A/N: A late birthday gift for Lord Yau who has seen my drafts, listened to my plots and dramas and read most of my fics. It took me way too long to finish this one, but You are a wonderful friend and I wish you all the luck and meringues in the world.
I agonized over this way too much and I no longer can see if it's worth anything, but I hope you will like it!
Summary: Sauron did not show himself before his master for way too long. Melkor is not worried. He is not curious. He certainly is not anxious that his lieutenant is having fun with someone else while forgetting about him.
He's just checking. Really. For sure, nothing else.
The Map of Beleriand
Lord Melkor, the true king of Arda and master of fates, strolled down a dark corridor of the fortress of Angband - the passage wasn't a crude cave, but a straight, albeit somewhat tilted
downwards corridor with smooth walls and ceiling adorned with only a few protruding rocks carved into snarling snouts and frowning faces. They were hard to see in the dark, since the only light in the passage was a faint red glow from ahead. Melkor didn't need to see them to know every detail of them, since he had carved some of them, others were the work of Sauron himself. During the long years of the siege of Angband they had to find little ways to occupy themselves. One can scheme and plan conquest for so long
The darkness was comfortable for Melkor, not scary at all. After all he was one of the dark, of chaos, of destruction. Stalking the pitch black passages hidden deep in the bowels of the ground seemed to be what he was born to do. And he did it with easy grace and soft steps, his mind occupied by thoughts of his lieutenant, obscured by walls of stone, hidden somewhere in his private lair, bleeding red light into the corridor right ahead of where Melkor was.
The thoughts of the second in command of his forces consumed Melkor so greatly, that it was truly lucky that the corridor had no others crossing it, so he couldn't wander aimlessly in one without realizing he was no longer following the right path. Far too often the Dark Vala surprised an unsuspecting orc on guard duty by rounding a corner of a dungeon, claiming that he was performing a 'security checj'. Good thing that he was the master or lies, else they wouldn't believe him not to be kilometers away from his usual routes. It happed at leeast once a week on the higher levels, where the corridors tended to branch out and tangle in a labyrinth. This maze was of SAuron's creation, enhanced by his own ideas of bottomless spiraling staircases, so no spy could gather information on the stronghold. without losing their sense of direction .
And what occupied Morgoth so? It wasn't the hallowed glow of the jewels, right now obscured by a hood pulled over his iron crown so as to not alarm his subjects and give him away. It wasn't the way too long siege of the Noldor - a siege that did practically nothing to do more of the inhabitants of Angband than to force them to use back doors to leave. It wasn't even the newest clutch of dragons, the beasts already scurrying around his rooms and chewing the drapes. No, it was Sauron who took all Melkor's thoughts. The Maia was seemingly avoiding him. It was two months since Melkor had laid his eyes on the Abominable one and in his humble opinion it was abominable in itself that he was avoiding him. There were weeks when the Maia was absent from the stronghold of evil, but there were days when Melkor could sense his presence nearby. So, SAuron was not wounded, he was preoccupied with something or keeping his distance for some foolish reason. How ddid he dare make his master worry? Melkor wasn't born to worry, he was far too impatient to not go and check for himself. Was Mairon plagued by some anxieties? Or maybe he was playing with a new toy and forgetting his beloved master? Melkor missed his most faithful Maia and, albeit he wouldn't deny SAuronn his toys and projects, he wanted to enjoy his close proximity and fiery touch more often. Oh, he was going to have to make that clear to the elusive Maia.
So, it came to pass that the Dark Vala could no longer wait andy could no longer sit on his iron throne and walked down to where Sauron's forge was, deep within the dungeons of Angband, deeper even than the cells of the most mouthy prisoners.
Melkor stepped into the doorway of the forge, his mouth opening to scold the Maia, who had always been so attentive and present in the daily life of the Dark Aunu and the fortress.
But the sight that met his eyes stopped him.
The big room was filled with work tables and shelves, lit by a blazing fire in the hearth on the opposite wall of the chamber, near a great anvil and stone water basin. Despite being filled with all kinds of projects in various states of completion and tools, the room gave off an aura of neatness and tidiness, all things were put down with care and according to a clear system.
But it wasn't the crossbows and miniature prototypes of machines that drew Melkor's undivided attention. No, it was Sauron, bent over one of his work tables.
Wisps of hair fell from the bun of dark hair, falling on the broad shoulders and bent back of the Maia, who wore a fana of a tall, not overly muscular elf, attired in plain clothing and a wide leather belt holding some of his tools. Golden eyes focused on his hands moving with untold deftness, he seemed not to notice the other Ainu staring at him.
A big piece of cloth was draped over the work table and SAuron was currently busy with a needle and a thread. Bewildered by the most recent choice of material, of his Maia, Melkor approached and looked down at what Sauron was working on. It was unusual to see the former servant of Aule sewing or embroidering anything, he was more inclined to do precise works made from metal and gemstone. Not that Mairon could not produce ornamented garments fit to be worn by a Minyarin royalty.
It took only a glance for Melkor to see that the cloth was a map of Beleriand, with neatly embroidered mountains and rivers, forests and lakes. The colorful threads used to depict the features of the landscape were gleaming in the light. It was one of the free truly detailed maps of the lands, with no empty area aside from the interior of Doriath, which was merely colored with glittering emerald green. Every kingdom was named and had the name of the ruling person added under the name of the land done both in quenya and the speech of Angband. Gondolin and Nargothrond were placed in the areas that they were most likely to be hidden from the view of Melkor's followers.
Melkor glanced to where Angband was, smirking when he saw his own name there, the letters created with a thread that shone with an unusual color. He blinked, trying to remember where he had seen this particular shade of red.
It looked almost like his own…
His hand reached to the wild waves tumbling down his shoulder.
…his hair.
He looked to Sauron, who was finishing the name of one of Feanor's brats - in the color that was most certainly the same as his hair color.
"Master," he blinked and looked up to see Sauron's gaze upon him. "This was supposed to be a surprise."
His voice was smooth and rich like honey.
"I assure you, it is. Is it the brat's hair?" Melkor asked, pointing to the thin thread connecting the needle and the last tengwa of the name.
"Of course. I gathered the hair of all the ruling heads to incorporate them into this map, master," Sauron smirked. "It took me a while to get Thingol's."
"Peculiar," Melkor brushed the tips of his scarred fingers over the eastern mountains. "And tell me, why did you do this?"
"As a promise that one day this all will belong to you," the Maia smirked. "And when it will, it will be a reminder of all those who had fallen at your feet."
"Odd, but thoughtful. And most correct," Melkor smiled, but then frowned. "You know that as appreciated as this gift is, I would have preferred to have your company over the last months."
The Maia bowed his head.
"Apologies, master," he hummed. "I wished to cheer you up since the siege seemed to spoil your mood more than usual."
Melkor shook his head and walked around the table to casually sit in Sauron's lap.
"You can do something else to fix my mood, Sauron," he purred, enjoying the feeling of his arms wrapping around him.
"And what might that be, master?" Sauron asked, his hands traveling slowly up and down his master's sides under the mantle. Melkor grinned at the most welcome touch and peered into those deliciously cunning eyes he had missed so much.
"You know, I was going to punish you for avoiding me," he said with only a small pout. "Thought you were having fun alone or something."
"I would never do that… Unless you watched," the Maia promised, lowering his head so he could whisper in Melkor's pointy ear. Melkor felt way too hot when a breath teased the skin of his throat. "But if I may be so bold as to ask you to refrain from watching for the time being…?"
"S-sure," Melkor shifted closer to the Maia, who pressed his mouth to the pulse point on his throat, the caress soft and almost chaste.
"Then close your eyes," master," Sauron smiled against the delicate skin his mouth was caressing. His smile widened when he felt a tremble run down his master's body.
With a sigh Melkor closed his eyes and let his Maia's hands wander over his sides, sneakily finding their way under the layers of clothing and drawing patterns on his heatting skin. He tilted his head back, enjoying the feel of Sauron's mouth pressing kisses over his jaw and throat, a contented moan escaping his parted lips. His own hands slid carefully up Sauron's shoulders and undid the tie holding up his bun, before his fingers tangled into the soft trees, pulling his head closer to him as he arched into his skilled hands. He no longer felt annoyed and irritated, cold and alone. No, he was warm and full of anticipation. His Maia was back and he was going to ensure that he never again foolishly went away from him for so long.
Far above the two Ainu the dawn came, the trumpets of Noldor sounded the hymn to Varda, the orc guard of honor for the day yelled the insult of his own making at the hosts of pesky elves, but Melkor did not care what the insult was this time. He was far too occupied to notice any part of Arda that wasn't the Maia whose lap he was straddling.
He chuckled darkly, breathlessly, when an untold time later, devoid of all his clothes, he was lifted to the table top and laid back over the thick cloth, the crafty Maia bowing over him with a positively predatory glint in his eyes.
He was to conquer the lands of Beleriand, taking immense pleasure in it. But that was for later. Right now he was going to enjoy being conquered on the map of said lands. It didn't feel like it was the second best thing.