Author's Note: This is my first real attempt at romance, but it's very tainted with angst (I've decided to call this genre 'Romangst'. It has a nice ring to it.) So... Constructive criticism is always welcome! Oh- and I am going by the theory that Thuringwethil, like Mairon, is a shapeshifting Maia.

"The wicked man writhes with pain all his days, And the number of years is hidden from the oppressor. Dreadful sounds are in his ears; In prosperity the destroyer comes upon him. He does not believe that he will return from darkness, For a sword is waiting for him. He wanders about for bread, saying, 'Where is it? ' He knows that a day of darkness is ready at his hand. Trouble and anguish make him afraid; They overpower him, like a king ready for battle."

Job 15:20-24 NKJV

"A love in secret is but a shadow that's cold and lonely." -Jarod Kintz

Mairon entered his quarters with torch in hand. Usually he did not need the light to see where he was going, usually he despised its awful glow. But today was different somehow, and he could feel the darkening of his eyes as he struggled to fight the visions and the demons.

They made it difficult to see clearly.

Him, who claimed to see everything, could not see beyond the horrors of his past. It was painfully ironic, and yet such was his existence.

He just barely managed to place the torch on its respective hook before he stumbled. The floor seemed to come up to greet him and the room spun in flashes of dark colors, occasionally the bright flame of the torch- or was it his hair?

Vertigo was always the first symptom of his returning flashbacks.

Somehow stumbling close enough to collapse on the bed, Mairon fought to keep his eyes open.

He had experienced this sensation far too many times and he knew what to do. He had to keep his eyes open, for after the vertigo came an excruciating pain on the surface of his skin that threatened to send him into unconsciousness.

He absolutely could not let that happen. He had to stay awake. If he allowed his eyes to close, if he allowed the nightmares to consume him again-

No. Stay awake.

Pain exploded in his body and he shook with spasms as he struggled to breathe. Breathe, Mairon. Inhale, exhale.

Inhale-

Keep your eyes open. Do not close your eyes, do not-

You cannot! No- no no no-

And he was lost to nightmares once more, but the memories were too vivid to be nightmares. He could feel everything ...

The cold stone floor on his bare skin. The warm blood trickling from ... from everywhere. A chill breathing through a hole in the floor. Laughter from far away- but it was somehow close...

'I will not repeat myself again, Mairon,' the voice laughed.

Morgoth.

'How is it that you have failed a simple-' pain 'recon-' pain 'mission!' A roar of rage and blinding agony and lights danced before his foggy eyes.

'I have already apologized, Master,' Mairon gasped, and speaking only increased the hurt. 'What more do you ask from me?'

A chuckle.

'I ask that you never make me do this again,' Morgoth replied, and Mairon felt his body tensing in anticipation of the crippling blow-

Mairon gasped and his chest heaved as he scrabbled to hang onto the bed post for support. Nausea gripped him tightly and his lungs seized as he hyperventilated.

It had not been just a dream.

He had lived through it all, once, many years ago.

And Morgoth had ensured that he survived to suffer another day.

And Mairon had suffered.

Every day a living nightmare, an inescapable torment that constantly took new forms. Morgoth always knew his fear and always sensed his thoughts and always spotted the lies.

It was hell.

Managing to control his breathing somewhat, Mairon wondered if Morgoth could hear his thoughts from Angband, and quickly abandoned the thought when it aroused long-past fears.

He remembered once when Morgoth had summoned him to Angband, only to beat him mercilessly for no reason other than to serve as a vent for the Vala's rage. Mairon never found out how he made it back to Tol-in-Gaurhoth, and when he finally awoke in his chambers he believed it all to be a horrible nightmare- save for the fact that to this day he still bore horrible scars that he had no memory of receiving.

Absentmindedly rubbing a hand down the ridges of scar tissue on his left arm, Mairon struggled to keep his composure. He had only seen one memory this time. It was usually several, and many of them worse than the one he had just seen.

He breathed a deep sigh as his weary body and mind demanded rest, but it was a luxury he could not indulge.

Sleep and rest brought only terror and pain. It was why he kept busy. It was why he never slept. It was the reason for the dark circles and the foggy judgment and the near-madness.

Leaning exhaustedly against the bedpost, Mairon closed his eyes and allowed himself thirty seconds to finish composing his emotions.

The door to his chambers swung open. Thuringwethil entered and slammed the door behind her before slipping easily out of her black gown and striding to the bed, bare hips swinging sensually.

She placed both hands on his shoulders before she pressed him to the bed and gracefully climbed atop him. Her cold lips caught him by surprise, and when she finally pulled away she smiled, flashing him those two sharp incisors that somehow made her face seem all the more perfect.

Thuringwethil really was beautiful. Mairon usually appreciated her fair skin and her dark eyes and her sharp mind.

But now he could only see darkness.

'Are you capable of removing your own clothing, or shall I have to undress you like a child?' Thuringwethil asked silkily, but Mairon's eyes darkened as his mind reeled.

'Cut off your hair,' Melkor repeated, this time with more force.

Mairon grudgingly lifted the sword to the nape of his neck. His heart was throbbing rapidly in desperation and pain. He felt his blade tickle his neck, and closed his eyes as he began to saw away at the long locks. Long, red hair cascaded to the ground around him like a halo of death. He was halfway finished when Melkor turned over his shoulder to face him. Mairon froze.

'Kneel before me,' he commanded, and Mairon stumbled to his knees in fear of the consequences should he choose not to kneel quickly enough.

Melkor wrenched the blade from Mairon's hand and yanked the remainder of the Maia's hair upwards so that Mairon was being held on his feet by his beautiful hair. With one sharp swing, Melkor severed the long hair from his lieutenant's head and Mairon collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily and trembling slightly.

Melkor threw the blade to the ground and it clattered loudly against the stone. Mairon could not find the will to reach for it. Melkor laughed, and ruffled his Lieutenant's short, spiky hair before he turned to face his throne once more.

'Now you look more like the child I know you to be,' Melkor said, sounding satisfied. 'Get on the ground, Mairon.'

Lowering himself onto his belly and barely suppressing a grunt of pain, Mairon attempted to ignore the stone floor that was sticky with blood and intestine and death. He felt the last shreds of his dignity slowly fluttering away, and he heard the whip crack before he even felt it's bite.

'Do you see now what happens to children who disobey?' Melkor asked as he snapped the whip once more and as Mairon's body arced beneath the pain.

'Children who disobey are beaten by their parents, to ensure that they do not fail again.' Again the brutal snapping of the whip that echoed through the stone hall. 'Are you going to fail me again, Mairon?'

Thuringwethil noticed the darkening of his eyes and wrenched him back to reality with another cold kiss. His mind snapped back into the present and he stifled a gasp as his eyes flitted wildly around the chamber before finally landing on her bare skin.

Thuringwethil leaned closer to Mairon and ran her fingers through his long, red hair before whispering, 'I wish that you did not let him haunt you so.'

'I wish that I could forget,' Mairon rasped, and his eyes remained shadowed.

'Then forget about him,' Thuringwethil cried roguishly, and she forced their lips together again as she tore Mairon's shirt from his chest.

He leaned into her kiss and gripped her so tightly that she thought he might leave bruises. His skin was hot to the touch, but pleasantly so, and she noticed suddenly that his face was flushed, as with fever.

'Mairon, you are burning...' she whispered, and he actually heard the concern in her high-pitched voice. A memory snatched at his consciousness and he shied away from her cold hands as if she had been the one to burn him.

'Cauterization is a new form of healing, I hear,' Morgoth said calmly, analyzing the scalding metal staff in his black hands. 'I thought that perhaps I should test the theory myself.'

'We should not be doing this-' Mairon suddenly gasped, tearing his lips away, but Thuringwethil dragged him back to her and he did not resist as she leaned in close to his ear and whispered, 'What Morgoth does not know will not hurt him.'

'But it will hurt us-' He had to stop himself- he nearly said me instead of us.

Thuringwethil hushed him. 'He cannot hurt us more than he already has.'

And as Thuringwethil's hands traced Mairon's back and ran over the old scar tissue from a whipping long ago, Mairon knew she was right.

'He has already killed us,' Thuringwethil sighed, and Mairon stiffened as she ran her icy fingers down the ridges of scars.

'Trust me,' she pleaded, and the air hung heavy with silence before Mairon sighed.

'I trust you.'

Thuringwethil grinned. 'And I likewise, Sauron Gorthaur.'

It somehow seemed more important to them than a confession of love. Both had had their fair share of broken trust and betrayal, and love had always seemed more easily won than trust.

'Your trust is misplaced,' Mairon growled as he rolled and pinned her to the bed. 'Few who trust Sauron Gorthaur live to tell the tale.'

Thuringwethil laughed. 'You are so silly to think that I am afraid of you. I am not.'

'I am not afraid of you.'

It was his first interrogation. A test, of sorts, almost like an initiation.

He could not fail.

And yet... the Elf at his feet was spitting defiantly on his boots instead of groveling for mercy.

'You should be afraid,' Mairon snarled, kicking the Elf in the ribs.

The Elf laughed. Blood stained his teeth and trickled out of his lips. A red stain began forming on the pale cheek.

'You cannot intimidate me.'

'You are a fool.'

'And you- you are merely a child.'

'Mairon... your pulse is racing. You never get this excited,' Thuringwethil added impishly, but she frowned as she spoke, and concern added lines to her pale brow. Mairon shuddered as the memory finally passed and he fell into the pillows beside her. She could hear his heavy breathing.

'I worry for you,' Thuringwethil said softly, letting her hand idly trace the scars on his upper arm. 'Do not worry me so. Do not let the darkness consume you.'

'We have already been consumed.'

'There is still hope for redemption.'

'If there were, would you accept it?' Mairon asked, staring at the ceiling. 'Would you go to the Valar and beg for forgiveness?'

'I-'

'After all that we have done?' After all that I have done?

'Mairon, please, listen to yourself-'

'They would have us put to death, or worse-' The Void.

'You speak as one fey!' she cried.

'You think you can be redeemed?' Morgoth sneered, pinning the Maia against the wall. 'You think that after all that you have done, that you can give recompense? Look at yourself! Darkness is who you are. Who you always will be. And there is no hope in the darkness.'

'Mairon? Mairon, speak to me!'

When his eyes finally reopened, they were full of pain. Thuringwethil nearly recoiled. The look was so foreign on him, and it aged him a thousand years. She hated the look, and she wanted nothing more than to remove the pain from him forever.

'Kiss me,' Mairon whispered, pleading. 'Kiss me as you never have before. I need you with me, Thuringwethil.'

Her name rolled off his tongue like silk and she felt a shiver down her bare back as she looked him in the eyes.

'Will you kiss me back?' she asked.

'I will do whatever it takes to keep you at my side.'

Morgoth laughed and Mairon quailed before the throne.

'This memory is a particular favorite of mine,' Morgoth said with a chuckle. Mairon felt sick.

'I rather enjoy watching it. It makes me laugh.' He laughed again, to prove his point. Mairon closed his eyes as bile rose in his throat. A trail of dark crimson ran from his temple and into his eyes and sweat rolled down his neck and back. The memory had been particularly difficult for Morgoth to withdraw, and Mairon had only relinquished it when Morgoth had nearly split the Maia's spirit in two.

'Do you know why it makes me laugh? Go ahead and ask me why. Ask me!'

'Why does it-' Mairon rasped, before being suddenly overcome with a coughing fit. His lungs seized and he shuddered with every breath. He pressed his hands to his throat in a vain effort to slow the bleeding caused by Huan's fangs. The wounds had not ceased their steady trickle of blood since the incident and Mairon was growing concerned. He felt so weak...

Morgoth raised his voice to be heard above Mairon's coughing. 'It makes me laugh because you thought that you could protect her. You thought that she could protect you. It was all so sweet and wonderful.'

Morgoth grasped the Maia by his neck and lifted him to eye level. Mairon clawed at his throat in panic as his windpipe closed but Morgoth ignored him and leaned in closer and spat in his face, 'It is your fault that she is dead now. You let Tol-in-Gaurhoth fall and you were responsible for the deaths of at least one hundred wolves and a powerful shapeshifting Maia. I should have your hide hung on the wall. At least there you might serve a more useful purpose.'

As Morgoth shouted these last words he cast Mairon onto the cobblestones where the Maia lay gasping incoherently and clutching at his bruised and bleeding throat.

'I seem to recall a punishment from long ago,' Morgoth suddenly said, his voice perfectly calm as he tapped his chin. 'Ah, yes! One of my favorites. You were tied to a table and I created an illusion of water to drown you. You broke your own arms in your struggle to escape. I see that you have some memory of this,' Morgoth added as Mairon's eyes filled with panic. 'I think that we shall try that one again, yes?'

And then Mairon's vision went black.

When one is in anguish, time passes in a dark haze that shrouds all thought and feeling save for the never-ending pain. It seems that pain is all there ever was, is, and will be. As Mairon lay helpless beneath the throne of Morgoth, his arms broken at odd angles, just as Morgoth had said they would be, he tried to convince himself that pain was only temporary.

But Thuringwethil was gone and Tol-in-Gaurhoth was fallen and he was back in Morgoth's clutches and he could never escape the dark.

He gave up on convincing himself rather quickly.

Morgoth usually threw his worthless prisoners beneath the throne to be devoured by the wolves, but now the wolves hovered anxiously around their master, and some lay beside his shivering form and others licked the bleeding wounds until Mairon finally screamed.

And then Morgoth had chuckled.

The wolves had not bothered Mairon since them, except to curl up beside him in a vain attempt to stop his trembling. He knew he was going into shock, but he could not move. There was nothing he could do.

He was helpless, just as he had been all those nights ago when he had lost Tol-in-Gaurhoth and lost something even more dear to him-

The painful thoughts only increased his anguish and he struggled to keep silent as he gritted his teeth through the pain.

Thuringwethil would have traced a gentle hand down his face and whispered comforting words while preparing an anesthetic to ease his pain. He wondered suddenly, feverishly, if he would have done the same for her.

I would have done anything for her.

'Evidently not, Mairon, else she would still be here,' Morgoth growled. 'Regret is an emotion stronger than gratitude. You would do well to remember that in the future.'

Mairon's mind had been weakened by the anguish he had suffered, from the withdrawal of the memory and the illusion of water torture. Morgoth could read his thoughts like a book. All of the years he had spent learning to hide his emotions were wasted. His subconscious barriers were shattered, fragmented, and he would have to build his walls up one painful brick at a time.

Mairon's back arced at a sudden lancing pain in his left arm. He assumed nerve damage, just as it had been the last time Morgoth had hurt him this way.

'This time is no different than last time except that I have thrown you to the wolves that call you Master,' Morgoth said in a bored voice, then suddenly, more alertly, 'What was that sound?'

Because Mairon was Lord of Wolves, he knew the scent before he heard the sound.

Thuringwethil.

She smelled of shadows and secret kisses and moonlight and the crimson color of blood, passion, and her lips. He could not explain it otherwise.

But the instant that Mairon sensed her, he realized that it could not be her. For suddenly his mind was assailed with graphic memory of a massive hound gripping his throat and forcing him to surrender while a maiden towered over him. Lúthien had smelled of the woods, and twilight.

It was Thuringwethil, but it was not.

I must know.

Forcing himself forward just a few precious inches so as to see the visitor, Mairon choked on a gasp. Thuringwethil threw off her beautiful skin and revealed none other than Lúthien Tinuviel, with her dark hair and fierce eyes. Mairon's mind was overwhelmed by memory of the color red as blood had spilled from his throat-

And Lúthien began to sing.

Mairon felt his eyelids drifting closed and he began to panic. He could not allow himself to sleep, to dream of things long past-

His eyelids closed.

Darkness, and then Thuringwethil emerged.

And for the first time in his long life, Mairon dreamed not a nightmare, but a vision.

And he gave in to his dreams, that he might see the only one who had ever trusted him, and the one he had failed.

I am sorry.

And his shattered mind caved to the darkness.