#hitsblunt

Sauron struck down another elf, blood decorating his sword with the all the macabre beauty of cherry wine spilling across a silver goblet- but no, this sight was far better; the dwarves, the Eastern tribes, the human kingdoms that were falling under his spell, orcs slaying men and beast alike, it was a beauty he could never capture in time, in paint, in tapestry- oh, if he could relive it again and again!

Sauron lifted his sword, ready to strike at another elf, when something stopped him.

But who could ever stop the terrifying lieutenant of Morgoth, the greatest horror of his age? The Lord of Gifts, A Great Deceiver?

No one stood in front of him. o what was this feeling that stopped him? It wasn't... no, it couldn't be!

Sauron turned his head fiercely, looking around the battlefield, his menacing form cutting through ranks of enemies and allies alike as he marched towards the source of this sensation, this coldness in his body that should not exist with the heat of victory and Mount Doom about to come.

His golden One Ring glinted in affront, the band rubbing against Sauron's sword with how tightly the Maia clenched his gauntleted fist. Sauron's steps crested the hill, and he looked down to see what it was that dared to stop him.

A sword gleamed in the distance, whilst some mortal creature dared to ride some pathetic horse across the field of battle. The mortal, a woman, came closer to the hill, riding across the valley. Her armour, gleaming in what little light the clouds allowed, protected her various weak points, but under her helmet, her eyes shone with a conviction as bright as the Two Trees of Valinor long extinguished.

'My, what a determined face. Just like Galadriel, like Feanor, like Mandos even. Does this mortal seek glory? Do they not understand death? Surely they do. How refreshingly interesting,' Sauron thought to himself, his fist loosening around his sword in amusement.

Sauron's ring pulsed. His fist clenched once more, his brow furrowing under his helm, eyeing that strange mortal once more. What was it doing? The horse was coming closer, and the woman's eyes locked onto his form.

She was foolish enough to come straight towards him? This would be fun-

Sauron's eyes widened behind his helm. The One Ring pulsed once more, just like the little cold tick that wouldn't go away.

The lady rushed up the valley, coming ever closer still, and that was when Sauron knew why this mortal woman had the recklessness, the fearless abandon to charge straight for him.

Her sword hand gleamed, and upon her first finger, a band glowed in the light.

Many coloured metals made up this mismatched ring, welded together by what clearly was Celebrimbor's own work. It was not ordinary trinket, this charmed jewelry.

Sauron was there to oversee the creation of those rings, the dwarven and man-king rings. He knew every hammer strike, every shade of metal, every decorative carving, the exact lustre of each ring.

And he saw it here.

All of them. A multicoloured obscenity embracing her finger, every colour a piece of at least one ring that was created, making this terrifying tapestry of metals, all bound for one purpose.

It was clear to him, two things.

Mortals were clever in making something almost exactly like his own- a counter, a sister ring to overthrow his One with the power of Many.

Now he too understood why Morgoth, the strongest and most terrible of the Valar, could feel fear.