The being once known as Mairon opened his eyes bleakly. His current form was small, and weak, and he would never again have the power that once should have been his – but he was still an Ainu, and he was not as helpless as everyone thought. Some dark disquiet was growing in his mind, a shadow, a threat – not merely approaching, but hunting him. He went to stand, slipping from the bush where he'd been curled all during the sunlit hours, and froze in utter terror.
A black shadow stood before him, sable hair whipping in the moonlight, fell shining eyes illuminating a blade sharp and cold as the Helcaraxë pointed straight at him. A face more beautiful and terrible than any guise Sauron himself had ever taken stared him down, and those eyes – those eyes – promised a fate more terrible than Barad-dûr had ever offered. Sauron cringed, whimpering and cowering. "Who are you? What do you want?"
The Elf's voice was as musical and dreadful as the ringing of steel, and just as unyielding. "I am the inventor of murder, blood-betrayer, he who abandons his brothers. I am the Oath-crafter, swearing to the greatest dread known to Elf-kind. I am the greatest Craftsman to ever live, my jewels shine brighter than the sun and the moon. I embody the spirit of fire, and giving me life left my mother dead. I am the husband of she who brings stone to life, and father of the seven greatest Elves to ever grace Arda. My name is Fëanáro Curufinwë. You killed my grandson. Prepare to die."
Sauron did not even have time for one final shriek of terror. The glittering sword swished, faster than the eye could follow. The being once known as Mairon never rose again.