The Lords that Fell by Taylor17387

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The Lady on the Stone Bridge

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The Lady on the Stone Bridge

But Lúthien hath cunning arts
for solace sweet of kingly hearts.

-The Lay of Leithian: Canto XIII.

It took Sauron just a few seconds to recognize the two visitors of the tower. The maiden couldn't be other than Lúthien, the daughter of Melian, as her breathtaking song and painful-to-look-at beauty indicated. The lieutenant tried to avert his eyes from her face at once, with a superstitious fear of being bewitched by some enchantment of feminine evil, since he had heard that the maiden was an expert sorcerer, just as her mother.
The huge dog was, to the annoyance of Sauron, none other than Huan, the wolfhound of the Valar. The antipathy that he felt for the animal came from long ago. Already in Valinor, when Sauron was still a servant of Aulë, and the attraction towards Melkor had just begun to insinuate in his heart, already then, that dog had sensed something dark in his soul, something that not even the most intuitive of the Valar could perceive yet. And he had instinctively hated him. Not once passed the Maia by the animal, without him raising his hackles and starting to growl and bark, to the embarrassment of Oromë, that was unable to correct him.
In one occasion Sauron had tried to soften the tension in the air, and pretending that he didn't care about Huan's barks, he had approached the dog to stroke his head, but he had bitten his hand before the astonished eyes of his owner. The thousand faltering apologies of Oromë were to no avail; from that day on, Sauron felt deep resentment towards the dog, and didn't desire anything but to destroy him.
Because of fate's coincidences, now he had a perfect opportunity to do so.

-Oh, Lúthien, Lúthien! I think you have lost yourself. If what you wanted were green meadows covered with flowers, on which to dance under the stars, you will not find them here. But you can, however, dance among the bones of your friends under the vaults of my dungeons. I have them right here. -said the lieutenant in a mocking tone.

-I know. I've come to bury those bones, precisely under the debris of your ruined tower. And I've come to rescue my beloved as well. –answered Lúthien impassively.

Sauron smiled, impressed by the calm and cold blood of the girl.

-Do you know, Lúthien? I promised my Lord once that I would capture you for him and I would cage you like a songbird. It is fortunate that you yourself have come flying to my cage, with no need for me to go out to hunt you down.

-You are wrong, lord of the tower. It's me who will capture you, and send you to the presence of your master. Though I doubt he will receive you with much pleasure.

Sauron clenched his teeth, increasingly irritated by the defiant attitude of the maiden. She stood motionless on the stone bridge, and neither the deep waters of the moat, nor the threatening battlements of the tower, nor the howls that came from within, seemed to disturb her in the least.
Beren continued crying with the lifeless body of Finrod in his arms, but his face had lit up with hope upon hearing the song and voice of his beloved, and that further infuriated the lieutenant.
He assembled then all his werewolves, and sent them to the bridge to tear that accursed dog to pieces and bring him Lúthien alive. The plan to interrogate Finrod and extract the secrets of Nargothrond and his mission had failed miserably, but that didn't mean that he couldn't find usefulness for those two lovers. Thingol would give them the entire kingdom as soon as he knew that his adored daughter was in Angband. As for the mortal, he certainly knew some of the secrets of Finrod. And if it wasn't so, at least he would be good entertainment for his human servant, who surely missed the company of those of his race.

However, what Sauron saw through the small window pulled him out of his scheming very soon.
Despite the ferocity of the werewolves, and that they went out through the gates of the fortress in large numbers, Huan defeated and killed them one by one without great problems. Soon a pile of dead skins accumulated on the bridge, on the banks of the moat, or even floated on the stagnant waters.
In view of this, the lieutenant was forced to take more drastic measures. He ran to one of the turrets, isolated from the rest, and drew back the seven iron bolts of the door, which didn't serve to prevent entry into the turret, but to prevent exit of what hid the turret. Inside, fastened with other seven chains, writhed among froth and growls the largest and most terrible of all the werewolves of the isle, the father of them all. Draugluin was called, and even Sauron felt some fearful respect for the creature, because the spirit that inhabited the body of that wolf had gone mad with rage long time ago, and in his bloodlust he didn't always differentiate between friend and foe.
With lots of caution, he approached him and began to loosen the chains, but the werewolf tried to bite him and almost hurted his arm.

-Thou hast left me too much time locked in here without food, lord lieutenant. Give me a good reason to not eat thee right now. -roared the beast with a deep voice, while streams of bloody drool slipped through his fangs.

-Outside is Huan, the wolfhound of the Valar, a much more delicious morsel than me. Him you can eat whole. But I want the maiden alive.

-I promise nothing. -snapped the monster, and as soon as he saw himself freed from the chains, he ran like a furious whirlwind out of the turret, knocking down more than one off-guard Orc.

Sauron looked out at the bridge again, in time to see how Draugluin charged at Huan and sank his teeth in his jugular.
The fight was terrible, and streams of red and black blood flowed from both opponents. But at the end of the battle, the dog of the Valar was still standing. The werewolf, on the other hand, crawled painfully into the fortress and went to die in front of his master, cursing the name of Huan with his last breath.

Sauron felt extremely humiliated. Down there, the dog panted a little tired, but still willing to fight. And Lúthien fixed on him her undaunted eyes, that seemed to gather the mocking brightness of all the stars of Varda together.
The lieutenant remembered then an old prophecy that spoke of how Huan would only fall before the jaws of the greatest wolf that had ever existed, and a cunning idea crossed his mind.

Moments later, a black and monstrously huge beast, with one eye of glass and one of flame, went outside and run forward across the bridge. His first target was Lúthien, whom he planned to bite on the face, thus ruining her beauty forever. He realized with satisfaction how terror appeared on the maiden's visage at the moment of pouncing on her, but then she waved the dark cloak that covered her in front of the eyes of the Maia, and a strange daze clouded his mind. Sauron staggered confused, and before he had time to react, he felt the dog's jaws closing around his throat like a steel trap.
The lieutenant squirmed in panic, and his body faded painfully, melting and regrouping in a rapid succession of horrendous forms that completely escaped his control. First he lost his members and got covered with scales, then countless tentacles sprouted from his body and stirred in despair, but not even thus he managed to escape from the jaws of Huan.
Finally, defeated, he recovered his usual appearance and was left panting and trembling.
A shape wrapped in darkness stood in front of him, and when he raised his eyes he ran into the perfect and ironic smile of Lúthien.

-Look at you, proud lord of the tower. You would not move even if you gathered all your black sorcery for it. Give me the keys of the tower and the spell that binds stone to stone. If you don’t, I'll rip that flesh envelope that covers now your spirit, and I will send you naked before your lord Morgoth, and you will be unable to do anything to hide your shame anymore because I'll rob you of that power forever. I've got that ability, so do not tempt me.

Sauron blinked blinded and confused by the gray glow emitted by the maiden's eyes. He struggled weakly, in an attempt to escape, but the fangs of the dog sank deeper into his neck, and he felt a trickle of blood running down his skin.
In his head crowded suddenly all the memories and feelings of those sixty years that he had spent immured and naked in Angband, and imagined how would it be to live the rest of his existence like that: constantly exposed to the gaze of the other Maiar, despised by Melkor, moreover, unable to mate with Melkor anymore.
Feeling violated in the uttermost depths of his being, he had no choice but to consent to the agreement. And with strangled voice, he whispered in the ear of Lúthien the words that kept the fortress standing and that, likewise, could tear it down.
Satisfied, the maiden told Huan to release the Maia, and he fled away in the shape of a bat.
He was so embarrassed, that he didn't even dare to look back, to see how the tower of Tol-in-Gaurhoth collapsed amid a column of dust and debris.

When the summits of Thangorodrim emerged before his eyes, Sauron didn't remember the path he had followed to reach Angband due to his general bewilderment.
Flitting from here to there without much judgment, he sought a discreet entrance through which he could penetrate the fortress without being seen by anyone. The last thing he wanted was having to explain his failure in front of the hordes of curious Orcs, and of sarcastic Balrogs, and above all, of Gothmog. Explaining what had happened to Melkor was going to be a painful enough experience to endure, on top of that, a public humiliation.
In the end, the lieutenant found an open window that led to a foul kitchen, and without leaving his bat shape, he went through the galleries of Angband searching for the alcove of his human servant.

It was already dead of night and he found him, indeed, inside his bed and asleep. Sauron adopted then his common shape, approached the bedside, and shook the man to wake him up. The first thing the servant did when he opened his eyes, and discerned in the half-light a dark shadow bending over him, was moving away with a start and covering himself with the sheet.

-Please, no, have mercy on me! -he cried in alarm, and the lieutenant was forced to cover his mouth with his hand to avoid being overheard outside.

After a series of struggles and reassuring words, Sauron managed to convince him that he was none other than his master, back at the fortress. Then the man relaxed, and all his fear turned immediately into sincere happiness, and oaths of devotion, and praise, and effusive welcomes.
The Maia thought that the poor creature would throw himself in his arms at any moment if he didn't stop him.

-Silence and listen! –he cut him off with a curt gesture- You have to do me a favour. A secret favour that nobody must know of.

The man opened his eyes and mouth in astonishment, and suddenly he seemed extremely excited.

-Of course, master! I am at thy entire disposal to do whatever thou askest me. –he said dutifully, and dropped himself on the pillow with languidness.

-Well, then get dressed, look for the lord Melkor and tell him that I've returned to Angband and need to talk to him privately about a matter of vital importance. Tell him that I'd like to meet him in his bedroom. And remember, no one must know of this, no one must know that I'm in the fortress except Melkor. Now go away!

For some mysterious reason, the man seemed very disappointed upon hearing this, and got dressed and left the room a little reluctantly.
After a while he returned to inform him that Melkor was waiting for him in the bedroom. Sauron turned into a bat again and headed there with the utmost discretion.
Fortunately, there were no sentries in front of the room.

While standing at the door, and before knocking on it to inform of his arrival, uncertainty paralyzed him for a moment. He hadn't seen his master in ten years and didn't know what he was going to find inside, especially after the fight with Fingolfin.
What if he had lost an eye, for example? What if they had cut him a member?
Unable to endure the doubts any longer, he plucked up courage, knocked on the door, and after hearing Melkor's permission, entered the room cautiously.
His master had his back turned, looking out the window, and at least at first glance he seemed to be well. However, when he turned to greet the lieutenant, the latter couldn't help being startled by what he saw.
A huge scar, like three whitish striae, crossed the left half of the face of his master, in what must be the mark of an animal claw.
Melkor frowned upon seeing this reaction.

-What happens Sauron? Do you think that my scar is ugly? -groaned the Vala, very offended.

-With all due respect, my Lord, I think it's horrible. -confessed Sauron, once he recovered his composure. Melkor's eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to throw out some curse at him, but the lieutenant continued before he had time to reply.- However, thou art still as beautiful as before. Even more so, because that mark gives thee now that fierce and fearsome air thou deservest. I wish I could have seen thee battling with that foolish Elf, have seen thee in thy black armour brandishing Grond as easily as others wave a feather. A god of rage and war, bathed in the blood of his enemies. I wish I could have been there, to perceive all that virile magnetism emanating from thy body, and to feel it entering through every one of my pores. Oh, my Lord, how I would have fallen at thy feet then!

The lieutenant took a tentative step towards the Vala, in a seductive attitude, and Melkor's mood seemed to soften at once. Sauron knew very well how to appease his lord and cheer him up, and precisely then, that he brought him such unpleasant news, he needed to soften him as much as possible.
Melkor also approached a bit, and then the Maia realized with horror that he limped on one of his legs and could only walk with obvious pain and difficulty.
This time the lieutenant didn't let his emotions show through, because even if the scar on his face was a trifle, that injury must be terribly humiliating for the Vala, and by showing pity he would just hurt him further.
Melkor, however, guessed his disturbance.

-As you can see, Sauron, I'm also crippled. What do you think? I, the most powerful god of Arda, can barely walk, while the last and most despicable of Orcs scampers around me just like that. As you can guess, now everyone knows about my inability to change shape, but at least I don't need to wear that glove anymore. Let all of them see my hand burned by the Silmarils, and my face torn by the claws of Thorondor, and my shameful lameness! What does it matter now? I have also another seven scars across my body... But those I will only show to you. In private.

The Vala smiled with a curious mixture of lust and shyness. Then Sauron stood before him, encircled his waist with his arms, and grabbing his backside, pressed him against his pelvis.
While he explored that familiar body through the robe, he noticed how Melkor approached his hips in an eloquent gesture and began to throb aroused.

-Didn’t you have to tell me something very important, the reason why you have left your post in Tol-in-Gaurhoth? –muttered the Vala, as his servant kissed him along the neck.

-Yes, my Lord. But let me love thee first, please. I've been away from thee for too long, and now I don't crave anything but seeing those scars that thou speakst about and run my tongue over each one of them.

-Those scars are the constant reminder of the pain that I feel, Sauron.

-And that pain is the constant reminder of thy triumph over the king of the Noldor and the despair of thy enemies, my Lord.

Melkor sighed pleased and allowed his lieutenant's caresses to comfort him.
It was true that Sauron wanted to make him forget his misery, at least for a while. And it was true that he wanted to feel his body again with a sincere passion.
But it was also true that this was the best way to inform him that Tol-in-Gaurhoth no longer existed.
Whenever one made love to him, Melkor was left in an exhausted and melancholic state, much more appropriate for the tough mission of giving him the bad news. Also, once he was completely satisfied, the Vala tended to relativize and downplay everything around him.
So if he had to talk about his defeat at the hands of a maiden and her dog, he better do it when his master had no breath to yell at him.

Thinking about this, Sauron pushed Melkor slightly towards the bed. And the Vala, guessing what came next, hung from his neck with redoubled passion and pressed his face against his skin to get filled with the scent of the Maia, as he often did.
But this time, the smell that he perceived was different.
With a sudden shove, the Vala moved his servant away, and when the lieutenant looked at him in dismay, he discovered on his countenance a deep indignation.

-Sauron, you have slept with an Elf! How dare you to touch me while being still drenched in his nauseating smell!?

-I ... I have not ... My Lord, what are you talking about?

-Do not play innocent with me! Did you really think that I wouldn't notice? With whom have you slept? Confess!

Sauron looked down, blushing to the tips of his hair. He couldn't lie, not to Melkor.

-With Finrod... With Finrod Felagund, the king of Nargothrond.

Melkor raised an eyebrow in surprise.

-And may I know the unfathomable reason why you have raped the king of Nargothrond?

-I didn't rape him! –protested Sauron for the umpteenth time.

-So that means he made advances towards you?

-Well, not exactly, but...

-I don't understand anything, Sauron. Why did you do something as stupid and disgusting as sleeping with an Elf?

The lieutenant felt increasingly irritated. Normally it was he who did the interrogations, not who suffered them.

-And what about thee, huh? –he snapped- Art thou going to tell me now that in ten years thou hast lived in perfect chastity? Thou mustest have had hundreds of lovers.

-Here in Angband!? –exclaimed Melkor, pointing with his arms around him.- Who!? The Orcs? The trolls? Glaurung, perhaps?

-What about Gothmog?

-Hmmm ... That didn't work. –muttered the Vala, looking away.- But stop talking about me, and let's talk about you and what has happened in Tol-in-Gaurhoth! I suspect you are hiding something important and I want to know it right now. Depending on what it is, I will reward you with a bit of love later... or maybe not, we'll see.

Sauron sighed downhearted, and made an effort to cool his desire. It was clear that he would spend that night alone as well.
He told his lord everything that had happened in the tower, from the capture of the twelve outlaws, to his lapse with Finrod, the arrival of Lúthien and Huan, the slaughter of the werewolves, and finally, his own defeat in the fight with the dog of the Valar.
After finishing his story, he waited downcast for Melkor's punishment, for his shouts of rage, his curses, maybe for a loud slap.
But instead of that, he just heard him breaking into laughter.
The lieutenant looked at him dumbfounded. Of all the things that his master could have done, laughing in his face that way was probably the most humiliating one.
The Maia coughed very uncomfortable:

-Ahem! My Lord, I don't think that having lost our base of the river Sirion and having seen all our werewolves turned into carrion is a cause for laughter. Not even the death of Thuringwethil should be a cause for laughter.

-I know, Sauron, I know. –said the Vala, trying to control himself in vain.- But still I can't believe that a little girl and her pet have defeated the proud lieutenant of Angband. It's so pathetic of you...!

-I imagine it's much more pathetic than being eaten by a spider, my Lord.

Melkor's laughter ceased at once, and he narrowed his eyes furious. Perhaps he wasn't the most suitable to make fun of others, after all.

-I suppose you know already that you will receive a tremendous punishment for all of this, right? –he said awkwardly, and turning his back to him, limped to the window.

-Of course, my Lord. I didn't expect anything else, and will accept my punishment with resignation. I know that what I've done is very serious.

-Well. Tomorrow you will receive one hundred lashes in front of the troops. And it will be Gothmog who administers them to you.

Sauron's eyes widened in disbelief. Maybe he wasn't so willing to accept his punishment with resignation, after all.

-Gothmog? But my liege, Gothmog has no authority over me, he's not entitled to punish me! I am the lieutenant, I am his superior. It's too shameful!

-Well Sauron, of course it's shameful. It wouldn't be a real punishment if it was not, isn't it true? –replied Melkor, turning around and giving him a charming smile of malice.

Seconds later, Sauron left the room so enraged, that he almost ran over his human servant, who clearly had stayed behind the door to listen the conversation.

-What happened, master? Didn't it go well? -asked the man, running after the lieutenant to reach him in his strides.

-What do you think!? Have you heard us playing in bed? No, isn't it? –groaned the Maia stopping short.

A half-concealed smirk appeared on the lips of his servant.

-I'm sorry, master. The lord Melkor treats thee very bad sometimes. Thou deservest more appreciation and admiration, indeed. -and then he added cryptically:- Well, I will be in my alcove just in case... well, just in case thou neededst me later.

The next day at dawn, the hordes of Angband crowded in the throne room to attend the well-deserved punishment of their lieutenant.
Floggings and public humiliations were among the favourite entertainments in the fortress, and the spectacle of that day turned out to be more than just satisfactory.
A hundred times hit Gothmog's fire whip on the white back of the Maia, and a hundred times cheered the Balrogs his captain to accompany each crack.
Gothmog enjoyed that stellar moment more than he had enjoyed any battle, no matter how victorious had it been. And the Orcs laughed rowdy. And Melkor shivered with pleasure at every cry of his lieutenant.
Only the Shadow of Sauron stayed in a corner, dejected and joyless.

When the last fire lashing had crossed the skin of the Maia, Gothmog untied him and helped him to his feet, in a gesture rather of mocking superiority than kindness. Sauron felt the scorched grooves of his back piercing him to the core, as a hundred twinges of pain.
Not that it mattered. As the Ainu he was, able to change shape at will, he could recover his intact flesh whenever he wanted. It was rather the shame of having cried under the whip of his rival what tormented him.
Melkor was satisfied and rose from the throne. But he did it too abruptly, and a sharp pain in his side forced him to bend and let out a moan. That was where the sword of Fingolfin had penetrated him at deepest.
The jubilant atmosphere fell silent at once, and Melkor ran his uneasy eyes over the worried faces of his Orcs and Balrogs.

-What are ye doing there stunned, don't ye see that the show is already over!? Get out of my sight, scum! -he shouted, and in a second the throne room was empty except for the Vala, the lieutenant and Gothmog.

The sight of his lord in agony, suffering from wounds that would never heal, had made Sauron forget his own pain. And by the time when Melkor came before him, limping miserably, all the annoyance of the Maia was already gone.

-Sauron, wipe that blood that is dripping on my floor and put your shirt back. And now listen well ye two, because we have to do something about the current situation. –ordered the Vala, and once the lieutenant had recovered his dignity, he continued with the instructions.- We know that Finrod is dead, and whatever plans that he had in mind, he took them to the grave with him. But we still have that Bur... eh ...

-Beren, my Lord.

- ... That Beren wandering through the woods in freedom, together with the half-Elf and the mangy dog of the Valar. And I can't stay calm on my throne knowing that those who stole my fortress of the Sirion still live in freedom and without receiving their punishment.

-What dost thou command, my Lord?

-The first thing I'm going to do is placing my favourite wolf, my loyal Carcharoth, at the gates of Angband. Just so that, in the unlikely event that those wretches arrived here unharmed, they'll be unable to come inside but in pieces. Other than that, I want that you, Gothmog, watch over the borders of Doriath. Perhaps Lúthien will decide to visit her outcast father. As for you, Sauron... how did you say that was called the father of Beren?

-Barahir, my Lord. He was the leader of that band of outlaws that we destroyed in Taur-nu-Fuin. Thanks to my cunning, I might add... -and the lieutenant glanced sideways to his rival.

-It's true, Barahir. Well, in that case you, Sauron, will watch over Taur-nu-Fuin and darken its paths and fill the lush grove with terrors. It's possible that this man has his hideout in the same place where his father had it, and if it's so, I want him to get tangled in the net of your spells and to not come out anymore.

The lieutenant nodded, assenting, and then left the throne room with Gothmog to get going as soon as possible.
At the gates of Angband, the Balrog elbowed him upon departing, and whispered in his ear:

-I hope you have better luck in this mission than in your last post, Gorthaur. Although on the other hand, this morning I've enjoyed myself a great deal, and I would like to repeat it sometime in the future, what do you think, eh, lieutenant? -and he burst into a loud guttural laughter.

Sauron simply turned into a bat once more and headed for the shadowy pine forest of Taur-nu-Fuin, but not without making sure first that he sank his claws in the face of the Balrog to fly off.

After this, Angband was very peaceful and quiet during the following days. Nothing seemed to threaten its domains, nothing seemed to lurk around.
And Melkor started to grow bored.
Especially now that Carcharoth guarded the entrance of the fortress and couldn't accompany him at the foot of the throne. At least before, he could entertain himself seeing the wolf devouring the raw Elf flesh that he gave him, or seeing how he bristled and growled whenever he sensed the proximity of an Orc.
Even sometimes, he had the luck of seeing the wolf eating the aforementioned Orc if he caught him off-guard.
But now it was only him, Melkor, and his throne.
The black and empty room opened before him like a huge lifeless mausoleum. Even his breath produced echo.

Melkor stirred restless on his seat, and shifted one more time. No matter how he sat, his spine hurt the same.
He thought about going around the fortress and looking for some lazy Orc or troll to torture for a while, but the prospect of having to drag his limp along all the corridors and staircases of Angband soon discouraged him.
The Vala sighed, and changed position again. It was useless, the jabs in his column wouldn't disappear.
Such a shame that he could only kill Fingolfin once!
After a while fighting against these annoyances he became really exasperated. He needed urgently some entertainment to distract him from the pain, and a malicious idea began to take shape in his mind.
There was a creature in Angband that was always amusing to torment. Especially since, unlike Orcs, hardened by abuse throughout the centuries and used to it, this creature was still fragile and still had some dignity.
And only who has dignity can be truly humiliated.
Melkor rose painfully from the throne and went in search for the Shadow of Sauron.
When his master wasn't in the fortress, the human used to stay out of everything and go as unnoticed as he could, but the Vala knew how to find him.

A few minutes later he dragged him to the throne room, ignoring his whining and pleading, and chained him at the foot of his seat, in the place formerly occupied by Carcharoth. He would be a more or less acceptable substitute for the wolf, even if he couldn't trust this one and had to leave him chained.
For a long time, Melkor enjoyed his company by molesting him and forcing him to behave like a dog.
The man didn't dare to complain at any time, not even when the Vala touched him in inappropriate ways, but with the passing of hours his stomach began to rumble with hunger.
Melkor raised then an eyebrow mischievously.

-But how could I forgot? Your food, of course! At this time I used to give Carcharoth a good piece of Elf thigh.

And stretching out his arm, he grabbed a piece of raw and sickening meat from a nearby bucket, and threw it to the human. He watched the whitish tendons and the pool of blood forming on the flagstones, and his stomach clenched.

-My lord Melkor, I can't eat this or I'll get sick. Do not force me to do it, I beg thee.

The Vala snorted in disgust.

-Bah! Ye men always get sick because of any triviality. You bore me. I'm going to see how is doing my new young dragon, Ancalagon. At least he has intelligence to converse.

Melkor stood up with a yawn, and walked toward the back of the room, heading for the dungeons.
The Shadow of Sauron glared at the Vala as he disappeared under an arch, and took the opportunity to spit on the floor with contempt.
How different was everything when his master was in Angband! Then Melkor didn't treat him like a dog, if only in deference to his lieutenant.
Of course, the Vala would rather not displease too much the one who, after all, warmed him in bed...
The man twisted his mouth in disgust, not because of the raw meat in front of him, from which blood was still flowing, but because of this last thought.
Yes, he truly hated Melkor (or should he say Morgoth?). He barely dared to admit it, but he hated him.
He hated him because the Vala had deceived and disappointed him, because he had trusted him as a god just to receive nothing but pain and humiliation in return.
And he hated him all the more, because his master Sauron loved him.

Immersed as he was in these gloomy thoughts, the man had barely noticed that a beast had entered the room and approached him with silent steps. When he raised his eyes from the ground, he was almost over him.
It was a horrible blue-furred werewolf. And though the eyes of the monster seemed strangely tame, the man recoiled terrified.
The beast came towards him, no doubt ready to eat him, but the chain kept him from fleeing. As a last resort, he threw the piece of meat to his jaws, hoping that he'd get satiated with it and spare his life.
But to his surprise, the werewolf passed quietly by, and walked under the throne. And there he lay in silence, as docile as a puppy.
He hadn't recovered from his bewilderment, when the man perceived a strange noise between the arches of the vault, as a hesitant flapping. And he could make out a dark silhouette perched on top of a column.

-Who are you? -he asked with some fear.

-I'm a shadow. -replied a woman's voice.- Who are you?

-A Shadow too.

-You seem to be of the race of men. Or at least, you have been it in the past. And you seem in trouble. If you want, I could free you from the chains of Morgoth forever. –offered the voice.

The man made a sneer.

-No, thanks. I don't need anyone to set me free. I'm very happy here.

-I see. As you like it. –the distinctive echo of some uneven steps echoed through the corridors, approaching the room. The dark silhouette shrunk on its capital, and said in a very low voice:- Now look... and listen.

Melkor returned and dropped on the throne, grumbling under his breath. He had found Ancalagon asleep, and despite the kicks that he gave him, he was unable to wake the dragon. He would punish him later for it, if he remembered the issue and still bothered him.
The man was very upset, and with faltering voice he tried to warn him about something under the throne and on the roof, but Melkor was in no mood to listen to his ravings.
He noticed then the piece of meat thrown several feet away, and frowned.

-Is this how you receive the food I give you!? Ungrateful dog ... -and he hit him on the head.

The man bit his lip in anger; if Melkor didn't want to listen to his warnings, well, then let him deal himself with the intruders.
Up on the roof was heard a flapping, and Melkor raised his eyes at last.

-Who are you and how did you get there? Reveal yourself immediately! -he commanded, between furious and intrigued.

A winged shadow fell from the vault, soaring in circles.
It was a huge and repulsive vampire, with the membranous wings full of tears, frizzy hair and bloody claws.
Melkor narrowed his eyes with suspicion.

-And whom do I owe the honour of this unexpected visit?

-I'm Thuringwethil, my lord. Thuringwethil the vampire. -replied the creature with a bow.

The Vala laughed out loud, but it was that laughter of his that chilled the blood, because foreboded an imminent punishment.

-Liar! Thuringwethil is dead, and besides, she smells a lot worse than you. Now show me your true appearance! -and with a hand movement, Melkor broke the illusion that hid the intruder.

The hollow skin of the vampire fell to the floor with a thud, and in its place rose a beautiful maiden wrapped in a blue dress.
Melkor froze a few seconds before the ethereal vision: The gray eyes that hid in their depths the most ancient sorcery, the black hair imbued with the secrets of the night, the perfect white skin, the immaculate beauty, undefiled, flawless.
Melkor put his hand on his cheek instinctively, and felt the swollen scar that the claws of Thorondor had left him. Annoyed, he pulled his hand away.

-My name is Lúthien, my lord. –informed quickly the maiden, bowing again, but this time more gracefully.

- Ah, yes, Lúthien! Who hasn't heard of Lúthien, the daughter of Thingol? I must confess, however, that the rumours about your beauty are exaggerated. –lied the Vala, making a dismissive gesture.

-I understand that for a god, and even more so for the most powerful of the gods, my common beauty must seem insignificant.

-Indeed! Why did you come here to Angband? Have you grown bored already of your immortal life and want to put an end to it? I warn you that it will be a slow and painful end, nonetheless.

-My lord, what I have grown bored of is the life of imprisonment and constant vigilance that I suffered in Doriath. My father is too jealous and protective. He thinks that I'm a valuable jewel that could be stolen at any time, and if he had his way, he would lock me in a display cabinet forever. But I know which are the real jewels of Arda and I know who is truly the only being worthy of admiration and devotion in this world. Nothing on earth is more worthwhile than contemplating thee in all thy greatness, and I fear no danger if the reward is to be in thy presence and serve thee. Only upon thy forehead shines the true light of the Trees. Please, my lord, accept me as thy servant and let me bathe in that divine light as well.

The girl lowered her head humbly, and Melkor had to make a great effort to not get won by praise, because the truth was that it always managed to touch his most sensitive fiber.

-All this that you have said about my greatness, I already know it. But don't think that flattery will save you from my dungeons. Why would I want you as my servant, also? What can a little girl like you do for me, huh? Can you carry an axe perchance, or a sword, can you defeat the kings of the Noldor in battle? No!

-I can sing and dance for thee, my lord.

This time Melkor laughed heartily. Lúthien, however, remained immutable before his taunts.

-You unhappy one! You are talking with the god who brought the world into being with his singing. What can provide me your flat squeakings?

-Even so, my lord, I beg you to hear me sing before judging me.

-Nothing of that, you will go directly to the dungeons! You may have deceived my lieutenant, but you will not do it with me. -the Vala, all his patience lost already with the intruder, made as if to stand up from the throne to grab the girl.

But a twinge in his side stopped him, and the maiden escaped nimbly from his clutches.

-Please, my lord, it will be just a moment. Listen!

Then, before the helpless and incredulous eyes of Melkor, Lúthien began to sing a melody of rare beauty and to dance in front of his throne without even asking for permission.
The singing of the girl seemed to have some kind of physical quality, as if it was entwining with the air of the room and formed a rope around Melkor, which kept him on the throne, unable to move.
The Vala began to relax much to his chagrin, and an invincible weariness took hold of his legs, and then of his arms, and finally of his entire body.
And at the same time that this weariness seized him, a tenuous flow of pleasure began to run down his veins as well. And it was so nice, so sublime that mixture of weakness and pleasure, that he quickly forgot where he was and what he was doing. And the evil thoughts that a moment ago inhabited his mind, began to disintegrate one by one.
Now he just wanted to hear that melody and watch the ethereal shape dancing in front of him.
Blue veils swirled under the torch lights emitting unreal flashes, and among them peered, from time to time, two gray eyes. Melkor shuddered upon seeing those eyes, and let out a sigh.
It was so delicious, that feeling, that melody that went inside and outside of his body with each inflection of the voice... And the Silmarils were heavy. The Silmarils had become the three summits of Thangorodrim. The weight of the world upon his head.
Beside him, the chained man moaned in his sleep, and Melkor discovered with horror and anxiety that he too wanted to surrender to sleep.
But that couldn't be, he never slept. Only when... Only after making love.
That Elf loved him, no doubt. Was she trying to seduce him? And what could he do?
Melkor slid down the back of the throne, as if finally offering himself.
A million images of torture, and pain, and carnal acts of the past, and exquisite pleasure assaulted his mind at the same time. And among them, intermittently, appeared the blue veils and the two gray eyes, dragging him to the dephts. Always down, down and inside.
Then everything went black, and he knew no more.

The first thing he saw upon awakening, was the face of his lieutenant bending over him with concern. That wasn't so unusual, but the faces of the many Orcs and Balrogs that he discovered around when his vision was no longer blurred, was it.

-Sauron, what are all these people doing in my bedroom? -he murmured, trying to sit up.

His head hurt as much as if three Tulkas had danced on it.

-Thou art not in thy bed, my Lord. Thou art lying on the ground. –the Maia informed him.

Melkor blinked several times, until he focused the room correctly.
Indeed, he was in the throne room, spread-eagled on the stone slabs without much dignity, and everyone watched him disturbed.
Blushing, the Vala accepted the arm that his lieutenant offered him and stood up. His right side was bruised and sore, and jabs ran through his lame leg.

-What happened, Sauron? What are you doing here?

-My spies of Taur-nu-Fuin informed me that they had seen two beings similar to Thuringwethil and Draugluin heading this way. I suspected it was a trap, so I flew to Angband as fast as I could. However, I couldn't make it on time, as it seems. I don't know how the intruders managed to elude the vigilance of Carcharoth, and besides, the wolf is gone...

The torrent of information thundered in the ears of Melkor without him understanding its meaning very well.
Only the remains of a ghostly melody reverberated still in his memory.
Then the Vala noticed a suspicious lightness on his head, and realized that the iron crown was lying a few steps from him.
That made him feel terribly naked.

-Pick up my crown right now, stupid! -he shouted to a nearby Orc, kicking him.

The wretched creature bowed before him until touching the ground with his nose, and brought him the crown at once. The Vala snatched it from his trembling claws and placed it back above his forehead, feeling immediately relieved.
At that moment, a cry of horror filled the throats of all present, and even Sauron stepped back, his eyes frozen.

-What? What's going on? What are ye all looking at!? -roared the Vala, enraged. The Orcs began to tremble, and some of them stuttered while pointing at the crown. Melkor clenched his fists, irritated by their sudden muteness.- A mirror! Bring me a mirror immediately!

There was general confusion, and some Orcs took the opportunity to flee the room surreptitiously. Finally, a group of Balrogs brought a full-length mirror to the Vala, and then retreated in haste without looking up.
Melkor examined his reflection.
The first thing he noticed was a new cut on his cheek, still bleeding. It was shallow and probably would not left a scar, but it overshadowed his mood nonetheless.
He raised his eyes a little, and squinting, he watched the glow of his Silmarils. They were as beautiful and bright as always, as fascinating and as painful to behold as always.
With the exception that, instead of being three, now they were just two. The only thing the two jewels of the sides framed, was the huge empty hole of the central stone, all the more evident because of this frame of light.

The corner of Melkor's lips contracted imperceptibly. And in the ominous silence of the room was heard the gnashing of teeth that pressed against each other.
A very fine line appeared on the surface of the mirror, and then spread from the center to the rim.
There was a subtle "crack", and then the mirror exploded into a thousand pieces, injuring those who were around. The yells of anger and curses of the Vala shook Angband from its foundations to the highest peaks of Thangorodrim, and a wave of fire swept the entire room and lit the tapestries that covered the walls.
Panic spread among the Orcs, trapped by the flames, and they tried to flee in stampede, trampling each other. Sauron was quick to send a gust of ice around to extinguish the fire, before it consumed the whole room, while Melkor destroyed pieces of furniture, one after the other, and shouted incoherencies:

-My Silmaril! Who among you, filthy traitors, has my Silmaril!? Give it back to me! And don't dare to look at my crown, don't look at my crown, ye damned things! I'll rip out the eyes of anyone who dares to look at my crown! And I want that all mirrors of Angband are destroyed! Give me back my Silmaril!

The lieutenant tried to calm the Vala grabbing him by the shoulders, but when he touched him, he burned his hands. He wasn't sure if it was due to the incandescence of Melkor, or to some extreme iciness that had invaded him.
Unable to approach him with his physical form, Sauron found no choice but to disembody and violently pass through the Vala to focus his attention.
The lieutenant materialized again before him, and Melkor was paralyzed for a few seconds, shaking with fury and disbelief.
Now the Vala could hear him.

-Please, calm down, my Lord. I'll find thy Silmaril, I guarantee thee. But thou mustest rest. Also, I don't think that an army of blind Orcs would be very useful, dost thou think not?

Melkor nodded absently, with his gaze lost beyond the Maia.

-Yes, Sauron, seeks my Silmaril. Bring it to me right away. -and he extended his hand.

Sauron kissed it with caution. It didn't burn anymore, but in his swollen veins the blood was still boiling.
After this, the Vala turned around and left the room, limping and leaning on the pillars.
Behind him he left dozens of Orcs rubbing his wounds and burns, multiple broken slabs, many crystals on the floor, and lots of tapestries reduced to ashes.
A figure peered shyly from under the throne after the hurricane had passed, and called the lieutenant.

-Master, thou art here at last! Couldst thou release me? I beg thee. I've been chained all the day, without eating and unable to relieve myself.

Sauron took pity on his poor human servant, and opened the chain that held him with a spell.
The man, instead of standing up, stayed kneeling on the floor and kissed his feet, as if he had grown used to act like a dog.

-I wish that the lord Melkor didn't humiliate you whenever I'm not here, and at the same time, that you did not humiliate yourself so much whenever I am. –sighed Sauron, a bit disturbed by so many signs of unconditional love.- Now tell me, do you know who were the intruders, could you see them?

The man nodded.

-One of them was a really beautiful maiden, with an exceptional singing. At first she was disguised as a vampire.

-She must have been Lúthien.

-Yes, I believe that was her name. The other was like a huge wolf, and hid beneath the throne.

-Could it be Huan, the wolfhound of the Valar?

-Hmmm... It didn't look as a dog to me, but rather as one of those werewolves. He had blue fur.

-Draugluin then. Or rather, someone disguised with Draugluin's skin. Probably Beren... -murmured the lieutenant to himself.- How did they manage to put Melkor to sleep, with some kind of spell or magic cloak?

-I don't know. I remember the maiden began to sing and dance, and I couldn't stop staring at her for a moment. Then I fell asleep, and I suppose that the same happened with the lord Melkor.

Sauron stood thoughtful and tried to tie up the loose ends.
Judging by the looks of it, Beren and Lúthien had infiltrated Angband only to steal one of the Silmarils.
But why just one? Was that a kind of challenge, of joke, of promise? Was that the secret plan that Finrod wouldn't talk about? Possibly it was.
But as a plan, it was quite simplistic and not very logical. The Silmarils had no strategic value, they weren't going to help the kingdoms of the Elves to win any battle by themselves. Also, the Dark Lord had been at their mercy and they had done nothing with him, other than taking the jewel. Why?
The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to the lieutenant that the theft had nothing to do with the war, but was rather a private matter. Beren wanted to give a jewel to his fiancée, nothing more. No, rather, Beren wanted to give a jewel to his fiancée's father, to win her hand in return.
And if this was so, they could have gone to no other place but the court of Thingol.

-Stand up from there and get ready! –ordered Sauron, grabbing his servant by the arm and lifting him.- We're going to go in search for the stolen Silmaril. Because I guess that you will not want to be left alone in Angband with Melkor in this state of mind, right?

The man shook his head vigourously, and then shot off towards the toilets.

After a short while, Sauron had gathered a large contingent of Orcs at the gates of the fortress, and dividing them into groups of scouts, sent them to inspect in all directions in a radius as large as possible.
Of course, Gothmog didn't want to stay on the edge and joined the search for the Silmaril as well. Convinced that the thieves had fled towards the Blue Mountains, he marched eastward with his Balrogs, and Sauron was glad to lose sight of him, sure that he wouldn't find anything in those places.
He and his Shadow would follow their own path.

Before leaving on the horses, the lieutenant inspected in detail the entrance of the fortress.
There was blood on the ground, human blood. Carcharoth must have attacked Beren when he fled with the Silmaril, and thereafter, doing honour to the trust that Melkor placed on him, he must have pursued the intruders.
But how could he not reach them, if the beast was much faster than them?
A few eagle feathers, half buried in the dust, gave him a rough idea of what might have happened: the wolf had wounded Beren and just then the eagles, always watchful, had flown to his aid, and had transported the thieves through the air to a safe place. Carcharoth, using his refined instincts, had chased them from the ground.
That meant that following the trail of the wolf, they would find the Silmaril.

Thus resolved, Sauron and his servant galloped and searched for many days and nights.
The wolf's trail of destruction was easy to follow, but strangely erratic. Sometimes he had retraced his steps, or had walked in circles, or had lost time attacking villages without apparent reason.
Those who had seen the monster, assured that he was mad and spat foam of blood and fire. The lieutenant ignored those stories, no doubt the exaggerations of ignorant Orcs and trolls, and didn't lose heart on his search.
There weren't any news from the other patrols, and sometimes he lost patience with his Shadow and his constant need to eat and sleep. At that rate, they would never reach the wolf, who seemed to run abnormally fast, even for their horses.
Nevertheless, he continued on the trail of Carcharoth, and this ended up leading him, as he suspected, to the borders of Doriath and the girdle of Melian.
Interestingly, the barrier hadn't been able to stop the wolf, because the path that he had opened with his teeth through the bush was clearly visible.

-Well, here we must separate and you have to go on alone. –announced the Maia.- I don't know how Carcharoth has managed to open a gap in the girdle, but the fact is that he has done it, and I sense that it hasn't closed completely yet. You must cross before it does.

The man blinked in confusion.

-But master, why must I go on my own, why dost thou not accompany me?

-I am a Maia and the right hand of Melkor. My presence in the forest would be too powerful to escape the attention of Melian. She knows me too well, also. It's a long story... However, you are still a simple man, I think. Insignificant enough to go unnoticed, and even more so with the tumult that Carcharoth must have caused. I guess you can safely cross the barrier.

The Shadow of Sauron swallowed at hearing that "guess".

-What should I do if I find the thieves? How will I confront them alone?

The lieutenant realized that his servant was right.
Beren and Lúthien were powerful, especially if Huan was with them, and perhaps they had already met with the soldiers of Thingol. A man alone had no chance against them.
As for Carcharoth, one couldn't count on his help, because he could be dead already.
Sauron thought for a moment, and ended up finding a solution.

-My faithful servant, you have been loyal to me all these years. It is high time for you to get initiated in some of the secrets of sorcery.

-Oh, master, nothing would honour me more than that! -exclaimed the man, and Sauron pulled him towards him. The creature trembled with emotion.

-I'll teach you a very simple spell. With it you can create a cloud of thick smoke for a few seconds, through which only you will see, while the others become blind. Use it when you find the thieves and recover the Silmaril among the confusion. But you have to be very fast; these spells for beginners fade away quickly. I fear, however, that if Beren and Lúthien have reached Menegroth, everything will be already lost. –thus saying, the Maia grabbed his servant by the wrist and placed his thumb over his blue veins until he felt his rapid pulse.

Then he leaned on his ear, and still pressing the veins of the wrist, started whispering the words of the spell to him. The Shadow shuddered upon feeling his master so close. The touch of the hand was very cold, but inside he was starting to get overheated.
When the lieutenant let go of him, his head was spinning and he could hardly breathe.
The man made a test of the spell before going into the woods with his horse. It worked well.
Thus he separated from his master, who stood there waiting for him, with all the patience that he could summon.

For a couple of days, the Shadow of Sauron rode through the forest completely alone, always behind the trail of Carcharoth and always fearful of the spells of Melian.
So far nothing seemed to block his way, but he couldn't ensure that the magic of the forest wasn't already working on him imperceptibly, losing him further and further into the thicket or making him retrace his steps.
Nonetheless, he didn't get lost, and finally he reached the bank of the river Esgalduin.
There the traces of Carcharoth were more recent, and the man guessed that he was already approaching the wolf, and therefore, the thieves.

Indeed, in the evening of the second day, besides the waterfall of the river, he found the beast.
Or rather, what was left of it.
Carcharoth lay on the floor with his neck torn, together with a huge dog that had also died, surely in the midst of a terrible battle with the wolf. The Shadow guessed that the dog must had been that Huan that his master hated so much.
Standing next to the beasts were two Sindarin warriors, on the ground, a badly wounded man, and leaning over the man, a beautiful Elven king with silvery hair. In his features he discovered some similarities with the fair maiden who had danced before Melkor.
Unfortunately, Lúthien wasn't there, and his hopes of seeing that face again, if only once more, vanished forever.
But where was the stolen jewel?
The Shadow stayed hidden behind some lush bushes, carefully observing the Sindar and waiting for something to happen.
Then one of the warriors crouched beside the corpse of Carcharoth, and to his astonishment, he began to rip the belly of the monster. Even more astonishing, however, was what was inside: a hand pulled out by the roots, and inside the hand, the glowing, the tempting Silmaril.
Everything made sense then, from the blood at the gates of Angband, to the erratic wanderings of the wolf and the one-armed man on the ground, who could be none other than Beren.
The Elven warrior placed the Silmaril in the only good hand of the thief, and he, with strenght that already abandoned him, gave it to the king of the Sindar as he whispered something that the Shadow couldn't hear.
The king shed tears of regret, but accepted the jewel.
That was the right time to act.

And the Shadow of Sauron was about to cast the spell and snatch the Silmaril from them, when a sudden thought stopped him.
He had just realized the power he had at that moment over the fate of the jewel, and therefore, of Melkor, and a deliciously perverse idea crept into his mind.
Yes, of course, if he recovered the Silmaril he would have the gratitude and praise of his master, and the lieutenant would be happy about the successful accomplishment of the mission. But his happiness would be temporary, and rather for Melkor than for himself. Moreover, both he and his master Sauron would have many more opportunities to prove their worth and feel satisfied.
On the other hand, if he didn't recover the Silmaril, Melkor would mourn his loss for all eternity.
He would never again have a chance like that to do so much damage to the hateful Vala that mistreated him, that had disfigured him, that had ordered his lashing, and had made him many other things that he would rather not remember.
The accursed Morgoth would get what was coming to him once and for all, and would cry every time he saw the empty hole in his crown.
What better, what sweeter revenge than that?
The black lips of the man twisted into a smirk; the decision was pretty clear.
Turning around, he returned to the horse, and went away from the waterfall, as if he had never seen anything.

When he finally came back to his master and told him that he had found Carcharoth dead, but no trace of the Silmaril, the Shadow was afraid that the Maia would read between his lies. Therefore he pulled down his bone helmet as much as he could, and tried to hide his eyes.
However, the lieutenant believed him. He knew of his unconditional loyalty, and also, it must be said, he shared the same prejudices about men with his lord Melkor, and thus believed him too stupid to deceive.
The Shadow of Sauron wasn't proud of what he had done, and vowed that this would be the first and last time that he betrayed the trust of his master.
That way, the iron crown lost one of his Silmarils forever.

Melkor was lying listlessly in bed when his lieutenant came into the bedroom to report the failure of the mission.
The Vala didn't get angry upon hearing the story, since he had exhausted all his fury in the many damages of the fortress, and only sighed with resignation.
It wasn't fair.
The Silmarils were his, they had been created for him. Fëanor may have not been aware of this fact when he made them, but no doubt, he already had understood in the halls of Mandos that such a beautiful objects could only shine upon the greatest of the Valar.
Besides, no one had suffered for those jewels as much as he, that felt their burn on his hand every day, and their weight on his head at every moment.
No one had loved those jewels as much as he.
And yes, it's true that he was the cause of the death of the two Trees, but wasn't the love he felt for their light, locked inside the crystals, enough to compensate for it?
It wasn't fair that they did this to him now, after what Fingolfin did to him.
Why couldn't they leave him in peace?

And despite everything, it was all a bit indifferent for Melkor.
He felt tired, and weak, and weary. Now he just wanted to stay lying in bed and get consumed by the hatred for his enemies.
Apparently, Sauron had perceived this gloomy mood, and knelt by the bedside to comfort him.
Before the Vala had time to react, his lieutenant was already kissing his neck and caressing him without permission. Sometimes Melkor thought that everything was easier when the Maia simply reported, made a nod, and turned around.

-My Lord, don't worry any longer for that simple jewel. Thou art never more beautiful than when thou wearst not thy crown, than when thou liest in this same bed without wearing anything at all. Thou dost not need adornments. -whispered the lieutenant softly.

Melkor felt a pang of desire. He would have liked to open his arms to the Maia and let him crawl over him.
But he was supposed to be angry. Thus he made a grimace of displeasure and turned his back to him.

-Stop taking advantage of me. I don't know if you are aware of how upset and hurt I'm with you, Sauron. When you bring my Silmaril, I'll let you caress me with your hands burned by it, but until then, keep your lustful intentions away from me.

-Of course, my Lord. -replied the lieutenant, with such a seriousness that no one would have guessed that he was intimating with him.

And he left the chamber with a route march, while Melkor was left lying there, cursing the thieves and his unsatisfied desire.

Sauron kept looking for the Silmaril during a long time, even though he knew that it had disappeared in Menegroth and was unrecoverable.
Judging by the rumours he heard, not even the sons of Fëanor had managed to retrieve the jewel from Thingol. Gradually, even Melkor began to understand the irreversibility of the situation, and forgot the matter, and the wound healed eventually.

In large part, this drift in his attention was due to the news that started arriving from Ossiriand, where Gothmog and his Balrogs still hoped to find something.
Everywhere there was talk of the tragic deaths of Beren and Lúthien, though there were those who claimed that, certain nights, and if one payed attention to the secret sounds of the glade, a song of indescribable beauty could be heard among the sighs of the wind. And all that heard it felt their blood freezing, since they had the impression that, somehow, the barrier between the world of the living and the world of the dead was not completely sealed when that melody sounded.
However, it wasn't those ghost stories what interested Melkor, but the news about the troops that the sons of Fëanor had gathered to march against Angband.
To the so-called Union of Maedhros had joined even the dwarves from the Blue Mountains, that reclusive people that usually stayed apart from all matters of Beleriand. In addition, along with the threat from the East, came also a threat from the West, from Hithlum, where the heir of Fingolfin had established an alliance with the men of Dor-lómin and the forest of Brethil.
It seemed that all the enemies of Melkor in Middle Earth had united at last to declare war on him, in the greatest battle that ever devastated the northern lands.
And it was precisely this fact, this imminent danger, what finally pulled the Vala out of his apathy and gave him back all his vigour.
The theft of the Silmaril was nothing but a dark episode of the past. Now he had to deal with more pressing matters.

In the summer morning when all the enemy troops marched in formation to the fortress, Melkor was in an exceptional mood.
The previous night the stars of Valacirca had barely shone, which was a good sign, and the Vala felt with enough energy to organize the troops himself.
That morning, not even the most frenzied activity could have exhausted him or reminded him of the pain in his leg.
When Sauron entered the throne room, Melkor was giving some last minute instructions to a contingent of Balrogs. The lieutenant coughed discreetly to catch his attention, and the face of the Vala lit up upon seeing him there.

-Ah, Sauron, Sauron, my faithful lieutenant! Is it everything arranged for the battle?

-Everything is arranged, my Lord.

-What about the men from the East?

-Bought off to betray Maedhros.

-And what about Húrin and Huor?

-Ready to be captured and betray the hidden realm of Turgon.

Melkor smiled, and gestured for the Balrogs to go away. Then he approached the lieutenant and stood very close to him, with a flaming gaze.

-What would we do without the betrayal of men, eh, Sauron? One doesn't know whether it's a blessing or a curse... -he said, extending his hand. The lieutenant knelt and kissed it; the blood of the Vala throbbed due to the thrill of battle. Then he felt Melkor's fingers stroking his hair, and an arm urging him to stand up.- I sense, Sauron, that this is the beginning of a golden age for you and me.

And thus saying, the Vala encircled the neck of his lieutenant and pressed the lips against his, while the three peaks of Thangorodrim exploded in a cloud of toxic smoke, accepting the challenge.

 

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Chapter End Notes

And that's all for Lúthien wreaking havoc around her. Next chapter will feature a bit of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad and a very surly and tough-headed Húrin.
In the meanwhile I'd like to hear some opinions, suggestions, anything... Lurkers, don't be shy. Reviews make a writer's day and they just take a minute :)