Splish, splash, splish…
A soft whisper of droplets hitting the moist ground carried itself through the dense woods, the already quiet sound dampened by the springy, vibrant grass of a deep green below. Beads of water rolled off the leaves of the grim, ancient trees, which now seemed to direct their scornful gaze at the small clearing in the vast forest. Or, perhaps more accurately, the broken creature kneeling by the clear water of a shallow pond in its centre.
When it seemed the tranquil and clear surface would only be disturbed by the occasional raindrops, a single droplet, dense and crimson, escaped from underneath the being's hand, tightly wrapped around the throat. Upon hitting the water, it slowly dispersed, briefly dyeing its immediate surroundings.
The spectacle was absentmindedly observed by sharp, golden eyes, narrowing slightly when the reflection of their owner was momentarily disturbed. Slender fingers tightened their grip on the severe wound, trying to prevent more blood from seeping through.
Sauron gave an irritated sigh. Despite being what he was, the wound would still most likely need a few days to heal. 'What he was', for not even he called himself a Maia anymore. How could he? He no longer considered himself to be of the Ainur, because to be one meant: kindness, helping everyone in need and having an overwhelming – almost insufferable – aura of holiness that would cling to them like wood resin to skin.
The thought made him snort, and the sudden jerk of his head caused a few more crimson beads to escape from underneath his hand.
"Damn."
Instantly, he felt his irritation levels rising. Couldn't one – just one! – thing go according to plan? This day was already awful as it was.
Despite the pain and annoyance occupying his mind, the rational, cool side of him took his defeat as a lesson. With reluctance, he had to admit that a punishment would be appropriate. Perhaps he even might deserve getting disembodied: for his absolute foolishness, rashness and pride. Deserve, yes; but it by no means meant he'd simply allow it to happen. And therefore, the thought of returning to Angband in such a state made his stomach churn; not that he'd ever admit it.
No, he'd rather keep his ability to take on an incarnate form. But – of course – in order to keep it, he'd have to properly dress the wound. The thought filled him with shame; after all, didn't it remind him that he wasn't invincible? But then again, what other action could he take? If he didn't take care of the wound, he'd have to wait for a long time before being able to make another form for himself. And he's already seen where his pride had gotten him: nowhere.
Curling his lip in disdain, he carefully changed his position to a more comfortable one, and tore from his cloak a piece of fabric, lamenting the fate of the fine garment. His one free hand dipped it in water, and set it on a boulder before willing intense heat into his palm to dry it, as a primitive – but effective – way of disinfecting it.
He wrapped it around his throat and headed into the thicket with a deep sigh, letting himself be engulfed by the forest's mist to seek out the means to a more appropriate solution.
Rays of the rising sun gently caressed the treetops when Sauron finally could dispose of the bloody mess that was once herbs and other things he had found that were useful. Now, when his wound was finally taken care of, he let his muscles relax. The search for all the things he needed and treating the tear was far more exhausting than he initially believed, and his energy was drained. His knees sunk into the wet sand by the water as his mind became slightly hazy, and he allowed his unseeing gaze to fix on the serene surface.
He didn't feel the sun's fresh warmth, or the gentle breeze playing with his cherry-coloured strands. He felt nothing, save for the burning shame and rage.
His jaw clenched, and he willed himself to relax his fists when his mind was suddenly flooded with memories from when he lived as a Maia of Aulë…
He shook his head to banish the thoughts that instantly sprouted in his head, and a sharp smile split his face. What good could possibly come from thinking about those times? He had a new lord now; one he knew wouldn't be overjoyed when he returned, with defeat and pain radiating from his form in waves. He was trained better than this; showing such vulnerability?
His skin crawled with revulsion. No, he'd rather not.
But he had to. Melkor needed him, and would be greatly displeased if he didn't go back. And knowing him, he'd see his lieutenant return regardless of his will; one way or another.
Sauron let out a shuddering sigh and closed his eyes. His master would be greatly displeased with him, period. It wasn't very hard to imagine the rage he'd have to face when Melkor heard about what, exactly, had happened. And how he – Sauron, Gorthaur the Cruel, the dark lieutenant, lord of werewolves, the necromancer, Melkor's most powerful and cunning servant – had failed. Defeated by a half-breed, no less.
He didn't consider himself to be a coward; no, his master had made sure of that. There was no place for fear.
And yet, he felt the iron walls he'd built around his ëala crack.
Sauron opened his eyes and lightly touched the water's surface, sending small ripples through the pond's length.
No place for fear?
He bit his lip, and stared at the water as it calmed.
There is now.
However invaluable he might be to the Dark Lord, he had no doubts he'd be punished. Severely. Truly, knowing Melkor's temper, he'd be very fortunate if he wasn't reduced to a mere shadow of a spirit of no importance, unable to take shape or form an intelligent thought… as Lúthien had very kindly put it. Not exactly, but she was close.
The memory made him stiffen, and he recoiled his hand from the pond's surface.
He would not see himself reduced to such a pitiful state.
Again, he cursed the pride of his thoughts in that tower; the only reason for his current predicament was his desire for a great reward his lord would undoubtedly grant him, if he brought Melian's spawn before the dark throne in Angband. While what he'd achieved was the exact opposite!
He felt a small smile tugging at his lips, though nothing except bitterness was reflected in it.
Lúthien would not have been able to fulfil her words, for she didn't hold enough power to strip him of the ability to take shape. Not that she wasn't powerful; her song did give him a very bad migraine. Which was an achievement, since Ainur were beyond such things. But she wasn't as powerful as him; not even her mother was. Which in no way diminished the weight of her words. If anything, it made them so much worse. Because, though she might not have fully understood how close she'd been to the truth, he did; all too well. And because Melkor would gladly make the first fragment of Lúthien's threat very true regardless of whether Sauron would yield Tol-in-Gaurhoth to her or not, her words were all the more cruel.
What added to his bitter feeling of failure was the fact that his defeat was caused by a coincidence. A mere accident. Among his pride then, he took notice of the way Huan leapt away from him in fear, or how Lúthien swayed and faltered; and for a brief moment, he felt victorious. But then… then, a single swish of that accursed cloak had changed everything. It was his turn to falter, and he felt drowsy all of a sudden. That sealed his fate, and Huan was able to defeat him.
If everything had been set in stone from the beginning, he would've felt better. The outcome would be easy to foresee, and he would know how to adjust accordingly. Or, at the very least, he'd be a little comforted by the fact that he couldn't have done anything; that it was how things were meant to be. And this was the most shameful thought of all: he failed because he felt just a little too confident. There was no honour, no pride; only shame. How could he possibly brace himself for all possible and improbable outcomes? The answer stung: he couldn't. He wasn't cunning or powerful enough, never would be, and was reminded that even the smallest of actions could alter the course of fate.
Blast the elves! Blast the Maiar! And above all, blast his dear master. Why couldn't he have chosen someone else to sway to his side? And why in the Void did he listen?!
Gritting his teeth, he forced his thoughts to focus on another subject. He was shaking with barely concealed rage as it was; subjecting himself to hateful thoughts would now do him more harm than good.
He chose to focus instead on the two elves he had the misfortune of encountering within a span of only a few hours: the formidable elven king and Melian's valiant daughter. Grudgingly, he couldn't help but admire their fierceness and loyalty.
And just like so, Sauron's thoughts inevitably drifted closer to the subject of his misdeeds and the great issue he was now facing. And, when the day had run its course and Tilion shone on the darkening sky, he was ready to face the future with a formed plan.
He'd try to win Melkor's favour back; and what better place to start than Taur-nu-fuin? Surely, the Vala would see reason eventually. Most likely after a very thorough berating, but he would.
Days passed, and Sauron slowly but surely shrouded the already grim forest in darkness. This, in turn, allured many evil creatures, and he kept his presence veiled from them. For now. None of them seemed to have been sent by the Black Foe himself, but he couldn't exclude the possibility for such a thing to happen. He was, after all, Melkor's chief servant and strategist.
The darkening of the forest was, however, a little more challenging than he originally thought. Mostly due to his mind being filled with unorganised thoughts, shame and memories. Memories from when he'd studied under Aulë; how excited he got when he and his first lord worked on a project together, how proud he'd felt when he became his Chief Maia, and of the moments he'd spent with his – then – friends.
Presently, Sauron was sitting in a small cave he dubbed his watch-post. Normally, he simply murmured spells that settled over the forest like a storm-cloud, or stretched his mind over it to see whether any new creatures wandered in. Now, however, he just sat there in a slouched position – something he couldn't do when near either Aulë or Melkor, since it seemed to drive both Valar insane – and with a blank look on his face as he contemplated his miserable existence. Yes, it sounded both depressing and sarcastic – much like he felt right now.
His days of hearing the hushed whispers filled with admiration behind his back, working in the Smith's forges, of working and talking with his friends filled his mind to the brink, and he tried to irritably swat them away. When this didn't work, to force them out, drown them, burn them; and eventually gave up with a resigned and infuriated sigh.
He was forced out of his unwanted ponderings when he heard a quiet 'snap' somewhere in the distance. Instantly, his body went rigid and he strained his ears.
Nothing could be heard for another few moments, and yet Sauron felt his pulse quicken. He could ignore it; it wasn't a loud noise, and rather sounded as if it was caused by a small animal.
But, being careful by nature, he knew better than to rely on uncertain affirmations. And now that he was in a still rather new and, therefore, possibly dangerous situation… his self-preservation instinct roared to life.
He closed his eyes, and allowed his mind to sweep over his surroundings like an undetectable shadow, piercing wood, stone…
And then there was the unmistakable thrum of a more sentient being.
It was nothing more than a barely noticeable presence, and yet easy to identify: another Ainu. More specifically, an Úmaia. One that was slowly approaching, making him doubt it was just aimless wandering.
Although he wanted nothing more than to immediately veil his presence, take on the form of a raven and flee, he knew better. The damage was already done, and the other spirit had most likely already sensed him, and would follow. And while Sauron was fairly certain he would win if it came to a fight, he wasn't sure he wanted to engage in another battle so soon after the still fresh defeat. Back then, he also was fairly certain that he'd win, yet failed. And it was best to stay away from Melkor for now while not actually betraying him, and fighting one of the Úmaiar – or even disembodying them – would automatically mark him as a traitor.
Sauron cursed mentally. First his pride led to his defeat, and now his absentmindedness to this… what happened to him?
But what was done was done. Pondering would not solve the issue at hand.
He considered his options, quickly formulating an appropriate plan. One that was pretty simple, as he didn't have enough courage to try something more complicated; he wasn't going to fail again.
His calculative mind cleared from the mist of uncertainty and, as a start, decided to rely on carefully veiling his presence, which he at some point accidentally stopped doing. The action would be unobtrusive, so the newcomer wouldn't immediately sense it. Once this was done, he'd change shape and try to… no, he willsneak out while keeping an eye out for the intruder's potential allies.
Yes, that should work.
Ever so slowly, he concealed his ëala until it was akin to a nearly undetectable aura about his figure, and changed into a small cat; it did make him grit his teeth, because while he did like cats, they were, well, small and mostly harmless. They for sure were little monsters in disguise, and any creature with a little sense knew to never let their guard down around them, but they couldn't actually kill a being much bigger than them. But he wasn't about to let his pride get in the way again. A cat is able to prowl around undetected.So a cat he would be.
Carefully, he sunk into the shadows of the forest and started creeping into the general direction of the Úmaia, but to the side.
Most likely, the newcomer would expect him to move forward (where there could be more people waiting), as far away from pursuit as possible, which gave Sauron some advantage. Nobody ever searched where they already had, at least in most cases, and even then it was after they were done with the whole area and decided to try again. Unless the stranger (or not, he couldn't quite tell who it was) had their senses extended constantly – which probably wasn't the case, as he'd most likely feel it, now that he was paying attention.
What he suspected was that the Maia purposely didn't veil his presence, so as to drive him into those whose presences were veiled. And he wasn't going to give Melkor the satisfaction of falling into such a primitive trap.
With the agility and grace only cats possess, he quietly crawled on, seemingly blending into the shadows with his irregular fur pattern. And although his mind itched with temptation to extend his senses to check on the Úmaia's whereabouts, he knew it could give him away. Frankly, his only chance for escaping was in his pursuer to have reached a similar conclusion, and not check on Sauron's position in fear of being detected.
Yes, he could make a quick run for it and try to outmanoeuvre the intruder, but he had no idea whether they were alone; if this was a one-person action, or if there were others hiding nearby, and were trying to drive him out of his hiding place and into their hands. It was what he would've done, and knew that Melkor was no fool either.
He cursed mentally, still crawling forward. He couldn't hear, see, smell nor sense the unwelcome guest; it was as if he wasn't even there. Except that he was, but how close?
The unspoken question was soon answered, when Sauron nearly jumped in surprise upon hearing another quiet snap not five feet to his right. He immediately froze and lowered himself to the ground as much as he could, trying to catch a glimpse of his pursuer through the thick bushes.
His efforts were – however – futile, and he tried to calm his rapidly beating heart. That was close. Too close.
And that was exactly when, still looking upwards, he failed to see his front paw step on an ant; and, unfortunately, a big one.
The pain was very unexpected, and turned out to be almost insufferable in such a small form for a brief moment. He was no stranger to pain, but most of the time he had time to brace himself. This was, however, sudden and unforeseen, and he jumped a good two feet into the air with a loud yowl.
Before he could hit the ground, he felt himself be caught by the scruff of the neck and roughly lifted to the offender's eye level.
Well.
Shit.
His now green eyes met – thankfully only slightly familiar – brown ones, which observed him with uncertainty, and he quickly double-checked if his Ainurin presence was veiled.
Now, an obvious question: what would a cat do in such circumstances?
And an equally obvious answer: hiss, bite, scratch and run away. Or start purring; honestly, cats were unpredictable little sadists. But if he did just that, would that make the Úmaia think he was Sauron, if he didn't know how cats behaved?
And if he did?
He settled on hissing threateningly – which wasn't very threatening, given his small form – wriggling, as if trying to get away, and 'attempting' to scratch the intruder. Which deterred the other Ainu not one bit.
As he continued to be turned around, lifted, lowered and forced to have a staring contest, he felt he'd had enough and another yowl started building in his throat, the wriggling turned into thrashing and his claws finally drew blood.
The Úmaia cursed and dropped the furry monster, and Sauron used this moment to sprint away, now that he had a reason to. Not that cats needed one, but his offender most likely didn't know it, as Sauron recognised him as a former Maia of Lord Námo.
He heard his offender try to give chase, but was soon left far behind as the cat ran on. Constantly checking whether there were other people nearby, he eventually reached a small cave without further complications. He swiftly entered it when he extended his mind and found no creature occupying it, and changed back into his original form, suppressing the hysterical laughter that threatened to break free from his throat.
That was a close call, but a highly satisfying one, as he could finally scratch away some of his frustrations. Literally.
He was well aware of the fact that Melkor knew what cats were like, and the report he'd receive would probably cause him amusement, irritation and boredom in equal measures.
And even if he had strong suspicions regarding the cat's true identity, what could he do? Sauron now knew for sure his master was searching for him, and would be on high alert. Melkor would doubtless figure that out, and the only path that he could take would probably cause him to grimace as if he ate something sour enough to take away even Ungoliant's appetite. Because assuring his lieutenant that no harm would befall him and keeping this promise was not in the book of things the Vala would be willing to do.
Changing into a cat was humbling – acting like one even more so – but this was like a balm for the wound dealt to his self-confidence.
This and the coming storm.
He loved the scent and sound of rain, loved the darkness that enveloped everything. His face was, for once, lightened with a contented smile, like a ray of sun fighting the incoming storm, heralded by the roaring sound of a distant thunder.
And there was no Melkor to berate him for lazing about, so he'd enjoy the spectacle from his cave. Uninterrupted.
A flash of light cut through the darkened sky, piercing even the thick smoke and ash that covered Angband, followed closely by a deafening roar.
The booming sound reached even the lower levels of the stronghold, where in one chamber – grand, intimidating, with a metallic and heavy odour originating from the darker stains on the floor – an audience was taking place.
A figure knelt before the throne and kept their head lowered, brown eyes occasionally flickering to the tall being standing just in front of the throne, with their back facing the subordinate, and hands firmly clasped.
"Let us review your report once more." The voice was calm and collected, with a cool edge that made the uncertain eyes snap to the dark and imposing form. "Tol-in-Gaurhoth is lost to us, and as such, it is highly improbable for that failure of a lieutenant to be in its vicinity… sensible. Its surroundings being a poor hiding spot–"
"We searched them nonetheless," murmured the lesser of the Ainur.
"Do not interrupt me, Ulundo." The Maia sealed his lips at being rebuked, and the Lord of Darkness continued.
"So you searched and found nothing: plausible. You sensed a shadow cast over Taur-nu-fuin, and went to investigate. Intelligent, competent; exactly what would have been needed." Here the Vala paused and his back straightened, while the voice raised to what Angband's residents referred to as the 'danger register'." Were it not for the fact that you saw yourself as being entirely capableof taking on my lieutenant – who was once one of the most powerful Maiar – ALONE!" here Melkor found it perfectly justifiable to whirl around and point Grond at his quivering servant, eyes now resembling endless pits of furiously swirling shadows. "You were but one Maia, and not the most powerful at that. I assigned you to this task because of your stealth, not power! Flames alone would easily render you helpless! ARE YOU TRULY SO UTTERLY BRAINLESS?!"
"My Lord, I–"
"Silence!" The command was loud and sharp, but otherwise spoken in a normal voice. Which Ulundo did not like one bit; truthfully, he preferred when his lord yelled. Keeping his composure… this meant everything was well thought through and very much intended. Which more often than not heralded a punishment crueller than if it were made on the whim – which the Vala tended to do on a regular basis.
But this…
The Úmaia did his best to conceal a shiver, and managed to remain perfectly still.
"You walked into a forest that was plainly his hiding spot, extended your mind to find him, which virtually meant you announced your presence to him, and performed your best impression of a bear just awoken from its winter slumber when you ineptly headed to his hiding spot."
"But I found–"
"NEGLIGENCE!" Melkor roared, finally glaring directly at his Maia to pierce him with blazing eyes, body language reminding the cowering Ulundo of a volcano nearing eruption. "Irresponsibility, recklessness, DERELICTION!"
The servant surprised even himself when he succeeded in remaining glued to the spot, despite his brain screaming at him to run as the enraged Vala marched towards him, seizing his chin harshly and forcing him to look up, nearly snapping his neck in the process.
Brown eyes locked with ones resembling dark rubies, unable to look away as his lord searched his face and mind.
"Was there something you wished to add, Ambarincë?"
The sudden change in demeanour was not nearly as unexpected as it would seem, as Melkor's mood could go from one extreme to another in a matter of milliseconds, and it often did. But the soft, almost fond purr that came from the mocking lips caught Ulundo off guard.
"I…"
When he hesitated, the dark lord stroked his cheek with his thumb, rubbing soothing circles on the skin. One of the thick, dark eyebrows rose, the scarred face now softened by faint amusement.
"Yes?"
'It's fake,' the Maia reminded himself desperately. Yet his body, even his ëala, proved to be treacherous when they skillfully persuaded him to accept the touch.
Despite knowing full well where this was heading, he leaned into it, briefly remembering how caring his first lord had been to his Maiar.
Melkor crouched gracefully, his gaze still fixed on Ulundo, nearly making it seem as if the intent eyes were burning away his own, melting the flesh, drilling holes in his very soul.
It took every ounce of willpower not to recoil.
"I… I found a cat," he finally revealed, and only now, when his voice sounded rather raspy, he noticed his throat had gone completely dry.
"A cat."
The kneeling servant couldn't suppress his shudder this time, caused by the growing mirth and gentleness in the Vala's actions as he repeated his Maia's statement with a hint of incredulity and amusement, pausing slightly mid-sentence.
"Yes, my Lord."
"How interesting."
"My Lord, it hissed and scratched, and thrashed in my hold."
"An extraordinarily abnormal behaviour for a cat, yes. Is this how you obtained these?" the Vala asked, the fingers of his unoccupied hand ghosting over the scratches on his subordinate's face.
"Yes, my Lord," Ulundo whispered, sensing the dryness in his master's response that seeped through the gentle mask.
"And what did you find so peculiar about this cat that made you share these news with me?"
The Maia licked his lips and tried to force a response from his dry throat.
"I recalled that lord Gorthaur once seemed to be particularly fond of cats, so I thought he perhaps took on the form of one as a ruse, since his regular choice of form apart from..."
He trailed off, noting that Melkor was now looking at him with some amount of incredulousness and honest interest. And then, as suddenly and violently as only he was wont to, the Vala roughly shoved Ulundo backwards while he started pacing to and fro, his fingers supporting his chin as he mumbled to himself.
"What colour and size was it? How did it behave?" he finally asked, his eyes boring into his Maia's.
When Ulundo was done with the description, including how he noticed the cat, Melkor was – for the first time in what could just as well be forever – frozen in spot, and his fingers absentmindedly drummed against his crossed arms.
The Maia winced visibly and nearly jumped when a gale of maniacal, wild laughter shook the room, and his eyes snapped upwards, only to widen when he saw the Vala almost doubling over.
"A cat?!" he finally gasped out in a very unlordly manner, though the mocking undertone didn't escape Ulundo's notice. "Oh, how low you have fallen, Sauron. No better form to run away from Oröme's hound." Saying that, he lost to another bout of glee.
"My Lord?" the Maia finally spoke up.
"Do not come to me again when all you managed to achieve is drown yourself further in the sea of your failure," the Vala snapped in response, his eyes no longer mirthful, but vicious. "I will not see you again before me until you bring me back that Maia. Now be gone! Out!"
That was enough to make the panicked being scramble to his legs and flee from the chamber.
… yep, I altered it again. Am I embarrassed? Absolutely. In my defence, this was at first nothing more than a practice story to improve my english, buuuut… I got so many ideas I decided to turn this into a full-blown fic, so here we are.
"Ambarincë" is a nickname Melkor gave Ulundo. Ulundo is my OC, his name means "monster, a deformed and hideous creature" in Quenya, and was given to him obviously after joining the dark lord. "Ambarincë'' basically means "little doom" or something along these lines, with "ambar" meaning "doom" in Quenya and a diminutive suffix "-incë". Melkor giving his Maiar ridiculing nicknames is my little headcanon. As you probably realised, Ulundo regrets his decision to join him, so his nickname reminds him of what he's lost and his first lord, the Doomsman of the Valar.
Alright, that's it. Hope you enjoyed it!