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mimmy14 · 8 days ago

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“Sauron used all his arts upon Celebrimbor and his fellow-smiths”: Mírdania’s character in “Rings of Power” Season 2

I was yet to make a Tolkien nerd edition post about Mírdania’s character in Season 2 of “Rings of Power”, so here it is. She is a Original Character, but her plot is rooted in Tolkien legendarium.

There are many interpretations, but, in my opinion, they are all correct. Mírdania is a symbolic character for the jewel-smiths of Eregion as a whole (Gwaith-i-Mírdain) and for Galadriel’s rejection. But also to show to the audience how Galadriel is still on Sauron’s mind, and is part of his masterplan (“heal Middle-earth”). Visually, this is straightforward, since the show gave them similar physical appearances.

Mírdania is also the character who persuades Celebrimbor to allow Sauron entrance into Eregion, like Galadriel herself brought him there in 1x08. Interesting enough, Sauron is wounded in both cases. There's also a visual parallel between Mírdania and Galadriel being "rewarded" by Sauron, but it's yet to be seen what this means, exactly.

And this is aligned with what Tolkien wrote:

“He [Sauron] perceived at once that Galadriel would be his chief adversary and obstacle, and he endeavoured therefore to placate her, bearing her scorn with outward patience and courtesy.” (“Unfinished Tales”)

“when Sauron visited Eregion he sees quickly that he has met his match in Galadriel - or at least that in her he would have a chief obstacle. So he concentrated on Celebrimbor; and soon had all the Smiths of Eregion under his influence.” (“Nature of Middle-earth”)

“Scorn” here means “rejection”, as Christopher Tolkien elaborates on his notes. I’ve written an post about Galadriel and Sauron in Tolkien legendarium for those that might be interested. And this is what we saw in 1x08 and Season 2. Galadriel rejects Sauron’s offer and he turns his full attention to Celebrimbor and the smiths of Eregion.

“But at Eregion great work began - and the Elves came their nearest to falling to 'magic' and machinery. With the aid of Sauron's lore they made Rings of Power (power' is an ominous and sinister word in all these tales, except as applied to the gods).” (Tolkien Letter 131)

But why do we need a character like Mírdania in “Rings of Power” when we have Celebrimbor accepting Sauron-Annatar?

The answer is in Tolkien legendarium, too:

“Now Celebrimbor was not corrupted in heart or faith, but had accepted Sauron as what he posed to be; and when at length he discovered the existence of the One Ring he revolted against Sauron.” (“Unfinished Tales”)

In the same book we are told: “Sauron had better fortune with the Noldor of Eregion and especially with Celebrimbor, who desired in his heart to rival the skill and fame of Feänor. [The cozening of the smiths of Eregion by Sauron, and his giving himself the name Annatar, Lord of Gifts, is told in Of the Rings of Power, but there is there no mention of Galadriel].”

This is the version of the legendarium the show followed. And Celebrimbor’s desire and ambition of surpassing Feänor was present since Season 1:

“True creation requires sacrifice. They say that Morgoth found the Silmarils so beautiful that after he’d stolen them, for weeks, he could do nothing but stare into their depths. It was only after one of his tears fell upon the jewels and he was faced with the evil of his own reflection, that the reverie was finally broken. From that moment, he… He looked upon their light no more. Fëanor’s work nearly turned the heart of the Great Foe himself. What has mine ever accomplished? [It has turned my heart, my lord. The heart of many an Elf.] But I aspire to do far more than that. An Age ago, our kind brought war to these shores. I want to fill them with beauty. To grow beyond petty works of jewel-craft, and devise something of real power. [What is it you hope to craft?] “What” is but a glint on the far horizon. One [tower] that can host a forge more powerful than any ever built. Able to birth a flame as hot as a dragon’s tongue, and as pure as starlight. The things we could use it to create could transform Middle-earth.” (Celebrimbor and Elrond, 1x02)

And this is exactly the temptation of power Sauron-Annatar gives to Celebrimbor throughout Season 2:

“I have walked through the dust and the deserts of far-away lands, in search of an artist possessing the craft to save all Middle-earth. A storm is coming, Celebrimbor. I can bring you the knowledge none other possesses. I can unlock your grandest abilities. And when our work is complete, never again will the world overlook you as the mere scion of Fëanor but forevermore revere you… The Lord of the Rings.” (Sauron transforms into Annatar, 2x02)

However, Celebrimbor’s heart and faith weren’t corrupted by Sauron as we are told in “Unfinished Tales”, and he accepted his lore and welcomed him into Eregion because of his ambition to rise above his grandfather. And throughout Season 2, this is what we saw. Celebrimbor always remained a bit suspicious of Annatar. And the moment he discovers his true identity, he rejects him and rebels against him, as we are told in “Unfinished Tales”: “when at length he discovered the existence of the One Ring he revolted against Sauron.”

But we are told something else in the same book:

“Sauron used all his arts upon Celebrimbor and his fellow-smiths, who had formed a society or brotherhood, very powerful in Eregion, the Gwaith-i-Mírdain; but he worked in secret, unknown to Galadriel and Celeborn […] Before long Sauron had the Gwaith-i-Mirdain under his influence, for at first they had great profit from his instruction in secret matters of their craft. So great became his hold on the Mirdain that at length he persuaded them to revolt against Galadriel and Celeborn and to seize power in Eregion”

This is the version of the legendarium where Galadriel and Celeborn are lords of Eregion. And the show adapted this by having Celebrimbor and the Gwaith-i-Mirdain “worked in secret, unknown to” Gil-galad; and “so great became his hold on the Mirdain that at length he persuaded them to revolt against” Celebrimbor “and to seize power in Eregion”.

From the books and Tolkien letters, we know that Gil-galad (and Elrond) completely rejected Sauron-Annatar.

In “The Silmarillion”, we are also told “but elsewhere the Elves received him [Sauron] gladly, and few among them hearkened to the messengers from Lindon bidding them beware; for Sauron took to himself the name of Annatar, the Lord of Gifts, and they had at first much profit from his friendship […] It was in Eregion that the counsels of Sauron were most gladly received, for in that land the Noldor desired ever to increase the skill and subtlety of their work”.

We saw Sauron “planting the seeds” of Celebrimbor resentment in both Gil-galad and Galadriel, and going against them right in 2x02, just before Celebrimbor allows him into Eregion, tempted by the knowledge if the Three Rings of power worked in stopping the “Fading”: “It’s the oldest tale there is, isn’t it? The true creators toil till their knuckles bleed and then they come along, take whatever profits them most, and forget all about us. I applaud your patience.”

And Celebrimbor (not Galadriel) is the Lord of Eregion in the majority of versions of the legendarium. And when Celebrimbor starts to resist Sauron’s plan, he used his art (sorcery) on him, too, by keeping him trapped in an illusion to finish the Nine, while he seizes power in Eregion and Adar begins his attack on the city.

And this is why the show needed a character like Mírdania. It’s also easier to put several characters into one, especially in a story with a compressed timeline. Mírdania represents the Gwaith-i-Mírdain entirely under Sauron’s influence.

And we also told “Sauron used all his arts upon Celebrimbor and his fellow-smiths”. And we have his temptation of Mírdania, to get her to his side, as she worries about the mental state of her boss.

But it’s not exactly promises of power or more knowledge, because never once we see Sauron offering such a thing (like he did with Galadriel in 1x08 and Celebrimbor in 2x02), nor did Mírdania expressed desire for power over anything or anyone. She was worried about Celebrimbor’s well-being and overworked. Mírdania did Sauron’s biding believing she was helping Celebrimbor, not going against him in bad faith.

Quoting Adar in 2x06: "what did he promise you", Mírdania?

In 2x05, Mírdania sees Sauron's true form in the Unseen world ("It was tall... and its skin was made of flames. It came toward me, breathing, reeking of death, and I saw... I... I saw its eyes. Pitiless and eternal. I think it's been here. I think it's been here among us, all along!"). And later he tries to "damage control" the situation not to have his cover blown up:

"It pains me to say, for what you saw, I did not wish for any of you to see until I had helped him to heal. [You... You speak of... Lord Celebrimbor?] Yes. The toll that creation has exacted from him in crafting the Three and the Seven has left him diminished. Vulnerable to the shadow. Promise me you'll speak to none other of it. Including him."

For that moment on, Mírdania had Sauron’s attention, probably because she might expose him before Celebrimbor finishes the Nine rings of power. Then, in 2x06, he asks her to keep the Gwaith-i-Mírdain away from Celebrimbor, with the same goal:

“He has asked me to see to it that no one is permitted to disturb him. Not even the smiths. […] He’s not himself, Mirdania. For now, all we can do is leave him in solitude. Give him time. And pray. Pray that he finishes this work before it finishes him. Can I trust you… to make sure the others respect his wishes as well?” (2x06)

As Adar and his armies attack Eregion's walls, in 2x07, we see Mírdania is entirely under Sauron’s influence: “Celebrimbor's mind is gone. We are alone. [Not alone] You have proven your quality, Mirdania. When the time comes, I will see to it that you are… duly rewarded." (2x07)

But what “reward” is Sauron talking about?

And now we have to return to the first interaction between Sauron and Mírdania in 2x02, when she goes to him at the gate to say Celebrimbor won’t allow him into Eregion. And the “art” Sauron uses on Mírdania right away is sexual seduction, as he flirts with her, and she flirts back.

In other words: "Celebrimbor doesn't want you here, but, if I could, I would give you free entrance, if you catch my drift."

Sauron also shows off his wounded back for her to take pity on him and let him in, but it's not exactly pity for him that Sauron will work on in their future interactions, especially after 2x05, when she sees his true form and might discover the truth, tell Celebrimbor and ruin his entire "rings of power" plan.

Sauron directs her pity towards Celebrimbor, not himself: he makes Mírdania worry about her boss’ mental state to get her to do what he wants, and isolate Celebrimbor from the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. But he doesn’t make Mírdania “Lady of Eregion” nor such promise, he takes that role for himself (“By order of Annatar. Lord of Eregion.”). Or did he?

Mírdania was corrupted by Sauron and did his biding until the end. Even her death served a purpose: break down Celebrimbor (to get him to finish the Nine), and show to the soldiers of Eregion the danger Celebrimbor poised to others and why he needed to remain locked in the forge tower. Sauron saw her as a useful tool on his plan, but her death wasn’t want he promised (the reward), obviously.

Let’s recall Adar and Galadriel’s chat from 2x06:

Adar: “For a while, perhaps. But sooner or later, he sees you. Not just who you are, but who you wish to be. His eye bores a hole and the rest of him slithers in. For a while, he even makes you believe that his power has become yours. Irresistible power… that makes every desire’s fulfillment seem inevitable. An ocean of color against which everything else feels forever thereafter…” Galadriel: “A dull gray.” Adar: “What did he promise you?” […] Galadriel: “Then it would seem he gave us both what we desired.” Adar: “You see, it is not his lies which must be extinguished. It is him.”

In “Rings of Power”, Sauron is the “One ring personified” like J.D. Payne called him. Around this timeline, “Sauron endeavoured to keep distinct his two sides: enemy and tempter.” (“Unfinished Tales”). And as the One ring gives temptations to the characters that come in contact with it, Sauron operates the same way.

When Sauron compares Mírdania's hair with Galadriel's, to her, it's a huge compliment, because the beauty of Galadriel's hair is legendary, since it inspired the creation of the Silmarils, as told in “Unfinished Tales”:

“…and her [Galadriel] hair was held a marvel unmatched. It was golden like the hair of her father and of her foremother Indis, but richer and more radiant, for its gold was touched by some memory of the starlike silver of her mother, and the Eldar said that the light of the Two Trees had been snared in her tresses.

Many thought that this saying first gave to Fëanor the thought of imprisoning and blending the light of the Trees that later took shape in his hands as the Silmarils. For Feänor beheld the hair of Galadriel with wonder and delight. He begged three times for a tress, but Galadriel would not give him even one hair. These two kinsfolk, the greatest of the Eldar of Valinor, were unfriends forever.”

After 2x05, Sauron showers Mírdania with compliments (flattery), attention and physical affection, as he keeps touching her when asking her to do what he wants. He not only makes her feel important, heard and seen, but, mostly, desired. While Celebrimbor forgets her name, he keeps saying it. Sauron is poising as an emissary from the Valar (and in a way he is, being a Maia), the Lord of Gifts, “Annatar”, a wise and powerful figure. And here he is showing Mírdania, a jewel-smith learning from Celebrimbor, all of this attention. He also made her the leader of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, as he keeps giving her important tasks, and to instruct the other smiths in what to do.

Unlike Celebrimbor, Mírdania was corrupted in heart by Sauron, and probably in faith, too, because when he says “we are alone”, she disagrees because he is there. She's a representation of how Eregion has fallen into Shadow, like Adar says in 2x07. Celebrimbor rejects and rebels against Sauron, but Mírdania remains loyal to him, and pays the price for siding with evil, because that’s what happens in Tolkien legendarium.

It's Mírdania's sexuality Sauron works on and uses to bring her fully to his side. And this is connected to the Catholic inspiration behind Tolkien legendarium, as he talks about on his letters: “absolute Satanic rebellion and evil of Morgoth and his satellite Sauron” (Tolkien Letter 156) and “Diabolus Morgoth” (Tolkien Letter 153). From Letter 43: “the devil is endlessly ingenious, and sex is his favourite subject. He is as good every bit at catching you through generous romantic or tender motives, as through baser or more animal ones.” The leader of this “satanic rebellion” during the Second and the Third ages is Sauron, even though the symbolic Devil of the legendarium is Morgoth.

Here, Sauron is “catching” Mírdania through both baser motives (flirtation; the promise of sex) and generous and romantic ones, as his touches are tender and gentle, and he's soft-spoken with her. The “reward” Mírdania was probably expecting was for Annatar to make her his wife, or something of that sort. She believed Celebrimbor’s mind was lost, and Annatar would remain as Lord of Eregion, and she as its Lady. It all circles back to their first interaction, when she was flirting with him and powerless to give him entrance.

For his part, Sauron had no intention of doing such a thing (his eye is set on another prize). Was he planning on killing her? It’s unsure. Her death was useful to him, and he’s a control freak, but we saw him improvising when things didn’t go the way he wanted. He probably wasn’t actively planning it, in my opinion.

Now for the “million-dollar question”: was Sauron hitting that like they say on the streets? Well, Mírdania was fully corrupted by him, and willing to do whatever he told her. Her temptation was also sexual, and that’s the “art” Sauron used to corrupt her. Like Tolkien says “sex is his favourite subject”. So, probably, yes.

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mimmy14 · 9 days ago

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Homecoming (Sauron/F!Reader)

Sauron finds his wife in Eregion when Galadriel is forced to find aid for Halbrand's terrible near-fatal wound, a thousand years after she left him at his coronation

AO3 Link

Soundtrack: a thousand years by Christina Perri (shut up, I know it's obvious!!), If I Could Turn Back Time by Cher, It's All Coming Back To Me Now by my girl Céline Dion, Can't Fight The Moonlight by LeAnn Rimes

Warnings: 18+ only!! Smut!! Tooth rotting fluff!! (Remember to floss!!) Tiny bit of angst (the rest comes later, it's a slow burn!) P in V sex, handjob, Halbrand’s glorious chest hair (I'm amused when we tag for that so I'm joining in 😂), separation anxiety lmfao (no but fr), cuddling, spooning, emotional manipulation (what a mix), tiny bit of rough sex/teeth/biting, praise kink, teasing (the guy is a menace, sorry!), male masturbation, fingering, dom!Sauron (he's a service top, okay?), big dick Halbrand (it must be done, idek at this point)

A/N: hi guys!! So finally, after so many chapters, I have for you: Sauron and Reader's reunion. I wrote In The Dark first, and promised a follow-up, and then ended up writing a bunch of prequels first. But finally, here they are!!

Word Count: 4.9k!

Quick rundown of what to read before this one for context (or don't, I'm not the boss of you!!):

Haunted, where we split them up

In The Dark of The Night, the story that started it all, where Reader fantasises about Sauron and he manages to reach out for her

Evil Will Find Her, Sauron’s POV of the above.

Y'all this is the softest, most candyfloss like fluffy smut I've ever written, what is wrong with me??

When Galadriel is sent to Valinor, you mourn the loss of your friend, of course, but there is a traitorous part of you that is secretly glad that your husband's last hunter will no longer keep you up at night in fear for his demise yet again.

You have not felt him stir in such a long time, you were beginning to give up hope. But one night you swore you could feel him, the ghost of his touch, his comforting presence. And the next night, and the next, until you'd grown entirely accustomed to imagining him beside you, atop you, beneath you.

The quaking in the earth beneath Lindon was barely perceptible, but perceive it you did. It must have come from afar, but what could cause the very foundations of the earth to shake so? The rest of your kin brushed it off as some natural occurrence, but you were sure deep down that these stirrings in the earth and in your heart were one and the same.

So when the High King sent Elrond to Eregion, you figured your best bet was to go with him, travelling further east in search of answers. You knew what you hoped for, but would not dare speak it even in your mind, not wanting to dispel the wish before it had even taken flight.

Lord Celebrimbor was a most gracious host, giving you both rooms and leave to stay as long as you wished. It was so different to Lindon, you thought you might stay a while, and with the building of the new forge, a tiny part of you hoped your beloved would seek out a place where he could practise his craft, and what better place to do so.

The last person you expected to see was Galadriel, whom you thought had arrived safely in Valinor, racing through the city gates, another horse in tow carrying a nigh-unconscious man who nearly falls from his seat as they come to an abrupt halt.

"Enemy lance. Six days ago. We rode without rest. Can you help him?" Galadriel's voice carries to your Elvish ears as you run to meet them, a feeling in your gut that your healing was required.

"Come, he needs rest, take him to the infirmary, I will follow." You say to the guards propping him up.

He's filthy, as is Galadriel, and the first thing you'll need to do is strip him off and bathe him.

You thought he was unconscious, but he turns his head slightly to catch your eye, winks, then allows himself to be dragged away.

A sweat breaks across your body, accompanied by wild fluttering in the pit of your stomach.

Mairon.

Your husband. The husband you thought had abandoned you. The husband you thought was dead. That husband.

You can't fight the smile on your face, the utter joy that is about to overwhelm you; even after everything you'd said to each other the last time you spoke, you still missed him, yearned for him with a fiery passion that hadn't dampened in the eons you've been apart. The utter delight of finding the other half of your soul again obliterated your momentary shock at his arrival, and you hasten to be at his side.

"I'll go see to our guest," you excuse yourself, while squeezing Galadriel's hand. "It's good to see you, mellon nin [my friend]."

She watches after you with a strange expression, bemused that in your hurry, you thought to ask no questions as to how she was back on the shores of Middle Earth.

"Leave us. I can tend to him well enough without an audience." You nod to the guards standing over your husband; any excuse to be left alone with him.

Thankfully they don't need much persuasion and take their leave, the room filling with tension as soon as the door clicks shut behind them.

The thrill of his presence has not faded; in fact what they say about absence making the heart grow fonder might indeed be the case. However your joy is overcast by the malice you threw at each other a millennium ago.

You have no idea what to say, now that you're face to face with him. Your last words were cruel, and you remember them as if they were yesterday; if he has brooded upon your words, he might never forgive you. You pick at a stray thread on your sleeve, avoiding his gaze, which is suddenly very alert now that you're alone.

"No greeting for me, dear wife?" His voice is different, his cadence of speech is rougher but no less silver to the ear.

"I missed you."

"I know."

You step closer, bringing a washbasin and cloth, placing it beside him. You go to feel his forehead with the back of your hand to check for infection, but he snatches it from its path and holds you in place, studying your face intently. His green eyes pierce your soul, and instantly you feel more at peace than you have in a thousand years.

You reach out once more, trembling slightly with anticipation, tracing his face, learning every new contour in case he is ripped from you again.

He leans into your touch, letting you take your fill of him, before reaching up to grasp your face, pulling you in for a tender kiss that makes you see stars, his rough stubble a sharp contrast to the way his tongue softly delves into your mouth.

He breaks away first, his mortal form forcing him to take a breath, the wound in his torso paining him more than he'd like you to know.

"I thought you'd still be angry with me." You whisper against his cheek, heart racing.

He shakes his head slightly, a tender smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Never, not with you." His voice is so soft, you barely catch it, his words meant strictly for your ears only; in Eregion, surrounded by sensitive Elvish hearing, the walls really do have ears.

"I've had so much time to think about what happened, and I take it all back. Every word. I love you and I'm so sorry, I should have been there for you." You hold his gaze, searching his eyes for confirmation of his forgiveness, that he will not just say what he thinks you want to hear.

"No, that was the only thing that saved me, knowing you were safe, out of harm's way."

"Still, I should have-"

"Hush, my love, I'm here now and I won't be parted so easily from you again." He means it, you can hear the determination in his voice, but Morgoth's curse has plagued you both for centuries, even after he was banished to the Void, and joy makes way for the dread already beginning to build in the pit of your stomach.

Relief rolls through the two of you, and the very air is lighter as you take each other in after so long. You look entirely as he remembers, perhaps more radiant, more lovely, than his memory allowed him to recollect. Perhaps it is just that he can finally touch you.

He, on the other hand, looks entirely different. Not that you're complaining. This new form is just as pleasant as any other you've enjoyed; perhaps a little coarser, rough around the edges, more hair than you're used to... but it is no bad thing, and you find yourself just staring at him until you remember why he is here.

"Oh, would you like healing, perchance?" Your tone is playful but the tiny crease in your forehead tells him you're still worried for him.

He chuckles, wincing as he does so, pain smarting in his side.

"If you'd be so kind, fair maiden." And with that, he lays back to let you work.

You let him away with a fair amount, this being only one thing of many. You know he's perfectly capable of healing himself of such a wound, and he knows you know, but sometimes it is satisfying to care, and to be taken care of. He did always enjoy your attentions.

"I'm afraid I must get these rags off you, my lord. I cannot possibly see the wound through all these layers." You pull out a wickedly sharp pair of scissors, slicing through the fabric in one fluid motion, moving it to the side to examine him.

Your gaze is already locked onto the gaping hole in his side, but you allow yourself to run your fingers methodically up his torso, marvelling in the thick black hair that populates his chest. Certainly different from what you were used to, but not unappealing in the slightest.

His wicked grin reminds you of your work, and your blush grows with your smile, enjoying yourself far too much.

A little cleaning, some herbs and a healing song render him virtually healed, as well as a little of his own power to speed the process along, but you run your hands over him long after the wound is knitted together, enjoying the feeling of your husband beneath your fingers after so long.

"Did you know I was here?" You ask him softly, your head laying on his bare chest as you nestle into his side on the small cot, running your fingers through his hair.

"Of course. I could feel you, in fact, I was on my way here," he pauses, considering his next words; you wouldn't be too happy to hear he'd used the scenic route, instead of hastening to your side.

"But?" You can practically hear the cogs whirring in his mind, trying to come up with some elaborate fabrication.

"Fate pulled me to the sea. And then it brought me back to you." Perhaps he'd regale you with tales of Númenor another time; right now, he was simply content to listen to your heartbeat, fluttering in time to his once more.

"With Galadriel and an army? That must be quite a tale." You ponder aloud, leaving him space to elaborate if he wishes, but not wanting to press him too soon.

"It is." He kisses you again, this time deeper, rougher, tongue demanding entrance to your mouth as he curls his fingers in your hair.

He has to resurface first, letting your lips part reluctantly as his lungs demand air. It's quite charming, considering how he is so used to torturing you with your bodily needs, only letting you gasp for air when you're desperate, if he's feeling particularly cruel.

"Don't get used to it," he chuckles, overhearing your thoughts as always; you muse over how that used to irritate you, but now you're so ecstatic to have him under your fingertips again, you'd unlock every door of your mind for him.

"I'm just enjoying the difference in dynamic, my love, it's delightful being the torturer, not the tortured." You laugh, as a low growl emanates from his chest.

"Don't remind me," he rolls his eyes before pulling you closer, as if that were possible.

"I really did miss you, love, it's been a lifetime and ten since we could last do this." You lift up your entwined fingers to emphasise the point, which he answers with a kiss to each knuckle, as if in apology.

"I won't be parted from you again, you need not worry," he whispers in your ear, and you want to believe him, but fate has always had other plans for the two of you, and you have no reason to assume it might be different this time.

"Besides," he continues, stroking his fingers through the hollows of your knuckles, "it's not as if I was wholly absent, especially recently."

You crane your neck to meet his gaze, confused as to what he could possibly mean. You raise your eyebrows, encouraging him to elaborate.

"Admittedly it was difficult to manifest myself in two places while I gathered my strength, but surely you noticed me reaching out for you? Touching your mind?" He pauses for dramatic effect. "...and other things?"

"Now I really have no idea, my dear husband, you will need to explain." You laugh at his bemused expression, still none the wiser as to how he could have been with you while physically absent.

"I reached out for you, I could see you, feel you, and I swore you felt me too. Did you really not feel me?" He asks, slightly indignant, as if you could hardly have missed him.

Ah. Yes, now it clicks into place; you'd thought you'd sensed something, or perhaps someone, with you on those dark nights alone. You were right. He hadn't abandoned you after all.

"It was you," you breathe, marvelling anew, "I thought for a moment- you found me, even then, even when you were at your weakest, you found me."

He kisses your palm and holds it to his chest, reluctant to ever let you go again.

"Of course, love, I vowed I'd always find you," he murmurs in your ear, his physical being aching with the reunion of your two souls, electric tingles dancing across your flesh as you trace across his unfamiliar form.

You relish in his closeness, unwilling to be parted from him until-

"Oh no! What you must have witnessed-" You go to cover your face, cheeks flushing as you recall exactly what you were up to when you felt his presence.

He takes your hands and chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. How could you still be embarrassed in front of him, your lord husband, after all this time? His heart swells, taking you in as you squirm under his gaze.

"Darling, you are mine, I am yours, we are one soul, one flesh, are we not?" He squeezes your hands, gazing at you fondly; after a thousand years, your hearts still beat as one, and you meet his eyes with relief, cheeks still heated but no longer with embarrassment.

His fingers travel across your body with the practised touch of one who knows you better than you know yourself. Even after all this time, he knows exactly where to be gentle, where to be rough, where to knead your flesh or trace it softly. He knows your body better than his own.

"You're trembling, love," he whispers against your lips, cocking an eyebrow.

"Anticipation, darling, you did always know how to draw these things out." You smirk, already over the foreplay, wanting your husband to fill you in every way he can, mind, soul, and body, each way just as delicious as the last.

"How long it's been, not an ounce of patience left in you," he teases, provoking a groan as he licks a long stripe up your throat.

"I've done my waiting," you groan against him, "I think I deserve my reward."

His grin grows wicked, as he takes you in, laid bare under him.

"And I am that reward? Surely such a beautiful maiden would prefer-"

You press your lips to his, interrupting his teasing, refusing to let him play his games for now, needing him atop you, inside you.

You roll him over, thighs pinned around his hips, gazing down at him fondly, relishing the view that you've been denied for a millennium. He smirks at you, continuing to grope and knead your flesh, grabbing your ass and thighs to steady you, leaving deep finger marks that drive you wild as you rock against his crotch.

"My lord," you chuckle as you attempt to unsheathe him, his belt proving a challenge for your trembling fingers. "There are still too many layers between us."

He sits up, reaching for your lips with his fingertips, humming against your skin, his small laugh breaking the tingles down your spine with a shiver.

"Well, my lady, we can't have that..." he murmurs into your abdomen as he journeys down your body.

His lady. A phrase that never failed to delight you, to send tingles of arousal shooting through you. The connotation of your vow to each other. That you were his and he was yours.

At the moment, you have the upper hand, pinned atop him with your body weight as leverage, but you'd sacrifice it in an instant to have him claim you.

You lean back a little, keening under his touch, wanting your skin on his, your souls already singing in a harmony you could never forget, even after all this time.

Every breath you take is from his lungs, grasping at his thick brown curls, savouring every unfamiliar sensation.

Every movement you make sends shockwaves through him; the only pleasure he has known in this body was by his own hand, but his wife back in her rightful place was far sweeter.

He's fucking desperate for you, and you can sense it despite his immaculate self control. Your favourite thing in the world is seeing Sauron lose his mind for the love of you.

"I cannot possibly continue my work if the patient is clothed. I'm afraid I need to conduct a-" you pause, pretending to consider your choice of words- "thorough examination."

He fucking growls at you, deep and low in his chest, and you can't help but grin. You roll off him, only to release him enough to help you out and shimmy his trousers off. Instead he grabs your upper arm, flips you underneath him, smirking with heavily lidded eyes, his hair falling over his face.

"How did I know you would do that?" You laugh, wrapping your legs around him as he strips bare for you, finally.

"One thing I will not allow-" he kisses your neck softly before baring his teeth- "is being called predictable."

He scrapes his teeth against your throat before yanking your head back with your hair, the pain smarting through your scalp obliterated by the feeling of his other hand between your thighs.

"You're so fucking wet for me already," he gasps, rocking into your thigh, his cock weeping on your abdomen.

"I've waited this long, I won't wait any longer." You moan against him, taking his cock in hand, running your thumb over the head.

"No, darling, wait, no-" his strangled pleas fall on deaf ears as you stroke him once, twice, before you force him over the edge.

He worships and curses you in the same breath, wanting nothing more than to spill himself inside you. But you've foiled that plan, for now.

"Too soon-" he chokes out, his pent-up orgasm pouring out of him, surging through him, but doing nothing to quench the thirst he has for you.

You stroke him through his orgasm, kissing him softly, letting him moan into your mouth.

"It's okay, I wanted you to come, love," you whisper in his ear, tracing his chest, running your fingers through his thick black hair. "You needed it, you deserved it-"

He arches his back under your praise, kissing your neck, grasping at your bare back, raking your skin with his blunt fingernails.

After so long apart, with a new mortal form with which to grapple, you had a feeling he'd need release sooner rather than later, needy under your touch after centuries only dreaming of you. Now, with his first orgasm out of the way, you could tease him for longer and get what you'd been craving during your centuries apart.

You pluck at his pleasure like an exposed nerve, drawing every groan, whimper, gasp from his lungs, until he is hard and aching for you again.

He wants so badly to be inside you, to crawl into the space between your flesh and bones, your mind and your soul, to simply relish in the feeling of being home with you.

Thankfully you have the same aching need, pulling him closer with your legs, still wrapped around his waist.

This new body feels strange under your fingers, between your thighs, wrapped around you, coarse hair brushing your torso every time he rocks against you, never mind the hardening length that presses against your core.

"That feels... different." You gasp against him, feeling his smirk against your jaw.

"Different as in bad? Or good, my love?" He raises his eyebrows innocently, as if he is asking you about the weather.

"I could not possibly say," you laugh, "we shall have to try it out to see for certain."

"My sweet wife. Moments ago, you were embarrassed that I saw you relieve your yearning for me," he groans as he circles your clit with the head of his cock, "and now you speak of me as some kind of object for your pleasure."

His faux-sincerity in his scolding is so carefully balanced that for a second, you're unsure if he is actually offended. But you quickly realise he is teasing you when he spreads your cunt, ready for his new thick cock.

A whimper escapes your throat as he teases your folds with his fingers, gathering your wetness to ease his way inside you, stroking his cock, unhurried now that you've relieved him once. You regret that decision now that he draws out giving you your own release.

"Please, love," you stammer out between shaky breaths, rocking your hips against his hand.

"Please, what? Use your words, my darling, tell me what you need." The glint in his eye is dangerous, full of promises of rich reward, but only if you can play his game to the end.

"I need you," you murmur, eyeing him through heavy lids, desperate for any touch he will bestow upon you.

The expression on his face is positively profane, lips parted, a thin ring of green lining his blown pupils, sweaty brown hair falling in his eyes. He wets his lips as you watch his tongue enviously. Oh, to be those lips, his tool for such pleasure. And pain.

"Need me how, love? Be specific." His tone becomes harsher as he reaches for your chin, to impress upon you that you will not get what you crave unless you beg for it.

You keen and moan under him, but he is steadfast, stroking himself while he gazes down at you with such longing, such fondness that even in the throes of your desire, your heart sings for him in harmony with his.

"Love, please-" you whine, your vehement desire to be one with him again overtaking your senses completely; it has been a thousand years, too many lifetimes, and he teases you like this?

"Please, what? I need you to tell me what you long for." He enunciates every syllable, the cadence of his unfamiliar accent falling like sweet summer rain around you, his silver tongue plaguing you with its sweet promises, if only you can find your words.

"Need you, need to be close to you, need you inside me, need-"

He interrupts you with his fingers at your entrance, forcing a sharp gasp from your lungs at the sudden intrusion.

"Is that better, my sweet? Is that everything you crave?" You'd give anything to kiss away the self-satisfied smirk that graces his lips, but he holds you down with one hand splayed on your torso as he begins to spread you open to his velvet touch.

You shudder as he lightly strokes your folds, delving in with a finger to make you gasp, working his way to two, then three, whilst grasping the flesh under his other hand almost painfully, grounding himself in your body.

If he could just open you up and slither into the space between your ribs, nestled beside your heart, to do nothing but listen to it beat for eternity, he is sure he would be content.

You arch your back into his touch, trying to work yourself onto his fingers, but he pulls away too quickly for you to find any relief.

"Ah, my love, that would be too easy, would it not?" A smile tugs at his lips, but Sauron fixes his expression into one more akin to concern, perhaps even pity.

"Tell me, love, tell me what you crave." He is drunk on the power he has over you, intoxicated by the goddess writhing under his fingertips, so eagerly in his thrall.

After a thousand years parted from you, it is taking so very much self-control to keep from ravaging you, but he wants to savour every moment, wants to hear it from your lips, your sweet surrender to his control.

"Need you inside me, need you, my love, it's been so long, please take me, I'm yours." His eyes blaze as you struggle through every word, as your breath hitches and your legs shake, his fingers unrelenting in his slow torture of your cunt.

"You are mine - and I am yours." His vow is made through ragged breath as he leans down to claim your lips hungrily, your wetness allowing him to rut his cock between your thighs, so tightly pressed together, that he sees stars.

Sauron kisses at your neck, sucking and biting, sure to leave dark bruises that will not be easily covered tomorrow. Claiming what is his, and his alone.

He pulls your hips to his, forcing your thighs apart, laying his cock on your mound. He is bigger now than he was all those eons ago; he is frankly fascinated as to how you will take him, but he knows you'll take it all for him.

You squirm under him, pushing your hips to his, desperate for him to take you, patience wearing thin for his teasing now.

As if he senses you are at the end of your tether, he smirks, adjusting himself to set the head of his cock at your entrance.

"Please... Mairon, please, I need you." You know what you're doing when you use his true name, know that he won't be able to stop himself from ravishing you, breaking any semblance of self-control.

With a groan, he presses his body impossibly close to yours, sliding inside you, forcing all the air from your lungs as you feel his girth fill you so sweetly, so completely. He draws your legs up to press himself deeper inside you, his hips rocking against yours, rougher and more erratic than he has ever been but satisfying every desire in your core.

Running your fingers up his strong forearms, feeling the muscles tense and flex with each thrust, you grind back into him, whimpering and pleading for more. More what, exactly? You're not sure, but you know you need everything he is willing to give you.

And he wants to give you the world.

Centuries apart, thinking of little else but each other, it is hardly any surprise that you are both ravenous in body and soul, your love and lust building to a towering inferno to spite the gods who would see you parted.

When he feels you tighten around him, he pulls back from devouring your mouth to stare agape at your blissful expression as you ride your high, awestruck that he has you in his arms again. It is that awe that pushes him over the edge again, pulsing inside you, clutching at every inch of bare skin he can reach, your torso pressed against his as he holds you both upright, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear as you quake against him.

Breathing heavily, lying entwined in the tiny infirmary cot, the two of you fall into quiet, intimate bliss. Holding each other close, you let the world fall away until it is just the two of you, the calm in the other's storm.

"I told you. Predictable." You chuckle, your laugh reverberating through his chest, sending tingles down his spine.

"Perhaps predictability is not such a bad thing. When it comes to you, at least." He continues to stroke your hair, giving you a tiny squeeze as if to make sure you were no illusion.

One thing that is predictable, even certain, is that he will be parted from you soon enough. It always happens, even after Morgoth’s defeat, and the notion is enough to send a chill down your spine.

He senses your discomfort, knows what you're thinking immediately without needing to probe your mind for once.

"I am here, beloved, let us enjoy what we have now, and worry for tomorrow when fate reveals itself." He hides his trepidation better than you do, but he pulls you closer all the same.

You look up at him, fingers tracing his chest softly, reaching for his free hand. He grants it to you, would grant you anything in the cosmos if you only asked it of him.

His palm at your lips, you breathe him in before looking back up at him, his dark green eyes alight with the love of ages. The words you whisper next shatter his heart, the edges of your souls knitting together more completely with every yearning wish woven into your plea.

"I beg you, Mairon, for the love of all that is good and pure in this world, please stay with me."

The way his eyes crease and his face lights up with the widest smile, it wrenches your heart, a pain so sweet and pure you would carry it for a thousand years more to keep him at your side.

"For the love of you then."

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