Why?

Mairon had never been so alone in all his life.
Arda was lit in happiness.
Why did they rejoice?
Why did they revel?
Why was he so, so alone?
Mairon was silent amid their happiness. Concealed in dark places, he watched, disguised as a hunched and hooded old man.
Why?
Tears welled in his throat.
No. He was Sauron Gorthaur. He would not cry.
Not that it mattered, who he was. His master's mighty empire of evil was naught. Thangorodrim was broken.
Why did he linger?
He stormed away from the rejoicing Children of Iluvatar. As soon as he was out of sight he dropped the disguise and took the form of a small, black bat.
The bat flitted away.
Why was he so weakened?
"Go," his master had said, staring him in the eyes. Melkor's eyes were like dark coals, Mairon's like flaming pits.
"Why?" he had asked.
Why?
There was no loyal and loving lieutenant by his side as the doors crumbled down and Melkor turned to face his fate.
Mairon was long gone.
Safe.
But alone.
Why did it anger him so much?
Why was his corrupted heart breaking?
Because he was alone.
Far away, in the ruins of Angband, the bat changed, shifting into a tall, slim man. His golden red hair flowed out behind him and scarlet robes, stained with blood, blew around his feet.
A volcano belched flame.
Mairon took the crown from his head an cast it to the ground.
The black circle the had made himself shattered.
Why was he alone?