Chapter Text
Huan’s jaws were at the Necromancer’s throat; the Lord of Werewolves lay on the ground, helpless to offer further resistance, his body now changed back from wolfdom to his prior, mostly-elvenoid form in token of submission.
Over him stood his conqueror: an Elven-maid, barefoot in a tattered blue dress, stained and smelling of urine, and a cloak the color of night that was likewise soiled, her broken nose askew, her front teeth knocked out, her dark hair shorn to a stubble on her head.
Her remaining teeth were set in a feral smile. Her grey eyes were alight with triumph.
Her hands played with a small but deadly knife of Nargothrond make.
Lúthien knelt before Sauron, holding the knife in front of his face where the Maia’s catlike eyes could get a close-up view.
“…how comes this? How could I be bested by a hound and a simple Elven-maid!” The Lord of Werewolves sniffed, then grinned darkly with feline teeth. “No. Not a maid. Not anymore. The stink of babes in the womb is on you, girl.”
His taunts were cut short as Huan’s teeth bit deeper into the skin of his throat, but they had had their effect: Lúthien’s cheeks reddened and her brows furrowed, shame and anger mingling on her face.
“Keep silence about things that concern you not, dwimor-lord. It does not suit one of the Maiar, fallen or not, to taunt a woman so about things that befell her unsought.” Lúthien blinked, and behind her eyelids, the Necromancer guessed, she must be fighting back tears.
“Ah!” Sauron gave a deep and knowing chuckle. “That old story. Seized and carried off, were you? Against your will, no doubt, hence your ugly face – at least until the pintle hit home and the pain turned to pleasure… and you hated yourself for enjoying it afterward.” The catlike grin came out again. “Always the same. But you are no common Elf-woman, I deem. No ordinary elleth could best me in song, or sic this monster of a hound on me. What is your secret, girl?”
“Since you asked, I shall tell you. For I am not solely an Elf by blood,” replied the mother-to-be.
She twisted a plain silver ring on her finger, pulling the band from her flesh, and her visage changed.
No more was her skin a rosy light pink; now it was the starker white of the carven marbles of Valimar. Her eyes that had been grey were now the golden yellow of the fruits of Laurelin.
Sauron knew now who she was, even before she spoke her name.
“My mother was Melian of Valinor, and my father was Elu Thingol, Elwë of the Firstborn of Elves. And I am Lúthien Tinúviel, in whose blood runs strains elven and divine alike.”
“Most cunning magic,” breathed Sauron, voice shrunken to a whisper in awe at the unexpected power of the ring. “But why such sorcery?”
Lúthien bowed her head. “I do not look like an Elf of full blood. My face is strange, my skin is alien. My mother hoped that by hiding my true features I would not suffer the taunts of other Elves… and my father hoped that I would not suffer their affections, vain though that proved.”
She did not tell him of Beren, and how he had first seen her without it, when it had slipped from her finger as she wet her hand in a stream trickling by the glades of Doriath, and he had come from horrors untold through spell-mazed woods to the sight of a maiden beautiful and strange, and had not been afraid, but rather loved her from the first.
She put the ring back on her finger. Snow-white skin became suffused with pink once more, and golden lights gave way to wonted grey.
“And I know you,” she continued. “Lord Sauron, as the Elves name you: a wizard of dark power, a king of a cursed isle. But I know you also from my mother’s stories: Mairon, her sister, who fell under the wicked influence of Morgoth long before the raising of the Sun and Moon.”
The cat-like ears on the top of his head went flat with rage as Sauron hissed, “That name is dead to me!”
“Why?” asked Lúthien. “Have you abandoned your name and your old form because Sauron is who you want to be? Are you truly happy forsaking the woman who was radiant in Valinor, instead to be the chief of Melkor’s thralls?”
“Women!” Sauron spat. “Women are weak. Men take them at their pleasure, hurt them at their pleasure, even in the realms West over sea that are accounted Heaven. I have been a woman; this I know. The world the Valar have wrought is a merciless one. The piteous whining of ravished maidens, helpless and friendless, is a constant throughout the ages.”
“Says the Lord of Werewolves to the ravished maiden holding a knife to his throat,” Lúthien said. She tapped Sauron’s chest with the point of the blade. “You were once in my position, that is clear. But your choice was other than mine. Rather than endure your ravishment with bravery, you chose to turn coat, and gave yourself a cock to join the ravishers. Didn’t you?”
“I… er…”
Sauron, who had beaten Felagund of Nargothrond with his mastery of song, was lost for words.
“I thought as much.”
Lúthien lowered the knife and began to saw at the ties of Sauron’s breeches. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of urine, for the Necromancer had pissed himself in terror. (And she tried not to remember how she had soiled her own dress in the forest, when she was pursued by Celegorm and Curufin.)
“Pissing yourself?” She chuckled. “Perhaps you’re not so different from a ravished maiden after all.”
Now it was Lúthien’s turn to grin darkly.
“Well, my lord, I have a proposition for you.”
She cut open the fastenings of the sodden breeches, and pulled out Sauron’s limp cock. It was very like the Elf-cocks she’d seen in Nargothrond.
She wondered if Beren’s also looked like that.
“Since you so enjoy hurting maidens with that little appendage of yours, I can cut it off right now, and let you bleed out in agony…”
She started stroking Sauron’s cock with her free hand. It got harder under her touch as the blood ran to it. The Lord of Werewolves moaned as she stroked his shaft. Clearly, her time in Nargothrond had begun an education of a sort that would have horrified her father.
“…or you can tell me the words of binding that hold up your tower and keep shut your cells, and let stone lie upon stone with unrelieved weight, so that I can bring down this ghastly citadel, and free the one for whom I came. Then will I grant you a swift death, to go and re-house yourself elsewhere.”
Her hand rubbed Sauron’s cock faster and faster now. She flicked his glans, once, twice. Then she let the blade of her knife dance across his throbbing penis, brushing against the engorged veins, tip catching for a horrible second in his urethra.
“Well? Which shall it be?”
Sauron groaned.
“I… I will tell you the words of binding.”
And so he revealed them, giving to Lúthien the words that kept stone heaped upon stone, and the iron doors of the cells shut, and the sinews of the unquiet dead who roamed there intact. And all the while Lúthien’s hand played up and down his cock, bringing Sauron closer and closer to release, but never all the way.
And when at last the spells of power were hers, and Sauron’s cock burned with his unspent seed, Lúthien readied her knife.
“Release me!” the Necromancer begged. “Honor your bargain, witch. My fea from my body, my seed from my cock. Either, or both. But only end it!”
She gave a dramatic sigh. “Oh, very well.”
Lúthien’s knife flashed, but it did not stab Sauron’s heart or pierce his throat. Instead she cleaved his cock from his body, slicing through engorged flesh with a quick flash of well-honed steel.
Sauron screamed, a high keening sound. Huan’s teeth drew pinpricks of blood from his throat which he ignored as he moved suddenly to cup the ruin of his groin in his hands. Copious streams of blood spurted out between them, hot and red. His body jerked in pain.
“You… you promised.”
Lúthien smiled that wicked smile at him, all too similar to his own, in spite of her missing teeth.
“I did, and I’ll keep my bargain. I’ll cut your throat in a minute, never fear. But as you said… the world is merciless.”