This takes place somewhat after Losgar in Angband and uses the name Gorthaur for Mairon/Sauron.

"There you are," much to Gorthaur's annoyance the heavy, iron-footed steps he had heard bumping through the fortress for several hours now had stopped in just the room he happened to hide at, "I've been searching for you all day long. What-"

Melkor's face changed from delight to confusion to outright amusement seeing his lieutenant covered in multiple layers of blankets sitting next to a pool of lava which's warm, orange glimmer reflected his shining red hair, "May I politely ask, what you are doing here?"

Gorthaur's eyes narrowed as Melkor had seen it at some of the huge snakes his second in command liked to train.

"I am cold," he hissed, sounding like a cat defending her favourite place of rest.

"You are a fire-spirit," Melkor objected, "shouldn't you be able to warm yourself?"

Stubbornly, Gorthaur pulled one of the blankets over his head so that now his face and hands were the only visible part of him and Melkor might have melted a little bit at his reproachful glance.

"I should seal every damned hole and crevice in this Eru-forsaken building," Gorthaur grunted, "that's what I should. Why in all the world can't the fortress of evil, home to the lord of all Arda and stronghold of darkness simply be comfortable?"

"My Demon," Melkor chuckled, kneeling so that he could place a hand at where he suspected Mairon's collarbone to be, "I would order every soldier we have to return from the frontline and to restore this place to be as comfortable as you wish, if you asked."

"Don't bother," to his uttermost delight, Mairon seemed slightly less annoyed, even though he was clearly too proud to admit it, "being cold and loosing the war is even worse than just being cold. I don't know why they order this sun," he spat out the word as if she had personally offended him, which she probably had, "to dim her light with clouds every half a year. Simply to spite us, I suspect."

That was only half true and Melkor knew very well, that Gorthaur knew who was responsible for the creation of clouds and frost.

"I heard, some of the petty ones celebrate during that season," he quickly changed the subject.

"Fools," Mairon snorted.

"But it's true. Even our prisoners seem more cheerful these days."

"Which, in terms makes our orcs much more miserable, so where is the point?"

"Oh, come on," Melkor put an arm around Mairon's shoulder, "you used to like it when I conjured up snowstorms or raised icicles as high as buildings as a defence. What about this?"

He tried to hide the indignifying fact that it took him a great effort to summon a snowflake the size of his palm that then hovered over his outstretched hand rotating slowly.

"You used to like it's symmetry," he gently reminded Mairon, "and the fact that they don't crush when they fall."

His eyes might have betrayed Melkor, but he thought he saw the shimmer of a smile on his lieutenant's lips as he rested his head against the dark lord's shoulder, his hair and the blanket tickling Melkor's chin.

"They are perfect," he whispered.

Perfect.

A word Melkor hadn't heard him use for a long time.

Sufficient.

Useful.

But perfect was something else. Perfect was the very essence of Gorthaur's being. The core of all his labour and the motivation behind all his attempts. Perfect was the only thing that could satisfy a spirit like his.

"I could make more of them," he proposed, both unsure if – with his power diminished – he could fulfil this promise and ready to tear his castle apart trying, if it made Mairon happy, "I could cover the host of our enemies in snow for days, if you like."

Now he was sure, that his second in command was smiling. "I'd love to see their stiff, frozen bodies piling at our doorstep," he muttered, "but you'll have to make me tea first. And get me another blanket, or mine will be the first frozen body you find."

Melkor grinned at him fondly. He tended to forget how much Gorthaur loved to overdramatize things.

"Tea," he repeated affectionately, "I think organizing a cup of tea will be possible."

First christmas oneshot of 2024! I'm delighted, that it is this time of the year again. Another one will follow featuring my favourite, last to be alive sons of Feanor and their kidnapped adopted sons as soon as I have revised it.

And this one is unfamiliar territory too... Or, what do I mean unfamiliar? Lowkey-Angbang-Oneshots were literally how I started here. I just abandoned those chaotic forces of evil for quite a while (two years, I think. I'm feeling so damned old right now XD). Anyways, they kind of reappeared on my radar (SpaaaceCarrots on Ao3/trash-ainu on tumblr is to blame, mostly) and I really like it. I think it is really cute, how Mairon wants comfort and, in the end, Melkor provides him with just that. And, there is something funny about them calling the elves petty ones. And did anyone find the actual Silmarillion-remark hidden in this little piece (it is not comparing Mairon to a cat)?

Also, obviously, Mairon plays Melkor like a fiddle. It's just a general fandom-agreement that this is totally the case. And also, that Melkor is the most childish, chaotic, impulsive, not-plan-making character ever too have walked Arda, who simply adores his second in command (and I got to experiment with the name Gorthaur, since I still haven't decided if Mairon keeps the name "admirable" which reminds him of what he wasn't to his fellow Maiar and I can't read LotR with a straight face if this is what I associate with the name Sauron).

Of course, I'm totally downplaying their complexity here. Realistically, their relationship would be inherently wicked and based on mutual abuse and manipulation. But that doesn't make a good Christmas-Oneshot, does it?

Anyways, I wish you a Merry Christmas, if you celebrate it and happy holidays, if you don't. Remember to take some time for being comfortable and find yourself someone who keeps you warm in winter.