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Let it not be said that Maeglin Lómion didn't know how relationships worked. He did. He just -- took a while to figure out they worked differently in different places, that was all.
To be fair, nobody else must have figured that out either, or they could've explained how things worked in Gondolin instead of letting him be rude and forward and watching as he made a complete fool out of himself.
But he did know that things worked differently in different places! When he'd at last cleared up exactly how without getting yelled at, Idril had said, and these were her exact words, "That sounds like fucking Angband, what is wrong with that forest."
So now that he was being brought before Sauron after being kidnapped by orcs, it made sense to apply Nan Elmoth standards of social etiquette.
It was flattering, he supposed, to have caught the attention of an Úmaia, especially one who was a smith with famously high standards. And the sheer number of orcs spoke not only to power (which he'd been told was supposed to be attractive and not scary, but he'd never met anybody who really thought that) but to how important it was to capture Maeglin and bring him, how highly he was valued. In that light, it was rather romantic, and the orcs hadn't hurt him unduly, so clearly Sauron cared some little amount for his health.
And Maiar, in his experience, were perfectly happy to force particular emotions from those they kept, rather than trying to cause them naturally, so it was imperative that he stay flattered, and not move beyond it into fear.
The look Sauron gave him then was exactly the sort he'd gotten from all kinds of suitors, which was exactly the kind of thing that induced fear and nausea. He pushed all those unsightly feelings down.
"Well, well," said Sauron, taking Maeglin's face in his hand and bringing it up towards his own. He was handsome enough, for an evil spectre. "What were you doing out in those mountains, fair elf?"
"Mining," he said, in as neutral a tone as he could manage. No fear, no defiance, but no deference yet. Sauron hadn't earned that.
"We in Angband are always in need of good miners," he said, "but I think My Lord ought to meet you first."
Maeglin fought the urge to make a face. What a sycophant! Why in Arda would Morgoth care who his lieutenant bedded?
But it would bode well for him if he were approved of, and he'd probably just die if not, rather than being kept around as a thrall. Everyone he knew who'd been in Angband said it was worse than death, but he was sure that if Sauron liked him enough he'd only be as miserable as he would've been if married in Nan Elmoth.
He allowed himself to be brought before Morgoth and noted with familial pride the unhealed wounds Fingolfin had dealt, and a smaller, more grudging familial pride at the Silmarils made asymmetrical by Lúthien. It wasn't good, he knew, to disgrace his family by marrying Sauron, but he didn't have much of a choice, and anyway Sauron didn't need to know exactly who he was.
"What have you brought me?" said Morgoth. His voice sounded like thunder and hailstorms and breaking metal, and Maeglin felt after only one short sentence that his ears might bleed.
"An elf found in the mountains, near by to where Húrin went upon his release," answered Sauron, his own voice silk-smooth. "I will be keeping him, I think."
This had something to do with Húrin? Oh, that bastard--
Morgoth said, "Then tell me, elf, who are you?"
Maeglin's mouth pried itself open and words poured out, unable to be stopped or turned into lies. The best he could do was change the words to smaller truths, and berate himself for falling prey to compulsion. "I am Maeglin Lómion of Gondolin, the--" He changed the words his tongue wished to form, knowing that confession of his rank or heritage would doom him. "--the ward of the king."
There. A king's ward was valuable without being too valuable, a worthy trophy that wasn't worth doing anything else with. It wasn't safe to be more than that, or any less.
"King's wards are so very uncooperative, as I've learned from Túrin, so I won't expect anything just yet. I think you must keep him, Mairon," said Morgoth. "Take good care of him, and bring him back to see me when he's ready to be of use."
"Of course, my king," said Sauron -- Mairon, apparently, but Maeglin doubted he'd be allowed to call him that. Or call him any name, really, only a title.
But Sauron wasn't ungentle in dragging him off to a cell (entirely normal, new spouses were often reluctant and prone to escape attempts), and he was very warm. Maeglin could make the best of it, with the regard he'd been shown and the undeniable attractiveness of his intended.
The important thing, Maeglin decided, was to keep track of time if he could. He had good time-sense no matter how long he was underground, though Angband complicated things, and this could maybe impress Sauron and make him useful to him.
There was nothing to do but wait, anyway. He didn't really have any intention of running, as Angband was difficult to escape even for ordinary prisoners that Sauron didn't have intentions towards. He was probably heavily guarded, since Sauron seemed to care so much.
He must be patient. He'd thought at first that Sauron would want to marry him immediately and break his will after, but he had nothing against a long betrothal and being courted and broken slowly.
After four days, Sauron came back. Maeglin neatened his hair and tried to look presentable.
"Have you anything to say?" said Sauron.
"No," said Maeglin. He wasn't going to accept Sauron's proposal immediately! If Sauron actually wanted him to agree, instead of just wedding him without leave (which was much more common), he'd have to earn it.
"Didn't think so," said Sauron. "Well, there's no harm in leaving you here a while longer. Maybe you'll learn that cooperation is best for you."
Maeglin rolled his eyes when Sauron's back was turned. Would it kill him to be more specific about what he wanted? An "I intend to marry you" wouldn't go amiss here! If Maeglin hadn't been familiar with this way of handling courtship, he'd be so confused.
After he'd been in Angband for a total of a week, it was hard to think of anything but how badly he wanted food and water and to be warm again. He was brought a tiny bit of sustenance each day, to keep him alive, but not nearly enough.
Thankfully, Sauron came back.
"I've decided to show you," said Sauron, "how good things can be if you cooperate. Promise you won't try to hurt me or run away, and I'll give you everything you need."
An easy enough thing to promise. "Sure."
Sauron took him by the arm and led him out. The hallways echoed with sounds of suffering and pain, but they were muted here more than they were in his cell, and most of the prisoners they passed by seemed to be servants of some kind, averting their eyes as Sauron passed by.
They didn't have to go far to reach their destination, which made sense; Sauron would want his intended to be nearby and convenient. This area was probably adjacent to Sauron's own chambers. Sauron opened the door, revealing a well-appointed room with comfortable chairs, a table piled high with food and drink, and most importantly (considering how long he'd been underground even before capture) a steaming hot bath and fresh clothes.
"All this for me?" said Maeglin. He'd only been here a week, and he was being spoiled already! Maybe Sauron just valued him that highly.
"For us. Clean yourself, and we'll eat lunch together."
A lunch date!
There wasn't a privacy screen for him to bathe behind, but he doubted he'd be granted one if he asked. They were soon to be married, anyway. Without further thought, he undressed and sank into the warm water, conscious all the while of Sauron's eyes on him.
It wasn't that Maeglin didn't know he was attractive, at least to people who liked dark hair and access to power in a partner; he couldn't count the number of suitors he'd had before running away from Nan Elmoth to a place where he was considerably less desirable. And he'd had all those suitors even against his and his parents' will, the people who wanted him knowing full well that courting him (inasmuch as kidnapping or enchanting counted as courtship, which they did) was courting their own deaths, for any attempt to remove him from Eöl's power was harshly punished. He knew he was lovely enough for people to have risked their lives for his hand.
But the way Sauron looked at him was new. Differently than he'd been looked at before, different in a way that made him want to look back, different in a way that made his heart race from something other than fear.
The new clothes were surprisingly nice, but then again, it did matter that Sauron had something pretty to look at. Curiously, there weren't any shoes -- it wasn't so bad, the floor being clean here, but he wouldn't like it in the hallways.
He sat down across from his intended and waited to be served however much he'd be allowed to eat. Being starved for a week was no excuse for bad manners.
After a pause, Sauron filled up Maeglin's plate with unfamiliar fruits and vegetables, and a few cave-fish, and filled his cup with wine and a second with water.
(Maeglin made a mental note to drink mostly water.)
"Eat," said Sauron, "since you've been so well behaved."
He obeyed gladly, but didn't fail to see that Sauron didn't eat anything, only looked him over as one might look at a statue on display.
At last Sauron broke the silence. "Tell me of yourself, Lómion. How came you to be the king's ward?" he asked.
The not-lie came easily to his lips. "My mother was dead, and my father a criminal," he said. "The king took me in, for I had no guardian. I was a youth of under a century then."
"What a fool is the King of Gondolin, allowing such a treasure to go alone into the wide world!" said Sauron. "Why does he not keep you secluded where you cannot be coveted?"
Maeglin got the vague sense that this brand of flirting, in the normal course of things, would make a prisoner very uncomfortable. But he wasn't that kind of prisoner. Flirting was an indication he was doing something right.
"I couldn't stand the confinement, after so many decades, so I made a habit of sneaking out," he said honestly.
Sauron said, "Then I am glad I found you before anyone else did."
Maeglin didn't think it was really the best outcome -- anyone else who might've decided to steal him would at least have been killable -- but at least Sauron was capable of giving him a comfortable life, which was impossible in most of Beleriand. Even if he probably wouldn't really do that.
"That's sweet of you to say," said Maeglin, then changed the topic to what he was more curious about. "What do you do here, when you're not visiting me?"
"Whatever My Lord requires of me."
He huffed in frustration at the unsatisfactory answer.
"I do the day-to-day running of Angband," Sauron elaborated. "I also oversee the forges, and work on important pieces of metalcraft, like the Iron Crown."
"Do you ever go to other places?"
Sauron shrugged. "On occasion. I had my own fortress for a time, but I think even sheltered young men in Gondolin know how that ended."
"But you can't just stay here all the time, can you?" said Maeglin. "I started sneaking out ere a century trapped in Gondolin. But maybe it's different for Maiar."
"I marvel that no one had seen you earlier, then," said Sauron.
"I try not to be too obvious about it."
"What do you do, when you're not out mining?"
"I have some household duties," said Maeglin vaguely, "and I'm a smith, too, when I've got the time. I wouldn't claim to be your equal, but among my own folk I'm considered good with weapons and gems."
Interest sparked in Sauron's face, but he said nothing of that. "Well, in any case, you appear to be done eating, so I must return you to your dwelling-place," he said instead, with reluctance. "But I could be convinced to do this again, if you earned it."
"You aren't expecting me to go over those bad floors without shoes, are you?" said Maeglin. He expected some suffering, of course, but not something so entirely avoidable, and having hurt feet would make him less useful later.
"Did you have something else in mind?"
"You could carry me," he suggested. That was entirely proper for newlyweds and the like, so why did Sauron look at him so strangely at the suggestion?
"All right," Sauron said at last, and lifted him up.
He was warm. Maeglin didn't snuggle into him, but it was a close thing, and being left alone in his cold cell felt even worse than he wanted to admit.
The next few visits were closer together, and uneventful, at least in Maeglin's mind. All that happened was Sauron hurting him in various ways and having his mental shields besieged, which were normal things to do to a new partner. Maeglin personally didn't think that he needed to have his will broken like this, but if Sauron was a traditionalist, he'd allow it.
For all that he knew he must endure this ill-treatment, it was very unpleasant. But bearing it would please Sauron, so he did his best.
After those visits, he was again granted a bath and a meal, and Sauron flirted with him incessantly while Maeglin clung tightly to pleasant demure behavior until his metaphorical fingernails broke.
"I have no problem with keeping you in your cell forever," Sauron would say, "but I think there are better places suited for one such as you." Like his own bedroom, no doubt. "I confess, I never thought Gondolin would drop one of its treasures right in my lap," Sauron would say. "You are interesting, Lómion, and I think you could be very useful to me," Sauron would say.
Maeglin generally didn't flirt much in return. He didn't consider it necessary; he hadn't tried to kill Sauron yet, which he absolutely would've if he hadn't been interested.
And Sauron once in a while, before meals, would have him assist in the forge, which was a welcome change of pace. His intended truly was skilled, as expected of a Maia of Aulë, and he was able to learn much even without being directly taught. More importantly, he got to show off his own skills, and prove himself a worthwhile husband.
(And feel the full force of Sauron's very pretty eyes in a way that wasn't meant to hurt.)
One day, Maeglin realized he'd much rather not be carried back to his cold cell and be left alone after dinner. So when Sauron came over to pick him up, he brought up an alternative.
"I think I'd rather stay with you than go back," he said, hoping it wasn't overly bold.
Sauron blinked. "Stay with me as in...?"
"With you. Wherever it is you take your rest after bringing me back there. I'd rather be in your company."
"I'm not in need of rest as much as incarnates are," said Sauron. "But -- all right."
So he picked up Maeglin and brought him instead to his own rooms, which were, as Maeglin had expected, nearby. He set him down there inside and shut the door.
"Hmm," said Sauron. "I think I could get used to having you in here, Lómion. Maybe you need never go to your cell again."
Maeglin's heart leapt.
After that night, he lived in Sauron's rooms and slept in his bed, and was never cold again. They didn't marry yet, but they kissed and touched one another on occasion, more and more often as time passed.
Then, once he had spent a full month in Angband, Sauron proposed marriage.
Mairon considered himself to be good at his job. His Lord had told him to wring the secrets of Gondolin from their guest by any means he chose, and he was close on the edge of succeeding.
Lómion was clearly a rather sheltered elf, and terribly trusting, but it let him forgive Mairon every time he was hurt, and at last Mairon felt that he'd gained enough trust and attachment from him to be answered when he asked Lómion to turn his back on his people, seduced him enough to win his loyalty.
After this all was over, he'd pluck Lómion out of the wreckage and lock him back up in his bedroom. He didn't dare go too far yet, but soon enough it wouldn't matter whether what he did was too much, or whether or not he left marks.
He brought Lómion to their dining room, where food was ready and waiting on the table, and sat him down.
"My Lómion," he began, and noted with triumph how the elf brightened at being referred to that way, "you are an elf of great skill and power -- what a waste, for you to return to Gondolin! No one could possibly value you properly there, and you would only wish to escape again. Here, you could reach higher heights, could have challenges worthy of your skills." He softened his tone. "And I would be loath to see you go. You and I could achieve so much together, if you would join me."
He didn't hold his breath in anticipation. It was beneath a Maia to fall to such a foolish habit. He simply didn't bother to use the lungs of his fána for a few moments.
Lómion smiled at him in a way that made him forget to make his body's heart beat. "Yes," he said.
That was -- that was almost too easy. Surely he had some follow-up questions.
"Really?" said Mairon.
"Yes, of course I'll marry you," said Lómion, taking his hands. "I honestly expected you to ask much sooner -- or just marry me without asking -- but you've been so sweet to me! I'd be honored to be your husband."
Where the fuck had he gotten this idea?
But... now that Mairon thought about it, it would be nice. Like what he'd had planned for after destroying Gondolin, but with a happier Lómion, and he did rather like Lómion's smiles, when they were genuine and directed at him instead of polite ones at some random thrall who'd been the bare minimum of helpful. Of course, he couldn't only keep Lómion here, he realized. He'd have to build a nice tower somewhere to keep him in so none of his coworkers got any bright ideas about stealing his property.
So, improvising, he said with full honesty, "I'm so happy you accepted, my own," and kissed him to buy some time to think, forgetting that thinking was very difficult in that circumstance.
"I would like to know," he said when they broke for air, "if you could tell me more about Gondolin, though. My Lord has a bit of a grudge against your guardian, as I imagine you also do, being so caged."
Lómion's face fell a little. "I can't tell you that," he said.
Fine. He would work on it. A willing husband could be convinced in time. "That's fine."
"So are we to marry today, or is there to be a wedding ceremony?" said Lómion, squeezing his hands gently.
"We'll marry tonight, and tomorrow I'll go tell My Lord the happy news." And it was good news, if not the kind he'd hoped for. Melkor would understand, probably. "But -- I really thought I'd been subtle. How did you know how badly I wanted you?"
Lómion tilted his head. "Why else would you have stolen me and treated me like a troublesome new spouse in need of breaking? Why else would you need approval from your liege? I know what it is to marry."
That was not at all how elven marriage worked, in his experience. "Who taught you so? Most don't see it that way."
"In the noble court of Nan Elmoth. Many have tried to win me by theft, but you're the only one who succeeded," he said, as if it was normal to be mistreated so badly that Angband barely registered. Mairon felt a surge of protectiveness out of nowhere.
"No one will ever touch you again but me," Mairon promised. "And you won't stay in Angband. These halls aren't deserving of being ornamented by you, and I don't want to have to leave you alone while I work on things you can't help me with."
"That's very kind of you, my lord husband."
Mairon preened at the title, just a little. "We'll find a place once we're wed. Until then you'll either stay here or come with me to the forge; you'll be guarded so no one can take you away. And then I'll kill everyone who ever dared touch you, and whoever it was who taught you how to be married will die painfully, too, because breaking you is my job."
After hearing himself, he realized that none of that could possibly be considered romantic to an elf, but Lómion seemed to be rather pleased by it somehow. Mairon decided to just accept his success.
Maeglin had noticed (how could he not?) that he was not, in fact, the only elf of Gondolin in Angband. There was one other.
Glamorost of the House of the Pillar had been among the dead of the Nirnaeth, or at least all had thought so. But they had made a secret of their past and survived all these years, and Maeglin couldn't risk them being found out by recognizing him. He only had one chance, he knew, only one try to get them out and get a warning to Gondolin that he'd been taken and his tunnels were now known to the forces of Morgoth.
So he arranged that one day they'd bring his food when he was alone in Sauron's rooms. And it had to be lunch, because dinner was always shared with his husband and at breakfast he was always embarrassingly cozy, half-dressed in Sauron's bed. Glamorost shouldn't see him like that.
Maeglin made sure they'd closed the door behind them before revealing himself.
They gasped. "Wait, is that you your hi--"
"Shh!" He covered their mouth. "It's not safe to talk about that. Listen. I've got a way out for you, but you cannot be followed back home. Tell them that I was caught in my mining tunnels but I'm fine and Sauron and I are married now."
They pried his hand off and hissed, "What the actual hell?"
"I wasn't exactly in a position to say no and he's been really good to me, okay?"
They nodded, clearly still not understanding.
"Good. Now take this token. It's a copy of one of Sauron's, and people will do just about anything you need if you flash it," he said, pressing it into their palm. "There's a way out that's safe for bare feet if you go through the wolf den, and a pair of thin slippers that'll help a little outside are hidden there. The wolves won't hurt you if you give them food and treats and affection, so go get food for them with the token and claim you've been assigned to it, feed the wolves, and go. Any questions?"
"Are you okay?"
He found himself taken aback by the concern in their voice. "I -- kind of. Mostly. More than expected, anyway. But we're leaving Angband soon, so even if I needed to be rescued, there'd be no point in sending anyone here."
Glamorost squeezed his hands. "Thank you."
Mairon built a nice tower on Tol Galen, because fuck Lúthien, and moved himself and Lómion and a good number of orcs there. But only the more polite and less crude orcs, obviously, because he needed competent household staff, not just warriors.
Melkor seemed to believe that Lómion had proved useless, at least in revealing Gondolin, and took the setback with only two days of raging.
Mairon, however, was delighted. Attacking Gondolin would be far too much work, and take time away from his husband besides. He'd rather stay here in their shared forge and be adored by Lómion.
Of course, it couldn't all be simple, he thought, watching one of the Eagles descend towards their home.
"What do you want?" he said to Thorondor, waiting on the ground instead of the top floor of the tower, just to be inconvenient for the oversized pigeon.
"The King of Gondolin wants his nephew back," said Thorondor, and Lómion brought up his hands to cover his face, a strangled kind of frustrated shriek escaping him.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Lómion yelled. "Good fucking job just telling him I'm Turgon's nephew, that's totally something you want Sauron to know! If he wants me back he can come get me himself!"
Mairon knew he should probably be worried about Lómion's true identity, being lied to, and this anger and sharpness that seemed so at odds with how he'd behaved before, but it was attractive, so he didn't care.
Lómion continued, "I'm lawfully married and it was mostly on purpose and even if it wasn't he can't just kill a Maia! If I wanted help I would've found a way to ask! I'm sick of that damn gilded cage; at least my husband is honest about what this is!"
What was going on with Lómion's past? If he really preferred Angband and Barad Galen to Gondolin, something was very, very wrong even aside from the few things he knew about Nan Elmoth.
(He'd considered moving them there, but Lómion said he'd rather the place burn and lie barren for a thousand years, so Mairon had burned and cursed it. Only because Lómion had good judgment, obviously; not because he was in love or something foolish like that.)
"You heard him," said Mairon to Thorondor. "Get out. Unless Lómion wants to yell at you more."
The smile Lómion rewarded him with was worth all the trouble and more.
After that, they did have to put up with a lot of uninvited guests, but Mairon was very happy to simply point his husband at the annoyance and let him work out a lifetime of frustrations on them.
Sometimes the visitors even tried to be polite and act like nothing was out of the ordinary, which was great fun. Lómion's cousin Idril (the princess of Gondolin and crown princess of the Noldor, which had been a fun conversation) was among them, stoically courteous and refusing to acknowledge anything unusual, and even though Lómion claimed to hate her, they seemed to get along quite well.
This was all leaving aside the Sons of Fëanor, who didn't actually attack but sent very hurtful hate mail, and the time some Sindar tried to kill Mairon for desecrating Lúthien's home and marrying her kinsman (another fun conversation), but otherwise things were quite all right, though they weren't sure how things had gotten to that state.
And they both lived confusedly -- but happily -- ever after.