Edit: 17-11-12. This story is the one that the rest seem to hang on, so I've done some editing on it, mainly in chapter two. I've also fixed some minor mistakes found in the other chapters.

Morgoth was not going to be happy.

Sauron rubbed his temples, deep in thought. Finrod was not meant to die, he was too valuable a prize. How was he suppose to explain this one? He could not even understand why an elven king would die for a mortal.

But he had, and left him with a mess. It wasn't that Beren was not a valuable prize; having the annoying son of Barahir finally in his grasp would please Morgoth. But compared with Finrod Felegund, King of Nargothrond, someone who would have information about the other elven realms, and most importantly his own? No, Morgoth would have been satisfied with Beren's death, but Finrod had been too valuable to kill. And he had already sent out Thuringwethil to inform Morgoth he had the elven king. She was due back any time.

Trying to figure a way out of this mess, he almost didn't notice when the first strains of song echoed through the tower. He stilled, listening. The song stopped, but then Beren was defiantly singing in answer, a song in praise of the Valacirca. That song too ended, but then another again rose, one of great beauty and power.

Sauron smiled. Lúthien could be the answer to this whole mess. The daughter of Melyanna would be a prize second only to that of her mother. If he could hand her over to Morgoth, it would be enough for him to forget that Sauron had lost Finrod.

"Draugluin!" he ordered sharply. The other Maia under his command bounded up the stairs, and ducked his head submissively.

"Yes, my lord?" he asked. His fur was standing on end, and Sauron knew he wished to be howling with the rest of his whelps.

"Send your wolves out to capture her," Sauron ordered. "But send them one at a time, the last thing I want is for them to kill her in their haste." He leaned forward, glaring at the Wolf. "And if that happens, I swear I shall be most displeased."

Draugluin whined his submission. "Yes, my lord," he promised swiftly. "I shall exercise the utmost care."

He left swiftly, and Sauron was left to wait. And wait. Finally, after too long, Sauron headed down the stairs of his tower, determined to find out just what had gone wrong this time. He halted in shock as Draugluin came in, obviously only inches from death.

"Huan is here!" he gasped, and then fell, dead. Sauron stared at the body of the other Maia, not truly seeing it, as his mind began to turn.

Huan. The wolfhound of Valinor, who had followed his master to these shores. Fated to live until he met the greatest of wolves. A cruel smirk crept on the fallen Maia's face as he began to shift, taking on the form of the greatest werewolf seen yet upon Arda. Then he softly crept to the door, hiding in the shadows.

He could see her, the beautiful half-Maia, at the end of the bridge, the dark shape of the wolfhound on the bridge itself, stained with the blood of the wolves he had already slain. He carefully gathered himself, then sprang. Surprised, Huan instinctively leapt aside.

Sauron ignored him for the moment, focusing on Lúthien. If he could just get her, then perhaps he could convince Huan to leave. And if not, he could get her inside the tower, deal with Huan, and come back for the prize.

But Lúthien was not helpless. Even as she stumbled from surprise and horror, she cast a fold of that dark cloak she was wearing against his face. Instantly, Sauron stumbled, a deep weariness coming over him.

Even as he stumbled, he felt a heavy weight drive into his side, knocking him off course. Huan had recovered, and was a formidable foe. Reluctantly turning from Lúthien, Sauron faced the larger threat.

That curséd hound was fast. Sauron had assumed a larger form, but the hound's agility made it a fair fight. Long was their battle, and howls and bays echoed loudly across the landscape. Both bled from numerous bite and scratch wounds. Sauron aimed a swipe full on Huan's flank, but the nimble hound leapt backwards just in time. Huan landed, coiled, and sprang for Sauron's briefly unprotected throat. He latched on, dragging Sauron's larger form down.

Sauron fought to escape, to injure Huan enough to win free, but to no avail. But the Maia was unprepared to simply surrender. Focused now on escape, not victory, he shifted form, to a monstrous serpent. He began to coil and lash, using the long muscled length of the snake's form to drag the wolfhound around. But still, Huan would not let go.

Desperate now, he tried one last risky gambit. He shifted back to the form he took most often, closest to Elves and Men. Sauron hoped that he could escape as his throat shrunk rapidly in size. But still that hound held firm, and Sauron reluctantly stilled: he was vulnerable in this form, if he struggled too much he could tear out his own throat.

He lay on his back, held aloft by the ivory spikes in his throat. The large blood vessels carrying blood from heart to brain pulsed just below the cruel daggers; one wrong move on either party's part would result in them being pierced, and Sauron knew that if that happened nothing would keep him from being stripped of this fána. The world slowed and sped at the same time, and for an eternity of a second, neither Maia or wolfhound moved except their heavy panting.

Then Lúthien moved closer, and Sauron stared at her, half defiant, half terrified that she would simply order the hound to bite down. He was all too aware of the helpless situation he was in. Huan had reinforced this with the position Sauron had been forced into: he was on his back, a submissive posture.

Lúthien's gaze bored into his, and he swallowed, feeling the muscles in his neck spasm against the teeth imbedded in them. He had no idea what she saw in his eyes, but she spoke.

"Surrender, or I shall order Huan to strip thee of thy raiment of flesh," she ordered. "And then thou shalt be sent back to thy fell master, and shall have the pleasure of trying to explain this loss to him. There everlasting thy naked self shall endure the torment of his scorn, pierced by his eyes, unless thou yield unto me the master of thy tower."

Sauron simply stared at her for a long moment. She had no idea what would await him, whether he did as she demanded or not. But surrendering would give him time to plan, prepare, and try to come up with a valid excuse for this whole mess. And if he didn't, they would simply take what they wanted from him anyway.

So, with wary defiance still lurking in his eyes, Sauron did what Lúthien demanded. For a long second he waited for Lúthien either order Huan to release him, or break her word and order the hound to destroy him. Then Lúthien nodded to the dog, and the spikes slid agonizingly out of his throat, and he fell towards the ground.

He instantly shifted to a form with wings: a vampire. He took flight before they could change their minds, and with blood streaming from his neck, he fled towards the distant forest.