Losing Something Precious

Summary: The Lay of Leithian doesn’t explain everything that happened during the Quest of the Silmarils. First place in the Teitho contest 'Losers Weepers'.

Warning: Eating or drinking while reading this tale may prove detrimental to your computer.

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Imladris, T.A. 2943:

"What are you reading, Estel?"

The twelve-year-old mortal son of the Master of Imladris looked up to see Elrohir smiling at him as he stood in the doorway of the boy’s bedroom. Estel was nestled in the bay window which was his favorite place for reading or just thinking.

"The ‘Lay of Leithian’," the young lad answered, "the part where Lúthien and Beren enter Angband and Lúthien dances and sings everyone to sleep."

"Ah, and I’m surprised it hasn’t put you to sleep," Elrohir said teasingly as he came into the room to stand beside his little brother.

"Elrohir!" Estel protested. "I’m not little any more and this is the exciting part anyway."

Elrohir laughed and tousled Estel’s hair, knowing how much the boy hated it. True to form, Estel uttered a protest and tried to move away "Well, I only came to see if you wanted to join me and Elladan on a hunting trip. Ada and Glorfindel have both given their permission for you to come with us."

Estel’s eyes widened in surprise and delight. "Oh, yes, please," he exclaimed as he carefully placed a strip of silk in the tome to mark his place and stood to put the book on the desk. As he laid the book down, he gave Elrohir a considering look. "I bet Morgoth was really mad when he woke up and found one of the Silmarils had been stolen."

Elrohir raised an eyebrow and smiled. "I imagine he wasn’t too happy about it."

Estel tilted his head to the left. "The Lay only tells about what happened to Lúthien and Beren, but it doesn’t say anything about how Morgoth felt about the loss of the Silmaril. I sure would love to have been a fly on the wall in Angband then."

Elrohir laughed again, wrapping an arm around Estel’s shoulders as they exited the room. "I’m sure it would have been very interesting to witness. Now, forget Morgoth. Let’s see what weapons Glorfindel has chosen for you."

Estel gave a cheer and the First Age and Morgoth’s troubles were quickly forgotten in the excitement of going hunting with his brothers....

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Angband, F.A. 469:

Sauron, first lieutenant of Melkor, tried not to stare but found it rather difficult as he stood before the ebony throne of his dread lord. The Dark Lord sat in deep gloom but Sauron had no trouble seeing the gash on Melkor’s brow or the fact that the Iron Crown looked a bit... well, lop-sided, the right-hand claw which had grasped a Silmaril now empty.

"So, let me see if I understand what happened," he said carefully, keeping any amusement he might be feeling out of his voice. "Thuringwethil and Draugluin came here, supposedly sent by me, but they weren’t really who they claimed to be."

"Of course they weren’t," Melkor hissed angrily. "Do you think I was so blind as not to see beneath their guises?"

"No, of course not, my Lord," Sauron replied quickly. "But I am somewhat at a loss as to what happened afterwards."

There was a deadly silence that stretched into eternity and Sauron forced himself not to lick his lips or show any sign of discomfort. His master’s moods were volatile at best, downright murderous at worst and the slightest thing could set him off.

"Yes, well... I... um... that is to say...."

Sauron couldn’t help raising an eyebrow at the sound of the dread Lord of Angband hemming and hawing. What did happen here?

"My Lord?"

Even through the gloom that eternally mantled Melkor Sauron could feel the Vala’s glare. "I saw through her disguise right away and was amused by her boldness. I thought to... to play with her...."

"Her?" Sauron dared to interrupt.

Melkor glared at his lieutenant. "Lúthien, you dolt, or weren’t you listening?"

Sauron gave him a bow. "Of course, my Lord. Forgive me. Pray continue. You were about to... er... play with the she-elf and...."

Melkor grimaced, well aware of what the Maia was implying, but decided to let it go... for now. "The little chit started singing," he said, sounding annoyed and aggrieved at the same time, "without so much as a by-your-leave. Everyone started snoring, including Gothmog here." He gestured toward the balrog standing to his left.

Gothmog glowered at them both. "I don’t snore," he muttered.

"Then someone was using a very loud saw to cut wood," Melkor retorted.

"I take it my Lord was not so easily subdued," Sauron said, wishing to divert these two from yet another argument.

Melkor turned his attention back to his lieutenant and smirked. "Of course not. ‘So Lúthien, so Lúthien, a liar like all Elves and Men,’ I said to her. ‘Yet welcome, welcome, to my hall! I have a use for every thrall’."

"Nice rhyme," Sauron couldn’t help saying and tried not to cringe when Melkor rose from his throne and stepped down from the dais to face him.

"I was in a good mood," the Dark Lord said in a dangerously low voice.

"I’m sure I would have been, too, if Thingol’s brat were in my power," Sauron replied neutrally.

Vala and Maia stared at one another for a long moment. Sauron finally lowered his eyes in acknowledgment of his subservience. "So, you were not taken in by her song," he said as a way of bringing them back to the subject at hand.

"No, I wasn’t," Melkor said, turning to resume his throne. "I started to take her in my grasp, but the damn girl eluded me. Reminds me of her mother. Anyway, she started dancing and singing! Flitted about like a manic bat with her dark cloak. I could sense the enchantments in it and was ready to counter them. I even started to order the Orcs to take her, but they were all sound asleep by then."

"You did not succumb," Sauron stated categorically, glancing at the Iron Crown with its missing jewel, knowing the lie of his words would sting his master, but really, it was rather amusing to think about some elfling running about putting everyone to sleep, including the greatest and mightiest of the Valar.

Melkor grimaced. "She was more powerful than I suspected," was all he said. "Next thing I knew I felt something sting me, some shard of a Dwarvish blade, I deem, and I came awake to see my crown lying on the floor and two figures running for their lives, one of them holding my Silmaril in his damn hand."

"Ah, the person pretending to be Draugluin," Sauron said. "Let me guess, a Mortal with dark hair going gray."

Melkor nodded, giving him a baleful smirk. "I believe you... um... entertained him for a time yourself... until that same chit of a girl bested you and freed him."

Sauron grimaced. "So we both have been stung by Melyanna’s get," he retorted, "but I just lost a few prisoners. You on the other hand...."

"Careful, Aulendil," Melkor said silkily, knowing how much his lieutenant hated being called by that name. "Someday, you just might lose something more precious than a few prisoners, and when that happens, you’ll get no sympathy from me."

Sauron bowed low and began to apologize to his master for his thoughtlessness, but privately he was smirking. Lose something precious? Yeah, right. As if that would ever happen.

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Note: Melkor’s words to Lúthien, which he quotes, are taken from the Lay of Leithian.