A/N: Hello everyone! This is going to be a three-part short story that features a less-mentioned character, Thuringwethil. This story will tell of what would happen if Sauron's messenger had developed feelings for him in the event something critical happens to him. Also to point out, Gothmog is also mentioned in this story and both he and Thuringwethil can take a fair appearance like Sauron in this story. Honestly, this whole story is a little headcanon, as I feel the entire Silmarillion leaves room for tons of them! You'll get to see the softer side of Morgoth and his crew!

Also fair warning this is rated T for descriptions of blood, wounds, and medical treatment!

Thanks for reading!

When Sauron finally arrived at the dining hall, he was surprised to see two other officials of the fortress, along with his leader Morgoth, already seated at the table feasting on what looked to be an unusually large dinner. It was a foreign sight to see them all seated together civilly, without yelling or threatening one another like he was accustomed to seeing. The dinner looked remarkable served on silver platters and Sauron could smell the strong scent of warm food filling the room. Normally, the lieutenant would be thankful for such a dinner on a harsh winter night. But instead, he felt nauseous.

An excruciating pain reverted his attention from the dinner, and he briefly stole a glance at his wrapped-up forearm underneath his cloak sleeve. He had several layers of gauze thickly wrapped around the wound he had received earlier in the day, and though he tried to let the issue pass, he wasn't willing to admit he was progressively feeling worse the longer it went untreated. The serious wound was due to a poisoned blade, his own professionally-designed blade, and he had yet to find the right medicinal herbs to treat it.

'This would not have happened if I would have just paid attention…' he thought irritably. 'How did that blade even get mixed in with the training weapons?'

Sauron had took it upon himself to deliver the newly made weapons from the forge to the training grounds. Gothmog was there, commanding the armies in combat and going over protocols for their next advance. Impressed with the lieutenant's work, Gothmog had asked Sauron to help demonstrate a fighting tactic with the newly forged swords. Sauron, prideful as he was, did not refuse. However, the tactic was something he was unfamiliar with, and Gothmog managed to catch him off guard and strike him on the forearm, clear from the elbow to just below the wrist. Sauron had shook off the pain as the wound bled viciously, having been more focused on the humility he felt being bested by the balrog in front of their trainees.

It was only an hour later did Sauron realize the blade Gothmog had wielded was his newly finished project. It was unlike other basic swords, for this one was designed to take into battle against other ainur. It seeped with dark magic he and Morgoth had studied previously, which could lethally take down a maia within days. The steel was lined with poisoned ebony streaks, which was ironically beautiful to look at. But the exquisiteness of the weapon distracted the eye of it's dangerous purpose. Only medicine crafted by Estë herself could save the victim's life.

Only hours after perfecting a nearly impossible project, Sauron regretted experimenting with such weapon. As the day dragged on, the injury he had sustained left him feeling fevered, nauseous, and reduced to dragging his feet weakly. No matter how much he looked for the notes, he could not find the right treatment to extract the poison and it worried him deeply. He only hoped that his ill-state was unnoticeable amongst the others, especially his master.

"Look who finally decided to show up!" Sauron heard a grungy voice call out. He lifted his golden eyes and noticed Gothmog was looking in his direction, waving a piece of meat fresh off the bone in the air.

"Yes, I apologize for being late. I…had some late paperwork to finish," Sauron replied quieter than he would have liked and quickly shook off his pain. He tried to appear as normal as possible.

"Paperwork can wait! You have got to try this meat the orcs rounded up! It's outstanding!" Gothmog marveled in the red, faintly cooked meat before devouring into it again. The mere sight of it reignited Sauron's queasy stomach.

As he took a seat, a plate was shoved in his direction, filled with various pieces of the feast. Luckily, there were more than just meat and fish being tossed around. There were bread and fruits as well, and Sauron was incredibly thankful for something light to eat.

"So…paperwork you say, Lieutenant?" Morgoth's booming voice interrupted the brief silence shared at the table. Sauron glanced up to meet his master's coal-black gaze. He looked unamused as usual.

"Yes, sir," Sauron replied respectfully. "I am prepared to explain our next advance when you are ready to send out the next group of orcs."

"Very well. If all goes to plan, they will be sent out in the next week…" Morgoth mumbled as he bit into another kind of meat just as rare and fresh as Gothmog's share. It also came to Sauron's attention that a large bottle of wine was being passed around the table. Without second thought, he poured a great amount into a glass provided. If anything helped with pain from injuries in the past, it was alcohol.

"Where are the other captains?" the maia heard Gothmog ask, assuming his question was directed to Morgoth.

The vala took a long drink of wine. "Still out with their tasks. They should be returning in the next day or so. Once we have their reports, we will finalize the advance," he explained.

Sauron dismissed the topic, simply relieved his job was already done. He couldn't stand another day of drawing up plans and routes. With a tired sigh, he looked up and across the table, noticing who sat directly across from him. His messenger, Thuringwethil, sat comfortably in the velvet cushioned seat and Sauron suddenly wondered why he didn't notice her appearance before. She had just come back from her errands earlier that day, still dressed in her travel wear. Her hair was falling out of a messy braid and the earth covered her chalky-colored skin from a four-day spy mission. Despite looking tired, she still looked as fine as royalty with midnight black hair and shining violet eyes.

The vampire looked up just in time to catch Sauron staring at her. "I also have paperwork to give to you, Sauron," she mentioned before nibbling on an apple. She only had fruits with a single serving of fish on her plate. "I have finished my share of tasks. Our planned routes are clear."

"Good," Sauron replied simply, blinking in slight embarrassment after he was caught staring. Clearing his throat, he lowered his gaze and focused on finishing the meal so he could return to his chambers. The burning on his forearm was slowly starting to turn into an itching sensation, driving the red-headed maia insane. When he glanced down and slightly brushed back his sleeve, he noticed even the skin just outside the wrappings was becoming discolored, like a sickly green bruise. But he continued to eat with an impressively stoic face.

Minutes passed as the group sat silently at the table, eating their share of food. All of them, including the ill Sauron, were happy to see meat was back on the menu. The harsh winter they were in the middle of left the food supply scarce, and the residents of the fortress were thankful for their ability to do without food for long periods of time. However, it still left them feeling drained and craving a decent meal. The orcs responsible for gathering the fresh supply of food were thanked for their contribution. Of course, their reward was to tend to the very hungry dragons sleeping low below the fortress.

After finishing a couple pieces of fruit and downing a couple glasses of wine, Sauron was beginning to feel twice as bad. The nauseous feeling was mixing with a heavy dizzy feeling, leaving him feeling like he was spinning. Chills started to rack his body every few minutes, despite his skin feeling hot and clammy. When his keen vision began to falter, he knew he had to get out of there before his condition became noticeable.

Unfortunately, it already had. When Sauron shook off another shudder, he glanced up to see Thuringwethil staring at him strangely. "Lieutenant, are you alright?" she wondered.

Sauron blinked and nodded once. "Yes, why do you ask?" he replied.

The two maiar stared at each other for the longest time before Thuringwethil narrowed her eyes quizzically. "Are you sure? You don't look well," She said simply before taking her final bites out of dinner.

The vampire's comment made Gothmog look up in curiosity. The maia ripped the last piece of meat from the bone before dropping it carelessly on the silver plate with a clatter. "Indeed, the messenger is right," he said quietly. "You've barely eaten anything! You realize how rare it is that we can have a feast such as this, especially in winter?!"

"I simply don't have an appetite," Sauron replied.

Gothmog studied him for a moment before smirking. "Why? Still wallowing in humiliation after I bested you at the training grounds today?"

"Nonsense. I assure you I am well," Sauron said in a matter-of-fact tone as he dismissed the taunting question, clearly not in the mood to jest. Though every time he blinked, he found it quite difficult to open his golden eyes again. He could feel cold sweat beading on his eyelids, his cheeks clammy and no doubt rosy. When his hearing began to falter, he knew he was on the brink of fainting. When he glanced up, everyone was staring at him warily, including Morgoth. The vala hadn't taken notice of the situation until now.

Uncomfortable, the red headed maia stood from his seat and proceeded in leaving, trying to stay focused and alert. "Don't look at me like that- I am fine!" he hissed darkly. "Please excuse me. I have still work to finish before nightfall."

No one said a word as Sauron started walking past the table and to the exit of the dining hall, his thick boots thumping against the stone ground with a hallow echo. They all watched the maia's movements, and remained silent even when Sauron began slowing down and even stumbling over his own feet. When Sauron finally paused at the exit, one hand on the door to support himself, the room was so quiet they could hear a pin drop.

"Sauron…?" Morgoth questioned monotonously. But no sooner did the vala say the name aloud, the lieutenant's hand dropped back to down to his side and he stood very still, keeping his back turned to the others. Seconds later, the maia stumbled to the side as he suddenly lost his balance, eventually collapsing with a loud thud. The situation caused both Gothmog and Thuringwethil to jump in alarm, and Morgoth to stare wordlessly.

"Sauron?!" the two other maiar rushed over to the red-headed maia in disbelief. Crouching down next to the fallen, both noticed how considerably pale he had become and how sweat soaked his forehead indicating a high fever. Though he radiated heat, he shivered as if he were laying in the snow outside.

"Is he unconscious?" Morgoth asked. Though he didn't get up from his seat, he had given his full attention to the scene, leaning to one side to get a better look at his servants.

Thuringwethil looked down and noticed Sauron was falling in and out of consciousness. But the red-headed maia's dull eyes were indeed open, even just slightly.

"Barely," Thuringwethil replied. Reaching out, she cupped the smith's face in her hand and flinched from the heat. "He's burning with fever- he won't be conscious for long."

"Eyes open, Lieutenant. Stay with us," Gothmog ordered, patting the maia's face each time he closed his eyes for a long period of time. Sauron's eyes would snap back open and dart in every direction as he tried to comprehend what was happening to him. His breathing was audibly unsteady and quick.

"What…what happened?" the lieutenant's voice was barely above a whisper.

"You collapsed, Sauron," Thuringwethil answered in concern. "It's obvious you were lying earlier about being okay. What's wrong?"

Sauron swallowed thickly before trying to answer. "I am ill…have been all day…" he admitted with great difficulty.

"From what?"

Instead of answering, Sauron let his injured, dead-weight arm fall to the ground in front of Thuringwethil, showing off the gauze wrapped thickly under his sleeve.

"Be careful…" he spoke quietly. Feeling uneasy, Thuringwethil folded his cloak sleeve back and began unwrapping the bandages carefully, and could not hold back a startled gasp at what she saw.

The slash wound on Sauron's forearm was deep and looked atrocious. The skin around it was swollen and beet red, signs of infection were already starting to form. Blue veins scattered along his porcelain skin, and his hand had faint signs of turning blue. The wound desperately needed to be cleaned and treated.

"All of this over the wound from earlier?!" Gothmog questioned. Though he wanted to insult the maia, he was suddenly burdened with questions of how a simple slash was enough to take Sauron down. Seeing the brutal condition of the wound only answered half of his question.

When Thuringwethil went to touch it, Sauron pulled his arm back weakly. "Don't touch it!" he warned.

"Why, what's-…."

"It's poisoned…" Sauron's voice was beginning to fail him. "It can hurt you too. The blade was enhanced with poison lethal enough to beings of power such as us…maiar…"

Gothmog's eyes widened slightly in disbelief. "Why would you let us spar with that if it was so dangerous?" he exclaimed. "Are you brainless?"

"It was unintentionally mixed with the other weapons! I didn't see it!" Sauron managed to seethe back with equal irritation. The quick snap of anger made the maia's head begin to spin and unconsciousness was threatening him.

"No matter now. He needs to be treated for it immediately or he will die. I know of the poison he speaks of. It's master-crafted dark magic I've studied myself. It is indeed lethal to maiar-it's enough to wound a vala as well…" Morgoth's stern voice was heard as he began walking to his three servants. Hearing of the poison made him realize the seriousness of the situation. "Get him up and to the healing rooms quickly, if we are going to save him."

When all the two maiar could do was freeze due to shock, Morgoth shoved them both to snap them out of their horrified trance. "Did you not hear me?! Get him up now!" he all but roared the order.

"I can't move…" Sauron breathed out weakly. The dark maia's eyes closed as a horrible feeling of vulnerability rushed over him. Just after his vision had given up, he felt hands tugging on his shoulders and sitting him up from lying on the cold floor. Two pairs of hands were holding both upper arms, trying to stand him up. But Sauron's knees and feet would not cooperate.

"We'll get you there, Sauron. Just stay awake," Someone's voice was heard faintly, sounding miles and miles away.

But Sauron felt that he just couldn't stay awake. After many attempts to stand up, the maia then felt himself being picked up and carried. He couldn't even tell who was lifting him up. By this time, unconsciousness played with his hearing and his body was feeling uncomfortably numb.

"Sauron, stay awake! That is an order!" Morgoth's unmistakable voice was heard.

"I…can't…"

"Stay awake…You have…to…st-…ke…"

But the lieutenant heard no more as his exhausted soul could no longer stay conscious and all went black in an instant.

A/N: Part two will be posted soon! Thanks again for reading!