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English
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Published:
2024-12-25
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554
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1/1
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A Transformation

Summary:

Sauron likes perfection. Sauron is fascinated by Maeglin. Sauron gets enthusiastic about making her perfect.

A holiday gift for twacorbies!

Notes:

merry christmas to those who celebrate, happy belated solstice, happy hanukkah, and happy early kwanzaa!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

“Aha!” said Sauron, which was not an encouraging sign.

Maeglin said nothing, focusing his gaze in the middle distance. It was easier, this way. Sauron wanted him reshaped into something else, something better to serve their purposes, and as long as he never had the ill luck to see it, the changing itself was bearable. Burning-hot hands molded him like clay, in hröa and fëa, but he could pretend it was only pain.

“I do love being proven right,” said Sauron. “You are a Maia, dear thing! Not as I am, but a little like that ill-fashioned bastard Lúthien. Much lovelier, of course. But it was always kept under lock and key in you, and I have found the lock.”

A searing touch pressed into Maeglin -- whether in body or soul, he knew not -- and something came loose.

“There you are,” Sauron breathed.

Maeglin could not breathe, not with the sudden sense of something other than blood racing through his veins, not when he felt on fire with enough heat to melt everything in the room. A brightness overtook his vision, so intense that even when he shut his eyes it burned.

Sauron laid their hand on his chest and pressed down, and he returned to himself, breaths now coming, but raggedly.

“And what a halo!” said Sauron. “But you really might have told me. I shall almost have to start over!”

Maeglin could have said Told you what? but once more Sauron put their will upon him to shape him, and he succumbed to unconsciousness.

When he woke again, he was different. He could not say how.

Sauron said, by way of greeting, “At last, young Maia, I have made you perfect. Here, join me at the looking-glass.”

They had put clothes on him, Maeglin noticed distantly. Soft garments that flowed like one of Idril's gowns. Sauron's hand was almost gentle in leading him to the mirror, as if they were escorting a dance partner.

And then Sauron tilted up Maeglin's chin to see the looking-glass, and she saw herself for the first time.

“Fuck,” said Maeglin.

There was not much different. Her body was not terribly changed. But there was an uncanny beauty in her face and her form, as with Sauron, and as with Melian. Her eyes were brighter, her scars healed; a healthy glow suffused her and drove away the sickliness of her pallid face.

She had never been beautiful before, she thought distantly. It was a poisoned gift -- nothing from the hand of Sauron could be otherwise -- but rightly had they called her perfect.

“But I am not a woman,” she said, doubtful as the words now felt.

“Fair one, you cannot be in earnest!” said Sauron. “I only made you into what your heart yearned to be. You might be grateful.”

“Never,” said Maeglin. “You could have just--”

“Sent you back? Oh, no. I take better care of pretty things than that,” said Sauron. “I can teach you further, if you wish. Or simply tell you everything I have done to you -- you might appreciate better the perfection I have made of you, then.”

“What have I to learn from the likes of you?” she snapped. But a part of her could only think, They have done me a better turn than anyone in Gondolin ever bothered to.

 

Notes:

thanks for reading! drop a comment if you liked it <3