Summary: Part 2 of the Complexities of Power series. During the construction of Angband, Sauron and Gothmog share a thoughtful moment. Thanks to Haleth for giving me the silliest mental image for this story: A Balrog and an eyeball on a couch drinking beer and watching football.
Here lies a toppled god
His fall was not a small one.
We did but build his pedestal,
A narrow and tall one.
-From Dune Messiah by Frank Herbert
The stone and metal had been woven together. Like a tapestry of Vairë’s, and yet more so, for it was durable and strong, resistant to everything save the combined powers of the Ainur themselves. Above him, around him, below him, Sauron felt the thrum of life in the cold metal and stone.
Life. To his forsaken kin, life consisted of living; of breathing and of experiencing joy. Life was a gift from Eru. But to Sauron, life had a different meaning entirely. To him, life was crafted. Life, such as the life he breathed into his fortress. The Valar had smote his beloved halls of stone, but from the ruins emerged a stronger and more beautiful Angband. Life. Life, perhaps not the living kind, but life that was crafted.
Sauron ran his fingers down the wall. This room was the last room that had needed repairs, and as soon as he fixed the last remaining bolt to the steel supports, Angband would be complete.
“I have nourished you back to life, my sweet,” he murmured as he caressed the wall. “Forget the pain that my kinsmen have forced upon you. Our lord is back with us.” And it was true, for Melkor had returned. He had escaped from the clutches of the other Valar and had arrived in the deep pits of Angband, where Sauron had been making secret plans for reconstruction. It had been a shame, really, for the Valar had destroyed two of the most architecturally stunning buildings in all of Arda. Utumno, which had been Sauron’s first task, had been a mighty fortress of stone, strong and hidden beneath the eyes of the Valar. Utumno was built into the mountains, where the lights of Illuin (1) were cold and dim; the levels of the mighty fortress had delved far below, close enough to be warmed by the lava beneath. Countless pits, dark and deep, had decorated the fortress, and even Sauron himself had not ventured forth into all of them.
The other fortress had been Angband, sister to Utumno, its much larger counterpart. Angband and promotion to Melkor’s second-in-command had been the reward for Sauron’s service. It had been designed to be both an armory and the first line of defense against the Valar. It had fulfilled its purpose, for Angband had held back the tide of his self-righteous kin until a good portion of Melkor’s followers could go into hiding.
Melkor had been caught, but in retrospect, Sauron knew that it had been for the better. After the capture of Melkor, the other Valar had grown careless in their war. They had destroyed Utumno, and while it was in ruins, countless creatures had survived within its dark depths, and in Angband, Sauron and many of the Balrogs had remained hidden in its lower pits. After all, self-righteousness led to a peculiar sort of arrogance, and the Valar, with Melkor as their prisoner, had not bothered to find the rest of Melkor’s officers, nor had they bothered to ruin Angband completely, for they thought that Darkness would disappear if Melkor were gone.
They would pay for their carelessness.
A wave of heat jarred Sauron back to awareness. Turning, he saw a massive figure who wore darkness and flame as a cloak. “Greetings to you.”
Gothmog (2) inclined his head. “To you as well.”
Had any of the slaves passed by and heard their fearsome masters exchanging pleasantries, they most likely would have died of fright. Sauron attempted to repress a smile at that silly thought. “I take it that you have nothing to do?”
He flashed a dangerous smile. “There are many things I could do – but that would severely decrease the amount of slaves.”
“We cannot have that, at least not yet. There is still much work to be done.” Sauron reluctantly let his hand drop from the wall.
“From the looks of it, most of the work is finished. But to defend myself, I just returned from the outer garrison. I decided that the northern gates needed reinforcement, so I was giving some of my lieutenants their orders.”
“From what I know of your ‘orders,’ I am almost afraid to wonder if your lieutenants are still alive.”
The Balrog shrugged. “Orders without the use of force are merely suggestions.” He was about to enter when Sauron protectively flung himself in front of the new wall.
He glared at the Balrog. “Be careful! You might melt the room,” he hissed as his sharp eyes detected another small smile within the shroud of flame. It was a private joke between the two that if Sauron ever needed heat for his forges, Gothmog was the best source.
“Of course,” but there was no repentance in the gravely voice. “I will stay out here until you are done fondling that wall of yours.”
Not deigning to reply, Sauron lovingly affixed the last bolt. When he was finished, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. “Reborn,” he whispered. For a brief moment, he allowed sentimentality to wash over him, to feel the intense feeling of pride at what his hands had wrought. It mattered not what purpose his creations held – for now, they were simply his. As nothing else was.
Twisted glory was all that I saw as I dropped to my knees before you, unknowing and eager, pledging an allegiance only to be severed in the void of voids. I proffered my neck in the eternal symbol of servitude and allegiance as I prostrated myself before you, a sacrifice of an immortal soul clothed in living flesh, warm and pulsing, and I bowed my head and surrendered my soul. Then your spirit touched mine, the most intense agony imaginable ripping through all the plains of my existence, and I screamed, a desperate and keening cry never heard even from the most tortured creatures in the dungeons.
Controlling himself once more, Sauron took a step back. “Let us leave this place,” he murmured, his voice devoid of its usual cruelty. Gothmog nodded, and for a few seconds, Sauron thought he saw sympathetic understanding in the Balrog’s eyes of flame. Vaguely he wondered if Balrogs ever wept, and if so, of what substance were their tears? Surely not water...
Reaching the entrance that led to the upper levels of the fortress, Sauron politely held the doors open for Gothmog, an act that caused the Balrog to give his companion an incredulous glance. Sauron sighed impatiently. “Evil being I am be, but even I cannot be evil all the time. But have no fear. I shall not be planting flowers in front of your garrison.”
“It would take away from the effect,” chuckled Gothmog.
“Indeed.” They entered a room that was empty save for the maps covering all the walls. “This room could do with chairs and tables.”
Gothmog ignored the maps and went straight toward the window, and after a few moments of hesitation, Sauron followed. The two of them remained in silence, too used to the quiet to find it uncomfortable. Long and dark were the years that both had endured together, and while they could not call each other friends – for in the Dark Lord’s service, who could claim such a personal thing as friendship? – they had reached an understanding. Both of them had once been carefree creatures of Eru (3), but both had been molded by pain into separate yet parallel destinies by the one whom they called master.
They remained quiet a bit longer, and then Gothmog began to speak of inconsequential things – matters dealing with armaments and the placement of outposts. Sauron allowed the deep voice to carry him along, and he wondered when the day would come that he and Gothmog would turn against each other. They were not fools – Sauron might be higher in the hierarchy of command, but Gothmog would challenge him his place one day.
It did not take me long to learn the mockery of loyalty. I am a sharp learner, and the dark path of my life has taught me such lessons as this: how to backstab everyone except the one whom I serve, the one from whom I can derive the most benefit. I learned how to use my gifts of craftsmanship and charisma to manipulate and control those people weaker than myself, and to get what I want when I want. But if the truth is told, what I seek is never what I want but the will of my master. My thoughts run parallel to his, twisted and bled into perfect harmony over the many millennia past.
“Do you regret…” began Sauron softly.
Gothmog gave him a troubled look – he understood the meaning behind the question, and yet he was terrified of his own answer.
Thankfully Sauron did not allow him to answer. “I have learned that regret is a dangerous thing, for it begets hope and wistfulness; these sentiments corrode a person like acid on a reactive metal. In the beginning, I faltered, but later on, I managed to catch myself and force my feelings into the deepest recesses of my heart – they were forsaken.”
“But not forgotten.” The statement was both question and answer.
“In time.” They lapsed again into quiet contemplation, until: “I have almost forgotten the feeling of belonging to myself – such a remote concept. But in random and isolated moments, such as when I fixed that last bolt, or when I first apply heat to my beloved metals, I can remember faintly, such as the intangible strains of Melian’s songs, familiar and nostalgic.”
Again, the flash of understanding appeared in Gothmog’s eyes, and Sauron knew instinctively that what was said in this room would not leave this room, and for that, he was immensely thankful. “We have woven pride and pain into an inextricable tangle, and the only way we can prove our loyalty to our Lord is through our suffering.” Even Gothmog’s voice held a hint of fire.
The logic cleared the fogginess from Sauron’s mind. “You are right, of course. Forgive me for being overly sentimental.”
“Completing Angband has taxed you,” he replied in purposeful misunderstanding.
I hope the day never comes, Gothmog, when you shall challenge me for the Lord’s favor. Saying aloud, “I would gladly raise several more fortresses for our Lord.”
Just then, one of the slaves stumbled in, a disgustingly ugly creature that stank of vile excrement, and his eyes widened to behold his masters. “I apologize, my lords, but I was mistaken in thinking that this was one of the antechambers for weapon’s storage.” Although his voice was composed, both of them could smell the slave’s fear, both of them could see the weak body trembling. There are those who fear, and there are those who cause others to fear…
“If you please,” Sauron murmured to Gothmog as he stretched out his hand. The Balrog obligingly gave him the whip, and then the Maia seductively approached the frightened slave. He wielded the vicious whip with pleasure, and the screams and pleas of the slave met Sauron’s ears with a sort of twisted satisfaction. The hunched figure on the floor shook violently as the anguish of the lashes whipped through every fiber of him. He writhed and thrashed, pleaded for mercy, and begged for the punishment to stop.
But Sauron only smiled cruelly, for he found warped comfort in the infliction of an agony that he himself had been subject to countless times before, and with much greater intensity. The ragged sobs were music to the Maia’s ears, and they invoked bitterness as he remembered his own suffering, his own screams. All I want to do is hurt him more.
He raised the whip again, his vision remaining clear although his mind had blurred. The scream that filled the room tore at Sauron’s spirit, another nameless victim of his long-harbored wrath as it broke to the surface in a wave of terror, pain, and fear – both Sauron’s and the slave’s.
And when the slave was finally reduced to a bloody mass on the floor, Sauron turned back to Gothmog, who eyes were filled with that same sympathetic understanding.
Notes:
- (1) One of the lamps of the Valar, the northern counterpart to Ormil. Destroyed by Melkor lonng before the Elves journeyed to Cuivienen.
- (2) In early Quenya, his name was Kosomot, but the Noldor renamed him Gothmog. I have chosen to stay with that name to keep it parallel to the rest of the story.
- (3) Iluvatar.