foul race of orcs, and they were afraid that this would be the first step in Melkor's plot of waging another war against the Children of Eru.

Yet Melkor heard those murmurs and he spoke again, from his knees, looking only at Eru Ilúvatar, as he explained himself. "I crave to remake the orcs, my Father, for even though I may have mistreated them in the past, they were my creations and my charges and in the matters of assembling them and their way of life I and my Maiar spent a large part of our existence. The Valar have ye children to look after, to teach and govern. But spirits of my nature are not meant to be guides for mankind, the Eldar or any other race that dwells on Arda now, as we thrive in conditions too extreme for them to survive in. Thus I ask ye, let me make my orcs anew and let me give them no malicious purpose this time, but a spark of life, bravery, strength and independence, so they can dwell in my northern lands and learn wisdom from my kind," so spoke Melkor, and he held himself humbly, though his speech was inspired and his eyes burnt with readiness to make his vision come to life.

Still many of the Ainur present distrusted Melkor and doubted his motives for remaking the orcs. Too many times had Melkor fooled them and harmed the lesser races with his vile creations. And now he asked to make those foul creatures tougher still, allegedly to make them better suited for the land of fire and ice, where he dwelt with the other spirits of fire, Mairon and those who had joined him after the New Music.

As Eru still did not answer him, Melkor grew desperate, and he addressed the Allfather a third time. "If ye let me make the orcs, Father, I shall take all responsibility for their actions. Should one of ye children or the children of the Valar come to harm by their hands, I shall take the punishment for it. As a father I will be to them and they shall be my children, and what harm may come from them will be my blame and I myself shall pay for it," and Melkor bowed his head, and he looked at the throne of Eru, waiting for his father's judgement.

Murmurs rose again among the Ainur, for few could believe in Melkor's sincerity and amidst themselves they quietly accused him of lying. But silence fell as Eru spoke.

"Rise, Melkor, my child. Rise and make thy orcs again. But know that as thou hast pledged responsibility for their actions, so thou shalt be judged should those actions bring harm to the other lesser races."

And Melkor rose and he thanked the Allfather for his generosity.

Under the guidance of Eru, he soon made the first orcs out of magmatic rock and he breathed in them life, and the eyes of Ilúvatar ignited in them the spark of the Flame Imperishable.

And thus the orcs awoke and were aware, and they saw Melkor, their maker and they loved him. And Melkor rejoiced and he thanked Eru once more. Then he hid the orcs in his palms and he carried them out of the Halls of Eru, away from the prying eyes of the Valar and their Maiar.

As he carried them over Arda he let them watch the lands below and they asked him for the names of things and he told them. When they reached the icy borders of Melkor's domain, the Vala hesitated, fearful, for he had grown fond of the little creatures in his hands and he was unsure if they would indeed dwell comfortably in a land as volatile as his. But the orcs peeked between his fingers and they saw the dark land of ice and the fiery towers of Melkor's fastness on the horizon crowned with northern lights, and they cried with joy, begging to see the marvelous vision from aclose - and bearing witness to their joy, Melkor himself was moved to tears, and he now knew what Aulë had felt when he had made the dwarves.

Thus gently he carried his children further, shielding them from the cold northern wind, until they were safe within the halls of his fastness.

There he charged Mairon and the other Maiar with teaching the orcs basic crafts so that they knew how to face the cold outside without perishing, and he oversaw the teaching of the orcs himself for as long as his attention span allowed and then he went outside and he made beasts for them to hunt and ride on and remembering his time at Yavanna's service he also made edible shrubs that could grow in the dark and cold for the beasts to feed off, and he let some of the ice melt and form rivers and lakes and he filled those with seaweed and weird fish and beasts and birds that he himself created and some other that he borrowed from the lands nearby.

Much gladness was brought to Morlindalë by the arrival of the orcs, for the balrogs and the other Maiar had greatly missed a lesser race to watch over, and now they all eagerly taught and observed the orcs.

* * *

One day there was a great feast, that the Valar held in the center of the world for both the lesser races and the Ainur alike. All were welcome there. Even Melkor's northern fastness had been visited by an eagle of Manwë, that had brought an invitation for the Vala, his Maiar and his orcs.

The feast was so vast it could not possibly be held indoors, and thus tables were set under the sun in the beautiful gardens of the Valar.

When Melkor and his Maiar arrived, bringing the orcs with them, the Eldar, Naugrim and Edain were equally appalled, for in the features of the Children of Melkor they saw their common foes from the past. And they stayed away from the orcs, watching them warily even as the feast began. Yet as time passed they saw that despite their brutish and unattractive looks, they acted quite civil, if odd to the eyes of the Children of Eru. Still, old grudges were not easily forgotten and while some cast curious glances towards the orcs, none yet wished to approach them, while the Children of Melkor despite their curiosity about the other races of Arda were quite content among themselves. So the feast lasted in peace.

The Valar sat gathered around a large table on a hill from which they could observe the lesser races, and among them sat Melkor and Mairon, who was the only Maia at the table of the Valar. For Melkor refused to sit with his kin, if they did not also invite Mairon to sit with them. Thus, not wanting to reawaken old animosities, Manwë offered Mairon a place at their table to appease his brother.

The King of the Valar observed for a long while the Children of Melkor, who sat apart from the other peoples of Arda, yet made no quarrel with them. And then he turned to his brother and asked "Tell me Melkor, why did you make the orcs as ugly as they used to be, when you could have made them anew?"

Melkor turned to Manwë with surprise, fiery brows raised in a questioning arch. "I do not get thy meaning, brother. What meanst thou by "ugly"? They are quite fair to my eyes."

Many of the Valar regarded Melkor with the greatest bewilderment. But what he said afterwords was what truly shocked them.

"At least they surely look fairer to me than the hideous Eldar," Melkor said light-heartedly and shrugged.

"I beg your pardon..." Varda said in a chilly tone, freezing with a cup of wine half-raised. If looks could as much as hurt, Melkor would have been pulverised.

"Truly Melkor, your jokes are getting better and better," Tulkas laughed and slapped the fiery Vala on the back with the strength of an avalanche.

"But I spoke seriously," Melkor croaked, wincing, when he recovered from the friendly pat on the back.

"Melkor, you are once more completely alone in your delusions. Everyone knows that the Eldar are the fairest race of all," Varda said coldly, glaring murder at her brother-in-law.

"Well, that is simply absurd," Yavanna said, discarding Varda's words with a gesture. "Everyone knows that Ents are the fairest race!"

"My love, I dare disagree..." Aulë started delicately.

"I'd say, the eagles if any single race were..."

"Hobbits," offered a helpful voice from the table where the Maiar sat.

"All races are most beautiful in death," Mandos spoke solemnly, making all the other Valar fall silent and the argument come to a rapid end.

Sitting among the mighty Valar, Mairon just hid his face in his palm.

 * * *

 

---

Chapter End Notes

A/N Thank you, Námo!

XD

And on that optimistic note let us promise you this is not the last bonus for Loyalty. We've got some more "Arda Healed" adventures planned for you, this just served as some sort of introduction. Some of you might be wondering about the "Angainor Incident". Well, that is what the next bonus will be about ;D Expect the bonuses to be generally written in a lighter way, it's up to you if you want to continue reading or stop here, please make your choice wisely XD

They will all differ, both in volume and in mood and style, and topics, will feature various characters and situations and may follow in random directions - this was just a warm-up! ;D

There will be no regular update schedule with the bonuses, but we will always announce new ones on our tumblr - next one is sadly coming only around July, because Luff has evil exams.

Now, a few random notes:

Perhaps you've noticed that the Valar spoke with "you" while Melkor speaks with "thee". Well, the whole world speaks modern speech now, and only Melkor, having been stuck in the Void, still uses old-fashioned phrases! XD Mairon and all Melkor's servants also do that when in Melkor's presence, at least for the time being, not to make him feel odd. The other Valar howeverkind of went with the spirit of time (probably lectured by Olórin and other Istari) and we assume, for the sake of everyone's amusement, that they speak more modern language now too.

Another note we'd like to make is that we believe there was no romantic involvement between Melkor and Varda and that her "rejecting him" in the begining of time in Silmarillion was simply her pigeon-holing him as evil from the very Day One and wishing to have nothing to do with him.

And now, much love to all of you, take care until next chapter :3! And of course... do tell us what you think! Was Melkor's creation of the glorious plant called cactus not glorious? By the way, go and google "saguaro", look how huge the cacti can get. And then imagine Melkor's happiness again XDD

Extras - part 2

Read Extras - part 2

A/N Long time no see everyone! Real lives swallowed us for a while but now we're here, to gift you with a little flashback on what exactly made Melkor and Mairon leave the center of the world and establish their own land and fortress, away from the Valar :P

Bonus chapter 2

"The Angainor Incident"

In the center of the world, where the Valar dwell, it is spoken of many happenings. It is spoken of the ongoing shaping of the lands on the edges of the world, of the islands that had risen from the seas and of the Men and Elves, who are settling on them. It is spoken of the new stars that light up in the sky at night and of the flowers that have already blossomed in the gardens of Yavanna.

One matter however, though known to many, is never mentioned out loud.

And yet, although unspoken of, the dark events of that day are not entirely lost and just as all other bends and turns of history, they remain recorded forever in the tapestries of fate and time woven by Vairë the Weaver. That particular tapestry however, for reasons well-known but also not often brought up to light – does not decorate any of the vast Halls of Mandos and it is forever, until the end of all times kept hidden far from the eyes of both the Ainur and the children of Ilúvatar.

If ever, for a reason most unfathomable, one wished to mention the terrible secret that it hides without revealing its most delicate nature, just three words would be needed for all to understand…

The Angainor Incident.

* * *

It was a fair spring day, and Manwë sat on his throne admiring from the height of his seat the lands that spread below. The sky was cloudless and just as clear was the mind of the High King, for since the beginning of the new world no major animosity or squabble had arisen among the Ainur or even the Children of Eru. There were minor disagreements of course, as many of the lesser races still bore a justified grudge against Melkor, his brother, but so far no real harm has come from it. In fact the lack of conflict seemed almost... alarming.

"Good day, Manwë," called out a voice, and Manwë turned to witness Aulë, climbing the stairs that lead up to his mountain seat.

"Good day indeed," answered the Elder King and he stood up to greet the other Ainu with gladness.

"Alas, I see Varda is not with you," Aulë noted however when he was approaching and in his voice, deep like underground halls of his forges, there seemed to ring an undertone of disappointed.

"No, she is not." Manwë replied with a smile calm like the sky on that day. "She is gone to the edge of the world to set new constellations in the Eastern part of the firmament." The Elder King explained, yet soon after his own words rang out, he noted the troubled look on his friend's face and he sensed the uneasiness of the Master Smith of the Valar.

And then the first touch of worry appeared on the graceful face of Manwë. "Is there a reason why you ask, my old friend?"

"Oh, it is nothing," Aulë shook his head. "Don't trouble yourself, Manwë. I suppose it is of little importance, if any at all in fact..." he said averting his eyes, as if it was not entirely true.

The other Vala regarded him for a longer while and then gently, he stated. "And yet there is clearly some trouble on your mind. And you surely haven't come here only to go back down, Aulë. Is there something I could do to help?"

The Master Smith hesitated for a while and then he spoke. "It is probably really nothing, I simply thought that if Varda was here, then with your far-seeing eyes, you could have checked where Angainor is..." he said in a most casual tone.

"Is it not in your smithy?" Manwë lifted his eyebrows surprised.

"No. No, it's not. I suppose Tulkas took it. Perhaps Melkor has done some minor mischief and needed a reminder of what punishment awaits him, should he go back to his old ways... Or maybe I misplaced it by chance when I was weary after a day of work. Or for some reason my wife needed it for her gardening hocus pocus..." It sounded like that idea occurred to him now only. "It's nothing, Manwë." He repeated again, not making Manwë any surer, "If Varda were here, you could have quickly checked but it's really not important. I suppose I will return later..." Aulë turned to leave.

"Varda may be gone for a longer while," Manwë protested, before the other Vala had the chance to descend even down the first step. "And meanwhile I will gladly help you look for the chain if it will put your mind at ease."

"That is most kind of you," Aulë smiled with apparent relief.

And so the two Valar went to search for Tulkas, who seemed to both the most likely Ainu to borrow Angainor.

There was another suspect, of course, but neither Manwë, nor Aulë wanted to believe that Melkor had reverted back to his evil ways and had stolen the chain with malevolent intent. Nonetheless both of them considered such a possibility, while each pretended not to.

* * *

They searched for Tulkas for a longer while, until it was clear to them, that he had left the center of the world. Then Manwë called forth Ulmo and he asked the Lord of the Waters, if he had perchance seen the Champion of Valinor.

"Indeed I have seen Tulkas." Ulmo answered as he emerged from the clear waters of the new Arda to speak with them. "He was with Oromë and a group of Eldar, who were hunting fowl by a lake. If you seek Tulkas, I can lead you there."

So Manwë, Aulë and Ulmo travelled to the lake, where Ulmo last saw Tulkas. It was deep in a forest to the North from the center of the world. When the three Valar arrived, the sky was red with the sunset in the West. And in the last rays of the setting sun, they saw a group of Eldar dining around a fire in the company of Oromë.

"Good evening, Oromë," Manwë greeted him.

"Greetings," answered the Huntsman.

"We heard that Tulkas was with you today. Is he still nearby by any chance?" Manwë asked him, trying to sound casual.

"No, he left with Nessa, when the sun was still high," Oromë answered, piercing the High King with his vigilant eyes. Three of the Valar coming to casually search for Tulkas was the least casual sight and that fact did not elude the Huntsman. "I can lead you to him. My sister's trails are well-known to me."

Thus Ulmo bid Manwë, Aulë and Oromë farewell and disappeared in the lake, while once more three of the Valar set out to find Tulkas Astaldo.

When he heard that Angainor was missing, unlike Aulë and Manwë, Oromë did not try to pretend he believed Melkor had not taken it. Nonetheless the Great Rider did not speak his mind and led the other two to where Tulkas and Nessa had earlier gone, for if Melkor had indeed stolen Angainor, they would need the strength of Tulkas' strong arms and his thundering laughter to help to stop the Dark Vala from fulfilling his evil design.

As they left the forest, and travelled over a field, they however found not Nessa and Tulkas but Mandos with a scythe, cutting down grass in the first moonlight. The Judge had developed a fondness for gardening, since there were hardly any deaths in the history of new Arda. Those that did happen, happened because of Melkor's eager, but sometimes not well-thought-through attempts to help his brethren shape the new world.

Some unlucky dwarves got buried under an avalanche, an elf or two met fiery deaths in giant cracks in the earth, and several men were crushed by a cactus, after they tried to chop it down. Since all of those unlucky fatalities were caused by none other than Melkor, all of his victims were brought back from the Halls of Mandos. Such was the custom of the new Arda.

Manwë, Ulmo and Oromë greeted Mandos and began casually questioning him if he perhaps happened to know what the fate held for Angainor today and in the near future. But despite Manwë's hopes Namo did not reveal to them where Angainor was, or even if Melkor had something to do with the chain's disappearance. So they left him to his work, and went further.

They found Nessa dancing in the moonlight on a beach but unfortunately her husband was not with her.

"Oromë, Manwë, I am so sorry, if I had just waited until Varda returned, I would not have troubled the lot of you," Aulë said guiltily at that point. "I see no further reason to keep bothering you and searching now." Then, having apologized to the other Valar, he left to find Yavanna instead.

Manwë, however, was still determined to find the chain. Oromë began asking Nessa, where Tulkas had gone, when the sea brought the voice of Ulmo to them, "I have found Tulkas. We will both join you soon," said the waves that gently washed the nearby shore.

Relieved and at the same time anxious, Manwë did not dare ask the waves if the Champion of the Valar had the chain with him and instead he simply paced along the shore as he waited. Finally out of the sea foam emerged the mighty form of Tulkas. Ulmo briefly revealed himself to exchange a greeting with Nessa and then was gone again.

"Tulkas," Manwë asked. "Did you per chance take Angainor?"

* * *

Grim and disappointed, Manwë led the Huntsman and the Champion of the Valar through Melkor's halls. Tulkas had not taken Angainor. And hearing that it was gone, Astaldo, just like Oromë before him, assumed the worst. Now they walked in silence through the magmatic halls. It was night outside and shadows danced on the walls amid firelight. The fastness was silent and no Balrogs or other Maiar of Melkor's showed themselves to the three of the Powers, and no Orcs appeared in their way as they went deeper and deeper into the stronghold.

Finally, as they had almost reached Melkor's quarters, Oromë stopped suddenly. "I will stand guard here," he said mysteriously. "Call me, if a need arises."

Manwë and Tulkas exchanged puzzled looks, but seeing no reason to refuse the Huntsman's whim, they went further without him.

They did not manage to go far before the walls around them seemed to tremble with a wave of laughter that made even Tulkas feel somewhat uneasy. Manwë recognized easily that it was not the laughter of his brother. It was laughter of the Maia.

Mairon's laughter.

It sounded again and with it this time came words, triumphant and arrogant. "I have captured thee at last, Melkor, thou pitiful creature of darkness. I shall drag thee away in these chains, to Valinor where thou wilt be tried and punished for thy crimes."

From beyond the door to Melkor's chambers, that stood slightly ajar there came firelight and ceaseless rattling of a chain.

"Why drag me all the way to Valinor, Astaldo? Punish me here and now!" came Melkor's strangely excited voice. "Yes! Punish me even harder!"

Then the Valar in the corridor heard more noises. Confusing ones. Perhaps they could be described as expressions of effort. Or even pain. Bewildered and most puzzled, the two Valar headed for the door, from beyond which came Melkor's voice, strangely breathless. "Aye! Aye, like so! Harder! I know thou art stronger than that!"

Then there was yet more rattling of the chain to be heard and the Maia's voice resounded again in the room beyond the door. "Wash that foul smirk of thy face, Melkor. I have never... said I shall leave thee be. And as soon as I am... done... with thee, I shall drag thee to the Valar, where thou shalt be cast into the deepest of the Halls of Mandos..."

The Valar did not know what to make of that, and in dismay they came even closer to the door of Melkor's private chambers.

"Aye! To the deepest hall! Drag me there, Tulkas! Deeper!" Melkor sounded ecstatic. The amount of delight in his voice bordered on the obscene. "Deeper! All the way to Mandos!"

In that moment Tulkas and Manwë finally opened the door and they saw Melkor, Mairon and Angainor. Both of the Ainur were clad in bodies of flesh, and the one of Melkor was bound with the chain in a most vulnerable position, with a loop around his neck, that Mairon was pulling tighter, as he claimed the Vala with brutal force.

For a moment then the eyes of Melkor met those of the real Tulkas, and widened in surprise. Then he looked back at Mairon, as if to check if the Maia was still there or saw what he saw, but Mairon did not let his master focus on that strange mirage for long.

Meanwhile, shocked and scarred for life, Astaldo cursed Melkor and Mairon, and then Oromë and Mandos, and fled from the room. Yet the vision and later the memory of it he could never again escape.

When Melkor looked back at the door of his bedroom, Tulkas was already gone, and the Dark Vala was too distracted to notice Manwë, who stood frozen in the shadows, unable to breathe, blink or even escape the scene with grace. So the High King stood in the doors, forced to watch his brother writhe and scream joyous profanities under Mairon, until both of the Ainur were sated and fell silent.

"Thy skill amazes me, Mairon! How great is thy acting! For a moment there I thought I saw the real Tulkas," Melkor laughed, slipping out of the chain partially to embrace his Maia.

Mairon's arm wound around him and the Maia's free hand gently undid the grip of the chain on Melkor's throat, fingers running with care over a few bruises that began to form on the paleness of the Vala's neck. "He was in fact really here for a moment, my liege but fled in fear before us." Mairon said, kissing his lord's sweaty brow, "Thy brother, on the other hand, is still standing in the doorway." He said, completely unfazed by that fact.

Melkor's blissful relaxed expression changed to that of shock and he tilted his head up again to look at the door.

And there indeed stood none other than Manwë Súlimo, the Lord of the Breath of Arda.

And the only thing he managed to utter to the two naked Ainur, when he finally regained the ability to speak was a very faint and cautious question.

"Melkor... are you unhurt?"

* * *

After the Valar had recovered from the initial shock, after some debate, they had reluctantly agreed that coming uninvited to Melkor's very bedroom in the late hours of the night, was not the wisest move on their part. Since their privacy had been breached so brutally, no one dared blame Melkor or Mairon for borrowing the chain.

Oromë, however, got a strict reprimand from his brother-in-law and Manwë for not sharing what his hunter instincts had told him with the rest of them and thus sentencing them to witness the fateful events of that evening.

Few weeks later, Melkor and Mairon left their fortress in the center of the world and moved to the north, where they established Ringlach, their new land and fortress.

As to the chain, Angainor, it was never returned to Aulë.

He was simply told he would not want it back anymore.

 

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Chapter End Notes

And that's what you get for unannounced home invasion, dear Valar! XD Tell us what you think of today's detective story xDDD