Loyalty Unyielding by Zlu and Luff

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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

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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