The Lords that Fell by Taylor17387

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The Old Man at the Top of the Mountain

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The Old Man at the Top of the Mountain

`Is it dauntless Húrin,’   quoth Delu-Morgoth,
`stout steel-handed,  who stands before me,
a captive living  as a coward might be?’

-The Lay of the Children of Húrin: Prologue.

Across the charred plain of Anfauglith, the wind carried the sound of the Elven war trumpets. And yet, nothing moved on the horizon.
On his iron throne, and dressed again in his armour, Melkor grinned. So far everything was going as planned: Maedhros was withheld because of the poisoned counsels of his Easterlings, and Fingon wouldn’t attack until his cousin gave signs of being alive. Now it was his turn to pull that vermin out of his hiding.
The first patrol of scouts that he had sent, returned then with the report of Fingon’s forces. In the list of soldiers, one of them caught the attention of Melkor in particular: an Elf from Nargothrond, the only captain arrived from that kingdom, who went by the name of Gwindor. The crows claimed that this Elf had vowed to free his brother, one Gelmir, who was imprisoned in Angband since the end of the siege.

-It won’t be necessary that he comes here to free him. I myself will give him to his beloved brother, I’ll put him under his very nose. Although I don’t know if he will like what he will see. -said Melkor, thoughtfully.

And with a snap of his fingers, he ordered his servants to bring him the aforementioned Gelmir.

The Elf was unrecognizable, and his eyes had been gouged out long time ago. At this point, turning him into one of his Orcs would have improved considerably his appearance.

-Show him to his brother. So he can see with his own eyes the torments of Angband that this wretch can’t see anymore. Provoke him in any way that ye can think of, enrage him: him, Fingon and all his troops. I want them to attack as soon as possible and get out of the mountains, in the open field, where we can crush them better. Go now! -ordered the Vala.

The captain of the Orcs nodded, grabbed the poor Elf with brutality and took him out of the room, almost dragging him.
Melkor leant back on his throne with self-satisfaction. Nothing could go wrong that glorious day, he sensed it.
Down, in the underground furnaces, his lieutenant was taking care that the battalions of Orcs were well equipped and went out in ordered formations to the battle.
Shortly thereafter, winged messengers began to bring him the first news about the onslaught of the Elves. Indeed, the sight of his brother had stirred up the spirit of Gwindor, and even more so when they had cut off the hands, feet and head of the unhappy before his astonished eyes. Fingon hadn’t been able to hold back his soldiers, and they had rushed into battle recklessly, without waiting for reinforcements.
Melkor laughed to himself. Inferior creatures were always equally predictable in their emotions. No wonder, since they had been created without any imagination, by an arrogant and narrow-minded Eru.
The Vala saw no need to send more soldiers than the ones he had already sent.
Although later he regretted this.

The hooves of the enemies’ horses echoed through the deserted plain, and now the trumpets of the Noldor sounded much closer.
Suspiciously closer.
A tremor shook the gates of Angband and there was a loud racket on the upper floors. Could it be possible that the Elves, in a desperate suicide attack, had broken into the fortress ? Melkor scratched the scar of his cheek in disbelief. It wasn’t possible, but...
There was another tremor over his head, and now for real, the unmistakable sound of metal clashing with each other, of war cries, and of flesh ripping with a damp and dull noise.
The Vala clenched his fist around the handle of his mace Grond, that lay beside his throne. Well, those foolish Elves may have entered Angband for a moment, but that would only mean their greatest undoing. He, meanwhile, would await them sitting quietly on his throne, and if one of them dared to get there, he would send him to Mandos with a single blow of his mace.
A huge jolt shook the vaults, as if a giant iron object, perhaps a battering ram, had fallen to the floor above. A few small debris fell off the roof to his feet. The shouts of the Elves echoed almost next-door now, and seemed to descend to the throne room.
Melkor reflected for a couple of seconds, and decided that it would be a good idea going down to the underground furnaces to supervise his lieutenant. That was his task, after all: lead the operations. Not staying there to fight the pathetic Noldor. That was the function of Orcs. And besides, he had to make sure that everything was going as planned. It was the most prudent thing, and prudence is not cowardice, of course...

When the Vala went down the spiral staircase as fast as his wounds allowed him, he came upon Sauron, that run up almost at the same speed. There was a clash between the two, and the lieutenant rolled down the stairs.

-My Lord, what is that turmoil up there? –asked the Maia, rubbing his aching head, and not hoping that Melkor showed concern for the harm he had caused.

-Mmmm... I think it’s the Elves. They have entered Angband.

Sauron 's eyes opened wide.

-But what the... ? How is... ? How is it that they have come here!? The troops we sent were more than enough to contain them!

Melkor shrugged.

-I don’t know, Sauron. Perhaps what we did to the brother of that Gwindor irritated them more than what was necessary. Things don’t need to turn out always as planned. But that doesn’t mean they will necessarily turn out bad.

A thunderous roar boomed through the upper gallery, and the noise of the skirmish went silent for a moment. Several thuds, like the footsteps of a giant, threatened to demolish the roof, and it could be heard some columns collapsing.

-Is Glaurung loose around the fortress? –asked Sauron, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

-Of course! Why would I want a dragon if I couldn’t use him in my battles?

-I understand, my liege, but maybe let him run through the galleries is not the most appropr...

It wasn’t worth continuing, because Melkor had already turned around and headed upstairs to see what had happened. The lieutenant shrugged and followed his lord.

The destruction caused by Glaurung was considerable, and several rooms had been ravaged by fire. However, the counter-attack had been effective, and the intruders had fled in disarray, pursued by hordes of Orcs that run after them without much order.
A captain of the guard dragged the instigator of the uproar: the Elf Gwindor of Nargothrond, a creature with black and wiry hair, rather small, but quite quarrelsome. The Vala told the captain to bring the prisoner to the dungeons, and then made a gesture for his lieutenant to accompany him to the upper towers. From there they had a privileged view of the battlefield and all that happened. The tide of Orcs had devastated the ranks of the Noldor, and in the distance, the standard of Fingon waved farther and farther.
Melkor sighed with satisfaction, but upon looking askance at his lieutenant, he discovered a shade of disapproval on his face.

-What is it, Sauron ? It looks as if you didn’t cheer up because of our victory.

-It’s not that, my Lord. Of course I 'm glad. What happens is that I think the counter-attack was made in a too chaotic way. There, for example, the Elves have left a flank exposed. If our troops had been divided, they could have enclosed them with a pincer movement and...

Melkor interrupted him raising his hand, and shook his head condescendingly.

-Sauron, sometimes being in control doesn’t mean having all under control. There are invisible forces in this world, underground currents of power. If you would stop analyzing everything for a second, perhaps you would perceive them as well. Perhaps you would even dominate them in part some day, as I do. Look there. -and the Vala pointed to the black mass of the Angband soldiers, flowing among the silver armour of the Noldor, sometimes pushing them and sometimes retreating.- Does it seem a chaotic movement for you? What you call “chaos” is nothing but an order difficult to understand. Right now our troops are being directed by the same inertia that directs the lava of a volcano, always downhill, stopping at nothing. Do not worry, this is a won war. I know it, I can feel it in my blood. From now onwards fate will be on my side, because it's inevitable. And my fate is having Arda in the palm of my hand. You will see.

After that Melkor fell silent, absorbed in the battle, and Sauron didn’t know what to say.

During the following days the lieutenant witnessed, indeed, the uncontested victory of Angband over the kingdoms of Elves and men. Everything seemed orchestrated as a perfect, though incomprehensible dance. And the Maia wondered how it was possible that his lord Melkor directed the war in such a disastrous way sometimes, as during the siege of Angband, and other times however, he did it so subtly.
Maybe his problem was trying to explain to himself the nature of the Vala. Maybe his nature was precisely that: being inexplicable.

Only in the morning of the sixth day, things seemed to go awry. As emerging out of nowhere, Turgon's army came to the aid of his battered brother. And Maedhros appeared in the rear as well.
Melkor became visibly upset when he saw the king of that phantom city that didn’t show on any map. Turgon was a shadow that had plagued him for centuries. Even in Valinor, his direct gaze had disgusted him.
Driven by rage, he ordered all the creatures of Angband going to meet the hateful enemy, and a black cloud eclipsed the sun for a moment: Orcs, Balrogs, dragons, vampires, werewolves, wraiths, and creatures of nightmare that hadn’t abandoned the underground pits for millennia. They advanced towards the Noldor, fused into a single amorphous body full of extremities.
Only the lieutenant stayed beside the Vala, in the towers, and the fortress had sunk into a strange silence.

-My Lord, shouldn’t I go out too? The dragons’ squadron needs a more capable leadership than that of the Orcs. –said Sauron, somewhat impatient.

But Melkor shook his head.

-Right now your place is here with me. For once in your life, Sauron, relax and do nothing. Everything will be fine.

On the horizon, once again, the tiny figures engaged in confusing hand to hand combats, and in all those collisions, in all those comings and goings, the black tide of Angband kept gaining ground.
First the Easterlings who had joined forces with Maedhros, betrayed him and his brothers, and fled at the gallop after attacking them from behind. The sons of Fëanor suddenly found themselves helpless, with their troops decimated, and they dispersed as miserable vagabonds; kings without kingdom or vassals.
Later the dragons charged at the dwarves and Glaurung  killed their king. After which, the petty creatures withdrew, not caring anymore for the fate of Beleriand.
And finally, Gothmog and his company of Balrogs headed west, to crush the last forces of Fingon, and if possible, to capture his evasive brother.
Sauron bit his lip in frustration, seeing how his rival was about to get all the glory for himself, and insisted one more time that Melkor let him go into battle. But the Vala held him back again, with an enigmatic smile. His black eyes betrayed an iron will, stronger than any that the Maia could remember, and he knew instantly that resisting would be useless.
In the evening of the sixth day, the glorious battle, the one that would be later known as that of the “Unnumbered Tears”, came to an end. In the plain of Anfauglith ensued absolute silence, and a a mound was erected with the bodies of Elves and men, as a mocking reminder of who was the victor.

That night, in the spacious halls of Angband, even the last of the Orcs celebrated the triumph in the midst of revelry and festivity. The most valuable prisoners were taken to their cells, and the least important served as meal in a sumptuous feast, or as intimate entertainment for the troops. From the cellars were brought numerous barrels of wine and beer, and everybody drank and ate without measure, toasting on behalf of his lord Melkor. He sat on his throne to preside over the celebrations, laughing exultant with each bravado of his soldiers. And each one of his laughters was accompanied by an explosion of Thangorodrim, that tinted the sky with orange and scarlet, so all the enemies could see that in Angband the joy was as great as deep was their sorrow.
Only the black figure of the lieutenant stayed a little apart and indifferent to the general excitement. Sitting to the right of the Vala, Sauron limited himself to taking small sips of wine and smiling slightly every time an Orc fell to the floor drunk. Meanwhile, his eye of fire swept the room without losing detail, waiting for a particular person.
Finally, he made an appearance. Gothmog and his Balrogs, which had been delayed in the West, broke into the room by opening the doors wide and roared victorious. The soldiers opened a corridor to let them pass, and the newcomers moved towards the throne among acclamations and praise.

-I bring thee two gifts, my Lord. –announced Gothmog, bowing to him.- One is this.

And the Balrog threw down a head with long black braids, which rolled to the feet of the Vala, leaving behind a trail of blood on the stone slabs.
It was the head of Fingon.
Melkor licked his lips, with the same satisfaction with which a maiden would receive a bouquet of flowers from a suitor.

-The other gift is this. -continued Gothmog, and among the huge bodies of his guard, he brought forward a sturdy man of sullen appearance. He was still young, and his disheveled hair and beard, and his fierce gaze, gave him a look of bear quite fearsome.

-Is this... ?

-Yes, my Lord, he’s Húrin. The man that thou seekedst.

-Oh! -Melkor couldn’t help a sigh of joy escaping from his lips.

Now that the sons of Fëanor had lost everything, and the kingdom of Hithlum had been given to the Easterlings, only the accursed Turgon was left to torment him. Anyway, thanks to that man he was a little closer to discover once and for all that elusive realm. The Vala could barely contain his excitement, and poured another glass of wine to calm down.

-Take him to the dungeons, to an isolation cell. Make sure that he lacks nothing.

The man just let out a guttural growl as they drove him to his new home. He didn’t seem very eloquent, indeed, and Sauron guessed right away that he would be a tough nut to crack during interrogation.
Meanwhile, Gothmog kept looking at him askance, waiting for the right moment to rub his triumph over his face. However, the Balrog must have been in a too good mood, or maybe the glass eye showed a colder than usual gleam, because in the end he chose to not say anything and have the party in peace.
The lieutenant forgot about him for the moment, and glanced at his human servant. He had managed to stay for the entire battle in a comfortable supply position in the rear, and during the feast had drunk until vomiting. Now he was getting affectionate, and groped a prisoner Noldo and a man, that didn’t seem very participative. After a while he left the hall toward his chamber, arm in arm with a pair of Orcs no less intoxicated than he.
Melkor also rose from his throne, and with a discreet gesture of the head told his lieutenant to follow him. Both entered the bedroom of the Vala, and Sauron closed the door behind him.

-You look very distant tonight. Is there something wrong? –asked Melkor, with half a smirk.

The Maia looked down, a little dejected.

-My Lord, I’m really glad of thy overwhelming victory over thy enemies. The war couldn’t have been more favourable than this. But I can’t help feeling... dissatisfied.

-How is it dissatisfied?

-I don’t know how to explain it... I haven’t participated in this battle, the most important one that we have fought so far. I haven’t been useful to thee, and that mortifies me. Why didst thou not let me fight?

Melkor laughed softly at the hurt tone of the Maia.

-But Sauron, I already know that you always serve me well in war. What I wanted to know, was if you would be as loyal not doing anything. If you would be able to swallow your pride and stay under my shadow while others get all the glory.

- Thou art very cruel.

-Of course I am. But not with you. I have many pawns in this game, and I will sacrifice them all before the end comes, if necessary. But you, Sauron, you are not a pawn. You are my queen. You I will reserve until the last day, and you will be the last to fall.

The lieutenant frowned in annoyance.

-I don’t know if I should take it as a compliment that thou considerst me thy “queen”.

Melkor let out a good-humoured laughter.

-Stop complaining, you foolish Maia! And come here. -saying this, Melkor undid the clasp that his robe had over the shoulder, and the fabric fell to his ankles.

Under the light of the candles his white skin acquired a golden glow, crossed here and there with the crimson lines of the scars.
Sauron followed with his eyes the pattern laid on the body of his master by the sword of Fingolfin. A line run down his left shoulder. Another wider and deeper groove went across his chest and passed within inches of one of the nipples. The third scar snaked along his hip bone. Another one had left a small but deep mark in the right thigh, followed further down by a narrow scar on the knee. The sixth wound climbed up the other leg, from the calf to the groin. The seventh, finally, began under his navel, descended through his abdomen, and ended sinking into the dark hair of his pubis, among which the pale line still showed occasionally.
Sauron thought that no path ever traced was worth being followed, more than the one traced by the sword in that last scar. And maybe the wounds caused pain to the Vala, but he couldn’t pity him at the time. He could only desire him.

Sauron pounced on his lord, and both rolled on the bed in a confusion of members and tongues, while the lieutenant’s clothes were also torn from his body one by one.
Melkor writhed in pleasure. Every caress and every kiss seemed to have intensified a thousand times, not sure if because of the wine, or of the prolonged loneliness, or even because of his ripped skin.
Only when he tried to open himself to receive the Maia, he realized that something was wrong. A sharp pain went through his groin, and with a moan of obvious suffering, he closed his legs again. The Vala understood then that from that moment on, pleasure should always be inextricably linked to some pain. In due time, this would help him to be more patient, and even to understand better the duality that everything encloses in its nature. But in that occasion he felt awful.
Sauron had to try different positions until finding one in which Melkor was comfortable, and even then he was forced to proceed with much more delicacy than usual. The lieutenant would have liked to make love to his lord in a brutal way, but unfortunately, that was over. The new pleasure that they discovered, however, was less exciting and violent, but also more subtle and deeper. In a way, more satisfying.

Upon finishing, the lieutenant put his arms around the ribs of the Vala, that still moved up and down at high speed, and pressed his face against his throat.

-My Lord, could I ask thee a question?

-Mmmm... -murmured the Vala. Sauron took this as a yes.

-Why hast thou never tried to penetrate me?

Melkor separated a little and looked at him surprised, as if he had said the greatest nonsense in the world.

-But Sauron, I am the master! It’s supposed that you are the one that desires me. Not that I’m the one that desires you.

The Maia chuckled against the skin of his lord.

-I don’t quite understand thy logic, really. But think that in this way it would be less painful for thee to make love. Also, my Lord, why limit thyself like that? The feminine sex may be doomed to eternal passivity, and only can get to know half of the pleasure. But thou needst not to resign.

Melkor narrowed his eyes with suspicion.

-I see what you intend, Sauron. You are jealous of me, and crave what I have. Very sly. But whatever, if you want it so much, I’ll take you later. Tomorrow. Although I doubt that you have that secret spot that I have there...

The Vala yawned and intertwined with his lieutenant to sleep.
Sauron wasn’t much hopeful: for Melkor, “tomorrow” usually meant “never”.

Effectively, the next morning the Vala’s lust had been quenched for the moment, and the first thing he thought about upon awakening, was the interesting prisoner that he had in the isolation cell.

Húrin was dozing on a rough chair, with his hands tied behind his back, and the mats of fair hair that fell over his face completely concealed his visage. An Orc threw a bucket of water to wake him. He opened his eyes, confused, and saw a tall and dark figure in front of him, blocking the light that poured from the open door of the cell.
The Orc went out to leave his master alone with the man.

-Húrin Thalion, at last we meet. I suppose that you will have heard many things about me.

-None of them good. -replied the man with grimness.

Melkor smiled, and began to walk around him, to observe him better.

-I, however, have heard great things about you. The Dragon-helm of Dor-lómin, the greatest warrior of the Edain, able to face alone entire hordes of Orcs with his axe. You killed seventy trolls, isn’t it?

-I’ve killed so many trolls, that I no longer keep track.

-And I’ve also heard that you are a good friend of Turgon... - the Vala was now behind the man and put his hands on his shoulders. Húrin felt a small shiver when the mouth of his enemy approached his ear to whisper:- In my army is a place for anyone who desires it, and especially for the brave warriors like you. You are not the first man that Melkor, the Mighty Arising, offers the privilege of serving him. Nor will you be the last. I can turn you into one of my main captains, at the height of my Maiar only. Why settle for a pathetic kingdom between the mountains, when all Beleriand could tremble under your axe and your countless troops? And I only ask you one thing in return, that you tell me a little secret...

Húrin squirmed uneasy, and tried in vain to untie the ropes of his wrists. The breath and touch of the Vala’s hands had begun to produce a glacial cold that run down his arms and chest.
Then, the prisoner realized that there was a third person in the cell, leaning against the wall of a darkened corner. He was fiddling with something metallic in his hands, and occasionally, a glassy gleam appeared where his eyes should have been.

-I have no secret to tell you. -snapped the man, once recovered from the shock.- The secrets of Turgon, he should tell you in person. If he wants.

Melkor rose and stood before him. The brightness of the Silmarils so close to his face, forced Húrin to squint.

-Perhaps I haven’t made the right offer. Perhaps it’s not soldiers and glory what you want. Maybe it's something much more mundane. Jewels and riches, are not they? Men adore them almost as much as dwarves. I can give them all to you. -and with a wave of the hand, the Vala made appear before the eyes of Húrin a ghostly vision of a necklace full of diamonds, rubies and emeralds. Then the vision vanished, and in its place appeared the image of a beautiful woman.- Or is this what you want?

Húrin spat on the ground. Melkor’s smile faded from his face at once, and then rose over the man as an ominous tower.

-I have offered you power, wealth and women. The three things that men desire the most. The next thing I’m going to offer you is more pain than you can imagine. Unless you improve your attitude and tell me at last everything you know about Turgon’s kingdom. What do you say to that? –the voice of the Vala boomed in the cell with the power of thunder, but Húrin looked up quietly and replied:

-No.

Melkor’s eyes blazed with flames of anger.

-Then suffer, Húrin Thalion! But don’t bear a grudge. It wasn’t me who wanted it this way. -and turning toward the figure in the shadows, he made a signal:- Take care of this foolish worm! Maybe after softening him a little, he will be more eloquent.

And the Vala left the cell, slamming the door. The steps of some boots echoed in the bare stone, and the lieutenant of Angband came to light in front of Húrin.
A sadistic smile hinted at the corners of his pale lips.

-You and I, my friend, are going to have a great time. -he said with a soft voice, and tensed the iron scourge with which he had been playing until then.

The cries of the man reached the ears of Melkor despite the thick cell walls, but they were only that: cries of pain. Not a single word escaped his lips.
So passed one week. At the end of it, the lieutenant came to his lord with clear frustration on his face.

-Nothing?

-Nothing, my Lord. He’s the most stubborn and obstinate piece of flesh I've ever seen.

-You are not being tough enough with him then.

-My Lord, I’ve reached with him the level five of the interrogation. NOBODY endures to level five.

Melkor nodded, thoughtfully. And a dark thought shone in his mind at that instant.

-That man, sooner or later, one way or another, will end up revealing me the location of the kingdom of Turgon. That's for sure. But perhaps we should wait a little longer and let time wreak its havoc on the mortal. For now, I’ve come up with a way to make the wait more enjoyable.

The Vala headed to the cell of Húrin with sudden energy, followed a few steps behind by his distraught lieutenant.
The prisoner had a terrible aspect, but not even so had disappeared the fierceness of his blue eyes.

-Húrin Thalion. You have despised the signs of my generosity and have foolishly endured the signs of my hate. Now, because of your folly, not only you will suffer, but also your whole family. You have already lost your brother and I assure you, Húrin, that you will still lose a lot more, before death has mercy on you and brings you to your loved ones. -sentenced Melkor.

Then the Vala drew a dagger from the belt of his robe, and unleashing one of the man's hands, he made a deep cut on the palm. Thereafter, he made a cut on his own hand as well, and joining it with that of the prisoner he let the blood of both wounds mix together.
Húrin hissed in anguish; Melkor’s blood burned him like acid, and even gave off abrasive vapours. Among the tears that began to accumulate in his eye, he saw a demonic gaze, and the words that the Vala pronounced then oppressed his heart as an ice claw:

-Your blood is mine now, and with it the fate of your family. My blood is yours now, and with it a terrible curse has entered you. Accursed be you and all your lineage!

Melkor separated his hand, and Húrin saw stunned how the wound closed by itself, seared by intangible forces. The cell had plunged into unnatural darkness, and even the lieutenant shuddered a little due to the sudden cold of the room. Then the Vala touched the man's eyes with fingers still stained with black blood and sentenced:

-Your eyes are left open from now onwards. That everything I see, you will see as well. -then he put his hands on either side of the prisoner's head.- Your ears are left open from now onwards. Everything I hear, you will hear as well. -finally, Melkor covered the mouth of Húrin with his left hand.- Your mouth instead is left sealed. You shall ask for help, and no one will answer to your call in the desert.

The Vala stepped back and contemplated his work. The man seemed confused and miserable, but determination hadn’t waned the least in him.
Melkor felt annoyed, and untying him, he lifted him from the chair roughly and dragged him to the upper floors, followed closely by a fascinated Sauron. That was one of those times when the power of Melkor emanated from his body with special intensity, one of those times when the fate of Arda intertwined with the fate of the Vala inevitably. And on those occasions the lieutenant could not help feeling a sort of magnetic attraction to his lord, mixed with fear, respect and lust.
Melkor brought Húrin to a steep cliff on the side of Thangorodrim, and there, raising his arm, made a stone chair emerge from the hard rock. He seated the man on it with a shove. And though he tried to get up, his wrists and ankles were tied to the seat with the invisible bonds of sorcery.

-Don’t let them say of me that I'm a bad host. Since you will spend much time in Angband, my dear Húrin, at least you can do it comfortably seated and under the stars. -said the Vala with a laughter, and returned to the fortress with his lieutenant still stuck behind.

Húrin was left completely alone on the summit of the mountain, and glanced at the black and lifeless plains that surrounded him. In all this time, not a single word had escaped his lips.

The years that followed were very sweet for the hosts of Angband and their lord. With all their enemies sunk in misery, they had nothing else to do but enjoy the good times, thrive and multiply all over Beleriand. It was true that Turgon had not been discovered, and that Doriath and Nargothrond still resisted. But at the moment none of these kingdoms meant an immediate threat. Thus, while the Noldor took up arms again, Melkor found an endless source of entertainment in the misadventures of the son of Húrin.
With his own eyes he contemplated the childhood years spent by the young Túrin in the court of Thingol, and his fall from grace due to a stupid dispute. The Vala took delight in the forced exile of the man, and how he transformed slowly into an outlaw, into a wild animal outside civilization. Of course, this was only funny because he knew that his father could see it as well.
The curse that the Vala had introduced in his blood, allowed him to have some control over the events surrounding the young man, but he couldn’t control the impulses of his heart. Also, Melkor and Húrin had an exact knowledge of the state of mind of the subject, of his pain and loneliness, but the place and the exact circumstances in which was Túrin, were not always visible. If anything, this served to further unsettle his downcast father.

For his part, Sauron missed the heat of battle, and often provoked Gothmog for no good reason, just to start a fight. Deep inside, the Balrog was grateful for these impertinences and any excuse was good to catch his fire whip. Both were warriors and captains, and times of peace depressed them.
Regarding his most private affairs, the lieutenant couldn’t complain too much, because in all that time he had no major argument with his lord. However, he sometimes found the Vala puzzling and annoying.
On occasions, Melkor wanted nothing from him and ignored any advance made by the Maia. But other times he seemed to ignite with a violent lust (usually when the lieutenant was busier) and forced him to satisfy him at every hour, or for entire days. To the extent that Sauron couldn’t perform his daily tasks. Also, he had to endure later the knowing looks and chuckles of the Orcs, whenever they saw him return with a clear flush on his face. On those occasions, getting angry and lashing them only served to increase the teasing.
At the end, Sauron started thinking that Melkor did all this on purpose, out of pure sadism. In the same way that he seemed to enjoy immensely if he climaxed several times in a row, and his lieutenant on the other hand didn’t do it a single time. At this, the Maia could do nothing but shrug and fill with patience. It was so typical of Melkor to take something beautiful and innocent, like the physical act of love, and turn it into a weapon. That was his nature, after all.

Nonetheless, the lieutenant soon didn’t have to worry about the exhausting desires of his lord, for he plunged into one of his long periods of apathy. Sauron guessed it had something to do with that puppet of his, that Túrin. The Vala regretted the decision he had made of capturing the outlaw and dragging him to Angband, since he feared that this would end his fun.

-I should have put to other use that filthy dwarf that lived with the outlaws. Instead of convincing him to betray his partners, I should have asked him to take them to Nargothrond. That disgusting creature has been in that realm, I know it from the conversations he had with Túrin. And if my human plaything had arrived there, my eyes would have arrived there too in the end. And another realm of the Noldor would have fallen! Now I've lost sight of that stupid dwarf. Such a wasted opportunity!  -complained the Vala, sprawled on the throne in a foul mood, before the patient look of his lieutenant.- All this is your fault, Sauron!

The Maia opened his eyes, disguising his resignation with surprise.

- Mine, my Lord?

-Yes, yours, for not having foreseen this and not having advised me!

-Thou art right, my Lord. Let me advise thee now then. If I remember correctly, we have in Angband a special prisoner: a certain Gwindor of Nargothrond. Maybe it's time to, I don’t know, put another pawn in game. I’m not sure if thou understandest... -Melkor replied to the half smile of Sauron with a malicious sparking of his eyes.
He had understood everything perfectly.

A little later that day, the supervisors who flogged the slaves in the underground mines stopped their whips, shocked, when they saw their lord visiting the galleries. Melkor never went down there due to the dirt, dust and stench of sweat and blood. But this time he strolled along the mines calm and smiling, despite how uncomfortable for him was limping through that stony ground. With a gesture he told the slavemasters to continue with their work, and he approached the Elf Gwindor. He was as filthy and emaciated as the others, and his courageous spirit had faded away long time ago through blows of whips and picks. Now the single noteworthy thing of his cadaverous face were the two big gray eyes that watched here and there all the time, always fearful. The Vala asked the supervisor of the Elf to let them alone for a moment, and ordered the Noldo to leave his pick and hammer and follow him.

-Ah Gwindor ,Gwindor! You I was looking for. Let's take a walk through this charming place, will you not? I have to talk with you about a certain subject...

The Elf shook with shyness, and tried to stay behind, but the fingers of Melkor rested on his shoulder and pushed him gently, but inexorably, against him.

-What dost thou want to talk about? I have nothing to say, I’m just a brutalized slave. I don’t know anything anymore.

Melkor chuckled.

-No my dear Gwindor, you don’t have to tell me anything. It’s me who is going to speak. In fact, I'm going to suggest you one thing: to stop working in the mines.

Gwindor felt his stomach clenching upon hearing this. To stop working in the mines could only mean that he was no longer needed in Angband. In the early days he had been tortured to reveal the location of Nargothrond, but never confessed. And at that point no one believed anymore that he could endure another interrogation. Nor was it possible that they wanted him as bedroom toy for some captain; only the beautiful and freshly caught Elves were intended for that purpose, not the slaves already used by hundreds of Orcs. Thus, all that remained was that they turned him into food for wolves and dragons.
Understanding this, Gwindor began to sob quietly.

-But Gwindor! Why are you crying? -asked Melkor with false compassion, standing in front of him.

-I... I... Lord Melkor, I no longer expect anything from life. But still... I find very painful the idea of dying.

-Dying!? Who said you are going to die? I'm going to set you free.

The Noldo looked up with watery and perplexed eyes, not believing what he had just heard. If Morgoth the Black Enemy set prisoners free without further ado, then he must have been dreaming.

-Yes, let me explain. -continued Melkor, leading him to a gallery apart from the rest, where no one was working.- I'll let you free to go back home in Nargothrond, dear Gwindor. But on one condition: that you take with you this unfortunate man.

Then Melkor showed him a vision of Túrin chained by a patrol of Orcs, who pushed and dragged him on the ground with cruelty. The Elf frowned skeptically.

-Dost thou want that I free a man whom thy own Orcs have captured and that I bring him to Nargothrond, to safety?

-Exactly.

-I’m sorry to say this, Lord Melkor, but it sounds as a trap. How do I know that this man is not evil? How can I trust thee?

-You cannot, Gwindor. You will have to accept that uncertainty if you want me to release you. It's not to your trust in me to what I appeal, but to your selfishness. No doubt you have left many loved things in Nargothrond, and you want to recover them, don’t you? Family, friends, a maiden... –upon saying the latter, the Elf's eyes suddenly lit up, and Melkor could read his mind without difficulty.- That is, a maiden, isn’t it? She is what you desire the most, right, Gwindor?

The Vala extended the palm of his hand, and over it materialized the image of the Elven maiden that he had seen in the thoughts of Gwindor. She span around, dancing in circles, while her golden hair flew behind her like a long veil. And every time her eyes met those of the prisoner, she gave him a sweet smile full of promises of love.

-Finduilas... - murmured the Elf, as if hypnotized. Melkor dissolved the vision and snapped him out of his stupor.

-So that's her name: Finduilas. She’s a charming creature, Gwindor, and she certainly loves you. Only a stupid would prefer to stay here, picking rocks until his hands bleed, and suffering the lustful gropes of Orcs, when he could be under a willow tree, at the bank of a pristine brook with such a beauty. But you are not a stupid, right, Gwindor?

At that moment, a terrible struggle unfolded in the heart of the Elf. A struggle between common sense and desire. It was true that the Vala must be up to something sinister, but on the other hand, he wasn’t asking him anything evil in itself. He didn’t ask him to betray his king, or to kill someone. He only asked him to help a poor man, a poor man of honest and courageous look. And hadn’t he suffered enough already? Didn’t he deserve it, he and his beloved Finduilas? He was tired. Determination is for the young, not for the unfortunate and weak slaves.

-How can I release that man? -said at last the Noldo. A wide smile graced the lips of Melkor, and he tapped him on the shoulder affectionately.

-Don’t worry, my dear Gwindor. Just wait for the patrol of Orcs in Taur-nu-Fuin. That man has a faithful friend, a great archer, that no doubt will be searching for him and will help you. And if he doesn’t, it doesn’t matter either because I’ll take care. I don’t mind losing a few Orcs, I have lots of them. You will escape tonight without anyone knowing. I don’t want to spread the word about our secret deal. One never knows where there might be spies, isn’t it, Gwindor ?

-And how can I flee?

-Well, let's say that in Angband, sometimes mysterious galleries open... -the Vala put his hand on a wall, and when he removed it, the solid rock had become a tunnel.-...And then they close again. -when the Elf looked again at the wall, there was no sign of any opening, as if all had been a mirage.

Thus closed the strange agreement, Gwindor got ready to return to his work. Before he disappeared through one of the galleries, the Vala gave him a final warning:

-Ah, Gwindor! Do not think for a moment that you can cheat me. If you don’t fulfill your part, I’ll cast on you the Spell of Bottomless Dread. Sure you have heard stories about it from the other slaves, haven’t you?

The Elf nodded, with a shiver, and ran back to his pick and hammer.

Indeed, Gwindor accomplished his task and helped Túrin to Nargothrond. The fact that during the rescue, the man killed his friend because of a foolish misunderstanding, was a delightful addition to the drama that Melkor weaved around his fate. And even more fun was the irony that the beautiful Finduilas, the main reason why the Noldo agreed to bring Túrin along, ended up falling in love with this man precisely.
Meanwhile, the first vague notions about the location of Nargothrond started reaching the mind of Melkor. The spies were each day closer to find the guarded kingdom. And finally, when Túrin was proclaimed captain among the Noldor, and casting aside all caution, openly challenged Angband under a new name, Nargothrond was doomed.

The time to take action had come, and in that time Glaurung was, as usual, in the lower caverns near the furnaces. An Orc who had managed to elude his responsibilities and break into the beer cellar, was getting drunk at his side, keeping him company, or rather, annoying him.

-Hey, Glaurung, listen. I have a question that keeps me awake. It's very important, and I think that only you can help me. -hiccuped the Orc between drinks.- What smells worse: the gas of a troll with intestinal problems, or your breath?

The Orc broke into coarse laughters, as the dragon snorted in disgust.

-Why don’t we check it, will you? -growled the beast, throwing a cloud of smoke and sulfur in his face.

The Orc choked among coughs and curses, and the Shadow of Sauron, that up until then had been dozing against the belly of the dragon and wrapped in his tail, squirmed.

-Shut up, stupid, both of ye smell worse than anything that came out of a troll!! -he complained.

Glaurung turned with a mischievous glint in his eyes to the little creature, who was still trying to get some sleep.

-Oh, forgive us! Not all of us have a master who gives us perfumes to smell nice, and precious jewels to be pretty. By the way... you should share some with your friends and not be so selfish. -and saying this, the dragon curled the tip of his tail around the ankle of the man and put him upside down, shaking him in the air to make a few gems and rings fall.

-Let go of me, damn you!! Those things are mine! Ye two will pay for it when this is over, ye will be spitting teeth for a month! -shrieked the man, without enough hands to keep his helmet in place, hold his jewels and avoid the robe going up to his head, all at the same time.

The Orc was writhing on the floor with laughter, still hiccupping, and meanwhile Glaurung collected some of the gems to observe them with greedy fascination.

-What 's all this racket!? Stop acting like idiots right now! -roared a familiar voice.

The three froze on the spot, and Glaurung released his victim, who fell to the ground with a thud.
The lieutenant was standing at the entrance of the cavern, with his arms crossed and a very unfriendly face. His eye of fire fell first on the Orc, who tried to hide the stolen beer.

-Why are you here lazing around, instead of in your post, forging swords!? A new battle is approaching and I don’t want to see anyone idle! -the crack of the black whip on his backside, soon convinced the Orc to go back to work and stop drinking.- As for you, Glaurung, let alone those jewels that don’t belong to you, and prepare for war. In Nargothrond you will find many more treasures than those. I guarantee you.

With the arrival of autumn, the forests near the Narog had been coated with the ocher and red of dry leaves. However, when the assault and plunder of the kingdom ended, there were only black and twisted trunks, and a thick layer of ash choking the earth.
It had all happened very suddenly, and the Elves hadn’t even time to destroy the bridge that, with so much folly, they had built over the river. It was an easy victory.
And it was also then when Sauron learned that the king of Nargothrond, in the absence of Finrod, was none other than his old acquaintance Orodreth.

 

“More affectionate than his brother, no doubt, but with a rather empty head.” -said the lieutenant to himself with a sneer.

Anyway, it didn’t matter anymore, because he was dead now. And Gwindor was dead. And the beautiful Finduilas was on her way to death. As for Túrin, he was lost under the inclement weather, searching for his mother and sister in all the wrong places.
There was just one problem: Glaurung refused to return. The desire for wealth had put ahead of his loyalty for Melkor, and he lay on a huge pile of treasure deep in the caves of Nargothrond.
Melkor became furious as he considered, rightly, that those jewels should belong to him. He sent many messengers, demanding of Glaurung that he surrendered the treasures and returned immediately. But the dragon killed them all and kept challenging the wrath of the Vala.
Then Sauron calmed his lord, and advised him to wait a little longer, since perhaps the role of Glaurung hadn’t finished yet in that story.

So passed winter, and spring arrived in a state of false calm that, just as the eye of the storm, only heralded new misfortunes for the enemies of Angband.
One day in which Sauron was heading to one of the upper towers, he discovered Melkor doing something unusual. He was sitting in front of a square board, and on it he had placed several wooden figures. One of them, similar to an archer, was tossed aside as if he had died. There was also a dragon that looked like Glaurung. And in the center, alone, there was a man with a strange helmet and a black sword. The Vala looked at the board with a frown, as if he was concentrating deeply.

-What dost thou do, my Lord?

Melkor looked up, a bit startled.

-Ah, it's you, Sauron! I don’t like this tower, one never hears anyone approaching. Regarding this board, I'm playing a game with a certain man. You already know who. -and he refocused his attention on the figures.

The more distant was the Vala, the more attractive his lieutenant found him, and standing in front of him, watched him a while with fascination.

-Couldst thou explain what happens now in the game, my Lord? Unlike thee, I’m not acquainted with the whole story.

-This is what happens: Túrin is living with the men of Brethil, under a new name. That individual changes his name more often than an Orc changes his clothes. He thinks that this way he will escape his fate... Well, on the other hand, here I have his sister, whom Túrin never got to know. -the Vala placed another wooden figure in the center; this with the shape of a maiden.- The very stupid went near Glaurung’s lair, and now lives without memory or past, wandering through the woods like a wild animal due to the spell of the dragon. But I don’t know what to do next, Sauron. I don’t know how to torment that man still further.

-Hmm... How about this, my Lord ? -and with a expression of malice, the lieutenant pushed the figure of Túrin against that of his sister, and it looked as if both were kissing.

Melkor rolled his eyes.

-Don’t be foolish, Sauron! You know very well that neither Elves nor men join their blood relatives. They have absurd laws about it, not as we the Ainur. Thus, that will never happen.

-But my Lord, didst thou not just say that they never met and the girl doesn’t remember anything? If they don’t recognize their faces, and she doesn’t remember her name or that of her brother...

Melkor opened his mouth to reply, but in the end he said nothing, and looked at his lieutenant in surprise. The fang of the Maia showed in a perverse and crooked smile.

-Sauron, you are a very, very twisted being. -he said, licking his lips.

The lieutenant recognized the signal at once: that flame dancing in the black iris of his lord, that slight blush on his cheeks, that wave of heat emitted by his body.
Without saying a word, he jumped on the Vala, and right there on the floor they locked in a passionate struggle, with little regard for the wounds left by Fingolfin. To the extent that, at some point, Melkor struck his head against one of the legs of the table and all the figures of the board moved. Sauron wanted his lord to fulfill the promise he made after the battle of Unnumbered Tears, and managed to move beneath and offer himself in a vulnerable position. But the Vala didn’t get the innuendo, or didn’t want to, and instead he sat on him.
When the last throes of pleasure died in the throat of both, Melkor looked toward the entrance of the tower, and made a gesture at his lieutenant.

-Look who's there. Do you want to join us or what? -he laughed, addressing the Shadow of Sauron, who was standing in the doorway and watched the scene with eyes wide open and great trepidation on his face.

The lieutenant turned around, still trembling and panting, and frowned when he saw his servant.

-May I know what are you doing there like stunned!? And how long have you been watching us without saying anything?

The man became so nervous, that he almost threw the bowls of food he carried in his hands, and was barely able to form a whole sentence:

-I... I... master... I... I was bringing Húrin his daily ration. This... this is the shortest way up to Thangorodrim.

It was true that the human had been entrusted with the task of feeding the prisoner, but still Sauron was upset. Unlike Melkor, that found the situation quite funny.

-Get out now, will you?! -growled the lieutenant, and the man run off as if his life was at stake.

The Vala stood up then, got dressed again, and glanced at the board, where all the pieces had fallen in disorder.

-Look what you have done, Sauron! -he protested, as he put the figures into place.

At that moment he realized that the figure of Túrin and Glaurung had fallen very close to each other, as if they had died in combat. An idea began to take shape in the mind of Melkor, although he didn’t say anything about it yet.

Meanwhile, the human servant of Sauron kept climbing the painful steps that led to the top of Thangorodrim, prey to a confused state of mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he had just seen, and this caused him an itch between his legs, and deep anger, and melancholy as well. Every time he felt worse, and when he reached the chair of Húrin, his mood was gloomy to say the least.
In addition, that prisoner had always made him shudder. His stare was lost in the void, as if he fixed his attention on things that happened many miles away, and never said a word. He was no longer a young man, and his long and tangled hair, and his unkept beard, had turned gray over the years. However, he didn’t seem to have lost his former vigour yet, so the Shadow was afraid of him and tried not to get too close when he brought his food. He always imagined what would happen if, suddenly, the spell that kept Húrin tied up would get undone, and he attacked him. Surely he could strangle him in a moment. Because of this aversion, and the prisoner’s silence, the man never tried to talk with him.
But on that occasion, he needed someone to vent his rage.

-Look at you! Húrin Thalion, the brave warrior, is nothing more than a useless old man now. –he mocked him, trying to hide his fear with a dismissive gesture.- The life of men is so ephemeral! Don’t you think? -the prisoner nodded, very slowly. One could say that he had turned into stone as his chair.

-Yes. All men die. In the end.

-I won’t. I won’t die, because the power of Melkor keeps me immutable. How old would you say I am? -Húrin shrugged, and the Shadow made a flourish of conceit- I’m 460 years old, and look at my skin: not a single wrinkle.

-Well, in my opinion, you are quite ugly.

The Shadow gritted his teeth, annoyed.

-Fool! Mock if you want. But when you are just a corpse rotting underground, we'll see which one of the two looks better. And to think that you had the opportunity to serve the Lord Melkor with all honours and you turned it down...! Now you could have all kinds of wealth, the respect of the troops and the eternal youth. Now you could be like me.

-A slave?

The Shadow felt hurt. This man irritated him greatly, and even more so because of his laconic answers.

-I'd rather be a slave covered with jewels, than a free man covered with rags! -he shouted, turning away.

-Yes. That’s how your lord Melkor likes to see his men.

-Don’t be mistaken. Melkor is not my true lord. –replied the Shadow, facing him again. - My only master is Sauron the Maia, and though I have to keep up appearances in front of Melkor, in my heart I'm only loyal to him. Someday, my master Sauron will be the greatest, the sole lord of Middle Earth. He will be more powerful than that crippled Vala. And who do you think will be by his side then? I! I will be his lieutenant, as he is now for Melkor. And I’ll never leave him. And my master will need me and love me as Melkor needs him and loves him now. -upon saying these last words, a lump made in his throat.

Húrin smiled enigmatically, and in that moment, he spoke more than he had spoken in all those years in Thangorodrim.

-Poor mortal doomed to not die! Your four centuries of life haven’t given you any wisdom. Do you still think that the heart of a god will love you back someday? Look, my body may be aged and my end may be near. My family may be cursed and fated to suffering and annihilation. I may not be more than an old fool who knows nothing. But one thing I know: despite everything, I've had more love and happiness in my short life, than you in all that eternity. It’s not me who should envy your luck. It’s you who envies mine.

The Shadow of Sauron was left petrified then, as if a violent blow to his head had clouded his understanding. He opened his mouth, but his voice failed him. And felt how wrath and pain invaded his body, made him tremble, dried his lips and watered his eyes.
In a fit of rage, he threw the bowls of food and water to the face of the prisoner, and their contents spilled on the floor, but Húrin didn’t flinch.

-Repulsive old man! How dare you!? For your insolence, today you will have neither food nor drink!

And with that said, the Shadow turned around and started descending the slope towards the fortress, not daring to look back.

During the next two years, the lonely man on the mountain had to see stoically the incestuous union of his two children. And though he knew that their intentions were pure, he didn’t suffer less because of that.
Melkor couldn’t have a better time. The Orcs that he had sent to the border of Doriath, pushed the innocent Nienor directly into the arms of his brother. Now he just had to think of a shocking way to reveal the truth before they both died.
In the meantime, Glaurung showed no signs of returning to Angband.
Melkor kept sending messengers: crows, Orcs, Balrogs, even Gothmog, insisting that he gave up the treasure. But the dragon seemed to have gone deaf.
Finally, in early summer, the Vala met with his lieutenant alone and gave him a last message for Glaurung, an ultimatum, which he himself should communicate. Sauron was disturbed upon hearing it, but he accomplished his task with the same diligence as always and flew to Nargothrond.

What once must had been a glorious kingdom, now looked like a ruined graveyard. Neither trees nor beasts lived in the withered surroundings. And from the deep cavern, earlier a palace, emanated the toxic fumes of the dragon.
Thus the lieutenant found the beast: sleeping soundly on a huge pile of gold, gems, necklaces and coins.

-Glaurung! -he called, in an authoritative tone.

An enormous snake eye opened and glowed in the dark.

-Oh, but isn’t it the lord lieutenant? I see that Melkor has already spent all his other messengers. Next time, I guess he will come himself.

-There won’t be a next time, Glaurung! This is your last chance to reform and return to Angband. It’s not pleasant for me to tell you what I’ve been ordered to tell you, because I have appreciation for you and because, in part, you are also my creation. But if you don’t reconsider and surrender to the wishes of Melkor, a very black and very short fate awaits you. You are one of his creatures, and as such, he still has control over you and can lead you to ruin if he wants. Make a choice then, either you go back to the fortress of your own will, or you run directly to your destruction according to Melkor’s plan.

The dragon snorted, and stretched lazily on the pile of treasure, turning his back to Sauron. His loins gave off iridescent twinkles because of the many jewels embedded between his scales.

-I won’t move from here. I like these jewels, and I like that they’re only mine. All ye want is to take away what I conquered alone with my strength. You have not been generous to me, lieutenant. Why did you never give me rubies or emeralds? You give everything to that sweet-talking worm that follows you everywhere! Nothing for Glaurung! No, I'm staying here.

-Will you defy your father and Lord?

-I’m not afraid of Melkor, he can’t force me to go away. I’m the master of my fate!

Sauron shook his head, downhearted, when he heard those words.

-That's what said that man, the son of Húrin... Well, ye two will share the same fate then. Farewell, Glaurung. We won’t see each other anymore.

The dragon wagged his tail, as if urging him to leave, and the lieutenant disappeared in a cloud of dark smoke.

From that moment on, events escalated.
Glaurung attacked the forest of Brethil, driven by a desire that wasn’t really his, even when he thought it was. And he died among the rocks of the river, but not before making sure that his venomous words dragged with him both Túrin and his sister.
Sauron regretted deeply the incident, and all of a sudden felt an uncomfortable emptiness inside of him. He had the strange impression that this departure was the beginning of a series of losses that he hadn’t yet guessed.
Although he wasn’t the only one who felt more sadness than joy because of the events.
At the moment in which Túrin expired, closing once and for all that drama, a cry of torn pain echoed between the high peaks of Thangorodrim.
Melkor opened his eyes, alert, and listened carefully to that cry of a father who had lost everything.

- Now. Now he has broken at last. Now he will tell us all he knows. -he said, with a mysterious smile.

The lieutenant supposed that thereafter they’d lead the old man to a cell, and proceed to interrogate him once again. But once again, Melkor’s plans proved too whimsical for his reasoning.
And the Vala freed the man.
The first time he had crossed the gates of Angband, he was a hefty warrior of unshakeable bravery. The second time he did it, it was as a withered being with dull eyes, in which there was no longer any trace of his old strenght.
Sauron cursed inwardly the absurd caprices of his lord, believing that now, the opportunity to discover Turgon was gone for real. And he was about to enter the throne room to openly criticize the decision, when the Vala himself called him.
He was imbued with an unusual energy, and just as the lieutenant arrived, he grabbed his arm and placed his fingers on the Maia’s eyelids.

-Look at this. -he whispered.

And Sauron saw then through the eyes of Melkor.
The old man, in his wanderings, had reached the Encircling Mountains and called out Turgon, asking for hospitality. But as the Vala had sentenced him, no one heard him in the desert.
Melkor withdrew his hand and the vision dissolved.

-I told you that he would show us the way now, Sauron. But you did not believe me, right? There’s a lot of loyalty in you, but very little faith. -and although the voice of the Vala sounded gentle and condescending, Sauron felt guilty.

The entertainment of Melkor was already about to end.
And after a brief visit to Nargothrond, where Húrin caught a valuable necklace, and another equally brief visit to Doriath, where he left the jewel, the man died overwhelmed by the weight of too many misfortunes.
Melkor lay down the last figure on the board, and yawned:

”Well, and now what could I do?”

---

Chapter End Notes

What could Melkor do? We'll see, in next chapter comes the fall of Doriath and Gondolin, that I finally decided to leave outside of this one. So he's going to have a lot to do. Also, the War of Wrath. Expect thus a lot of departures and a sad chapter. Sorry!
In the meantime, I'd love to hear from you, guests or non-guests alike :)

Note: The "Spell of Bottomless Dread" is taken from the Book of Lost Tales. It was the curse that Melkor casted on his slaves to control them. Apparently, it disappeared in later versions.