The Lords that Fell by Taylor17387

---

The Watcher on the Pinnacle

---

The Watcher on the Pinnacle

Alive without breath,
As cold as death;

-The Hobbit (Riddles in the Dark)

Tedium was indescribable in the fortress of Dol Guldur.
Dead in life and trapped between those walls, Sauron wondered if he was sentenced to spend the rest of his immortal existence like that: a naked and dim ghost, barely a shadow of evil.
He had already suffered this before, but he couldn't remember where. The past had begun to fade, and increasingly, all his thought was reduced to a fixed idea, to a round and shiny image. Where had he failed? When exactly had appeared the fissure in his master plan that had led him to this pitiful state? The loss of his ability to change shape after the sinking of Númenor was the first warning that something was wrong. But it hadn't been then... Oh, yes! He remembered a battle. If he had known how much trouble would bring Elendil and his son Isildur, and those nine ships that escaped from the island, he would have taken care of killing his entire family when he had still the chance. But the battle had been favourable, or so he believed. Yes, he remembered having personally destroyed the two great lords of Elves and Men. But thereafter... an ill-timed blow, a spectacular fall, a metallic shine, and his life, his precioius had vanished. Stolen. Stolen by a thief who should have had his fingers cut a long time ago. It had been very dark around him after that.
For a very long time.

Sauron stretched his ethereal form through the stone chamber, coiled several times around himself and regrouped besides a chest. Inside were his other minor treasures: the nine rings of Men, and the two rings that he had retrieved from the Dwarves. He stroked them for a while, dissolved himself into thin strips and went through them, curling around the polished surface and feeling the friction of their power against his disembodied spirit. He shuddered several times with pleasure. It was a small comfort, but not comparable to the comfort of the One. Where was it? Where was his Ring?

An icy presence burst in the fortress. The leader of the Nazgûl, the Witch-king, had just returned from his northern kingdom.
A little distraction among the uniform tedium.

-My Lord, I bring bad news from Angmar. –he said bluntly, with a hollow voice of crypt.

Sauron hissed and wrapped around him menacingly. He could feel the wraith faltering inside, even when his apparent determination tried to hide it.

-And my Ring? Where is it!?

-We still don't know anything about its whereabouts.

-Is that the bad news? Because it's the worst news you could bring me.

The wraith let out an agonized scream as his lord stung him in the neck to transmit the pain of his loss. The Witch-king already knew that pain very well. But perpetual torment had served him at least to banish any fears about his fate, and so he didn't hesitate before saying the following:

-No, my Lord, there's still more. The bad news is that the kingdom of Angmar has fallen. We were attacked by a large army from Gondor, led by the king's son, Eärnur. There's nothing left. The good news is that there's nothing left of the kingdom of Arnor either. If some descendant of the king is still alive, he will have no longer a land to rule. Never again. And the wolves will do the rest.

Sauron concentrated in a ball of anger, and then let it explode and reverberate for a while between the salty walls of the fortress. The Witch-king bowed the head upon the assault. But the Maia soon recovered.
The end of Angmar was secondary, and after all, that brief reign had already accomplished its task of destroying the Dúnedain of the North.

-Where are the Seeing Stones? Did ye find them? –whispered Sauron, sliding through the right socket of the wraith.

-No, my Lord. There's nothing left. -repeated his servant.- I've heard that there is still a stone in the North, on the coast. But it only looks towards the sea. It's useless.

-I need those stones, I need to see! -roared the Maia, coming out through the other socket of the wraith with violence, and making him wail.- I need to see more, farther, I need to cast my eye on the last corner of Arda! Until finding it, until finding my Ring! You're a worthless servant. I should now absorb every drop of your fragile essence. Thus I would strengthen myself at least, while getting rid of a nuisance. -and separating in a thousand disembodied appendages, Sauron touched tentatively the wraith, probing him, showing him how easy it would be for him to rip the remains of his already pale being.- Nevertheless, I think that keeping you tied to this world is a worse punishment for you. And besides, I need an agent to fulfill my will outside. Yes... You will live your unlife a little more. Until I get tired, until you're no longer useful to me, or until the growing hunger forces me to eat you. I want a body, I want a body and my Ring.

-What dost thou command, my Lord?

-Go back to Mordor. Gather the Nazgûl. And make sure to settle up with that Eärnur that has humiliated you in such an unforgivable way.

The Witch-king bowed, and then his presence evaporated from the chamber. Sauron stayed a while suspended in the air, allowing the fragments of the world around to penetrate in his spirit, so maybe he would receive something, a memory or image that still floated in the fabric of Arda and that could discover him new things.
But in Dol Guldur there was nothing new. There wasn't anything new ever. Thus he went back to the chest and intertwined with the rings for the umpteenth time as he waited, weak and hungry and always with the same idea fixed in his mind.

The next time the door of the fortress opened, only entered the quiet shadow of a Nazgûl, that opening his hand, showed him a phial. Within this writhed the soul of a man, and its desperation gave off a greenish and quivering glow in the gloom of the chamber.
The wraith placed the phial on a stone table and returned to Mordor without uttering a single word, as quietly as he had entered.
Sauron stretched a part of his spirit until it became as thin as a thread, and with it he came through the phial's glass and made contact with the imprisoned soul. At first this resisted with disgust and tried to evade the fingers that were all around it, but its strenght was already greatly diminished, and it finally accepted the union. Sauron could feel it clearly now; the lack of a body had its advantages after all, and allowed interrogation techniques seldom used until then, though no less efficient.

-Name? -asked the Maia.

-Eärnur, king of Gondor.

-Last king of Gondor, and last of the Dúnedain, as I have understood. Your lineage is extinct forever.

The spirit stirred and its green glow turned pale with uncertainty.

-Dead? Me?

-Almost. You were pierced by a sword of my Ringwraiths. You are no longer entirely in this world, nor in the next. It's the state of maximum suffering that exists, and I can prolong it as much as I see fit. Let's be brief, then.

-Not Eru?

Sauron let out a laughter that vibrated through his prey.

-Not yet, if indeed Eru receives you, pathetic Men, after death. That will come later, when your answers satisfy me. Not in vain they call me the Necromancer; I can extract any secret from those that are "almost" dead. The choice is yours whether you want to do it willingly or forcefully.

-Willingly, yes? -Sauron chuckled and stroked the ghost with mocking compassion.

-I like that better. Tell me now, what happened? And try to be as coherent as possible, or I'll cause you pain. Lots of pain.

The Maia moved his disembodied fingers a little deeper inside the unfortunate wraith, as a warning. And the glow of this acquired a reddish tone of alarm.

-I tell everything. Quick. First the city of Minas Ithil was conquered by the Witch-king. It's Minas Morgul now, and inside the tower... inside the tower there is... there is...

- What's there?

-A stone that sees, far. Palantír of Isildur. The Witch-king wanted revenge, against me. He challenged me once, twice, and I went through the doors of the dead city. Never came back... No more kings in Gondor? Not now?

-What does it matter!? My Ring, tell me where is it! Your hateful ancestor Isildur snatched it from me and I want it. Tell me what ye did with it and I'll let you die in peace!

-I don't know, I do not know... There is a scroll, scroll of Ohtar. Once I read it, in the house besides the waterfall. King Isildur kept the ring, but there was an ambush of Orcs and it was lost. An ambush in... in... -the ghost's voice trailed off and Sauron realized that he was losing it for moments; its contact with the world was practically nonexistent already. Frustrated, he penetrated it even harder, and twisted it from inside to rise it to the surface again. The being moaned and sobbed, but managed to pick up the thread of its speech at just the right moment: - The ring was lost. In the Gladden Fields. In the Gladden Fields, please, please, release me now! No more, no more, no more! It hurts too much...

Sauron loosened his embrace, satisfied with this valuable information. Now at least he knew where to start looking. Now his eye began to see clearer. Although a lot of trouble could have been saved if those Orcs had informed him about the ambush in due time. It seemed that the stupid wretches weren't even able to tell apart a king from a common soldier when they took him down.
Meanwhile the poor wraith, exhausted and violated in the deepest part of its being, was begging him to let it die and go in peace.
And the Maia generously granted its wish. He sent a vibration through the phial until breaking it and released the ghost, to immediately afterwards wrap it in his spirit and suck what little was left of its life. Sauron felt slightly strengthened, and the soul of the man departed trembling to that place from which no one returned.

Thus he survived for a while, feeding as a vampire with the essence of other spectral creatures. And with the passing of years his power increased, and the shadow that had fallen on the forest became thicker, and his emissaries, always alert and with hundreds of eyes at his service, extended to its farthest reaches.
But the Ring was still missing.
Not even when he looked in the palantír through his servant, the Witch-king of Morgul, managed to see anything of interest, because the other stones were covered and no one dared to use them anymore.
But his physical abilities began to improve. Every day he received the occasional lost soul, and consuming one after another, always with insatiable voracity, he found that he could condense himself with some willpower. Then he was able to shape an arm, and another arm, and a leg and another leg, and even the resemblance of a head. It was still an ethereal and unstable body, still very fluid, but certainly stronger and more real than his previous shadow.

Absorbed as he was a day on those body experiments, he didn't realize that a strange visitor approached the fortress. Only when the intruder put his hand on the lintel of the doorway, his senses alerted him of the danger. Sauron dissolved then and felt desperately in the dark with his thousand limbs. He sensed a great power radiating from that presence, a power that burned him to the touch. The air of the chamber began to vibrate incandescent around him and he had to shrink. It was a Maia, and he knew him. He had known him in Valinor long time ago. If only his memory wasn't so blurry! Who was it? The sound of footsteps echoed on the flagstones of the entrance, accompanied by a "clack, clack, clack", as the sound of a stick hitting the ground. In a last attempt to find the truth, Sauron expanded again ignoring the burning, and inspected the memories that floated around the intruder.
Finally he saw him: he was Olórin, a Maia of Lórien. What could he be doing there? Unless... Unless he had come to capture and bring him to trial before the Valar. But he had already been tried by the Valar, or not? No, that was Melkor.
The name of his Lord tormented him as always, even more than the image of the Ring. With an agonized cry, he fled the chamber right in the moment when Olórin burst into it. He had still time to throw a sideways glance at him, though the other Maia couldn't see him; he was much changed and looked like a grey old man.

Sauron escaped from Dol Guldur terrified, and the outside world hit him like a wall of ice. He realized how incredibly naked was, that even the slightest breeze could dissolve him in the air, and he was very afraid. He tried to seek refuge in the forest but there were Elves there, and though invisible to them, their singing stabbed him as red-hot irons. He roamed through the desolate steppes of the East, but there he found two other strange Maiar, two elders dressed in blue that caused him a great fear. And Mordor was far; he didn't feel strong enough to return yet.
Thus, he was forced to retrace his steps, and finally found a refuge in the mines of the Misty Mountains.
The palace of the Dwarves was curiously deserted, and as much as he wandered through its halls, and as much as he searched the high vaults that became lost in the dark and the deep pits that became lost in the earth, he couldn't find a single soul. Starving and shivering with cold, he curled up on himself in a corner and tried to sleep. In the past he used to dwell on the memories of his Lord and on the things that he had done with him when he still had a body, and this helped him to relax and sleep. But now those physical things had no meaning for him, he didn't understand them anymore, and therefore they couldn't comfort him. Though once they had joined their spirits, only for a split second, but they had done so. That he could understand. That and the brush of the Ring.
Calmer thanks to these pleasant thoughts, Sauron went into hibernation for a while.
However, not much later a sudden rush of heat woke him. There was a crack in the ground, a few feet from him, and through it came up a very distinctive and familiar smell of fire and sulfur.
A smell that brought back vague memories of fights, arguments and flaming whips.
The Maia filtered through the crack, following the hot vapours, and descended through several layers in ruins to the very core of the fortress. There he found it: a huge body covered in flames, snoring loudly in the middle of his peaceful sleep.
Full of joy, Sauron creeped over the Balrog, expanding himself in countless members that eveloped him to make his presence known. And coming close to his ear he whispered the name that had come to his mind as soon as he saw him: "Gothmog Gothmog Gothmog..."
The Balrog shifted still sleepy, and finally opened his eyes. Upon noticing the strange wraith coiled around his body, he pushed him aside with a snarl and faced him angrily:

-Who are you, annoying creature that interrupts my rest thus!? I hope you have a good explanation for this! - and reached for the whip menacingly.

-It's me, Gothmog, don't you recognize me?

-I'm not Gothmog, stupid! Gothmog disappeared during the First Age. In which filthy hole have you been hidden all this time to not know even that?

The spirit flickered confused. It was true: Gothmog had died long ago, now he remembered it, in a fleeting image of a grave with a black whip on it. Sauron tried to recover from the blow:

-If you're not Gothmog, who are you then?

-The last of the Balrogs, that's me! And I have no intention of ceasing to be it soon. I have appropriated this comfortable retreat after driving out that nuisance of Dwarves, and nobody is going to move me from here. That's why I'm known as Durin's Bane. But you haven't told me your name yet, and I think that after rubbing against me so lewdly, the least you could do is introduce yourself.

-I am Sauron, the Dark Lord and future lord of Middle-earth.

The Balrog squinted in disbelief at this. But then, upon realizing that the wraith spoke in earnest, he burst into loud laughter that shook the foundations.

-Sauron, the Dark Lord!? Ho, ho, ho! What happened to you, lord lieutenant of Angband? One would say that Eru himself has sliced you, has stirred you a while in the soup of primordial darkness, and then has spit you back in Middle-earth! You look deplorable...

Sauron felt quite ashamed, and as the demon didn't stop laughing, he made an effort to acquire a more dignified body before him. After a few attempts he managed to form a vaguely human shape, though made of flickering shadows; in his left socket reappeared the eye of fire and in his red mouth sharp teeth like daggers.

-Stop making fun, because once I recover all my power you will deeply regret this offense! –he warned him.

The Balrog wiped a couple of tears that began to evaporate on his incandescent cheeks, and stifled the last throes of laughter.

-Well, Dark Lord, to what do I owe the pleasure of this curious visit?

Sauron didn't want to admit that he had been expelled from his stronghold and now needed to take refuge there for a while, but anyway he already had an alternative plan for the Balrog:

-I want you to serve me in Mordor. I already have numerous Orcs and nine wraiths at my service. And it's a matter of time that I gather again the kingdoms of Men under my banner. But I could really use a Maia among my ranks.

The Balrog narrowed his eyes and let out a cloud of steam from his nostrils, little pleased with this proposition.

-Who do you think you are to come here and give me orders? You show up stark naked and pathetic, like a vagabond who has been stripped even of his dignity, and you dare to let out that pompous speech. I've already told you that I have no intention of leaving here, and less so to serve that ruinous kingdom of Mordor! The outside world can sink whole as far as I'm concerned!

-A great part of that world already sank, and it was me who did it!

-Whatever. I only owed allegiance to Gothmog my captain, and to Melkor above all. Not to you.

-I am the new Melkor!

The Balrog let out another mocking laugh.

-If you're the new Melkor, I'm a bearded Dwarf-woman with gold braids. -and turning his back to him, he lay again with the intention of returning to his slumber.

Sauron clenched his teeth outraged, and thanks to the accumulated anger he grew bigger.

-Well, if you're not going to serve me with your strong arm, you will do as fuel for my power. -he hissed, and lunged at him suddenly.

In one second the Balrog found himself struggling with a barely tangible being that changed shape as it suited him, and whose arms disappeared and multiplied each time he tried to hold him. They rolled on the ground and bumped into several walls, from which rocks came off. Sauron screamed like a rabid beast and tried to bite the neck of his opponent, while the latter dug his claws into any point physical enough that he found.

-Surrender, you Balrog deserter! I am the true servant of Melkor, I deserve your power more than yourself, since you don't know to use it well. Give it to me willingly or I'll have to get it out of you drop by drop! Yes, like a vampire if necessary!

-Is that what you've become, Sauron, a vampire!? A parasite that feeds at the expense of other Maiar? -snorted the demon, and he let out an abrasive cloud that blinded him for a moment, enough for him to reach his whip.

With a flick of the wrist, the Balrog wrapped it around his neck and pulled from it to choke him. Sauron disintegrated in part, spreading two black wings over the huge body in an attempt to surround him, but his enemy dissipated them with a flare and pushed him onto his back, falling on him with several tons of weight.
Sauron moaned in pain and the Balrog quickly immobilized him, pressing his wrists against the hard ground.
The defeated Maia writhed in agony, struggled to free his members and shook his head angrily. But upon seeing that it was all in vain, strenght abandoned him, his faint body relaxed, and finally submitted, among incoherent cries:

-My Ring, my Ring... Where is it? Oh, my Lord!, where is it?... Why didst thou leave me? I didn't want...

Seeing him thus, so reduced and vulnerable, immobile and still panting from the effort, the Balrog felt sorry for him. Something terrible had happened to the Maia in front of him, something that had broken him inside. Moreover, the wound of his spirit was almost visible with so little matter covering it.

-Oh, Sauron! But what have they done to you? This is not the lieutenant that I knew in Angband. This is not the ruthless but impassive Maia, the Gorthaur of impenetrable expression that always kept a cool head. What happened to you? Who did this to you?

-Everyone... No one... I've done it myself... –muttered the Maia, and a shudder shook him accompanied by another groan.

Weakly, he tried to lift his legs, and the Balrog realized that he had tormented him enough already, and didn't need to immobilize him any longer. Cautiously he released him, and Sauron stayed lying on the ground, breathing heavily and following each of his movements with his only eye.

-Aren't you going to take advantage of the fallen? I would. They all do. -he said bitterly.

But the Balrog grabbed his arm and made him stand up.

-Bah! I'm not a sadist like you. All I want is to be left in peace, but it seems that not even that is possible in this crazy age. What has become of the old world, eh, Gorthaur? -said the Balrog, again in good spirits, and put his muscular arm around his shoulders.

Sauron sighed.
What had become of the old world, indeed? There were hardly any Ainur left in Middle-earth. He had passed the last centuries surrounded exclusively by men and other lower creatures, and had missed the company of those of his race. If someone had told him in the past that one day he would find comfort in a Balrog, he wouldn't have believed it. But that's how things were, and after all he felt very lonely. So what did it matter if he was a Balrog?

-Let's make peace. It will be the best for both. –proposed Sauron, extending his hand.- I regret having attacked you in this irrational way. Lately I'm not myself.

The demon squeezed that shadow of a hand that was offered to him between his rough claws, almost delicately.

-Of course, there's no problem! I must admit that I never liked you, Gorthaur, but it's high time to bury old enmities. There are very few of us and we must stick together. Now tell me, what happened to you out there to end up like this? I have been in the underground since the War of Wrath and I don't keep abreast with the news.

Sauron rubbed his temples instinctively, in reminiscent of when he still had a proper head.

-Well, I suppose you have heard of the ruin of Mordor after the Last Alliance of Elves and Men. But a lesser-known detail is that of my fall from grace. It wasn't because of any wound by a sword, as rumours say, but due to the loss of an object extremely valuable for me: my Ring of power. A good part of my essence was contained in it and when it was snatched from me... Well, here you see the result. -and opening his arms he showed him his almost translucent figure.- I've been trying to regenerate bit by bit, in a stronghold of Mirkwood, but I only progress very slowly and at the cost of great sacrifices. Things seemed to be improving, however, and my Ringwraiths had taken positions in Mordor to prepare my return. But something went wrong. Now I think they're watching me and... searching for me. -he whispered with secrecy.

The Balrog opened his eyes surprised and somehow uneasy.

-Who? The Valar!? Did they return to Middle-earth?

- No, no, no. They're not the Valar, but I'd swear by the iron crown of Melkor, that is one of their envoys. Do you remember Olórin?

-Mmm... Vaguely. He was some kind of gardener for that eccentric Vala : Lórien, right?

-Gardener? Well, if you say so... Anyway, I had to flee from my fortress because he was snooping around it, and so I came here to hide. It's all very suspicious.

The Balrog stretched his arms and yawned then, opening his mouth so much that Sauron could even see the fire burning in his stomach and smell its contents, which wasn't pleasant.

-Good grief, Gorthaur, this time you got into some nice trouble, claimed by the justice of Aman! As far as I'm concerned, you can stay here as long as you need to. It's not as if I needed a whole mine to sleep.

-I'm very grateful. Although I 'd like to ask you another favour. I want to place a garrison of Orcs here in the Misty Mountains, to control everything that comes from the West, which is never good. Can I count on your help?

-Pst! As long as the Orcs don't bother me, I won't scorch their backsides. If you want I can also take a look from time to time, just in case that stupid ring of yours appears. And I thought that only the lord Melkor was interested in jewelry! What a bunch of effeminates...

Sauron smiled slightly, knowing that this time the insults of the Balrog were friendly (friendly in the rough sense that the word had for Balrogs, of course).

-Don't bother about it, the Ring won't appear here. But I have a vague idea of where to search it.

-As you like. - the Balrog lay on the ground again and curled, like a monstrous and ugly cat ready to sleep.

Sauron stood there not really knowing what to do next. His body kept flickering between the world of the visible and the invisible, and a cold stream made him shudder suddenly. The demon, realizing this, made a signal to him to come closer and lie with him, to which Sauron agreed.

-Better now, isn't it, Gorthaur? -he asked, placing his arm around him; the wraith nodded- You're not so proud anymore...

-I had to swallow my pride too many times to survive. At this point I just don't care. I only hope that Gothmog, wherever he is, cannot see me like this: in the arms of one of his Balrogs.

The aforementioned let out a guttural chuckle.

-Do you want some advice, Sauron? Don't return to the outside world. Forget it. Our time has passed, and the lord Melkor is no longer among us. Middle-earth is for Men, well, let them keep it! We can stay here, sleeping the sleep of the forgotten, until the last day when Arda breaks. Nothing matters, so it's better to rest and forget. And if some Dwarf dares to enter again, we'll roast him in a pit of lava and that's the end of story. What do you think? The two of us alone: the last soldiers of Angband.

And the Balrog squeezed him with camaraderie against his massive chest. Sauron thought he would suffocate, but on the other hand, the warmth was nice and well received by his disembodied spirit.

-I can't do that. I made a promise to Melkor, I promised to continue his legacy. And I have a plan, a vision that I have to develop and that Middle-earth needs urgently. -he began to explain, but only got snoring as response.

The Maia shrugged, and putting aside his qualms, he cuddled against the bulk of fire and surrendered to restorative sleep. After all, he had the right of some respite, a brief moment of tranquility and protection after centuries of hard work.

Thus ignored by the world, those two ancient and terrible creatures waited in the depths of the earth. But they did it tight against each other in the most innocent of embraces.
Sometimes things acquired unusual appearances.
And even though Sauron had never dreamed, certain images of distant times, almost of the beginning of times, came to his mind while he slept. It was curious how he barely remembered the events of the last age, while on the other hand those old scenes unfolded before him with such clarity.

He saw himself working in one of the underground caverns of Aulë, in a Middle-earth still shapeless and uncontrolled. The twinkles that came off the gems embedded in the rock, when the fire touched them, were the only light in a world plunged in darkness.
Suddenly, a red glow had invaded the cavern, and Sauron came face to face with the rebellious Vala, that evil Melkor. He had only seen him during the Music, and still recalled the commotion that that he had caused. But now he was much changed with his new body. Sauron coughed annoyed; that Vala could bring him nothing but trouble.

-May I know what art thou doing here? I have a lot of work, just in case thou hast not noticed.

Melkor looked around and ran a hand through his hair, as if thinking about something. Then he addressed him with mocking gesture:

-You don't seem to be much impressed by me: Melkor, the Mighty Arising. Despite being just a little Maia.

-My name is Mairon. And yes, I'm impressed, although my face may not reveal it. Thou knowest, I spend a lot of time surrounded by rocks and some of their nature must have passed to me.

Melkor smiled upon noticing the sarcasm of his words, but right after his eyes filled with anxiety.

-Tulkas is not around, is he? He's a new Vala, I don't know where he came from, but he has it in for me. The other day I approached him with the proposal of joining me, and he hit me for no reason! Since then he pursues me all over with his hateful laugh. I don't know why he wants to beat me. What have I done to him!?

-I can think of a few reasons. -replied the Maia, too distracted by the visit to resume his work in the forge, as he would have liked.

Melkor rubbed his arms and took another look around to make sure that, indeed, Tulkas was not there. Sauron knew what were fear and pain because he had been very attentive while these themes were played in the Music. But he had never seen these expressions in one of the Ainur, and finding them in Melkor now was fascinating. He wondered what had the Vala felt while Tulkas beated him, and discovered that deep within his soul, he would have liked to be there to see it.
Meanwhile, the Vala had begun to roam around the workshop of Aulë, nosing about everything and, to the horror of Sauron, fiddling with everything. It seemed as he left behind a trail of disorder, because everything he took, he left it in a different place or even threw it: instruments, precious stones, flasks and jars. Would it be such a nuisance to put them back in place?
Sauron coughed again, this time very angry, and Melkor raised his eyes in surprise. The Maia looked at him frowning, with his hands on his hips.

-My lord Melkor the Mighty Arising, isn't enough to spread chaos out there in Arda, that thou hast to spread it also here, in my little haven of order?

Melkor blinked without understanding.

-I'm not messing up anything. I'm just leaving it... better. -and so saying he took the plan of the lamps that Aulë was designing and began to examine it.

-What's this? Why has nobody informed me of this project? The other Valar never tell me anything!

-It's a project of Aulë, and only him and his Maiar are concerned by it. Now, if thou wert so kind to return it...

-And Manwë knows about these lamps? Ye have surely told him! That stupid brother of mine.

-Yes, of course Manwë knows. He's the lord of all the Valar, after all.

-Not of all! –protested Melkor, biting his lip hurt, and threw the plan into the air.

Sauron managed to catch it in time, just before the scroll fell into a brazier full of red hot coals. He made sure that the plan had not suffered any damage, and carefully folding it, he placed it in a drawer.
Now Melkor was looking at the polished gems that Sauron had spread on the table, sorted by size and quality. And before his astonished eyes, he grabbed a handful of the most beautiful and tucked them into his tunic. The Maia could't believe what he saw.

-What the... What art thou doing? Those stones are not yours!

-What do you mean they're not mine? I've found them.

-Yes, on my table!

-Your table, my table... what does it matter? You weren't looking at them now, what do you want them for?

Sauron clenched his fists in anger. This was intolerable; it wasn't thus how one should proceed, it wasn't thus how one should behave, how was "expected" that one should behave. The normal thing would have been that the Vala returned the gems at once and apologized, that's what any other Ainu would have done.
But Sauron was beginning to understand that Melkor was not like the Ainur he knew. And in his impotence, he didn't dare to recover the stolen items. What could a Maia do against the most powerful being of Arda?
Melkor noticed the restrained fury of his interlocutor, and to top it off, he dared to approach him and invade his personal space shamelessly. Leaning over his ear he whispered:

-Join me and you will have as many gems as you want, and even more beautiful things. What do you say, little one? Wouldn't you serve me rather than Aulë? I can give you much more than that granite head.

The Vala had caressed him then, and although the new feeling seemed nice, Sauron moved away from him with contempt. Melkor shrugged:

-No? Well, too bad for you. Stay here and keep being a small Maia in a small underground room. No one will ever remember you. Farewell, Morion, or whatever your name is. -and he disappeared in another burst of fire and light.

-My name is Mairon! -shouted still the Maia.

Filled with rage, he began to order all the things that Melkor had spread around. He could be very powerful, but that Vala was definitely the most annoying and irritating creature of all the creation. Sauron hated him.
But on the other hand... On the other hand there was something irresistible and hypnotic in him, in that wild and ill-mannered being. Something he knew he wouldn't find in the others, as much as he seeked. And he was beautiful, of course. But not like Varda, who had chosen the most dazzling appearance that was possible after a careful study of the shapes and proportions. Melkor was beautiful without intending it, almost as if he couldn't avoid it. And he seemed to experience every moment of his existence with an intensity that neither he nor the gray and boring Aulë, nor any other, could even imagine.
Much to his regret, Sauron discovered that he envied him.

These were the things that he dreamed in the undergrounds of Moria. But then the images started to fall apart, burst into flames as Orodruin, and again reappeared the feared object: the bright and naked Ring, terrible in its simplicity. And the golden metal filled him until becoming unbearable.
Sauron stirred and awoke in distress.
The chest of the Balrog still rose and fell amidst a peaceful breathing, and his heartbeat against his ear managed to calm him a little. Then he realized that his body had partially regenerated during all this time, and it had regained some of its physical qualities.
How many years had he slept? Probably too many.
He pushed the Balrog slightly to say farewell to him, but his slumber was very deep. In view of this, Sauron slipped through his arms to escape. The touch of the other body gave him some nice tingling between his legs; another quality regained. Although deprived of company, he guessed it would be a quality that would torment him more than comfort him.
He finished coming out of the tight embrace, and the Balrog rolled over, occupying the empty space. He just let out a smoking snoring, and not even then he opened his eyes.

-Farewell, Durin's Bane. You're a huge lazy lump, but at least I hope you fulfill your role when you're needed.

After this Sauron abandoned Moria and flew cautiously towards Mirkwood. Several times he stopped in the thicket and extended his appendages, feeling the trunks of trees, the earth of the road and the streams, searching for signals. It didn't seem that the mysterious Maia who had broken into his fortress was still watching him.
With recovered energy and strength, he returned to Dol Guldur. And for the next year he kept busy repopulating the Misty Mountains with his Orcs. The search continued in the Gladden Fields, but always equally fruitless. But from then onwards, it was carried out more discreetly, not knowing who might be watching, who could also covet his Ring, his precious.
A handful of dragons made their appearance in the mountains of the East, but no matter how many emissaries he sent, none of them agreed to serve him. It seemed that they had all inherited the stubbornness of Glaurung. In any case, they were just lizards compared with the dragons of Angband. Only one of them, named Smaug, was roughly at the height of them, but he didn't want to know anything about Sauron, the Dark Lord, either. With a very short-sighted attitude, the creature preferred to wallow in the mountains of gold of the Dwarves, and sleep while the jewels dug into his flesh ever deeper.
Sleep! Was that the only thing that the servants of Melkor could do in the Third Age? Sleep and wait for everything to fix itself alone? Such apathy, such indifference! What had become of honour and duty?

Not long after the appearance of Smaug, Sauron perceived a familiar distortion around the forest. It was a distortion of power similar to that of his Ring, but much more attenuated. Anxiety and desire seized him, and quickly he sent his servants in all directions: bats, great and repulsive spiders, Orcs and wraiths.
The prize that they brought him to the fortress was a tired and ragged Dwarf, a strange bearer for the last of the Seven that was still missing. Almost in extasis, Sauron ripped the ring from his trembling hands, and his shadow grew a little more and turned blacker.
The Dwarf fell on his knees before him and tore his beard with grief, he was a broken spirit. But despite all, he was still a Dwarven spirit, and even though Sauron threatened him, and though he tortured him sipping day by day part of his essence, until his skin turned translucent and his eyes dimmed, he couldn't extract any confession from him. He only found out that his name was Thráin and was a descendant of the kings of Moria, now in exile. But he didn't tell where he was going when he was captured, or where belonged the key around his neck.
His mind was also closed, with more powerful bolts than those of their underground mines. And when Sauron tried to penetrate in it, he just got disconnected images of forges, chain mails, axes dripping blood, and the head of a Dwarf with eyes wide open in terror and the word "Azog" on it.

However, having found another of his rings was enough satisfaction already. Meanwhile he would keep the Dwarf in his dungeon, staggering between life and death, to entertain himself during the endless gray days of Dol Guldur.

Until the Maia that chased him appeared again.
But this time Sauron didn't flee. He trusted his recovered strength, and swelling like a cloud of darkness and fear that pervaded the entire chamber, he went to the dungeons, from where the signals of the other Maia came. He would put an end to that intrusive Olórin once and for all.
But he found the cell empty, except for the body of Thráin, which rested on the slabs with an expression of tranquility. The chest in which he had kept the prisoner's belongings had been opened with some powerful magic, and the mysterious key was gone, along with a simple map to which Sauron had never given importance.

The meaning of the key was revealed later, when news reached him about a great tumult under the mountain of Erebor.
A bunch of homeless Dwarves had broken into the lair of Smaug to oust him. And thereafter all the birds of prey from the surrounding lands had begun to crowd there, to fight over the spoils of the dragon.
The mountains of gold had small interest for Sauron, especially because he knew that the only golden piece that he wanted wasn't there. But that didn't mean that he couldn't take advantage of the events.
There was a being who escaped before the battle towards Mirkwood, a disoriented and flickering ghost, as he had been in the past. And he went to seek refuge in the fortress of Dol Guldur.
Sauron greeted him with a laugh that shook him to the very core.

-What happened, Smaug? Your gemstone shield wasn't hard enough?

-It was, my lord Sauron. But I'm afraid it wasn't complete enough. -answered the remains of the dragon, shrinking humbly.

-You call me now "Lord Sauron". However, when I sent for you to serve me, you answered that you weren't the slave of any Necromancer. Well Smaug, I've grown up in the meantime, to the extent that this fortress is becoming too narrow for me. You, however, have become much smaller. What do you want then?

The wraith coiled before him, and with a supplicant cry said:

-I only beg thee, my lord Sauron, that thou dost something for me. Thou hast power over the world of the living and of the dead: re-house me in a new body, in that of a wolf, or a bat, or even a Barrow-wight. Then I will serve thee as the most faithful and the fiercest of thy creatures. Please, any existence is preferable to this.

An extension of malice surrounded the ghost, and from its many extremes came a deep and chilling laughter.

-Yes, Smaug, I have a body to re-house you, a body that you would serve fine. Mine.

In that moment, the amorphous wave that enveloped the dragon became more solid, more consistent, and began to crush him as a huge snake, more and more, until nullifying the wraith. The last thing this saw was a black mouth opening over him, and in the midst, an eye in flames that swallowed him.
Thus disappeared the last dragon of fire.
And his power was all Sauron needed to recompose himself completely. It was time to return to Mordor.
And just at the right time, because shortly thereafter Olórin assaulted Dol Guldur, and in this occasion he came with reinforcements.
There were some old acquaintances from the Second Age, as Galadriel and Elrond, and also a strange Elf with a beard and another powerful Maia that he didn't recognize then. He looked like an old man dressed in white, and while fleeing from the fortress he had time to extend one of his appendages over him and read a bit of his soul.

-You covet my Ring, don't you? You think you can become greater than me. Well, try it. But you'll only end up becoming my pawn. -he whispered. And the Maia didn't answer. Sauron turned his thoughts to Galadriel right after:- And you, my old friend? Have you thought about what you would do with my Ring if it fell in your hands? I sense that your heart starts to falter. Galadriel, the bright queen of Middle-earth. Don't deny that you have dreamed about it.

The Elven lady screamed and pressed her temples, resisting the voice that had invaded her head. Alerted, Sauron shrunk and fled at full speed toward the South, before it was too late.

Barad-dûr awaited him, or what was left of the tower: his home, his cold home, his prison in ruins. Locked in one of the underground chambers that had survived the disaster, Sauron finally recovered his physical and complete form, not without prolonged efforts and suffering.
But when he looked himself in a mirror, he discovered that it wasn't the shape he had wanted. It was a too horrible shape to be contemplated or described, although it was a true reflection of how he felt inside. He decided to cover his head with an iron helmet that completely concealed it, except for the eye. And he covered also his entire body with armor. It was then when he discovered that he was missing a finger on his left hand, and wrath filled him. The same wrath that, perhaps, had felt other Ainu that he once knew well, upon seeing the burn on his right hand.
Well, no one should see him anymore, but he would make sure to see it all. Instead of his presence, he would impose on every one of his servants the constant surveillance of that eye of fire that had terrified them so much in the past. It would appear on banners, on shields, on helmets, in their minds and even in their nightmares. Until they became connected to him as the puppets of his will, as his thousand appendages. He would be the Great Eye that saw everything and controlled everything. Nobody ever would pronounce his name again, the name that he had in Angband and with which his Lord had called him. Those creatures were not worthy of pronouncing it, since they had failed him. He had a beautiful vision of peace and order, and what had they done? Destroy that vision, that perfect plan, with their selfish individualism. There was no vision anymore, it was starting to blur, the Ring was blurring it. Where had he failed? When exactly had appeared the fissure?

From every corner of Middle-earth, the shadows came then to him, to the pinnacle that rose again, stone upon stone and spire upon spire, amid the barren plains of Mordor. Swarms of Orcs, underground and forgotten creatures, the Nine Ringwraiths. And also some men riding wains from the East, and tall dark men from the South, and men wild as bears from the North.
But from the West only one man came.
He rode on a huge black horse, and his face was also hidden behind a peculiar helmet. The footsteps of the beast echoed in the deserted land, raising clouds of dust, and then it slowed down its pace to a halt. The man dismounted and stood before the tower, alone, waiting for the Dark Lord to notice him.

-Who are you, mortal, that so boldly stop at my door without company? -said the voice.

- I have come to serve thee, master, as I did in the past. In already distant ages. -he answered, bowing to him.

-I don't know you.

-Maybe thou hast forgotten me, master. But I still remember thee, and my body also remembers thee.

And saying this, the man turned around, pulled the tunic down his shoulders, and showed him his naked back.
Sauron ran his eye through every swollen line, every crossed scar ripping that skin, and something in the depths of his memory stirred. He may forget a face, but the Maia never forgot the geometric patterns left by his whip in the flesh of others.
A series of incoherent memories seized him, and complex feelings that he no longer understood, or upon which he no longer wanted to dwell.

-Yes, I know who you are. You were once my Shadow. Where have you hidden yourself all these years, coward? Why didn't you come earlier to serve me?

The man trembled under the eye in flames that flickered in his mind for a moment, and fell to his knees before him, spreading his arms in supplication:

-Thou commandedst me to hide until the day thou neededst me again, master. I have felt thy call in my heart, and I'm back. The past centuries haven't been easy for me. I have lived in many places and I have had many names, always hiding my nature. I have been in cages and in palaces, I have been an animal and a lord. Lately I was known as the Black Númenórean, and I have amassed a large fortune trafficking with narcotic herbs and with those of my own race: the most beautiful women and the most pleasurable boys. I possess numerous men at my service and countless riches, but I've abandoned them all to serve thee. Because even if I've had many owners, I've only had a single master. -and the man bowed his head submissively, and allowed the Eye to penetrate his soul without putting up any resistance, since he had nothing to hide.

Sauron perceived in him an unusual sincerity, devotion, and a love that he hadn't awaken in anybody since long time ago. The exploration left him satisfied.

-I see that you speak the truth, man. Well, I don't need a Shadow now, because the one I project on Middle-earth is very large. But I could use a lieutenant and a spokesperson to bring my messages where my voice doesn't reach. You will be my mouth then, the Mouth of Sauron.

The Eye pulled away from the man then, making him shudder, and the gates of Barad-dûr opened before him with a mournful creak. Soon after, a couple of Orcs met him, and while one brought his horse to the stables, the other led him inside. It was curious how quickly his master had given them instructions, almost as if his wishes were directly transmitted to their head. Looking sideways at the Orc that guided him, he found that his eyes were glassy and absent. Maybe the will of his master had them enslaved like that, maybe he could control them as hollow shells.
The guide led him through narrow and bare galleries, which spiraled up to the upper floors. Everything was vertical and sober in there; they hadn't made the slightest concession to superfluous adornment. And unlike Angband, that always boiled with frenetic activity, an eerie silence reigned in Barad-dûr. As they climbed up the cold increased, and when the Orc stopped in front of the double doors of what would be his bedchamber, the man was almost shivering.

-This was formerly the bedroom of a Númenórean lord who visited us often. -explained the Orc, opening the door and showing him the interior.- The lord still comes here often, but he never sleeps.

The ironic smirk of the Orc made him a little nervous, and the man looked around his new room. The bed was spacious and seemed comfortable, and at least the walls and floors were covered with rugs and tapestries. But the dust of centuries accumulated on the furniture, and the cold was unbearable. Having suffered under the open sky for so long, naked and caged, during the darkest years of the Third Age, the man had promised himself that he would never be cold again. Angband had always been heated, even too much, and in Harad and later Umbar he had enjoyed a mild and pleasant climate as well.
He had left behind many comforts and luxuries to return to his master, and was willing to suffer all kinds of hardship for him. But he didn't need to be cold.

-Bring a few Orcs to clean this room thoroughly, and light a good fire in the hearth. I can't sleep here in such conditions. -he ordered.

-Of course, lord lieutenant.

The Orc turned around and returned to the lower floors.

"Lord lieutenant". The man smiled to himself. Many things had happened to him before earning that title, but in the end he had accomplished it, and now the idea brought him a mixture of joy, satisfaction, fear and anxiety. He ran a finger over the surface of a dusty sideboard, leaving behind a shiny line. So many years... So many years separated from his master. Would he find him much changed?
He certainly had not changed. He never changed, that was his fate.

Eager to reunite with the Maia, he decided to go to see him wherever he was in the tower, while the Orcs tidied the alcove. Judging by the looks of it, Sauron was at the top pinnacle, so he patiently began the ascent through the corridors, always inclined upwards and always in spiral.
However, when he had almost reached the uppermost level, he stumbled upon a heavy metal door blocking the way, and two black and huge Orcs standing guard in front. He had never seen Orcs like those.

-Open the door. I'm the new lieutenant of Barad-dûr and need to speak with the Lord.

-The Great Eye receives none, except the Witch-king. –replied the Orc in a monotone, not impressed at all by his elevated position.

-Nonsense! He will receive me. –and the man made as if to approach the door. But the guards crossed their spears before him.

-Don't take it personally, lieutenant. But it's dangerous to cross this door, and no mortal must do it. Behind it there are five other doors, as well, and only the Great Eye and the Witch-king have the keys. -and in confident tone, the Orc said:- After his return to Mordor, the Dark Lord's power became... unstable. It's very dangerous to approach him, they say that those who dare to look at him turn mad.

The Mouth of Sauron lowered his arms, dejected.
So close and yet so far from his master. After so many centuries awaiting the reunion with him, he couldn't believe that fate had that cruel joke in store for him.

-But then, how will I receive his instructions and follow the orders? -he murmured.

-When He has a mission for thee, He will let thee know.

The man looked at the eyes of the guards; they were whitish and seemed to look in the distance. He got the impression that everyone behaved as a sleepwalker in that tower, and it was starting to be sinister.

Crestfallen, he had no choice but to retrace his steps, with no company but the echo of his boots through the soulless corridors.
Then, upon turning a corner, he felt an icy stab in the back, and an irrational panic that numbed his members. The torchlight decreased considerably, and when he turned around, he came face to face with nine tall black figures, motionless in the gloom. Although they had no faces, he could feel their eyes digging into his chest, and the man stepped back instinctively.

-Who are you? -asked a horrible voice, which came directly from the helmet of the shadow in front.

The Mouth of Sauron gulped a couple of times, and tried to hide the fear that seized him and the trembling of his legs. So these were the famous Ringwraiths and their leader, the Witch-king. He had heard many stories about them and the terror that inspired, but reality surpassed legends.

-I am the lieutenant of the Dark Lord. -answered at last, gathering courage.

The wraiths hissed, little pleased by the answer.

-Maggot! How is it possible that a pathetic mortal like you, an upstart that nobody has heard about before, is appointed by the Great Eye as lieutenant just upon arrival? –scoffed the Witch-king.

These insulting words were enough to light up the anger of the man and make him forget his fear.

-Upstart!? How do you dare to call me upstart!? I'm as old as mankind, I've been with the Lord since the beginning! I have seen the fire pits of Angband and the burning eyes of Melkor. I have seen dragons swooping from above, and the whips of the Balrogs tearing the air. I was there when Gondolin fell and when Beleriand sank. And ye call me upstart? Haven't ye hear my name perchance, don't ye know that I'm part of him? I am the Mouth of Sauron!

At that moment the Ringwraiths writhed screaming, and put their gloves on their heads, as if to cover their invisible ears.

-Fool, don't say that name! That name is forbidden.

-Not to me. I can call the master so, because so I have called him a thousand times in the past. –replied the man, straightening proud upon seeing the effect that his words had on the wraiths.- Ye ought to know that I'm special to him. He appreciates me, and loves me.

At this the Ringwraiths laughed bitterly:

-The Great Eye doesn't love anyone. He is pure hatred.

-That's not true!... At least, it was not always so. –muttered the man, looking away sadly.

The Witch-king let out another harsh laugh, and his shadow grew to cover his head.

-If the Lord appreciates you so much, why hasn't he given you any of his rings?

-Precisely because he loves me he didn't do it! Look what those rings have done with you. They have turned you into pitiful ghosts without body or soul.

This time the boldness of the man had gone too far, and before he could react, he found a sword of Morgul pressed against his throat. The cold, again the obnoxious cold, went down his spine and crushed his heart as an ice claw.

-Measure your words, mortal, or the next thing that will come out your throat will be your filthy black blood.

The Mouth of Sauron tried to step away, but his back hit the wall. However, the wraith immediately withdrew the sword from his neck, as if he had just received orders to leave him alone.

-You're lucky, maggot. -he hissed.- But this is not the last time we meet.

And after this, the Witch-king uttered some kind of curse in an unknown tongue, turned around, and disappeared into the shadows followed by the other wraiths.
The man exhaled, relieved, and put his hand to his throat, where he still felt the ghostly touch of the blade.
He had just arrived in the tower and already had enemies. But another thing that he had promised to himself was that he would never let others humiliate him. Long was gone the trembling creature of the First Age, always fleeing and begging. In those days, surrounded as he was by a Vala, and Balrogs, and dragons, everyone had considered him very small and insignificant. But with the coming of the reign of Men, and the disappearance of the great creatures of the past, he had realized that he was actually not so small. In fact, he found that he was taller than most of those of his race. And of course, if he had survived an attack by the Valar, he could survive nine human ghosts.
Because they were human, after all.
And yet... in some strange way, they were not. He had noticed something odd about them, something that he had never felt in any creature before, no matter how evil. It was as if those beings didn't belong entirely to Eä, as if their existence violated some fundamental law of nature. Yes, they were unnatural creatures, created by some perverse and refined science. And it was his master who had done that. But he couldn't approve it. All this exuded an air too... wrong.

The Mouth of Sauron heard his guts roar, and then he realized how hungry he was. The journey from Umbar had been long and grueling, and he hadn't eaten properly in days. He looked out a small window to make sure if it was already dinner time, but the dim light of that land looked always the same. Anyway, he didn't lose anything going to the kitchens and trying his luck.
As he descended into the underground he began to feel better. It was warmer there, and the busy soldiers coming and going made him forget the gloomy upper hallways, and the meeting with the nine wraiths.
Upon entering the dining room of the troops and breathing again the smell of half-boiled slop on which the Orcs fed, a curious nostalgia came over him. Suddenly he was in a good mood, suddenly he was again at home.
He sat discreetly on a wooden bench and ordered a plate of food, without disclosing his status to anyone. The greyish paste that they served him had an abominable smell and worse taste, but he ate it nonetheless. It was going to take him a while to get used to that after the delicacies he enjoyed in Umbar, but for serving the master it was worthwhile.
Before long, he attracted the attention of the Orcs that swarmed through the dining room, despite his desire to go unnoticed, and through the corner of his eye he saw a couple of them, unusually stocky, pointing at him. There was an argument between the two, and the larger one ended up knocking the other, who walked away bleeding through his nose. After that, the victorious Orc dropped onto the bench next to him, with such force that made him bounce on the seat.

-How is it that I haven't seen you here before? – he snarled, letting out a puff of stale breath.

-I'm new.

-Yes, I can see that... -he remained silent for some seconds, staring at the man that ate with total indifference, and added:- You know what? You're the prettiest Orc I've ever seen.

The Mouth of Sauron knew what was coming next.
Indeed, the huge Orc put his hand on his thigh and started to rub it up and down, in a clumsy attempt to arouse him.

-Come with me to that corner there and I'll ride you like no one has ever ridden you. You won't have a single drop of seed when I'm finished with you. -and the creature ventured with his hand still a little higher.

The man looked at him incredulously through the sockets of his helmet, and smirked.

-It's a tempting offer, of course. But now I don't feel like doing it, let alone in public.

The Orc slammed on the table with his fist, outraged.

-Listen, lovely, I 'm not one of those filthy snaga that you can push aside! I'm a black uruk, and you should know that in this cantina I'm the boss. So if you want that I protect you, you better get on all fours now. Otherwise, I don't take responsibility for what the others may do you.

-I don't know what's a snaga, nor what's an uruk, frankly. -replied the Mouth of Sauron, turning his attention to the almost empty bowl.- But you might like to know that if I'm the prettiest Orc you've ever seen, it's because I'm not an Orc, but a man. Moreover, I'm the new lieutenant of Barad-dûr, of whom you've probably heard some rumour already. And the crotch you're touching, it's the crotch of the new lieutenant of Barad-dûr. Besides, don't take me wrong, but in the times of Angband I needed at least two of you to get satisfied.

The Orc's jaw couldn't have been left more open. Nonetheless, it still took him a couple of seconds to react and remove his hand from the intimate parts of his lord. The next moment, it was the creature who was on all fours, apologizing loudly and begging for mercy with his nose to the ground. The whole room broke into laughter, and the Mouth of Sauron enjoyed the scene for a few minutes, before raising his hand for silence. He decided to turn a blind eye to the incident and dispatched the Orc with a simple warning.
The wretch bowed to him among stutterings of gratitude and then left the room at full speed, his position of dominant male lost forever.
So strict was the hierarchy of Orcs, but it worked.
Once his rank was discovered publicly, the other diners took a much more deferential attitude toward the man. Then they brought him a jug of beer, and the cooks began to roast a piece of real meat for him. That was better, he thought. Though on the other hand, it had been fun posing as one of the bunch for a while, just like in old times.

Only when the night and the moment of going to bed came, his mood darkened, though not for anything in particular. Since long ago the moment of sleeping was associated with a vague, dark terror in his mind. It had been so for a hundred years, and he suspected that he would never get rid of that fear, not even if he lived another three ages more. With a sigh, he undressed and got in his new bed for the first time. The smell of the room was strange, as though the fire had been burning for hours, the cold was still considerable. Although maybe it was a cold that came directly from his insides, not from the room.
He hesitated a few seconds before putting out the oil lamp; the prospect of being left in complete darkness disturbed him deeply, but he didn't want to get intoxicated with the smoke. Thus, he plucked up courage and blew out the flame.
Then, upon closing his eyes, he saw it again in a terrible and blinding flash: the Eye of his master, flickering inside and outside of his mind as an illusion. But his presence was as real as if he was there in the flesh. The man shrunk with a moan, tormented by a flame that chilled his entrails rather than warm them.

-You are afraid of the dark. -said the voice.- How is that possible in a servant of the Dark Lord?

-It's a long story, master, and painful to tell.

-Tell it to me! -demanded the voice, and the presence of the Eye seemed to extend until filling his whole body.

The Mouth of Sauron couldn't tell if it was a hateful or pleasant feeling.

-Please, master, don't force me. I don't want to talk about it.

-I can see your soul if I desire so, didn't you know? I can force you open and extract any secret that you keep in your heart. But I expected not to resort to violence with you. I hoped that you cooperated in good faith, as always you did in the past, isn't it?

The man nodded, defeated, and stopped resisting the advances of his master.
He didn't want to tell him his story with words, but at least he would let him see it in pictures. He opened his mind to him, and he felt the Eye penetrating his memories. In the dark room he only listened to his heartbeat and rapid breathing, but he knew he was still there. So close, yet so far. As he was explored, some fragments of his master also filtered into him, and saw images of fire and gold, and a haunting image that repeated itself endlessly, bright and perfectly circular.

-Now I understand everything. -said the voice upon finishing, in a softer tone, almost as if caressing him.- My little servant... There was a time when I missed you, but I hardly remember now. Tell me about the past, tell me about Angband and Melkor.

A rare serenity pervaded the man then, and he began to speak to his master of things that he had known well, even if they had been erased from his memory. Important things and anecdotal things, and maybe also things that had never happened, other but in his imagination, but that the passing of centuries had turned real. Sauron listened to his servant, still connected but no longer dominating him. Until the man calmed down more and more, and finally fell asleep with an unfinished sentence in his lips.

The next morning started for the new lieutenant the tough task of organizing work in the tower. There were still many damaged areas in the structure, especially in the outer fortifications, and most of his time was spent in this during the following months.
Fortunately, the Mouth of Sauron had learned much from his master in Angband, and didn't find too many problems during the constructions. Moreover, his initial fear of stumbling again on the Ringwraith soon dissipated, since the Witch-king returned to Minas Morgul with five of them, while three others were sent to Mirkwood.
Everything seemed very quiet in Mordor.
Despite the open declaration that the Dark Lord had returned to Barad-dûr, there was no attempt to start a war against the kingdoms around. Rearmament wasn't started up nor new machines were built, nor the number of soldiers increased. To some unexperienced observer it would have been easy to believe that Mordor had given up on conquest, and now only aspired to live in peace with its neighbours, and get enough food from its barren land to support the population of Orcs. But those who knew well Sauron, knew that his Eye never closed, never slept. And he was just waiting for a clue, a small fortuitous signal, to extend the four fingers of his left hand and claim what was his, with blood and fire and war.
The burst of Orodruin was the unequivocal sign that peace was only a mirage.

And although Sauron never left the pinnacle, he wasn't alone up there. The palantír that the Witch-king had brought from Minas Morgul gave him an open window to nearly every corner of the world that was reasonably close, and the company of other onlookers, surprised while trying to join the game.
The first to appear was the steward of Gondor, an anxious and untrustful man. He wanted to learn too many things, and in his eagerness to see, he finally saw distortions of the reality, as someone who ruins his sight by trying to read too many texts from too close.
But he was a stubborn man, and time after time he rejected Sauron's attempts to contact him. His will always closed to his tries, and he turned him his back.
With the other one he was more fortunate, for he was sufficiently corrupted when he dared to peek into the palantír.

-Curumo! Long time no see each other. -greeted him Sauron with sarcasm.- The first time we met I didn't recognize you. You look older now, which is a rare quality in a Maia...

The old man with long hair and white beard started at the other side of the palantír upon hearing that sinister voice. But then he tried to hide his surprise frowning with disdain.

-You should know, Sauron, that no one here calls me Curumo. Curunír, in any case, and especially Saruman.

-You never did justice to any of those names, old friend. –mocked him Sauron.

Seeing his old mate from Aulë's days reddening with anger, was always a pleasant entertainment.

-I, for my part, cannot say the same about you and your name, Sauron the Abhorred! -he snapped, spitting every word as if it was poison.

Despite his new appearance, he hadn't changed in the slightest. That Maia had always been insufferably arrogant, irascible and vain. From the first day he had envied Sauron and had done everything possible to surpass him in the eyes of Aulë, but always to no avail. It was his way of concealing the terrible inferiority complex he felt in front of those who were more skilled and wiser than him: humiliate and challenge them. Though of course, he lost most of the time, which increased even more his complex and bitterness. That was his fate, playing a game that he could only lose, and Sauron suspected it would be a fun game.

-Tell me, Saruman, what are you doing looking through that stone? Are you seeking something in particular?

-The same as you, I'm afraid.

-And perhaps you hope to find it? Don't you know that the Ring and I are the same thing? That it searchs for me as I search for it, and that the reunion is inevitable? The Ring is only loyal to its true master.

Saruman grimaced and snorted, as if he had heard something incredibly ignorant.

-Maybe the Ring was loyal to you once, Sauron, but what use can you give it now? Do not think that you're talking to one of the stupid Orcs and men that serve you. I am one of the Wise, the wisest of all, indeed! And I have access to the circles of the powerful and kings. I've been to Gondor numerous times and have thoroughly studied their books. I have unraveled the science of the rings of power without aybody's help. Thus I know what happened to you after the fall of Númenor. Before the cataclysm the Ring served you, effectively, to increase your powers and make you virtually invincible. But after that you were left so pitifully reduced, that the only thing it was useful for, was keeping you anchored to this world. Proof of this is that the mere loss of a finger was enough to rip you from your body for centuries. Not that you look much better now. You're but half of a Maia, and with the Ring, maybe, you'll be almost a whole Maia. But why waste so poorly such an amazing object? In my hands, the Ring can give me the power of the Valar themselves. In yours, it may help you to fix that ruin that you call face, and that with luck.

A flash of fire then broke out in the face of Saruman through the palantír, and the wizard retreated a couple of steps, intimidated, much to his chagrin, by the wrathful eye in flames that filled the entire image.

-Are you threatening me, Sauron!? –he yelled indignantly, with a somehow more high-pitched voice than he would have liked.- Don't think that I don't have means to defend myself. It's been a long time since I turned Isengard into my personal fortress, and I have powerful armies of men and Orcs at my disposal. My Uruk-hai also are unbeatable. Better than any of your starving Orcs of Mordor, strong and intelligent. And they can stand the sunlight.

"Perfect. Now the stupid is revealing important strategic information, just to show off in front of me". –said Sauron to himself, closing his thoughts against the palantír's surveillance.

There was a better way of dealing with egocentric fools as Saruman, and this was playing the fool oneself. Much more beneficial than threats, much more efficient than open war against him, was leaving him freedom of movement. Allowing him to find the Ring in good faith, even helping him against his enemies. In his pride, Saruman would think that could beat him at his own game, he would believe that he was working for his own interests when in fact he worked for the interests of other. He would convince himself that he could really dominate the Ring, but it would be the Ring the one who would dominate him, and the Ring was Sauron. As always, since the immemorial days when both served Aulë, Curumo would bet too high in a game that he could only lose, but throughout the game he would say to himself that he was winning.

- I don't intend to threaten you, Saruman. -he said in a calm tone, almost friendly.- And I regret that this conversation has drifted towards those extremes. I don't see how we can benefit from such mutual antipathy. At the end of the day, we both want the same thing: finding the Ring. And both want to avoid the same thing: that it's found by the Dúnedain, or the Elves, or perhaps that companion of yours... Olórin, isn't he? – the visage of the wizard turned stren and tight at the name. "Oh! There he had another weakness".- Why don't we join forces, then? I will succour you with troops whenever you need it, and won't hinder your search for the Ring. Moreover, I will put the means to find it. There is much power contained in it for both, and I think that, in the end, we'll be able to reach an agreement that satisfies us both. You, on your side, will recognize me as your lord, as the only Dark Lord of Middle-earth. What do you think?

Saruman narrowed his malicious black eyes and stroked his beard in thought. Sauron knew what was going through his mind then. The wizard wondered if that friendly offer was due to his opponent's fear, realizing that his troops were at a disadvantage. Or if it was an attempt to get closer to the secret of his new Uruk-hai warriors. Or even, if he intended to use him as a tool to retrieve the Ring and then push him aside.
But what never crossed the mind of Saruman, was the possibility of not being able to get away with it at the end. He didn't thought that, maybe, Sauron wouldn't be deceived by his cunning and treacherous stratagems. He didn't thought that the other could be even more cunning and treacherous than he. Because he was Saruman the White, the wisest Maia in Middle-earth. And he hardly remembered the days of Valinor, when that same opponent had overcome him so many times. His disproportionate pride had turned him unwary. And stupid.
A hypocritical smile touched the lips of the old man:

-Fine then, my Dark Lord. Let's make that deal.

Fortunately for Sauron, not all his allies were as twisted as Saruman, nor as indifferent as Durin's Bane.
There was a being who had always been very helpful to him, and had never caused problems, since the day it came crawling through the tunnels of the Mountains of Shadow.
Shelob was the most repulsive and bloated of all the descendants of Ungoliant and Sauron took care of bloating her further along all those years. What better way to get rid of the excess of dead bodies?
To his lieutenant, however, it wasn't a pleasant task having to visit occasionally that den of filth, to make sure that the spider was fine. That should be the task of the Orcs, not of someone of his category. And indeed, at first it was. But the Orcs who were sent to her lair rarely returned. The spider, however, seemed to feel a sort of aversion towards him and never attacked him, the reason why the thankless task had fallen on his head.

The Mouth of Sauron coughed a couple of times, while he waited in front of Barad-dûr for the Orcs that brought the monster's food. He looked at the palm of his hand; he was coughing up blood again. During the nearly seventy years he had been at the forefront of the tower, he hadn't stopped progressing, and his robes were more luxurious each time, and his jewels more dazzling. But in parallel to this, his health had declined at the same rate, and he suspected that, whatever was the spell that Melkor had put on him, its power was weakening.
After all, he was still a mortal, and even for him would come the fateful hour some day.
He looked up at the sky, that as always was covered by a stinking cloud of smoke and ash. Not that the weather of Mordor was good for his cough, of course.
But he wasn't just suffering a decline of the body, he also began to feel exhausted mentally. The continued presence of the Eye on him, transmitting tortuous thoughts, watching even the most intimate of his fantasies, was grueling. And there was also the weight of memory. The mind of Men wasn't created to bear the memories of several millennia, and there were times when the Mouth of Sauron truly wanted to die and end it all.
The memories were crushing him.
He looked back, way back at the beginning of the Second Age.
After the war he had listened to his master and tried to mingle with the Edain, pretending to be a prisoner from the pits of Angband. Those men treated him relatively well, albeit with some condescension, and the Mouth of Sauron felt no sympathy for them. Rumours ran like wildfire, and when he heard about the grim end of Melkor, his heart sank. The Edain were guilty of having separated him from his master.
On the other hand, he hadn't to suffer their company for too long, because when the island of Númenor was raised in the sea for them, it was made clear that there were two kinds of Men: the privileged Edain, and the rest. Thus, when the last ship sailed to the new land, he was left alone on the coast.
There was nothing for him in the West. He decided, therefore, to turn his back to the sea, and journey to the distant East, to its very ends if needed. Maybe there he would find his master. For countless centuries he roamed the earth as the loneliest of creatures, halting occasionally in fertile places where he could establish himself for a while, or living among the most strange peoples of the steppes and forests. He had often heard his master speaking about the chaining of Melkor, about how his loneliness and suffering during those three ages (that were like 3000 years of Men) had been unimaginable. But the Mouth of Sauron was also alone for nearly 3000 years, and probably more alone than Melkor in his cell. Yet he continued toward the East, always to the place where the Sun was born, as if some primitive and unconscious force dragged him over there.

And one day, not knowing how, he reached Hildórien. At the beginning of everything.
The landscape hadn't changed despite the millennia that had run on the earth. There was the hill from which Melkor had spoken to them, where he had chosen him. But the people who had lived there, his family, were nothing but the dust of centuries, like his memory of them.
He fell to his knees, thrust his hands into the grass, and wept for a long time on the land that witnessed his birth. They were tears of sadness, but also of joy, of a strange joy that was sad in part and comforting in part.
He didn't stay long there, he couldn't have endured it. And looking towards the East Sea, towards the Sun that stood on the eastern end of the world, he said to himself that he could well keep going, since he had come so far already.
He had to work long and hard to build a raft that stayed afloat. But once he had it, he set to sail without hesitation. He navigated through warm and calm seas, of turquoise waters, inhabited by the rarest fishes: with spikes, with fluorescent lights and electrical thorns. Always following the Sun. He wanted to see the star rising from its own cradle, just as this once saw his race awakening in the world.
At the end of the sea, he came to a narrow strip of land, warm and crossed by a long chain of mountains. And climbed to the top of a hill, from where he could contemplate a quiet beach, the last beach of the confines, and a dark, empty sea.
Thus was how the change of the world surprised the man: perched on the walls of the Sun and waiting for the dawn. Suddenly the vault of heaven had begun to move quickly, and the stars that were still visible plunged on the horizon. And then when it was all over, the man discovered that it was dead of night again, and that this day there would be no dawn.
He had traveled so long to find the doors of the morning and the depths from which emerged the big star... and now he found out that he was back in the West, just on the other end (if one could still talk of ends). He'd never see the Sun being born, because now everything was curved, and no matter how much one walked, the horizon was always equally far. Besides, his raft had been destroyed by the cataclysm, and that land had no trees to build a new one.
Then he mourned bitterly, believing he was trapped in that uninhabited land, and surely doomed to die of starvation.
But later he discovered he wasn't alone. Other men also lived there, though they shunned him, and threatened him with their spears from afar every time he tried to approach them. They were very short in stature, with dark skin tanned by the Sun, so they were suspicious of that stranger so tall and pale, who didn't look like any of the beings to which they were accustomed. However, they took pity on him, and whenever they made bonfires to roast meat, they left a piece for him on purpose, so he could pick it up once they had gone away. And sometimes, a heap of fruit or some fish mysteriously appeared in front of the cave where he lived.
The Mouth of Sauron still had his bone helmet, and most of his jewels, the only tokens he had of his master. But his clothes turned into tatters, and eventually disappeared altogether. That's why the day he ran into a new robe, woven with some sort of vegetable fibers, he couldn't but smile, touched.
He always kept a warm memory of those shy men, even though he never managed to cross a word with them. He spent many years lost there, but one morning he glimpsed red sails on the horizon, and some sailors who spoke a familiar language offered to take him back to Middle-earth in their ship.

That way he arrived at Umbar and began a sweeter phase in his life. The inhabitants of the city called themselves the Black Númenóreans, and to his pleasant surprise, they were worshipers of Melkor and revered his master, so he felt right at home among them. He dared not to reveal his origin and his close bond with Sauron, since they wouldn't have believed him, but anyway he was treated well. Through them he learned of the great things that his master had done during the Second Age, which he, unfortunately, had missed in his wanderings. But the news of the fall of Sauron deeply saddened him, and he only found comfort and hope in the temple of Melkor that stood in the middle of the city.
It was there where he met the person who would become his best friend in Umbar: the daughter of a local noble, the dark Berúthiel. Many took her for a witch because of her melancholy and the ten cats, nine black and one white, who followed her everywhere. But they got along together right away, sensing that deep inside they resembled each other closely.

"How I hate these cats, always chasing me!" – had she said one day – "There's only one that I like, a very white one, but dressed in black".

And she had kissed him on the cheek.

He had loved her. Not in the same way that he had loved his master Sauron, of course, but in some way difficult to explain. Although he never dared to tell her, because she was too beautiful.
Anyway Berúthiel must have known, she knew everything, because her cats told her secrets.
He was happy by her side. Until one day, an arrogant king of Gondor came to the city and took her away to make her his wife. The ten cats went after her, but he was left behind, very sad. At first Berúthiel wrote to him occasionally, and her bitterness, and her hatred for everything around her in Gondor was evident in her letters, although she tried to hide it. But later he stopped hearing from her.
And one night he saw a ship with black sails passing before the port of Umbar. The silhouette of a cat could be distinguished under the light of the Moon, upright on the prow. Then he knew it was the last time he saw his friend.
After this his days grew dark, and when Gondor attacked and conquered Umbar in the year 933 of the Third Age, he decided to leave the city. He lived in many places under many names, disappearing when his longevity began to be suspicious, and reappearing much later when no one could remember him.
His master seemed to have vanished from Middle-earth, and as time went on his anxiety grew and his hope diminished. Finally, the year 2850, he decided to return to Umbar for possible news about Sauron, seeing that Mordor was still desolate.
It was a grave error. He found out that the government of the corsairs, that had arrived centuries ago from Gondor, had been replaced by that of the Haradrim. These men didn't speak any language he knew, and they were pirates much more cruel than the previous corsairs. He was captured as a slave, they did horrible things to him, and ended up selling him to some traffickers, who were attracted by his unusual appearance.
These men were dedicated to capturing and caging the strangest creatures from every corner of the world, and then they exhibited them in the cities of far Harad, where no one had seen them before. They had a troll, a small dragon, a tree that moved, a monster with tentacles inside a water tank, a bear, and now his new acquisition, the "Orc-man" or the "white demon" as they called him.
Thus began the saddest years of his life.
They put him in a cage like an animal, completely naked, and they took away all his belongings, his jewels, even his helmet. People paid many silver coins to see him and the other frights, and yet his owners fed him poorly and treated him worse. He didn't understand why they hated him so much, if he had never done anything to them. They probably hated him because they were afraid of him.
And at night it was even more terrible. He had to sleep curled up on himself to not die of cold in the open, and when he heard the approaching footsteps of his owners and their drunken laughter, fear paralyzed his heart, knowing that they came to torment him, and each time in a different and unpredictable way.
Since then, he was always afraid of the night and darkness.
Later his situation improved, when an Orc was locked in his same cage, and at least he had a partner. At first the Orc wanted to eat him, until he realized that if he did, the owners would beat him to death. After that, his attitude was more friendly. And one night when his teeth kept chattering of cold, not letting the Orc sleep, the creature had approached him groaning and had put his arm over him to stop it. He had offered himself then, and the Orc had possessed him without thinking twice. It was a great consolation among his misery.
But when their owners discovered them one night, they got a good beating, and were locked in separate cages. The Orc fell ill and died shortly after. Which meant another beating, since they accused him of having passed some disease to the other.

The light amidst darkness came, interestingly, by the hand of a man black as night.
It was a noble and rich lord of the southernmost lands of Harad; gold twinkled about him and his teeth shone every time he smiled. There were rumours that had distant ancestors among the Black Númenóreans, among those who had served Sauron before his fall. And this man must have sensed something in him, a trace, a remnant, a faint breath of the power of Melkor (whom he worshiped, being one of the few that still did), because he decided to buy him from his owners. The price he offered was so generous, that the traffickers couldn't refuse, and so he fell in the hands of his new owner, after ten years of torture that seemed longer than the entire Second Age. The Haradrim lord recovered his helmet, which had been left hanging on a pole next to his cage as a curiosity. But all his jewels had been sold; priceless works, emerged from the hands of a Maia, and probably changed by a handful of coins as if they were trinkets.
His new owner took him to live in his palace with the other servants, that he had by the dozen, along with a refined harem of women and boys. And the Mouth of Sauron soon earned his appreciation and rose to counselor, for that noble lord was wise and very interested in the secrets of sorcery that, he guessed, he could learn from that strange creature touched by the hand of a god. The common people spoke of his lord as a cruel and bloodthirsty warrior who oppressed the nearby villages with tributes, but the truth is that he was always very kind with him.
And just before dying, old and wrinkled, he looked at him one last time, him that had not changed at all, and smiled grateful for having met a true servant of the god Melkor.
He left him a good part of his fortune, and thus, fifty years after having left Umbar in a cage, the Mouth of Sauron returned to the city dressed in velvet, laden with jewels, and ready to become lord himself.

-Curse you, Búbhosh, stop throwing the food on the floor or I'll smash your face on it!

The shouts of the Orcs took him out the journey through his memories in which he had immersed. Finally they had returned from the tower loaded with a bag of stinky meat for Shelob, but one of them, one of those miserable snaga, had dropped a piece and now his mate, a black uruk, was flipping him.

-Stop fighting and fooling around! –yelled the lieutenant, riding his horse- And let's leave for Cirith Ungol as soon as possible. I don't want to get there overnight.

The flies of Mordor were beginning to swirl around them, as soon as they had smelled the meat, and the Mouth of Sauron had to fence them with his riding crop for much of the journey. There were few things in the world that repelled him more than those flies, and it seemed that with their countless swarms they tried to make up for the lack of other animals in Mordor. In addition, several groups of Orcs, both adults and young, started following them hungry as they approached the mountains, asking for food and even trying to steal some piece.
Their pleas caused a headache to the lieutenant. Although he couldn't blame them: the surrounding lands didn't produce enough food for half the population. If his master didn't find soon the Ring and focused on more useful objectives, as the conquest of fertile lands, soon they would all look as the Nine Ringwraiths. In addition, his supplies of opium had run out a couple of days ago, and there were still no news of more shipments from Rhûn. The Mouth of Sauron thought that perhaps that was why he was so moody. Well, that, and the ash clouds that Orodruin kept spitting, which they had just left to their right. These caused him annoying coughing fits, accompanied by some other bloody spit.
As he feared, it was almost dark when they arrived at the cave of the spider, and despite his thick robes, he started shivering. A frozen air stream flowed through the pass in the mountains.

-Is it that in these lands it never gets hot!? -he groaned, spitting at the ground (again with blood).

He dismounted and then turned to the snaga with angry gesture; he hadn't stopped complaining and being left behind all the way, which had delayed them considerably. Because of him, they would have to enter that foul cave with hardly any light.

-You! –he shouted to the laggard Orc.- When we return to Barad-dûr, I will personally take care of your backside!

The creature scratched his head, and smiled a little embarrassed.

-Uh... Thanks, my lord.

-No! Not like that, you scoundrel! Like this! –and he did a demonstration with his riding crop.

The uruk started laughing hoarsely:

-Don't bother about lashing him, my lord. This pig likes everything that they do to him.

The comment costed him another lashing as well.

-Enter once and for all, ye drones!

The cave smelled of moist and putrefaction, but it wasn't difficult to find the monstrous spider, despite the darkness. One just had to follow the sticky threads and the stench.
Shelob was crouched in a hole in the wall, and there right before her, they left the sack of food. She wouldn't leave her lair until the Mouth of Sauron was gone, that was clear. And the man was also eager to return to the tower; he had never ventured in there at night, and he didn't know if there could be other creatures that, perhaps, didn't fear him so much.
Then, through the rock walls and hidden recesses, they heard the rumour of a hissing voice. And when they listened more closely, they found out that the voice hummed with understandable words:

"Alive without breath,
As cold as death;
Never thirsty, ever drinking,
All in mail never clinking"

-And what is, my precious, what iss clinking? The rich fish, yes, my love, juicy, slippery, fat fishess! But there aren't here... there aren't here, precious. Where has he taken it? Where has the thief taken it? What had the hobbit got in its pocketses?

And then they heard a strange noise, as if the voice had choked or regurgitated something. The Mouth of Sauron and the Orcs exchanged looks intrigued, and decided to follow the voice, that still talked to itself incoherently.
When they were close, the man signaled for the Orcs to keep silence, and looked over an outgrowth of rocks.
There, cowering on the floor, and a happily smashing a lizard against the stones to kill it, was the most pitiful thing that he had ever seen. A bag of bones covered with cerulean semi-transparent skin, smaller than an Orc and even uglier than most, but with large hands and feet of amphibian.
The lieutenant glanced at the cavity where the creature took refuge, and seeing that there were no other exits, ordered the Orcs to block the path with a gesture. Then he came out of hiding. The being raised his head in amazement, and two huge bulbous eyeballs twinkled in the gloom. Upon seeing the man, he shrieked as an animal and recoiled, showing him his teeth.

-Cursed, cursed goblin-man! Sméagol has not done anything. Go, go fast or we'll eat you, oh, yes, we will, my preciouss! -he snorted.

The Mouth of Sauron stood on the site and tried to calm him; it wasn't a good idea that the creature started running, since he seemed agile and slippery as a fish.

-Be quiet, I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to know your name.

-But Sméagol doesn't wants to know yours! You smell like an Orc, and Sméagol likess not Orcs. Yuck! Many bones and tough meat. We prefer the rich fish, yes, delicious fishes. What do you have for Sméagol?

The man smiled and crouched on the floor, to get on his same level and seem less threatening.

-So Sméagol is your name, isn't it? What are you doing here? What are you? -and when he examined him more closely, an idea popped into his mind- Perhaps you are one of the creatures of Melkor?

The being squinted and wrinkled his nostrils.

- What's a melkor, precious? Tastes good, a melkor?

No, it was clear that he wasn't a creature from the days of Angband, but he was certainly the result of some corruptive power such as... well, such as that which had turned him into what he was.
The Mouth of Sauron stood up again and ventured a few steps forward, which made Sméagol move back until hitting the wall. Finding himself cornered, he growled and hissed, and became more and more aggressive.

-I don't want to hurt you, Sméagol, but I must take you to Barad-dûr. You have entered the lands of Mordor and have a more than suspicious look. Before we let you go, we have to clarify what you are and what you do here. The Dark Lord will decide.

The mention of Sauron was like an electric shock to the creature, that screamed in that moment, and among more regurgitant sounds, he shouted:

-No, we're not going to the tower! The Great Eye searches for it day and night, wants the preciouss, the preciouss of Sméagol. We hates him, we hates the master of the preciouss! He sstole it from us! What had the hobbit got in its pocketses!?

Then, like a ray of light, a sudden understanding made way into the mind of the man. "The precious". Where had he heard that before?... He had heard it in his head a thousand times, but they were not his words... No, they were the words of his master, incessant, repetitive, anxious. Just like... Just like the words of this miserable monster.
The lieutenant's face turned grim, considering what that discovery implied, and without warning, he jumped forward and pounced on the wretch. This was much stronger than what his gaunt figure would suggest, and bit, scratched and spit froth as a rabid animal.
The man called out the Orcs, hoping that they hadn't gone away, disobeying his orders. Which was evident, as it took them a while to appear, and they did it nibbling a stolen bone from the sack for Shelob. Seeing that their lord was in trouble they ran to help, and the uruk soon overcame the hysterical creature, while the snaga pretended to help without letting go of the bone.
The Mouth of Sauron found a better use for the lazy Orc, and stripping him of the belt, and tearing his shirt in strips, he improvised some straps to keep Sméagol tied. He writhed on the ground uttering the most painful wails and the most furious curses. Anyone who saw him, would say that he was being tormented with red-hot irons.

-Save your cries for later. Because if we're not satisfied by your explanations, you will know what real pain is. –warned the lieutenant.

Without further ado, they loaded the horse with the prisoner and set off towards Barad-dûr. The incessant whining of Sméagol, his meaningless babbling, and the complaints of the snaga about his torn shirt and his leggings that fell, was all the Mouth of Sauron needed for his headache to break him to pieces.
But neither that nor the return journey by foot could ruin his victory. At last it was going to be thrown some light on the whereabouts of the Ring, and it would be thanks to him. His master would be so proud... His master would love him after this.

There was a great commotion in Barad-dûr upon their return, and they all crowded around to see the curious finding. Sméagol had his eyes wide open with fear and bit more than one that tried to touch him. The lieutenant pushed the crowd aside with the whip and ordered two strong Orcs to load the prisoner and carry him to the top floor. At that point, he was sure that the Eye of his master had already seen everything and was aware of the situation.
When he reached the closed door that led to the pinnacle, the Mouth of Sauron stopped dead and waited for a response from his master. Behind him, waiting and holding their breath, gathered the Orcs who held Sméagol and the inevitable public, which no threat could move away from the spectacle.
For several minutes the silence was absolute, as if Sauron ignored them. But then they heard in the distance the muffled sound of hinges rotating upon themselves. And the metallic "clank" of a door closing. After this a few steps, barely noticeable but that were approaching. And another sound of hinges, and a "clank", but this time louder. And more steps. The lieutenant swallowed; he could feel his heartbeat from his temples to the tip of his fingers.
They still heard three more doors opening and closing. And finally, the footsteps halted in front of the last door between them. The Orcs that stood guard parted to the side and bowed their heads. The man had his fists clenched so tightly, that he was possibly clawing his nails on the palm, and his legs were beginning to fail him. 6000 years. He had waited 6000 years to see again his master face to face, and he felt like crying.
The door opened, and all the onlookers stifled an exclamation. With the passing of the tall figure, covered in iron from head to toe, a wave of glacial cold stabbed their souls. And they all stepped aside and looked away, as no one could resist the flame of that single eye, shining from the depths of the helmet and piercing them mercilessly.
The lieutenant fell on his knees before him, trembling, and the tears that rolled down his cheek seemed made of ice.

- Master... –it was all he managed to murmur, not daring to raise his head.

A metal glove with only four fingers gestured to him to stand up and follow him with the prisoner, who had stopped screaming because of the fear that paralyzed him.
The Mouth of Sauron went down to the deepest dungeons of Barad-dûr following the black cape of his master, waving in front of him as in the days of Angband.
But the cape was all he recognized from his former Lord. If only he could break through all that iron, and find the Maia who once protected and caressed him! Though now, the idea that this maimed hand touched him, was enough to make him shudder.
What had happened to his master?

Once in the dungeon, Sauron told him to lay the wretch on a rack and chain his wrists and ankles to two separate tourniquets. By turning a crank beside, the tourniquets turned around themselves, stretching the members of the victim.
At first, they failed to get from Sméagol anything but faltering babbling, shrieks and inconsistencies, but after a couple of turns of the crank, they got the tale of how the Ring had come into his possession.
According to his story, Sméagol was fishing one day in the river Anduin near the Gladden Fields, with a friend, when the latter fell into the water dragged by an unusually large fish, and found a most peculiar object in the bottom. It happened that just that day was Sméagol's birthday, so his friend gave him the newfound ring, and thus became his most prized possession.
Sauron let out a cruel laugh, guessing the hypocrisy of his words. He knew better than anyone that no being would ever part with his Ring so generously. However, this wasn't the story that interested him the most.

-Where is it now? My Ring! Where is it!?

But at these words, the mouth of Sméagol shut stubbornly.
The Maia made a signal to his lieutenant and he, getting himself together, turned the crank again. He heard a horrifying scream and noticed how the body twisted in vain, but didn't dare to look.
Sauron repeated the question, and also this time there was only silence. He made a signal again, and the tourniquets turned the whole circle once more, and once more the dungeon rang with the shrieks of the most excruciating pain.
The body of the prisoner was now so stretched that the Mouth of Sauron feared that his ribs would pierce the thin skin. He began to feel sick. Of course, he had beaten on more than one occasion the odd wayward Orc, but this was a kind of torture that surpassed him, and he only wished that it ended as soon as possible.
Then Sauron bent over the creature and forced him to look into his eye directly, before asking for the third time where was his Ring. Sméagol opened his mouth as if to speak, but from his throat just came that abominable sound that he kept repeating.
The lieutenant feared what would come next, and when the mutilated hand of his master rose to make the unmistakable gesture, he had to close his eyes tightly before touching the crank.
He heard the sound of a tendon tearing, and a crack, and felt like throwing up and thought that he would faint right there.

But among the unbearable screams of that destroyed being, they could clearly distinguish two words.
And for Sauron they were more than enough.