Things were grim for Mairon; last time they were as grim was perhaps at the end of the War of Wrath. The trouble came out of nowhere; he had left Barad-Dûr to lead another attack on Eriador, an attack that was going pretty successfully until he received a messenger from Mordor. It was a bloodied Orc, exhausted and half-mad with fear. He appeared to have run all the way from Barad-Dûr without making a single stop, anxious to deliver his master a news: the fortress had been taken by the Elves.
Mairon laughed at first, considering it a bad joke or a product of the Orc’s troubled mind, but the messenger was insistent on the story’s accuracy. Leaving the tower, Mairon left but a tiny garrison there: he was still low on soldiers, and no one in their right mind would venture down to Mordor, would they? Only someone did, claimed the Orc: a small group of Elves lead by a dark-haired singer-sorcerer - Mairon had no idea who that could be. The Elves killed most of the garrison and set the prisoners free, and one of those took command of the tower. The Orc was a kitchen helper and knew not the captives’ names, yet he described the new commander well enough: tall and dark-haired, proud, heavily scarred, restless, and a smith. That description made Mairon growl. Tyelpë! Who could have known that little Noldo still had strength in him left, strength and resilience, and enough arrogance to proclaim himself the master of Mairon’s own tower. The details of the Orc’s escape and the failed pursuit of him by Elven archers were of no interest to Mairon.
Enraged and humiliated, the Dark Lord rousted most of his army, leaving the rest under Mûrazor’s command. Elves were exhausted and defeated anyways, and they would not do anything harmful in his absence, he believed. His mind was feverish from the indignity he suffered. Barad-Dûr being captured like this, by a small pack of Elves, was a great shame and also great encouragement to all those opposing him. He would not admit this, but the fact that the fortress was now in Tyelpë’s charge made the defeat even worse. He would recapture the fortress before they defile it, he would leave a stronger garrison there prior to returning to Eriador, and, most importantly, he would slay those Noldor and teach Tyelpë a lesson to show him where he belonged.
Strangely enough, he daydreamt of Tyelpë many times on the way to Mordor. Mairon would recall the Elf’s broken frame, his pale skin, his quiet, hoarse voice - when he was not crying or begging for mercy, loose hairs sticking to his sweaty forehead, his desperate grey eyes… Of course, the Maia had had no doubts leaving that alone. Tyelpë would meet him slightly healed, he had thought, but generally the same, and what a damned fool was he! That Elf had already caused enough trouble, using Mairon’s teaching for his stupid purposes and hiding the Rings. He had enough strength to resist Mairon’s methods that had always worked for extracting intelligence, and the location remained hidden. Of course he would use every opportunity to ruin Mairon’s plans! The Dark Lord growled in anger not once, pulling the reins of his horse, strange feeling stirring down his stomach at the thought of Tyelpë being so unruly.
He reached Mordor soon, as if his wrath sped him up. It was obvious that Tyelpë did not possess any considerable power: the Black Gate was not taken, and the minor towers guarding the borders of Mordor were still manned by his soldiers, save one, which appeared to be where the Elves crossed to rescue Tyelperinquar. There, only dead Orc bodies met them, scattered across the building.
Soon, the dark army reached Barad-Dûr, the tower still as beautiful and intimidating as Mairon remembered it, its magnificence only spoiled by Gil-Galad’s starry banner fluttering above it. Immediately, Mairon’s forces encircled the tower and prepared to lay siege. It was evident from the start that the defenders of the tower stood no chance.
The soldiers set up tents and started putting together the siege equipment. It was then that a figure became visible on the bridge of the tower. The archers prepared to take aim, yet Mairon ordered them to wait. As the stranger got closer, it became clear that it was an Orc; another messenger, as Tyelperinquar would spare none of his Elves to be sent into the enemy’s camp. The trembling, exhausted Orc informed Mairon that the lord commander of Barad-Dûr (Mairon had to snort here) desired to conduct negotiations.
That was, in fact, entertaining, and Mairon laughed. Tyelpë-darling was in a tight spot now, and looking for a way out. Ever the dedicated leader, he would probably be willing to sacrifice himself to save his people. Oh, there would be ways to go about that sacrifice. Mairon licked his lips; his agreement would be delivered by an Elf prisoner he’s had in the camp, to follow suit. He demanded that the negotiations start as soon as Tyelpë was ready. There was no reason to be waiting, and he was hungry for the Elf’s body and filled with anticipation. Soon, he would have his little Noldo back, easy and obedient and ready to please.
* * *
The “little Noldo” looked around his tent, frowning, his lips tightly closed. He looked as kind and sweet as an untamed warg. Looking at this Elf lord, armored and clad in Mairon’s own over-the-knee boots, one would assume he possessed at least a thousand spearmen and twice as many archers. Tyelperinquar did not come here to beg; he came to demand.
“Welcome back, my lord,” he smirked.
Mairon growled. He did not like when things did not follow the scenario he had drawn in his mind. “That is not a good welcome, my boy. What are those games you’re playing? I suggest that you open the gates and let the master back into his house.”
“The master needs not burn another’s house if he wants to keep his own,” the Elf contradicted. He sat down, uninvited to do so. “I took this tower in exchange for Ost-in-Edhil, my city that you destroyed. You are to dismantle your camp and depart these lands.”
Mairon shook his head, smiling. “Tyelpë, sweetheart, your poor mind must have dimmed. I promise to treat you better, darling, I see that all these tortures had a considerable effect on you.” He reached out to pet the Elf’s hair, which was met with angry hissing. Mairon pulled his hand back, not discouraged. “Open the gates to me, my love, don’t be silly,” he spoke gently. “You stand no chance, I know you have few men. I will defeat you, and then, I will not be merciful.”
“I care not for your mercy,” Tyelpë replied, his voice as calm and clear as a forest stream. Slowly, he took off his leather glove. Mairon was drawn to the sight of the Elf’s hand; he always loved Tyelpë’s hands, delicate and beautiful yet possessing great skill. Yet this time, it was not only the beauty that attracted his attention. On Tyelpë’s finger, a spark kindled, growing into a tiny star. The star gave Mairon anxiety, quickly filling the tent with hostile force. A Ring of Power!
Mairon sighed, loudly, torn between hatred, wrath, appreciation, respect, and… love. Damned be that love; even though Tyelpë was his enemy now, arrogant and uncompliant, the Maia could not help adoring him so strongly even his toes curled in excitement. This Ring was not connected to the One. Tyelpë, bloodied, exhausted, and broken in every possible way, figured out how to make Rings of Power using some other power source, and, moreover, found enough strength in himself to make one, all in a short span a few months.
“You truly are the greatest craftsman among the Elves,” Mairon whispered, his enchanted gaze fixed on the Ring, not noticing Tyelpë’s victorious smile. “And yet it changes nothing.”
“How so?” Tyelpë asked, still calm. The star on his finger faded and vanished, and he gloved his hand again, as if hiding his beauty from Mairon’s too-intent eyes.
“Even with the Ring, you will not withstand me,” Mairon smiled smugly, anticipating some luscious resolution of their conflict. “You will remain in this tent and do as I command or face my wrath. Your reckless desire to rule has led you into this trap, my darling. You have irritated me enough, and now, it’s time to recompense for it. Strip.”
Tyelperinquar raised his eyebrows, amused, as if he had just heard the most ridiculous suggestion in his life. Cool and composed, he rose and walked around the desk, stopping right behind Mairon to let his hands land on the Maia’s shoulders. Mairon shivered; he did not appreciate this display of power that Tyelpë did not even possess.
“Sweetheart,” the Elf whispered tenderly into Mairon’s ear, “do you seriously think I’m this stupid?”
“I know you are a liar, a bloody liar,” Tyelpë purred. “I would not trust you with a pebble, you worthless cheat, let alone my own freedom. I took precautions.” His hands squeezed Mairon’s shoulders. “You say I am the greatest craftsman? Indeed I am. I found a way to make Rings without your influence, and more; my Rings are several, and connected to each other, sisters, if you will. If anything, anything at all happens to me, those inside the tower will know it, and they will act .”
“Act - how?!” Mairon demanded, though his breath quickened as the blood ran faster through his form. His sense was still present in his slightly dizzy head, though. “What can they possibly do, set the tower on fire? I will rebuild it!”
“I would set you on fire,” Tyelpë murmured, his hands descending to Mairon’s chest. Oh, that… that felt nice. “But I see you already are, you stupid horny Maia.”
It was very unfair of Tyelpë to laugh at him for being so turned on when the Elf’s own fingers (still gloved, oh stars ) brushed so nicely against his nipples, the touch making him shiver despite all the layers of his attire. Nevertheless, Mairon remained as still as he could.
“I ask that you sober up for a bit and recall the small token of affection someone left you, a lovely little ring with a radiant orange topaz.”
Mairon froze, his excitement all but gone. “I do not know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, but you do!” Tyelpë nuzzled into Mairon’s hair, bringing back the unwanted memories of their tender night cuddles in Eregion, a lifetime ago. “My noble upbringing does not allow me to quote the inscription, but I do remember a similar ring, it came from the pile of jewelry that Eönwë ordered to take off Morgoth and give to us smiths for inspection. None of it was magical, fortunately, but there was another ring, yellow topaz, same inscription. He gave you one of the set before you ran, didn’t he?”
Mairon panicked. He had left his second most precious item in Barad-Dûr to make sure nothing would happen to it in Eriador, and now… He hung his head low, hands balling into fists helplessly. There probably were Noldor in the tower, at least one of them would know how to harm the ring.
“I understand,” Tyelpë whispered, his voice genuinely tender. “It is the only thing you have of him. I do not want to cause you this much pain, despite all that you did to me. I will not test the limits and try to exchange the ring for the tower either. Let me go, and I promise I will send it out to you. You have my word.”
Sweet, docile Tyelpë, a little darling with a big open heart, so compassionate, so exploitable… Mairon felt like himself again, now that the Elf’s true personality surfaced. “Thank you, my dear boy,” the Maia spoke in his saccharine voice. “You are ever compassionate, my love. Would you take pity on me, now that you have turned me on, and stay for a bit longer? Please.”
Tyelpë smiled, a kind, charming smile it was, like in Ost-in-Edhil; yet nothing would ever be the way it was in Ost-in-Edhil. “Still think me an idiot, do you?” he chuckled, the sound making the Maia slightly uncomfortable. A glove fell on the table surface in front of Mairon, and a rough, calloused hand seized him by the neck. Mairon did not know why he cried out so lustfully, and Tyelpë’s laugh only added to the humiliation.
“Stand up,” the Elf ordered, his voice so low it almost made Mairon squirm. Face burning, he obeyed; a quick bite on the neck was his reward. It felt odd how quickly the fire spread through his body, running through his veins, how Tyelpë’s hands on his thighs made him tremble, how much he was aching for this Elf even if he - for the first time - wasn’t the one to set the terms.
Breath heavy, Mairon drove his hips back to press his bottom against Tyelpë’s hardening length. He tried, oh, he tried to keep himself from rutting against the Elf, but it was all futile.
“What a good little slut,” Tyelpë whispered, his hot breath on Mairon’s ear, his fingers undoing the countless ties and buttons… Oh, why did he put on those elaborate robes intended to impress the opponent, there was no opponent here, only Tyelpë, his dear Tyelpë who had too much control over him, and he should have worn something with easy access for his precious Noldo.
Soon, he was naked and bent over the desk, Tyelpë’s hand exploring his backside. Never had Mairon been in this position, never had he imagined he would appreciate it, and yet he was, his soft gasps the only evidence of that. No, he would not cry out anymore, he would not give this feisty Elf the pleasure, he would n…
“Ah, Tyelpë, p-please!..”
Oh, what a shame. Such delightful shame.
Tyelpë pulled his hand from where it was, between Mairon’s thighs. Such a merciless gesture. “Of course,” Tyelpë sneered. “I shall fuck you, why not. That should help you learn your place, you petty self-proclaimed ruler.”
That was too much. Mairon lifted up his head, his fangs suddenly coming out as he snarled. Tyelpë’s heavy hand landed on his head that very moment, pressing his skull back into the surface. “Be good,” he ordered. Mairon sighed quietly, obeying. He had nearly forgotten what it meant to obey, how enjoyable it was, how natural it felt…
Tyelpë’s fingers inside him were also very natural, coated with that oil that was supposed to serve an entirely different purpose, and he wondered how he had lived before, without the care and attentive guidance Tyelpë was now giving him. Sweet, sweet, wonderful Tyelpë…
“Haha, thank you.”
Eru damn it, he said that aloud, but how could he not? Tyelpë’s fingers weren’t skilled in metalwork alone, they made Mairon toss on the desk, and squirm, and whine, and say many things he would later regret.
He cried with literal tears when the Elf’s fingers left him. “Shh, quiet, my darling,” Tyelpë whispered, his hand stroking Mairon’s back soothingly, the other one busied slicking his own cock. “I will be with you shortly, love.”
Tyelpë was ever true to his word. Mairon wondered if his little gasps could be heard outside the tent, yet he could not keep himself silent as he was entered.
“Such a lovely little Maia,” Tyelpë’s smirk was evident in his voice. “If only I knew, my dear Annatar,” his hot lips pressed against the back of Mairon’s neck, extracting another gasp of pleasure, “if only I had known that all it took was to fuck you, I’d have done it every day. That would have driven all those stupid evil plans right out of your stupid little head.”
Again, the Elf was testing him, and Mairon hissed in fury - only to receive the most satisfying push, and again, and more. He gave up now, completely, his forehead pressed into the desk, his voice ringing high, probably attracting the attention of half of the camp. “Tyelpë! Tyelpë, darling, I missed you, oh I missed you so so much, ah, Tyelpë, please !”
“J-just like that, Annatar, mhmmm, good boy,” Tyelpë grunted, rewarding Mairon for his shameless blabbering and for rocking his hips so nicely in accordance with Tyelpë’s movements.
Tyelpë had an arm wrapped around Mairon’s waist, the other hand travelling all over his lover’s body, pulling his hair, teasing his nipples, stroking his side, caressing his thighs… Mairon appreciated it so much, until Tyelpë’s hand covered his own, and the Elf’s fingertip brushed against the One Ring. A spark of terror went through Mairon’s body, and he growled, teeth growing again into fangs, nails turning into claws. Tyelpë’s hand moved gracefully to Mairon’s stomach and slid down to wrap around his cock. “Mhm… yes, Tyelpë…” Mairon moaned, his appearance turning back to usual in an instant. He was so weak for this Elf, weak in a literal sense, his legs trembling slightly as Tyelpë fucked into him, his insides seeming to curl up in pleasure.
Tyelpë’s miraculous lips kissed his hair warmly, his neck, behind his ear, neck again… “I know you’re close,” he whispered.
“You’re… you’re going to make me beg, are you not?” Mairon managed to mutter. Damn it, this was going to be incredibly degrading, to beg an Elf for his release, but Mairon’s entire body was so pleasantly tense, and he was on the verge, and…
“No, you don’t have to beg,” Tyelpë’s voice sounded like Mairon’s salvation handed down to him by Eru himself. “I love you. You may come. Come, my darling.”
Those words were still ringing in his ears as he came, shuddering and spilling all over his desk which, as he absent-mindedly realized, had a map with his battle plans on it and was now disgracefully ruined. He did not remember how Tyelpë finished into him, how the Elf got dressed, kissed him goodbye… The next thing he heard was the sound of his Noldo’s voice outside the tent, singing a merry song at the top of his lungs.
Mairon dressed with his shaking hands, paying no mind to the map. He did not want to return to his responsibilities now; he wanted to be alone, to get over what happened…
He was nearly done putting himself together when an Orc’s voice pulled him out of his reverie.
“My lord? My lord!”
“What is it?” Mairon asked, still tired and unwilling to think of anything but Tyelpë.
And think of Tyelpë he would. “My lord, there are fires all over the camp. Many commanders are slain, and no one has seen the attackers. Banners are stolen!”
The thought of the Elf’s treachery had not yet sunken in when another Orc stormed in, terrified. “My lord, an army! Tarks and Elves, in less than a day’s walk!”
Mairon rose, his eyes turning red with rage. Tyelpë fooled him, using the negotiations as a pretense to bring his Ring-wearing allies into the camp. The Elves he believed to be weak were reinforced by Numenoreans, and the lot of them followed him to Barad-Dûr, probably informed by Tyelpë that the tower was taken. Damned, damned be that Elf, damned be his tender voice, his loving hands, his gentle lips, and his traitorous nature. Damned be Mairon’s aching heart and the disturbing wetness on his eyes. Damned be Middle Earth, and damned be this war.
“May I be forever cursed by Eru,” the Dark Lord roared, “next time I decide to have a fling with a Noldo. Now, prepare to battle!”
Soon, another messenger came in, and Mairon tensed, but it was only Tyelpë fulfilling his promise. Relieved, Mairon put the ring on his finger, never to remove it just like the other one. Soon, he would get hold of Tyelperinquar as well, he promised himself.