Sauron's Worst Nightmare by Uvatha the Horseman

Melkor’s Cell

The Prison Fortress of Mandos, Date Unknown

Sauron opened his eyes. He found himself lying on a narrow bed in a windowless stone room, with absolutely no idea how he had gotten there.

The room was long and narrow, divided in half by an iron grating. The grating was pierced by a small hatch about a foot above the floor. A person could get through it on hands and knees with difficulty, if they took their time. The cover over the grating hatch was locked.

On the far end of the room, on the other side of the grating, there was a heavy door made of iron with a spy hole at eye level. The spy hole had iron bars and was covered by a sliding metal plate, so no light entered the cell from outside. It was a prison door, locked on the outside, and he was on the inside, and on the inside of the grating. He was a prisoner.

He sat up. He was wearing the clothes he’d had on when he was captured. They were muddy and ragged, and there were burrs in his hair. He must have been fleeing, evading capture, abandoning his familiar territories, seeking safety in the wild places. Obviously it hadn’t worked.

Sauron studied the opposite wall. There was a pass-through built into the grating, a narrow slit to allow a food tray to be passed into the inner cell. Next to the pass-through, a water pitcher sat on the floor under a spigot. He tried the spigot and watched water running across the floor to a drain hole in the floor a few feet away. More disturbing was a row of three iron rings in the wall, shoulder high. Each had a corresponding ring recessed into a shallow depression in the floor.

Sauron guessed he was in Melkor’s old cell, in the sub-basements of the Prison Fortress of Mandos. Melkor never spoke of his time in the cell where he lay chained for three long ages, so Sauron didn’t know what it was like. But he believed he was in it. He sensed the strength of spells laid around it, enchantments that sealed the cell far more effectively than iron and stone. This was not an ordinary cell. None could escape.

He tried shape-shifting into something small enough to get through the grating. Nothing happened. The enchantments on the cell prevented it.

In Melkor’s day, the only furnishings in the cell were the rings in the walls and floor the held his chains. Melkor’s bed was the cold stone floor, his blankets were the rags he wore, and his plate and fork were his hands, to the limited extent he could use them. The privy was a hole in the floor. He was left in darkness most of the time.

The cell had been made more comfortable since then. In addition to the bed, there was a table and chair, and in the far corner, a bucket with a lid. The table was set with a dinner tray and cup. It also held some books, writing paper, quills, and ink. A pair of lamps at the far end of the room, flanking the wooden door, cast a warm flickering light. There were no lamps inside the grating, so the shadows were deeper at his end of the room, but there was still enough light to read by.

Sauron didn’t think he was being punished, although he wondered why not. The cell was furnished, and the food seemed to be the same as the guards had themselves. Normally the best you could say about prison food was it was calories, and usually not enough. He thought perhaps he was being constrained while something else important happened. Something important enough that someone wanted him kept out of the way. He couldn’t imagine what it might be, and wished he had someone to ask.

A guard, one of Námo’s people, brought him meals at regular intervals. The routine never varied. The cover plate over the spy hole slid back, and after a moment, the outer door was unlocked from the outside and the guard walked in with a tray. The door swung shut by itself and locked with a click. There was no keyhole on the inside of the door. The guard had to be let out by an unseen guard in the corridor who continued to watch the room through the spy hole as long as the first guard was inside. The guard approached the grating, but stopped when he reached a line on the floor arm’s reach away from it. He put the tray on the floor and slid it towards the pass-through. In all the time Sauron had been confined in the cell, the guard had never crossed the line, nor had the grating door been opened.

The cell had been built to hold an extraordinarily dangerous prisoner, Melkor, the most dangerous being in Ea. Every possible measure, from the fastness of the cell to the caution practiced by the guards, was taken to prevent the prisoner from escaping or from attacking his guards. Sauron thought, “I’m dangerous, but I’m not that dangerous.” He didn’t think even Melkor was that dangerous.

Concealed Weapons

The Prison Fortress of Mandos, Date Unknown

The routine never varied. The guard brought a tray at mealtime, put it through the pass-through, and collected it afterwards. Sauron spoke to him every time he came in, but the guard never answered and never made eye contact. Sauron was outgoing by nature, so it was hard on him.

The guards were under orders not to talk to him because Sauron was known to be charming, deceitful, and very, very manipulative. Námo and Manwë didn’t want to give him any opportunities to talk his way out.

Sauron had no one to talk to, so in addition to being bored, he was lonely. He was frustrated by the guard’s silence and considered various ways to get him to talk. The second day of his imprisonment, when the guard came in with a breakfast tray, he said with studied casualness, “So, you must not have searched me when I was brought in here. Or if you did, you did a poor job of it. The knife I always carry in my boot is still there.”

That was a lie. He did carry a little knife in his boot, but it was missing, and so was the dagger he’d been wearing on his belt when he was captured

The guard looked right at him and said, “Hand it over, then.” He pointed to the pass-through. Enjoying this game, Sauron said, “Come and get it.” Finally, someone was speaking to him. What a relief.

“Tell you what.” said the guard. “I’ll trade you the knife for the tray. You go first.” Sauron didn’t really have a knife, so he acted as if he were being stubborn. The guard shrugged and left the room, taking the tray with him.

Sauron picked up the water pitcher, pouring yesterday’s water down the drain hole before refilling it with cold water from the spigot. He turned the handle and a small trickle of water ran out, then nothing. He poured the water from the pitcher to the cup and found it was only one finger deep. He regretted pouring the warm water down the drain because he didn’t know how long this game was going to last.

At noon, the guard returned with a tray for the midday meal. Again he spoke. “A trade. The tray for the knife. You’ll get the water turned back on, too.” Sauron was getting tired of the game by now. Like all Ainur, he could go a long time without food, but he was starting to be uncomfortable from thirst.

“You win. I’ll do what you want. But I don’t actually have a knife. I just made that up.” The guard gave him a look of disbelief and left, taking the tray with him. The trouble with being an accomplished liar is that people don’t believe you when you’re telling the truth. His word was not good and everybody knew it.

In the late afternoon, the outer door opened and his guard came in, followed by four others whom Sauron hadn’t seen before. One of the new ones, apparently the guard captain, carried a pair of irons connected by a short length of chain.

The one with the irons motioned Sauron over to the grating near the pass-through. He told him to sit on the floor with his back to the grating and put his hands through the holes in the grating. Sauron did, and didn’t like it. The guard captain fastened an iron cuff around each of Sauron’s wrists and locked them with a snap. Chained to the grating, Sauron tried to make himself comfortable by leaning against the wall and watching the guards at work. His nose itched. He felt resigned.

The first guard unlocked the grating hatch. He and the second guard knelt on each side of the hatch and pulled back the latches on each side. Another lifted the hatch cover and held it open. Three guards climbed through the hatch and began to search the cell. The fourth, who remained outside, released the hatch cover which closed with a clang and locked itself shut. The guard captain also remained outside. He stood near Sauron and watched him closely.

Sauron wondered idly how the furniture had gotten into the cell. Maybe it had been brought through in parts and assembled on the inside. He wondered how he had been brought in. Most likely on a stretcher, passed through the opening in the grating by two pairs of strong hands while a third one held the door up.

The guard captain spoke. “We’re going to have to search the cell and everything in it, including you.”

The three guards searched the bedding and turned over the mattress, feeling for metal. They looked underneath the bed, table, and chair. They looked in the pitcher. They flipped through the pages of the books and under the writing paper. They searched every corner of the cell.

Satisfied there wasn’t a knife hidden in the room, the guards walked toward Sauron, regarding him with detached interest. “You’re next.” They stood around him in a half circle, looking vaguely threatening.

After they finished with him, Sauron decided that trying to fight them off was probably not the best idea he’d ever had. Especially not three against one, with his hands behind his back. But he was bad-tempered from hunger and just hadn’t felt like cooperating, and he was a fighter by nature. So now he knew what it was like to like to lie face down on the cold stone floor with his arms twisted behind his back as far as they would go and a boot on his neck. Never mind the searching part, which got a lot more personal than he had expected.

The two guards who had remained outside opened the grating hatch to let the three guards in the cell leave. After they were out, the hatch cover banged shut and locked itself closed. Only then did the guard captain produce a key and remove the irons from Sauron’s wrists.

The unseen guard watching through the spy hole unlocked the outer door when they were ready to leave, and the five of them filed out. The door swung shut and locked itself behind them.

Sauron stood and rubbed his wrists, which had gone numb. Then he tried the spigot. Water flowed freely. He put his head under it and drank.

Jailhouse Fever

The Prison Fortress of Mandos, Date Unknown

During the afternoon of the fourth day of his imprisonment, Sauron felt ill tempered and out of sorts, without being upset about anything in particular. By early evening, he had a headache and went to bed earlier than normal. He lay down without bothering to get undressed for the night, feeling unwell. 

He was restless during the night. In the morning, he woke up soaked in sweat and shaking with cold. He felt burning hot behind the eyes. He pulled up his knees to lessen the pain in his stomach. When the guard brought his breakfast tray, he said he didn’t want it, but could he have a cup of tea and an extra blanket instead, and something for nausea?

The guard told him, “If you’re going to be sick, do it in the drain hole, because I can’t get in there easily and clean up after you. Not without my guard captain’s say so, that’s for sure.” He left the room, taking the tray with him.

He came back later with tea and an extra blanket and put them through the pass-through. Sauron put his feet on the floor and started to stand up, but lay down again quickly when the room started to spin. He felt too weak to walk.

The guard came back some time later to check on him. He noticed that the tray and blanket were untouched, and left. After a while, he returned with three others including the guard captain, who was carrying a pair of irons. The guard captain directed Sauron to come over to the grating near the pass-through. Sauron didn’t think he could make it that far, so he crawled to the part of the grating that was closest instead. He lay on the floor, feeling wretched.

The guard captain told him to put his hands over his head through holes in the grating and snapped the irons on Sauron’s wrists. He reached through the grating to touch Sauron’s face to feel for fever, but yanked it back when another guard yelled, “Be careful, he bites!”, holding up his arm with a half-moon shaped bruise he got the day they tried to search him.

Sauron was known to be both strong and cunning, so his guards handled him with extreme caution. They also knew that feigning illness to lure a guard into the cell was an ancient ruse, so illness had to be looked upon with suspicion.

The guard captain believed his prisoner was ill. He had a high fever, which can’t be faked. But the captain also knew that a sick person can pretend to be more incapacitated than he really is, lulling their guards into a false sense of security. So while the captain was willing to let his prisoner be seen by a healer, he wasn’t willing to relax security procedures even though the others thought he was being overly strict. When they went in the cell to check on the prisoner, who appeared to have collapsed on the floor and was unable to get up, they used the same procedures they would have for a dangerous prisoner who was healthy and strong.

At a signal from the guard captain, the first two guards unlocked the grating door and pulled back the latches. The third one held the door open while they crawled in.

The two guards knelt beside the prisoner. They confirmed that he had a very high fever and was only semi-conscious. They had no doubt that he was seriously ill. They would have picked him up and carried him to bed, but the rules didn’t allow them to unchain him while they were in the cell with him, and the guard captain refused to make an exception. They had to leave him lying on the floor chained to the grating, but they covered him with the extra blanket he hadn’t been strong enough to get by himself, and they put the tea within easy reach.

They left through the grating hatch. The third guard let it drop closed. The guard captain removed the irons from Sauron’s wrists. Sauron pulled his arms back in through the grating and wrapped them around himself, but he didn’t get up.

They came back a few hours later with a healer, one of Estë’s people. Sauron was still lying on the floor where they’d left him, shivering and uncomfortable. The guard captain snapped the irons around his wrists. The grating door was opened, and the first two guards entered the inner cell, followed by the healer. The third guard closed the grating door behind them.

The healer knelt beside the patient. There were cases of Plague in the region where he had been captured and the healer felt pretty sure his patient was going to be one of them. He told him, “You’re not going to die, but you’re in for a rough time of it. I’m afraid it’s going to get worse before it gets better.” While he talked, he felt his patient’s forehead for fever, felt for swelling at the base of each limb, and pressed on his stomach with firm pressure. So firm that his patient pleaded, “No. Please stop. I’m going to be ...”  Too late.

After they cleaned him up, the healer gave him medicine. The patient tried to twist away from the phial of bitter liquid, but the healer knew a few tricks for getting medicine into unwilling patients. That done, he directed the guards to rearrange the furniture in the cell. They moved the bed from the back wall to the side wall, with the pillow against the grating.

The healer wanted to unchain his patient for just a moment in order to move him, but the guard captain wouldn’t hear of it. There was always the possibility that the prisoner’s weakness was a ruse. It was simply too dangerous. On the other hand, the healer refused to put a sleep spell on a patient who had just been sick. It just wasn’t safe. Finally the guard captain agreed that if the prisoner were bound hand and foot, he would remove the chains, but only for as long as it took them to move him.

That done, the two guards struggled to lift Sauron’s limp form onto the bed. The patient was still wearing day clothes, so once they had him settled into bed, they undressed him to make him more comfortable. By the time they finished, the medicine had started to work. The patient began to feel better and fell into an exhausted sleep. When the guard captain put the chains back on him, he didn’t stir.

The Healer covered him with the extra blanket. One of the guards put the chair beside the bed to make a nightstand, and put a basin and a cup of water on it. The other guard brought over everything else he might need, and arranged it within easy reach.

The two guards outside opened the grating hatch to let the three others out of the inner cell. The grating door was closed, and the guard captain unchained the prisoner’s wrists. All of the guards left the room, but the healer stayed behind to watch over his patient until he was sure he was out of danger.

Sauron was deeply grateful to the healer for thinking to position the head of his bed against the grating, and inwardly thanked him for his kindness. The next time the guards needed him to wear irons, when they came in to take care of him, all he had to do was reach his arms over his head across the pillow and put his wrists through the grating. He wouldn’t have to leave his bed and crawl across the floor. Or worse, try to crawl back to bed after they left, because he didn’t think he could.

Sauron had had the plague before. In the Second Age, plague swept through Gondor. It reached Mirkwood the year after. Sauron, who was living in Dol Guldur at the time, was one of its victims. It didn’t kill him, but he had a pretty good idea of what the healer meant by being in for a rough time of it.

Námo

The Prison Fortress of Mandos, Date Unknown

On the first day he felt well enough to leave his bed and get dressed, Sauron heard the key in the outer door. When it opened, two guards entered the room. One was carrying a washbasin and the other had a folded stack of clothing.

They told Sauron he was to wash and put on clean clothes. He had not bathed or changed clothes during his captivity, and was badly in need of both. His hair hung in greasy strings. The cycling fever and the sweating it caused hadn’t made him smell any better. Fastidious by nature, it was unlike him to stay grimy for long, even when he was working in the Forge.

The first guard put the washbasin through the pass-through. The second guard put the stack of clothes on the floor in front of the pass-through where he could reach them easily. Then they left the room. The door shut itself behind them. Sauron noticed that the metal cover over the spy hole in the door remained open.

There were towels in the washbasin. Underneath them was a bar of soap. Sauron the washbasin underneath the spigot and turned the water on. While waiting for it to fill, he stripped off his clothes and dropped them on the floor. He normally folded anything he took off and stacked it neatly, but his clothes were so filthy, he knew he wouldn’t be putting them on again. He used the pitcher to pour water over his head.  The water was cold, but it couldn’t be helped. Being clean was a luxury and he intended to enjoy it.

After he finished, Sauron wrapped himself in a towel and finger combed his wet hair. He felt good for the first time since he woke up in the cell. Then he went over to look at the clothes.

The clothes they brought him were new and clean, of fine materials in colors that looked good on him. He was pleased with them. The cuffs of the sleeves were decorated with skillful embroidery in a pattern of leaves. He admired skilled workmanship, even though he rarely wore fine clothing himself. He could if he wanted to, but he preferred a blacksmith’s leather apron over a course linen shirt. He didn’t work in the forge as often as he would have liked, but it was still how he thought of himself.

Then he had another thought, and froze. The clothes were for a formal or even a ceremonial occasion. What he needed in a prison cell in the deepest levels of Mandos were everyday clothes, preferably warm ones. The only ceremonial occasion in his near future that he could think of was a summons to the Ring of Doom.

Soon after he finished dressing, the outer door opened. He had a visitor. Normally he looked forward to having someone to talk to. But he fell silent when Námo, the Lord of Mandos, entered the room accompanied by two of his people. Lord Námo, grim and unsmiling, was the only one among the Valar who revealed prophecies and pronounced doom.

Námo spoke.

“But in after years he rose like a shadow of Morgoth and a ghost of his malice, and walked behind him on the same ruinous path down into the Void.”

Námo told Sauron he was summoned to the Ring of Doom, and Námo himself was going to take him there. Sauron was about to face what he’d avoided for so long. He stood there, stricken. It was about to happen. He had known about the prophecy for a long time, but it was in the distant future so he hadn’t worried about it. Until now.

I have nothing left to fight with. I have lost. It is time to negotiate the terms of surrender.

Námo’s people unlocked the grating cover and held it open. When Námo commanded him to, Sauron climbed out through the opening.

One of the guards held chains. Another took hold of Sauron’s wrist. An unseen guard in the corridor unlocked the door to the corridor and pushed it open.

Without thinking, Sauron shoved the first guard aside, punched the second, and bolted through the open door. He went flying down the corridor towards the stairs ..

Daylight!

until he fell flat on his face after hitting a tripwire. He was on his feet in an instant, and already running, when Námo stepped through the door and ordered him to stop.

Not going to happen.

He heard Námo speak an incantation. A white light exploded inside his head and dropped him in his tracks.

The Ring of Doom  (Language)

Date Unknown

When he came to, he was lying on his belly with his cheek pressed against a cold marble floor. His hands were bound behind his back. When he tried to move, he heard the clink of chains. Not good. His vision returned slowly. He saw feet, and the hems of robes, everywhere he looked. From their voices, he learned they belonged to the members of the Council of Valar

Ever since the end of the First Age when Melkor fell, Sauron’s greatest fear was of being brought to the Circle of Doom and standing before the Valar.

Manwë was the first to speak.

“You hit the guard who took care of you while you were ill. He’s injured, by the way.”

“Please tell him I’m sorry.” Sauron said.

I hope he understands why I did it. When I was sick, he must have seen how hard I fought to live. He was happy for me when I pulled through. Surely, he must understand that when I tried to escape, I was fighting to live. Maybe he even admires me for not giving up, even when the situation was hopeless.

“The Council is ready to pass sentence. Is there anything you’d like to say first?” said Manwë.

“There is.” said Sauron.

He arched his back to look at Manwë, but immediately fell face forward with a cramp in his neck. He rolled over, and with great difficulty, got one and then the other knee under his body. He sat back on his heels and looked Manwë in the eye.

“You have no right to judge me.”

“Excuse me?” asked Manwë.

“You have no right to judge me. This proceeding is illegal. When I left to follow Melkor, I moved from Valinor to Arda, outside of your jurisdiction. The laws of Valinor do not apply to Arda.”

And even if they do, just try to enforce them. You’re never there.

“You cannot convict me for breaking the laws of Valinor, because I dwell in Arda, and they do not apply to me.”

“The jurisdiction of the Valar covers all of Ea.”

Shit.

“Would you like to know what charges have been brought against you?” asked Manwë.

Bite me.

“I’ll take that as yes.

In addition to the charges you would have faced if you’d come here when Eönwë commanded you to,

- You tortured the elven smith Celebrimbor to death.

- You led the invasion of Eregion, which resulted in the scouring of Eriador. Whole populated regions disappeared.

- You masterminded the Invasion of Valinor, which profoundly scared the population here, and resulted in the drowning of Númenor and the extinction of the Númenorian people.

- You were responsible for the Great Plague that devastated Gondor.

- You lured Eärnur, the last King of Gondor, to his death under the pretense of meeting him in single combat.

- You imprisoned and tortured the Dwarven king Thrain, who went mad before he died.

Sauron listened to the charges. His face held no expression.

I didn’t even do all of those things. And I never intended the invasion to be successful. They only got through by accident. I didn’t drown Númenor, Ilúvatar did. I didn’t start the Plague, I claimed to have done it. Not the same thing. And in case you don’t remember, Angmar did in the king of Gondor. I didn’t even order it.

He had been tried in absentia. He hadn’t been there to defend himself or to throw himself on the ground and beg for pardon. Absent and undefended, the Valar pronounced upon him their harshest possible sentence.

Sauron knew, when he was honest with himself, that the Valar gave up trying to reform him long ago. His sentence would have no prison term, no penance or servitude. They weren’t going to bother to punish him. They just wanted him gone. Not living in Arda anymore. Not living at all.

Manwë pronounced the sentence.

“Sauron Gorthaur”, he pronounced in slow formal tones. “The Council has determined that you have gone entirely to evil and cannot be reformed. You will be brought to the Door of Night in the extreme West. There you be put into the Void.” Manwë looked grim. He added gently, “It will be quick. You won’t suffer.”

What they did to Melkor, they are about to do to me.

“Now that I have pronounced your sentence, is there anything you would like to say?” This was an occasion for the condemned to apologize for his crimes, or to beg for the mercy he did not deserve.

Manwë expected Sauron to try to bargain. He expected to hear him say, “I’ll do anything you want. Please don’t do this!” He expected Sauron to plead, “Give me a sentence of penal servitude. I’ll become the lowest of all the Maiar and do the worst jobs that no one else will touch. I’ll lie on the cold stone floor of Melkor’s cell for as long as you ask me to, and never once complain. All I ask is to be allowed to repent and return to Aulë’s service. I deeply regret my crimes. Please don’t rob me of the change to make atonement!” This was his pattern. The problem was that his zeal for atonement always wore off.

But Sauron knew there would be no pardon for him and he wasn’t fool enough to ask for it.

“I want to say goodbye to Aulë.” Sauron said softly.

“I’ll ask him.” Manwë replied gently. “But he might not want to see you.”

Aulë stepped forward and stopped several paces in front of him. Sauron’s first Master held his face carefully neutral. Aulë looked just like he always had, long wild hair, bushy beard, tall with massively wide shoulders and muscular from working in the Forge. He looked without expression at his former servant, the one who had been his favorite, the one he had disowned.

Sauron spoke the words rehearsed for this occasion, should it come. “Aulë, I want to thank you for raising me. For teaching me to work with my hands. To make beautiful and useful things from the humblest materials. For everything you  … “ Nervous, Sauron realized he’d forgotten his lines.

Then, without knowing he was going to do it, Sauron flung his arms around Aulë’s neck. “Oh, Aulë! I missed you so much! So many times after I left you, I wanted to come home!”

Aulë felt like he was being manipulated. He assumed Sauron was still speaking from a script. Aulë stood impassively with his hands at his sides, his face a mask, unreadable. Finally Sauron let go and stepped back, his feeling badly hurt.

Aulë said coldly, “What do you want from me?”

Aulë expected his former servant to ask him to intercede with the Valar on his behalf and obtain a lesser sentence. To take him back into his service. To protect him. But instead, very softly, Sauron said to Aulë,

“I’m frightened. When it happens, will you pray for me?”

Aulë swept Sauron up in a bear hug, squeezing him hard. Sauron thought his bones would break, and wished it would go on forever. But too soon, a guard put his hand on Aulë’s arm. “I’m sorry. It’s time.”

Aulë released Sauron from the embrace and, with his hands on his shoulders, regarded him from arms’ length. “If I don’t see you again, take care of yourself.” he said gruffly, and cuffed Sauron lightly on the shoulder. Sauron nodded, but couldn’t speak.

There were people, Eönwë among them, who wanted to say goodbye, but he didn’t want to see them. He’d already begun to withdraw to a place inside his head where they couldn’t follow. He was shutting down. He didn’t answer when people spoke to him. After a time, he didn’t even understand what was being said to him.

The Void

Date Unknown

It was a half day’s journey from Valimar to the Door of Night on the Western-most edge of Valinor. They walked behind Manwë in silence. Sauron walked with his head bowed, his hands bound behind his back. The chain connecting his ankles was unusually short, forcing him to take small steps. If he’d tried to run, he’d have fallen flat on his face. Each of his guards kept a restraining hand on his elbow, but it wasn’t necessary. He had given up.

He once heard that a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf, when all hope is gone, goes limp and feel no pain. When they stop struggling, a feeling of calm comes over them. That’s what he was feeling now.

They reached the Door of Night just before sunset. Now, they had only to wait for the Door to open. When it did, they would have to act quickly. They had only a few minutes before the setting Sun descended through the Door and forced them back.

They waited. Sauron regretted not seeing Eönwë. He spoke to Manwë. “Eönwë wanted to say goodbye to me, but I wouldn’t see him. Please tell him goodbye for me, and will you tell him I’m sorry?” Manwë said, “I will. I think he understands.”

It was almost time.

Manwë blindfolded Sauron’s eyes. “There’s no reason he needs to see this” he explained to the guards. That was so like Manwë. He was always kind, even to a vanquished enemy. Even to one who deserved this.

Sauron prayed softly. “Ilúvatar who made me, I descended into Ea to help build the world you created with your thought. Now I return to you in utter disgrace. The fault is my own. Never have I deserved your love less, and I never needed it more.” Manwë was close enough to hear, but he turned his attention elsewhere to allow him his privacy.

Sauron heard the Door open, a loud terrible sound like iron screaming. He guessed the door was standing fully open now, because he could feel cold on his face. Unimaginably cold. He knew he was standing on the brink of The Void. He was grateful he couldn’t see the empty sucking blackness beyond the Door. He was badly afraid.

It was time.

He knew what was supposed to happen next, what he was supposed to do, but he couldn’t move. He simply couldn’t move.

“Do you need my help?” Manwë asked. Sauron nodded mutely. “Take a minute. Just let me know when you’re ready.” Manwë stepped behind him and held his arms firmly. Manwë’s grip restrained him, but it also provided comfort. Sauron wasn’t ever going to be ready, and they both knew it. Another minute went by, but he still couldn’t make himself give the signal. It didn’t matter. Without warning, he was shoved from behind. Hard.

Hard enough to make him lose his balance and fall forward. He expected to land on his knees, or his face. But instead, he kept on going, falling into the pit that had been prepared for him.

He screamed.