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Teeth sank into his throat, and his world became pain. He struggled, trying to shake the stupid dog off, but Huan’s muzzle was locked firmly around his neck. He tried to shift his shape, becoming serpentine and trying to slink away, but it mattered not. In any form, he was caught. At last, he returned to his preferred form, hoping he might be able to work some other magic, but Lúthien stepped forward, digging nails that were almost clawlike themselves into his flesh.
“We have caught ourselves a coward, dear Huan,” she said, and Mairon was shocked to realize he could recognize Melian in her voice, “Let us strip him of this raiment of flesh, so that his ghost may be sent quaking to his master. There everlastingly thy naked self shall endure the torment of his scorn, pierced by his eyes, unless thou yield to me the mastery of thy tower.”
It was a mockery of him, patronizing and humiliating, and he struggled futilely and snarled. But the picture she painted loomed large before him, of his master’s disappointment, of the coolness with which he had been regarded since the acquisition of those horrid gems turning even icier, and he nodded, unable to speak. His power fled the land, ceding to hers, and she smiled cruelly as she gestured for Huan to release him.
Blood dripped down the ruins of his throat as he dropped from the jaws of that accursed hound. Lúthien looked at him with scorn and raised a hand threateningly against him. Without another thought, he shifted into the form of a vampire and made his escape. He could not see for pain and the faintness of blood loss as he flew, but he knew the way to the forests on the edge of his master’s land without the use of his physical eyes. Every breath he drew rattled, and as the wind buffeted him about, he choked on the blood that bubbled up within him. His flight became erratic until at last he judged it safe to land.
Trees loomed large around him, something that had never brought him comfort, but with his other senses he located a wolf den nearby and dragged himself to it, shifting back into his canine form. His whines brought forth the other wolves, and they growled at the scent of his blood, but when they came to him, they recognized him as their lord and allowed him to enter.
The largest of them laid beside him, keeping his cooling body warm with its heat while another licked away the blood at his throat. Perhaps he should have shuddered at the feeling of sharp teeth and strong jaws so close to his wound again, but he could sense the mind of the creature and felt its loyalty. More blood gurgled up, and he convulsed, choking heavily. His vision went dark though his mind kept thinking, and he feared that he would be forced, formless, before his master regardless of the tiny mercy of Melian’s spawn. He did not for a moment consider fleeing, simply not returning to the humiliation he was sure to receive, physical form or no physical form. He had sworn his entire self to Melkor, and no pain or torment from either his enemy’s or his master’s hand would ever shake his devotion to his lord.
A damp snout pushed his head down, keeping him still to minimize the flow of blood. He suppressed a whimper as he felt fur stick in his wounds as the wolf tried to keep him from bleeding out. Something small nudged at his hand—and it was only then that he registered he had shifted back to his usual form—and he curled his fingers around it. It wriggled, and he realized it must have been a wolf pup. Loosening his grip to something more gentle, he did his best to pet it without being able to look at it. It was surprisingly comforting.
Air was still not flowing properly through his damaged throat and, though he did not truly need air, he did need blood, and his mind was fuzzy from the lack of it. Still, curled up in the warmth of this den, with a wolf pup snuggled into his hands and a full-grown wolf against his back, he felt himself grow comfortable enough to slip into an uneasy rest.