The Lords that Fell by Taylor17387

---

The Tyrant in the Golden City

---

The Tyrant in the Golden City

 

An island good to land upon,
Although 'tis rather bare.
Come, leave the sea! And let us run,
Or dance, or lie down in the sun!
See, gulls are sitting there!
Beware!
Gulls do not sink.

 

-Fastitocalon (The Adventures of Tom Bombadil)

 

In the days in which Men began to thrive, when a large island was offered to them as a gift for their efforts in the war, and their lives became longer, and their kings richer and mightier, in those days, Sauron roamed Middle Earth as the humblest of the vagabonds. Often being but a faint shadow,  he went unnoticed by most, and many thought that he was finished, even destroyed. It was a typical weakness of Men to judge things by their appearance only. But who could reproach them for their folly when even the gods were blind sometimes?
Thus, free of chains and surveillance, the Maia explored the darkest corners of the earth, and by the passing of his shadow, the Orcs were unsettled, and the sleepy desire for blood and war awoke again in their hearts. Few were those that did not heed the call of their former master and followed him, between fearful and hopeful, to the land that he had chosen as his new abode.

Mordor was a huge plain, waste and barren, protected on all sides by hostile mountains, and halfway between the enemy kingdoms of the West, and the not so unfriendly kingdoms of the East and South. Its characteristics were so suitable, that Sauron could hardly believe that those lands had been formed by chance. So he liked to think that they appeared when his Lord scattered his power throughout Arda before being captured, and that they were a last token of his love.
This was what Sauron would have wanted to believe, though of course, deep down he knew that it was nothing but the delusion of someone who still clings to the past. And this was not the time to look back, but forward, to the future and the unknown.
Thus, amid the desolate plain, Sauron named himself the new Dark Lord, the new Enemy of Elves, Men and Dwarves. Orcs and trolls began to pour through the mountain passes, in ever greater numbers, and swore loyalty to him as they had swore to Melkor. Then the sweet sound of the whip sounded again in his ears, but not just that of his, as before, but of thousands of them that cracked in unison, guided by his will rather than his hand. And with the pain of slaves and countless deaths, over many years that meant nothing to him, his new fortress began to rise stone on stone. Barad-dûr would it be called, and Sauron wanted it to be very different from Angband.
The fortress of Melkor had been like a natural outgrowth of the field, an unstable boiler of fire that grew and changed shape over time, as volcano explosions destroyed some parts and solidified lava formed new structures. In many ways, Angband had been a living being, throbbing and pregnant with the lives of many other creatures, always in motion and always unpredictable. Thus had been Melkor, after all.
But Sauron did not want that; he wasn’t his Lord nor would he ever be, he couldn’t beat him at his own game. So he chose the option most appropriate to his character: a narrow and vertical tower, sober and severe, which imposed respect and fear rather than irrational panic. And each level of the tower would be structured and organized according to rank: the inferior captains in the lower floors, the superior in the upper ones. And his quarters at the pinnacle that topped the tower.
He didn’t want to lock himself in the depths of Arda, nor be in touch with its undercurrents of life and death, as Melkor had done. He wanted to be on the uppermost point to monitor the surrounding lands, to draw boundaries in his head, to make sure the legions marched in correct formation. Whether he liked it or not, he would be always a lieutenant rather than a king, he would be always a ruler, but not a god.
All of this, however, was still far away. For now Mordor was more a project than a reality (though a project that progressed quickly), and its power was still too weak to confront the Western nations. It wasn’t sensible to start an open war, but rather get the lay of the land, discover the weaknesses of the enemy and, in due time, hit them there where it hurted the most.
Those were times of diplomacy, and in diplomacy, as in any other negotiation, interests were achieved with deception and half-truths, never with sincerity.

Therefore, Sauron decided to make a little visit to the Elves, and he did so with the most charming of his disguises.
He had confirmed already what could be achieved just with a beautiful face, although this time he didn’t wish to inspire compassion, but rather reverence and admiration. He would give himself such a dazzling appearance, that everyone would be blinded and unable to guess the blackness of his soul, as someone who, looking directly at the sun, fails to see the big fireball that forms its core.
For once he preferred to give his hair a golden colour, instead of the usual raven black. Dark hair had been tied irrevocably to the Noldor and their excesses in the war, while everyone still remembered the blond hair of the Vanyar saviours. That would make him more trustworthy in the eyes of the majority.

He spent much time preparing this disguise and getting used to it. He didn’t want any other accident as in the tower of Orodreth. When he was ready, he left for the realm of Lindon, the only piece of Beleriand that had been spared by the raging sea.
He expected to gain the trust of Gil-galad, the new High King of the Elves in Middle Earth: an upstart of whom no one had heard before. However, the new king turned out to be much more cautious and much less hospitable than he had imagined, and all the doors of his cities closed before him.
Without losing his composure after this initial failure, Sauron focused his interest in the next most important kingdom of the Noldor.
A while ago, a group of these Elves had settled near the Misty Mountains, at the very gates of the great palace of the Dwarves, in the land known as Eregion. They were skilled goldsmiths and lovers of jewels, ambitious and led by a descendant of Fëanor.
If there was a place where the words of an old Maia of Aulë could be listened to carefully, it was there.

It didn’t take him much effort to go inside the city, and thus one night, the tavern where the select group of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain met, received an unusual visit.
At the moment the Maia set foot in the doorway, all the eyes turned toward him and the beer mugs stopped in the air, halfway between the table and the lips of the attendees.

-I’m searching for Celebrimbor, the lord of this place. Aulë sends me from Valinor with a gift for him. -he announced, in a voice that sounded strangely sweet to him.

There was a general stir, and in many tables arose heated discussions in a low voice. But someone at the back of the room hushed the murmur with a simple hand gesture, and Sauron distinguished a serious and stout Elf, quietly sitting befor his beer mug. He was surrounded by a group of blacksmiths, still stained with some rests of soot after a hard day of work, just like him.
The aura of authority that gave off that Elf was almost palpable.

-I am Celebrimbor, stranger. But I don’t remember having recently talked with Aulë. And indeed, I don’t remember when was the last time the Vala sent me a gift. –he snapped, and many snickered.

Sauron approached the table in the back, not caring whether he was welcome or not, and bowed politely in front of the Noldorin lord.

-Allow me to introduce myself: I am Annatar, Lord of Gifts, a Maia of the powerful blacksmith of the Valar.

Celebrimbor examined him from head to toe, but if he had been dazzled by his beauty, his impassive face didn’t betray it.

-You look like a Maia, no doubt, but I don’t know if that's good or bad. Lately the only Maiar that had been seen around Middle Earth were Balrogs and slaves of Morgoth. Decent Ainur, you know, usually do not drop by here.

Sauron similed with calculated shyness. That Celebrimbor was going to be a tough nut to crack. But he liked challenges.

-I understand thy distrust, my lord. But honestly, do I look like a Balrog? The Maiar of Morgoth are all dead or disappeared, and I’ve heard they are terrible to gaze at.

Celebrimbor snorted with what seemed to be an ironic statement, and offered him a chair in front of him.

-Sometimes, my dear Annatar, beauty is even more terrible to gaze at. But sit down. If you are really a Maia of Aulë we have much to talk about.

Sauron took a place among those stonemasons, and felt at once how those around him were filled with fearful fascination and began to stir nervously.
All but their imperturbable lord.

-Well, where is that gift that Aulë sends me? –asked Celebrimbor taking a sip of beer.

-Thou hast it in front of thee.

His interlocutor held the sip for a second upon hearing this.

-What did you say?

-Yes, my lord. Aulë sends me to assist and instruct thee in the secrets of the earth. News about thy exceptional ability have reached the ears of the Valar, and many speak of thee as of the reincarnation of Fëanor himself. Truly, if I didn’t know that his spirit remains in Mandos, I'd be tempted to think so: thou art his spitting image.

-I'm the spitting image of my father, Curufin. It was he who resembled more my grandfather, not me. But I will take your compliments simply as what they are: a kind way to please me, though insincere. However, you say you come to instruct us, and it seems very generous of you. But before accepting your help, I have to check if you really have something to teach us. We the Gwaith-i-Mírdain already know many secrets, you know.

Sauron lowered his new honey-coloured eyes, and blushed a little.

- Of course, I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I’m willing to undergo any test to show you that everything I say is true.

-Excellent, Annatar. If it’s so, then let us now rest for a while and enjoy our drinks, and later I'll tell you what I have in mind.

The Maia nodded and waited patiently. When the time came, Celebrimbor and his goldsmiths rose from the table and left the tavern followed by the newcomer, among the whispers of admiration from the presents.
After this, Sauron was taken to the workshop of Celebrimbor, immaculately tidy if it wasn’t for the multitude of sculptures, jewels and precious stones that piled without enough space between those four walls.
A sculpture in particular caught his attention: an Elven maiden of marble who wore a green stone on her breast. Her expression revealed an obstinated determination, but also some derision painful to look at.
After a second glance, Sauron discovered that the same maiden repeated herself in many other sculptures and carvings, and always, no matter her attitude, reappeared the same disdain towards the observer.
Then Celebrimbor approached his desk and showed him a rough diamond, amorphous and as big as a fist.

-This is what you must do, Annatar. To convince me that you are truly a Maia of Aulë, you’ll have to carve this diamond. You will do it in parallel to its axis, but without a single one of its layers coming off. And you won’t carve it as it’s usual with gems. You’ll have to create a figure, an unique and exceptional figure, that encloses part of the ancient magic. And deliver it to me in three days.

Sauron reached for the stone that was offered to him. Diamond cutting was particularly complex, not just because of their hardness. Every goldsmith knew that a chisel blow well given, cut a diamond neatly in two. A blow badly given, shattered it in thousands of pieces.

-What thou art asking me is almost impossible.

-All that is possible, I already know how to do it and I don’t need you to show me. I have to ask you then what it’s nearly impossible. Regarding the utterly impossible... well, that only Eru can do. -replied the Elf.

Sauron smiled gently, and his teeth shone more than any diamond that was there.

-Do not worry. I'll give thee thy unique and exceptional figure.

That way, during three days Sauron devoted himself to the complex and painstaking work of shaping the stone.
And at the end of the deadline, he emerged from the small auxiliary workshop that Celebrimbor had lent him, with the promised piece.

The lord of Eregion looked stunned at the diamond that the Maia had placed in his hand: a crystalline rose, perfectly carved in each petal and each spine, that enclosed within three drops of dew, with the moonlight still flickering inside. And despite being made of hard diamond, the rose seemed as alive as any other that grew in a garden, and the dew moved in a fey way inside its structure, as if it rained perpetually on its petals.

-I've wanted to unite in a single work the knowledge of my Lord Aulë and the vitality of his kindly wife Yavanna. -explained Sauron- This rose represents all that is perennial and ephemeral in the world: the diamond that nothing can scratch and the tender flower that breaks with the slightest breeze. Your life as well, Celebrimbor, may be fragile as a stem, but the works that you will create with me if you accept my help, will last in the world and memory as the hardest of gems.

And when the Noldo looked up at him, he saw so much wisdom and affection and warmth in the face of the Maia, that his heart was won at that very instant. How could a being so beautiful, able to create such beauty, be anything but a noble Ainu? Morgoth hadn’t created anything admirable ever. And besides, he hated flowers.

- I accept you, Annatar. - muttered Celebrimbor, and this time he couldn’t hide completely the effect that the Maia produced upon him.

From that moment on, Sauron worked side by side with the Elf, teaching him all kinds of mysteries about the depths of the earth, that filled his pupil with wonder but were insignificant for him. The two became inseparable, and over the whole land of Eregion word was spread about the charming and generous Annatar, loved and respected by all.
By all except one person, actually.
A Noldorin lady who, like her brothers before, seemed determined to make things difficult for Sauron. Her name was Galadriel, and although she didn’t have her own kingdom, she came and went wherever she pleased and always took possesion of any place that she set her feet upon, with or without reason.
Sauron soon realized that this was the lady whom Celebrimbor sculpted so obsessively, although her visage didn’t have the disdainful expression of the statues. That expression had been added by Celebrimbor himself, perhaps unconsciously.
Of course, Galadriel was obstinated, even stubborn, but never disdainful. Unless, of course, she had Annatar in front of her. For those times, she looked at him with such hatred and contempt, that it could be only understood as a frustrated attempt to magically murder him, without even touching him.
The other Noldor felt scandalized by these signs of disrespect, but Sauron couldn’t help but laugh to himself: that lady reminded him so much of Melian...

On the other hand, he had no reason to worry, because even though Galadriel had still some influence on Celebrimbor, he was completely under his spell. And long ago Sauron had laid plans for his apprentice, important plans.
In moonless nights, and safe from the gaze of strangers, the Maia had lied on the ground and then had felt the energy of his Lord running through the veins of Arda, and making him shudder with pleasure when it entered him. And much had he thought about the dispersion of the power of Melkor, and how this had weakened him at the end to unsuspected extents. So Sauron also began to question what would happen if, instead of dispersing the power across the vast land, this was concentrated. If this was concentrated in a minuscule object, as small as great was Arda.
And the conclusion he reached was inescapable: if dispersion divided the power until making it insignificant, concentration of that same power had to multiply it by necessity. It was a matter of pure and simple mathematics, and numbers had never failed Sauron.

With this in mind, he approached Celebrimbor one morning while he worked in his workshop. The Elf was so engrossed in the carving of a ruby, that he didn’t even notice him coming closer, and Sauron put his hands on his shoulders gently to not startle him.

-My dear Celebrimbor, I have to propose you something. -he whispered, leaning over his ear.

The Elf felt the long and slender fingers of the Maia stroking him through his shirt and shivered, turning around at once and facing him with a sullen expression.

-Don’t scare me like that, Annatar. And leave me some space; you know already that I don’t like being smothered. -Sauron moved away condescending.- What do you want to propose me?

-A new project, one that will take us a long time to complete, but that will give us such an enduring fame, that it will be well worth the effort. You've already learned everything one can learn about creating beauty. In that aspect, my teachings have been exhausted. How would you like learning to create "power" then, learning to create magic inside objects? And I don’t mean those illusions and spells the ye Elves put on your works sometimes. I mean real power, the primeval power that is infused in Arda, that which is only available to the Valar.

Celebrimbor frowned.

-I don’t know, Annatar...  That doesn’t sound very orthodox.

Sauron let out a singsong laugh, and shook his head in a good mood.

-Oh, my dear, dear Celebrimbor! It’s we the Ainur who decide precisely what is orthodox and what is not, it’s we who create the rules. Could the will of the Valar be evil, when they are the source of all good in Arda?

-I guess not... -snorted the Noldo, still furrowing. Sauron took a tentative step toward him.

-And thought your grandfather Fëanor about orthodoxy when he created the greatest of the works of the Eldar, the immortal Silmarils? Rules are for the mediocre! You are above them. -Celebrimbor looked away, uncomfortable, but Sauron grabbed his chin and lifted his face so their eyes met.- And you know you're not like the others, you know you're great. But I've never seen you smile. There is an old pain in your heart, and you try to hide it by building a gemstone shell around it. Why? Why do you persist in being Celebrimbor the sullen, Celebrimbor the harsh and lonely? Why don’t you let me help you to achieve your dreams?

-My dreams are out of the reach of your help, or of that of anyone else. And I don’t wish to talk about them. Tell me then what you have in mind.

-Rings. Rings of power. –replied Sauron with a seductive smile, and grabbing the Elf's hand, he placed his palm against his.- Rings that will represent a union based on mutual trust and affection: the union of your spirit and mine.

Sauron then interwined his fingers with those of Celebrimbor, and the Elf felt the stream of power that throbbed within the Maia. When he looked into his eyes, he had the impression that behind those friendly irises with the colour of honey, burned a dangerous flame.
But this illusion lasted only an instant, and vanished quickly.

Thus began the forging of the sixteen rings in Eregion. And the works went on for countless years, since the power deposited in them was one so deep and volatile, that the Elves could barely contain it within the small objects.
There was no doubt that the Gwaith-i-Mírdain were exceptionally skilled, more than most of the Noldor, but Sauron soon realized that working with them was going to be much more difficult and tedious than raising dragons with Melkor.
For the Vala that would have been a child's play; for the Elves, an arcane and incomprehensible experiment that only went ahead thanks to the help of Annatar and their own efforts.
Sauron oversaw the forging of each and every one of the rings, and in all of them he left a little part of his power. Enough to tie them to his spirit forever, but not so much that the loss was significant.
And during whole hours he stayed in the workshop with Celebrimbor, the hands of both joined over any one of the rings, until their energies merged into one and penetrated the hard metal, turning it red-hot and making it hiss. Then the Elf was forced to put away his hand to not burn it, and was left tired and confused, as if he had contracted a fever after touching something infectious.

With the passing of time, a change began to take place on him, and the great master of blacksmiths stopped eating and drinking as much as in the past, and his face turned gaunt, and his expression became surly and self-absorbed. The forging of the rings consumed his time and his body, and Sauron congratulated himself for it.
However, the Elf also began to avoid the Maia, and sometimes he disappeared for several days, without Sauron ever guessing where he went.

Galadriel, meanwhile, visited Eregion less frequently than before.
The last time the Maia saw her it was in the courtyard of Celebrimbor, where both were arguing, not knowing that they were watched by a third one:

-What happened to you? You were not so before. -said the Elf-lady, with the same bewildered and incredulous face that her brother Finrod had shown upon sitting at the table with Sauron, back in Tol-in-Gaurhoth.

-How so? -snapped Celebrimbor- Explain yourself!

-So! So stubborn, so harsh, hostile, proud! I cannot believe that the same brave and honest Noldo who dared to defy his father for a just cause, for my brother, will treat his friends thus now and won’t listen to the advice of those who love him well.

-As far as I know, Galadriel, I've always treated you well at my home, and I have hosted you for longer than a guest should stay out of decorum. Regarding those who love me well... I don’t know, the last time we talked about that, your answer was that you only loved Celeborn, that Dark Elf of the woods. If I remember correctly.

She rolled her eyes at this, and sighed with resignation.

-Then it’s all about that? Look, Celebrimbor, I don’t want to talk about that now. I 'm just trying to warn you about that Annatar from whom you never separate. Trust my instinct: someone who takes such an outrageously beautiful appearance, must only do it to hide the ugliness he has inside. And what ye are making is dangerous, those rings with that ancient power. There is something unnatural about it.

-Oh! So when the jewels I forge are not for you, then they are dangerous and unnatural, isn’t it? I didn’t hear you complain when I gave you that green stone with the rays of the Sun, the Elessar.

-That was different. The corruption of Annatar wasn’t present at that time.

Until now Sauron had been watching the reactions of Celebrimbor, how he had been charging with tension, getting increasingly red, clenching his fists with increasing force, and in that moment, came the explosion that he had been waiting. The flammable temper of the master blacksmith was legendary in Eregion, and more than once he had been seen furiously throwing his hammer against the wall of the workshop, not caring if he broke some sculpture or some head in the process.

-How dare you talk about corruption!? –he roared, and Galadriel stepped back a little intimidated- How dare you talk about Annatar without even knowing him!? He has given me more than most of those here, he has given me a mission and a purpose to my life! And his beauty is not a disguise, it’s a reflection of his soul. Or what is it, Galadriel? Are you perchance jealous? Do you want to have me all for yourself: the poor admirer who has to be content with fluttering around and never getting close? Well, that's over! Because I’m going to be very great, do you hear me? I 'm going to do something for which I will be remembered by all the peoples of Middle Earth, for all ages that will come after this. And I don’t need you,  I don’t even need Annatar. No, because I have forged three other rings, I alone. And they are more powerful than the rest, and Annatar hasn’t touched them, if that's what you're worried about.

Sauron 's attention was then suddenly aroused, and the conversation that a second ago was just a mere amusement, turned into something serious and disturbing for him.
Galadriel had lowered her head, and staring at the floor she bit her lip sadly:

-You want to be like your grandfather, Celebrimbor. You want to be as Fëanor, right?

-And even more than him!

-And have you forgotten all the evils that his actions brought to this world? The deaths, the wars? Your fallen relatives, my fallen relatives? What my poor brothers suffered because of that stupid gem. The horrific torture of my dear Finrod and... and what they did to him... -at that time, the Elven lady couldn’t restrain herself any longer and began to weep. Celebrimbor softened his mood, but stood firm.

-Glory requires sacrifices sometimes. But it’s better to reach it through them, than to live in peace being mediocre as the rest.

Galadriel shook her head and wiped her eyes.

-Now you sound like your father. A very practical spirit: get everything you want and don’t care about how you do it.

After this, they didn’t have much to talk about anymore. Celebrimbor always got angry when someone mentioned the actions of his father in the war, and went back into the house with furious pace.
Sauron thought it convenient to come out of his hiding behind a pillar of the courtyard, and go after him to calm him.
Galadriel’s face couldn’t have been less friendly upon discovering him.

-Can I offer thee something to drink, my lovely lady? –offered the Maia, with a voice of poisonous sweetness that he had rehearsed thoroughly for occasions like this.- Or perhaps thou already wentest elsewhere? To Lothlórien could it be? Or maybe to a place where thou canst found thy own kingdom. So thou dost not have to rely always on the hospitality of bad friends, right? -Sauron moved his tongue across one of his perfect pearly teeth, where once had protruded a fang.

 

He would have loved to explain then to the lady what he had done exactly with her brother, in all its glorious detail. But unfortunately, that was one of the pleasures in which he couldn’t indulge in a life of austerity and hardships.
Nonetheless, as if Galadriel had perceived something of his thoughts, she frowned with pain, and said simply:

-Yes. I better leave. It is a sign of good manners retiring when one is a nuisance.

After this, Sauron was left alone to deal with Celebrimbor as best he considered.
The Elf was upset and paced in circles through the lobby, muttering under his breath. When he was thus, the Maia used to touch him softly on the shoulder, on the hand, or even on the neck, and then he calmed himself. But this time the Noldo evaded his caresses.

-Stop touching me all the time, Annatar! You know I don’t like it. What happens to ye the Ainur with the Eldar? I still remember the stories of my grandfather, when he told us how Morgoth himself stalked him day and night, and how he tried to court him for the Silmarils. You won’t be like him, will you?

The memory of his Lord produced in Sauron a mixture of feelings: sadness, affection, and a kind of warmth upon recognizing in that episode the typical eccentricities of the Vala.
This slip almost made him forget his role, but he quickly composed himself. Now he was Annatar, Lord of Gifts, not Sauron, lieutenant of Melkor, and he should act as such.

-Oh, my dear Celebrimbor! Why do my caresses bother you so much? Is it because of physical contact itself, or because there’s something hidden that you don’t want to confess to me, nor confess to yourself? -whispered the Maia, and his words enveloped Celebrimbor as velvet strips. Sensual, dangerous.
The Elf blushed; there was something that emanated from the beautiful body in front of him, and although he didn’t know what it was, he would have sworn it was entering inside him in an obscene way.

-I don’t know what you are talking about, I have nothing to hide!

-Nothing? Not even certain secret rings? -the Elf opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out of his throat. Sauron made a dismissive gesture - Yes, indeed, I couldn’t avoid overhearing your conversation. Is that how you trust me, Celebrimbor? How you thank  me for all the knowledge I have given you?

-If you didn’t listen behind walls, Annatar, you wouldn’t hear things you shouldn’t hear. Sometimes, what others say about us behind our backs can be very painful. You are a wise Maia, you should know it. –groaned the blacksmith, and turned around as if he thought the conversation was ended.

Sauron feigned to be devastated by his rejection, and announced he would be leaving soon and would spend a time away, to which Celebrimbor answered with a shrug.
In fact, the occasion was more than oportune to complete once and for all his master plan. The sixteen rings were already finished, and each one of the goldsmiths of the inner circle of Celebrimbor had his own, like his lord.
It was high time that Sauron also made one for himself.

When he returned to Mordor he found that the works of Barad-dûr had progressed well during his absence, and that they had also raised numerous fortresses and garrisons in the most strategic locations. Both the earth and the sky were coated with a layer of increasingly dense ash and pollution, but within a few decades the lungs of the Orcs would grow accustomed to it.
Silhouetted against the horizon, a black mass crowned by red flashes, rose the main source of the corrupted air: Orodruin, the Mount Doom. And Sauron penetrated its fiery entrails carrying just an anvil, a hammer and a small piece of gold.
For seven days he worked tirelessly in the forge, until his hands gave shape to a ring, perfect in its simplicity, all the more beautiful because it had been created with one purpose only, which was not beauty. And once completed, the Maia held it between his fingers, and very slowly he began to pour all his power into it.
The feeling was horrible, as if he was being emptied of life and existence, and for a moment he doubted if what he was doing was right.
An almost inaudible voice in his head told him that his Lord would not have approved of that. But his Lord was no longer there, and what he thought didn’t matter much. Also, if the transfer of his power into the ring was so unpleasant, how much more exhilarating would be the return of this same reconcentrated power, once he placed it on his finger?
The legs of Sauron started failing him, and heat was suddenly stifling. Closing his eyes, he focused then in his purpose, and an obsessive chant started echoing in his head; a chant in the secret language that he had devised long ago, and for which he hadn’t found an use until then. It was strange that right now those words came to him so naturally.
The Maia fell to the ground limply, and realized that he had let go already of too much power and should stop immediately. He opened his eyes and looked at the small object: the words of his head had been carved on the internal surface of the Ring.
Sauron flinched, tormented by an unspeakable pain, as if he had broken himself in two. Not able to endure it any longer, he quickly put the jewel on the ring finger of his left hand.
Then Eä opened before him, and for a split second he had an overview of the creation from the Timeless Halls, and his sight crossed the Void, caressed his Lord while passing by, focused on Arda, then in Middle Earth, in its rivers, forests and mountains, reached the smallest objects, entered its invisible tissues, and finally found himself contemplating a large sphere, around which revolved other smaller spheres at a vertiginous pace.
Sauron stumbled, dazed. The overload of power was too intense, but the feeling, although uncontrolled, was as sublime as what Melkor must have experienced back in the days of the Music, when he was at the summit.
This was short-lived, however, and the power of the Ring soon stabilized. Sauron had now a clear view of each one of the wearers of the other rings, and as expected, a perfect control over their thoughts and souls.
Licking his lips with satisfaction, he connected himself to those spirits against their will, opening them by force, almost... yes, almost raping them. The eyes, ears and hands of the others, were now his eyes, ears and hands. And the Ruling Ring multiplied the power of the sixteen rings to unsuspected limits, so that Sauron realized that every corner of Middle Earth could bend to his will if he wished it.
But suddenly all of this stopped and Sauron was left alone.
Slightly confused, he looked around and found out that he was still besides the forge and the pit, which belched bubbles of lava. The Maia clenched his teeth furious when he understood what had happened: a too unsubtle violation.
Turning into a dark cloud of hatred he left Mount Doom and hurried to Eregion.

When he arrived it was already dead of night and very few lights shone in the windows of Ost-in-Edhil, but one of these few, was the lamp of Celebrimbor’s house.
Again with the nice appearance of Annatar, Sauron removed his Ring for the moment and put it in his robe. Weakness seized his legs again, but a while later he got used to it and stopped finding it so unpleasant. As long as the Ring was beside him there was no problem.
A servant of Celebrimbor opened the door, but upon seeing who it was, he went inside again to consult with his lord whether he should welcome the visitor or not. For a moment Sauron feared that the Noldo, still upset with him, or worse, suspecting him, would leave him in the street. However, the servant returned shortly afterwards and took him to the workshop before his master. Then he went away to leave them alone.
Celebrimbor was sitting without much composure in a rough chair, and looked at him with unreadable expression while he played with a chisel in his hands. Sauron perceived tightness in the environment.

-I regret what happened last time, my dear Celebrimbor. –said the Maia, ruefully- I should not have meddled in your affairs; you are free to create whatever you want without having to answer to anyone. I have been thinking these days, and I’ve realized that I did wrong, led by the pride that we the Ainur have sometimes. I wanted to apologize, and I hope this episode doesn’t raise a barrier between us, for I’m very fond of you.

-Yes... I’m also fond of you... I've been thinking it these days, just like you. –replied the Elf, rather dryly.

Sauron cast a casual glance over his right hand, the one holding the chisel.

-I see you 're not wearing your ring.

-No, I don’t wear it, indeed.

-Why not? Do you reject my gift? Are you still mad at me?

Upon hearing the upset tone of the Maia, Celebrimbor seemed to relax and smiled for the first time.

-No, Annatar. It’s not because of you. Actually, I couldn’t be angry with you. I have simply realized that the ring encloses a power too great to be used by the Eldar, and I believe it would be better not to wear it anymore. My goldsmiths think the same, and if I'm honest, I don’t even want those trinkets. I have never wanted them, they were just an excuse.

If he hadn’t to keep his mask of kindness, Sauron would have raised an eyebrow intrigued upon hearing this. Could it be that after all the Elf didn’t suspect him in the least? Moreover, could it be possible that he was willing to give him willingly those “trinkets”, as he called them?
Sauron knew that one should never underestimate the cunning of the enemy, but he also knew not to underestimate their stupidity, because this was often much greater than the other.

-And then, what is it that you want, my beloved Celebrimbor? –whispered Sauron, squinting.

His voice poured over the Elf like liquid honey, and he leaned back on the chair spreading his legs slightly.

-I want the gift of Aulë, the true gift that Aulë sent me. -a flame of lust burned in the eyes of the Noldo in that moment, and he added:- I want you, Annatar.

So it was that. Pitiful inferior creatures, always so predictable!
Sauron smiled with shy coquetry and took a few steps toward him. Celebrimbor approached an oil lamp, and the figure of the Maia was lit in a strange play of light and shadows.

-Strip yourself naked. -he ordered.

Without saying a word, Sauron unbuttoned his robe and opened it wide to show the masterpiece of his designs.
The blood rushed to the cheeks of the Elf and he licked his lips with desire. At a gesture, the Maia moved closer to him, and then Celebrimbor ran his hands around his waist and grabbed him by the buttocks possessively, measuring the perfection of the curvature with his expert hands of goldsmith.

-Yes... I can create the most beautiful and extraordinary objects of all Arda. But neither me, nor even my grandfather, could ever create this: this beauty so perversely sublime, this figure able to soften the most evil and awake vile passions in the most virtuous.- sighed the Elf, as he ran his lips across the flat stomach and got intoxicated with the scent of his skin.

Sauron shivered; only his Lord had touched him like that before. But after all, he thought, this was merely a disguise, a case, and he didn’t care about what happened to it.

-I would like to make you mine right here, Annatar. –continued Celebrimbor, his lips already stroking his pubis.- I’d like to lay you on the ground, open you helpless before me, and make you moan my name. But how could I do it? How could I do it when beauty is nothing but a trap for the unwary, eh, Annatar? So beautiful, so smooth, so perfect. So deceitful...

Sauron’s eyes opened wide upon hearing this last word, and when he looked down, he discovered the grim face of the Elf, his mouth twisted into a sneer as he held the Ruling Ring between his fingers.
He must have searched for it among his robes covertly, with the pretext of caressing him.

-What is this, Annatar? –he whispered maliciously- You have betrayed me.

The wrath of the Maia had no end.
That Elf, that pathetic creature, had managed to deceive him, him, the master of deceit! Sauron snatched the Ring with violence, and a shadow of fear flickered then in the eyes of Celebrimbor.

-Fool! You don’t know the terrible mistake you have commited. – he threatened, and his voice suddenly sounded very different - What could have been done without deaths or destruction, I'll have to do it now through war. You'll be the cause of a lot of innocent blood being spilled, Celebrimbor! Be proud, however: even in that you've managed to resemble your illustrious grandfather. Behold now the true face of the one in whom you trusted, the one to whom you gave your soul, and on whom you have put your lustful hands! -and saying thus, Sauron placed the Ring on his finger, and before the terrified glance of the Elf, he regained his usual appearance.

The sweet features and the kind lips of Annatar mutated into a face of pale cruelty and perverse fangs. The blond hair turned black as the sleep of death. The graceful limbs gave way to a body of steely nerves and hands accustomed to torture. And instead of those honeyed eyes that had bewitched all upon whom they fell, an eye of fire, terrible and hateful, pierced Celebrimbor and made him squirm in the chair. The Elf leaned back trying to escape, but to no avail.

-No... It cannot be... Are you... you are... are... ?

-Sauron, that's me! Or Gorthaur. Or the Wizard. I have many names and I have been many things: lieutenant of Angband and lord of Mordor. Soon I will be also the sole master of Middle Earth. Look at me well, Celebrimbor, because I’ll be the last thing your accursed eyes will see.

The Elf covered his face when the tall black figure loomed over him, suspecting the end.
But instead of that, the Maia disappeared in a cloud of darkness, leaving him in his workshop alone with his heartbeat and an icy fear coursing through his body.

Back in Mordor, it didn’t take long for Sauron to gather enough troops for the assault on Eregion. It was true that he didn’t have an army comparable to the one he had in the days of Angband, and the war machines were mostly mere plans and projects. But an impatience unusual in him had seized his will. It was as if the Ring burned on his finger and only the possession of all the other rings could calm him.
Had something similar happened to Melkor with the Silmarils? Sauron didn’t want to think about it, since he guessed that trail of reflection would lead him to an obnoxious truth.

Soon thereafter, hordes of Orcs stormed the city of Ost-in-Edhil, leaving behind roofs on fire, dead warriors and weeping maidens. Celebrimbor and his innermost circle of followers had withdrawn in the house of reunion of the Mírdain, and from there they tried to launch a last desperate attack. But all was for naught; that was a town of blacksmiths and artisans, not of soldiers, and the Orcs were enraged after such a long period without blood or brutality.
Sauron himself captured Celebrimbor and ordered the death of all the other members of his circle. After this he searched the house avidly, until he found the treasure he craved so much: nine of the forged rings.
When he pressed them against his chest and felt their metal bruising the Ruling Ring, he was deeply relieved. But he wasn’t complete yet. Other seven rings were missing. And above all, the Three, the three rings that the treacherous Elf had forged behind his back.

When he entered the workshop of the house of reunion, he discovered that the Orcs had already enjoyed some time with the prisoner. Celebrimbor was tied to a chair, with a black eye, and one of the soldiers seemed very fond of pricking him in the stomach with a burin. Sauron made everyone leave with a snap of his fingers, and once alone, he came closer to the prisoner and placed himself behind him.
The Elf's hairs stood on their ends upon contact with the cold breath that caressed his neck.

-This brings me back memories, Celebrimbor. You on a chair and me standing next to you. Although I think the roles were a bit different. What did you say to me then, that you wanted to lay me on the floor, open me wide and make me moan? It was that, isn’t it? –and the Maia ran his hands over the shoulders and neck of the prisoner, as a veiled threat.

-Go ahead, do with me as you please, Sauron the Abhorred! Morgoth was depraved, so nothing makes me think you’d be different. And after all, I have no wife or children that would regret it. But I won’t tell you where are the Seven, let alone the Three.

-Oh, my dear friend, you are wrong on both counts! In the first place, do not expect to receive from me a pleasure that you don’t deserve. And in the second place, you will talk, you will indeed talk... - Sauron approached then a table full of blacksmith instruments, and picked up a chisel and a hammer.- You already know, Celebrimbor, that as a Maia of Aulë I’m extremely proficient with these tools when carving stones and gems, but... I wonder if I'll be equally skilful using them in the tender flesh of an Elf. Aren’t you curious to know it as well? – said the Maia, raising an eyebrow wryly.
And Celebrimbor trembled when he saw the sadistic smirk that began to creep into his lips.

Indeed, it didn’t take long for the Elf to talk and reveal where he had hidden the other seven rings; each one in the house of his seven most trusted Mírdain. But he stubbornly resisted against telling him where were the three that most desired Sauron.
In any case, Celebrimbor had been reduced to a bloody pulp from which couldn’t be expected much more. And the location of the missing rings was fairly obvious also. He must have given one to Galadriel, other to Gil-galad, and the third... Well, the third could also be held by either of these two Elven lords. There was no other Noldo in Middle Earth that was worthy of them.
Nonetheless, a new incident forced Sauron to forget about the rings for the moment. An enemy army had just been sighted in the North, heading towards Eregion and sent by Gil-galad from Lindon. In front of it marched a certain Elrond of whom Sauron had barely heard anything so far. Rumor had it he was the son of the damned Eärendil that brought ruin to Angband, another reason to charge against him with the utmost cruelty.
The Maia heard this news with apparent ease, and then turned to what was left of Celebrimbor.

-I have one last mission for you, dear friend. -the Elf, with one foot already in Mandos and the other faintly set on Middle Earth, simply spat some blood on the floor.- You’re going to march in front of my troops to receive this ill-timed visitor.

Celebrimbor raised his head with great effort and muttered among rattles:

-You’re crazy if you think I’m going to march as a captain for your filthy Orcs, Gorthaur.

Sauron laughed.

-As a captain? Oh, no, you won’t march as a captain, Celebrimbor! You're going to be the standard.

That's how the real war of Sauron and the Elves began. And at first fortune seemed to lean in his favour. Elrond’s army was forced to retrace its steps and was besieged in a stronghold in the North, later known as Imladris. And though the Dwarves of the Misty Mountains caused some discomfort, they were defeated shortly after and, locking themselves in their mines, they forgot about the outside world as usual.
Seeing much of Middle Earth under his control in such a brief span of time, the small doubts that Sauron still had regarding the Ring were completely dispelled. And deep in his heart he boasted about having achieved more lands during his short reign, than his lord Melkor during whole millennia. Further evidence of how power should join efficiency to achieve results.
However, Sauron’s pride was humbled soon, as suddenly the coasts of Middle Earth were flooded by a tide of Númenórean vessels that came to the aid of the Elves. Never before had be seen such a fleet or soldiers so numerous.
From overnight, those men who seemed to multiply at a rate twice faster than the one at which they fell, opened gaps on all fronts and began to push them further and further to the South and East. The siege of Imladris was broken and Eregion abandoned; all the conquests lost. Even Sauron was surprised by one of the contingents and barely managed to escaped, with nothing more than a squalid guard beside him.

Again in Barad-dûr, defeated and humiliated, the Maia cursed his lack of foresight. He had been so obsessed with the rings, that hadn’t stopped to think about the strategies of the enemy or to plan the counterattack.
He cursed his stupidity, since he wasn’t so blinded by power yet, to not see his own mistakes. But above all, he cursed the Númenóreans. Those bastard descendants of the Edain. And he hated, he hated them with unquenchable passion, until the day of his revenge.

However, that day was still far, and after the initial fury Sauron calmed his hate. Maybe he wasn’t the lord of Middle Earth yet, but he was of all Mordor. His fortress was finished. The sixteen rings, along with the Ruling Ring shone on his fingers. And the three who had eluded him would be unusable as long as he had control over them.
It was high time then, for removing his sword and riding boots, putting aside the brutality of the past, and start behaving as a dignified ruler. He owed it to Melkor. And besides, Sauron didn’t want to hate anymore, he didn’t want to cover Middle Earth with more shadows, pain and hatred.
He had grown tired of that and knew where it led.
No, he had a plan, a vision, and it was a vision of love and beauty. Love for all the lands of Arda, united under one emblem and one glorious chant to exalt its sole ruler. Love for all peoples, equalised under the model of the Orcs and content in their uniformity, with no more discrepancies of thought, with no more opposing views or conflicts.
Why should be some races better and happier than others? Why should Elves or Númenóreans consider themselves superior and privileged? He, Sauron, no!, Mairon the Admirable, would put an end to all that, to the decadent superstitions of the decadent Western nations. He would merge the race of Men and the race of Orcs into one, until the children of their children could not be differentiated from each other. He would unite them through love, through unconditional love. He knew it was possible because he had seen it with his own eyes in his servant. And if perchance any of his subjects refused to share this beautiful ideal that he offered them, then he would be forced to do it with the most convincing means.
Because indeed, it was true that the Ring had given Sauron this wisdom, this brief vision of the whole, and the atom in the whole, and that now he wanted to spread it to the remotest corner of far Harad. But his love came at a price, of course, and it had to be a severe and terrible love, a love that punished any deviation for the common good.
In his vision of peace and perpetual harmony couldn’t be room for certain elements. The Elves had to disappear completely from Middle Earth; they were stagnant by nature, because of his immortality, and this wasn’t his place. At this point, and after having refused repeatedly to return to the Undying Lands, who could blame him if he expelled the Elves through more expeditious means?
And the same happened with the Dwarves. Clinging to their ridiculous traditions, they were a continual hindrance for progress. Also on them should fall the punishment of Mairon the just; a horrible punishment but driven by love, not by hate.
Never more by hate. Never more as Melkor. Except against the Númenóreans, only against them.

With these brilliant ideas in his mind, Sauron took up his place on the throne of Barad-dûr, and began to dress himself with the ornate robes of a king and to wield the quill instead of the whip. Gradually he forgot how smelled the blood of prisoners and how they moaned while being lashed. Those things no longer existed under his reign. Well, maybe they existed in the lower floors of the tower and the underground chambers. Maybe they also existed in the surrounding lands. But not in his pinnacle of power and wisdom. There they were only he and his Ring, pure and perfect as its surface of polished gold.
In those days Sauron invited many kings of Men to his fortress. They came from the most distant lands of the North, South, East and West, and often they toasted amicably after discussing the details of the new and glorious order that they would bring to the world.
Sauron appreciated those men, nine in total, noble and powerful, and especially one of them. A defector from the Númenóreans who had appointed himself as prince in the western havens. He appreciated them, but he couldn’t trust them. An ally was useful, but also unpredictable. An ally had too much freedom of action, too much independence. And freedom was dangerous. Melkor had been extremely free, and where was he now? No, allies were good, but slaves were better. Thus there would be no conflicts, thus everyone would work according to his will, for the common good.
Because of this, the last night he met with his allies, Sauron gave them a little parting gift. A ring for each one of them.
The Númenórean lord shook his hand heartily before leaving.

-My lord Mairon, thou art very generous, because I know there is a lot of thee in this piece that thou hast just given me. I cannot think of anything that could equal in value a fragment of the soul. And I wish I had something among my treasures to offer thee in return, but everything I own is trifles in comparison.

-Do not worry, my friend. Thou wilt return me the favour someday. I'm sure of it.

-When will we see us again?

-When the right time comes. All of ye will know it and then will gather here.

The man looked at him somewhat confused, but Sauron smiled affectionately and all his doubts were dispelled. How he loved that sincere face! The man wouldn’t have minded serving the Maia for all eternity.
What he didn’t know was that over the centuries, while everyone around except he grew old, while his body became more and more consumed by the ring and his soul was tied with increasingly stronger chains to that little object, what he didn’t know then, is that he would come to regret deeply the acceptance of the gift.
And so it happened that to the next meeting, didn’t come nine proud men with their entourage, but nine tormented shadows in a continuous state of hatred and despair, and they never returned home. The rings, after all, had been just a loan, not a gift.

With the kings of the Dwarves Sauron was less fortunate. At first he had hoped to dominate them in the same way, so they came to their senses and also collaborated on his project of an unified Middle Earth. But their heads hard as stone and their hearts of granite refused to bend to him, and the only thing Sauron achieved was increasing their insane desire for gold and riches.
Disappointed, he tried to regain the seven rings, but four of them had been lost forever in the fire, and another one avoided him repeatedly. Sauron waited thus in his tower, with infinite patience.
Sometimes he realized how incredibly lonely he was there at the top, above everyone and besides no one. Had Melkor felt like that as well? He didn’t think so. Melkor hadn’t been alone ever. Melkor was part of each of his servants and creatures, while an ice barrier separated him from the others.
His point of contact with the exterior were mostly the nine Ringwraiths. But these didn’t provide real company, not at least as his human servant had done, his Shadow, or even Gothmog. They were ghosts, nothing more, extensions of his own mind, depersonalized and hollow.
That’s why, during endless hours, the Maia caressed his Ring and only thus he managed to create a false illusion of company for himself. Sometimes as well, he stood in front of a full length mirror and changed his shape until he achieved a resemblance to Melkor. The memory of his Lord was always alive in his mind, and he could imitate even the last one of his features, even the slightest scar. Only in the eyes he failed, since he was unable to replicate the volatile flame that had danced in the glance of the Vala.
Then Sauron looked at his reflection for a while, and then leaned over to kiss it. Although instead of feeling the lips of his Lord, the only thing that kissed him back was the hard and cold surface of the mirror.

However, during all those years in which the Maia secluded more and more inside himself and inside his Ring, the power of Mordor kept spreading outwards. And there came a time when the interests of his kingdom clashed with the interests of another kingdom that also was in continuous expansion.
Again the name of Númenor stuck in him like a poisoned thorn.
There had been a change in the men of the island, and from simple sailors they had become greedy conquerors. The news that spies brought him were more worrying each time: a new Númenórean haven here, a new colony there, vassals of Mordor under tribute, and many other abuses. If it was a due time for revenge, it was this. Sauron gathered his armies in secret and started the war machines.
And then, as if Eru himself, who saw everything, had told his intentions to the king of Númenor in advance, the Maia came face to face with a surprise attack of those detestable men. Suddenly the plains surrounding Mordor, black before, awoke covered in tents and banners as a flowery meadow.
Sauron stared at the prodigious apparition from his tower, spinning the Ring on his finger obsessively. In that moment he felt the blast of withered air that always accompanied the Wraiths, and upon turning around he found the Nine standing by the door, nine shadows flickering between this world and the next.

-My Lord, the king Ar-Pharazôn demands thy surrender. -said the captain of the wraiths, the one who was prince in the western havens.

Sauron clenched his fist in anger. That petty king “demanded” something of him?
He turned back to the window and counted the troops of the enemy again. Nothing, they still outnumbered them in three men against one. Numbers had never failed Sauron. Neither numbers nor deception.
An idea glowed in his mind, clear, convincing and certain. Why try to crash against the coasts of Númenor, when he could be the rotten apple that would corrupt Ar-Pharazôn and all his people? Destroying them from within he would ensure that there was nothing left, not even a small seed from which a shoot could arise. A clean and elegant revenge.

-All right, if the Lord of the West presses the Lord of Mordor this way, then the Lord of Mordor will accept his defeat with honour and will surrender. –he announced, and when they heard this, the Wraiths became agitated and wailed in anguish. They feared being separated from the Ring. And the Ring was everything.- But do not worry. When I return, there won’t be a Lord of the West any longer. Moreover, there won’t be even a West. As far as ye are concerned, ye will be left in charge of the tower in my absence. And to make your waiting less terrible, take, I leave you here this so ye entertain yourselves.

 

And saying this, Sauron tore from his neck the chain from which hung the nine rings, and threw them on the floor, at the feet of his servants. The Wraiths jumped over the metal pieces among euphoric howls, until their veils of darkness got confused into one amorphous shape, writhing between pain and joy as each sought his respective ring, and placed it where in other times were their fingers.
After this, the Maia dismissed the Nine and went to the mirror. He couldn’t appear before Ar-Pharazôn with that visage of evil, but he didn’t want to do it with the stunning beauty of Annatar either. He had already used that trick before, and no doubt the Númenóreans were aware of how he had deceived the Elves with it. It would be too suspicious, and besides, judging from the rumours he had heard about Ar-Pharazôn, he wasn’t a man that liked to surround himself with people who could overshadow him. The circumstances required humility.
Sauron therefore chose a somehow nicer and smoother appearance than usual, but shorter, a little gaunt and haggard, with grey and sad eyes, as befitted a supposedly defeated enemy. It didn’t lack a certain beauty, but it was a withered and faded beauty.
Satisfied, he examined his new disguise in the mirror, and then the golden glow of the Ring caught his eye. If he was captured with it on sight they would snatch it from him, but leaving it in the tower was no longer a viable option; the mere thought of separating from it made him shudder in horror. At first he thought about swallowing it, but he quickly dismissed such a vulgar option, and taking it off his finger, he held it against his bare chest. A murmur of enchantments in the secret language he had invented escaped his lips. When he looked down, the Ring had disappeared inside his flesh, leaving behind a circular burn on his skin. He would recover it when it was safe.
Thus, he came out of Barad-dûr with his head high, to reassure the Orcs that already bemoaned under their breath. But when he stood before the Númenórean king, alone and helpless, there was no trace of pride in him.

-Kneel before the Lord of the West, Sauron the Abhorred, black shadow of Mordor and a thousand times accursed! -ordered the king from his golden canopy.

And the Maia obeyed without saying a word.
Ar-Pharazôn was a short man for his race and with a larger ego than his whole kingdom. The incipient belly revealed a not very moderate taste for good food, and the cunning little eyes, pleasure for intrigues and perhaps other vices as well. All the smaller seemed his body, all the larger his ego, and all the rounder his stomach, because he had sat in a too big canopy, surrounded by too high banners, and covered himself with too many layers of jeweled fabrics.
Sauron was treated with the basic dignity that all prisoners deserved, but he couldn’t avoid an intensive search by the king's guard. When asked where his famous ring was, he explained that he had lost it when he was defeated and forced to leave Eregion, along with all the other rings. The king discussed at length with his counselors and expert sorcerers, but they assured him that it wasn’t easy to abandon an object of such power, and that if the prisoner didn’t carry it on his person, was no doubt because he had lost it and had no choice. His pale and sickly appearance, and his quick surrender, corroborated it also.
Pleased with this explanation, Ar-Pharazôn took possesion of his new trophy, and soon thereafter he hoisted sail for Númenor, eager to showcase the Maia in court as a curious animal.

The golden city of Armenelos was even more grandiose and prosperous than Sauron imagined, and upon seeing its cobbled streets, its clean and new buildings, and its well-off citizens, hatred and rancour consumed him. While in Middle Earth a loaf of bread was often a luxury, the descendants of those Edain who had caused the downfall of his Lord swam in abundance and enjoyed long and blissful lives. There would be no justice in the world until they disappeared from its surface.
Already in the palace, the Maia had the opportunity to meet the key players of the kingdom, and their weak hearts revealed before him with the transparency of crystal.
There was the steward of Ar-Pharazôn, a rigid and narrow-minded man, with no other mission than pleasing his king. By winning over the monarch, he would automatically win his trust. There was also the high priest of Eru, old and mellowed, possibly willing to change his faith if this gave him greater prominence. The barons of the five points of the island had also met; vulgar spirits without exception and lovers of wealth above all.
There were only two persons in whom Sauron perceived animosity and opposition. One was the current Lord of Andúnië, a counselor named Amandil who, unfortunately, enjoyed the affection of the king despite his unorthodox views. The other was the queen, Ar-Zimraphel, a woman who glared at him with a frown. Sauron sensed a deep bitterness in her heart; maybe she would be useful later.

The first days were humiliating.
Ar-Pharazôn made him come out to the balcony of the palace so that the masses could watch the defeated enemy and jeer at him. Some of them even threw him objects, which made the king laugh in a fairly rude way. And all this time, they kept calling him Sauron, or the Dark Lord, or the Wizard, with evident contempt on their lips.
However, once the novelty had grown old, they left him alone and he was free to wander around the palace with surveillance, although no one spoke to him.
Sauron took the opportunity to consult the old books of the library and soak in the history of the island: its beginnings under the auspices of the Valar, its close relations with the Eldar, and later, the dissensions, the estrangement with the West, the doubts, the frustrated ambitions, the moral corruption. That was a very distorted and embellished history, of course, the self-satisfied history that one would tell about himself. But despite this, the Shadow that had fallen over Númenor could be guessed perfectly in the middle of each pompous and sycophantic line that composed the books.

The continuous study further accentuated the dark circles in the gaunt face of the Maia. And one day, the old priest of Eru, who had come into the library to look something up, walked over to him and put his hand on the arm of Sauron.

-Ah! Reading about Tar-Ciryatan, isn’t it ? An interesting monarch. -said the old man with a kindly dumb smile.

-Yes, interesting. I decided to learn more about the history of Númenor, considering that I’m going to spend much time here. However, I can’t find any information for the period between the king Ar-Gimilzôr and our present king, Ar-Pharazôn the Golden. What happened in those years?

-Oh! We prefer not to talk much about those years. One could say that nothing worthy of mention happened. And if it happened, well, the mysterious burning of the library in the year 3255 erased all traces from history. -and the priest gave him a knowing smile.

That was all the eloquence that Sauron needed to understand what had happened.
That man seemed quite outspoken, and the Maia guessed he could gain a lot with him.

-The history of Númenor is fascinating, but I’d also like to learn a little about the customs of the people. I suppose thy Excellency is in the right position to clarify me certain things about, for example, the worship of the deity, isn’t it?

The old man made a somehow dismissive hand gesture.

-The cult of Eru is quite neglected lately, if I'm honest. Although it was never really a big deal to begin with. Three speeches a year given by the king at the top of the Meneltarma, and nothing more. Despite the honours, one could say that my position is the most useless in the palace. And who would listen to an old man like me, anyway?

Sauron opened his eyes attentive, and leaned toward him.

-What about Eru? Does he listen to thee?

-I don’t know. I believe so. I’m supposed to believe so, since I’m the high priest.

-Has he ever spoken with thee?

-No.

The Maia smiled enigmatically, and leaned back again. The old man felt a twinge of curiosity. There was something in the grey eyes of that being older than the world, something dangerous and seductive at the same time, something that promised to reveal forbidden but powerful secrets. And though he knew that certain things shouldn’t be heard ever by human ears, the old man could not resist the imperative to ask:

-How was him?

Sauron feigned surprise:

-Who?

-Thy lord, the fallen Vala.

The Maia then rose from his chair, kissed the priest's hand in farewell with courtesy, and simply said:

-He was real. VERY real.

Then he left the library. The old man would have rather not known this at such an advanced age, but those words wouldn’t go out of his head from then onwards.

Soon after, Sauron was called to the presence of Ar-Pharazôn, and seeing that all the guards left the room and closed the doors to let them alone, he realized that it was something important. The king pointed to the floor, and Sauron knelt and bowed his head.

-I have been informed that you have spoken recently with my priest about the Dark Enemy, that whose name we don’t pronounce.

-Only because he asked me, thy Majesty.

-Such conversations are not allowed in my court, Wizard! -rebuked the king, and the Maia shrank further in the floor. Nonetheless, Ar-Pharazôn was somehow calmed upon seeing his submission. -If there’s anyone here who may know more, that's me and only me, do you understand?

-Of course, thy Majesty.

-Well. Now raise your head, look at the eyes of your king, and tell me with total sincerity about Morgoth. Who was he, how was he, and for what reason did you let him seduce you and draw you into the darkness.

-My king, his real name was Melkor, not Morgoth. And he was the first of all, the father of all who had no father. In the beginning it was he and the Darkness, and in the Darkness he begot us, he alone and without wife. He begot the great Valar, the Powers of Arda, and the lesser Maiar like me. The first of his children was Manwë, whom the Eldar incorrectly called his "brother". But Melkor has no brothers, since nobody was before him or at the same time as he. Also from the matter of Darkness itself Melkor created Arda, and from his love and wisdom he created the Children of Arda, Men, Elves, Dwarves and Orcs. All races were beautiful and good in the beginning, and all were equally loved by Melkor. But Manwë was ambitious and foolish. He didn’t understand that the origin of life always throbs in the Darkness, either in the depths of the earth where plants germinate, or in the belly of women where men are shaped. He wanted light, he wanted to rip the primordial Darkness with loud and searing light, believing that this way he would become greater and more powerful than his father. He dragged then the other Valar to rebellion, and there was war in Arda, destructive fire from which the stars arose and floodings from which the seas emerged. My lord Mekor feared for his Children, and so he agreed to come down to Earth, enclosed in a humble body of flesh and bone. But it was too late. The Elves were deceived by the lies of Manwë and his followers, and the Orcs, who still kept faithful to the true Creator, were tortured and disfigured by the Valar, and thrown to a life of misery. Despite all my lord Melkor, whose mercy is infinite, accepted and protected them. I was also deceived for a long time, I also believed that light was good and Darkness evil. But when I saw my Lord for the first time inside his body, so beautiful, so full of life, I understood at once the mistake of my beliefs. I realized that the light that I loved so  much, actually deformed the appearance of all things, and that only in Darkness could be found the truth, a truth that is difficult to find because it must be sought without sight, but that rewards with the secret of life those who dare to get into it. Death didn’t exist at first, not even for men, for all are equal in the dark. It was light which created contrasts, opposition. And death.

Ar-Pharazôn had listened carefully, but the expression on his face was impenetrable. He just raised an eyebrow at the word “death”.

-That's blasphemy, Wizard. It’s not that the story told by the books. –he snapped, although there was a shadow of uncertainty in his voice.

-That's because the lies of the Valar were transmitted to the books of the Eldar, and in the place of Melkor they put an unreal and harmless ghost named Eru. And my Lord was portrayed as a perverse and cruel tyrant. Thy forefather Eärendil was betrayed by these lies, and Men manipulated to help the Valar in their detestable mission of banishing my Lord from Arda. But perhaps there is still hope for Men if they repent. Because my Lord Melkor can still listen to them and attend their pleas, and perhaps, bring them back to the Darkness, with no death, no suffering, no old age. Where all are equal.

Ar-Pharazôn scratched his chin, thoughtfully.

-Umm! Why should I believe you, Sauron? Why should I believe that Melkor is more real than Eru?

-Because there are marks in Arda that attest the passing of my Lord across it. There are the sunken lands of Beleriand, there are the Noldor of past ages who knew him, although their irrational hatred would make them blaspheme. And here I am that remained with him till the end, that loved him with my body and soul. Yes, because so real was Melkor that he could be loved in the usual sense of the word. On the other hand, who has seen Eru? Who can say that he has touched him, even with one finger?

At that time, the king smiled. There was sincerity and passion in the eyes of the Maia, for though his discourse was full of lies, he had also mixed them with things that he thought and felt deep in his heart. So that the honesty of the ones covered the falseness of the others, until they were indistinguishable.

-You speak of physical love, Wizard. -said Ar-Pharazôn with malice.- But Melkor is your father as you say. Isn’t that incest?

-Those rules concern only ordinary men, my king. They don’t apply to the Ainur. -and then, remembering that the queen was a cousin of the king, he added slyly:- Neither to great kings of noble lineage.

Ar-Pharazôn nodded pleased, and an ambitious shine awoke in his narrowed eyes. With some effort, he leaned on the opposite side of the throne, and his heavy robes gave off a myriad of golden sparkles.

-What you say sounds interesting, Wizard. Or how should I call you? Not Sauron the Abhorred, of course.

-In the early days, before calumny fell upon me, I was known as Mairon, my king.

-Mairon... You will be Tar-Mairon, then. -concluded the monarch, and with a languid gesture ordered the Maia to go away.- We’ll talk about this another time, and you will explain to me more about Melkor.

Thus the first great triumph of Sauron over the Númenóreans was consummated. And in the days that followed the king, and after him most of the court and the people, commited themselves to the worship of Melkor. And cults appeared that Men, in their folly, believed to be very ancient, but that had been invented by Sauron as a vulgar superstition to keep them entertained.
The steward of the kingdom didn’t hesitate a second to adopt the new faith, as soon as he learned of the convictions of his lord. And the high priest of Eru changed his white robes for black ones overnight, happy to enjoy a greater role, as the cult of Melkor required temples, sacrifices, and many artifacts and complicated prayers. The Meneltama was deserted, and no one wanted to climb painfully to the top anymore. All the more so when the new temple of Darkness was right in the center of Armenelos, at hand, and was majestic and brilliant.
The Tree of Númenor, one of the relics of the past to which still clung the most reactionary, burned perfectly on the altar the day of the consecration of the temple. And Sauron became intoxicated with the perfumed smoke of victory.

But not everyone celebrated that day. The queen Ar-Zimraphel bit her lip full of anger upon discovering what had been done with the tree. And the face of the counselor Amandil had a grim expression that didn’t bode any good.
Sauron had been always cautious around that man, whose snares tried to cause a rift between him and the king all the time. In public the Maia addressed him with courtesy and humility, as if to make peace between them, but deep down he knew that he would never win Amandil over with flattery or sweetness. And on more than one occasion he tried to poison him, but the counselor was too smart and didn’t fall in his traps. However, his smartness was also linked to a certain temperamental character, and it was this what led him to his downfall in the end.

One night in which the Maia wandered the corridors of the palace, alone and off guard, he was assaulted by Amandil from the shadows. The man was very fast, and before Sauron had time to dodge him, he found himself slammed against the wall and with a hand closing around his neck.

-You accursed snake! You may have deceived the king and everyone else, but don’t think for a moment that I can’t see your true intentions. –he threatened, hissing at inches from his ear.

Sauron stirred weakly, feigning helplessness, and looked at the man with sad, frightened eyes.

-My lord Amandil, why dost thou say that? There are no hidden intentions in my actions. I'm just a prisoner of Ar-Pharazôn that has lost everything: the kingdom, the Ring, the power. I only spoke to the king about Melkor because he was curious, and what I told him was just the truth I knew, nothing more. Every man is free to worship the god he wants, dost thou think not, counselor Amandil? And if the king has already chosen, who are we to judge? -the pressure on his neck became even more obvious, and Sauron almost felt his Adam apple sinking in his trachea.

It would have been very easy for him to claim then his Ring and reduce Amandil to ashes in a single flash of power.
If he had wanted.

-Don’t come at me with those excuses, Wizard! The only thing you've been up since you soiled our island with your damned feet, is bringing ruin to us all. Well, you should know that you won’t achieve it without resistance. There are still many who remain faithful to the truth, there are still many friends of the Eldar, and each one of them is more courageous and stronger than three of your corrupt and effeminate servants.

-That certainly I believe. And although I assure thee that I’m not corrupt and I'm still as pure as the day the Ainur sang for the first time, I must admit that I’m very weak in my current state. Go ahead, check it thyself. Hold my members, beat me, mistreat me if thou wantest. And then thou wilt discover how fragile I am, how delicate is this body of flesh and bone.

The Maia closed his eyes and turned his head, offering him the neck and swollen jugular as a defeated wolf. Amandil hesitated in front of that gesture of submission. He wasn’t a violent man, not even remotely, but there was something evil that emanated from that being and filled him with strange desires and fantasies of revenge.
In his mind appeared terrible images of torture, in which he saw himself abusing the prisoner in a thousand different ways. Whence came those evil images? Someone should have put them there, they couldn’t have been created by his mind. Struggling to quench the fury that grew within him, Amandil merely pressed Sauron against the wall again, and his head hit painfully on the stone.

- What happens, counselor Amandil? Thou hast me here helpless in thy hands, why dost thou not finish me? Isn’t that what thy loyalty to the king and Númenor would require? Or maybe... maybe thy loyalty begins to sway. Maybe thou only wantest to hit me as a petty revenge for what happened to thy grandson Isildur, isn’t it? -the man blinked in confusion, and a triumphant smile broke on the lips of the Maia.- Or didst thou thought that I wouldn’t find out the identity of whom stole a fruit from the White Tree before we cut it? By the way, how is the boy, struggling between life and death? I have understood that the guards caused him numerous injuries. They should have cut his fingers, as befits a thief.

Sauron let out a laugh and Amandil’s blood froze in his veins.
Horrified, he glimpsed for a fleeting moment the true face of the prisoner. The repulsive eye of glass, and the hateful, the hypnotic eye of fire, with its constricted pupil. And that laugh, that laugh still rang in his head as the cry of a thousand whips cracking and thousand howls of pain.
Not knowing how, the counselor grabbed the Maia by the arm and pulled from him.
When he regained his sanity, Sauron was lying on the ground, bleeding from his mouth and nose, with a black eye, the robes torn, and trembling from head to foot. In this way the royal guard found them when they broke into the corridor, alerted by the commotion.
Amandil didn’t remember anything of what had happened, and he could hardly recognize himself in this brutal act. But Ar-Pharazôn didn’t want to hear his explanations.
That man had bothered him for a long time already, but until then he hadn’t dared to get rid of him. But now he had the perfect excuse: such behaviour, more typical of a tavern than a palace, couldn’t be allowed in his court. That a royal counselor frightened and mistreated thus a prisoner, moreover, a sacred Ainu, was completely unacceptable. That was how Amandil and his whole family were exiled to the haven of Rómenna and separated from the palace forever. The bruises and split lip had been worth of it, after all.

Despite everything the rebels, who called themselves the Faithful, kept scheming in the shadows, plotting plans to put an end to the cult of Melkor and restore the stale traditions of the past.
This outbreak of rebellion was the perfect excuse for the silence of the god Melkor and the increasingly short and miserable lives of men. Consequently, the sacrifices of animals gave way to sacrifices of  “undesirable” elements. And Sauron laughed to himself every time he perceived that characteristic sweet smell from the windows of the palace.
The Númenóreans were stupid, like all men. They believed that the great gods could be bought with ridiculous sacrifices, with temples that they couldn’t see, with nonsensical prayers that they couldn’t hear.
Often Sauron was left alone in the temple, when everyone had gone, and thought about Melkor. This was not how the favour of his Lord was won, he knew it better than anyone.
Melkor was won over by throwing a crowned prisoner at his feet, by presenting him a sword still covered with the steaming blood of an Elf, or lowering the head when he passed by, or trailing down his hip bones with the hands, or taking him by surprise and penetrating him, until a moan or a sigh or a word escaped his lips.
Sometimes what escaped them was the name of Sauron.
And so pronounced, by the deep voice of his Lord suddenly turned into a vulnerable lament, that derogatory name sounded sweeter than all the “Tar-Mairon” of the world.
When Sauron remembered these things, he couldn’t avoid that an old desire, almost forgotten, awoke inside him again. And then he closed the temple under lock and key, and right there on the altar, he made a very different offering for his Lord. One that would have pleased him much more if he could have felt it, although he knew he could not. And the despair of being completely alone made him mad with rage and need. It drove him to search for his Ring inside his flesh, from where it shouldn’t come out. Until he came to a point where he could no longer distinguish between the desire for Melkor and the desire for his Ring, and when he reached climax he didn’t know with whom of the three he had done it: with himself, with Melkor, or with that golden circle.

Of course, for the prudish Númenóreans those little slips of frenzy would have seemed as an abomination. The moral of the island had become more and more strict with the passing of the centuries, and now many of the things he had done with his Lord in Angband would have been seen as a perversion.
The curious thing was that, along with the narrow moral and the condemnation of pleasures, came true perversion. Subtly, as the dirt that slips under the most luxurious rugs.
There had been no malice in the bedroom games of his Lord and he, only a mutual pleasure that came from the natural collision of two bodies. Not even in the games of the Orcs had been malice. No matter how heinous or brutal they were, there wasn’t a great difference between them and the thoughtless passion of animals.
Nonetheless there, during the last days of Númenor, Sauron saw what men had done with the most beautiful gift of Eru.
Far from being simple and sincere, the act of love had become a complex battlefield, where every move and strategy served to increase one’s own power and decrease the other’s. Joy didn’t matter, only the perceived status at the end of the act. And this was full of lies, hidden intentions and manipulation. But at the same time it was terribly simplistic, a mechanical and unoriginal act.

Sauron saw it every day in the palace.
Endless rows of virgin girls filed into Ar-Pharazôn’s bedroom, while his queen walked lonely through the galleries. And all the girls had the same vacant smile, that instead of describing joy, described bitterness. But nonetheless they smiled, and their eyes were dead as glass; perhaps they were of glass.
None of the girls ever returned to the palace after going once through those doors. Ar-Pharazôn was only interested in novelty.
The girls that the king admitted were always young, without exception; too young probably. And the older Ar-Pharazôn grew, the younger became his visitors. It seemed as if that man, already in the decadence of his days, tried desperately to cling to youth or wanted to steal it from the maidens.
Also with the passing of years, the king's head became uncovered of hair and his stomach covered with fat, wrinkles replaced battle scars, and the cup of wine in his left hand the sword in his right one. His stature shrunk after spending so much time sitting on the throne, but his ego kept swelling.

One afternoon, after dismissing the last of the girls with insults and threats, the king called Sauron to the throne room and invited him to sit beside him. Judging by the smell of his breath and the numerous red spots on the floor, he had been drinking without moderation.

-Come, Tar-Mairon, my loyal counselor, sit here with me. And tell me, why have you never wanted to share my maidens? Many times I have offered them to you and you have rejected my gift, perhaps you don’t like them? Or is it that you are ungrateful?

Sauron smiled modestly.

-My king, it’s not that. What happens is that I gave my virginity to the god Melkor, and my body is devoted to him only. Since his death I live in the most absolute chastity.

-Oh, of course, that! -muttered the king between his teeth.- And was your Lord beautiful? Beautiful as a girl?

-Yes, my king. -he lied.

Maybe Melkor had some inexplicable beauty, at least for him. But his eyes burning with anger, his lips twisted into a curse and his face torn by eagles didn’t make him, so to speak, “beautiful as a girl”.

-I hate them! Those young girls. –groaned Ar-Pharazôn, and after taking another sip of wine, he threw the cup on the floor. The noise of the metal reverberated through the room for a few seconds.- I hate them because their skin is smooth and their body strong! Because they have many years of life ahead, and because they will still live for many more when I'm gone! Is it perchance fair that a king dies just as a plebeian? And I look at you, Tar-Mairon, and see that you’re still the same as always, that there’s no new line on your face after almost fifty years. -the king stared at him with drunken and dangerous eyes- Does yours still work?

-How dost thou say, thy Majesty?

And then, without warning, Ar-Pharazôn put his hand between the Maia’s legs and began to grope him. Sauron gasped and looked away, as if nothing happened, as he let blood flow to his cheeks and his lower abdomen.

-Yes, it works. Damn it! -he heard the king say, and this withdrew his hand letting the Maia breathe at last- Mine instead only works thanks to the potions of my sorcerers. Why it should be so, tell me, if I'm King of Kings? Why you, who are but a captive and exiled lord, will remain young when Ar-Pharazôn the Golden is dust under the Meneltarma?

The old man tried to grab the cup, but then remembered that he had thrown it to the floor, and shifted in his seat while he cursed bitterly. Sauron drew the cup towards him with a gesture, and it landed on the palm of his hand. Then he ran his finger along the edge, and from the interior of the goblet sprouted a flower, red as wine, and blossomed before the curious eyes of the king.

-The Ainur have power over life. -he said, and with a snap of his fingers the rose burst into ashes.- And over death. But that is a power that the land of Aman gave us.

The Maia gave the cup to Ar-Pharazôn; it was full of wine again. The king didn’t dare to drink it, and instead raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

-What do you mean that the power was given to you by the land of Aman? Explain away!

-Yes, thou wilt see, my Lord. The only reason why the Ainur and the Eldar are immortal is because they have ever walked in the Undying Lands. Once anyone, of whatever race, reaches the western end of the world and bathes in the primordial Darkness, he remains young and safe from death forever. Even if he later returned to Middle Earth, that power would never go away.

Ar-Pharazôn set his crown aside to scratch his bald head, a bit confused.

-But then, what about the Elves who didn’t heed the call of the Valar? Aren’t they immortal?

-No, of course not, but they promote the legend. Only Thingol was, but Thingol, as it’s known, had visited Aman. Immortality was transmitted to his offspring but not because they were of the race of the Maiar and Eldar. The West is the key to immortality. The only thing that separates Men and Elves is the ban of the Valar, an arbitrary ban that gives privileges to one race and take them away from another, with no reason but envy and fear towards Men.

Ar-Pharazôn was having great difficulty to assimilate that information, and Sauron realized how he clenched his fists and how his face turned more and more red, but not because of wine. He had seen these reactions before, and knew where they led; in that respect, all the mighty lords were similar.

-Traitors, I curse all those treacherous Valar!! And I curse the lies of the Eldar! -he shouted, rising from the throne and throwing the cup to the floor once more, whose contents splashed on both like drops of blood.- How dare they keep this from me, ME, Ar-Pharazôn the Golden, the first among the kings of Arda!? With what right, with what right they deny ME the entry into Aman!? The ban ... Now I see everything clear. There is no such ban, there is no such danger! Only deception, deception everywhere and around me!! Who can I trust? Not even my counselors as I can see! -he turned then to Sauron with homicidal wrath and pointed the finger at him- And you! Why have you concealed this information for so long? You told me how Melkor created all races equal in the beginning, and how death didn’t exist back then, but why didn’t you tell me that there was still hope for Men in Aman? Are you a traitor as well!?

Sauron shrunk on his seat and adopted that expression half frightened and half tearful that he had so well rehearsed.

-M... Majesty, I do not... I do not... –the king grabbed his arm and threw him to the floor before him; despite his age he was still a strong man. The Maia crawled at his feet and begged with faltering voice, as he had seen his human servant do many times.- I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know until now that thou wishedst to be immortal. And because I thought that thy life here was as blissful as a life can ever be. I saw thee so perfect, so wise and so admired by all, that the idea that thou couldst envy the Valar or the Eldar seemed an absurdity to me. In any case, they should envy thee. I regret having misunderstood thy wishes, but fortunately I was able to rectify in time. Thou art strong and courageous, and the journey to the Undying Lands should be easy for thy imposing navy.

Ar-Pharazôn calmed down a bit; flattery had always been an effective balm for his anger.
Thereafter, the king started pacing around the room, meditating and muttering under his breath, and Sauron took the opportunity to stand up and regain what little dignity he had left.

-Certainly, my navy is more than enough for an expedition to the West. And Númenórean sailors are the best of all Middle Earth. Ummm! But maybe... maybe I should build a new fleet, one with the most recent advances in naval engineering...

-My king, if thou allowest me, I still have the plans for the war machines I designed over these years for thy armies. If thou art interested, I could...

Ar-Pharazôn came out of his machinations, and looked at the Maia with the lost eyes of a just awakened somnambulist.

-Are you still here, Mairon? Go away at last! Can’t you see I'm thinking? And bring me those plans!

Sauron lowered his head slavishly and left the room.
He had waited many years for the situation to be ripe and ready for vengeance; now he could finally reap the fruits of his patience. Númenor was doomed, and it would fall in the most terrible way; he knew all too well the wrath of the Valar when someone stood between them and their idyllic existence.
In the fight against Melkor they had delayed their master stroke for a whole age, indeed, but now the attackers were simple men and headed directly to their claws. The carnage would be spectacular, and Sauron just had to sit and enjoy it.

The building and rearmament of the new fleet of Ar-Pharazôn began almost immediately, and although the ships lined up in the western havens of the island, very few guessed the intentions of the king at first. People thought it was another war campaign against the Haradrim, or against any other inferior people, and that if the fleet had gathered in the West, it was just so that enemy lookouts couldn’t spot it from the coasts of Middle Earth.
However, despite the initial secrecy, the Faithful discovered the true nature of the campaign. Then worrying news started reaching the ears of Ar-Pharazôn.
The spies who had infiltrated among the friends of the Elves spoke of increasing forces, of weapon forging, and of clandestine bases. The brutal repression against the rebels forced them into hiding for a while, but new outbreaks resurfaced here and there, and they didn’t dare to touch Amandil.

Meanwhile, Sauron chose not to worry about these issues for the time being, as long as the expedition kept going. And he strolled around the island alone.
One day after sunset, watching the city of Armenelos from a hill, that gave off faint gold sparkles in the darkness of twilight, he suddenly remembered his Shadow.
He had told that man to mingle with the victorious Edain. Couldn’t he be perhaps somewhere in Númenor, then? And if it was so, he should warn him about the doom that hovered over the island and take him to Mordor. He still tried to recover the fragments of his past and sew them back together, if only to put a patch on his torn life.
Sauron sent many emissaries to each point of Númenor, but none found his old servant, despite the fact that his appearance couldn’t pass unnoticed easily. And he sent also messengers to Umbar, a colony where almost all Númenóreans sympathized with him and were devotees of the cult of Melkor; a good place for his man to hide. But he didn’t find him there.
A pirate told him that slave trade was prevalent among the Haradrim, and if they had sold him there were two options: Either his servant was now a pleasure toy for some warlord. Or, if he was strong, he would be breaking his back while carrying stones to build fortresses in the South.
Sauron lowered his head, sad; the first option was unlikely, and the second even more so, because his Shadow had been no more than skin and bones.
The Maia realized that he must have died, and in his heart he murmured a few words of farewell. Probably it was better for the poor creature this way.

Although the search had failed, Sauron kept touring the island and enjoying the freedom of movement that Ar-Pharazôn had given him over the years.
He only went to the palace if the king required him, but on those occasions he felt constantly observed. At first it was a vague impression, as if the eyes of all the guards were fixed upon him. But then, scanning the minds of the courtiers, he discovered the source of this surveillance.
It was the queen. He had barely exchanged a word with that woman since he was taken to Númenor in chains. She had always shunned him, had always averted her eyes from his face, and always had the same expression of bitterness and contempt in her lips. But lately, Ar-Zimraphel seemed to be everywhere.
If Sauron quietly walked down a corridor, there she was in the upper gallery. If he sat in the courtyard by the fountain and played with the water, there she was behind a pillar. If he strolled through the perfumed gardens of the palace, she soon appeared, looking out from the balcony to watch him. Those eyes were like daggers perpetually stuck in his back.
Only when the Maia acknowledged her presence and looked back at her, the queen frowned, clenched her jaw, and departed in silence.
Other times Ar-Zimraphel disappeared mysteriously, and Sauron suspected that she was the one who reported to the Faithful about the plans of the king. But he said nothing of this to Ar-Pharazôn, not yet. Instead, he bought the loyalties of the queen’s maidservants, so that they spied her movements and kept him informed.
Shortly thereafter Sauron saw his suspicions confirmed, and also found out that the commitment of the queen with the cause of the rebels was even greater than he thought.

A certain night the Maia was sitting across his desk, drawing some plans for the king and totally absorbed in his work, when he sensed a change in the air of the room. This had become dense, and a swirl of hatred grazed his neck. Without looking away from the plans, Sauron merely made a gesture with his hand, and then he heard behind him the sound of metal hitting the ground and a woman's scream.
Turning around, with a smile of superiority, he found Ar-Zimraphel fallen on the floor with a knife. Her long black braid was partially undone and in her eyes burned the rage of a cornered animal.

-What wert thou doing, Majesty, in my room and with a knife at this time of night? One would say that, either thou wert bringing me a letter opener, or thou wert trying to murder me.

-Murdering thee would be fine, evil one! -cried the queen, and with a quick motion she picked up the knife and charged against Sauron.

The Maia jumped from his chair and stopped her without much effort, while the woman kept stabbing the air desperately.

-No, no, no. What an inappropriate behaviour for a queen! Besides, dost thou know not that I’m a Maia and weapons are useless against me? -Sauron took the knife and placed it on the table, out of her reach.

Ar-Zimraphel let out a cry of frustration and struggled in vain, until the Maia subdued her by force. Defeated, the queen lowered her arms and stood before him, distilling pure poison through her eyes.

- Why wert thou trying to kill me? I haven’t done anything to thee, and I've always been a faithful counselor to the king.

-To me thou hast not done anything, true, but thou hast to my people! Corrupting them with thy lies, drawing them to darkness and evil cults, stirring hatred against the Eldar and the Valar. Thou wilt bring disgrace upon us all!

Sauron shook his head disapprovingly and began pacing through the room as if he was deep in thought, in front of the paralyzed woman.

-This is not what I wanted, no, it is not...  -he murmured under his breath - Everything has gone wrong.

-What has gone wrong!?

Sauron looked at the queen and bit his lip in distress, as he took a few tentative steps toward her. Ar-Zimraphel made as if to move back, but in the end she stood firmly in place.

-I don’t care what others think about me. But that precisely thou hatest me this way, is something I find unbearable. -he admitted, with a sweet voice full of sorrow. The queen blinked and Sauron felt how confusion wrapped her irritation.

-Why shouldn’t I hate thee? Thou art nothing but a vile sorcerer, a seducer of innocents, and I guess one of the lovers of my husband as well. Each time thou rollest around on bed with him, thou art spitting on my name, humiliating me in front of the court. I think these are more than valid reasons to hate thee.

Such harshness! In that moment the soul of the woman was uncovered before him like an open book, and Sauron could read clearly all the insecurities, all the resentment, all the complexes that it housed, and the true motivation for her actions.
She was a weak being, a puppet. And easy to manipulate.
In a second he calculated the thousand possible consequences of the decision that he was about to take, and the result was favourable.
The Maia laughed.

-Me the lover of Ar-Pharazôn? Oh, no, I haven’t had the honour, I assure thee! The king is devoted to the female sex, I'm afraid. And I don’t think he would look at me with desire even if he had drunk a whole barrel of wine and I threw myself naked at his feet. -Sauron licked his lips and played discreetly with the button of his robe, as if he thought about opening it right there. He soon checked how Ar-Zimraphel blushed and stepped back; fine, he had managed to create the image in her head.- I must confess that this narrowness is a rarity among men, if I know anything about them...

-And is faithfulness to their wives also a rarity among men, Tar-Mairon? –replied the queen sarcastically.

-As rare among them as common is jealousy among women.

-It’s not jealousy! I just want to be respected. But why do I tell this to thee, to my enemy?

-I'm not thy enemy, dear Ar-Zimraphel. The enemy of the Faithful yes, the enemy of Amandil and his family, no doubt. But not thine, that's not what I desire at least.

-And what is what thou desirest!? -snapped the queen, defiantly. Sauron moved even closer to her, and with a smile half of complicity, half of shyness, he whispered:

-Isn’t it obvious? Why dost thou think that I want to send the king to the distant West? Why dost thou think that I have awakened in him the desire for immortality? Let him live in the glory of Aman, under the eternal light of Valinor. Everything I want is here, within these four walls, and it will be mine when he’s gone.

The eyes of Ar-Zimraphel opened wide, followed by her mouth.
Sauron perceived it; a whirlwind of conflicting emotions crowding into her chest. Her chin trembled slightly, a sign that she tried to say something.

-Scoundrel, how darest thou!!? - she yelled finally, outraged.- I’m a married woman!

-Yes, to a man who doesn’t love thee, and that show it to thee every day.

-A man who is the king of Númenor! And I 'm the queen!

-Ah! And don’t queens desire? Don’t queens have passions? -Sauron squinted, with those grey and melancholic eyes that had so often awakened the compassion of the king, and stroked the face of Ar-Zimraphel gently. At this point, she was so confused that her only reaction to the bold move was shuddering.

-I don’t... I don’t believe thee... I don’t believe that thou...

-Don’t believe that a Maia like me could love thee? What happens, is it that the continued despise of Ar-Pharazôn has made thee forget how beautiful thou art?

-I’m no longer young.

-The trees that have blossomed and borne fruit are much more beautiful than the weak green sprouts that break under the slightest of breezes.

The queen put the Maia’s hand away and looked down. Her eyes gave off a watery gleam.

-I haven’t borne fruit, I’m a barren tree... Also, I know perfectly well that thou hast only loved Morgoth the Enemy! Nothing good can be expected from a heart as black as thine, able to give himself to the most abject being that the world has known!

-My dear Ar-Zimraphel, I understand that thou feelst disgusted by me for that fact. I also feel disgusted, every single day of my life. I gave myself to Morgoth, it’s true, but it was against my will. Don’t I deserve another chance just because my body was soiled? Thou shouldst know better than anyone how hard is saying “no” to the demands of a powerful king. -these words touched a hidden spring in the heart of the queen, and when Sauron took her hand, she no longer resisted.- Come, let me show thee. Let me show thee all the pain that is inside me.

The Maia then placed the trembling hand of the woman on his chest, exactly where the Ring had pierced his flesh, and a myriad of images assaulted Ar-Zimraphel’s mind.
They were false images, created in part by distorted memories, in part by the prejudices of the queen herself, and in part by the open wound of the Ring.
Before her paraded, with the clarity of reality, scenes in which Sauron was tormented by the same instruments he had used on others. Scenes in which he was taken from his home in Valinor and thrown into a dungeon for the entertainment of Balrogs and other nonexistent monsters. Scenes in which a horrible gigantic Morgoth, the Morgoth of the legends, towered over him and threatened him with Grond. Scenes in which his cruel master slammed him against the wall and raped him until he lost consciousness.
Ar-Zimraphel withdrew her hand with a scream and covered her face sobbing.

-It's... It's terrible... All that suffering... -she stammered among wails. Sauron put his hand on the woman's shoulder to reassure her.

-I'm sorry, I didn’t want to scare thee. I just wanted to show thee that I too know pain, that I too have been a prisoner. First in Angband and now here. A prisoner as thee.

The queen moved away with a jerk and ran to the door.

-Don’t touch me, thou art corrupted, Wizard! Soiled and corrupted! -and right after she fled down the corridor and disappeared into the shadows.

 

“Stupid” – thought Sauron, twisting his mouth wickedly.

He didn’t have to wait long to see that the seeds he had planted had germinated.
At first he conceived the possibility that the queen would reveal to Ar-Pharazôn his attempt of seduction, but the gap in trust between the two was too wide after so many years of scorn and infidelity. The king wouldn’t have listened to her, and even if he did, Sauron had at his disposal a half dozen royal chambermaids to testify against his wife. As soon as he knew that Ar-Zimraphel had dealings with the rebels, her credibility would roll on the floor, along with her head.
That was a possibility, but though beneficial, it wasn’t the best. Sauron preferred to keep that woman in the game. A pawn with contacts among the Faithful was a useful pawn, especially if it enjoyed such authority and esteem as that.

Fortunately, the queen chose another path, and from that day onwards she devoted herself to spy on the Maia, though with very different eyes. No matter what he did, she managed to bump into him, and then stared at him from a distance. Gradually, she even tried to approach him with the excuse of bringing a message from the king or giving him instructions. And all the while she watched him from the corner of her eye, and sometimes a melancholic sigh escaped her.
Sauron didn’t know much about women, but one thing he knew was that compassion was an easy and short way into their hearts. The queen started seeing him less as a villain and more as a victim. Or at least, she forced herself to see him like that.
Because for a long time Ar-Zimraphel had been secretly waiting for a saviour, someone who would take her far away from there, far from that self-centered and authoritarian king. And if her hopes should rest with Sauron himself, the Dark Lord, then so be it. She repeated in her head the words she wanted to hear: that someone loved her, that someone cared for her, over and over again, until her own illusions seemed truths.
Sauron let these feelings grow in her, and meanwhile he completely ignored the woman. The expedition to Aman was suffering setbacks, and that was his main concern.
The friends of the Elves were firm in their opposition to the project, and were a constant source of conflicts and problems. So much, that Ar-Pharazôn had been forced to postpone the trip, afraid of a civil war in his absence.
Sauron was tired of repeating him that there was nothing to fear. All in vain; old age had turned the king ambitious, but also cowardly and insecure.

Thus, and seeing that the Maia gave no signs of wanting to approach her, the queen herself came in his way one day.
Sauron was about to enter his room, when Ar-Zimraphel slipped from behind a pillar and stood between him and the door.

-How should I interpret thy indifference, Tar-Mairon? Hast thou perchance forgotten about me, after everything thou saidst last time? Or is it that thou hast finally gained access to the bed of my husband and art more than satisfied? -she said, with wounded pride.

Sauron inwardly cursed that ill-timed encounter, just then when he had so much to do. However, he disguised his nuisance with polite modesty.

-Believe me when I say that I regret dearly my neglect of the last few days. I've been extremely busy, and didn’t dare to approach thee. I was afraid that they might discover us, and especially, I thought thou didst not want to know anything about me.

-Well, now we're alone and thou hast me in front of thee. Couldst thou not give me a sign that thy love is true? Or should I trust words that aren’t supported by any facts?

Sauron was getting impatient. The woman didn’t get out of his way and a guard could appear anytime and discover them.
She must have gone mad.

-My dear Ar-Zimraphel, with all honesty I...

-Stop calling me Ar-Zimraphel, I hate that name! -she snapped harshly- My real name is Tar-Míriel, and this is how thou mustest call me.

Then, without warning, the woman jumped on him and kissed him. A desperate and furious kiss, that tried to rip something from him, some passion, some desire, anything that confirmed her hopes.
But Sauron stiffened, and an icy stream ran through his whole body. A stream that warned of impending disaster.

-Treason!! -the shout echoed in each pillar and was multiplied as a chorus of accusers.

Indeed, the bad omen that Sauron had just had, was fulfilled as inexorable as lightning.
The queen separated from him at once and they both looked into the corridor, whence the shout had come. Ar-Pharazôn was petrified with a torch in his hand, every muscle in his face contracted into a hideous mask of fury. Just then he headed to the bedchamber of the Maia to check some last minute plans.
Everything seemed so meticulously orchestrated, that Sauron wondered if his fate was directed by a sadistic and trickster Eru.

-Traitor!! -repeated the king, still not moving from his site- Traitor, dirty treacherous wizard! Guards, guards, arrest this insolent right now!! He has attacked the honour of my wife!

The clank of the guards was heard in the distance. Ar-Zimraphel, gnawed by guilt, tried to explain what had happened, but Sauron covered her mouth and took full responsibility. He began to have a vague idea of the use he could give that woman, but he needed her full trust for it. Letting her suffer the punishment wouldn’t prove anything. And little he feared the wrath of Ar-Pharazôn. What could do that man to him? Whipping him a bit? He would survive that, for sure.
A group of guards arrived seconds later and two of them grabbed him by the arms. Sauron made no attempt to resist.

-Take him to the dungeons and show him how are treated wive thieves in the court of Ar-Pharazôn! And since my queen seems distraught by the fate of this scoundrel, take her too so she can see everything. But don’t put a finger on her. I'll take care of her punishment myself. -and under the light of the torch, the king's bloated face took on a sinister appearance.

A third guard grabbed Ar-Zimraphel and drove her behind the prisoner, among sobs. When Sauron passed by Ar-Pharazôn, the man grabbed his arm violently and hissed between teeth:

-Poorly have you paid me for my hospitality, Wizard, and poorly have you kept your vow of chastity. We'll see if after your punishment, you still feel man enough to assault other’s women.

Sauron was thrown into a cell that reeked of moisture and salt, and a group of soldiers stood before him, examining him grimly. In one corner, Ar-Zimraphel still cried.

-We cannot do this. This is Tar-Mairon, a sacred Ainu and the main servant of the god Melkor. It's a vile deed! - muttered one of the men, addressing the one who seemed to be their captain.

-If Ar-Pharazôn wants it thus, then we will do it thus. Whether it can be done or not. The king's will is above the will of any god. -replied his superior, and pulled out a flask full of alcohol, which he gave to his soldiers - Drink! And try not to look at his face, if that makes ye feel better.

Sauron felt how fear began to assail him. Maybe it wouldn’t be so easy to endure the punishment, after all.
The Ring called him, tempting, asking him to put it on his finger, urging him to display his power in all its magnitude. He could get rid of those men in a second, he could escape from Númenor with a simple wish and return to Barad-dûr, and keep building his empire...
Yes, and keep suffering the constant insults of those Númenóreans.
He was too close to achieving his purpose to leave now and ruin everything. Who cared if Ar-Pharazôn punished him, believing him a thief of wives? The king didn’t love his wife, and within a couple of days he would have forgotten the incident. That was just a show of superiority, and a reminder to his wife that she was his property. One last test, one last bitter drink before final victory.
Therefore, Sauron bowed his head and surrendered to his captors.

He wasn’t sure how many guards went through him, and he didn’t want to keep account of it either. His whole thought centered on the idea that this body was not himself, that the pain wasn’t real.
It wasn’t real but, oh, how it hurted! And in the background he kept hearing the cries of Ar-Zimraphel, hitting him in the head, reminding him of his humiliation. Wouldn’t she ever shut up?
When the soldiers finished with him, they allowed the queen to approach the Maia and discreetly left the cell.
The woman picked up the robe from the floor and threw it around his shoulders, embracing his chest and apologizing a million times.

-This is all my fault! How could I doubt thy love after what thou hast suffered to protect me!? I'm so stupid!

Sauron was in full agreement with the latter, but swallowed his resentment and wiped the tears from her face.

-Do not worry, it’s over now. Besides, I'm a Maia, and I’m above such things.

-But thou art bleeding! And it was... it was awful. I knew nothing about these abominable torments. I'm so disgusted by all... By this court, by those guards, even by the king! Please, Mairon, let’s flee from here, I can’t bear it anymore. Let’s flee to Middle Earth, away, away! Let go of the past. Thou canst redeem the evil thou didst, thou hast already shown me with this gesture of selflessness. And I can start from scratch.

-I would love to run away with thee and leave behind the Dark Lord, the servant of Morgoth, and the corrupt court of Ar-Pharazôn. But Míriel, we’ll never do it while the king still sits on the throne of the golden city and owns our lives. –then Sauron grabbed the woman firmly by the shoulders and looked straight into her eyes, as if to say something extremely important- Listen to me, there’s something thou mustest do if thou wantest us to be free. Ar-Pharazôn won’t dare to leave for the Undying Lands as long as the rebels keep opposing him and threatening a civil war. But thou art a friend of the Faithful, and thee they will listen. Talk to them, ask them to lay down their arms and leave the king alone. Amandil and his son Elendil are among the most moderate of the Faithful, they enjoy great authority and feel deep affection for thee. No doubt thou canst convince them to find another solution. Just don’t mention my name; act as if all this was the fruit of thy wisdom and thy concern for their safety. And when Ar-Pharazôn is gone to enjoy his immortal life with the Valar, he will never want to return. Thou mustest not worry about this trip; the Valar won’t cause any harm to the king, and much less so to thy people. I guarantee thee, I know them very well. Thou wilt claim then the throne of Númenor, thy birthright, which that evil man stole from thee, and thou wilt give back dignity to this kingdom. Or, if thou preferst, thou canst leave the steward in charge and come with me to Middle Earth. But whatever is it that thou decidest, I will always be by thy side.

Ar-Zimraphel almost melted of joy upon hearing those hollow promises. And to the Maia’s annoyance, she pressed against him and covered his face with kisses.

-Yes, so I’ll do, Mairon, so I’ll do! Do not worry, I'll take care of everything. Very soon, my beloved, very soon we will be free!

Sauron rested his head on the shoulder of the queen and put an arm around her. A sly smile crept into the corners of his lips.

”Yes, very soon you will be free, my dear. But not in the way you expect” -he thought, and the power of the Ring vibrated in his chest, anxious to escape.

After this episode, Sauron had to endure the knowing glances of the courtiers, who got out of his way when he passed by, as if they feared that the mere proximity to him, would dishonour them too. Ar-Pharazôn let out a vile laugh when he entered the throne room limping on a leg, and stared at him from head to toe, with lascivious eyes that seemed to mentally undress him. His anger soon passed, however, and Sauron recovered his good relationship with the king. But he didn’t forget.
For her part, the queen wasn’t seen for several days, and when she finally came out of her chamber, a black ring around her right eye could still be guessed. A sign of affection from her husband.

But Ar-Zimraphel kept her promise, and in the days that followed, the turmoil of the rebels declined, while the weather turned worse and worse. The island, which until then had always enjoyed mild temperatures and rainfall in good measure, was suddenly ravaged by hail and storms. Ar-Pharazôn blamed the Faithful for these phenomena, accusing them of angering Melkor with their blasphemies. And in an act of exquisite hypocrisy, he ordered the execution of the guards that had humiliated Tar-Mairon, to appease the wrath of the god.
That's when the eagles first appeared on the red horizon. A mass of clouds pregnant with lightning and tempest, that shook the island from its roots to the top of the Meneltarma.
Ar-Pharazôn changed his policy in sight of this new wonder, and overnight, the culprits were not the Faithful, but the Valar themselves.
With nothing more preventing him from reaching the coveted shores of Aman, with the rebels under control and the challenge of the Valar stirring him up, the king set sail a misty morning to never return.

From the temple’s dome, Sauron watched how the scarlet sails stretched across the sea, foreshadowing the rivers of blood that would soon cover it.
It was done.
A servant came to inform him that there was still no new of Amandil, whom had disappeared a few days before, but Sauron didn’t care anymore about the fate of that family. They would die buried under the ocean that had buried Angband, and he wouldn’t know about them again, nor about any other Númenórean. Only those loyal to him that had settled in Umbar would survive.
And while the end came, Sauron had nothing else to do but wait.
Ar-Zimraphel often sought him, but the Maia had ordered the priests of Melkor not to let anyone inside the temple. They believed that Tar-Mairon needed to focus on his prayers to assist the king in his perilous journey. Actually, Sauron focused on himself, all his senses in suspension, until only the Ring was left, only that little gold circle throbbing in the middle of his chest, the only refuge away from those hateful Númenóreans that had brought so much suffering to him.

”Soon, my beloved, soon we'll be together. Again.”

It was in this state that the first earthquake surprised the Maia. And suddenly a very ancient and very familiar presence entered the temple through the hole in the dome, and Sauron shivered when his hand touched him.
Would it be possible that it was Him?
A new earthquake shook the walls and threw him to the floor face down, while the tremor of a tear rose to heaven from the very core of Arda.
Sauron went up quickly to the dome to see what was happening.
The War of Wrath had been a trifle compared with what he found then.
The heavens revolved in black spirals, a thousand cracks opened in the ground like a thousand mouths and swallowed the houses and their inhabitants, and the edge of the world, there in the West, was bending over itself in the most unnatural of deformations.
The inertia of the movement forced Sauron to hold onto the pinnacle of the temple, and euphoria, and fear, and confusion mingled in his heart in a delicious way. He raised his head defiantly to heavens and shouted:

-Look, Melkor, I've achieved what thou couldst never achieve! I have awaken the ire of Eru, I, thy servant, a Maia, have been worthy of more attention than thou throughout thy reign in Arda! Canst thou hear me, my Lord!? Canst thou hear the yell of the earth upon bending over!? The whole world cries, and it’s because of me! I have done this, I have changed the shape of the world! I'm now mightier than thou ever wert!

But no one answered to his challenge. Melkor didn’t come down to him, Melkor didn’t punish him for his insolence, as he had desired in the depths of his soul, if only to see him again, just once again. And this made him mad with anger and helplessness.
He cast his gaze back toward the East, and saw from afar nine ships as nine insignificant wood chips, thrown into the air with each thrust of the sea. Who were those fools who dared to sail in the middle of the end? Sauron didn’t care. They would be carrion for abysal fishes, like the rest.

A woman's voice called him from below.
Ar-Zimraphel was there, her hair and clothes waving soaked under the storm, and her face the living picture of panic.

-What happens, Mairon, why do the Valar attack us? Thou saidst that there was nothing to fear, do we deserve their anger? I'm so scared, my beloved! What are we going to do?

The queen held out her suppliant hands to him, hoping that her saviour enveloped her in his arms and somehow brought her out of there by magic.
But Sauron laughed from atop the dome.

-Oh my dear, I only know what I’m going to do! I’ll get out of this accursed island and safely return to Mordor, to continue my conquest of Middle Earth exactly where I left it. Regarding what thou dost, frankly, I do not care in the least. But thou canst stay here and sink with thy people, as befits a queen. From now onwards thou art alone. I’ve already paid a too high price for thy love!

Ar-Zimraphel stepped back, covering her mouth in horror as her eyes filled with tears. A lightning bolt struck near the temple, and in the blaze that followed she could see for a moment the Maia as he was in reality: Sauron the Abhorred, the lieutenant of Angband, the Dark Lord, with his eye of fire and his fangs bared in a demonic smile. The woman screamed terrified and ran away disoriented, each time faster and with all sanity lost, until her faint figure disappeared behind a curtain of rain.
Sauron laughed for a long time, reveling in the destruction around him. However, when he looked back toward the West, his laughter suddenly ceased.
The sky had disappeared behind a wall of water that rose higher and higher, until it touched the sky with its crown of foam, and moved toward him swallowing the world in its wake.
It all happened in a second.
Water surrounded him until crushing him, his clothes were torn, his flesh and bones were broken to pieces, every atom of his body dissolved. Amid the darkness was only left the Ring, a slight golden gleam buried under tons of water.
And to that gleam clung Sauron.
The last thing, the least thing that was left of him.