The Lords that Fell by Taylor17387

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The Army at the Gates of Iron

Note on translation:
As probably many of you already know, this story was written originally in Spanish. Now, one of the things that bothered me when translating to English, was the lack of a formal 2nd person pronoun when some character is talking to a superior. So, instead of using always the archaic form "thou", as I had been doing until now, I'm going to use that form only when the characters must show a special respect for someone. The rest of the time, I'll use "you" (though actually, "thou" was the most familiar form; but I think that nowadays it sounds as more "dignified").
I changed accordingly all the previous chapters and the other fic for consistency. This change may come a bit late, but better late than never! It was really weird for me that people adressed an Orc the same way they adressed Melkor, for example (no offence intended for Orcs).

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The Army at the Gates of Iron

Eärendel arose where the shadow flows
At Ocean’s silent brim;
Through the mouth of night as a ray of light
Where the shores are sheer and dim
He launched his bark like a silver spark
From the last and lonely sand;
Then on sunlit breath of the day’s fiery death
He sailed from Westerland.

-The Last Voyage of Eärendel (The Book of Lost Tales II)

As the day of the assault on Gondolin approached, expectation grew in Angband.
Plans were drawn, strategies were defined, each unit placed in position. The Orcs were restless and the Balrogs impatient. Now they just waited for Melkor’s order to attack.
But in recent days, the thoughts of the Vala had wandered to other places, to the impenetrable forests of Doriath, rather than to the walls of Gondolin. And this caused him a disturbance that grew by the minute and was transmitted to the troops, until an uncomfortable feeling of terror spread through the whole fortress. Suddenly Melkor had remembered again the lost Silmaril, and as if suddenly the jewel was the ultimate key to success, he became obsessed with it once more.
Sauron bit his tongue to keep from cursing and Gothmog raised a ruckus when the Vala informed them that the conquest of Gondolin should be postponed and that the priority now was to recover the Silmaril.

-But my Lord, thou knowest already that there is no way to take the jewel as long as they have it hidden in Menegroth. The last time the girdle of Melian was opened was when Carcharoth went through it, but that was some kind of miracle and has not been repeated. Neither do I believe it will be in the future.

The lieutenant tried to talk sense to his lord, as he paced around in circles in the throne room, at the verge of a nervous breakdown. Gothmog was leaning against a pillar, with arms folded and a sulking face. He had devoted all his energies to prepare the assault, and now he saw his plans crumbling.

-It’s true that we cannot enter Doriath. But there are creatures that are pleasant to Thingol... –the Vala stopped short, as if a sudden revelation had enlightened his mind.-...There are creatures who can indeed enter Doriath. And maybe they could... They could take the Silmaril for me.

Sauron made a faint smile of incredulity.

-I doubt much, my Lord, that the beings that Thingol and Melian invite to their kingdom will have the slightest interest in snatching the Silmaril from them.

-What about the sons of Fëanor? They don’t think about anything else, day and night.

-The Noldor are not welcomed in Doriath. Let alone the sons of Fëanor. It’s easier that Thingol invites thee or me to his table, than he calls any of those.

-Well, the Wood-elves can come and go as they please.

-I'm afraid, my Lord, that the loyalties of the Wood-elves are not inclined towards Angband, precisely.

-What about men?

-Only the Edain keep some friendships with the Grey Elves, and they’re the most stubborn beings on the surface of Arda. They would be eaten alive by trolls, rather than betraying their friends.

-Damn, Sauron, you're not giving me any solution!! -complained the Vala, overturning a table for no apparent reason.

Then Gothmog, who until now had remained silent and brooding his anger, took the floor:

-The Dwarves could steal the Silmaril. –he muttered through clenched teeth. Both Melkor and Sauron turned to him surprised.- Yes, in the time I spent in Ossiriand searching for Beren and Lúthien, I had the chance to observe the movements of the kingdoms of Nogrod and Belegost. Those underground rats trade frequently with the Sindar, they come in and out of the kingdom as if it were their home. And they are greedy. Very greedy.

Sauron showed signs of replying but, regretting it greatly, he had to admit that his rival had said something intelligent for once.
Melkor's face lit up then, and it seemed as if the weight of the entire Middle Earth had been lifted from his shoulders.

-Yes, that’s it. Brilliant, Gothmog. We will tempt those Dwarves with the Silmaril, we’ll remember them how much they hate the Elves, and once they have the jewel in their possession.... we’ll kill them all and my crown will be complete again! You had an excellent idea. -praised Melkor. Gothmog began to swell with pride.

-Thanks, my Lord. I'll get going then, as soon as I have devised some plan and...

-You? Oh, no, you won’t be in charge of this matter! -laughed the Vala. The Balrog, which was about to leave, stood frozen in place without understanding anything.- No, this mission requires a lot of cunning and subtlety, and you're too stupid, Gothmog. You would ruin everything. Sauron will take care of it.

The Balrog blinked several times, in astonishment, his brief moment of glory turned into humiliation in a single second.

-Too stupid? But the idea was mine!

-I don’t want to hear about it anymore. -Melkor was blunt, and turned away, completely ignoring Gothmog.

Thus, he had no choice but to leave the room, groaning under his breath and letting out some obscenity about the Vala and his lieutenant, which fortunately didn’t reach the ears of Melkor.
Before Sauron went away as well, the Vala grabbed his shoulder and stared into his eyes.

-This is important, Sauron. Important for real. -he said, unable to hide completely the anguish in his voice.- This time I don’t ask you to retrieve my Silmaril just because it's beautiful and it belongs to me. There's more to it. Something that I can only guess for the moment, and that I cannot articulate in words. But I sense that if the Silmaril doesn’t return to Angband, something terrible will happen. Do you understand what I mean?

The lieutenant nodded, and his lord left him with a forced smile. There was fear and pain in his expression, and Sauron wondered if he had really understood what he meant.

It didn’t take long for the Maia to devise an appropriate plan. However, he disliked the idea of having to deal with the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains. At this point, Turgon should be aware already that his hideout had been discovered, and it was possible that he initiated a preemptive strike at any time. It wasn’t that he mistrusted Gothmog’s abilities (much to his chagrin, the Balrog was a good captain), but given the circumstances, he preferred to stay in the fortress just in case.
Not to say that Sauron hated the Dwarves. They were stubborn, short-sighted and sullen, just like his former master Aulë. The last thing he wanted was to waste his time arguing with them for an insignificant piece of gold or something.

Also, he had already someone to do the most thankless tasks in his place.

That night, the lieutenant didn’t enter the alcove of his human servant at the most appropriate time, exactly. The man was lying in bed, smoking in a strange utensil some plants with a peculiar smell. And meanwhile, two young and attractive Orcs (as attractive as Orcs could be, which was practically nothing) helped him to release the stress of the day: one, placed behind, gave him a shoulder massage, and the other, no less attentive, had his head between his legs.
As soon as they saw Sauron in the doorway, the Orcs jumped two feet in the air and threw themselves to the ground, hiding behind the bed as if they feared a horrible punishment. And the man, dying of shame, tried to cover himself and give an explanation, that only came out in the form of disjointed syllables.
Sauron rolled his eyes. If it was true that Eru could see all the things that happened in the universe, then he didn’t envy his luck at all.

-You don’t have to explain anything to me. –said the Maia, interrupting his servant’s stutters.- However, I 'm afraid that you'll have to leave that for later, because now there’s work for you, and a very important work. As for ye, -he added, addressing the Orcs that peered from behind the bed- ye better clear off and do something productive. On the double, maggots!

The Orcs run away, and while the man buttoned his robe again, Sauron inspected the curious object that still gave off that aromatic smoke. It was made of glass, with a bowl of water and a kind of tube to inhale. The lieutenant had never seen anything like it.

-What kind of plants are these?

-Oh, that... they’re poppies, opium poppies from the gardens of Lórien, master. Some Noldor brought them, smuggled from Valinor, they say, and now there are many plantations in the East. I got those from the Easterlings of Hithlum.

-And why do you smoke them?

-Because I... Well, master. Sometimes I'm sad. And those plants produce the most wonderful feeling of peace that I know, and when I smoke them... Anyway, pain disappears. –he muttered, looking down.

Sauron thought for a moment.

-I think I will give this utensil and the plants to the lord Melkor. They’ll do him good, since he’s very upset lately. -decided the Maia, and at this, his servant had to settle for a sigh of resignation. Clearly, the Vala’s well-being was more important than that of a mere mortal.

Then the lieutenant proceeded to explain the details of the plan to the man, and everything he should say and do when he was in the presence of the Dwarves. It was essential that he won their trust from the beginning. The Shadow of Sauron listened attentively to the instructions of his master, but there was a point at which he had some doubts:

-Forgive me to interrupt thee, master, but I don’t know how I’ll get the Dwarves to trust me. The corruption of Melkor is too obvious on my face, and in no way would I look as one of them.

-But you must not look as one of them. You’ll pose as a Noldo.

The man lowered his eyes and smiled with shyness, blushing a little.

-Thou art too kind to me, master. For not even in my best dreams I could pose as one of those beautiful Elves.

-Oh, don’t you? –said Sauron, raising an eyebrow slyly.

And then he took off the bone helmet of his servant and put him in front of a mirror. The man didn’t understand at first who was the stranger that stared back at him from the reflection.
Instead of the bloodless and sickly skin of always, there was a fresh and youthful complexion with the feel of silk. Instead of the thin gray hair, a beautiful raven mane. The wet and glassy eyeballs had been transformed into a pair of gray eyes with the spark of the first stars of Arda. And especially the mouth, the mouth with black lips and tongue, with ugly animal teeth, smiled now at him with a gesture of sweet sensuality.
The man stroked his face, about to cry with emotion.

-Oh, master! Is it... Is it me?

-Of course it's you.

-And will I stay this way forever? –the Shadow looked at his master with hopeful eyes, but the laughter of the lieutenant soon took him out of his reverie.

-Of course you won’t stay that way forever! I have only put a spell on you, and all spells are but illusions. It will last as long as it has to last. Nothing more.

-I understand...

-Well, now if you want you can get some rest. But you’ll depart to the Blue Mountains as soon as possible. Melkor is really concerned about the Silmaril, and unless we do something fast he’s going to burst. -and remembering this, Sauron took the utensil to smoke herbs, hoping that it would calm down the Vala a little.

Before leaving, he turned once more to his servant, who was still admiring himself in the mirror, and asked him a last question which still haunted his head:

-By the way. Tell me something, why do you mate with Orcs, having as you have so many prisoner Elves and men in the dungeons? Nobody wants to do it with an Orc. Not even the Orcs want to do it with other Orcs. You can’t imagine the tremendous problems we have to get them to breed, especially since the females eat the males after finishing... And yet you copulate with them willingly? I don’t understand it.

The man shrugged.

-Well, master. At least the Orcs are grateful, they do everything you ask them and do it fine, and they don’t expect anything in return. Besides, haven’t they the right to a little pleasure from time to time?

Sauron laughed :

-You must be the first being in Arda that cares for the pleasure of Orcs. And certainly the only one who has been able to teach them to give a massage. But anyway, I cannot but express my admiration for it. Congratulations.

When, a bit later that day, the lieutenant brought Melkor the mysterious plants and the utensil for smoking them, the Vala seemed somewhat skeptical at first. But nevertheless, he finally accepted the gift and retired to his room to experiment with the novelty. If Lórien took care of those flowers, it must be because they hid some important secret, and of course he, Melkor, was entitled to discover it.
Soon the whole room was filled with a dense and sweet smoke, of an overwhelming heaviness, and the Vala closed his eyes yielding to slumber. Then he had a vision.
In the gardens of Valinor, Irmo was crouched in the middle of a field of blue poppies, sowing new seeds while humming something in a low tone. He had always seemed a sinister Vala to Melkor; he had an exceptional beauty, of course, but it enclosed something eerie and deeply unsettling that he didn’t know how to describe. Melkor could only see his profile, and the high stems obscured his face in part. Then he walked through the flowers, and Lórien noticed his presence.

-You come from far away, Melkor. The last time I saw you, you seemed younger. What happened the last time?

Melkor didn’t know what to say, since he didn’t even understand those cryptic words. Lórien kept talking, but now his voice sounded deeper, and he felt a pang of fear:

-Dreams are the brothers of death, Melkor. But you knew that already, don’t you?

In that moment, Irmo stood up among the flowers and Melkor realized with horror that his brother Mandos was also there, fused to the Vala of dreams at the waist, as two branches of the same tree. And the distorted sound that their two voices produced when speaking in unison was the most terrifying thing he had ever heard.

-Don’t be afraid, Melkor. Soon we will meet again. All creatures want to die while they sleep. But some of them will sleep while they die. In the Void. Come, Melkor.

And the horrific hallucination beckoned with his four arms to come closer, as if trying to seduce him and drag him to a dark end.

Melkor awoke, scared and furious, and threw down the utensil of smoke. Those flowers hid a dangerous witchcraft, now he understood, and Lórien tried to send him visions from Valinor to intimidate him. But he would find out how to interpret those symbols and use them to his advantage against the Valar. He would discover how.
Thus, although those strange dreams tormented him, Melkor quickly grew fond of smoking the plants of Lórien, and his misgivings increased.

Some time later, and very far away from Angband, in the Blue Mountains next to the fertile lands of Ossiriand, the Dwarves of Nogrod received an unusual visit in their halls of stone.
An Elf, who claimed to be a servant of Caranthir and went by the name of Ufedhin, had just arrived with great haste and stifling. He was disheveled, and his clothes were torn here and there. He sought help and protection from the Dwarves. Soon a crowd of rough and burly blacksmiths gathered around him, stained with soot, whispering softly and looking at him with unfriendly gesture.
The king of the Dwarves arrived in no time, warned about the unexpected irruption, and began to question him suspiciously. But the Shadow of Sauron had rehearsed well the speech that his master had prepared for him

-Oh, mighty and generous king of Nogrod, I... !

-My name is Naugladur! -cut him off the Dwarf, with curtness.- And my generosity will depend on what you have come here for, intruder Noldo. Speak now! What do you want?

-I only ask thee for a little compassion. The guards of Caranthir have been chasing me for many miles, with spears and swords, and ready to kill me. My horse fell wounded and now I don’t know where to hide. Please, if there is any truth in the legendary hospitality of Dwarves, protect me between thy impregnable walls! -and the fake Elf knelt before the king, pleading.

Naugladur smirked; it was nice to see a Noldo from above for a change.

-Caranthir doesn’t beat around the bush when it comes to punishing his servants, isn’t it? And he does rightly so. One has to be very tough to survive in these mountains. But no doubt you must have done something wrong. What was your crime, Ufedhin?

-I stole some jewels that belonged to my lord. -upon hearing this, there arose a rumour of laughter among those present, and the Dwarves exchanged looks of complicity.

-May Aulë help us if you stole some jewels to someone of the house of Fëanor! Do you know what happened the last time someone did something like that? -Naugladur laughed.- And where are those jewels now?

-Here, my lord. -the Shadow then pulled from the folds of his robes a handful of rings, gems, necklaces and other pieces of jewelry, that Sauron himself had given him for the occasion.

The cunning small eyes of the king opened wide upon seeing that wealth, and a spark of greed kindled in them. Without even asking for permission, he took the jewels and examined them fascinated.

-These pieces... They have an exquisite finish, an otherworldly glow. It’s been very long since I saw anything like this. They remind me of... of...

-Of the jewels that Aulë gave to the Seven Fathers after the awakening, my king? -helped him one of the guards at his side.

-Yes, very true... –muttered the Dwarven lord, stroking his beard thoughtfully.- They seem to come from the very forge of Aulë, or at least from that of one of his Maiar. How is it that a mere princeling of the mountains, as Caranthir, possesses such a treasure, worthy only of a Vala?

The man made a gesture of indifference with his hand.

-My lord Naugladur, this is nothing. We the Noldor have many gifts from Aulë himself. We were his favourites in Valinor, his dear children, and he constantly rewarded us with such jewels. Although here in Middle Earth, these luxuries are rarer.

Then the king of the Dwarves frowned, annoyed, and all his subjects murmured indignantly.

-You lie, Elf! Aulë would never favour your despicable race before his own children. We are his offspring, we, the Khazâd, are his favourite ones! Everyone knows it.

-Then ask yourselves this: why Aulë lives in Valinor with the High Elves, instead of here in your mountains? When was the last time he deigned to visit you, here in Middle Earth?

-Blasphemer!! -roared Naugladur, getting redder than the hot irons of his forges and clenching his fist in a threatening gesture.

-Sorry, my king. I didn’t mean to be blasphemous. -said the Shadow quickly, with a softer and more submissive voice, and he bowed further before the Dwarf.- I just wanted to warn you of the terrible injustices that ye are suffering because of the Noldor. I too have suffered because of them, and it’s been long since I repudiated my race and my lord. So I know of what I speak. And I will say more: they haven’t just displaced you in the heart of Aulë and have usurped the lands of Beleriand; the Noldor, and the Elves in general, are robbing your family heirlooms constantly without ye even noticing it.

-Explain yourself!

-Thou wilt see, not long ago fell the kingdom of Nargothrond (I assume thou art aware already) and there was a great looting among the treasures of Finrod Felagund. Everyone thought that after the death of the dragon, those treasures would return to Nogrod and Belegost, whence most of them came. And no doubt, thus would have wanted it the good king Finrod, the only Elven friend of the Dwarves. However, how many of those jewels have ye seen? No one, right? And not only that, I heard that a man named Húrin, a wild outlaw, came later to the ruins of Nargothrond, cruelly killed a helpless Dwarf and took a valuable necklace. Dost thou know where he brought it? To Doriath, to the kingdom of Thingol! That king that poses as your friend, but then betrays you like this. Isn’t it shameful?

-A valuable necklace, you said? It wouldn’t be the Nauglamír, the Necklace of the Dwarves! Would it?

- I can’t know it for sure, my lord. But it is quite possible, as it was the only thing the man took from the spoils. It must have been something exceptional.

Naugladur squinted, then turned around, and grumbling, approached a group of elders who should be his counselors. For a long time he discussed with them in the strange language of his race, and completely ignored the visitor. The man could not understand a word of that gibberish full of “Ks” and “Zs”, and this made him very nervous. Especially, because the Dwarves interrupted their talk from time to time to stare mischievously at him and chuckle.
The Shadow felt quite fatigued already, when those creatures finally reached an agreement. The king came to him then, with a satisfied smile, and announced:

-Well, Ufedhin, despite the fact that you belong to a lying and criminal lineage, we decided to believe you. Thus, we’ll soon pay a visit to Thingol, and we’ll see with our own eyes what has stolen from us that king of thieves, and what we can take from him in revenge. As for you, we'll give you shelter in our splendid palace, but of course, in exchange for a small fee. -and the Dwarf  closed his hand around the jewels of Sauron and put them in his pocket.- However, since you’re also a thief and we cannot trust you, you’ll accompany us on our expedition. And if by some chance things went askew, you’ll be the one to blame for everything, understood?

The man nodded, pretending resignation. Everything had gone off without a hitch.

During the following days, the mysterious Ufedhin managed to pursue the king through each one of the galleries of Nogrod, telling him offensive stories about the Elves and stirring up the antipathy, never quenched completely, between the two races. It wasn’t hard to convince him that by stealing the Silmaril along with the necklace, the Dwarves would settle their account with the Elves once and for all.
At first the king was skeptical on that point. He was afraid that, if he stole the Silmaril, the wrath of the sons of Fëanor would fall on his people, and above all he feared Morgoth. Then, seeing him hesitating, the man pulled up the subject of Beren and Lúthien, in an apparently casual way. And Naugladur, remembering that a maiden wasn’t daunted by the Dark Enemy, not even before his throne, was forced to banish his fears out of pride.
Nonetheless, these weren’t easy days for the Shadow of Sauron.
Nogrod, rather than a palace, was a cold, dark cavern that smelled of dust and dirt. The cot that they gave him to sleep was harder than the heads of its owners, and the food had too many spicy condiments. In addition, the Dwarves drank heavily, and although they weren’t harmed by it, he ended up on the floor on more than one occasion, to the general rejoicing.
Other than that, he couldn’t enjoy much his temporary attractiveness, because everybody there considered him extremely ugly, just as the other Elves. And he also earned a punch when he confused the wife of one of them with a male. Although it was true that the lady’s beard was longer than that of her husband.
But ultimately, he thought, all the peoples of Arda believed that their homes were the most luxurious, their food the most delicious, and their women the most beautiful. He wasn’t one to judge those strange people.

Very different, however, was his impression of Menegroth, the Thousand Caves.
At first Thingol was furious to discover that a Noldo had slipped between the group of Dwarves. But then, upon learning that Caranthir had exiled him and that he was deeply at odds with the sons of Fëanor, his mood softened and allowed him to enter.
The Shadow of Sauron didn’t know that Middle Earth could hold so much beauty.
Virtually, all he knew until then was the gloominess of Angband and the most dirty and cruel aspects of life. Most of the Elves that he saw on a daily basis were emaciated and full of bruises, most of the beings around him screamed and suffered, instead of singing and laughing as did the inhabitants of that kingdom. And everybody was beautiful and kind to him, and there were crystalline water fountains and birds carved in stone, and a delicate light extracted twinkles from the gems embedded in the walls.
During the banquet that Thingol and Melian organized later, to welcome the newcomers, the man began to feel extremely happy to be there. Nobody elbowed him and tried to steal his food, as Orcs used to do. Nobody talked with a full mouth and spat on the plate. Nobody tried to molest him with obscene caresses, however close they were sitting. Everyone was so polite, that at one point he was afraid that his manners, less refined, betrayed him as an enemy spy.

And then there were Thingol and Melian. How different were those rulers from Melkor! Throughout the whole feast, they didn’t burst in anger and threatened death to anyone, not even once! And both were so beautiful, such a perfect couple...
If he made some effort, the Shadow could combine both of their faces into a single one and see Lúthien again. The image of the maiden had etched into his soul forever since he saw her dance in front of Melkor. And her song would accompany him until the end of his days, like the scars on his back. From time to time, that ghostly melody gave him a strange mixture of sadness and serenity.
Lost in his reverie, the man began to fantasize about how wonderful it would be to stay and live in Menegroth and participate as well in that bliss; the bliss of those who turn their backs to the problems of the world and withdraw into themselves. And he started feeling a certain infatuation, a desire, for both Thingol and Melian, and couldn’t help imagining things.
However, the frowning face of the king of the Sindar soon took him out of his fantasies. Thingol had just noticed his glances and sighs, and Melian whispered something in his ear.
The Shadow of Sauron felt fear and shame, and looked down. He worried that the Maia could see through his disguise. It was true that his master Sauron had said many times that he knew all the tricks of Melian. But wouldn’t it be possible then that also Melian knew all the tricks of his master?
Then, remembering Sauron, the man banished from his mind all those absurd dreams and focused on the plan. His master was more than enough reason to prefer the darkness of Angband before the whole beauty of the Thousand Caves together.

When the feast was already coming to its end, Thingol stood up and called for silence to speak:

-My dear friends of Nogrod. It’s always a pleasure to receive you in my kingdom, and many things have learned our two peoples from each other. Much we have enriched mutually, both in lore and in the creation of works of great beauty. However, on this occasion your visit is even more timely, since recently a heirloom from my sadly deceased kinsman Finrod Felagund reached my hands. And I would like to count on your ability as goldsmiths, to unite this jewel with another, even more extraordinary one, and make thus an object unprecedented in Middle Earth, that will astonish all generations to come.

The king of the Sindar approached then one of his guards and whispered a few words. A while later the Elf returned with a fabulous gemstone necklace and placed it in the hands of Thingol. Glancing sideways, the Shadow could see how Naugladur gritted his teeth in anger at the sight of the necklace.

-This, my dear friends, is the Nauglamír, the famous Necklace of the Dwarves, that ye certainly know. And this is what I ask you, that ye put all your efforts and good work to set together in one piece the best creation of your race and the best of ours: the Silmaril of Fëanor, that with so much sufferings my daughter and her husband got.

The tension in the air could have been cut with a knife. But the Dwarves hid their desire for vengeance after their bushy beards, and pretended kindness and good intentions.

Satisfied with the agreement, Thingol put away the necklace again, and continued with his carefree existence.

In the following days, the Dwarves worked hard in the forges of Menegroth until they managed to set the Silmaril among the other gemstones of the necklace. And when Thingol hung it on his neck at last, there was a general murmur of admiration.
The Shadow of Sauron regretted a bit having to steal the Silmaril from this beautiful Elf, just to give it back to Melkor, so he could place it above his furrowed brow. But he had to carry out the mission.

That same night, Naugladur slipped into the man's bedroom and woke him up. He wore a mail shirt and was carrying his axe and a knife.

-Get up, Ufedhin! It's time to collect payment for so many hours of forge work. And that effeminate Elf has made it too easy for us: we’ll take the Nauglamír and the Silmaril, all in one. –and pulling from his arm he made him stand up.- Now we will see towards where your loyalties lean.

Among the silence of the night, the Dwarven lord went to the royal bedroom, followed by a group of soldiers and the man. Someone had already dealt with the king's guard, so they could enter without problems. Thingol was fast asleep, and the light of the Silmaril brought silvery glints from his skin and hair.
To everyone's surprise, Melian didn’t sleep with him.

-It seems that not everything is as perfect in Menegroth as they want us to believe, huh, Ufedhin? –scoffed Naugladur, nudging him.- And look how presumptuous! Not even sleeping he can depart from our jewel.

When Thingol opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the metallic shimmer of a knife in front of him. Confused and alarmed, he tried to move away from the weapon, but some calloused hands grabbed him from behind.

-Traitors! What do ye think ye are doing? –he snapped, once his initial shock had turned into outrage.

-We're taking back what is ours.

-The Silmaril? Don’t be absurd, it’s mine in my own right! -and the Elf put his hands on the necklace instinctively.

-Watch your tongue, thief. Very little you value your life indeed, if you act so haughty in front of someone who is pointing a knife at you.

-Ye won’t dare! I am Thingol, lord of Doriath! I awoke under the light of the first stars and have been a guest of the gods! Ye are nothing but some miserable Naugrim. So get your dirty hands off me, and go away from my kingdom. Ye won’t receive anything in exchange of your work, because ye have returned treason for generosity. Get out of here!

A flash of anger sparkled in the eyes of Naugladur, and at his signal, the Dwarves immobilized Thingol on the bed and covered his mouth, while their king tore the necklace among struggles. Then the man advised them to leave the Elf unconscious without hurting him too much, and flee as soon as possible. But Naugladur preferred a more drastic solution, and with a flick of his hand he slit the throat of Thingol, who quickly bled and died.
The Shadow watched the scene dumbfounded. He could have imagined a similar reaction in an Orc, but never in those blacksmiths and traders, so calm in appearance. Had the corruption of Melkor spread so much through Middle Earth, that it had reached even the hearts of those beings secluded from the world?
Or perhaps, better said, that had nothing to do with the corruption of Melkor. Perhaps it was merely the corruption of wealth, far more terrible and more ubiquitous.

While the murderers fled through the Thousand Caves, the man thought about how little pleased would be his master with that affair. He had given him clear orders to steal the Silmaril in the most discreet way and without unnecessary violence. Right now Angband was focused on the assault to Gondolin, and starting an open war with Doriath was not the most appropriate thing. But it was too late for that.
The news of the death of Thingol spread like wildfire throughout Doriath, and soon they had the whole army of the Sindar on their heels.
By the time they reached the borders of the kingdom, there was barely a handful of Dwarves alive. And he would have been killed as well, had it not been for a black shadow that suddenly enveloped him, and made him go unnoticed by the soldiers.
When the cloud was lifted, his master Sauron emerged from the darkness, and his pupil of fire was contracted with fury.

-Where is the Silmaril? -he asked, with an authoritarian tone.

The man knelt on the floor until he touched with his forehead on the ground, trembling from top to bottom.

-I... master, I... I don’t know.

-What!?

-Everything went awry, the Dwarves... the stupid Dwarves killed Thingol for no reason, and the Sindar chased us. The king of Nogrod had the Silmaril, but now... now I don’t know where he is. Maybe he’s dead, maybe the Silmaril has been brought back to Menegroth. I don’t know, master!

-Useless!! –hissed the lieutenant through his teeth, and reached for the whip. The man shrank further and covered his head, begging for mercy among stuttering. Although in the end Sauron changed his mind and didn’t whip him.- I should skin your backside for having failed me this way. What you had to do was very simple, don’t you think? I only asked you to bring the Dwarves out of Doriath with the Silmaril. I would have taken care of the rest. But not even that you were able to do. However, since I’m very generous, and besides, Melkor really “needs” that Silmaril, I'll give you another chance. You will return to Nogrod with the survivors and convince them to go back to Menegroth, and this time on the warpath. What ye didn’t manage in a simple and discreet way, ye will have to manage now with blood and tears.

-Yes, master. -muttered the man, standing up.

The Maia looked absently towards the thicket, and as if speaking to himself he added:

-The girdle of the forest has been opened. Melian, what will you do now without your king?

After this, Sauron disappeared again, in a cloud of darkness and bat’s flappings.

In Angband Melkor was growing impatient. He had paced through the entire fortress up and down at least a dozen times, and only stopped when the pain in his leg prevented him from continuing. The lieutenant decided to soften the news a bit, and simply say that the Dwarves were being delayed in the Thousand Caves. He hated having to lie to his lord, but in his present mood it wouldn’t do him any good to know the harsh truth.
For his part, the Shadow of Sauron returned dejected and fearful to Nogrod.
In a way, if he was going to be personally involved in a war now, it was because of his own fault. He should have recovered the Silmaril the first time he had the occasion, after the death of Carcharoth, instead of having rehearsed his petty revenge. He deserved that, for being disloyal.
Fortunately, the king of the Dwarves had not died, and he was also more than willing to start a war with the Sindar for the jewel of Fëanor.

The day the battle finally erupted in Doriath, Melkor was barely able to sit on the throne for two seconds. He had sent his best captains and a strong legion of Orcs to gather the spoils of the Dwarves.
From one of the cliffs of Thangorodrim he could descry in the distance the dark green patch of the forest, and the dust cloud that came undoubtedly from the horses of his troops. But as much as he tried to convince himself that he would soon have the Silmaril in his hands, Melkor still felt inside the same anguished foreboding.

Indeed, the news that brought the lieutenant at the end of the battle were not at all positive. He came with that despicable man that he called his “Shadow”, covered with the rags of what must had been an Elven cloak, and again with his usual appearance after the dissolution of the spell.
The creature threw himself to his feet and explained what had happened.
After leaving Doriath with the Nauglamír, the Dwarves had made a halt in the woods to sleep, knowing that the Sindar were too weak to continue the fighting and that Melian had given up hope after the death of Thingol. In the darkness of the night, the Shadow of Sauron had sneaked up Naugladur, ready to kill him and steal the Silmaril. But another Dwarf had discovered him and forced him to flee for his life. In the thicket he had encountered then the troops from Angband, led by the lieutenant, that already approached the camp of the Dwarves. But when they returned there, they found nothing but corpses everywhere, pierced by arrows of mysterious origin. The stolen spoils from Menegroth had been thrown into the river Ascar, and there was no trace neither of the Necklace of the Dwarves nor of the Silmaril.

Melkor listened to the story with apparent calm, but his fingers were bleeding from sinking them so hard in his throne’s armrest.

-Sauron, -he said very quietly- tell your worm to go out of my sight, or else I’ll crush him right now with Grond.

The aforementioned didn’t need to be told twice, and left the room in a rush. Sauron bowed his head, distraught.

-My Lord, I don’t understand what happened. The scout patrols didn’t register any strange movement in the forest. No other hidden army. It may be that the Green Elves of Ossiriand arrived before us. They are very secretive, but if thou givest me thy permission I...

-Sauron, go away. -interrupted Melkor, with his forehead resting on his hand and without even deigning to look at him.- Now I want to be alone. Don’t bother me with your presence.

Sometimes the Vala had the impression that no one in Angband was aware of how terribly important was that jewel. His fate and that of the whole Arda depended on him recovering his Silmaril or not. But no one else saw this. He was surrounded by blinded, by idiots, by traitors, by spies. By spies of the Valar. Even in those flowers, yes, in those poppies. Even there were hidden Lórien, and his cruel brother. And they were coming for him, and wanted to tell him something important. But what?

After this initial failure, the inevitability of fate seemed to fall on him so that, again and again, the Silmaril escaped from his fingers. At a certain point it reappeared in Doriath, held by the heir of Thingol. But before he could even react, the meddling sons of Fëanor took up the matter, and once more the jewel of their father disappeared.
Melkor couldn’t believe his bad luck and the injustice of everything that happened to him.
Thus, he had to leave in the background this matter, and preferred to refocus in Gondolin.

The conquest was not going to be as easy as he thought at first, since the eagles of Manwë watched the entire perimeter of the Encircling Mountains, and put an end to any patrol that he sent.
His brother, as always, didn’t find more satisfaction than thwart him in any way possible. It had always been so, since the Music of the Ainur.
At first, Manwë and he had been closely united. In the Timeless Halls and amid the primordial void, he and his brother had swirled together as two beams of light, sometimes getting closer until they touched and sometimes separating to see each other. And a deep joy had seized them upon being aware of their existence, and the existence of the other, and upon recognizing themselves as brothers and equals. But then, during the Music, Manwë had failed him.
Melkor sincerely believed that his brother would join him in his theme, but no: the stupid Vala had preferred to be out of tune with the rest. And to top it off, he had befriended his worst enemy Ulmo and had paired up with Varda, despite knowing how obnoxious he found her.
Melkor was still waiting for an apology for such a petty behaviour; an apology that he knew would never come.
Only the eagles had come.

The answer to his problems came, however, in the form of an Elf.
A group of Orcs had captured one of the miners of Gondolin that, contrary to custom, had ventured beyond the mountains. The subject went by the name of Maeglin and claimed to be a relative of Turgon. However, at first glance Melkor guessed that he wasn’t a real Noldo. His graceless demeanor and his surly visage revealed a more humble origins, possibly of the dark Elves. There was something strange about him, also, a wicked gleam in his eyes that was not usual in those of his race.
The Vala wondered if he had some Orc as an ancestor.
Nevertheless, the prisoner turned out to be a better catch than the noblest of the Eldar. As soon as he saw the lieutenant grabbing a steel barbed scourge, he knelt before Melkor and promised to reveal all the secrets of Gondolin if they didn’t hurt him.
Thanks to him Melkor learned about a blind spot in the wall of mountains, a point at which the sight of the eagles was obscured because of a ravine, and where he could best lead his troops through a crevice. Moreover, the prisoner continued talking about the defenses of the city, its forces and its weaknesses, without even needing to ask him.

-I could even open the doors of the city from within. -offered the Elf, with a sidelong glance.- But I would like, lord Morg... uh... Melkor, to get some guarantee in return. Thou knowest, a small prize. Not much, really.

Melkor laughed:

-Oh, Maeglin! I wish all the Elves were like you. Do you know? Those who confess after being tortured, are what we call weak spirits. But those who confess even before tasting the whip, those, my dear Maeglin, are the real traitors. So tell me what you want.

-I only ask thee to let me rule Gondolin as thy vassal, my lord. And I want the hand of Idril, the daughter of Turgon.

-What, can’t you ask her hand yourself? Do I have to go myself to bring her some flowers?

-It's not that simple. She is already married and besides, she doesn’t love me. If thou couldst force her with thy power or some spell...

-Oh Maeglin, you are indeed an honest and curteous knight! -scoffed the Vala, with a sarcastic grin.

The Elf shrugged:

-Well, that's how my father got my mother.

-Runs in the family, then... Anyway, Maeglin, why talk more? It will be better that you go back to your mine before your companions begin to suspect. –and Melkor gestured to one of the guards to escort the prisoner to the exit.

The Elf seemed to have doubts, and turned one last time to the Vala:

-Can I trust thy word? Will I get the prize thou hast promised me?

-Sure, Maeglin! You’ll get the prize that every traitor deserves. And I feel that you will earn it very soon. -the cold smile that accompanied these words made Maeglin shudder, and he left the room with the desire of leaving Angband as fast as possible.

After this episode, there was no reason to further delay the assault. The troops and war machines were ready. The legions of Orcs and Balrogs in formation. The dragons that would accompany them had been equipped with the latest inventions of Sauron: a kind of metallic coating that protected their most vulnerable parts and helped to retain the heat of the beasts, so that anyone who approached them would be scorched by the burning metal. With these latest developments, the creatures would be invincible.

The eve of the attack, shortly before the start of summer, Melkor had another disturbing vision caused by the poppies of Lórien.
A silver flower opened, and from it was born a fruit as bright as the Silmaril that grew and grew until it became immeasurable. And its terrible light consumed him entirely.
After the vision, the Vala realized that the burn of his hand hurt more than usual, and following a kind of irrational but unerring instinct, he entrusted his lieutenant with the special mission of watching over all exits from the city. Nobody, absolutely nobody, neither an elder, nor a warrior, nor a maiden, nor a matron, nor a child, should escape the walls of Gondolin. All of them would perish in fire or would fall among fighting, and there would be no prisoners.
Sauron was surprised by the strange order; usually Melkor didn’t care about the fate of the elderly, women or children, because he didn’t saw them as a threat.

Thus, the appointed day the troops of Angband were deployed across all Anfauglith as a sea of fire and metal, and soon reached the first slopes of the mountains.
Sauron was in the rear, leading a group of wraiths and vampires that should help him in his task of vigilance. The sun had just set, and the shadows crawled under the pine trees that they were passing by.
At that hour the spectres started getting excited and muttering under their breath, until they suddenly stopped dead and refused to continue.
Sauron turned to them, furious:

-What does this mean, what is this insubordination!? Go ahead now or ye will spend the next millennium locked into the last pit of Angband! -he threatened.

But one of the vampires, that seemed to take the lead, stepped forward and smiled with his repulsive fangs covered in blood:

-That is it, lord lieutenant. We have spent the last millennium locked in the pits, and now that we are free... Thou knowest, it’s much better here in the woods than in the middle of a siege, with rocks flying overhead and clouds of sulfur in the air.

-Cowards! Your obligation is to serve the lord Melkor, not acting according to your whim! What are ye afraid of, anyway?

-Well, with all due respect, lord lieutenant, thou hast not been a trustworthy leader in the past. Does the name of Thuringwethil sound familiar to thee? -and the vampire narrowed his eyes until they were no more than two malicious slits.- If thou hadst taken better care of thy vassals, my sister would still be alive.

-Your sister is dead because of her recklessness and for being a rowdy drunk! Just for that! –then Sauron grabbed his whip, and got ready to teach a lesson to those rebels.

But the vampire let out a snort of aggression, and in a second the lieutenant found himself crushed by an avalanche of nocturnal creatures. The beings immobilized him with their icy claws, and although Sauron tried to escape, his strength failed him. There were among those wraiths some powerful Maiar and very skilled sorcerers, and since he was attacked by surprise and by so many together, he was left impotent.
The vampire crawled over him and ran a moist finger across his swollen jugular.

-We’re going to have all a feast with thee, lieutenant. We’ve spent too many years hungry and lonely, and now we want some fun. Isn’t it true?

The group of rebels laughed noisily, and Sauron closed his eyes upon seeing the mouth of the vampire opening over him and feeling his foul breath.
He had the tip of the fangs sunk in his skin already, when a sudden burst of fire crossed in front of his eyes. And then another, and another. The spectres were scattered at once and took refuge in the shadows, terrified by the brightness.

-What happens, Gorthaur? Problems of discipline? -said a guttural voice.

The lieutenant came out of his stupor and looked toward the voice. Gothmog was leaning against a tree, with the whip of fire still in his hand and a sly smile painted on his huge face.
Then he stood up and dusted himself, quite ashamed of being seen like that by the Balrog, precisely.

-How can you let that bunch of losers dominate you thus? I insist, Gorthaur, that you should spend more time on the battlefield riding a horse, instead of so much time in the bedroom riding the lord Melkor.

Sauron smiled:

-Jealous, Gothmog? -and the Balrog turned around with a snarl, and got ready to return to his company, but the lieutenant withheld him.- Wait a minute! I...

-Do not say it, Sauron! Don’t dare to say it!

-...Thank you, Gothmog.

The demon snorted resigned, and disappeared into the woods, shaking his head.
Suddenly, Sauron felt relieved, as if he had shaken off the weight of many centuries.
It didn’t take him too long to gather the hidden spectres, and after an exemplary punishment of the revolt’s leaders, they marched again behind him in submission.

While passing across the gorge through the Encircling Mountains, the lieutenant remembered what Maeglin had told them about a secret crevice, the Eagles’ Cleft, which shouldn’t be too far away. The most sensible thing would bet setting a guard in that pass too, and although Gothmog was reluctant at first, he ended up leaving one of his Balrogs as a watchman.

In the middle of the plain hidden by the mountains, Gondolin stood like a strange outgrowth of the land, unusually flat.
Midnight had passed already, and the twinkling lights of the festival at the top of the towers and along the walls, gave the city an appearance of unreal mirage. The day of the attack had been carefully chosen, and while the Elves looked distracted eastward, the troops of Angband advanced from the North into the open field and without opposition.
By the time the sentries sounded the alarm, it was too late.

The first collision was brutal, and one of the dragons crawled up the hill while the arrows bounced off his armour, and he knocked the door down with a header.
Soon thereafter, the multicoloured lights of the festival had been replaced by the red glow of the fire, and the soft chanting of the Elves by the inflamed cries of the Orcs.
The various Houses in which the defenders of Gondolin were divided crowded in the gap of the wall, trying to stop the advance. But even when they offered more resistance than what had been expected and there were many casualties, in the end they gave up more and more ground, and one of the Houses was completely exterminated.
Sauron used the momentum to slip with his company through one of the flanks, and with a detour reached the walls of the southern side. That was the most likely area for flights to happen, because it was near the old entrance to the valley, the aptly named Way of Escape. For greater safety, a dragon was placed on the other side of this gate, and although it was unlikely that anyone escaped the vigilance of Sauron, yet if someone did, he would get a nasty surprise when he came out.

The fighting lasted all night, with the undisputed triumph of Angband. As dragons penetrated the city, the atmosphere became more and more unbearable. Not just because of the smoke they exhaled, but also because of the vapours that rose from the fountains when they passed near them. Soon the cloud that hung in the air blocked sight beyond a few meters.
Realizing that the supervision of the walls was more than enough, Sauron decided to intervene in some of the points that were causing most problems for the troops.
In the market square, one of the Houses of Gondolin had launched a suicide attack and had massacred many Orcs. The dragon that still tried to defend the area had been pushed into a fountain and his fire was extinguished. In addition, the Noldor had found fissures in his armour and had driven several spears in him, so that the beast was writhing in agony and unable to fight anymore.
The lieutenant took over a company of rather battered Orcs and tried to keep the positions; the market was very close to the King’s Square, and it wasn’t appropriate to lose such a strategic point. However, the Noldor seemed to be imbued with the very fury of the Valar, and would not yield even after losing a limb. Also, the other Houses of Gondolin, fleeing the enemy, eventually gathered there and joined their ranks.
Given that the situation was becoming more complicated than he thought at first, Sauron sent a small and elusive Orc to seek Gothmog and ask him for reinforcements. The creature managed to dodge the swords of the Elves and the bodies piled up on the floor, and disappeared through a sideway.

However, when the Orc came back, he wasn’t accompanied by any Balrog.

-Damn it! Where is Gothmog? I need him right now! -yelled the lieutenant, between thrust and thrust.

The Orc lowered his head with sorrow.

-My lord, I’m afraid that Gothmog is not going to come.

-What are you saying!? The King’s Square is already taken, this is where we have problems!

-My lord... Gothmog has fallen in combat.

The news produced such a strong impression in Sauron, that he was almost pierced by a sword due to his astonishment.
Suddenly, a creak shook the entire city and the combat fell silent for a moment.
The tower of the king, with Turgon within it, collapsed among a bang and a spectacular column of smoke. In the silence that enveloped the city then, Sauron only heard the cries of a child, that were extinguished immediately.
Turgon had died. And the moral of the Noldor then collapsed like the tower of his king.
After that, it wasn’t very difficult for the remaining Orcs to kill the Elves or make them flee in disarray. Soon, the place was deserted except for the lieutenant and the dragon, still squirming in extreme pain. Sauron was forced to cut his head off with a two-handed blow to end his suffering.
Then he went to the King’s Square.

Besides the fountain, the Balrogs had deposited the body of their captain, and now they formed a circle around him and sang a dirge with their deep voices.

Sauron knew that Gothmog wasn’t dead in the common sense of the word. As the Maia he was, his spirit was immortal, of course.
But he also knew that once destroyed his body, they wouldn’t see the Balrog in many millennia, if they ever saw him again. Gothmog, unlike him, had never been skilful at getting disembodied and re-embodied, and also, he had been closely attached to that body. Wherever he was now, only Eru could know.
Throughout the funeral ceremony and the lifting of the mound, the lieutenant stood apart, a black shadow that no one noticed.
The death of Gothmog caused him a series of very indefinite feelings, that he scarcely understood. The only thing he knew, was that they were bitter feelings, whatever they may be. And the fact that the last act of his rival towards him had been one of kindness, was something that he didn’t know if was relieving or, on the contrary, made the incident even more bitter.
When they had all gone to their positions, Sauron came near the mound of stones beside the fountain and watched it long in silence.
Finally he took his black whip, and rolling it, laid it on the grave next to the whip of fire that had belonged to Gothmog.

-I won’t need this anymore. After all, most of the time I used it to lash your face. -he said to the dead, smiling sadly.- It was an honour to fight besides you, Gothmog, and also against you. Receive now the deserved rest of the warrior, here where so many princes and a king fell at the same time.

Then Sauron stood at attention in front of the mound, made a last martial greet to bid farewell to the Balrog (sometimes rival, sometimes companion) and left the square, with the feeling that life had lost a great part of its interest.

The city was completely taken and there were no survivors, when finally the sun rose in the East. A dense fog, product of the fires and evaporation, had spread throughout the valley, and only the mountains loomed above it, like a floating ring of rock. Now all that remained was to make some final checks and plunder what was worth of plundering.
Despite the victory, Sauron didn’t share the euphoria of the troops, and at noon some disturbing news further ruined his mood.
A group of Orcs had attempted to steal a heavy chest full of precious stones, and coming across a courtyard with the load, the floor gave away to reveal a secret tunnel. The lieutenant looked stunned at the gallery, crudely carved but that stretched for miles and led almost to the foot of the mountains. And he felt terribly stupid and embarrassed for the fact that something like this would have been overlooked.
When they examined the Eagles’ Cleft they discovered, indeed, that the fugitives had escaped through there, and there were numerous dead Orcs, while the Balrog sentry lay at the bottom of a ravine.
Sauron’s curse echoed between the peaks of the mountains, but all searching was in vain, for the fugitives seemed to have vanished from earth.
The wrath of Melkor would be legendary when he knew about this.

And of course it was thus when Sauron gave him the full report of the fall of Gondolin.
However, so much had happened, both good and bad, and the torrent of information was so overwhelming, that the Vala was left with somewhat confused emotions. Anger turned into satisfaction upon learning that Turgon was dead, hence came discourage at the fall of Gothmog, and finally, he was glad to know that Gondolin didn’t exist anymore and would never rise again.
After this there was a big feast in Angband. But even when they had every reason to celebrate, both Melkor and Sauron, and even the Orcs, had the impression that spirits were much duller than after the Unnumbered Tears.

In the years that followed, Melkor forgot about the Silmaril for a while and felt calm and confident. Now at last had fallen all the Elven realms, even Doriath, and only remained a few settlements of the Wood-elves here and there, without power or importance. Most of the men feared and respected him, and those that did not, disappeared soon. His plans of possessing the whole of Middle Earth were almost complete.

But if this was so, why did Melkor felt so disheartened at times? Why was depressed by his days, his months, his years? Why was that precisely now, after reaching the peak of his power, he had the impression of facing an inevitable decline? Was it because of boredom, of the total lack of goals and challenges?
And the same happened to Sauron. With no wars to fight, no plans to devise, no rival with whom to compete, the lieutenant spent his days hanging around Angband without any motivation. Gradually he became secluded, more and more, and spent most of his time reading ancient books of lore. His relationship with Melkor grew cold, and the Vala almost forgot about his existence. His Shadow, on the other hand, fluttered around him occasionally, but the lieutenant barely paid attention to him anymore.

In the years of the glory of Angband, time passed unbearably slow inside the fortress.
Until one day, at dawn, Melkor felt an intense pain in the burnt of his hand.
And anxiety returned.
The next day, the pain became stronger, and the next even more. And when Melkor looked out a small window that faced west at the hour of dusk, he saw something new in the sky, and all the fears and nightmares that he believed to be already buried, returned with redoubled violence.

-Sauron, Sauron, come here right now! -he called at the top of his lungs. The lieutenant came quickly, alarmed by this sudden hysteria, and the Vala grabbed his arm and slammed him against the window. His hand was shaking horribly.- Look, look there, towards the sun that sinks into the horizon! It’s my Silmaril, in the sky!

Sauron swept the sky with his eyes, but all he saw was a star somewhat brighter than the others, which began to be seen already in the twilight.

-It's just a star of Varda, my Lord. I don’t see what it has of particular.

-It’s not a star, ignorant! Do you think that I don’t know the stars of Varda? I know each one of their positions, each one of their figures, for they are as painful scars on my skin. And I know the light of my Silmarils. I've had it on my forehead for centuries, and I have loved it and have hated it more than anything in this world. So, if I tell you that this is one of my Silmarils, it’s because is one of my Silmarils.

-And what does this mean, my Lord?

A gloomy shadow had fallen upon the face of Melkor, and Sauron felt a chill running down his spine.

-Nothing good, Sauron. This doesn’t foretell anything good.

The Vala ordered his lieutenant to be ready for action, to wipe the dust off weapons and to bring the troops out of their comfort. Then, when he was alone again, he opened a drawer in his desk and looked for the utensil in which, long ago, he had smoked the flowers of Lórien.
During the years of peace that followed the fall of Gondolin, he had gotten rid of most of those accursed plants. But in the bottom of that drawer, hidden and almost forgotten, he had left a last flower waiting for its due time.
And the time had come.
In the vision that materialized before his eyes, a huge eagle flew from the West, carrying something bright in its beak, and perched on top of a mountain. Once there, it dug a hole in the floor until finding the nest of a serpent, and pulled it out by force. The snake had two eyes like two glittering jewels and writhed in the grip of the eagle, trying to inject its poison in vain. Finally, the bird ripped the jewels off its head with a peck, and disemboweled its victim completely. Black blood splattered around like fetid rain, and the eagle swallowed the two jewels.

Melkor awoke terrified, and seized by fury, he threw the utensil of smoke out the window, so that it crashed in a thousand pieces upon hitting the battlements of the fortress.
Late at night, he called again his lieutenant. And to the Maia’s surprise, he insisted on making love. However, it wasn’t pleasant for either, but the whole act seemed forced and rushed, as if Melkor only did it to escape something dark that tormented him.
At the end he stayed in bed next to the Maia, but didn’t sleep a single second.

When Sauron opened his eyes in the morning, he found him standing naked at the window, looking pensively towards the West. There was something very strange in the light of the room, for all of it was coloured by a reddish glow, as if it was dusk rather than dawn. And in the darkness, the pale body of the Vala, just lit by the Silmarils, seemed frail and sickly to him.
The lieutenant stood up from bed and put a robe over his master’s shoulders to warm him. Then he saw what was happening in the West.
The sky had broken and was tinged with blood-red, and the star that Melkor claimed that was his Silmaril, shone now abnormally close. On the horizon, over the ocean, a tidal wave of white sails and banners rose in defiance. And the clamour of the trumpets of war broke against the shores of Beleriand.
Sauron felt an intense fear.

-It’s the wrath of the Valar. They're coming for me. -muttered Melkor to himself. And then turned to his lieutenant, who was trembling slightly, and snapped sternly:- It’s no time for doubts and dread, Sauron! You have to bring all troops outside of Angband. From the mightiest of the dragons to the least of the Orcs, they all must go out to meet the enemy. And all must die before giving up a single inch of land. This time there won’t be retreats, nor escapes, nor prisoners, nor strategies. Only a frontal assault in the open. Total war, Sauron.

The Maia felt his legs getting weak, and an upsetting knot in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t fine at all.

-My Lord, we cannot... It’s not sensible to send all troops at once. It will be a massacre! We need to keep some forces for the future.

-There is no future, Sauron, there is no tomorrow!! Don’t you understand yet!? -roared the Vala shaking him with violence.

His eyes gave off incandescent sparks, and the lieutenant lowered his head. He had to take breath and courage before answering:

-Yes, my Lord, I understand. Total war, then.

By the afternoon, all the lands surrounding the fortress had disappeared under the mass of rusty armours and plumed helmets of the Orcs. The first columns of the army of the Valar, made up by Elves from Valinor and some Maiar, advanced in formation through Hithlum. And many men, Edain above all but also some Easterling traitors, joined them and increasingly swelled their ranks.
Among the troops of Angband swept fear and indecision, and after the first confrontation it was clear that they wouldn’t withstand the attack.
In front of the enemies marched the herald of Manwë, Eönwë himself, and his mere brilliance was enough to make the hearts of Orcs, and even of Balrogs, shrink.
The battle that raged above their heads was no less spectacular.
Melkor’s dragons covered with their shadow all Anfauglith and exterminated a great number of the invaders. But Manwë had sent his eagles, and these were huge and fast. Not long thereafter, the first bodies of the big reptiles began to fall, engulfed in flames, which further sowed panic and disorder.
Meanwhile, in the very core of Angband, Melkor made an ultimate sacrifice: he would disperse now all the power he had left, up to the last drop, in a desperate attempt to stop the attackers. And if he failed and finally fell, at least he wouldn’t have done it without offering a worthy resistance.
The energy of the Vala then left his body and flowed through each wall and each stone of the fortress. After this it ran through the underground channels, permeating the surrounding land. And it kept flowing and meandering, until every corner of Beleriand was like an extension of his body, a throbbing piece of his own being. Even the soldiers of Angband felt the power of their master entering them, a rare sign of love before the end, which inspired them courage in the battle and composure against death.

Melkor had to sit down after the effort, exhausted, and when he had recovered his strenght in part, he concentrated all his hatred in the enemy, in the envoys of the Valar.
In that moment, the earth under the feet of the Elves cracked open, and tongues of fire emerged from deep crevices. The pillars that kept Beleriand afloat began to waver, and the coasts were flooded under the torrents of seawater. The rivers changed their courses, mountains were levelled, and many of the invaders were killed due to earthquakes and floods. But even thus, Eönwë kept advancing relentlessly, with the bulk of his army behind.
Seeing that the world was sinking in the middle of the last and impotent attack of their lord, a feeling of indifference towards life, and fear of what they would do to them if they were captured, seized the troops of Angband, so that many of the Orcs renounced everything, and jumped into the void of the cracks for fire to swallow them.
Now the forefront of the attackers had almost reached the iron gates, and Sauron tried by all means that soldiers didn’t leave their positions, waiting for a miracle.
The Sun was eclipsed for a moment, and as he raised his head the Maia saw the hulking figure of Ancalagon the Black, the greatest dragon ever created, who stretched a pair of wings as the vault of the night sky.
The dark shadow of Ancalagon flew towards the bright star in the sky, and there was a flash of red and an orange explosion, followed by a thunderclap that shook the whole earth. From the heights, the massive dragon plunged to the earth as a meteorite, burned by the light of the Silmaril, and landed on the tops of Thangorodrim. The whole mountain collapsed due to the impact of the monster, and Sauron fell to the ground due to the earthquake that came after. The great work that had taken them so much sweat, suffering and lives to raise, ceased to exist in one second, without anyone having a moment to regret it.

It was the end, the end of all things. A chasm opened at their feet, and there was nothing beyond. The void. Only a void that awaited for all of them to jump.
It was not worth to resist any longer, no matter that Melkor had instructed them to die rather than yield. Sacrificing even the last of the pawns wouldn’t change anything; now the only thing left was either fleeing or running to death without further opposition.
In view of this, Sauron gave the order to retreat, and the few standing soldiers ran to safety into the fortress, followed by the lieutenant. The main gates were barred with as many beams and bolts as was possible, though everyone knew that it wouldn’t last long.
Angband was charged with the energy of the Vala, which initially had given more strength to the walls. But this energy began to fail as well, and as the spirit of Melkor sank, thus sank also the walls with him. A large crack had already appeared in the roof of the main hall, and some debris fell from the ceiling.
A wounded Orc limped to the lieutenant and timidly touched his arm to get his attention.

-What are we going to do now, master? -he asked, with an expression that tried to be hopeful, but also afraid that the Maia had no plan whatsoever.

And indeed it was so. For the first time, the lieutenant of Angband had no plan at all.

-I don’t know. I don’t know what we're going to do. Run away, disperse, what else? We are the only ones alive: me and you, a handful of Orcs that bleed in the corners. The best thing ye can do is plead for mercy to the victorious troops of the Valar, and perhaps it will be granted to you.

The Orc shook his head vigorously.

-Please, master, not that. The Elves will torture us in the worst way possible and devour us alive if we surrender! They are a race without mercy! Let us accompany thee, lord Sauron. With thee as a leader we’ll be safe.

But Sauron was categorical.

-No. I 'm no longer the leader of anyone, nor I am the lieutenant of anywhere. Angband doesn’t exist anymore. So, ye are released from any obligation or loyalty towards me. Plunder whatever ye can and hide yourselves. Or else surrender. There is no other option. Farewell.

Then the Maia turned around and got away into the fortress. The Orcs saw disheartened how the black cape fluttered farther and farther and disappeared behind a column.
There was only one thing left to do for Sauron as the former lieutenant of Angband. And the more he approached his destination, the more obvious was the ruin around him, a reflection of the ruin in the soul of his lord, still hidden in the heart of the building. Several walls collapsed when he passed them by, for no apparent reason and almost crushing him, though perhaps that would have been a relief.
In the main hall, Melkor was kneeling on the floor beside his throne with his face buried in his hands, and didn’t notice the presence of Sauron until he crouched by his side, and embracing him, made him stand up.
Melkor was so weak that his legs barely supported him, and his eyes were wet and feverish. He hadn’t kept a single atom of power for himself. The whole of him was now living in Arda, entirely and forever. But with that last gesture of anger and generosity he had exhausted his spirit once and for all.

-Sauron... how could we come to this? Why didn’t we see it coming? –he muttered without strenght.

-I don’t know, my Lord. But that doesn’t matter anymore. The main thing now is getting to safety. Let’s flee in the middle of the shadows. Let’s take refuge in the South of Middle Earth, in deserted moors that the Valar don’t know. And let’s wait there for our time to rise from the ashes. I cannot allow thee to be imprisoned for another three ages as the last time!

Melkor smiled with sadness and stroked the cheek of the Maia with a hand as cold as that of a corpse.

-No, this time it won’t be as the last time. This time is the last time. The Valar will never stop looking for me, not even if I hid under the last stone in the deepest cavern of Arda. And in the end they will find me, and it will be even worse. Besides Sauron, how could I escape, being like I am locked in this body, with this lame foot?

Sauron began to feel the most bitter swallow already coming down his throat. But still he refused to accept it, with childish obstinacy:

-My Lord, don’t worry about that. I can change shape quite easily. I will turn into a giant bat and will bring thee through the airs wherever thou wantest. We will escape through a window and no one will see us, I assure thee!

The Vala shook his head.

-Do not insist, Sauron.

-Then command me to stay here with thee and suffer thy same fate. –and the Maia stood upright in front of him, as if he wanted to put down roots there and not move anymore.

-That’s not what you told me that one time, remember? When I asked you what would you do if I was banished to the Void. At that time you told me that you wouldn’t follow me, but would stay in Middle Earth to continue my legacy and make sure my name would never be forgotten.

-I said that without knowing what I said, my Lord! I had just made love to thee for the first time and was confused. It was a stupidity!

-No, you said that with your head. Who’s talking now is your heart, Sauron, and I trust much more your reason than that. Also, this is what I want. This is what I command.

Despite his weakness, the Vala had spoken with aplomb, and upon looking into his eyes, Sauron discovered an iron determination. It was the Will of Melkor, and no creature on whom he had ever laid that glance, or on whom he had ever deposited his power, was able to act against that will. The Maia had no choice but to agree, even when inside his soul had cracked.
The gates of Angband had fallen under a battering ram, and the tumult of the enemy troops was approaching the throne room.

-It's the hour, Sauron. You must leave. –said the Vala, with a strange serenity.- But first, I want to ask you one last thing.

-Of course, my Lord.

-Could you cry for me? I have never seen you crying, and I 'd like to think you loved me enough to do it now.

Sauron froze upon hearing the unusual order. And found out, with horror, that no matter how much he struggled, no matter how much love he felt then for Melkor, he was absolutely unable to cry. He, who had forced so many tears out of others, didn’t know how to force them out of himself.
For the first time, he who was lieutenant of Angband didn’t know how to fulfill an order.
The Vala smiled with warm affection and caressed him again. To Sauron it seemed that, despite his sadness, he was more beautiful at that moment than at any other of the past.

-Never mind, my lieutenant. You have a heart of ice, I know. That’s why you were always my right hand; the only one that could temper my fire.

Then Melkor leaned on him and gave him a soft and bittersweet kiss, a farewell kiss that Sauron refused to recognize as such.
When he separated from him, the Maia looked one last time into the black depths of his eyes, and kissed his hand gently.

-I will not say farewell, my Lord, since we will see again. Even if I have to change the entire shape of the world for it. –said the Maia, and vanished in a dark cloud.

Melkor showed signs of wanting to say something more, but he had been left alone.
The clamour of the invaders resounded now at a short distance; in a few seconds all would be over. The Vala didn’t want to look weak for the enemy and stood in place. But at the moment in which a horde of men armed with axes, swords and maces, burst into the throne room, Melkor had changed his mind and tried to escape through the other side of the room, seized by the irrationality of panic.
It was to no avail, because right after he felt the weight of dozens of bodies coming at him and throwning him down, several calloused hands holding his members to the ground, and then an incredibly sharp and intense pain.
The Vala writhed as if shaken by an electric current, and his mind went totally blank, until only his screams of suffering existed.
When after a while that seemed like an eternity, the pain eased a little, he dared to open his eyes and look to the place where it came from. Those savage men had cut his feet down the ankles, and a puddle of black blood expanded over the flagstones permeating the room with its sweet smell.
Melkor had the impression that he would faint then, but unfortunately, the nature of the Ainur was too strong for that.
The man who had maimed him so brutally, came forward with the axe still dripping blood. He didn’t seem as one of the Edain, but he and his followers must belong to those groups of almost wild men who lived in the mountains.

-So you are Morgoth, huh? The mighty god of Arda that has had Elves and Men in check for so long. I don’t know why, I expected something else. Now that I see you lying there, you seem quite insignificant to me. –he scoffed, staring at him from top to bottom.

Melkor regretted having spread his power to the point of complete consumption; if it hadn’t been so, he would have given to that insolent worm what he deserved. The man's visage turned grim then.

-You know what, Morgoth? Your Orcs raped and killed my wife and my daughter. And then they ate them. Now give me one single reason for us to be more merciful with you than what ever were your servants with us. -and saying this, the mountain man drew his sword and pressed the tip against the tender throat of the Vala.

Melkor swallowed. He felt extremely vulnerable enclosed in that body of flesh. Vulnerable and naked, as he had felt in the prison of Mandos or subdued by the legs of Ungoliant. But he couldn’t give them the satisfaction of showing himself fearful:

-Fool! Have you forgotten that I am a god, the greatest of the spirits that were before the world? Your pathetic swords cannot kill me! –he snapped haughtily.

-Very true. We cannot kill you. But luckily, that's the only thing we cannot do. -and with a sly smile that disturbed Melkor, the man trailed with the sword down his body.

Through the thin fabric of the robe, his skin could feel perfectly the cold touch of steel. In that moment the bulk of the troops, from which had separated that group, burst as well into the throne room, and at the front came Eönwë. Most of the soldiers who followed him were not men in this case, but Vanyar.

-Stop right there, what are ye doing!! –shouted the Maia, realizing the evil intentions of the men. And when he approached them and saw the mutilated feet, the herald paled with appallment.- What the... ? What have ye done, beasts!? Who has given you permission to torture the prisoner this way!?

Eönwë was visibly angry. The herald of Manwë was, above all, a tooth and nail advocate of rules, norms and protocol. And treating thus a defeated enemy, even if he was Morgoth Bauglir himself, the Black Foe of the World, was unacceptable in his particular system of right and wrong.

- It’s very easy for you, the Maiar and the High Elves, that have never left your idyllic Undying Lands and haven’t suffered the ravages of the Enemy in your flesh. -complained the man, pulling the sword.- It's very easy to come here with your nice values and become shocked because we have abused him a bit. Ye do not know what Morgoth has made us suffer!

-I do not care! –roared Eönwë. –He’s a prisoner and also one of the Valar, and as such, he will be treated with due decency and compassion! He shall not be tortured or abused, nor shall he be harassed. Even when we couldn’t expect the same mercy on his part.

Melkor looked derisively to the herald: always so upright, so perfect, so blandly formal.

-Get lost, Eönwë! -snapped the Vala- I don’t need your help.

-Yes, so I see... -said he, folding his arms.

He knew beforehand that the Morgoth against whom he had come to fight was no longer the powerful Ainu from the times of the Music, but neither could have ever imagined such a pitiful sight.
He crouched then next to the enemy and put his blazing hands upon the wounds of the ankles. Melkor let out a groan, but the pain subsided enough and he stopped bleeding. After this the herald ordered the Vanyar of his entourage to bring the great chain Angainor, which the Vala knew so well, and with it they immobilized his body. The iron links holding his members were almost a relief compared to the hands of the men, who had pulled his limbs quite roughly. Melkor let them chain him submissively, knowing that, at least, as long as he was in the hands of Eönwë he would be safe.
Much more painful than this, much more painful than the cutting of his feet, was the moment in which the Maia took the iron crown and released the Silmarils from it. The Vala tried to hold back, but eventually shed some tears upon seeing so sullied his dearest possession. Now he had been stripped of everything at last, now they had taken away from him even the last tiny bit of dignity. And in response to his affliction, the whole north wing of the fortress crumbled in that instant.
On top of that, the crown was reforged and transformed into a collar (which perhaps it had been from the beginning) that was placed around his neck as if he was a dog, hooking up the end of Angainor on it. And finally a group of High Elves picked the prisoner up, who was much lighter than they thought, to take him to the ships.

-We will return to Valinor, Morgoth, which you should have never left. –announced Eönwë, and everyone went out the throne room.

Once the invaders had retired, and complete silence fell upon Angband, Sauron came out of hiding and glanced around. There was barely one stone upon another of what was once the most terrible and gigantic fortress of Middle Earth.
Dejected, he walked around the halls that not long ago had been brimming with frenetic activity, with Orcs and trolls and busy Balrogs, and where now, however, nothing was heard but the sound of his boots stepping over debris and the water dripping from some broken pipes.
Then the Maia heard a faint voice calling him, from behind the fallen capital of a column:

-Master, master, thou art well, thank goodness! -the bone helmet of his human servant peered over the stone, and a pair of fearful eyes glanced here and there before he ventured out.

Sauron was relieved upon seeing his Shadow alive, the only familiar presence in the midst of that nightmarish landscape, and he stroked him with affection.

-My little servant... How did you escape the carnage?

-Thanks to the spells that thou taughtest me, master. -and at that moment, the man's face was covered with a shade of concern and he lowered his head.- What happened with the lord Melkor?

-They have captured him. They brought him to trial in Valinor.

The lip of the Shadow trembled when he heard this. And suddenly he started crying heartbroken and threw at the feet of his master. Sauron stood frozen in place, without understanding anything.

-Oh, master, it's all my fault!! I am a traitor, a despicable traitor! If it wasn’t for me, Melkor would still be here and Angband would still be standing! –he sobbed among hiccups and choking.

The Maia shuddered unpleasantly at the word “traitor”. That word was a lash in his conscience.

-What are you talking about!?

The man raised his eyes, red from crying, and hugged his knees.

-It’s my fault that Melkor didn’t recover his Silmaril! I had the opportunity to grab it after the death of Carcharoth in Doriath. But I chose not to do it, as revenge against Melkor for treating me so badly. And I lied, I lied to thee! And then... then... the Silmaril reappeared in the sky. If that Silmaril had never risen in the firmament, the troops from Valinor would not have come. And Melkor would not have been captured. And everything would be as before. I am a traitor, it's all my fault, all my fault!

Sauron felt a sharp pang of pain, and a mixture of hatred and disgust towards the pathetic creature that cringed at his feet. He might have expected such treachery in any other, but never in his Shadow, whose loyalty he had believed unswerving so far. It would have been very easy for him to crush his skull then.
But there were other more urgent matters requiring his attention, and there had been enough deaths already. Besides, the sadness that filled him drowned all other feelings of anger and revenge. So, he grabbed the man’s arm and put him on his feet before him.

-What you have done is unforgivable, and for many years you will bear the burden of guilt and remorse. –sentenced the Maia.- But you are wrong if you think that the fall of Melkor is simply due to the Silmaril in the sky. Melkor sealed his fate the moment he decided to destroy the two Trees and steal the jewels of Fëanor. His ruin is due only to his own actions, and there was nothing that you or I could do to change that. But despite everything, I still feel bound by obligation and duty towards him, and now I have to follow him to Valinor, as impossible as his rescue may be.

-I’ll wait for thee here, master. And when thou returnest to Middle Earth I will follow thee wherever thou wantest, and with redeem my fault with eternal servitude.

- No, you must not stay here. Beleriand is sinking and soon the sea will cover all the earth. Go now along with the victorious Edain, mingle with them and let them believe you're one of their own. Tell them you were a prisoner in Angband for many years, and that you have the scars on your back to prove it. Disguise your grief with the joy of the victor. But never forget who is your real master, and return to me when I need you. Go away now, fast.

The man nodded, wiping away the tears.
And then, without warning, he jumped on the Maia and embraced him. Sauron was shocked and didn’t know what to do, feeling against his ribs that bony little body that squeezed him, not wanting to leave.
The Shadow finally separated, and after a last glance at the face of his master, whom he had adored so much, he ran away and got lost in the ruins of Angband.
Sauron noticed some dampness in his shirt, on the spot where the man had buried his face soaked in tears. For that creature crying was so simple, while he had been unable to shed a single tear for Melkor, who supposedly he loved above all things.
He would also bear the burden of that guilt and remorse for many years.
But now it was time to head to the western lands upon which he had not set foot in many millennia.
The infinite ocean opened before him, and its ruthless waters didn’t promise to anyone the arrival at the abode of the gods, nor the return to home. Then Sauron took the shape of a seagull and flew away, always westward, always towards the door where the sun died.

At the confines of the world, beyond the rarefied waters of the outer sea, the whole council of the Valar had gathered to attend the final trial of Melkor. They had also allowed the presence of the Vanyar and Noldor of Aman, though these stood slightly apart.
Melkor was kneeling in front of the semicircle of his brethren, with the iron collar still around his neck, and Eönwë held the chain Angainor, standing besides the Doors of Night. There was no joy in the faces of any of the Valar, despite the victory. Because what they saw there was the fall of one of them into utter abjection, the total degradation of all that was divine in the Ainur.
And that reminded them of their own vulnerability, it painfully reminded them that perhaps they could be destroyed as well, that perhaps not even they were immortal. A disturbing thought.
Melkor knew the sentence already, but in his desperation he was unable to accept it. There had to be a way out, there was always a way out, there was always a backup plan. He ran his eyes across the somber faces of the Powers of Arda, and his attention was captured at once by Manwë, in the center of all.
His good brother Manwë, who looked at him sadly and was always willing to forgive.
Melkor reached out his arms towards him:

-Oh Manwë, my dear brother! Are you going to let them do this to me? Were we not created as equal in the mind of Eru? In the beginning of all things we loved each other, remember! -and the rebellious Vala crawled painfully to his feet, with no other help but his arms.- Look, look what those savage men did to me! Is it perchance rightful that mortals mutilate thus an Ainu? And not just this they have done to me in Middle Earth! Watch, watch this too!

And opening his robe, Melkor showed them the scars caused by Fingolfin.
There was a murmur of displeasure among those present upon seeing that disgraced flesh, upon seeing so graphically how Arda had triumphed over the spirit of a Vala, the greatest of them all, also. And Nienna and Yavanna even had to look away.
Manwë contracted his face, hurt, and held out his hand as if to help him:

-Brother... -he muttered, with a lump in his throat.

But Varda stepped between them, and the harsh glare of her eyes made Melkor hiss.

-No, Manwë, don’t let him deceive you again! This being before you is no longer your brother, but Morgoth, the Dark Enemy. He betrayed us once and he will do it again a million times over. You are too good, husband, and know not rancour. That is why he takes advantage of you. –the Queen of the Valar turned then to Melkor and said:- As for you, Morgoth, have some dignity and cover yourself. Nobody here wants to see your obscene wounds!

Melkor bit his lip with hatred, and given that there he wouldn’t find any compassion, he decided to try with the one least expected by the others

-Tulkas, you tell them!! You have always been my worst enemy, so they will listen to you! Tell them that this sentence is unjust and unnecessary, that it would be much better if they turned me into your slave! Think about it, Tulkas, what greater satisfaction for you and what greater humiliation for me than to serve you in all your desires? I will do anything you ask me, I will stoop down to the lowest level! But please, do not cast me into the Void, anything but THAT!!

Tulkas looked uncertainly to the other attendees, looking for some clue to get out of that situation. He was a simple soul; the only emotions that he understood well were anger and joy. And whenever he had faced Melkor he had done it with anger, because he had come to him as a threat, or with insolence, or with bad intentions.
But now that was to no avail, he could not beat his old enemy because he wasn’t attacking him. He was shrunk before him, holding onto his ankles and begging for mercy, maybe even sobbing.
And Tulkas felt no anger towards him; he felt pity.
Thus, the fighter of the Valar decided it best to stay away. Very gently, as if he had qualms about touching him if just a little, pushed Melkor and moved him away from his feet.
The rebellious Vala sat as a wreck, with no strength for anything else.
It was useless, there was no way out, this time. But if nothing could be done to change his fate, at least he would like to have some comfort.
He glanced back and watched the Walls of the World, that got lost in the heights of infinity. They were the most resistant and indestructible walls throughout Arda, and yet had the tenous appearance of air and ice. The basalt dragons that guarded the ominous Doors of Night exhaled a cold and ghostly smoke, like the smoke from a dream of poppies.
How strange was everything in that side of the world! He didn’t know why, the place produced him a mixture of solitude and distant memory.
He thought he had been there once, in a dream perhaps, eons ago.
Then his eyes fell on Lórien, situated at one end of the semicircle. The Lord of Dreams made a faint smile of complicity and gestured to him to come closer.
When he took a step back, Lórien revealed the tall black figure of his brother Mandos, who stood apart from the rest. Melkor made one last effort and crawled to the Judge, his last hope, and there he remained crouching under his shadow, waiting for compassion from whom didn’t have any.

-Mandos... You pronounce the sentence, so I'm entirely in your hands: don’t separate me from the circles of Arda, don’t take me where I cannot feel it. Only this I ask, for the rest I don’t care anymore. Lock me in your halls if you want! But this time not for three ages, but until the world is broken and redone. I do not care. And if my body ever gave you some pleasure, I also give it to you, to enjoy it as you please. Humiliation is irrelevant.

Melkor’s voice broke, and two tears fell down his cheeks. Then, to the amazement of all present, the cold and impassive Judge of the Valar crouched beside the condemned and caressed his head, addressing him by his old name:

-Do not cry, Melkor, and do not say such foul things. Do you think that I would like to have you chained for all eternity and use you as an object?

-You already did in the past! What difference makes one more time? You said... you said that you hated me, that you didn’t like me and thus...

-I know what I said. And that was what you had to hear at that moment. But I don’t hate you, Melkor; I have no enemies, nor I have friends. Death shouldn’t know about favouritism. Just once I made an exception, and this was because it was commanded by a higher power than mine. In a similar way, your sentence now is commanded by that same power and there is nothing I can do about it. It doesn’t depend on me, Melkor. You understand, right?

The rebellious Vala nodded, and Mandos wiped his tears with the back of his hand.

-What will happen with me now?

-I don’t know, Melkor. If I knew I would tell you. But within my power it’s only to see certain things of the fate of the world, and beyond this moment your future appears in black for me. However, not all changes must be bad. Changes are always frightening but... maybe something good can be drawn from them.

Melkor looked up, puzzled by his words, and Mandos leaned over him and gave him a departure kiss on the lips. A kiss that didn’t burn him this time, but seemed comforting. The other Valar, except Lórien, looked away disturbed while the kiss lasted. They knew that the Fëanturi were eccentric at the least, but that didn’t mean that their actions were less awkward for them.

-Well, the time has come. –announced Mandos.

Eönwë approached the condemned, again hooking up the chain on the collar, and dragged him toward the dark Doors of Night, which began to open as the setting sun plunged into the sea. Melkor had promised himself, once reached this point, that he would remain serene and at least leave Arda with dignity.
But when he saw the impenetrable blackness looming over his head, the jaws of nothingness preparing to engulf him, terror seized him. And the Vala writhed helplessly and clawed at the ground till blood came out, and he cursed his brethren and Eru, and his cries were heard even in the farthest corner of Arda.
But it was useless.

Manwë had his face buried in his hands, not daring to look at the execution, and Nienna wept on the shoulder of Yavanna.
However, when Melkor, the one who was the Mighty Arising, the one who was the greatest of the Valar, was thrown into the Void and expelled for ever from the circles of the world, his most faithful servant was not there to see it.

All this time, Sauron had stayed mingled among the Noldor, with the appearance of a normal Elf, and no one had payed attention to him. But now he fled from the congregation, no longer caring about the suspicions of others or that they captured him.
And there was something wet running down his cheek.
Upon arriving at the outer sea, the Maia threw himself into the depths and let that uninhabited water, thin as air, drag him away. Anywhere, he didn’t care.
After reaching the shores of Aman, he wandered for many days through the lands that once were so familiar, but now were alien to him.
And thus he became lost in the forest, and coming to a clearing, he sat on a stump that was there in the middle and lay still. So, he remained in silence for a long time, empty of thoughts and emotions, knowing that if he dared to think or feel something, he would be broken forever and would never regain his sanity.
In this state, and still with the appearance of a Noldo, Eönwë found him one afternoon.
The herald asked him some questions and Sauron answered mechanically to all. He also commanded him something, to which he agreed. Later he was unable to remember anything of what they had talked about, but whatever it was, Eönwë had gone away satisfied, so it didn’t matter.

Gradually, Sauron started coming out of his stupor and assumed the fact, obnoxious but unavoidable, that his master was not there anymore and now it was his duty to re-build the empire.
Thus, he recovered his usual shape, and the first thing he did was going to the halls of Mandos, that were not far, as there were many questions that the Judge had to answer. He found the house of the dead without problems, at the edge of a melancholic cliff that looked towards the sea and the walls of night. The sound of the crashing waves gave the place a sense of loneliness that must had not been very different from the loneliness of dead.
Sauron knocked on the black marble doors, but they didn’t open.
He should have imagined it; nobody gets in or out of Mandos without the approval of the Judge. In fact, some of them never go out.
Frustrated, the Maia glanced around and then discovered the halls of Vairë behind a grove of gloomy cypresses. In this case the door was open, but no one was there.
In the interior of the house, space was distorted in a strange way, so that it was much bigger inside than outside.
Sauron felt overwhelmed by the endless rows of tapestries that represented the fate of the world from the beginning. The tapestries had been grouped according to the people or race whose history they told. Thus some corridors had the label of  “Noldor”, with a special section devoted to the sons of Fëanor. Other corridors corresponded to the Edain, or to the Dwarves, or to the Valar of Aman, or to the Wood-elves.
Sauron walked with curiosity along the various rows, and finally stopped in front of a sign that read “Angband”. There were grouped all the events related to Melkor, or himself, or any of the servants of the Dark Lord.
There, efectively, he found an answer to one of the doubts that had arisen during the trial. In one of the tapestries, Melkor appeared naked and lying on the floor of a prison, loaded with chains, and Mandos embraced him from behind. The title of the tapestry said simply: “Melkor is deflowered”. And judging just by the image, he couldn’t figure out if that encounter was forced or consensual. His lord had his eyes closed and seemed to moan, but whether out of pleasure or pain, he didn’t know.
Sauron sighed with sorrow, understanding that Melkor had lied to him and concealed that fact for many years. Though on the other hand, that didn’t matter too much now, and certainly it mattered less for Melkor than for anyone else.
The Maia continued walking along the corridor, looking at the tapestries that revealed to him so many unknown things or that reminded him of so many familiar things.
There were anodyne scenes and scenes of great battles, happy scenes and sad scenes, and also intimate scenes that should have never been witnessed by others. He saw Orcs fighting over the chain mail of a dead, saw Gothmog drinking a whole barrel of beer to the acclaim of his Balrogs, saw himself torturing a prisoner, and also kissing the navel of his lord, saw Melkor looking sadly out a window.
All the scenes had been woven by Vairë with the same love and impassiveness, and all carried a laconic and neutral title.
At the end of the gallery, Sauron ran into the trial scene that he had witnessed so recently, and again it was as if someone had reopened a wound and dug with a dagger in it. He quickly averted his eyes and hurried down the corridor.
No tapestry told about the fate of Melkor after being thrown into the Void, since that was no longer part of the history of Arda.
But in the last tapestry of the row, Sauron watched himself in a scene in which he looked at that same tapestry in front of him. The sign only said: “Sauron looks at the tapestries” and a cold shiver ran down his spine.
Horrified, the Maia fled the halls of Vairë at full speed.
Could it be that everything was already written and woven even before it had happened?
Did it matter then what he did or did not do?

The Maia ran eastward until he lost sight of the west coast and the halls of Mandos. He should return as soon as possible to Middle Earth. That wasn’t his place, and also they could be searching for him to condemn him. And that wasn’t what Melkor wanted, though maybe it was what he wanted himself.
But before leaving the Undying Lands, there was one last place that Sauron wanted to visit, and where he hoped to find some peace for his tormented soul.

The gardens of Lórien opened before him with their tangled trees, their labyrinths that led to nowhere, their fluorescent mushrooms that hung from the most unexpected places, and their beds of blue poppies bathed in the glow of twilight. The air was thick with the cloying scent of resin and the nectar of strange flowers. And from the shadows, multicoloured frogs watched the visitor before disappearing into their pools.
After a while, a pleasant drowsiness began to invade the Maia, and he felt that all his problems were gradually easing as he stepped into the thicket.
In the center of the gardens, and kneeling besides a small pond, Sauron found an old acquaintance.
Melian had her back to him, with her long black hair flowing over the grass, and played with her fingers in the water.

-Greetings, Mairon. -she said, without looking at him.

Sauron became a little tense upon hearing that name.

-Don’t call me thus. No one calls me thus anymore.

Melian turned around, and fixed on him a gaze halfway between sadness and reproach.

-I call you thus, because that's the name by which I knew you.

-A lot of things have changed since then. And I have changed with them. You would be horrified if you knew some of the acts that I have committed.

-Tell me the worst.

-The worst is yet to come, for my revenge will be terrible. All will pay for what they did to my Lord. -replied Sauron with determination.

Melian smiled:

-You're hurt right? All that suffer end up coming here. The gardens of Lórien numb the pain, but neither you nor I will recover what we have lost. Never. It’s ironic that, despite being enemies, we have so much in common and have ended in the same place. Perhaps we should have married each other, after all.

This time it was Sauron who smiled, but with bitter sarcasm.

-I never loved you, Melian.

- And that is precisely why we should have married. Because we didn’t love each other. In the end, we would have suffered less.

-What does it mean, “didn’t love each other”? Forgive me, but I thought that you loved me indeed. Was it not out of spite, why you fled to Middle Earth and seduced that poor Elf, that little toy king with whom you had so much fun? At least I hope he was better in bed than his kinsman Finrod, that I made mine in Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Didn’t they tell you?

Melian frowned at these hurting words.

-You never liked Thingol, did you?

- I think you deserved more.

-Do you think I am that good? Apparently, not good enough for a Maia of Aulë. But whatever, maybe I deserved more than Thingol, King of the Sindar, and you deserved less than Melkor, the Mighty Arising. In any case, both of us made the wrong choice and we're paying for it now. But do not think for a second that I have not loved my husband. Yes, it’s true that after Lúthien fled from Doriath our relationship grew quite cold. I always blamed on him the fact that our daughter had been put in danger and had given up her immortality. And it’s also true that in recent times Thingol was more in love with himself than with me. Still, I have loved him every single day I spent in Menegroth, with every fibre of my being. And I still love him.

-Good for you. –snapped Sauron, twisting his mouth.- Good for you that might see again your little king someday, when he leaves Mandos. But what about me, huh? Do I have hopes of seeing my Lord again? Perchance you think that I didn’t love him!? I’m not going to show compassion for you, Melian, just as none of the Valar showed compassion for Melkor. You don’t understand my pain.

Then the face of Melian darkened and her green eyes betrayed a barely contained rage:

-That I don’t understand your pain!? How dare you to say that? I haven’t just lost my husband! I have also lost my daughter! And I have lost her in a much more definitive way than you have your master, for she died as a mortal and now is there where only men are allowed to go. Do you know perchance the pain of losing a child? No, you don’t know it, nor will ever! That is a pain that only a mother can fully experience; it’s our privilege, and our doom. But what do you know about that, Mairon? What do you know about anything!?

And Melian turned around, angry, and focused her attention on the pond once more.
Sauron felt ashamed, and didn’t know what to say. It didn’t seem as his old enemy wanted to talk with him more. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Sauron finally cleared his throat and added:

-I'm leaving for Middle Earth.

Melian turned her head slightly, and beneath the dim light that filtered the trees, her face looked very tired.

-Fine, Mairon. Return to Middle Earth, and to your little wars, and to your plans of conquest. There's nothing there that interests me anymore.

-Are you going to denounce my escape to the Valar?

-No. You know I won’t. I'm not like the others. I never was.

Sauron nodded pensively, and before disappearing among the trees, he wanted to say a few last words of farewell, knowing that he would never see the Maia again:

-Goodbye, Melian. You were one of my worst enemies in Beleriand. And my only friend in Valinor. For both things I appreciate you. I just wanted you to know.

Melian made a gesture of farewell with her hand, but said nothing more. And Sauron went back the way he had come.

Middle Earth had become much smaller.
Standing in front of the calm sea, Sauron could hardly believe that those waters hid in their depths so many kingdoms, mountains, forests and lives.
Was that how was doomed to end the splendour of kings? Under the indifferent waves and the cries of seagulls? Who feared now the sheer peaks and the fire of Thangorodrim?
And somewhere, the throne of Melkor should still rest, covering itself with algae and sheltering anemones.
The Maia closed his eyes tightly and clenched his fists, about to burst with rage.
Those cowardly Valar... ! They hadn’t even deigned to come themselves this time. No, they had sent a lackey, and those poet Elves from Taniquetil who had not held a sword in their life, and a handful of uncivilized men. Not even the opportunity to have a honourable fall had they given Melkor.
At least the Noldor and the Edain were worthy opponents during the war years, real soldiers. But where were now the brave, the true warriors? All dead and buried. As Beleriand. Only the cowards and mediocres had survived to reap the fruits of victory.
It was often thus.
Sauron looked to the West, bathed in the golden glow of the sun while Middle Earth sank into the shadows, and cursed the sea and the land on the other side of it:

-The ruin that ye have brought to my heart, I will bring to you three times doubled. This I swear now in the name of my Lord, whom ye snatched from me: that there will be no peace for Elf, Man or Dwarf, not even when Eru himself placed his hand on Arda to stop me.

And that said, he directed his gaze toward the misty mountains that lay to the East, and got under way.

---

Chapter End Notes

Alas! Poor Melkor. He's going to get so bored now in the Void. Or maybe not... Well, there's nothing we can do to cheer him up now, but instead you can cheer me up with your reviews! :D

Those of you that have read the Book of Lost Tales, may have noticed that I took many things from it for the parts about the fall of Doriath and Gondolin. Specially the names Ufedhin (the Noldo who plotted with the Dwarves to steal the Silmaril) and Naugladur, the king of Nogrod. It's a shame that those tales were never properly expanded for the Silmarillion. And Thingol was a total jerk in the original story, which is so cool! :P

In the next chapter comes the forging of the Rings, Sauron playing the "pretty good boy" part, and Ar-Pharazôn as a big son of a bi***.