Defiant

Canon-compliant AU.  The monotony of Angband is once again broken with the arrival of a curious elven thrall.  In this piece, Morgoth is refered to as Melkor by Sauron.  Also, the italic talking part is Valarin, but as there's almost no linguistic development attached to Valarin, I wasn't going to waste time trying to come up with a passable attempt at fan-language.  And the elf is a canon character who is supposed to be dead.  I hinted at his name (rather blatantly), so it shouldn't be hard to figure out if you really know your Noldor and Quenya.  Takes place immediately after Dagor Bragollach (as if that totally shouldn't completely give it away).

Disclaimer: I do not own the Silmarillion

Pairings: none (but one or two hinted)

Characters: Sauron, Morgoth, Glaurung, mystery noldo (other thralls, orcs, Gothmog, Maedhros and Fëanor mentioned)

Warning: rather AU, some canon character death, non-canon character survival, allusions to torture, slavery, war, death, hints at possible rape

Song: Fate

Words: 1,046
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defiant (adjective): full of or showing defiance (the act or an instance of defying: challenge; disposition to resist: willingness to contend or fight): bold, impudent
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/defiance?show=0&t=1369331733

The breaking of the siege had been a success.

Sauron did not know whether or not he should be pleased by this.  After all, any step forward for his master was always a step backwards for him, but it did allow him to avoid punishment for failure, which was always very painful and usually temporarily debilitating.  Sauron might be a torturer, but he was not particularly masochistic and thus avoided being on the receiving end of his own trade as often as possible. 

However, that was about the only positive outcome of this venture.

The golden dragon had returned to the fortress of Angband, and he had not returned alone, but with hundreds of broken-hearted, traumatized thralls, all having the life and fight sucked out of their shocked bodies and minds.  Pathetic, but potentially useful as workers in mines.

Now Glaurung stood before the throne to present the trophies of victory to their master, and Sauron wanted nothing more than to rend and destroy the creature before him.  As it stood beneath the glimmer of the Silmarilli, the scales were lit with fire so the dragon seemed more a creature made of gold and gem than of flesh and steel.  And those eyes, so prideful and confident and greedy, Sauron wanted to gauge them out so that this runt would know his place and return back to the pit of filth from whence he was born.

No one dared encroach upon the position of the Lieutenant of Angband, not even Gothmog.  And this newly-born worm thought he could just waltz in with a few elves as a gift and be promoted right to the top of the hierarchy?  One victorious battle was hardly--

"Well done," Melkor rumbled to his pet, and Sauron bit back the scald of fury rising as a tidal wave in the back of his throat.  Right now, he certainly felt that he could belch fire with as much deadly accuracy as this experimental breeding project turned weapon.  Given half the chance, he could destroy this pathetic excuse for a servant without even trying, without even moving.  It would only take a few hissed Words...

"Master," the creature purred, smoke billowing from flared nostrils and where a forked tongue slithered between arm-length fangs, "I have brought before you the enemy commander."

Like Nelyafinwë Fëanárion all over again, but this elf came forward in naught but tattered leggings, struggling wildly and hissing curses as violently as any foul-mouthed orc.  Chained though their guest was, the orcs who led him skittishly pulled out of reach at his lunges and snarls, and Sauron nearly laughed aloud, because he saw bared teeth blackened with fresh blood and knew someone had gotten too close to the rabid dog and been bitten.

Pretty and golden despite the singed ends of long hair and the marks of a whip over naked flesh, this elf certainly made a more interesting sight than those slumped, broken creatures Glaurung had paraded around earlier.  There was still fight in this spirit, still hot fire in a cage of iron.

The newest thrall of Angband was forced down onto the ground, kneeling in filth at the feet of their master under the glowing lamps of the Silmarilli, chains pulled so taut they bruised and drew blood but managed to keep the captive immobile at Melkor's feet, panting in great gulps of air, nostrils flaring, fists clenching and opening and clenching as if imagining a larynx being crushed to pulp in their grasp.

And Melkor, fool that he was, twined a hand in the wild creature's mane and pulled back until the neck of the elf strained into a lovely, exposed arch, revealing a face that was Noldorin in every line and angle, eyes that darkened to a storm over the sea and bubbled in rage.

The Lord of Angband gripped tightly that jaw, forcibly parting lips. "Tell me your name, slave."

And the elf--Sauron could scarcely believe it afterwards, but would cherish that moment for many centuries to come--spat in his master's face.

There was no movement and no sound.  Even the servants of darkness, even Sauron, scarcely dared breathe at the look that came over Melkor's dark face, at the narrowing of scarlet eyes.  That he didn't squeeze the elf's head until it popped like a soap bubble and splattered brains across the floor was a miracle!

And not a hint of fear could be seen in that defiant, infuriated face, clutched between the filthy claws of Morgoth's rough fingers, already bruised at the manhandling.

Shockingly, the thrall was not slaughtered on the spot either, and Sauron knew Melkor was having one of his more sadistic moments, moments of frighteningly cold logic.  His master did not merely want to kill this elf.  He wanted to make this challenger sorry he hadn't just bowed down and obediently licked his new master's toes like a good slave.

Torture.  The head torturer himself licked his blackened lips greedily when Melkor's scarlet gaze connected with his own eyes of fire and lust.

"I want him broken, but do not harm his body.  I would not have him perish."

Oh, it was serious.  The only elf Melkor had ever wanted to keep permanently was Fëanáro, who had commanded all the power of a vala from the puny cage of a mortal body, who was beautiful and whose downfall would have tasted as the richest of wines.  Even the beauty of Nelyafinwë did not tempt the Lord of Angband to either covet or lust, but this strange defiance apparently captured his master's attention like nothing else.  Had he a sympathetic bone in his body, the lieutenant would have felt pity for the elven slave.

Well, far be it for him to disobey such orders.  Sauron knelt eagerly at his master's feet and smiled broadly with anticipation.  He had just the thing in mind to test the limits of their newest toy.

Hopefully the thrall would not break too quickly.  It had been a very long time since they had had such an interesting guest in their halls.

"It shall be done, master."
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This is more fun than it should be.  Consider it a new beginning for a new prompt list.  I've never written this elf before, so it will be fun to characterize him, especially since he is very neglected in the legendarium itself.  Honestly, I'm excited and I already have a plan for tomorrow's piece that ties up very nicely with this one.  Oh, my heart flutters with excitement!

Was listening to the song Fate by KOKIA from the anime Broken Blade.  I don't know what it is about this song, but it feels very inspirational to me, and I really love the vocals in it.  I've never watched the anime before, so I don't know how applicable the music is (nor have I looked up a translation of the lyrics) but this story was in part born of the emotional overload that goes along with this music.

And... Glaurung the Golden by ~LyntonLevengood on dA.  Sorry about all the dwarves that just got toasted, but I happen to like this piece.  It's one of the few Glaurung pieces that I do like.