haunted by your handiwork by skywardstruck

Chapter 1/1

It will not be much longer, now, before Sauron’s forces completely overrun Eriador. Everything seems to be going according to plan— the corpses, ashes, ruined structures left in the wake of his armies are evidence enough.

But this plan should not have been necessary in the first place, and of that Sauron is painfully aware, his heart still enflamed with the sting of betrayal. To think, if the stupid Elf had just told him where the Three were, so many lives could have been spared, none of this would have needed to happen! And he could even find it in his heart to forgive the Elf for making the rings without him, for even Sauron is not without mercy.

The stupid Elf had a name, didn’t he? Ah. Now I remember, Sauron hums to himself, but how could I ever forget? He returns to his delusions, feelings he tried and failed to bury with each fatal swing of the death-hammer, now clinging to life like roaches.

“Celebrimbor,” Sauron recalls, laments, his voice dripping with affection, “my sweet Tyelpë.”

He lifts a limp hand from a faceless corpse— he recognizes it, from the burnt-away clothing, as one of the survivors from the fall of Eregion— and he holds the hand against his cheek, kissing the cold flesh, taking in every callus and every scar. How inconvenient these feelings were, as he found himself caressing a smithing-hand that did not even belong to Tyelpë, and wasting time when he should be preparing for battle. If only he had turned Tyelpë to his side, so that his beloved could rule alongside him, and make all others bend to their will.

Only Tyelpë had the hands and mind to match Sauron’s own, to bring forth in the world objects of great power and beauty that would transform the shape of Arda itself. For Tyelpë’s fëa could sing with Sauron in such perfect harmony, and no other Incarnate could ever lay claim to his heart.

Together, they would have conquered all.

Sauron lets the limp hand fall into the dirt, gazing at the gold band around his finger with tainted pride. Though he will soon have all of the power he desires, once the Three are in his grasp, the new world he will create is one he must rule alone. That was his plan, the day he first arrived in Eregion, though Tyelpë had changed all of that; it was not long before Sauron dreamed of Tyelpë, sitting beside him on the throne of the world.

But that dream, Sauron reminds himself again, is now forever lost; in fact, he was never meant to have it, for in spite of all of Tyelpë’s precious qualities, he never would have understood Sauron’s truest visions and desires. They were always meant to be on opposite sides of this war.

And Tyelpë had won.

Everyone Sauron loves is always destined to leave, and he will always be left with an endless void in his heart. No more will Sauron attempt fruitlessly to rekindle these useless feelings, he vows. For now, he has nothing left to lose but the power he has amassed for himself.

There can only be one Dark Lord on the throne, and it must be Sauron alone.