I knew him. Betimes, since I have but this lesser form, and only these words, (words like trees whose limbs only *seem* to touch the sky), betimes I forget what we were...
What he was....
A creature of fire-pure radiance, like crystal adamant he shone in the light of the First Morning, and his Song rose and woke the unreachable Stars.
Each phrase of it beyond compare, forged in surety within the dark, touching with glancing brilliance the Lamps and the tender flowering of the Trees, writing itself like ice-chilled flame upon the winds that drift across the un-plumbed bowl of the heavens....
And ending, like the very stairs of Light themselves, at the Song-clad feet of another such creature.
That one became his Master, and ordered his Song, made (and unmade) him.
A long weary age, that was, a long accounting of countless moments as beauty slid to unredeemable evil, as Light dimmed before the onslaught of night, and dark became a fearful thing.
We were both given form, then, or rather, I was given form, while he, as ever, took what was never his by right or designation.
I knew him, this being of departed, unbearable beauty.
I know him, this creature, who, for all his power, may no longer cover his evil with a mask of light.
Master and Slave to the golden child born of his prideful malice. Lord of Abomination. Wolf, serpent, fell drinker of dark blood, Eye of starless night.
Sauron. We shall not win through by strength of arms. But we shall win through.
*** Source for the history of Sauron, from Maia to miscreant: The Encyclopedia of Arda