Kneel

Canon-compliant.  What goes through Sauron's mind on a day-to-day basis.  The naming in this piece was particularly annoying.  I've got Sauron mostly calling Morgoth "Melkor" because that's the name he likely would have first known the Dark Lord under.  And Mairon is a possible name of Sauron before he became evil, so Morgoth uses it because he can.  Gorthaur is roughly similar to Sauron but Gorthaur is Sindarin and Sauron is Quenya.  It's surprising that the Quenya name became more well known, the opposite of most other characters.  Anyway, Sauron's got too many names and titles to choose from.  Takes place in the First Age just before the fall of Gondolin.  Some introspection.

Disclaimer: Tolkien created these villains and the plot

Pairings: none

Characters: Sauron, Morgoth (mentions of Gothmog, Balrogath (Balrogs), Maeglin, Eru and the Noldor in general)

Warning: canon-compliant, unhealthy mental conditions, explicit violence and a bit of gore, mentions of torture (semi-explicit), war and murder, obsession, mutilation, world domination plots, sadism, other stuff?  I don't know if I caught everything.  Dark.

Song: Das Tier in Mir

Words: 1,504
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kneel (intransitive verb): to bend the knee; to fall or rest on the knees
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/kneel

"Mairon, come here.  I wish to speak with you."

It was always the same.  That rumbling voice, deep enough to shake the foundations of the mountains and the earth, seemed to vibrate through every inch of his being, shaking him to his core.  Like a good dog, Sauron came to heel, staring up into spine-chilling crimson eyes.  No pupils or sclera were to be seen, and if he had not been so used to the sight, even he might have found them to be disturbing, especially set in that wrinkled, black-skinned face.

Truly, Melkor was something to behold, something stomach-churning and repulsive.  A wry smile bent Sauron's lips even as he fell to his knees at the foot of the great dark throne, beneath the glowing lights of the remaining two Silmarilli, poisonous and searing hot.  When the other had gone missing (and oh! how angry his master had been!) Sauron had laughed so hard he could not breathe, rolling on the ground until tears pooled in his eyes.  The look on Melkor's face had made his blood sing.

You see, he hated his master.

He hated everything about that creature and this place.  He hated being Morgoth's lieutenant, his messenger boy, ever at his beck and call, existing merely to perform the duties that his master found too detestable to dirty his hands with.  "Mairon, do this" and "Mairon, do that" day-in and day-out.  And Eru--Oh wait, that is not right--Melkor forbid that he dare to complete something to anything less than his master's absolute satisfaction.

He was the best for a reason.

They called him Sauron and Gorthaur the Cruel, because he knew how to take a victim, how to hold them on the edge of death for days, always conscious and breathing.  He knew how to strike to make them suffer, what arteries could be cut, what skin could be peeled from the muscle and what muscle from the bone without killing the screaming, writhing subject at his disposal.  He knew how to make his prey speak their deepest, darkest, blackest secrets, how to make them plead and beg for their torment to end, to die and be free of their suffering at his hands.

All of that prowess had come from somewhere.  Rare was it that he tried something on a victim that had never been tried on his own body.  Personal experience trumped any instructional text, after all.  Melkor was not a forgiving god and master, so the lieutenant had plenty of first-hand experience to work with.

And Sauron... At the very notion of prostrating himself at the feet of another, of kissing boots slicked with slime and muck, of sweet-talking and ass-kissing and begging for mercy, his entire spirit recoiled in disgust.  It was out of sheer necessity that he knelt before this filth and proclaimed undying loyalty to the end of eternity.  Both of them knew he was lying, but, for now, Melkor knew he held the lesser ainu's leash tightly.

Sharp black nails more suited for a beast's paws scratched down his cheek, slicing the flesh open to the bone, down around his lips and sliding under his chin as if to mime scratching beneath a pet's muzzle.  Part of Sauron, a part he was not afraid to deny at all, wished longingly to exchange their places; he would love to see if Melkor could take a dose of his own medicine, lower himself to the cold, hard floor at another's feet and allow his ugly face to be ripped apart.  Hatred coiled taut in the maia's gut, waiting to spring.

"My lieutenant," the Black Enemy growled, his voice low and rough, almost shaking the foundations of the iron fortress at their roots, "I have a new project for you."

Oh lord, here we go again...  Sauron would have rolled his eyes, except that would only invite Melkor to gauge them out, and it took several days to grow back eyeballs and recover his sight.  Not to mention is was uncomfortable and made him vulnerable to be sightless.  Expressing his annoyance at being treated like a tool to be used at his master's discretion was not worth being caught blind and unawares by the Gothmog and his pathetic, sniveling underlings later.  The Balrogath were none too fond of him, and neither had he much fondness for them.

"I am ever at your service, my master," he crooned instead, leaning into the stinging nails carving open his face as though they were the gentlest, sweetest of lover's caresses.

Melkor pulled away, but his red eyes were looking straight into Sauron's ever-smirking visage.  The maia's pride would not allow himself to let go of the passively defiant expression; a wince or a cower would leave him more raw and sore than any amount of Melkor's "loving" handling.

Luckily, his master did not seem in the mood to punish him over such a minor transgression today.  Whatever this assignment was, it must be important to garner personal attention from the boss himself.

"We have a guest that I want you to speak with."

Torture.  He could already taste the blood streaming from his fingertips to pool in the cups of his palms and dribble in rivulets down his wrists.  How he would love to lap up the sweet liquid with his tongue, taste its coppery thickness upon his palate, languish in it to his own pleasure.  Definitely, this lieutenant was in the mood to take out his frustrations on some poor prisoner of war.

"And who might this guest be?" Sauron purred in reply.

"Maeglin Eölion of the House of the Mole, Lord of Gondolin."

That brought pause to the lieutenant.  Someone so important?  From Gondolin...

From Gondolin...

Just like that, the maia's grin widened.  My, my, someone is becoming ambitious.  Melkor was going after the Hidden City, a target that had long been beyond their reach.  But with all of Beleriand overrun at the Noldorin scum running southward with their tails between their legs, one small elven city, no matter how secret, could not withstand the entirety of the armies of the Black Enemy.

Yet some part of him wished that Melkor would fail.  That part of him wanted to see the form above him on the ground in the dirt and in chains, dragged like a dog to his fate.  That part of him wanted to witness his tormentor's ultimate humiliation at the hands of some pathetic, powerless mortals.  Oh! how such a sight would kindle the fire within him, stoking and building it to a fiery blaze of passion and ecstasy.  But not yet.  Not yet. "It will be done, my master."

Not yet, but one day.  One day, the monster above him would be overthrown, would be brought low, would fail utterly.  And then there would be nothing--no one--to stand between Sauron and his ambitions.  No one would be able to stop him from starting where his foolish, blind master had left off.  And if there was anything Sauron knew how to do, it was how to learn from mistakes, be they his own or those of another.

One day, the world would be crawling forth to lick his boots, begging him for mercy, sniveling and prostrating themselves on the filthy floor just for a scrap of his favor.

The very idea almost left him dizzy with pleasure, and in a mood light enough to enjoy having a little bit of fun.  Hopefully this gondolindh would be difficult to break, or he might end up disappointed.  The thought of a challenge made his eyes flutter in bliss.

"I want him to remain alive."

Sauron sent a curious look upwards, but nodded.  That was his specialty after all. "Let me take leave of you presence now, my master, so that I may carry out your directives immediately."

It was insubordination at its finest, but for once Melkor let it slide, merely laughing and tearing back more of the flesh on his lieutenant's face, along with some of his scalp and rich, dark hair. "Get thee gone," he ordered. "I do not want to see this face or these lips until they can speak to me the location of the Hidden City."

"Of course." Sauron rose and bowed deeply.  For now, he would play the humble dog faithfully following his master's every command.  Being the tormentor would tide over his lust for power over body and spirit for now, just enough to keep his wilder tendencies in line.

But someday Melkor would be gone, and Sauron would rise in his place, the feared Dark Lord, the wiser and craftier of the pair, and all the forces of darkness and light would kneel at his feet. Glee at the very thought bubbled in his belly as he left the room to search out his unfortunate prey.

And he looked forward to that day with eagerness and a dark, thin smile.
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This was a fun new experiment, if I do say so myself.  I've never quite written from Sauron's perspective like this before (only once, and under significantly different circumstances), so this is my first time delving into his psyche.  Forgive me, I can't see him as just rolling over at his "master's" beck and call without thinking some really nasty things in the back of his head.  He's not a lapdog; he has ambitions (as the existence of the Ring of Power demonstrates).  Now, technically I don't think it ever says that Sauron had anything to do with Maeglin, just Morgoth, but this is all for fun and the Silmarillion never irons out fine details, so I have free range to do as I please.

Anyway, I found this Sauron music video on YouTube ages ago to Das Tier in Mir by E Nomine.  I don't know a lick of German, but the general gist of the song is pretty straightforward.  I love this song, even though this is not my usual sort of music.  It's a shame it's so hard to come by their music outside of Germany.  Anyway, this is obviously not the same video, but I wanted to go with better quality music anyway.  It's just that I always associate this song with Sauron now, and it's also because of all that "werewolf" business with Finrod and such.

Just for fun: Sauron is the one in the pink apron. 'An Elvenking to Grill' by ~eilian on dA.  I will say that there's tons of Sauron art out there (but you could also look up Annatar if you need more).

Gondolindh = elf of Gondolin