Loyalty Unyielding by Zlu and Luff

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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! 

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Chapter 5

The Music of Angband

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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!