[It was impossible not to love him at least a little, even when he hated him. That was more true than ever when Sauron wrapped himself around Adar like this, warm and constant and fair.
Yet fear pricked at his skin any time Sauron sought the truth from him rather than a continuation of their little dance. One wrong word and love would turn to violence again.]
My arm still aches, [he says, not as a complaint so much as just stating a fact. He turns just enough so that he can kiss his temple, nosing past the hair that fell so easily there. How could such a wicked thing be so effortlessly lovely? He had never understood it. Even he, who had once been beautiful by birth, had not been able to keep people close when he did them harm, not even before his master had reshaped his face into one only he could love.]
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Yet fear pricked at his skin any time Sauron sought the truth from him rather than a continuation of their little dance. One wrong word and love would turn to violence again.]
My arm still aches, [he says, not as a complaint so much as just stating a fact. He turns just enough so that he can kiss his temple, nosing past the hair that fell so easily there. How could such a wicked thing be so effortlessly lovely? He had never understood it. Even he, who had once been beautiful by birth, had not been able to keep people close when he did them harm, not even before his master had reshaped his face into one only he could love.]