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Yours Forever

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Yours Forever
July, 2017

This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit is made and no harm is intended. This story refers to the events of “The End of Days.”

This is a rewrite of an old fic. Some parts will be the same, and some will change.

Darkness, unlike he had ever endured before. Coldness that seeped into his spirit, making him wish for the warmth of his lord Aulë’s house. Silence, so total that Sauron wondered if this was oblivion. His body trembled uncontrollably though, a body he could no longer leave because his new lord, his master had forbidden it. Mairon was trapped by the invisible shackles Melkor had put in his flesh and in his mind, yet he wanted nothing but to be in his master’s arms. He wanted nothing but to feel the demanding lips on his flesh, and cry aloud, burning in the heat that was Melkor. Escape was no longer possible, was it?

A chuckle in his mind startled Sauron, and the satisfied smirk on the cruel face made his spirit shimmer. Why this reaction to the imminent closeness and possession? What had Melkor done to him? Why was Mairon so willing to stay in the powerful Vala’s hands? He would be free if only he called for his lord Aulë, but then, he would never see Melkor again.

“Have you been thinking of calling Aulë again, my bold one?”

He heard Melkor’s voice before the Vala took the flesh before him. Sauron started to shake his head, but Melkor’s laughter made him freeze with terror. Would Melkor leave him now? Would his master punish him with his absence? It was unnerving not to know, and humiliating to feel like this. Melkor could trap him, silence him, blind him… Mairon could endure anything but Melkor’s absence.

“There is no need to lie to me, my beautiful servant. I know what is in your heart, and how you long for free will. I will grant your wish, Mairon. You can leave now.”

Mairon moaned when Melkor reached for him, carefully making him sit up. The Vala smoothed his hair, stroking his cheeks almost lovingly. Mairon wanted to kiss him, to hold him close and never let go, but he dared not do anything that might anger his master.

“Call for Aulë now,” Melkor said softly, his hands still in Mairon’s hair.


“I’m not lying, lovely one.”

“If I leave now…”

“You will never come back again,” Melkor said. “I will erase your mind so you don’t tell Aulë about us. You will be free to start again.”

Mairon shook his head weakly. “I want to stay with you, please…”

Melkor chuckled softly. “You were thinking of escaping just now.”

Tears rolled down Mairon’s cheeks. “I am sorry, Master. Please, allow me to stay. I cannot live without you.”

“If you stay, I will never make this offer again.”

Mairon shivered. “I am yours, Master, forever.”

Melkor smiled and pulled him closer, parting his lips in a harsh and demanding kiss. Mairon melted against his strong body, feeling the darkness slowly surround him, embracing it willingly as the price for their closeness. Melkor owned him and Mairon would never leave him. Nothing on Arda would ever separate them…

Sauron sat bolt upright, gasping for air as the last tendrils of the nightmare let go of his mind. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with his inability to let go of the past. He should not be having this dream. Not anymore. This was supposed to be Arda Healed, so why was he not healing? Sauron rubbed his face with his fingers and slid his feet to the floor. It was time to get up and see to his duties.

He had been allowed to come back to Aulë’s household, and though no restraint had been placed on him, Sauron knew that the others didn’t trust him. He couldn’t blame them. Sauron wouldn’t have trusted himself if he were in the others’ place. As things were, it was a marvel that Eru had given Sauron his life back.

Many things had happened since Melkor was defeated in the last battle, the Dagor Dagorath, where even the Secondborn had been given the chance of revenge. Not revenge, no, Námo had said then, but justice. Sauron shrugged. Justice or revenge, what did it matter? Melkor had been killed, either way.

Sauron sighed, as he headed to the baths, his mind still in the moment when Time started again. Sauron had woken in his Lord Aulë’s lair, along with Curunír. A nice reminder of his sins. At least Curunír had Olórin to keep him company. Nobody but the very young ones wanted to spend time with Sauron, and their parents were not thrilled.

There had been a child who had stopped once to watch Sauron work until Varda had called him. The child had smiled at Sauron and rushed to the Lady of the Stars’ side, making Sauron believe it was her son, he resembled Manwë greatly, after all. When Sauron saw him again, the child had grown into a beautiful youngster. Dark-blond hair and penetrating grey eyes that seemed to look into Sauron’s spirit. Years passed, and when the boy grew into adulthood, Sauron believed himself back in the land of dreams. Why had he not recognized Melkor before? Why had nobody told him about this? Did the Quendi know? Did Melkor remember?

Aulë had confirmed the truth, and warned Sauron not to call the young Vala by the accursed name. Melkor was called Meren now, and Eru had erased his memories before giving him to Manwë and Varda. The Quendi knew, at least the descendants of the three kings knew. Meren was different now, no longer evil. Eru must love Melkor greatly, Sauron mused as he reached the baths.

The place was deserted, which was good because Sauron was in no mood for pleasantries. All he wanted was to refresh himself and try to relax enough to work on the silver lamps for his lady’s garden. Even after years away from the crafts, Sauron was one of the most skilled Maiar in Aulë’s household. It was ironic that he worked with light after living for so long in absolute darkness.

“Are you awake, Sauron?”

Sauron started. Had he fallen asleep once again? He looked up to see Curunír. The Maia had shed the old man’s disguise, and his long silver hair was held by a mithril circlet. Surely Olórin was going to come.

“I am now,” Sauron said.

“Our lord Aulë asks for you.”

“Do you perhaps know why he is calling me?”

Curunír shook his head slowly, his expression reminding Sauron of the fallen Maia he had once controlled. None of them were completely rid of evil, were they? The seeds would always be there.

Sauron quickly dried his body and wrung the moisture from his hair. He could have tried to reach out with his mind, but that would have been rude, and would have made Aulë furious. It was not easy to remember how to be good. Only Melkor had been given the gift of innocence.

As he approached Aulë’s lair, Sauron saw a figure he knew well. Manwë had come, and he did not look happy. Sauron quickly reviewed his last actions and decided that he had been boringly good. Why would Manwë be angry at him? Aulë didn’t look happy either, but he was usually frowning so how could Sauron guess.

“My lords,” Sauron said, bowing. “You required my presence.”

“We have been watching you, Sauron,” Manwë said, “you are as skilled as ever, and your behavior since you returned to life has been the best. I believe it is time you teach the younger Valar and Maiar who want to learn the craft.”

Sauron was so surprised that he said nothing and just stared at Manwë and Aulë. Teaching the younger Valar and Maiar? Did Manwë remember what happened the last time Sauron taught his craft to the Quendi?

“I remember what you did,” Manwë was stern, “Eru has forgiven you, and we must trust you with this task. Evil is no longer possible in Arda Healed. We will know if you have relapsed.”

Of course, Sauron mused. Someone was going to keep an eye on him.

“There is an old workshop in Valmar,” Aulë said, “Nobody has used it for ages. I believe you could work there, but I require you to return here at the end of the journey.”

“Yes, my lord,” Sauron said, trying to understand why the two Valar looked so tense. They were not happy with this, yet they were asking him to teach his crafts to the youngsters. They said they trusted him, but they were going to observe his behavior.

“You can get ready now,” Aulë said. “Eonwë will bring you to the workshop.”

Only then did Sauron notice Manwë’s herald standing close. Who was that with him? Was that…?

Sauron quickly turned around and rushed to his quarters, all the time feeling grey eyes on his back.

Why had Melkor come?

No, not Melkor, but Meren. Sauron had to remember the new name or Aulë would punish him in a most horrible way. An image of Olórin giving him a lecture came to Sauron’s mind.

Meren. Meren. Meren.

::I like how my name sounds in your mind, lovely one.::

Sauron froze, and slammed his shields down. The last thing he was going to do is allow this youngster with Melkor’s face to mind-speak to him with his master’s words. Had Manwë not learned anything? He had to keep an eye on his unruly brother, and teach him not to read other people’s minds.