Loyalty Unyielding by Zlu and Luff

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Of Númenor and the Third Age

Master Tolkien had written of Númenor falling under the shadow of Sauron - we have compared the dates, traced the lifetimes and deeds of subsequent kings and we came up with our own devious logical conclusion of what exactly this 'casting of shadow' could have looked like. We hope you will enjoy this interpretation!

This is a direct continuation of the previous chapter and picks up the story right from where the last one left it.

Chapter 9

Of Númenor and the Third Age


As the long and unintended war with the Eldar ceased to reap any further rewards but brought with it only useless death on both sides of the conflict, Sauron's eyes began instead to turn more and more towards the sea and the blessed island of Númenor, from which for centuries already the glad and fair descendants of the Edain had been sailing to Middle-earth and landing their fine ships on its shores.

Those bright-faced men, the Dúnedain from the splendid kingdom of Westernesse, walked then among the benighted, fearful peoples of the mainland, where death still came swiftly and where the days were dark. Seeing their misery, the mariners from Númenor took pity on those men and they shared with them their craft and knowledge, striving to bring some bliss into those short, joyless lives.

And the peoples of Middle-earth, living in the shadow, under the yoke of then still unnamed evil in the mountains, harkened to them and admired them - for the lives of Númenóreans were long and their minds brilliant and free of evil.

Those mighty and long-lived sailors from the Land of the Star had always been a thorn in Sauron's side. And yet the Maia had been biding his time and waiting, not yet eager to come in conflict with them or even to exert his influence on the kingdom of Westernesse - for there was a valid reason speaking against such a course of action.

The Land of the Gift had been raised from the waters by Ossë, shaped by Aulë and enriched by Yavanna. Elven emissaries of the Valar from Aman and Eldar from Tol Eressëa - that also was a part of the Blessed Lands - sailed there often to pay visits and bring gifts to the Men of Númenor and the Eagles of Manwë nested in the palace of the Númenórean kings.

Given all these facts, the presence of the Ainur was much too strong on Númenor in those days for Sauron, who had until recently refrained from revealing his name. He could not afford running the risk of drawing the attention of the Valar to himself, by coming into any direct strife with their chosen nation. At least he could not risk it yet.

Thus as long as the Númenóreans merely came and went and attempted not to build their settlements on the shores, Sauron ignored them. They were but a passing problem, a temporary dilemma and once they would leave, he would each time bring the men of Middle-earth back under his shadow and all the good would be easily undone and hope extinguished. However some of the things the Dúnedain had done in Middle-earth were even quite useful – for they brought with them corn and wine and taught the weak and dim-witted folks of the mainland once more how to sow seed, grind the grain, they showed them how to shape stone and to hew wood and seeing that, Sauron was glad, for he wished for his subjects to be strong and skilled in craft.

And yet even as he was focusing his attention on the Eldar in Eregion and planned for the conquest of the whole Middle-earth, Sauron always remembered that the Dúnedain were none else but descendants of the vanquishers of Melkor and the wretched Eärendil and thus one day they had to be dealt with. And being aware of that, Sauron also knew that this fateful day was approaching, for with his most recent failure in Eregion, his name became once again known in Middle-earth and the sixteen centuries, that he had bought for himself, with the scene once staged before Eonwë, were now over.

Thus even as he laid siege to Lindon and Rivendell, where three of the rings still could have been at that time hidden, Sauron began already to gaze elsewhere and turning his eyes towards Númenor, he began conceiving a plan for the island and its people.

Yet ere he had even managed to devise it, suddenly all his schemes were thwarted completely, for before the Maia had resolved to secretly travel to Númenor and learn more of the land and the men that lived there, like he had done in Middle-earth before, the Númenórean king forestalled him and - bidden for help by Gil-galad - hastened with relief to the oppressed Eldar, crushing Sauron's forces and breaking the siege.

Sauron had never expected the Sea-kings to be much concerned with the fate of those Elves that had chosen to remain on the mainland. The sudden blow came therefore as a shock to the dark Maia and it forced his thoughts to return to survival rather than further expansion, but it also served as a distraction from his memories of Melkor. In consequence, dismayed by another failure coming so soon after the first, he drew back into the shadows of Mordor, where for a while he lay low, with a new and far more devious scheme forming in his vile mind.

It appeared to him then, how much he had underestimated the Númenóreans and what mistake he had made by letting them prosper for so many ages away from his eyes, as he busied himself with the conquest of Men and Eldar and the founding of his new realm in Middle-earth. The force that the Edain had mustered on their small isle in the time they had been left alone, overpowered Sauron's hosts much too easily for his liking.

From that day on, the Maia's focus shifted. Hiding himself for a while, he turned his efforts away from the Eldar and their lands, letting the three rings of power at last slip away from his mind.

The sixteen however he kept, and the One he wore always on his finger, for when it was in his possession, the ring amplified his power and let him sway the wills of his thralls and his enemies alike. Immense power it offered to Sauron everywhere he went and in the land, where it had been created its might was greatest, thus keeping the Land of Shadow safe from its foes.

Yet as long as the One he would keep forever, the other rings of power he had decided to once more carefully distribute among the other races.

Seven rings he gave to the Dwarves, sneaking into their underground domains and planting them in the chambers of the kings under the mountains, for he knew that although of Annatar they had heard now much evil and no stranger coming to them with an offering and bounty they would trust – trying on the splendid golden bands that they would just accidentally happen to chance upon on their very own, few of them could resist.

And yet that once more proved to have been a mistake. For Sauron had never cared much to walk among the children of Aulë and thus the ways of their minds he knew not, nor had he attuned the rings to them during their making.

The results were therefore not ones that pleased him, at least not at first. The rings failed to bind the dwarven kings to his service - like Sauron would have wished them - but instead they caused their bearers to feel great avarice and greed. And each of the Seven would later become the foundation of an immense hoard of gold and treasure.

Yet despite not being entirely pleased with that effect, the Maia resolved not to take the rings away from the dwarven kings, for he wished not to make his enemies of them in those times and he could also sense that in the end the greed that they induced in the Dwarves, would drive a wedge between them and the other races of Middle-earth, thus ending the friendships that during the Second Age began to grow between the Elves and the Dwarves.

Nine rings that were left however, the Maia decided to plant more cautiously, for there was no more room left for further error.

* * *

Since the island of Númenor was now in the centre of his focus, even as in the dark of Mordor he once again rallied his forces, in secret he meanwhile began to travel regularly across the sea to Númenor and just like he had once walked among the Elves and Men, now invisible he began to walk among the Dúnedain and study their thoughts. And while during the days, like a gust of wind he would whisper into their ears and plant in their minds desires of new lands and bright gold, at nights he would instead bleed into their dreams the fear of death and longing for life eternal.

And as he walked across Númenor, he trod carefully and silently, coming not upon or even close to Meneltarma, the Pillar of Heavens that was hallowed to Eru, and never revealing himself to either the men of Númenor or to the emissaries from Valinor that in those days still came with their gifts and counsel to the Dúnedain.

And quite often in those times he would also come back to Mordor, not only to supervise the rebuilding of his dark forces and the corruption of men that dwelled there but also to make certain that the people of Westernesse and the Valar, who still kept their vigil over the island, would think Sauron to still dwell in the mountains of Middle-earth and never expect him to be already present there, on the island, right in the midst of their favourites.

* * *

As he spent his time covertly among the Númenóreans, in the course of many decades that followed, Sauron picked three of their lords that were most to his liking and to those he gave three of the nine rings that he still possessed. The other six he offered then and some time later to the kings, sorcerers and mighty warriors of the mainland and Khamûl the Easterling was among them.

The wills of Men proved much easier to ensnare and thus came to existence the dark Maia's most faithful servants. The Úlairi - undying monsters - they were later called by the Eldar, for though once they had been mortal lords of men, falling under the sway of the One and the Maia, who wore it, they became nothing more but terrible and powerful ghosts bound in his eternal service.

The seduction of the Nine into darkness had been a pleasant sight to behold for a change, after the previous failures. While those, who received the rings from him still lived, the golden trinkets granted them power and renown, they brought them great wealth and cast fear into the hearts of all their enemies... yet they too gave them power to walk the paths of the world unseen and to behold the visions of things invisible to any mortal men.

Those very visions however were but the images and whispers of the will of Sauron, and as their addiction and dependence on the rings grew, they faded from this world, becoming deathless phantoms, and his most faithful servants. And then in the Black Speech of Mordor, the Maia gave another name to the nine – the Nazgûl, ringwraiths, he called them and among them the most powerful was one of the corrupted Númenóreans.

* * *

Sauron had since times immemorial made sure to learn from his own mistakes, as well as those committed by others around him, and above all he strived to never repeat the same error twice. Thus when the coming of Tar-Minastir, the Sea-king from Númenor, to the help of king Gil-galad took the dark Maia by surprise and meddled with his plans, Sauron swore to never allow such an incident to happen again.

Ever since, he kept a watchful eye on the kings of Andor, and thus the landing of a different king, another sixteen centuries later, as well as the march of his mighty armies from Umbar to Mordor, was not a surprise at all to the Maia. More than that even, Sauron rejoiced and welcomed that day with great joy. For although the king knew of this naught at all, his arrival was but an element of the greatest and most carefully orchestrated plan that Sauron had ever devised.

The show that he had put in front of Ar-Pharazôn the Golden on the day when the king's great Númenórean army marched unhindered all the way to Mordor, had also been long planned and rehearsed. Sauron would always count it as perhaps his third best act, right after the fooling of Eönwë and his deception of the elven smiths of Eregion. Though as the latter had not ended exactly as he had intended, this time the Maia made sure to know his audience even better and he put great attention to every detail.

What Ar-Pharazôn knew not - while he sat there like a golden peacock on his portable, equally golden throne on the hill in front of Barad-dûr and had his heralds blow their trumpets, calling Sauron to come out and yield to him - was that in a way, he and the Maia had in fact met each other many a time before and that all the pride and vainglory that arrogant Ar-Pharazôn so vaunted, had been a result of none else but Sauron's own hard and quite personal work over the ages of his visits to Númenor.

* * *

Sauron's work in the land of the Dúnedain dated sixteen centuries back. Since ages already he had been whispering into the ears of the mighty kings of that land, touching their minds and dreams but never revealing himself. He had been working on the brink of their consciousness, moving in the shadows beyond the corners of their eyes, planting ideas, murmuring quiet promises, waking secret desires. Age after age, king after king he corrupted their bright souls with his whispers of power and glory and into the fertile soil of their hearts he tossed the seeds of fear and doubt that grew and blossomed more and more with every passing century.

It all began with Tar-Minastir, of course. It was after all because of him and the help he had given to the Elves of Lindon that Sauron had lost his army and his three rings and was driven back into hiding again. Because of Tar-Minastir it was too, that his plans were thwarted. And Sauron would not forgive it.

Of mercy there was none in his heart and Gorthaur the Cruel the Elves called him for a reason. Master of lies he always had been and as age after age he became more learned in the ways of human minds, the more dangerous and exquisite became his plans. His own mind had in that time become the most deadly weapon and slowly, very slowly he began to execute his deliberate and poisonous vengeance on the king, who dared intrude upon his war with the Eldar.

And how better to take revenge on the father than to turn his own son away from him and against him?

* * *

Thus began the centuries of perhaps the most intimate, subtle and at the same time most vile work of evil that the Maia had ever been a part of.

Tar-Ciryatan, the son of Tar-Minastir, was the first Númenórean to ever fall under the shadow of Sauron. In the heart of this once valiant and noble young mariner and warrior, the scheming Ainu had planted a great longing for treasure. The longing grew and grew, until the young man's greed became so boundless and rapacious that while all the evil of Middle-earth had gone into hiding, chased back into the mountains by the combined forces of Tar-Minastir and the Eldar, to the king's dismay his own son, blinded by his hunger for gold and jewels, had soon begun to oppress the men of Middle-earth instead, tearing the treasures from the hands of its peoples and on his ships hauling them back to Númenor.

Tar-Ciryatan heeded not to his father's warnings and instead followed the pleasant voice in his head, sailing to the East, the North and the South on an endless conquest and search for more gold, until at last, with his ships heavy from precious metals and gems, he returned to Númenor and he constrained his father to yield to him the scepter and the throne, succeeding Tar-Minastir as the twelfth king of Andor.

Soon he had settlements built in Middle-earth and he brought the peoples of the mainland under his tribute, for even when he was already enthroned, no amount of gold could ever fully satisfy him and even then, he needed to keep more coins and jewels coming.

When four years later, overwhelmed by the grief of what had become of his son, the former king died, Sauron's personal vendetta on Tar-Minastir was complete, yet he was merely beginning his settling of old scores with the Edain.

* * *

The thirteenth king of Númenor, Tar-Atnamir the Great was Sauron's great success indeed. Not only did he follow exactly in the footsteps of his father and became avaricious and proud like Tar-Ciryatan before him but he was also the first of the Númenórean kings to speak up against the Ban of the Valar in the West and first one to cling onto his life and throne until he grew old and witless like had no other ruler of Andor before him. From that time on all the rulers would cling onto their lives and power beyond the end of all joy, the very same way as he.

Fourteenth king of Númenor, Tar-Ancalimon, jealous of immortal lives they had, spoke not just against the ban but against the Valar and the Eldar themselves and he renounced the language of Quenya that in those times was still used in the Land of the Star. He too, chased out the eagles of Manwë that nested in the royal palace for ages until that day and he refused to offer the first fruits to Eru at the Meneltarma, the hallowed Pillar of Heavens.

All that the king had done following the thoughts and wishes that Sauron had planted in his head and that he had always believed – as had Tar-Ciryatan and Tar-Atanamir before him and the rulers after him – to be his very own. It was also under Ancalimon's rule that the Dúnedain became split into two opposing parties, one of them the King's Men, loyal only to the throne and the other, Elendili, the Elf-friends, loyal to their king but also to the Eldar and the Valar.

So passed the ages and the long-lived kings changed slowly, yet it was always the same wind that whispered into their ears and the same song sung by the waves beyond the windows of their castles. And still the same visions came to them in their dreams, and the same soft words sounded in their minds, slowly and masterfully, lifetime by lifetime and generation by generation, preparing Númenor for Sauron's true coming.

Ruler by ruler, age by age, Númenóreans turned further away from the light of the Lords of the West and lower fell the kingdom of Westernesse. More scarce too, in consequence, became the visits of the messengers of the Valar, for often they were now frowned upon and derided – as looking beyond the horizon, at the white and golden shores of the Blessed Land, whence the Eldar came, now many of the Dúnedain felt in their hearts no longer happiness and clarity but envy and anger.

And as the ships of the emissaries of Valinor called ever rarer to the ports of Andor, Sauron deemed the time favorable enough to begin planting a different desire in the hearts of the Númenórean king and nobles.

This time it went beyond the simple wish to possess treasure. It was the craving to expand and to conquer - but most of all it was the desire to live forever that Sauron nurtured ever since in their minds. They were worth it. They deserved it. So whispered the voice they knew so well, the voice so familiar that it must have been their own.

Thus the Maia caused the pride of each king to grow until they began taking on blasphemous titles, calling themselves "Lords of the West" and "first in the world" and they sailed across the sea to South and to the East, reaching the coasts of Middle-earth again. Yet this time they built there not just small settlements but splendid harbors and cities, towers and strongholds and they were no longer the teachers and helpers but masters and oppressors of Men and the gatherers of tribute.

Sauron allowed them all that, pleased to watch the evil take even further root in the souls of the once noble mariners. The surrendering of the coastline to the Dúnedain was truly a small sacrifice to make. The shore of Middle-earth served now in Sauron's eyes as the training grounds needed to prepare the Dúnedain for his grand scheme. He had a far greater goal now in mind and in order to reach it, he first needed to give to the Númenóreans the taste of power and mastery over others – he needed them to grow even more arrogant and overconfident of their power.

And confident they grew indeed for aside of their new mastery over Men of the mainland they had also vainly thought themselves to be the very reason for the relinquishing of the coastline and fleeing further into the East of the dark lord Sauron.

Back on Númenor too, the progress was to the Maia's satisfaction. Living in the constant fear of death and longing for life immortal the subsequent kings of Andor ordered all the wise men of the land to work day and night to find cure for death - or at least a way to prolong their lives even further. They however found none of those things and only succeeded in finding a way to preserve bodies of their dead, thus filling the land with crypts and catacombs that ever dark and silent only fed their great fear of death even further.

And the more did the Númenóreans fear death, the more envious and resentful they became of the Ainur and the Eldar and the more hate was in their hearts. And during times of Ar-Gimilzôr, the twenty third king of Andor, the use of Eldarin languages was finally outlawed completely and Elves themselves were forbidden to ever again come to the Land of the Star.

Yet when even despite of the ban some obstinate Eldar still came, those who welcomed their ships and invited them to be guests in their abodes, were prosecuted. As a result the ships from the West ceased to call to the ports of Andor and many of the Elf-friends fled to Middle-earth leaving behind only the most stubborn of the Faithful.

* * *

Only one king there was in all the centuries that passed since the forging of One Ring, who had truly resisted the whispers and the visions of Sauron and instead of pursuing wealth and power repented the ways of the kings before him, wishing to return the friendship of the Eldar and the Valar. Tar-Palantir he was called, for he saw far and clear, and he listened not to the chant of the wind and the song of the waves and looked not into the shadows - but rather he directed his gaze elsewhere, far beyond the horizon and to the West, hoping to descry there one day again a white boat of the Elves from Valinor.

This king, like none of the last ten kings before him, went regularly upon the Meneltarma and there he prayed to Eru and he cared for the White Tree that had once been a gift to the kings of Andor from the Eldar.

Tar-Palantir had been a grown man already, when the throne was passed onto him and although his father was the cruel and proud tyrant Ar-Gimilzôr and his brother also followed into his father's footsteps, yet the mother of Palantir was of the Faithful and she taught him not the hate but the love and the longing for the days gone by and things lost.

Thus a man of pure and strong heart had the older of the two brothers become and recognizing very early that his mind would resist him and his temptations, Sauron wasted not his efforts on Tar-Palantir and rather amused than angered by this little man's attempts to undo in one lifetime all the hard work of a powerful Maia, instead he took to the bending of another, younger and more malleable mind.

* * *

Ar-Pharazôn was the son of Tar-Palantir's younger and satisfyingly corrupt brother Gimilkhâd, who was the leader of King's Men in that time. Yet in those days it so happened, to Sauron's further enjoyment that the King's Men had in fact secretly opposed the king, for Gimilkhâd hated his older brother with a passion, and as openly as he dared he contested his will, teaching his son to also stand against the king and all the Elendili that were returning to their homeland.

To that son, young Pharazôn, Sauron took at once a great liking and him he had chosen to play a great role in his masterplan. Thus since very early on in the youth's life a voice was present in his head that dressed in the guise of his own thoughts whispered to Pharazôn of greatness and of riches. Voice that assured him that he was special and made him yearn for life unending.

In this way Sauron had made certain that the youth grew up pompous and haughty and that his heart felt no pity. And after the death of Tar-Palantir, Ar-Pharazôn indeed had not disappointed the Maia – for soon, by force and against her will and laws of Númenor, he took Miriel, the daughter of deceased king and thus his own cousin, and he made her his wife.

With that deed, Ar-Pharazôn had not only usurped the right to the throne but also marked the beginning of the final round of the Maia's game. And for that, Sauron was grateful, for it was a game that he had been playing for many ages and of which he had already grown rather weary.

And yet although it was high time to at last to end the game and clear the board of all the pawns, before that had happened, one more figure needed to join in.

* * *

Foul in soul and heart was the new king Ar-Pharazôn and swiftly he had returned all the restrictions and bans that Tar-Palantir had abolished - and like just his grandfather before him, he waged war on Middle-earth and sought wealth and control and pleasure.

Ar-Pharazôn the Golden he would call himself and he became the vilest and proudest, the mightiest and most greedy of the Sea-kings.

And to him it was that Sauron willingly and completely alone came out on that day from his black tower. And while he took on a fair form and pretended to be humbled by the royal presence and intimidated by the great army that could in truth at least thrice overpower his own forces, in his heart he took a secret pleasure and almost fatherly pride to at last be gazing eye to eye upon this product of his wicked mind and to admire his work. For this man sitting on the throne set in the pavilion on the hill, surrounded by luxury and lacking nothing even here, in Mordor, was a true work of art.

He was the perfect weld of mortal vices and pent-up desires, shaped by the master craftsman of the Maiar himself. And now this faultlessly cut jewel of a man was right where and when Sauron wanted him to be and the dark Ainu marveled on how easy it was to bring Ar-Pharazôn to him.

All it really took was a few words.

"King of Men" Sauron dared to call himself one year and it insulted Ar-Pharazôn's pride at once - for it was he, who was the King of Men and no one else!

Just for good measure Sauron added then to that new mocking title of his also a few raids on the very same Númenórean cities that he had centuries earlier allowed to be built on the shores, and then as a final touch, he topped it off with a loud boast of his allegedly planned conquest of Númenor itself.

And then, after he made certain that the news and the challenge would swiftly reach the ears of the golden tyrant sitting upon his golden throne in the Land of the Star - his work was complete.

Just a few years later – and what was it really for a Maia, who had spent already almost two millennia on that wretched island, there he was - Ar-Pharazôn the Golden, here in Mordor, so far away from his homeland, dripping with the silks of his splendid, overflowing robes and from his throne pointing at the Dark Lord with a finger heavy from jeweled rings and telling the Maia to kneel before him.

And Sauron did, concealing in his spirit a smile.

His captive had the high and mighty Ar-Pharazôn made the dark Ainu and golden chains he had ordained to be put around Maia's wrists, daring to imagine that any chain wrought by the hands of men could ever hold down a being such as Sauron.

Then as Ar-Pharazôn himself was carried all the way in the on his grand travelling throne, he had the dark lord walk behind him and for seven days Sauron indeed days walked obediently behind the throne. And as they passed through a hot volcanic area, the Maia watched the servants fanning the king and passing him drinks, and he really wondered - how on Eä had he ever succeeded in bringing Ar-Pharazôn all the way here at all?

Because in fact, just as well, Sauron could imagine himself simply receiving a letter from across the ocean, telling him to surrender himself and his entire empire and best already in chains and bearing tribute to report to Ar-Pharazôn in his Númenórean palace.

Surely this particular man had enough self-importance in him to do such a thing and even more. Though, on the other hand it would not look as impressive in the chronicles, as this great march on Mordor.

One way or another, it was pleasant to muse on this and as Sauron walked with his head bowed in faked humility, his eyes were smiling.

And when after seven days he boarded the grand warship of the king, and felt fresh breeze of the ocean on his skin, the prideful gloating laughter of the Sea-king was music to his ears, as he was taken across the ocean right to the very center of the board that he had been preparing for so very long.

* * *

When the ships with scarlet sails called to one of the many ports of Númenor and when stepping down onto the shore, Sauron looked upon the city of Armenelos and he saw its towers and domes glittering with gold and silver in the last orange rays of sunlight, he looked overawed and envious of their beauty and it pleased Ar-Pharazôn greatly, for he did not even begin to imagine that Sauron had seen the same sight a million times before.

Now with the Eagles gone and with the white ships of Valinor unseen on the western waters for decades, the board was ready and the time perfect for the Maia's to at last begin the final game.

And Sauron yet again played his part faultlessly. It took only three years until from a captive he became the most honored guest, mere three years before from a slave and a war trophy he turned into the most trusted advisor and friend of the king, enjoying greatest freedom and renown in the land.

He walked openly through the streets of Númenor, in his grey robes, lined only with subtle silver that matched the ashen hair of his mortal shape. Gold he wore not, nor did his form shimmer with grandeur like had his guise of Annatar before – for knowing the king like no other had ever known him, Sauron deemed it most prudent not to ever - be it by words or by appearance - outshine Ar-Pharazôn the Golden, nor in any other attempt to undermine his precious, overblown ego that was so crucial to Sauron's plan.

Sauron. Nay, that was not how the Maia was called in the Land of the Star.

Tar-Mairon he asked the people of Númenor to call him and Lord Mairon they called him indeed and they grew to like him and held him in high regard – for he was kind to them and seemed to somehow know the names and worries of every one of them.

Yet in the privacy of their homes, people whispered and wondered, trying ever to guess the reason, why from a prisoner Sauron had so very quickly become their king's new favorite. They tried to guess, why it was this allegedly dangerous but so refined stranger to whose counsel their king, Ar-Pharazôn the Golden, would now harken regardless of the circumstances.

They thought that perhaps it was Tar-Mairon's all in all fair visage that was so pleasant to the eye of the king. Or that perhaps it was some secret power that the Maia held over Ar-Pharazôn - or that it was simply his words, always so cultured, ever coated with honey and so full of flattery that won the king's heart over so quickly.

In truth, the were not that far from the truth. However it was not as much the words, as the very sound of his voice that let Sauron shake off the shackles and so swiftly advance from a captive to the position of the king's closest friend and advisor.

To Ar-Pharazôn that voice of the outlandish lord, whom he had taken captive, sounded strangely familiar and welcome. In fact, it sounded to him very much like his own voice and each time Sauron spoke, it was as if the king's own thoughts were given flesh, even before they appeared in his own mind. And yet each time that happened the Maia never claimed the credit for the wonderful ideas and he that they were merely inspired by something ingenious that Ar-Pharazôn himself had a bit earlier first stated

And thus the king took at once a great liking to the Maia, for if Ar-Pharazôn the Golden truly enjoyed something aside from the sight of his reflection in the mirror, it was the flattery and the sound of his own voice. And now he had found both of those things in the Maia.

* * *

Years passed and Sauron grew in power in Númenor.

Wherever he went, he had the One ring always with him, yet at all times it remained concealed away from the sight of mortals and none knew about it, not even the king. The people of Westernesse could not sense its presence or power, for it was nothing else but the fragment of Sauron's own inherent might locked in gold and so as long as it was beside the Maia, the aura of the ring melted with his own divine presence.

The Maia however did not even need to use the ring in Andor and just carried it beside him. Minds of the Dúnedain had been wide open to him for centuries and no tool was required to further bind them. Moreover – it would be most unwise to reveal and use any of his real power and magic now, after he had taken long centuries to make sure that all the bonds with the West had been severed for the sake of none of the Ainur ever finding out about his arrival.

Yet truly, why would one need the ring, when all it took to open all the doors, was a few well phrased words?

All the other advisors and members of Ar-Pharazôn's court soon learned to fawn over Sauron and to love him, be it falsely or truly, and those who despite being a part of the king's court, were not wise or skilled enough in their diplomatic craft to fake their concord and liking or at least to mask their displeasure, soon shared the fate of the counselor Amandil.

Counselor Amandil was a whole new tale of its own, yet it was enough for the Maia that his name meant "Friend of Aman" and that he was indeed one of the stubborn Elendili still remaining on Andor. It was towards this very man however that Ar-Pharazôn's had a great sentiment, a leftover bond from their common childhood that the Maia had not yet managed to entirely uproot and sever.

Until Sauron's arrival, Amandil was still the closest friend of the king and his most trusted advisor, yet three years from his coming the Maia at last succeeded in his efforts to replace him and he had Amandil properly banished from the court and the king's palace.

Little did Sauron know back then that one of Amandil's grandsons, present on the island at that time, would later become the reason of his almost ultimate downfall. If he could have looked into the future back then and seen the image of Isildur and of the broken sword Narsil cutting through his black flesh, he would have nipped the life of Isildur in the bud before he even grew into a man and flourished and he would also kill his father, Elendil, to whom the sword belonged.

Not knowing that however, Sauron disregarded Amandil and his family and proceeded with his plan as he had intended. He had a greater design in mind that just ruling Númenor. In fact he did not desire to rule at all over those slithery maggots, who had overthrown and mutilated his master, especially now that he knew them all so well and saw each of the flaws inside them from so very close.

Well, he might have been the one to put those flaws, where they now were but still, he felt disgusted by how easily and eagerly this allegedly chosen nation took to their new vices and needs, how easily they abandoned the light of Valinor and sank into revelry and endless search for gold and pleasure. Contrary to his master, Sauron had never liked the Men much and of all the Men he had met, these were the most hateful to him. It was a thankless job, what he had been doing here in Númenor. Yet if only he had calculated everything well, his work in the Land of the Star was coming to an end and soon he would be able to return to Middle-earth and ever since that day focus again on extending his dominion over the Elves and peoples of the mainland.

At least the last thousand years had kept him eternally occupied. Sharing his time between Mordor and Andor, busy keeping up to date with all the intrigues and schemes of the men of Westernesse, he had no time for self pity and no longer did his thoughts return to Melkor.

And yet, they would now have to, at least to some extent, for bringing back the name of his lord was since the very beginning a part of the plan and Sauron's revenge on this very particular breed of mortals.

For already long centuries ago he had pondered on just how perfectly fitting it would be for them to die with his master's name on their lips.

* * *

And so with a particular intent in his mind, the Maia now began saying loudly the same questions, which the men of Andor, generation after generation, had been asking themselves silently in their hearts all their lives. And he asked them;

"Why do the Lords of the West sit there in peace unending, while you must die and go you know not whither, leaving your homes and all that you have made? And why do the Eldar die not, even those that rebelled against the Lords?"

And when at those words their hearts became filled with envy and anger that burning inside them for centuries, now had awoken and once more blazed with a hot and furious flame, he told them that the Valar had lied to them since the beginning and that there exists not - nor ever had existed - the one called Eru Ilúvatar. He told them that the Allfather, the god of gods is merely a phantom, created by the words of the Valar, to justify their self-ordained dominion over Men and to keep them under their control.

And when the people of Westernesse balled their fists and believed him, he told them of the Lord of Darkness, the true and almighty divine master, who would give them freedom and life eternal, if only they turned their eyes and prayers towards him.

"And who is this Lord of Darkness?" that fool Ar-Pharazon had asked him and hearing that, Sauron laughed bitterly in his soul. For how very ironic it was indeed that none of the descendants of Edain would even know the name of the dark Vala they took captive!

But Sauron just smoothed his tongue and told the king and his men about the master of darkness. And all the lies that the Maia had spoken to the king and his men beyond shut door at that hour, would have flattered Melkor greatly, if only inside his eternal prison, somewhere beyond the Walls of the Night somehow he could have heard him.

* * *

And thus slowly, year by year the king and members of his court turned their eyes away from Eru, whom they now believed to be but a ghost, invented by the Valar to ensnare them – and they began instead to worship a different god.

To Melkor they turned their hearts and prayers and a dark temple they built for their new god under Sauron's careful supervision and guidance. First fire in there was kindled with the chopped wood of the holy White Tree, that was at that time the very last symbol of the friendship with Valinor still present in the land.

Ever since that day, when dark smoke issued from the snowy branches of the tree, the flames always burnt bright and sacrifices were made in the temple of Melkor – first of animals and then, when the decades passed and the hearts of the Númenóreans became ever blacker, those made of humans.

All this worship was offered to Morgoth, the Giver of Freedom and prayers rose into the air, as Melkor's new followers hailed his name and begged him to grant them with immortality that these men sincerely thought they deserved, as if they ever had the right to ask anything at all of the Vala they had themselves mutilated.

* * *

Sauron became in those days the high priest of Melkor and he had often wondered if perhaps the dark smoke of sacrifice and the chant of prayers in some way, somehow could filter behind the Door of Night and reach his lord in the Timeless Void, giving him strength and reminding him that somewhere out there, on Arda, his loyal servant was still waiting. And Sauron would then think on what Melkor would have said, if he returned and saw all that his Maia had done to avenge him. Would he be pleased? Would he laugh? Yes, he would laughm Sauron was quite sure and oh, how much Sauron would like to hear that.

Yet those thoughts as always, led him nowhere and served nothing more than to reopen some of the scars that Sauron wore on his flaming spirit. And the more he thought of Melkor in the shrine hallowed to the name of his dark Vala, the more he longed to at last execute the final part of his grand plan and to be done with this place that each day forced him to remember.

* * *

In the last years of the corruption and madness of Númenor, many of the remaining Elf-friends, who had not fled, were caught and pushed into the sacrificial flames, where before only the slaves from different lands sacrificed to the glory of Melkor.

And then Sauron planted one final, crowning thought into Ar-Pharazôn's corrupt and crazed mind – he kindled inside his thoughts, already stained with the hate of the Valar, a final grand idea. And it was the thought of the conquest. Conquest on such a scale as the king himself would never dare imagine.

The Maia kindled in him the desire to take the Deathless Lands for his own, for Ar-Pharazôn believed that in Valinor he and his people could all at last enjoy the life eternal. He was a fool to ever believe that, of course, for it were not the properties of the land that made the Ainur and Eldar immortal but the nature of the creatures that dwelled therein. And yet who could blame the king for believing the masterful lies of the dark Maia, who coaxed him into thinking that?

For Sauron had said to him, "My king, the Valar have possessed themselves of the land where there is no death; and they lie to you concerning it, hiding it as best they may, because of their avarice, and their fear."

Thus Ar-Pharazôn harkened to him and he made plans for a great war on the Valar.

* * *

And so a great army was readied and more sacrifices were made and the dark smoke was rising from the temple of Melkor days and nights. Weapons were forged, great fleet of ships crafted and reinforced and mortals readied for the war against the gods.

And the Valar must have heard the clank of metal being welded into swords and amours, they must have smelt the stench of death and burning sacrifice. Or perhaps it happened so that Amandil, who had sailed westwards in secret from the king and his Maia advisor, had somehow managed to land in Valinor and that he was heard like Eärendil had once been before him – for in the months before the planned endeavor, there came clouds from the West and each of them was shaped like a giant eagle and night came with them.

Some of those eagles bore lightning under their wings and as they flew above Númenor the lightning hit the island and slew men on the hills, fields and the streets of the golden city. Then some fell on their faces and repented, for in those days, despite their worship of Melkor, rather than depart from the land, death came sooner and under many different guises.

Yet Sauron just laughed and even as a lightening stroke the dark temple and tore its dome asunder, the Maia high-priest climbed onto the highest pinnacle of the temple and he stood there unharmed among the raging storm and lightning.

In that hour people called Sauron a god and they harkened all that he said.

The Maia spoke to them and hardened their hearts and showed them that those were no eagles of Manwë but mere clouds, shaped thus by magic trickery and bearing stormy weather with them, nothing else. In his heart Sauron mocked the Valar and their pitiful attempt at a warning, for the lightning of the foolish Ainur have defied their purpose and served not as an ill omen and admonition but as the perfect means to further enrage the king and his subjects.

For as always, Sauron turned them to his own advantage and out loud he called the portents not a warning - but an attack. A first brazen strike dealt to Númenor by the cunning Valar, who upon realizing the Men have seen through their grand deception, wished to now prevent their coming.

Yet although the plotting, treacherous Ainur attacked Númenor first – Sauron whispered into Ar-Pharazôn's thoughts and the king told the people - the dealing of next, crushing blow would belong to the Dúnedain!

And so the men sailed on ships with crimson sails into the West and to war. And each lightning and each drowning ship and sail that caught fire from the heavens kindled not fear but more hatred in their hearts.

* * *

Sauron stayed behind in the temple and he was glad, for at last, after all this time, his plan was coming to an end. He was no fool and knew of course that none, not even Melkor in his mighty days, could stand against the true wrath of all the Valar. He therefore knew perfectly well that he had sent the golden peacock and all his men to certain death.

And knowing that, the Maia rejoiced. For it had never his goal to rule these men, nay. All he had ever craved for, was their destruction, all he had wanted was to kill the last of them and leave Númenor barren and waste so that never again would the Edain disturb his rule on Arda, as he brought order to its peoples, subduing and enslaving one after another all the races of Middle-Earth.

Sending Númenóreans, the chosen people, against the very ones that had chosen them, was to serve one more vital purpose however – it was to show to the Powers of the World just how thankless and vile their mortal favorites ad protégées were and it was to assure that the Lords of the West, disappointed, would turn away from the mankind forever and care no longer about the nations that Sauron planned to bring under his yoke in the following centuries.

And if Ar-Pharazôn and his men would indeed manage to land in Aman or even Tol Eressëa that was off-coast to Valinor - and not be drowned in the sea before they reached the shimmering shores - then it would be better yet, for they would kill some of the Eldar that had dared to join Eönwë, when the Host of Valinor arrived millennia ago at the gates of Angband.

And so he was pleased, when the distant tremors were felt on Númenor, running all the way from the far West, for he imagined them to be the sign that in the distance the lives of Númenóreans were being taken. Thus pleased, he withdrew into the innermost circles of the temple, and sat on his black throne, rejoicing, for in that hour the triumph was close at hand and soon the island would be desolate and his and he would take the women and children and those men that remained there and make them into slaves or have them thrown into the fires as one last tribute to Melkor, before he at last departed from the island.

* * *

He never expected what happened next. He never imagined that the Valar would call upon Eru and that he, the Ilúvatar himself, would touch Arda with his celestial finger. Sauron couldn't have know. There was no precedent of that in all the history of Eä.

But Eru had answered the call of Manwë and the punishment fell onto the lands and the whole world was transformed. The roads of Arda were bent, the seas spilled and many lands were drowned underneath them, while other lands emerged from the waters. Aman and Tol Eressëa were removed from the world, while Númenor shook and sank beneath the waves and the black temple collapsed onto Sauron.

And before be could take on another form and free himself from among the debris, among the gold and stone and he was pulled underwater by the strong currents that tore into the temple. And even when at last he had succeeded in freeing himself and he swam out from the sunken shrine, managing at last to reach the surface, he was then caught between the sea and the lightning and he was stripped from his flesh and his power.

* * *

Were it not for the Ring that he then carried, Sauron would have likely been destroyed there completely, or subdued for long centuries at least, made shapeless and unable to act.

Yet the ring saved him at that time and when the currents pulled his mortal body into the depths, the shred of his own power contained inside the One served as an anchor for Sauron's black spirit.

And thus he arose above the waters, as a ghost of black anger and malice and in the tattered, wraithlike shape of his being he clutched the golden band that once had been a part of him. Inside it, trapped behind the gold, dwelt his own power and in the hour of ruin, it sustained him.

And so together with the ring he passed above the stormy ocean to Middle-earth and to his black tower of Barad-dûr, where in the years that came, he slowly recovered and restored his mortal form.

Yet ever since that fateful day, a dark thought would always haunt him, and he would be unable to resist thinking that had the ring never been made and his power in Númenor was intact and consisting not of two separate parts but of one, he would have managed on time to cast off his form and thus he would be saved from the collapsing walls, or the sea and the lightning.

But there too was another thought that always appeared in his mind in the wake of the first one. For it could have after all as well been thus, that with no ring to save a part of his power, he would have been completely destroyed then and there.

* * *

One thing was however undeniable. From now on, the ring, once barely significant, suddenly became the very focus of Sauron's existence. Without it, he would be nothing, just a whisper on the wind. It borrowed him back the shred of power than once was his, it let him recover and decade by decade, rebuild his mortal shape – and that new shape was terrifying to look upon for there was none left in the world, whom he had not yet tried to fool and deceive and thus there was no longer a need of much beauty.

A century after Númenor's fall, the dark Maia arose again and together with him were always his nine faithful Úlairi. And though Sauron himself had fallen together with the Land of the Star, his great armies suffered not and instead thrived and multiplied in Mordor for centuries in his absence and before that.

Thus Sauron, despite himself becoming diminished, still had his black forces and soon he laid waste to the lands and took slaves again. He attacked Gondor and Arnor, newly established kingdoms of those of the Númenórean Elf-friends that were sheltered from the wrath of the Valar and he waged war on Elves and Men.

Yet he too now, much like the ringwraiths, began to grow addicted to the ring that he bore. Never did he take it off his black finger, for ceasing to feel it against his flesh and his soul even for just a moment, was like being torn apart and losing himself and drowning time after time again.

He knew then already that he would likely never be whole again and yet he still clung onto the plans that he had made and he still did all that was in his might to prepare Arda for Melkor's arrival.

Yet it was not Melkor but the ring that now filled his thoughts more and more with each passing year.

And then, barely a century from Númenor's destruction, Sauron fell once more, for the Men allied themselves with the Elves for the last time and although he killed Elendil and Gil-galad, and he reduced their armies to ashes, Amandil's grandson, Isildur still picked up the broken shards of Narsil, the sword of his father and cut through the flesh of the Maia's black hand, taking the ring and destroying the link that Sauron held onto all these years.

And with his anchor not close enough to him to bind him to the world anymore, for a while the Ainu fell into the blackness.

* * *

The Third Age was a haze of swirling shadows and longing. Years became a blur, the world swimming in and out of focus. He knew only loss and hate and solitude at that time. For although the Nazgûl were ever with him, he, once the mighty Maia, was now himself no more than a ghost, like them, a deathless phantom enslaved by the longing.

Ages passed and he roamed the world, searching for it.

Searching for the One, wherever his spirit drifted.

On the way sometimes, he would still remember the vague goal he once had of the conquest of Arda and he would whisper into the minds of men, sending them further down the paths of evil. And thus arose on their own the Easterlings and the pirates of Umbar and the Black Númenóreans, who once had been the King's Men and the enemies of the Elf-friends in Andor. And listening to his whispers those men too waged war against Gondor and Arnor and the free peoples.

Sometimes, Sauron would find the clarity of mind needed to give sensible orders to the ringwraiths, and they would build cities and realms and fight wars in his name, yet those moments were growing scarce with the passing ages.

The dark Maia himself kept hardly any control over the tasks assigned to his servants at that time, for his own years were filled with endless searching. And as he searched, he let the chief of his Úlairi see to the matters of evil in his stead.

Thus was established the realm of Angmar, where in the capital city of Carn Dûm the Nazgûl Lord ruled as the Witch-king and the ringwraiths were his court and his entourage and the evil men that lived in that land were their subjects.

From that realm it was that, at Sauron's bidding, the Nine waged constant war against the kingdom of Arnor, for it was there, to Arnor - that Isildur had been headed with the intent to make the One Ring a heirloom, when he had last been seen upon Arda.

Of Isildur's fate and thus the fate of the One, he dark Maia knew not much at first and only later, as the rumour reached him that the grandson of Amandil, riddled with the arrows of Sauron's Orcs, had found his end in the waters of Anduin, had Sauron understood that it was not the forests and fields and not the cities that he should search but the depths and the currents of the river.

And thus he had raised on one of its shores a fortress of Dol Guldur.

Yet Sauron would dwell rarely inside its dark chambers, for until the ring was found, he, who once had been the most powerful and logical of the Maiar, would never again know the peace of mind or be anything more than a shadow.

* * *

Sometimes, between the restless days and nights of searching, there would however come a moment, when Sauron's thoughts grew clear. On those occasions he would look towards the dark skies and he would recall suddenly that there had once been a different purpose that he striven to reach and that the search for the ring had not always been of the essence.

And as the Maia remembered the name of a dark Vala, bound in chains somewhere far, far away from the surface of Arda, he grew frightened of how very lost he had become, and he asked himself - how could he have ever forgotten?

On those days he would become scared of the changes that he suddenly saw in his own mind and he would fear that - as the missing ring consumes his thoughts even further - one day he would forget his lord completely.

And if in the old times, he had sometimes considered pushing Melkor beyond the outskirts of his mind, now instead, he desperately tried to do the exact opposite and he attempted to cling onto the fading memories and the name of his lord and he did everything to remember. To always remember.

It was because of this hopeless battle he waged on his memory - and the attempt to once more shift the priorities and reshape his mind, which he suddenly found himself barely in control of - that in each century Sauron would now choose among his servants one whom he called Gothmog and one, whom he would name Carcharoth or Draugluin or Thuringwethil and always there would also be a mighty weapon or machine of war that he would name Grond, in the honour of the mace of his master Melkor.

And those became his new anchors, his lights in the darkness, and when he would forget about his dark Vala, and become consumed with vain search for the ring, he would then one year chance upon Gothmog or Draugluin or see Grond used in some battle and his memories would return to him, if only for a while. And each of those times he would then drop his futile search and curse himself and his weakness and strive to fight against his obsession.

He would then for a brief while regain his focus and turn the hearts of men to evil, so that when he returns, his master has - if not the world anymore - then at least a kingdom to rule.

* * *

When two millennia into the Third Age he slowly began to once more emerge in the mortal world, he was banished from Dol Guldur by one of the Maiar, who had arrived in Middle-earth in the meantime.

Why did they come? He thought to himself and he realized that they were there to find his ring and take it away from him, just like all the surviving Edain before them had sailed from Númenor to steal it from him.

And so as soon, as the new Maia went away, Sauron returned to Dol Guldur on the hill and in the forest of Greenwood, the name of which had now become changed to Mirkwood because of his dark presence, he kept dwelling for the next eight hundred years as the Necromancer.

He caused a lot of evil there and searched the waters of Anduin day and night, still hoping to find it, even more now that he was sure that the others were looking for it as well. Thus all Men and Elves and Dwarves that came near the fortress, Sauron had enslaved and tortured in the dungeons of Dol Guldur.

Yet as he searched and searched for his ring, one day more Maiar came and they banished him from his wood and his stronghold and he had the leisure to search in the waters of Anduin no longer, for they wanted to search there surely in his stead.

From that day on Sauron suspected even more that everyone in the world was in fact secretly looking for the One. The Elves searched for it in the woods and the Dwarves sought for it under the mountains, while the Men were trying to find it everywhere they went - and now the Maiar too came to join the search.

Not even the Nazgûl did Sauron at this point fully trust or rely on, when his ring was concerned. It was his ring, after all and no one else's. It was his precious golden ring and it was a part of him that he had lost and had to find.

* * *

As he was banished from Mirkwood, it was into his old kingdom of Mordor, where his ringwraiths kept watch and order, that Sauron at last returned and just as he usually would do, when coming into some land, he chose there another Gothmog and another Grond - but as he did so, he could barely remember, why he had even once liked those names that much.

Sauron didn't dwell on it however, for all that he could think of at that time was that in Dol-Guldur, on the bank of Anduin, someone other than him was now going to find his ring. And it did not matter that he had searched the river for thousand years already with no luck, for his mind told him that surely, just now as he had left, his enemies were going to find it.

Sauron knew of course that he had to act to prevent that from happening. Sound logic indicated that if anyone was to find his ring - it would be one of those powerful beings, rather than an elf or a man, and so he set out to corrupt those envoys from some distant land, in which he himself had perhaps also once been, though he could no longer remember it now.

* * *

Thus for the next century he was once again occupied, making sure that the five would not find his missing precious. He forgot that funny name, which he had used to call their kind before but he still remembered that in some way, they were beings such as he - and that made them dangerous foes and competition in his eyes.

Thus in the East he made sure that the two blue wizards, just like the men of some island before them, got the taste of power over others, and that they would cease their search and instead find pleasure in being admired, becoming the founders of cults and objects of worship.

Then he realized that the brown one was not much of the essence, for he preferred the company of beasts than humans and elves – yet still, Sauron suspected that it might have merely been a cover, and so he kept a watchful eye on that one.

The next of the five beings - the one, who dressed in white and was most of all his companions interested in rings, and thus the most dangerous - Sauron seduced to his allegiance. And yet even as the wizard worked for him, still Sauron kept a constant vigil over his mind through the palantir, for he believed that one should keep enemies closer even than friends.

And then, after the first four were dealt with, only the gray one still remained. Yet that one kept escaping Sauron, because instead of dwelling in one place he travelled all the time and stayed never long in any single location.

Yet although Sauron failed to corrupt that gray being, it mattered no more for he heard suddenly that his Ring had been found somewhere and from that moment on all his efforts shifted and became instead focused solely on its reclaiming.

* * *

He learnt the approximate whereabouts of the One from a vile and ragged creature, whose mind had been twisted and laid waste by his own power that the ring contained. And as he tortured the wretched creature, Sauron rejoiced and hoped that he would soon be reunited with his ring – for it was so much easier to kill its owner and take it, than to find it, when it could be anywhere on Arda.

Thus he had sent his servants after the one called Baggins all the way to Shire, to Hobbiton, and then Rivendell but the ring kept moving, all the time moving - and his ringwraiths failed to bring it to him!

Then it was suddenly in Lothlórien, and about that time Sauron for the first time became truly frightened - for the Elves could try to hide it there forever and some distant memory of a siege gone wrong and three rings hidden and forever lost, echoed in his head and haunted his thoughts ever since.

Yet then the ring left the land of the Eldar and surely carried by the elf ever since Rivendell, it now headed to Rohan and then for a while stayed in Helm's Deep. There Sauron made an effort to reclaim it but somehow it slipped through his fingers again and the elf escaped him.

Then again it kept moving. But then Sauron knew where the ring was going. To Gondor, the hated city of his sworn enemies of course. What fools they were to think that the ring would be safe there! And oh, how pleased he was to at last have located it!

Soon he knew not only that the ring was in Gondor but also, who was the one that had it. It was not the elf, as he had earlier mistakenly thought. Nay, it was the heir of Isildur. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, who had been all that time hiding under the guise of a ranger to now come and challenge him like had his ancestor before him. Oh, how Sauron had laughed when that worm had taken the hold of the white one's palantir and cast a challenge his way through the stone!

He was so sure of the victory. He sent his forces and the best of the Nine against Gondor again like he had done in the past time after time, and Gothmog too he sent into the battle and the gates of Gondor were shattered under Grond, the great war ram.

But none of those names brought memories with them anymore.

* * *

And then suddenly the ring was not in Gondor after all but here, in Mordor. It was on a hand of a little man with curly hair on his head and feet, an irrelevant creature called a hobbit. And for a moment Sauron could see the One - so close and so clear and he was so glad to see it.

But then his ring was already falling and when it touched the fire, somewhere amidst the pain and the loss, suddenly he remembered.

And as his world fell into ruin around him and the time seemed to freeze among the fire and ashes, Sauron looked back into the past and he traced his path from the beginning to the very end, finding on it all the wrong turns that he had taken and all the errors that he had made, as he followed the road right into madness.

And although none of the mistakes of the past could ever be undone and even though the time could not be turned - at least for a single while there he knew again, that he was Mairon the Maia and that once he had been a skilled smith and then a devoted servant. And he knew that he had created wonders and fought in wars and that once, long time ago, there was a dark Vala that he had loved.

In this brief moment of clarity that came much too late, the Maia suddenly found himself unable to understand, how he could have ever forgotten about Melkor. Forgotten about the one, for whom he had done it all, for whom he had gone so far... for whose comeback he had always waited. Forgotten about the only purpose that all these centuries had kept him going.

And he did not understand, how could he - the one, who even now controlled minds of others with such ease - fail to notice the moment, in which he got lost in his own mind so completely?

Yet then, before he could even begin to search for answers, it was already over and the frozen time broke into shards and splinters of memories and regrets. And as among the crumbling towers and broken walls the Maia fell beyond the shadows of the world and into oblivion, to become nothing more than a howling ghost of loss and anger, there was only one thing that he knew for sure.

If Melkor was ever to return at all, he would not find a kingdom to rule and neither would there be a servant to welcome him back.

And at the end of it all, there was only one last thought in Sauron's mind.

"I failed thee, master... forgive me."


Chapter End Notes

A/N Now, some notes for this chapter:

0) Sauron going to Númenor: "I'm on a BOAT!" XD Ah, also we are sorry for killing you with names of Númenórean rulers but take consolation in the fact that in our version Sauron had to know ALL OF THEM and he had to sit in their heads and also keep up to date with all the court intrigues and the plans of all the people of Andor, and also at the same time multitask in Middle-earth. So think of this poor Maia and stop taking pity on yourself 8P *suddenly tempted to draw the My Brain is Full of F**k meme with him* XD

1) The questions Sauron asks the Númenóreans are actual quotes from The Silmarillion.

2) Our outrageous interpretation of Ar-Pharazôn, the King of Overblown Ego is all well based on facts XD -

"For seven days he journeyed with banner and trumpet, and he came to a hill, and he went up, and he set there his pavilion and his throne; and he sat himself down in the midst of the land, and the tents of his host were ranged all about him, blue, golden, and white, as a field of tall flowers. Then he sent forth heralds, and he commanded Sauron to come before him and swear to him fealty. And Sauron came. Even from his mighty tower of Barad-dûr he came, and made no offer of battle"

3) There is this eternal question whether Sauron did or did not have his ring on Númenor but in two sources Tolkien confirmed that he did have it (and also all the logic speaks for it) and he also wrote that after the fall of Andor, Sauron lifted it from the bottom of the sea as a ghost and carried it all the way to Mordor - we think that it was possible for him to carry a material object in this case, because inside the ring was his own power and shred of his spirit and we quite imagine it as a magnet clinging to his being and vice versa (after all the ring did try to come back to Sauron in LotR)

4) If any of you wondered about that passage about Ithryn Luin, the blue wizards, Pallando and Alatar, and them failing their mission and becoming the founders of cults and objects of worship of mortals, this is a quote from Letter 211 by Master Tolkien:

"What success they had I do not know; but I fear that they failed, as Saruman did, though doubtless in different ways; and I suspect they were founders or beginners of secret cults and 'magic' traditions that outlasted the fall of Sauron."

5) And oh, we have explained the presence of 'Gothmog' and 'Grond' in LotR... we made it sad didn't we, oh we're so evil and vile and we make people curl forever under blankets D:

6) Probably we wanted to say something more but eh, what was it... XD Anyway, if you have any questions write to us on deviantart or here just make sure we have some way to reply XD

And now, have some Annatar Sauron <3 We still have to draw the Númenórean version though, it's different :3

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