" Not all those who wander are lost "

So I had this thought of like. . Sauron sinking so deep into the ocean before actually dying that he almost thinks he’s in the void

Then he realizes he never made it that far and gets all kinds of angry and ashamed..

The Letters of J.R.R Tolkien

By a triple treachery: 1. Because of his admiration of Strength he had become a follower of Morgoth and fell with him down into the depths of evil, becoming his chief agent in Middle Earth. 2. when Morgoth was defeated by the Valar finally he forsook his allegiance; but out of fear only; he did not present himself to the Valar or sue for pardon, and remained in Middle Earth. 3. When he found how greatly his knowledge was admired by all other rational creatures and how easy it was to influence them, his pride became boundless. By the end of the Second Age he assumed the position of Morgoth's representative. By the end of the Third Age (though actually much weaker than before) he claimed to be Morgoth returned. But in this 'mythology' all the 'angelic' powers concerned with this world were capable of many degrees of error and failing between the absolute Satanic rebellion and evil of Morgoth and his satellite Sauron, and the fainéance of some of the other higher powers or 'gods'. Some had attached themselves to such major artists and knew things chiefly indirectly through their knowledge of the minds of these masters. Sauron had been attached to the greatest, Melkor, who ultimately became the inevitable Rebel and self-worshipper of mythologies that begin with a transcendent unique Creator.

The  Silmarillion

In all the deeds of Melkor the Morgoth upon Arda, in his vast works and in the deceits of his cunning, Sauron had a part, and was only less evil than his master in that for long he served another and not himself. But in after years he rose like a shadow of Morgoth and a ghost of his malice, and walked behind him on the same ruinous path down into the Void.

In this Age, as is elsewhere told, Sauron arose again in Middle-earth, and grew, and turned back to the evil in which he was nurtured by Morgoth, becoming mighty in his service.

‘And out of it the world was made. For Darkness alone is worshipful, and the Lord thereof may yet make other worlds to be gifts to those that serve him, so that the increase of their power shall find no end.’ And Ar-Pharazôn said: ‘Who is the Lord of the Darkness?’ Then behind locked doors Sauron spoke to the King, and he lied, saying: ‘It is he whose name is not now spoken; for the Valar have deceived you concerning him, putting forward the name of Eru, a phantom devised in the folly of their hearts, seeking to enchain Men in servitude to themselves. For they are the oracle of this Eru, which speaks only what they will. But he that is their master shall yet prevail, and he will deliver you from this phantom; and his name is Melkor, Lord of All, Giver of Freedom, and he shall make you stronger than they.’

The Lays of Beleriand

Thu who was throned as thane most mighty neath Morgoth Bauglir; whom that mighty one bade 'Go ravage the realm of the robber Thingol, and mar the magic of Melian the Queen.'

Whom do ye serve, Light or Mirk? Who is the maker of mightiest work? Who is the king of earthly kings, the greatest giver of gold and rings? Who is the master of the wide earth? Who despoiled them of their mirth, the greedy Gods? Repeat your vows, Orcs of Bauglir! Do not bend your brows!

'Thy name, thou shrieking waif, thy name! Tidings enough from Thu there came but short while since. What would he now? Why send such messenger as thou?

Morgoth’s Ring

Now Melkor knew of all that was done; for even then he had secret friends and spies among the Maiar whom he had converted to his cause, and of these the chief, as after became known, was Sauron, a great craftsman of the household of Aule. And afar off in the dark places Melkor was filled with hatred, being jealous of the work of his peers, whom he desired to make subject to himself.

The operations of Sauron naturally and inevitably resembled or repeated those of his master.

So - as soon as he has mentally rejected repentance - he (just like Sauron afterwards on this model) makes a mockery of self-abasement and repentance. From which actually he gets a kind of perverted pleasure as in desecrating something holy - [for the mere contemplating of the possibility of genuine repentance, if that did not come specially then as a direct grace from Eru, was at least one last flicker of his true primeval nature.](3) He feigns remorse and repentance.

But there was seen the effect of Melkor upon Sauron: he spoke of Melkor in Melkor's own terms: as a god, or even as God. This may have been the residue of a state which (* [footnote to the text] But his capability of corrupting other minds, and even engaging their service, was a residue from the fact that his original desire for 'order' had really envisaged the good estate (especially physical well-being) of his 'subjects'.) was in a sense a shadow of good: the ability once in Sauron at least to admire or admit the superiority of a being other than himself. Melkor, and still more Sauron himself afterwards, both profited by this darkened shadow of good and the services of 'worshippers'. But it may be doubted whether even such a shadow of good was still sincerely operative in Sauron by that time. His cunning motive is probably best expressed thus. To wean one of the God-fearing from their allegiance it is best to propound another unseen object of allegiance and another hope of benefits; propound to him a Lord who will sanction what he desires and not forbid it. Sauron, apparently a defeated rival for world-power, now a mere hostage, can hardly propound himself; but as the former servant and disciple of Melkor, the worship of Melkor will raise him from hostage to high priest. But though Sauron's whole true motive was the destruction of the Numenoreans, this was a particular matter of revenge upon Ar-Pharazon, for humiliation.

It was the apparent will and power of Melkor to effect his designs quickly and masterfully that had first attracted Sauron to him.

Morgoth's power was disseminated throughout Gold, if nowhere absolute (for he did not create Gold) it was nowhere absent. (It was this Morgoth-element in matter, indeed, which was a prerequisite for such 'magic' and other evils as Sauron practised with it and upon it.) It is quite possible, of course, that certain 'elements' or conditions of matter had attracted Morgoth's special attention (mainly, unless in the remote past, for reasons of his own plans). For example, all gold (in Middle-earth) seems to have had a specially 'evil' trend - but not silver.

Manwe knew of Sauron, of course. He had commanded Sauron to come before him for judgement, but had left room for repentance and ultimate rehabilitation. Sauron had refused and had fled into hiding.

Though of immensely smaller native power than his Master, he remained less corrupt, cooler and more capable of calculation. At least in the Elder Days, and before he was bereft of his lord and fell into the folly of imitating him, and endeavouring to become himself supreme Lord of Middle-earth. While Morgoth still stood, Sauron did not seek his own supremacy, but worked and schemed for another, desiring the triumph of Melkor, whom in the beginning he had adored. He thus was often able to achieve things, first conceived by Melkor, which his master did not or could not complete in the furious haste of his malice.

It was Sauron, also, who secretly repaired Angband for the help of his Master when he returned;(6) and there the dark places underground were already manned with hosts of the Orcs before Melkor came back at last, as Morgoth the Black Enemy, and sent them forth to bring ruin upon all that was fair.

More Sauron sketches.

light thats not how the book works

MICROSOFT TEAMS

The mirror half of my headcanon about the incarnation of absolute evil being disgustingly lovesick.

A small, spontaneous gift for @gauntletgirlie, who is greedy for Melks 💛

How strange it is to notice Mairon’s absence. In the throne room, in the open galleries beneath Thangorodrim, even in Melkor’s own chambers.

In the first, Mairon is bent over his papers with a faint frown, sparing Melkor no more than the briefest glance. In the second, he complains of the cold without a word, with his very fiery being, and the snowflakes around him melt with a hiss. In the third, he sits quietly, awkwardly, while his eyes pulse with molten gold, scorching Melkor’s bare shoulder.

Mairon’s presence has become something strangely comforting. Melkor never thinks much of it — yet he always makes certain that his robe slips from the shoulder turned toward Mairon. Something within him rejoices whenever the Maia draws near and offers to remove his Lord’s jewels or braid his hair before bed.

Longing reaches toward another soul in delicate threads, intertwining ever more tightly with those that reach back. So tightly he and Mairon are bound together.

Perhaps Mairon, who holds perfect mastery over his physical form, is not subject to the body’s demands. He serves Melkor’s altered nature with flawless devotion, perhaps without ever feeling that same hunger in return.

Whenever they are together, Melkor always believes Mairon wants him.

It is not the voice of a rational commander that speaks, but the shining eyes of fiery Maia, his absurdly gentle fingers, his urgent embrace. The moments when careful, meticulous Mairon — who does everything to spare his Lord unnecessary pain — suddenly loses himself and begins moving before Melkor has even grown accustomed to the intrusion.

“Forgive me, my Lord... you... I...” He buries his face in Melkor’s hair, trying to steady his breathing.

But whenever they are apart, Mairon’s dry, restrained letters tear at Melkor’s skin like burns from the Silmarils. Once more that cold ache settles inside him. Has he truly allowed himself to become dependent upon another?

Now the lieutenant appears at Melkor’s summons, solemn, every strand of dark hair perfectly in place. He immediately begins delivering a report that, as they both know, scarcely requires a personal audience. His gaze is focused, yet oddly searching. There is an unexpected awkwardness in the way he brings his hands forward, only to find no place for them and clasp them behind his back once more.

Still, Mairon dares to ask: “Do you have any further orders for me, my Lord?” As though he wishes to wrench the confession from Melkor with tongs. I need you. Then the Maia steps closer — abruptly — and squeezes his eyes shut.

“The chance to behold you is worth the journey. But tell me, my Lord... why do you grant me this privilege, when I would serve you better in the garrisons?” Melkor frowns, unable to believe Mairon has dared lay bare this weakness of his. Yet the Maia continues, oblivious to his outrage. “Could it truly be that my closeness is dearer to you than anyone else’s?”

Melkor wants to rise in fury, to sweep the insolent creature away, to grind beneath his heel the one who has dared mock the Lord of Arda, dared point to his vulnerability — to his...

Melkor seizes his lieutenant by the chin, sharp and imperious. And then something in Mairon’s face makes him hesitate. Something in Mairon’s eyes strips the silver from his tongue.

Listen, sometimes you know someone inside out, but that does not mean you can communicate with them. No way in hell Angband

Mairon had never particularly cared who Melkor invited into his bed. More than that — even the mere thought of physical coupling had always struck him as vaguely repulsive. But then, many of Melkor’s ideas were beyond his understanding.

No sooner had the Elves awakened at Cuiviénen than Melkor began studying them — first as an observer, then as their captor and Lord. Before long, he discovered that they reproduced as animals did: something the Ainur had believed impossible for higher beings.

That was when Melkor first conceived the desire to create a being of his own flesh and blood. Some of the Maia in his service were privy to that ambition. Each of them grew proud, imagining herself favored by the Dark Lord, falling into a foolish, euphoric delirium.

But then, once Melkor discovered that no woman could conceive by him, why did he still take them into his bed? Why did he subject himself to such a strange, ridiculous procedure?

Mairon knows now. He finds himself consumed by the same euphoric delirium he once observed with disgusted bewilderment. He marvels at how astonishingly, how exquisitely the bond between spirits pulses when carried through the bond between bodies. And never — never — would Mairon have imagined that an act so utilitarian, so clinical, seemingly fit only for reproduction... Oh, in Melkor’s own name —

Between men. Why? Why is it so extraordinary, so magnificent?

He cannot compare it to being with a woman. Yet a sharp, painful suspicion settles somewhere deep inside him. It must be... more natural? Surely Melkor likes it better that way — for centuries, only women have been summoned to his bed.

Are they still? The longer he dwells on the thought, the keener it grows, until it cuts like a blade.

In Angband, not even a fly can pass unnoticed by Mairon. He knows the maze of Melkor’s chambers by heart — every servant permitted to enter them, every object within, every material, every scent.

He would recognize another’s scent from a mile away. From a league away. No matter how many days had passed before he himself entered those rooms.

It is the distance that drives him to madness. While he is away, he cannot know whether someone else has taken his place beside Melkor. There is that strange, lingering ache — elusive, almost phantom-like. However carefully he searches, he cannot locate it within his perfectly functional body.

Ah... is this body pleasing to Melkor? Can it give him everything he wants? Mairon thinks of his Lord’s former lovers — of their eyes, their hair, their skin.

Mairon laughs at himself, cruelly and without mercy. And yet, more than anything in the world, he wants to come back.

“To do what?” he wonders. “Guard him like a hound?”

He would never presume to claim any right over Melkor, remembering what became of every woman who imagined herself special.

Yet he rages. He kills with an impatience foreign to his nature, as though determined to destroy everything that stands between him and Melkor.

Then, unexpectedly, a letter arrives. The handwriting is sharp and angry, as though the ink itself were demanding, in an arrogant, petulant voice, that the Lieutenant present himself in Angband for a personal report. Immediately.