Summary: Sauron creates the One Ring and remembers one who pushed him away and helped to destroy him. He gives the One Ring attributes of power, in bitter memorial of the love that he willingly gave up for power. Rated for adult content.
Author's Notes: I am posting this fic as a teaser. This is a one-shot, but if I get enough favor from my readers, I may write up the back story of Sauron before he became corrupted, and include lots about his dealings with "her".
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Sauron stood at the precipice of his forge in Mordor. He looked down into the flowing lava which boiled inside the Crack of Doom. The feiry wisps of steam of the chasm whipped at his cloak as he mused.
He had just recieved word that the dwarves had accepted his gift of rings. He laughed within his mind.
The fools, he thought. They have either fogotten the tales, or have chosen to overlook the fact that I am the Deciever. Sauron, ostracized smith of Aule.
The thought of Aule brought back memories of a past long forgotten. Unbidden, images of an old life, happy and content camed to him. For a time, he was back in the Forges of Aule, laughing with his fellow smiths. He remembered the jovial rivalry he had with Curumo. He remembered the day she came to the forge.
She had asked for a weapon to hunt better with her master, Orome. He had made her a sword, and had inscribed her name upon it. He remembered the shyness with which he had given it back to her. She had smiled at him and playfully teased him. He had respect for her, and yet a hungry desire. She had been beautiful, and had encouraged his pursuit.
His name had been Erentano, then. Aule had praised him for his ability to command steel, to bend it to what shape he would. He had been Erentano before his darker master took hold of him - before Morgoth had come to claim him.
Sauron looked into the fiery pits of his rumbling mountain in Mordor. He watched the bubbling of the lava, but did not see it. He continued to remember.
She had made him so happy. The way she laughed, the way her eyes sparkled when he was near her. She was a hunter, but she was also a woman. She had strength and weakness, power and vulnerability. She was a delightful complex, an enticing enigma. And she had been his.
He remembered the way her lips would pout if he had ever denied her anything, or had been too slow in giving it. He remembered the delightful aroma she had whenever she returned from a chase with her master. He reveled in the recollection of the way her body always melted against his when he claimed her full lips. The way she softly moaned his name when he touched her, the way her eyes darkened when he seduced her.
Then he remembered the hardness of her heart when he revealed to her what he had done. The way she turned him away when he asked her to join him. The sound of her weeping when she denied knowing him, before all the other Maiar, when he had been found out. The way she stopped loving him, because he had desired to make things of his own choosing, and not things which he had been told to make.
Stretching his hand out over the hot liquid, Sauron closed his eyes, calling forth into existance a gold band. The mountain shook and groaned, and the firey lava spit forth the hard metal which he had commanded it to.
In his hand lay a ring of the purest gold. Shining, beautiful, unblemished. Just like she had been. In anger, Sauron cast incantations over it, feeling some of his life force leaving him, burning it into the metal.
He gave it power, seduction, danger. All of the things that she was to him, he put into the innocent ring, twisting it into a manevolent foce. He gave it his life, just as he had given her his heart. But she had turned him away.
White hot, a script burned into the graceful roundness of the gold. An elvish chant seared into the metal, marking it as his.
Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.
He smiled bitterly. She could have remained his beloved. She could have kept him. She could have been the Queen of Mordor, and been given all the things which were her due. Everything that was his, could have been hers. Putting the ring on his finger, he looked at it as he strode out of the Crack of Doom. She had denied herself power, pleasure, dominion. She had thrown it away, given it up.
Just like she had given him up.
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Translations:
Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul. - One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and, in the darkness, bind them.
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