The Lords that Fell by Taylor17387

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The Shadow before the Door of Night

This chapter was quite difficult to write. With Sauron in his role of all-seeing paranoid eye, I needed a different point of view, so just for this chapter, the action moves rather to the Mouth of Sauron.

Featuring his misadventures behind the tracks of the Ringbearer, and his little trip to Moria in the opposite direction of the Fellowship, with his own particular "Sam".
As usual, there's a bit of humour and a bit of drama, but this covers the war of the ring from its start to its end, so we all know how it goes for Sauron.

Warnings: perverted trees, orc sex, and Tom Bombadil.
Sorry! (or maybe not?).

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The Shadow before the Door of Night

Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness,
Where gates stand for ever shut, till the world is mended.

-The Lord of the Rings (Fog on the Barrow-Downs)

The search for the Shire and the mysterious "Baggins" had begun almost immediately after the confession of Sméagol, but without the results that Sauron had expected at first.
Whatever those two words meant, they weren't much known in Middle-earth, nor came from any of the great kingdoms of Men and Elves. The Maia despaired thinking about the filthy and forlorn hole in which his precious Ring must had fallen, if none of his spies could find its whereabouts. It had been impossible to draw any more from the captured creature, because after the brutal torture, the mind of Sméagol had finally broken altogether and his speech had degenerated to the lowest level of incoherence.
Recalling then the cunning plan of Melkor to find Gondolin, Sauron decided to release the wretch, hoping that, just as Húrin before, he would unwittingly lead him to his precious. But Sméagol had been captured by a man and disappeared from the face of the earth.
Saruman, meanwhile, claimed to know nothing about the Shire, although there was a glimmer of hypocrisy in his eyes, that not even through the palantír he could disguise. He would take care of that maggot later.

The first certain news reached him, as used to happen, in the most unexpected manner and through the most unlikely servant.
An exhausted and dying warg appeared one day before the Black Gate of Mordor. And before succumbing to the effort that had brought him there at full speed, he informed the guards at the door with his last breath.
The wolf came from the Lonely Mountain, and one night in which he had ventured to the outskirts of the city of Dale, beset by hunger, he had heard an interesting conversation between two villagers.
One of them, already decrepit, was telling the younger one some stories from his childhood, and among them spoke of the battle waged by the Dwarves to recover the mountain long ago. The words that caught the attention of warg were these:

"With Thorin and company came a curious subject, a "hobbit" in his own words, called Bilbo... Bilbo Baggins, if I remember well. King Dáin is his friend. He played an important role in the war, despite being so small. Though who knows if all that is true or just the exaggerations of old gals? My memory is not what it used to be..."

And after this report, the warg died right there, worn out by fatigue and hunger.
Sauron wished that all his servants were so commited.

It was because of the ravings of that old man, maybe true maybe not so much, that the Mouth of Sauron stood then before the gates of Erebor.
For the third time.
Twice already the Dwarves had slammed the door on his face and had sent him back to Mordor without information. Centuries passed on Middle-earth, but neither the customs, nor the language, nor the rudeness of those Dwarves seemed to change at all.
The Mouth of Sauron ordered his escort to blow the trumpets again and announce his arrival one more time. Being the herald of Mordor was a less pleasant task than it could seem at first. Especially since no one outside Mordor wanted to know anything about Mordor (in fact, many people from Mordor didn't want to know anything about Mordor either).
At last, after much blare of trumpets and a lot of pounding on the door, the king Dáin deigned to receive them. Although of course, he didn't let them come inside.
The Mouth of Sauron gave him a charming smile full of sharp teeth and rimmed in black, and in a soft tone of veiled threat he asked:

-Have ye thought about our offer already? Three rings of the Dwarven kings of old, in exchange only of the whereabouts of that thief named Baggins. Do not despise the generosity of the Dark Lord, for this is not infinite.

Dáin furrowed his wrinkled brow and stroke his beard.

-Yes, I've thought about your offer. But I guess I'll think about it a bit longer still.

The man's smile curved downwards in a grimace of irritation.

-Well, don't think about it for too long! The patience of the Dark Lord is not infinite either.

And then came the usual slam on his face. The Mouth of Sauron was forced to return to his horse grumbling.

-Dáin Ironfoot. .. He should be called Dáin Brickhead. -he muttered. And turning to the massive stone door, he issued foth one last threat:- Before the end of this year I'll pay a new visit to you, and if ye keep refusing to cooperate, the next visit will be paid by our armies!

That said, he went back to Mordor to inform Sauron of his humiliation.

"One more time".
As he and his entourage rode by the shores of Anduin, just past Dol Guldur, a wave of terrible fear stiffened his limbs. His, those of the orcs who were with him, and even those of his horse. There were only some beings in the world capable of instigating such terror, between repulsive and magnetic.
Nine beings in particular.
But the man couldn't see them even though he perceived them around him clearly.

-Nazgûl. .. -whispered one of the guards at his right.

-Even worse. Naked Nazgûl! -growled the man. The mere thought of accidentally brushing one of those fleshless wraiths was horrifying. Swallowing hard, he finally dared to call them.- Where are ye, cursed ones!? And what are ye doing so far from Mordor, and why don't ye let others see you?

Sepulchral voices hissed around him, and an invisible claw pierced his leg eliciting a cry of surprise.

-Shhh, stupid mortal, your screams echo through the whole valley! This is a secret mission.

It seemed to be the voice of the Witch King, but the man wasn't sure because they all spoke very similar. But when he wanted to ask them what was the mission about, the claw on his leg, the hissing through clenched teeth and the wave of panic had already vanished.

Everything was made clear upon his return to the tower. Sauron had just discovered that the man who had captured Sméagol had delivered him to his enemies. And fearing that the creature had also revealed to them the whereabouts of his Ring, he had sent immediately the Nazgûl in search of the Shire. In theory, it couldn't be far from the Gladden Fields, if that was where Sméagol had lived and where it was stolen.
In theory.
In these thoughts was plunged the Maia, as he paced anxiously around the palantír, alone in his pinnacle. But the days passed and he received no news. The Orcs that he had sent to Mirkwood to recover Sméagol had managed to free him, but after that the elusive being had escaped from their clumsy claws.
Sauron sometimes felt like taking all the Orcs of Mordor and melting them in the incandescent guts of Orodruin. And felt like throwing the palantír through a small window of the tower, or setting fire to the scarce furniture of the pinnacle. Even if it was just to vent his rage. Wasn't that what Melkor had done in Angband?

Saruman wouldn't confess anything still, no matter how many times a day he harassed him through the seeing stone. The old wizard always answered with the same tone of innocence and the same hypocritical look.
Until one warm day of Summer, Sauron saw a suspicious concern in the little black eyes of the old man. There was something that upset him, that distracted him, and because of that a small crack in his mind, normally closed and bolted, was left open. Open enough for Sauron to enter and leave exposed the deceptions of the wizard.

-You are not alone in your tower, Saruman. -he whispered slowly, with the softness of a cat before jumping on its prey.- What are you hiding? Or rather, whom are you hiding?

Saruman trembled imperceptibly, and a wrinkle of concern appeared on his forehead. He knew it was already late, very late; he shouldn't have lowered his guard, not even for a second.

-I don't... I'm not hiding...

-Stop lying to me, you treacherous and miserable worm! –the eye in flames seared his thoughts, and Saruman clutched his temples, racked with pain.- Do you think that I can't see it, in the dark and deceptive corners of your mind? You have one of my worst enemies captive in Orthanc. Yes, Olórin, that whom is called Gandalf now! And he knows... he knows many things about my Ring, I'm afraid.

Sauron released the wizard's mind, and he tried to compose himself among coughs, as if the pressure had been around his throat.

-Yes, my Lord, I admit it. I have Gandalf in the tower, but if I haven't told thee before, it's because I haven't yet managed to make him confess anything about the Shire, and I didn't want to importunate thee with trifles, my Lord.

-Well, you better get a confession soon, my dear Saruman. Because in a few days I will send my wraiths after you. And then you'd better have something more to offer me than "trifles".

After which, the palantír was put out and turned completely black, while a drop of cold sweat trickled down the old man's forehead.
Thereafter Sauron tried to extend his thought to the Nine Ringwraiths, who were still lost somewhere in the North, but failed to detect their presence. The loss of the Ring had seriously damaged his ability to communicate with them in the distance. With a sigh of frustration, he contacted his lieutenant to bring himself the message to the Witch King. He found him very relaxed and receptive, definitely enjoying his days of rest; well, these were going to end soon.

-Search for the Nazgûl and say this to them: "Saruman knows where is the Shire. Go to Isengard and don't leave until ye get a satisfactory answer". Express also my disappointment and anger to the Witch King for the ineptitude that he has displayed so far in this task. -said the voice of his master.- As for you, and since you have to travel to the North, drop by Erebor to ask again for that Baggins. Maybe a surprise visit will make the Dwarves nervous.

-Yes, master. -replied the man, releasing a puff of numbing smoke with great satisfaction. He wished that the Nazgûl weren't invisible, so he could see the face of the Witch King when he dropped those criticisms under his pretentious nose.

As things were, he had to conform himself with the painful howl of the Nazgûl upon hearing the insults of his Lord, and some others that the Mouth of Sauron added for his part.
However, the Ringwraiths were eager to please the Maia as soon as possible, in compensation for all their previous failures, and they departed for Isengard immediately at full gallop.
The Mouth of Sauron and his escort continued with their much less exciting journey to Erebor.

But while crossing Mirkwood they were attacked without warning by the arrows of the Silvan Elves. The ambush caused great confusion in the company, which wasn't prepared for battle but for a diplomatic mission, and the Orcs broke ranks in disarray. The lieutenant was forced to turn around and escape quickly from the shadows of wood, where they were an easy target.
It was unbelievable that those savages dared to attack a herald, perhaps even the minimum standards of civilization weren't valid any more? Though on the other hand, it was just natural that in the face of the growing exasperation and aggressiveness of Barad-dûr, the other realms responded with hostility as well.

Once out of the forest, the Mouth of Sauron caught his breath and reviewed his company. A third of the Orcs was missing; some of them certainly dead, others wounded and captured alive, unfortunately for them, and many others (he suspected) simply had fled to start a new, idyllic life without masters. Of this latter type seemed to be increasingly more in Mordor.

-I already told thee, lord lieutenant, that it wasn't a good idea to go through this damn forest. -complained the captain of the guard, pulling an arrow from his arm and spitting to the ground with contempt.- The attack on the realm of Thranduil is still too recent, and those filthy Elves don't forgive. What a stupid way to lose some of my best lads! I saw how they wounded the poor Ghâshum in the leg. Who knows what they're doing to him now! Probably they will rape him one after the other, the brutes...

-Of course! That's what one would expect of an Orc in the hands of a bunch of Elves. -replied the Mouth of Sauron rolling his eyes.- Though on the other hand, it wouldn't be unfair, given that this was what you intended to do with Thranduil according to your stupid chants.

-It was just a song! Is it that we can't sing now?

-Not that kind of songs, and not while we're going through Mirkwood, idiots! What happens is that ye draw the attention everywhere ye go, making a racket and stomping like a herd of stampeding cows. Had I been alone, I would have been respected as the herald I am.

-Well then go alone, "my lord"!

-Well, that's what I 'll do! –talked back the lieutenant, standing haughtily on his horse.- But I will not go to the Lonely Mountain, no. There's nothing of interest there. I will follow the Nazgûl to the Shire and capture the hobbit. I myself will deliver him to the Lord! I cannot let that handful of floating rags rob me of the glory and appreciation of the master, that I have so long pursued, long before them. Ye can do whatever ye want; ye can come with me, or return to Mordor, or stay here and wait for the Elves to capture you. With a little luck, and if ye beg them enough, maybe ye will even convince them of raping you and everything. Farewell!

And whipping his horse he rode away like a whirlwind of fury. No Orc followed him, mostly because that outburst had left them too confused.
The Mouth of Sauron didn't care if they thought he was crazy, or even if his master got angry with him for disobeying an order. Priorities had changed now. And if perchance he failed and was killed in some remote corner of the world, well, that would barely affect the plans of his Lord. So he had nothing to lose by trying.
The lieutenant flashed past the plains of Rohan, now almost uninhabited in that area. He was just a black spot moving on the green vastness; nobody noticed him.
He was already approaching Isengard, when he glimpsed another black spot a little ahead of him, coming from the south at a slower pace. The other rider had also noticed him, and made feints to avoid him with a detour of his path. But in the horses of Mordor always burned a wrathful and unquenchable fire, which at the right time could impel them to the end of the world if necessary. Goading the beast with his riding crop, the Mouth of Sauron managed to overcome the other rider, and cut him off abruptly. The horse of the stranger reared up and threw down his master.
A man, pale as death and miserable, writhed among moans of pain. The lieutenant was reminded of a dying worm.

-You rode to Isengard, didn't you?

-Don't... Don't hurt me, please, sir. -he sobbed.

-Answer my question!

-Yes, yes, I was going to Isengard, sir!

-Then you are a servant of Saruman, and you must know about the Shire, right? Tell me everything you know about that region or I will give you more reasons to sob!

The shadow of the huge horse covered the man, and he shuddered when he saw the cadaverous head of the monster, and the no less grotesque skull that hid the face of its rider. With moist eyes, he agreed to show him the shortest path to the Shire, describing with precision each river, hill and settlement. The detailed mental map that he painted for him was enough to convince the lieutenant that Saruman was a traitor, who had long known about the existence of that place.
When he asked about Baggins the wretch hesitated, as if he couldn't remember. But the horse's leg raising over his head to crush him quickly refreshed his memory.

-Oh, my lord, please have mercy on me! -he begged, shrinking like a wounded earthworm.- I know nothing about any Baggins. But I recall my master mentioning certain Sackville-Baggins that lived in a place called... called... Hobbiton, I think. The master Saruman has some dealings with them, to buy pipeweed.

The Mouth of Sauron smirked.

-I guess that's enough. You can get up and continue with your pathetic life. Although I will give you some counsel: I used to be like you, but if you want to survive in the service of a Maia, you should wise up a little.

And after that the lieutenant carried on with his journey, barely stopping to rest or eat, until he reached the Greenway that would lead him directly to Hobbiton. However, before arriving at the crossroad where he should go Northwest, he bumped into a black shadow crowned with iron in the middle of the road.
He gritted his teeth in disgust, why was he always so unlucky?

-Fool! What are you doing here? You should not meddle in the hunt of the Nazgûl. -snapped the Witch King, with a voice steely like a dagger.

-Change of plans. The lord Sauron sent me so that I supervised and assisted you in the search for the Ring. He doesn't trust you any more. -lied the man. He could imagine the hateful grimace of the wraith upon hearing this coupled with the forbidden name.- Ye will also be interested in knowing that Saruman is a treacherous liar.

-That's nothing new. We discovered it a few days ago when we caught one of his servants, one of those half-orcs, loaded with maps and information about the Shire. – the lieutenant was somewhat disappointed, believing that this news would be unheard of. - Besides you're too late. Baggins has already left Hobbiton and I have several Ringwraith chasing him. I have also prepared a surprise for him in the Barrow-downs.

The iron gauntlet pointed towards a land strewn with gloomy hills, just to the left of the road.

-But there must be certainly something that I can do.

-No. Or maybe... Yes, there is something you can do. -muttered the Witch King. The lieutenant didn't know why, but he had the impression that right then some invisible lips were stretched into a wicked grin under that hood.- You can inspect that forest beyond the Downs. The hobbits must have been there, or be about to enter it.

The chuckle of the Nazgûl didn't help to alleviate the man's suspicions.

-What is in that forest? -he asked with mistrust.

-Trees. As in all forests.

-And the hobbits ? Have ye seen them already? What kind of creatures are they?

-Great and terrible. Their eyes give off fire and blood drips from their nails. They like to bite off the hearts of men, and then eat it still throbbing. -and the Witch King let out a horrible laugh, and pressed his finger against the chest of the lieutenant.

He felt a piercing cold, and guessed it was the Nazgûl who wanted to see his heart pulled out by the roots, rather than those "hobbits", whatever they were.
Burning with the desire of losing sight of the wraith as soon as possible, the Mouth of Sauron galloped into the woods and reached its boundary in the evening of that same day.
The forest smelled of old, of rancid wood and stagnant air. Oppression seemed to hang from every branch as a suffocating veil.
The man rode around he didn't know for how long, but he found absolutely nothing, not a trace or a footprint or even the slightest sign of inhabitants. It was even possible that he had been circling around the same place without even realizing it. Of course, the Witch King had played a dirty trick on him.
Finally exhausted, he dismounted, took a bite, and fell into a restless sleep. It seemed to him that in his sleep, the hanging stems and surrounding vines coiled around his body and caressed him with lust.
He woke up very hot and nervous, but fortunately there was no plant on him, or worse, inside of him.
He shook his head to banish the memories of the torrid nightmare, since it couldn't have been anything but this, and regretted not having any Orc at hand. He had sworn to himself that he would abandon that bad habit hundreds of times, but maybe old vices never died at all.
Then remembering where he was, he continued the fruitless search through the forest. It had hardly dawned, but the air was already unbearably hot and dense, while the weeds always seemed to grow thicker wherever he intended to pass through. He was forced to take many detours, until he lost all sense of direction, and unable to check the location of the Sun beyond the impenetrable roof of branches, he resigned himself to be carried by the instinct of his horse.
After a while, the atmosphere became more cool and breathable, and he caught the sound of running water. A river was in his way, but a little above its course he discovered a ford of rough stones and decided to cross it. The soft soil of the other bank was marked here and there with traces of big boots, and marks of small and bare feet. Intrigued, he dismounted and bent down to examine the evidence more closely.
A stroke of good luck at least. And who knows, maybe in a few hours he would have in his clutches that elusive Baggins and the precious of his master.
The Mouth of Sauron half-closed his eyes in joy, thinking about the eternal gratitude of the Maia and how he would reward him after that, and his daydreams soon drifted to the most improbable and exaggerated fantasies.
He was so engrossed in this parallel world, that he only became aware of the voice when it was very close. A cheerful, richly nuanced voice, like the murmur of the entire forest concentrated in a single throat, that approached singing the most ridiculous song that he had ever heard:

Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo!
Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow!
Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!

Springing up, the lieutenant drew his hand to the sword in his belt, prepared to welcome the stranger. Although no preparation would have been enough for what he found before him seconds later.
A ruddy, rotund man dressed in a bizarre way, that leapt over every bush and tree with astonishing ease. One would almost say that it was the plants which retreated from his path.

-Hey dol! Merry, dol! Hello, little friend. -he exclaimed, planting himself before him with a jump that made the ground boom, and completely ruining the trail of footprints with his huge boots.

The Mouth of Sauron grimaced, without removing his hand from his belt. Nobody welcomed the spokesman of Mordor calling him "little friend". Just not.

-And who are you supposed to be, old geezer? -snapped the lieutenant, though he wasn't sure whether the man was really old or young.

-Oh, hum! Old I am indeed. Oldest, that's me. But not an old geezer. Tom Bombadil is my name. I'm picking water lilies. And who are you, dear friend? Neither man nor hobbit you seem. Perhaps you've escaped from a barrow.

The Mouth of Sauron ignored the comment, and with a flourish of the hand, intended to draw gleams from the jewels on his fingers to impress that beggar, he introduced himself:

-I am the lieutenant of Barad-dûr, at the service of the Dark Lord in the land of Mordor. I am the spokesman of the Great Eye all over Middle-earth and I am respected wherever I go. Because of my rank...

But the eccentric individual wasn't listening, but had crouched beside the bank and was picking water lilies among more absurd chants about rivers and gold berries. The lieutenant stomped on the ground, outraged.

-Don't dare to turn your back to me, rustic ignorant! Maybe in your town ye have not heard of Mordor and the Dark Lord, but I swear that if you ever disrespect me again, ye will soon speak about us and it will be among sobs. -the so called Tom merely raised his head and grinned from ear to ear, as if he had heard something very funny.- Hearken now, because this is extremely important, and if you cooperate, the Dark Lord will reward you with infinite riches. I need to know if you've seen around here one of those hobbits, one called Baggins.

-Baggins, Baggins, merry dol, under the willows he came, he came from Hobbiton. –the subject kept singing, and a misterious brightness twinkled for one second in his blue eyes.

The lieutenant began to miss the obscene song of the Orcs about Thranduil; compared with this torture, it was almost the Music of the Ainur.

-Yes, Baggins, from Hobbiton! Have you seen him or not?

-Tom sees many things. Stars in the sky, roots in the earth, lilies in the water, voices in the wind. But few have seen Tom, yes. Unless Tom lets them see him. Perhaps, my little friend, perhaps I have seen some hobbits. Come over here!

And with a few nimble leaps, Tom stood a few feet below the river's course. The Mouth of Sauron went behind him in resignation, hoping that he showed him something interesting, but the stranger started circling around the area as if looking for something on the ground. The lieutenant's eyes followed him, turning his back to the river.
Then Tom rose, and suddenly his eyes had the disturbing air of very old things. Something brushed the wrist of the lieutenant, something rough but flexible, and then he noticed the same thing on the other wrist, and on his ankle, and climbing up his leg. Startled, he looked down and discovered with horror that the branches of the willow, on which he had leaned back inadvertently, were intertwining around his limbs like serpents.

-What!? In the name of Melkor, what's going on here!? –he shrieked, with a voice a few tones higher than usual.

He struggled to get rid of the bonds, but to no avail, and each time there were more branches holding him. They pulled his wrists backwards until his back hit the trunk, and still a few new branches bent around his waist to pin him in place. At this point, the Mouth of Sauron didn't even bother to hide his panic, and had started to pant as if he was lacking air.
Tom's face, vanished just moments ago, came back into view and let out a gentle laugh.

-Don't worry, it's just the Old Man Willow, nothing more. Tom doesn't like emissaries from Mordor coming to his forest and threatening his friends. Tom knows what's in Mordor, neither river nor water lilies nor leaves in the wind. But be calm, he won't hurt you. He's just a naughty old man, nothing more.

- A... A naughty old man? –the lieutenant swallowed, recalling the dream of last night, though he wasn't so sure anymore if it had been just a dream.

As if answering to his fears, he heard a rotten evil laugh coming directly from inside the tree, and the branches parted his legs slightly.

-Hey, hey, Old Man Willow, be nice to our guest or I will make me a new chair with your bones! -Tom warned him, kicking him in the trunk.

The disgusting willow shuddered, and whispered in the ear of his victim a few words of mocking affection, while his dried leaves brushed his neck in a sort of caress.
This only served to further terrorize the lieutenant.

-That's better, I think he likes you. -Tom laughed, clapping his hands.- I must go now, Goldberry is waiting.

And turning around, he merrily went away through the woods.
The Mouth of Sauron hurled out invectives that had not been heard in Middle-earth since the days of Angband. But he only got in response the last verses of the song of Tom Bombadil.

Poor old Willow-man, you tuck your roots away!
Tom's in a hurry now. Evening will follow day.
Tom's going home again water-lilies bringing.
Hey! Come derry dol! Can you hear me singing?

He had no idea how many hours he spent so immobilized and at the mercy of that bewitched tree, and at some point weariness overcame him and he fell asleep.
The hit against the ground when the branches finally released him, was what woke him up. It was again morning, and the red face of Tom smiled at him amused from above. But this time the lieutenant didn't even bother to talk with him. Letting out a cry of fright he jumped up, ran to his horse (which apparently Tom had taken care of), and mounting unceremoniously he fled at full gallop from that sinister forest, from its lewd trees, and especially from the outlandish little man, in a way more terrifying than Melkor in all his fury. This time the thicket seemed to get away from his path instead of hindering him, as if it also looked forward to lose sight of him.

In Barad-dûr, Sauron received with very little please the news about the hunt of the Ring. He had sent nine wraiths that he believed capable until then, armed with deadly swords and mounted on swift horses, and upon their return he had found nine defeated shadows, almost vanished after falling into a river. Moreover, the Ring had entered Rivendell, and now it was quite possible that Elrond wanted to use it to wage war on him.
His lieutenant, on the other hand, had disobeyed him even if he had good intentions, and had returned to the tower in a heap.
The Maia cursed them. Did he have to take care of absolutely everything if he wanted things properly done? Maybe his eye saw far and wide away, but he only had one after all. What more expected those worthless that he did for them?
Then he took out the nine rings that hung from his neck and squeezed them in his hand, passing to the metal the incandescent fire of wrath that had burned his body. Shortly thereafter, the tortured screams of the Nine Ringwraiths echoed through the tower from the ground to its pinnacle.

As for his spokesman, well, the Maia considered that merely expressing his disappointment, and being molested by an old willow, were punishment enough for him.

It was clear that he couldn't trust anyone, not even the elite of the Nazgûl, and thereafter he would have to monitor more directly what was done in Barad-dûr. The prospect of leaving his pinnacle in his current state wasn't pleasant, of course. But the obsession with his precious had diverted his attention for too long, and perhaps his control over the servants wasn't as perfect as before.
Because of this, in the months that followed Sauron visited daily the armoury and foundries. War was imminent, either with Rivendell (although so far they gave no signs of wanting to use his Ring), or with Gondor or even with Rohan, and it was necessary to direct all possible resources towards the development of new and more powerful weapons.
One of the most impressive was the new battering ram, just finished, over which Sauron run his four fingers sheathed in iron that morning of February.

-Grond. The new hammer of the underworld... -muttered the Maia to himself, stroking the grotesque carvings of the machine.- My lord Melkor, rarely didst thou wield thy mace in the battles of the ancient days, but thou wieldedst it well. This mace, however, won't crush the ground but the doors of proud cities. Let its greatness be a tribute to thy ego, its might to thy unrestrained anger. Let its name bring back thine to the lips of our enemies. -and then, as if he had just returned from a voyage through the lonely spaces of the Void, Sauron came to his senses and addressed the uruk in charge of the armoury.- I see that the war machines are ready for the most part. You did a good job with your whip on the backs of slaves, Gothmog.

The Orc shifted a little uneasy upon hearing that name. He didn't understand why his master insisted in calling him thus all the time. Although anyway, the Maia was behaving a bit strange lately. As if he tried to return to the past, if only in thought. Maybe he was becoming unhinged; too much pain could have that effect and he knew it well, for he had often seen it in the miserable Orcs that one abused too much. Shrugging to this idea, the uruk accompanied his lord to the exit of the armoury, once finished the inspection.
After that Sauron decided to visit the breeding chambers, to check the progress of the new troops that would replace the current ones in a few years, after the expected casualties during the war. The heat was stifling there, since they had built them just above the forges. And not long ago, the new mounts of the Nazgûl had emerged from those pits after years of growth sustained by fell meats. They were the last fruit of his master Melkor, begotten in the throbbing depths of Utumno and ripened in the airless underground tunnels of Mordor. And like all his fruits, they possessed a withered but grandiose beauty.

The attendant of the breeding program greeted him with a nod. At one time he had been a great warrior, but now he was just a pathetic Orc who missed a leg and needed a crutch for support. Age had mellowed his character, too, and he wasn't useful anymore but for that unworthy task.
The first thing that he showed to him was the group of Orcs selected to breed a new generation with the females. These were placed in a row and looked away when the Eye rested upon them for examination, as if they felt naked and ashamed.
Sauron nodded pleased upon seeing the great stature and muscular build of the uruks there. Saruman had managed to improve the breed even more than him, and this was a thorn in his heart that he was eager to pull out at ant cost. A good way to start, was selecting only the most capable Orcs for reproduction. And while he watched those disciplined and ordered individuals, he almost felt proud of his current soldiers, and of the rational, efficient way in which their children would come into the world.
Nothing to do with the repulsive mating rituals practiced by those creatures when they were left to their own devices...
Once again the Maia's thoughts regressed to the days of Angband. Too many times he had to watch that spectacle then, during the campaigns against the Noldor. It used to happen after a victorious battle, when the troops were most inebriated with blood, pillage and alcohol. A soldier started insulting another one that sat beside him, half joking and half serious. Insults soon turned into punches on the arms, and then into a fight in which the two wretches rolled on the floor tangled. They began to nibble at each other, and growls gave way to stifled laughter. Until finally, one of them landed on top of the other, the latter relaxed himself, and his partner penetrated him with great joy for both and for any Orc who was watching. After finishing they licked each other clean and fell asleep, one above the other. And what was obtained from all this? Just two Orcs tired and sore the next day, too besotted by their partner to successfully perform the duties of a soldier.
Very inefficient.
Sauron despised it, and he had begun to despise even the things, not so different, that he had done with Melkor in Angband. That had been a waste of time and energy, he repeated himself. And though a small part of his mind tried to break through the iron that covered his head, and shout how very wrong and false was this idea, Sauron silenced it again with a push inwards. It was his way to not become definitely mad.
Then, a detail out of place caught his attention. There in the row, flanked by two magnificent uruks, was a runt and weak Orc. The Eye burned with a fiery anger, and grabbing the culprit by the arm, pulled him out of the line and threw him to the floor.

-What is supposed to do this scum here!? The snaga serve well as playthings for the captains, but none of them should approach any female under any circumstances! I don't want more crook-legged, half-brained eyesores in my army!

The assistant was quick to apologize, and with a discreet nod told the snaga said to go away running for his own good, which he did rather relieved by the rejection.

-My Lord, under normal conditions I would have never considered that individual as a suitable father, but now we have few uruks here. Most have been already relocated for war.

-So what? It's not necessary to have one uruk for each of the females. We're not talking about the damned weddings of the Elves! Ye can reuse the same subject several times.

-Yes, my Lord, but then is enough that a single one happens to be sick, to infect everyone else. We have lost many females in the past because of this. That poor devil, on the other hand, was healthy and a virgin.

Sauron clenched his fists, suffocated by heat, anger and frustration. He was beginning to feel like ripping the balls of that old bigmouth orc, to let him know what he thought about his breeding policies.
At that moment, something small hit the Maia on the leg with a thud. It was one of the repellent offspring of those creatures, so dazed by the high temperatures that couldn't even see where he was going. Sauron grabbed him by the neck, irritated, and squeezed his throat until the little Orc let out a shrill and pitiful shriek.

-Please, my Lord... It's just a child. -begged the assistant.

-How old is it?

-I estimate that about six years.

-Six years! It doesn't even reach my knee. How pathetic!

-I know, my Lord, they grow very slowly. But most are malnourished; there are great food shortages.

-War comes first! And then, if we are victorious, will come the food. Those are the priorities.

The assistant held his tongue, before he let out any comments about the priorities of the Maiar and how they differed from those of others. Sauron released the Orc child with contempt, and he fell to the ground making a sound of empty guts.
Unlike the development of machines, there were many things that he disliked about the development of his flesh and blood weapons. Disease, hunger, misery... Those weren't the things that he had envisioned in his perfect and aseptic image of the troops of Mordor, marching in order under a single banner.
Perhaps, over time, he should replace soldiers with devices of the technique, much more reliable, much more obedient.

Meanwhile, the imp had fled awkwardly towards the door, but then a soldier with long hairy arms and malevolent eyes cut him off at the threshold. The small Orc let out another shriek of fright and went back to the assistant to hide behind his only leg, trembling all over.

-Captain Grishnákh from company 235 present, my Lord. I bring news of great importance from the Emyn Muil. -he said with a soft but particularly unpleasant voice. Sauron beckoned him to continue.- It's about the Uruk-hai of Saruman. Yesterday there was a squirmish by the banks of Anduin, in which they killed a man and seized something that thou seekest with much eagerness, my Lord. The hobbits, two of them to be exact. My lads and I couldn't avoid that those swines took the prize to Isengard, but I came back at full speed during the night to warn thee about the purposes of that traitor wizard and to receive further instructions.

The eye of the Maia had opened with interest, but he concealed his excitement in front of the captain, who didn't inspire him much trust.

-How were the hobbits? -he asked, with feigned calm.

-Oh! They were very small, with curly hair, pretty faces and smooth skin. Just like children... –replied the Orc, glancing sideways at the frightened imp. The assistant scowled; he didn't like the glow of his eyes while he said this.

Sauron nodded thoughtfully. It was clear that they were hobbits, because the description matched that of the Nazgûl, even when these hadn't used such appreciative words.

- My Lord, -continued Grishnákh- could I know why are these hobbits so important?

-That's none of your concerns, worm! Limit yourself to get back to the Uruk-hai and try to snatch the prisoners from them, nothing more. And don't even think about laying a finger on them! I want them intact, understood?

-Yes, my Lord. -muttered the Orc through clenched teeth.- But I've come a long way to Lugburz and I'm exhausted. With thy allowance, I 'd like to stay around here for a while... to relax, thou knowest.

Upon hearing this, the other Orc raised his fist indignantly.

-I would be dead and gutted by vultures before leaving you alone with the little ones, you depraved pig! I know all too well those of your kind.

-What's wrong with it? It's a way to teach them to fear and respect their superiors, isn't it? -replied Grishnákh squinting and licking his dirty fangs.- Though maybe I should ride you instead, Lughorn. How long has it been since someone planted a turnip in your back garden, you disgusting one-leg?

-Apparently your dear friends have planted too many in yours, the large Uruk-hai, given that you limp more than I with just one leg! -the aforementioned spat at the mention of Saruman's Orcs.

-Do you know what? I have another long thing besides the arms. Maybe I should shut your trap with it.

The imp had covered his ears a while ago, realizing that this was an ugly adult conversation, and Sauron was about to do the same. He couldn't believe that they were talking about those things in front of him, not caring in the least for the decency and decorum due to a sacred Ainu. Definitely, discipline had reached rock bottom.

-Silence both of you, scums! I don't need to hear any of this! As for you, -growled the Maia, addressing Grishnákh- you will depart immediately. But do not worry; since you are very tired and so eager to ride something, one of the Nazgûl will carry you to Anduin on his winged beast. You can ride that!

The Orc shuddered at the thought of having to approach a Ringwraith, but just nodded with clenched teeth, and left the chamber frustrated.

During the days that followed, Sauron anxiously awaited for the arrival of news about the hobbits, but he only received the most exasperating silence.
There were two options: either Saruman already had the Ring in his possession, or worse, one of those mangy Orcs that he sent had discovered it, had kept it, and now it lay in a remote cave in the mountains. This second option was unbearable for him; his precious had been hidden for so long... and now again? It could not be, it couldn't be possible that some brainless Orcs had learned his purpose. No one else in Mordor knew what Sméagol had said during interrogation, no one knew of the connection between the hobbits and the Ring.
Only Saruman, unfortunately, and the Nazgûl... and his lieutenant.
Sauron gritted his teeth, fearing the worst, and called the man before him. He came crestfallen, for clearly perceived the emanations of fury about his master.

-With whom have you spoken of the Ring and the hobbits? Confess!

-With no one at all, I swear, my Lord.

-Are you sure that you haven't mentioned it to any Orc? You spend much time fooling around with them, and sometimes the tongue gets loose on those occasions.

The Mouth of Sauron closed his eyes, saddened. It was very painful to hear those harsh words, and the tone of contempt with which they had been uttered. Maybe his master no longer liked him, maybe he had failed him too many times, maybe he considered him too dirty. If he could only tell him why he did the things he did... !

-I've never said anything that would compromise thy plans. Thou knowest that my loyalty is unwavering. But if thou wilt permit me an opinion, master, I think it's Saruman who has thy Ring now, and that the company from Mordor failed in their fight with the Uruk-hai.

Sauron looked at his intimidated servant, deep in thought. Maybe it was too early to launch an attack on Isengard, without knowing the truth. A discrete testing would be more convenient.

-I have a mission for you. -announced the Maia.- And since you've been so interested in participating in the search from the beginning (even when I hadn't commanded you), I think you'll be very pleased. You must ride to Orthanc and tell Saruman that the Dark Lord knows what he keeps in his tower, and that he's willing to claim it by hook or by crook, and that he doesn't even care if he knows it, because he will crush him like an ant. Then we'll observe the reaction of the old man, and draw our conclusions.

The Mouth of Sauron nodded, bowed, and left the pinnacle.

Shortly after, the same trumpets that had echoed in front of Erebor so many times, echoed in front of the ominous tower of Isengard, though the embassy of Mordor wasn't well received there either.
The citadel boiled with activity and there was too much movement of troops and machinery to feel safe. The famous Uruk-hai were no less impressive than what the lieutenant had imagined, and watching their muscular bodies sculpted with fire and iron, he realized how ridiculous seemed the squat, bony Orcs of his escort.
The Mouth of Sauron had the unsettling feeling of being caught in a mousetrap.
Finally, the voice of Saruman deigned to answer them, from a high window in the tower.

-So poorly have I earned the trust and appreciation of the Dark Lord, that he sends emissaries to threaten me before my doors? Haven't I always helped him whenever my scarce resources allowed me? Didn't I help him to find the Shire? –bemoaned the wizard, with a sweet, pained voice, upon hearing the accusations of the lieutenant.

-Scarce resources, thou sayst? That doesn't seem to me, in view of the many troops, battering rams and forges around. - mocked the Mouth of Sauron.- One would rather say that thou art preparing for war, dost thou not?

-Oh! But I'm old and surrounded by enemies. Even the Dark Lord, that I believed to be my protector, now puts into question my loyalty and attacks me too. How could I be anything but cautious?

Upon this, there was a murmur of approval among the Orcs of the escort, who commented in a low voice how judicious and wise was the wizard, and how they would have done the same in his place.
That voice was like a mellifluous poison, that numbed the senses soft, deliciously. But the Mouth of Sauron had been too long in the world to be charmed by those cheap tricks. He turned to his escort and reprimanded them:

-What happens with you, idiots, can't ye see that he's deluding you!? He has taken the Ring of the master and won't let go of it! Why else would he raise such an army for war? He believes himself indestructible now. He doesn't know how wrong he is!

A black shadow hung then over the pinnacle of Orthanc, and this time the voice of Saruman sounded like thunder from the heights.

-Enough! I will not tolerate such slander in my land! Ambassador from Mordor dost thou call thyself? I don't believe it, I refuse to believe it. Brigands is what ye are, and as such ye will be treated in Isengard!

And then, as if the earth opened in response to the imprecations of the wizard, an earthquake shook the ground beneath their feet. From the many pits around them emerged Uruk-hai warriors, armed to the teeth and on the warpath. The orcs of Mordor, even the largest, shrieked in surprise and retreated a bit.

-You are crazy, Saruman! How dare you to attack a herald of the Dark Lord? -yelled the lieutenant, though his initial disbelief was beginning to become real fear.

-Crazy? We'll see who is crazy at the end of this story, we'll see which of the Lords of Middle-earth is still standing after the war: Sauron the Black or Saruman the White! -the demented laughter of the old one pierced the skies, and the man's horse recoiled aghast.

In that moment, the Uruk-hai pounced on them with swords raised, and the retinue of Mordor fled in disarray. Not even the horse and the wargs that the Orcs rode gave them a great advantage, because they were soon killed by the arrows of the enemy. The Mouth of Sauron rolled on the floor, deprived of mount, and had no choice but to keep running. It seemed that the Uruk-hai didn't plan to kill them, but rather just make them go away, but no one stopped to check it.
The Orcs of Mordor were left behind, stumbling and bumping, blinded by the light of the Sun, and several of them ended up with some arrow embedded in their legs. For the Orcs of Saruman, instead, daylight seemed to be indifferent.

The lieutenant didn't know for how many miles they had pursued them in this fashion, but when their enemies grew bored of the hunting and returned to Isengard, the southern end of the Misty Mountains loomed in front of them.
Those were lands of Rohan, dangerous for staying in the open and without mounts, so they all ran to take refuge in a nearby cave, some limping and others almost crawling. Once safe, they could breathe a sigh of relief and think what to do next.
Dusk was already falling, a light rain dampened the grass and icy air run down from the mountains. The Orcs huddled against each other for warmth, and healed the arrow wounds as best as they could. The lieutenant sat by himself with his head buried in his hands, listening to the soft whispers of his companions. After a while he stood up, and looking sternly at the battered Orcs, he snapped:

-There's no use staying here, waiting for the Rohirrim to hunt us like animals. Ye better lift up your lazy backsides. The road to Mordor is going to be long and dangerous.

But the creatures didn't move, and one of the uruks, the stockiest and blackest of all, twisted his mouth in a mocking gesture.

-The road is going to be long and dangerous for thee, lord lieutenant. We're not going to move from here.

At that time, the Mouth of Sauron lost the ability of the organ that gave him his name to articulate comprehensible words, so stunned was he.

-Ho... How is it that ye stay here? Do ye mean that ye aren't going to return to Mordor!? –he managed to say, once he assimilated the information.

-As thou hearest it. We're not going to return to that stinking hole to be killed by hunger, skinned off, and sent to the front lines of combat as bait. We're fed up with it.

The other Orcs nodded at the words of their leader, and the black lip of the lieutenant trembled with indignation.

-And what do ye intend to do here alone!? Without the master Sauron ye are nothing!

The uruk shrugged.

-We'll look for a good cave to live in, away from other tribes. We the uruks will hunt at night in the nearby woods, while the snaga stay guarding the home and making weapons. Whenever traders pass near the mountains we'll slice out their throats and steal their loot. Then, before dawn, we'll go back to our shelter with the food, the snaga will cook it and we'll hold a feast together. Before we go to sleep we'll lie with them and fuck them until they spit their guts through their mouths. And when night comes we'll start all over again.

Everybody received this speech with joy and approval, and the snaga laughed stupidly, rubbing against their new masters. Everybody but one, the smallest of all, who furrowed his brow upset.

-Oh, but what a touching story! -groaned the lieutenant with sarcasm.- Ye won't last even two days on your own, poor unhappy ones. And the Great Eye is watching you!

-He can watch all he wants. As long as his hand stays in Lugburz, hundreds of miles away, we hardly care about it.

-Ye owe him loyalty, ye are his creatures and only came in this world because of him!

-I came in this world thanks to my mother. It was she who bore me, not the Dark Lord.

Angered, the Mouth of Sauron took out his riding crop and got ready to lash with it the face of that disrespectful Orc. But seeing this gesture, the other stood up and drew their scimitars. His eyes and fangs shone menacingly, as if they saw in him the first of their meals in freedom.
Defeated and aware of how irreversible was the situation, the man had to retreat.
But how could he return to Mordor thus, alone and in failure, without a horse, without escort, overcome by Saruman and by his own soldiers? His master would despise him. Moreover, the war against the wizard was imminent now that he had the Ring; his Lord was going to need all his available allies, and he had heard of a very powerful one that lived not far from there. If he returned to the tower accompanied by such magnificent being, his master would receive him in a very different manner, despite his mistakes.
With this in mind, the Mouth of Sauron made his way northward, with the foot of the Misty Mountains always on his left.

Night had almost fallen, and the uncertain shadow of the Fangorn Forest was outlined on the horizon, when he heard someone trotting behind him. Turning around he saw the little Orc that hadn't been pleased with the uprising; he came running toward him with his short and somewhat crooked legs, and seemed to be out of breath.

-Wait, sir, I'm with thee! -he shouted, and the lieutenant halted until the creature reached him.

-What, don't you want to be free and live in a paradise of abundant food and promiscuity?

The Orc shook his head, without grasping the irony of the question, and when he caught his breath he added:

-I was convinced by all that thou hast said about loyalty, and the Dark Lord and his eye, and serving Mordor. All that.

-Sure... -the Mouth of Sauron grimaced. Of course it wasn't loyalty what had driven the Orc to follow him. He had simply realized that he was the smallest of the group, and therefore the biggest loser if he was left alone with the rest. Often, the worst enemy of an Orc were the other Orcs. However, he didn't express his disbelief; it was useless to humiliate the poor thing.- Alright, you can come with me. But don't cause me trouble or I'll turn you into mincemeat for wargs.

The goblin run happily beside him, although it was hard for him to keep the man's pace.

-Is this the way to Mordor? I thought it was the other direction, but well, during the day I orient myself very poorly.

-We're not going to Mordor yet. Before that I want to go to the mines of Moria to ask help from a powerful creature that lurks there. I know the master Sauron planned to turn to him sooner or later, and he trusted his word of honour. He's a Balrog, a Maia of fire.

-What is a "Maya"? –the lieutenant snorted; of all the orcs of Middle-earth, he had to be followed by the only one who preferred to ask questions instead of grunting.

-The Maiar were among the spirits that shaped the world at the beginning of time. And they will only meet again to sing a second time when the end comes. They were here long before us, and they will be here long after us. –the man's voice took on a somber tone, and for a moment he was silent; the gleam in his eyes seemed to have withdrawn into some dark pit of the old days.- The master Sauron is one of those spirits, didn't you know? Ye are so ignorant!

-Yeah, I guess I'm a bit dumb or "innorant"... No one ever tells us anything. Thou, on the other hand, seemst to know many things, thou sure canst even read.

-Of course I can! I know all the Elvish languages , even those that are no longer spoken in Middle-earth, and almost all the languages of Men. Although there are other, much older, that I have heard but I'm not able to pronounce or understand.

The Orc nodded as if he understood, though his mind was already thinking of other things.

-Is it true that the master Saur... eh... the Dark Lord was the one who created us?

-No, not really. Although he was present then, and ye owe him loyalty all the same.

-It was Melkor who created us?

The Mouth of Sauron stopped short and looked at the creature, surprised.

-How could you possibly know who is Melkor, if you barely knew who is your current master!?

The little goblin shrugged.

-I don't know who is he. But I remember him... It's hard to explain. And I feel something similar when thou art near, but don't know what it is. It happens also to the other Orcs.

The lieutenant shook his head. He was too tired to think about the Vala now, and his feet hurt after walking for hours. He sat on the floor and decided that the most sensible thing would be to eat, sleep, and continue the march at dawn. Darkness had gathered over their heads, and the edge of the forest was very close; for nothing in the world would he go through that grim and accursed forest without anything to light up their way.
He sent the Orc to find some wood among the first trees that sprouted from Fangorn, while he checked the meager food he had in his bag: enough for a short trip on horseback, but not for a laborious walk back on foot. At least there was (or used to be) a colony of goblins in Moria that could give them something for the road, but having to sink his teeth into the abominable meat they ate those beings, wasn't an encouraging thought for the lieutenant.
Within minutes, the Orc returned with a bundle of wood, but he came running and quite hectic.

-Sir, sir, thou wilt not believe what happened to me! I was cutting a few branches for the fire, and the tree spanked me!

-You have a lot of imagination. I guess to make up for your lack of intelligence.

-I haven't "inmaginated" it, sir! My arse still stings... -the creature glanced at the forest, very nervous, and suddenly dropped the wood with a sharp shriek.- Trees, the trees are moving towards us!

The Mouth of Sauron squinted and made an effort to peer into the darkness, but his night vision was not as sharp as that of the orc.
He still remembered the unpleasant incident with the willow in the Old Forest, but he could hardly believe that there were other trees like that around the world, and even less, that they were able to draw their roots from the earth and walk.
The Orc kept screaming, hysterical, and pulled his sleeve to run for safety, but all he heard in the forest was the creaking of branches and the wind whistling through leaves. Suddenly, he realized that something was wrong; the mass of trees seemed to move no more than any other mass of trees would, and yet, the edge of the forest was now much closer.
The lieutenant's legs trembled. But by the time he reacted to the pleas of the Orc and regained the mobility of his members, the trees hovered a few feet from them, and yes, definitely they were moving.
The two unhappy ones ran toward the cliffs of the mountains for shelter, while a mass of branchy giants covered in bark swarmed across the place where they had stopped moments before, leaving behind a trail of destruction and trampled earth.

The lieutenant reached the rocks before the goblin, but when he tried to climb them, he realized that the squat body and long arms of the creature had certain uses that favoured them against the more proportioned members of Men.
The tree monsters had already noticed them and hurled shouts of anger, that sounded like the tumult of a thousand logs rolling down a hill. Soon they began to hurl other things beside shouts. More specifically, giant blocks of stone that they tore from the ground itself and sent through the airs with less effort than if they were apples.
In that moment, the Mouth of Sauron was a perfect target: a dark figure, trying to climb a pale wall. One of the projectiles hit the ridge above his head and dislodged some stones that, were it not for his helmet, would have caused him quite the damage. A second block hit on his left, inches away. Surely, the third hit would be on target.
Right then, a claw closed around his wrist, and a skinny arm lifted him to the top of the cliff and took him to the other side of the wall, safe from the giants. The furious roar echoed through the rocks, and for a moment both feared that the long root fingers would appear over their hiding and would tear them apart.
Fortunately, the monsters must have had more urgent things to take care of, and after throwing a few more blocks against the mountains as warning, they went away.
Once the calm returned and they recovered from the shock, the Mouth of Sauron noticed that the little Orc had embraced him in panick and was shaking up and down. He separated from him a bit embarrassed, and only then realized that his ankle ached horribly and the hem of his robe was stained with blood. Some of the splinters torn from the wall must had reached him, and the cut had an ugly look.
The goblin bent over the wound, and after a thorough inspection, he proceeded to heal it with a liquid that burned like fire and a few bandages that he was carrying. After all, the pathetic being was going to be useful. Though his habit of sucking the blood that stained his fingers made the man's stomach churn a little.

-What were those living trees, sir? -he murmured, still with fear in his voice.

-No idea. But I think they were going to Isengard. Now I don't doubt any longer that Saruman has the Ring in his possession and is using it to call the strangest creatures to his service.

-They don't want us anywhere, right? Are we so disliked? -laughed the Orc through his teeth.- I hope they don't catch the boys in their cave. I mean, some of them were pure dung, but there were good lads also. Well, at least we won't have to cross that stinky forest now; a bit more, and the stinky forest would have crossed us instead.

The lieutenant smiled. But with or without stinking forest in the middle, the march of the following days was quite arduous. Not just because of the scarce food and restless sleep in the open, but also because the injured ankle of the man caused him continuous pain and lameness. The Orc, on his part, suffered the ravages of the Sun on his skin, though by nightfall he revived and at least could hunt some animals and find wood.
It was noon on the fourth day since they parted from the rest, and the entrance to Moria was already very close, when the Mouth of Sauron had to sit exhausted to rest his aching body. His guts groaned, and never before had he regretted so much not having some opium at hand. As it came to be his custom in the last days, he sent the Orc to fetch water and firewood in the nearby slopes, to at least be able to cook their remaining spoils. The summit of the Silvertine rose above their heads, giving off pale ice twinkles. The snows of last Winter still covered much of the mountains.
Half an hour later, the goblin was still missing, and the Mouth of Sauron began to suspect that he had finally decided to run away and join their kin in the mines, when the creature returned at full speed and without any log. But before his master could scold him, the Orc asked in a choked voice:

-My lord, how looks that Boldrog that we came for?

-It's Balrog! And his appearance is that of a large fire demon with a flaming whip.

The Orc looked down.

-I think I've found him.

The lieutenant had a bad feeling. And indeed, after following the Orc to the appointed place, he also found him.
At the foot of the mountain, in the middle of a crater cracked by a precipitous fall, lay the mighty body, but his fire was extinguished forever. A layer of snow covered him as a shroud; an ironic adornment from the summit for a being that had burned with the primal flame. Now not even the snowflakes melted upon contact with his skin, a skin that could have melted rocks in the old days.
The man knelt before the figure, dejected.

-And thus ends the last of the Balrogs! Won't anything remain of us? Just a hole in the ground, the icy mantle of death over our bones, and the dust, and then nothing? –he cried to the heavens, as if he rebuked someone beyond the spheres of the world.

For several minutes the lieutenant stayed so, motionless, his eyes fixed on the ground. The Orc stirred unnerved, and tried to touch the man to bring him out of his trance, but upon seeing the melancholy in his face, he flinched.
Finally, the man stood up and shook the dust from his robe.

-To the same abyss run we all, big and small. If even immortals can die so easily, what will become of us? -he whispered, and then the Orc dared to speak:

-Well, sir, if we all run into the same abyss, what is the problem? The worst thing would be staying here alone, right?

Suddenly and unexpectedly, the Mouth of Sauron laughed. Laughed heartily, as he hadn't laughed for a long time.

-That's the most intelligent thing I've heard in quite a while. It's funny that it had to be said by you precisely. -and then he added, with a sigh:- Well, I wish I could give him the proper burial that a Maia deserves, but I suppose that for an immortal spirit, what we do with his body after death is of little concern.

-Can we eat him then?

-Say something like that again, and you'll be the one that ends up in the pot! I assure you I will do it; I've eaten worse things. –threatened the lieutenant, flicking him.

He turned one last time to the extinct Balrog, nodded a farewell, and retraced his steps, followed by the inseparable goblin.
Their mission thwarted so miserably, the only thing left to do was approaching Moria for supplies, and perhaps some information about what had happened in the mountains.
The mine Orcs were reluctant to talk to them and didn't let them come inside; no doubt they had become very distrustful after the death of their protector. Nonetheless, they gave them enough food for the trip back, and explained to them that a couple of months ago they had suffered an unexpected attack in his own fortress. An old man with a long beard and a staff, certainly a wizard, had burst in there with a strange company, and had killed Durin's Bane.
The Mouth of Sauron thought about this story. Quite possibly, Saruman planned to become the new Dark Lord, and therefore wanted to destroy one by one all the allies of his master.
Although the Nazgûl had said something about another wizard... But who could trust them? They were but shadows, that saw shadows in a dimmed world.
Thanking the Orcs, the lieutenant made his way back to Mordor. Above everything, he wanted to spend the night as far as possible from that cursed realm of Lórien, and his companion couldn't agree more.

-Elves! -he grumbled, while roasting an unnamable creature for dinner. And he spat with disgust.- The beings most unpleasant for sight that one can find! And they stink.

-So the Elves stink, huh? And have you ever smelled yourself? –mocked the man, sinking his teeth into something that he didn't want to examine too closely. The Orc frowned and stuck his nose under his armpit.

-I don't stink! I smell of manliness, which is different. And if someone doesn't like that smell, well, that lad has a serious problem. Also, Elves are ugly, and I'm not. All the uruks think that I'm cute and smell good, they say.

-They say thus so you to spread your legs for them, stupid. Also, I thought ye preferred Elves rather than those of your own kind.

-Hoi, sir! How is it, since we are Orcs we can't like each other? No one is surprised if a toad likes a toad, or a pig likes a pig. But when it comes to us, nay, an Orc has to hate the rest of the Orcs ! An Orc has to prefer the perfumed arse of a golug rather than a good uruk cock! Really, sir, thou art very "perdujiced".

-I think what you mean is "prejudiced". Anyway, you shouldn't criticize the golugs so much. I've heard that Orcs were Elves in older times, corrupted by the power of Melkor, so some of their blood runs through your veins as well.

Upon this, the goblin's jaw dropped in astonishment, with some remains of meat still stuck in his fangs. And the next second, his eyes flashed with wrath.

-That's not true, take it back at once! Say that thou hast made it up!

-That's what I've always heard.

-No, it's a lie! -the creature began to growl like an angry beast and his claw brushed the hilt of his knife.

The lieutenant understood it was not a good idea to antagonize the creature, his only help in the middle of the plain, and quickly reassured him.

-Do not take it like that, they are just legends. It may well be the opposite. Maybe Elves are corruptions of Orcs, perhaps the starlight changed them and gave them their evil powers of sorcery.

The other nodded, satisfied with this answer, and became calm again.

That night, the Mouth of Sauron couldn't sleep. The image of the dead Balrog reappeared in his mind every time he closed his eyes.
For a long time the shadow of death had haunted him day and night, it chased him, each moment closer, its icy fingers were stretching, almost touching him. His coughing fits weren't due to a simple cold, how much time would be left for him? An eternity had not been enough to serve his master as he should. Yes, his master Sauron would dwell in Middle-earth, during all the ages of the world, but soon he wouldn't be there anymore.
He tossed several times in his makeshift bed, but failed to dispel the uncertainty. A few feet away, the little Orc placidly slept, curled around himself.

"Such peace of mind! Even though his race has an uncanny ability to die in the most gratuitous ways". -he said to himself with envy, and crawled on the floor to watch him closely – "Yes, one could almost say that Eru is eager to take them to the other side, to end their misery as soon as possible. Much has he been delayed with me, but I feel him now, calling at the door. Whatever, if our end is really appraching, at least I could... Just one more time, before all is over. One more time: quick and vulgar and without love, without the love that I will never know. What does it matter? But without prejudices; after all, I never had any. –and he ran his tongue over his black lips.

Old vices never died at all.
He turned the body until leaving it on his back and opened the dirty shirt: underneath he found nothing but skin and marked bones, though with a soft and rather round belly.

"Better not look at him too much. Let's finish as soon as possible!"

But while he finished undressing him, the poor goblin awoke.

-My lord. .. ? -he whispered, still sleepy and confused, but the man silenced him.

-Hush! Do not worry, I won't hurt you. Quite on the contrary.

And since he saw no signs of genuine opposition or rejection in the creature, he went forward.
The Orc let out a shriek of wounded animal and opened his eyes wide when he felt how they entered him, but nonetheless remained still, as if he didn't understand yet what they were doing to him. This was the moment the lieutenant liked most, when those wretches, always aggressive and quarrelsome, turned suddenly vulnerable and discovered how pain, to which they were so used, gradually transformed into pleasure, which they barely knew.
The goblin emitted faint, indistinct sounds with each thrust, and he sunk his claws on the other's back, though he Mouth of Sauron didn't notice the scratches until much later. After a few minutes, the creature shuddered, closed his eyes and let out a yelp, sharper than the rest. And his joy during those brief seconds of climax was no less than that of the most beloved among the children of Eru; their masters could have stolen everything from those of his race, but that they had never been able to take from them, if only that, that last piece of nature rebelling against the misery of their lives.
It still took some more time for the man to finish. Once satisfied, he collapsed on the smaller body and let out a sigh.

-This is the last time I do this. -he gasped. And the Orc added with a whimper:

-Pity. It was my first time instead.

The next morning, the lieutenant awoke with his partner beside, embracing him as a tick in search for warmth. He almost felt sorry. It was clear that the little thing was younger than he had thought at first, and somehow, he had stolen his innocence (if such a word could be applied to his race).

During the rest of the way, they barely spoke to each other, although the man was aware of the longing sideway glances that the Orc shot at him from time to time.
On the third day of march from Moria, a general malaise seized the man, and by dusk a violent fever began to burn in his forehead, while frost gripped his members. If the illness was caused by an infection from the wound in his ankle, or by the cold from the mountains, or by his gloomy thoughts, or simply the dreaded end had arrived before he expected, he did not know.
The Orc became very nervous and brought him snow from the slopes to lower his fever and gave him plenty of water, but overnight the man's condition worsened.
The next day was a day without dawn. The world had awakened under a twilight tinge, though he was no longer able to distinguish the darkness of the skies from the darkness of his own eyes, that dulled for moments. An ominous cloud stretched from the east, from Mordor; decisive events were taking place, and he wasn't there with his master, where duty called for him. So, drawing strenght from weakness, the lieutenant forced himself to move on.
The green fields of Rohan already looked at them beyond the edge of the mountains, and they were crossing the plains, now desert, where had grown the Fangorn Forest, when the Mouth of Sauron definitely lost consciousness and fell to the ground as if dead.

-Nay, nay, nay, sir, don't do this to me! –bemoaned the Orc, circling the body in distress.- How am I going to return to Mordor now, if I don't know the way!? Sir, awake, dammit! Is this how thou thankest me after having fucked me!? Cursed be all lords! -he snapped, kicking him.

But not even so he moved. Then the Orc heard in the distance a familiar and hopeful sound, and pointed his ears like a cat on the prowl to receive it better. Yes, it was an unmistakable sound.

When the lieutenant came out of his trance and the world stopped spinning blurred before his eyes, the first thing he saw was the Orc standing in front of him, smiling with all his sharp teeth, and lying beside on the ground, was the bulk of a black horse.

-Look the gift I brought thee! -he announced, pointing to the animal.

The man rubbed his temples, dizzy. After the crisis, the disease seemed to be subsiding, and he felt much better.

-And what would I want a dead horse for? -he muttered.- I'm not that hungry.

-It's not dead, sir. I've only set it to sleep with a poisoned dart, and it will wake up in a while. Now we have a mount. And look, it's huge and very fast. Don't they say that the horses of these lands are the best?

A ray of hope broke through the spirit of the man at these words. Everything would be much easier now, and in about three days they could cross the Morannon if they pressed the beast to the maximum. The kind gesture of the Orc, though selfish, was still a rarity among his people, and all the more moving because of this.
He stood up to take a closer look at the animal, and then he realized that his robe was covered with earth and that he wasn't in the same place where he had fainted.

-I guess you've dragged me across the ground to take me to the horse, didn't you?

-Aye, sir. At first I tried to drag the horse to thee. But after a while I realized it was too heavy and thought it would be easier the other way around.

-An Orc with a brain, so I see. .. -he said wryly.- And perchance you haven't stolen anything from me while I slept, right?

The black mouth curved into a sly half-smile, and the Orc's cheeks flushed. Timidly, he took a brooch with a large emerald from his leggings, and handed it back. An honest Orc was even harder to find than an Orc with a brain; usually, both qualities were mutually exclusive.
Fixed this issue, the lieutenant turned his full attention to the horse, whose stomach rose and fell with a heavy breath. The beasts of Rohan were indomitable, as a general rule, and didn't tolerate any other rider but the pale men of those lands. But the Mouth of Sauron had not spent so many centuries serving a powerful sorcerer and necromancer without learning a few spells.
At least, he had one appropriate for the occasion.
Bending over the sleeping animal, he rested the index finger of his left hand on its closed eyelid, his right hand on its chest, and pured a long string of verses in the Black Speech inside its ear. The Orc groaned and lowered his ears, as if the words hurt him.
When the horse woke up, it was not the same. Its strong will had broken to conform to the wishes of its new master. Behind its eyes burned an otherwordly flame, and its nostrils emitted sulfide fumes. The head, noble and beautiful before, seemed to be disfigured in an imperceptible but disturbing way; suddenly it bore a resemblance to the skull that covered the head of the lieutenant.
The man mounted on him with a jump, eager to continue the journey before his disease got worse again.
But his companion flatly refused to ride on the beast.

-Come on, don't tell me that you cannot sit down still! I was very gentle with you. -he said, mockingly.

-It's not that, It's just... I don't like the look of that horse. I don't like its eyes... Go ahead of me, and I will follow thee running.

The lieutenant nodded, hiding his smile, and whipping the horse he set off toward the horizon like a shooting star. After a few minutes, he stopped short and looked back: the Orc was a black spot that ran with difficulty in the distance, and at last when his short legs failed him, he sat on the ground defeated. The man laughed. It was just what he had hoped, but he wanted the stubborn goblin to check it himself. He went back to him, picked him up in his arms and forced him to sit behind, ignoring his complaints.

-Little you know the horses of Rohan if you think you can follow them with your feet, or even with your sight. Come here, you fool! I prefer to carry you as a burden rather than having to keep an eye on you at all times.

For three days, the Mouth of Sauron rode with a pair of long, bony arms around his waist. During the day, they clung to him for fear of falling from the horse. And at night they embraced him again when the Orc thought him asleep.
Thus he crossed the plains of Rohan, and great was his surprise upon discovering Mordor troops entering them from the Northeast, and later, the island of Cair Andros in the river Anduin completely taken. All of this sped up much their journey, but the soldiers couldn't give them but vague news about a war in Gondor. Spurred by concern, the man didn't allow himself to fall prey to fever again.

Back in Barad-dûr, he took his new trusty horse to the stables and ordered that it was granted the greatest attention. No one dared to disobey, lest that terrifying animal ripped them an arm if they didn't treat it well.
His peculiar traveling companion also got ready to return to his barracks, with the other snaga, but before that the lieutenant called him and said:

-You've been good, little fellow. Here, take this. It's a gift, so everybody knows that you have my favour. –then he unclasped the emerald brooch of his robe, and put it in the claw of the stunned goblin.– I don't know if your race is able to appreciate beautiful things, but if not, well, you can always sell it and buy beer or new weapons. Go now, and be careful with those uruks in heat.

He patted him on the head with affection, and the creature muttered a faltering "thanks". Then he ran to meet his kin and tell them, with all sorts of fanciful exaggerations, the adventure he had just lived with a high command of the tower.
The man realized then that he had never asked him his name. But anyway, what did that matter when he didn't even remember his own?

Sauron received his lieutenant with surprising calm and indifference for the delay, and heard his story. The news about the Balrog's death troubled him, but before the slightest feeling surfaced in him, he buried it under other thoughts related to the present war. He was silent all the while, but when the man confessed his fears about Saruman and the Ring, he let out a grim laugh:

-Saruman you say? That old fool is finished, sunk in the deepest hole in which a Maia may fall. Oh, no, Saruman does not have my Ring! And the trees ye saw marching towards Isengard didn't come to his aid, but to totally ruin his land. Now he's a prisoner in his own tower, the poor idiot! The hobbits that his troops captured were just a fake decoy to distract us, while the Ring was placed in the hands of a more powerful one, though no less unworthy of it. I've seen him, yes. I looked into the palantír, and there he was, staring back at me. A hateful, insulting face, gray eyes trying to bore through my Eye. And he showed it to me, the sword, the sword of my humiliation! And it was reforged, burning with a flame that gnawed me within. Is it possible to feel pain in a limb that has been lost? I felt it on the finger that is missing in my left hand. There was Narsil, and there he was: the heir of Isildur! But my Ring has turned him too proud and too stupid if he thinks he can show it to me with no consequences. My Ring is faithful to me alone, and it will be his undoing in the end. Thus I'm going to put an end to his kingdom even before he takes possession of the throne. And him, that pretentious upstart, I will send to the same cold grave that swallowed all the other kings of his line!

Sauron laughed again, and his lieutenant felt embarrassed. He never said anything pertinent, so it seemed, and his master was always two steps ahead of him. But thus was his master, the most subtle and cunning of all the lords of Middle-earth. He had no doubt that the assault on Minas Tirith would be a child's play.

And so it seemed also to Sauron at first.
He had followed the development of the battles from the palantír and through his messengers, and at that time, the city of Minas Tirith was a stone island about to collapse into a river of lava.
At dusk, the fields of Gondor blossomed with a thousand torches, and the explosions of projectiles flashed for a second as wisps of faint blue-greenish hues. The sight from the pinnacle of Barad-dûr was of a sinister beauty.
Shortly before dawn, Grond, the new hammer of the underworld, lived up to its name breaking down the gates of the city. And when Sauron turned his thoughts to the palantír of the steward, he could only see flames and two burned hands, a sign that his patient torture upon the man's mind had finally paid off.
But then everything went wrong. The riders of Rohan appeared as out of nowhere, and from the banks of the Anduin rose a haze of black sails that didn't bring allies, but more enemies. In front of them marched the heir of Isildur, with a star, more abominable than those of Varda, on his forehead, and the cursed sword up high.
Sauron threw the palantír to the floor with a scream of rage. At that time, one of the Nazgûl and his lieutenant stormed in the pinnacle, and the man's face had a grim look on it. They came to confirm what the Maia had suspected already, when one of his nine rings had shone for a moment and then was put out like a blown candle.
The Witch King had paid his toll at last, after a life longer than his share and more evil than could be told. Nobody cried for him, and the less disheartened by being rid of his chains, was the Witch King himself, but for all the servants of Mordor it was a heavy blow and the blackest of omens. Sauron showed no emotion.

-The fall of a single Nazgûl is no cause for despair. There are still other eight. –he replied, with a strangely cold and impersonal voice.- And it's no reason to abandon the battlefield. We must go forward, even if it means death to the last Orc, Easterling and Southron. What are they for me, what are they for Mordor compared with the objective at hand? My Ring is in the midst of that battle. As soon as I recover it everything will change. Soon, very soon, the Doors of Night will open again, and He will reunite with me, and his kingdom will be eternal. But to accomplish this, I need the Ring, which that insolent Dúnadan wears on his finger right now. I can almost perceive it, so close it is! Yes, the Dúnadan will fall under the whip of Gothmog, like so many other princes, mightier than him, fell before.

The lieutenant's eyes were veiled behind a wet curtain, and he muttered:

-My Lord... Gothmog is dead, dost thou not remember?

The eye of Sauron looked at him impassively.

-Dead? Don't be foolish! Gothmog is out there right now, in front of the troops of Minas Morgul.

-But that's not the real Gothmog. He's just a common Orc who used to be in charge of the armoury. -the lieutenant's voice trembled, and a watery trail run down under his helmet to his mouth.

Sauron made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

-You're once more narcotized with opium! I don't want to hear any more nonsense. Send out my orders to the captains.

The Nazgûl gave a nod and left without a word, but the man fell to his knees and wept bitterly, ignored by his master.
Something had broken in the Maia, something precious and vital, but difficult to perceive with the naked eye. He had been cracked in two for too long.

The battle was a complete defeat, and a couple of days later more disturbing news came to Barad-dûr.
The uproar that rose on the lower floors was so great, that Sauron himself came down, and absolute silence ensued. One of the burly guards of the gate was grabbing a sour-faced Orc by the arm, a captain apparently, that clung to a package wrapped in rags.
The Maia ordered everyone out, except the guard and the newcomer.

-Who are you and what do you bring in there?

- My name is Shagrat, my Lord, and this is what I bring. -the Orc unwrapped the package and showed him a particularly small mail-shirt, sword and cloak.

Sauron hissed in pain upon touching them; some of those objects contained the corrosive magic of Elves. He quickly left them on a nearby table.

-And what should I suppose this means? Have ye captured a dwarf? A child? My time is very valuable, and those that waste it pay dearly for every second!

-My Lord, these objects belonged to a spy captured in Cirith Ungol four days ago. We found him unconscious because of Shelob's poison, and took him to the tower. But he wasn't a dwarf, although he was quite small.

-A hobbit! The enemy has several at its service and uses them for these thankless and suicide tasks, such as espionage. And precisely in Cirith Ungol! –he laughed with irony.- I see that they don't value the lives of these beings too much... Well, my interest in hobbits has declined considerably since I discovered who has my Ring in reality, but however, the incursion of spies in my land is not indifferent for me. Where's the prisoner now? I would like to... "interrogate him". - Sauron clenched his fists, and the clank of the knuckles upon creaking, bothered the Orcs.

But at this question, Shagrat hesitated and gave no answer. The guard hit him in the stomach to get the words out of him:

-Answer the Lord, treacherous rat! Tell him everything you've told us!

The other Orc growled and bared his teeth, threatening to bite if he touched him again.
But then he felt the Eye boring its way into his head.

It was better to confess at once, rather than having to endure that insufferable violation once more.

-The prisoner escaped. We don't have him, my Lord.

-How is that possible!? How can a prisoner escape from the tower of Cirith Ungol, with hundreds of guards around, and the Two Watchers of the gate, and the Nazgûl flying up in the air!?

Shagrat lowered his head and rubbed his long arms as if he was cold.

-We... Well, my Lord... There was another subject that we couldn't catch. He had wounded the spider and then left his partner abandoned. But... But he came back and... well, he must have rescued him. I think he was a mighty Elven warrior, that's what one of my boys said, although I didn't see him.

-Oh, yes, of course he must have been a mighty Elven warrior if he was capable of such a feat! It must have been Fingolfin himself, or Maedhros wielding a sword with one hand better than others with two, or perhaps it was Eärendil in his flying ship that has come down to earth to sneak into my towers, isn't it? –Sauron's voice dropped in tone until becoming the growl of a volcano before eruption. The Orc squinted confused, and nodded.

-Yes, that was him. The last one thou hast said, my Lord. -obviously, he had never heard of any of those heroes from ancient days.

The patience of the Maia was then exhausted, and with a sudden jerk of his spirit he pulled down the Orc's defenses, opened his mind wide open, and his Eye burned him inside, to the most intimate and hidden recesses of his being.
The wretch fell to the floor and squirmed in such agony, that he had no strenght left to scream.

-I'm watching everything, Shagrat. -whispered the Eye.- Everything you're hiding from me, all the half-truths that you don't want to confess whole, all the faults you have committed and the secrets you wanted to take to the grave, but that will live now forever in my memory. And yet, although I know it all already, I want to hear it from your own lips to feel your humiliation. False, unloyal worm!

The guard laughed sadistically upon hearing the sobs of the captain. It was extremely difficult to make an Orc cry, even a small one, but Sauron never failed.
When Shagrat recovered from his torment, he stood on shaky legs and finally spat the truth, bitter as bile.

-There was a fight in the tower. Gorbag and his company had come up from Minas Morgul and found the prisoner at the same time as us. They insisted on entering the tower, but they didn't seem to want to follow orders, and we ended up coming to blows because of that chain mail. I tried that thy wishes were respected, my Lord. I wanted to bring thee the prisoner intact, as thou hast ordered, but Gorbag didn't listen. The slaughter was complete... no wonder that the prisoner and his partner escaped without much trouble.

-Mmph! The slaughter was complete, but nonetheless here we have this swine, my Lord. The only survivor, how curious! -said the guard.

-Shut up, you purulent sack, what do you know about anything!? -snapped the captain, in the verge of a meltdown.- I didn't betray anyone, it was Gorbag who betrayed me! I didn't even expect it. He was quite the troublemaker, but I never thought he could do this to me. We were even planning to go live together, so I don't understand how...

-Aha! So planning to elope with your sweetheart, weren't you, Shagrat ?-the guard let out another loud laugh.- Thou seest what a good piece we have here, my Lord. A traitor, and deserter as well. Or are you going to deny it now? Nobody is surprised that Gorbag tried to stab you in the back, pig. How long had you been stabbing him in the arse?

Shagrat clenched his teeth, narrowed his eyes until they became two flaming slits, and suddenly pounced on the guard with murderous rage.

-Don't talk about him like that, you cursed ulcer with legs! When I'm finished with you, you'll be pissing blood and shitting teeth for a month!

The two creatures rolled on the floor tangled up in a confusion of claws and fangs.
Sauron felt disgusted. That was the spirit of current times, the utter degeneration of values and loyalty, the dissolution of all discipline in the tar pit of rebellion and disorder. Why hadn't happened the same to Melkor? The Orcs of Angband had feared the Vala, of course, and he had often tormented them, as much or even more than him. And yet, in some strange way, his troops loved him. When Melkor passed between them, with head high and without deigning to look at them, the eyes of the creatures lit up, and a wave of adoration ran through them at the same time and moved their spirits towards him, with a single desire, with a shared will. Melkor didn't need to worry about discipline, nor about devising careful plans or hierarchical schemes. Melkor could say one thing and do the opposite the next moment, and it didn't matter, because his troops always breathed and throbbed at the same pace as him. The Orcs of Angband didn't dream of escaping his master. The Orcs of Angband dreamed of the day when his master would notice them, and look at them for an instant, if only with indifference.
And yet he, that constantly watched them, that had refined the art of control to its ultimate consequences, that had established methods to survey everything, from the most important to the most insignificant detail of their lives, he, couldn't prevent rebellion from breaking out in his realm at every second, in the most insignificant heart and in the most important fortress.
After all, Melkor was somehow the father of them all, but he, Sauron, he was nothing for them. A slave master, as Gothmog had aptly named him once.
The real Gothmog.
Then, realizing the dangerous path he was taking, the Maia quickly banished that moment of clarity, and turned back to the present situation.
The two Orcs were still joined in their hate embrace, and Sauron separated them by crashing each one against opposite walls. Then he stood above the culprit, Shagrat, that coughed miserably and with his face full of blood.

-I suppose you understand the gravity of what you have done and know the punishment in such cases. Now you have the option to repent and perhaps soften a little your execution. Do you repent?

But the creature, knowing that he was already finished, simply spat some blood on the floor, with contempt.

-I regret having had to kill Gorbag . The poor fool! This wasn't how I wanted things to end between us. I just wanted everything to be like in old times. Bah!

-Fine. In that case, you won't be executed by the sword, but locked in a dark pit and condemned to die of hunger and thirst. Thus you will have time to think better what has been your real fault, and maybe you will even feel a twinge of guilt for having defrauded your Lord before your life is quenched. -and taking him by the neck, the Maia brought him to his feet, and pushed him towards the guard, so that he was chained and led to his prison.

-Thanks, "my Lord". -said the culprit before being dragged out.- I see the information that I have brought is to thy liking, since thou hast rewarded me with death. And that's the best reward one can expect nowadays in Mordor.

Sauron clenched his teeth, irritated. Even then, he saw a glint of defiance in the eyes of the captain.

Four days had passed since the spy was caught, and no one, absolutely no one had informed him so far. Probably the Nazgûl guarding the pass of Cirith Ungol had already mobilized the necessary troops for the search, but why hadn't he told him what happened at once? So weak and damaged was his bond with even his own Ringwraiths? And where could be that tiny intruder now?
Sauron traced the paths of Mordor from the palantír, but didn't find him. And soon, a much more relevant event caught his attention and made him forget the insignificant hobbit.
The heir of Isildur had succumbed to the power of the Ring even faster than his predecessor, and in his proud folly, dared to challenge Mordor directly. His army, then encamped before the Morannon, was ridiculous.
But Sauron knew well how ridiculous turned the Men when they believed themselves powerful. Ar-Pharazôn had also dared to camp in front of his gates, with a much larger army, and his fall had been spectacular. But this time he didn't even need to rely on cunning, this time it was enough to extend a thumb to crush them all.
Foolish petty king! He wore on his chest a green stone quite familiar for the Maia, a stone come from the hands of Celebrimbor, that formerly had belonged to Galadriel. If the Dúnadan had known how that Elf had fallen into his trap of seduction, how those same hands had trembled from pleasure upon touching him, maybe he wouldn't have hung around his neck such fateful symbol.
And his Ring was so close... ! Now he felt it, yes. He felt it as in old times, when it still belonged to him. It throbbed inside of him, warm, tempting, as a presence that flowed through his body, from his head to the tip of his missing finger. His life, his precious.
Almost like the energy of his master when he... But it was better not to think about those things.

The day that Sauron called his lieutenant to entrust him with the most important mission of all, the Maia vibrated with power and exaltation. And yet, despite all the intensity emanating from his body, the man had the feeling that his master was far away, as if he faded, as if he vanished, as if he was departing. A twinge of uneasiness made him shudder, but he didn't know why.
His master wanted him to welcome the invaders as herald of Mordor and show them the spy's belongings. Just as a last stroke of sadism to demoralize them completely, before the gates opened wide and the hordes of the Black Land swallowed them. And later, when the battle was over and crows had descended upon carrion, he, the Mouth of Sauron, his most loyal servant, would have the honour of picking up the Ring and bring it in person to his master.

"Then he will love me" thought the man as he rode across the plain of Gorgoroth.
The eye of the universe was laid on him, the whole world gravitated around that decisive moment, the moment that marked the end of his master's concern and the beginning of a new golden era. But if it was so, why did he feel that void, that restlessness inside?

Sauron gazed from his pinnacle at the embassy that rode towards the horizon, and then the black mass of his armies going through the gates like a flooded river breaking a dam. An unnatural silence had settled over all the land around.
And he waited. And the throbbing of the Ring shuddered him once, and then again, and then a third time. A red glow illuminated the pinnacle from the west, and in his mind blinked an image of Melkor, naked besides a small window and bathed in a similar light that had also come from the west, a long, long time ago, in days forgotten.
And when he looked out to see if twilight had come that day before its hour, his eye saw it all clear, clearer than it had seen in whole ages. A column of smoke was rising from Orodruin and became lost in the heights, among the mantle of black clouds, lighting up the dome with flashings the colour of blood. And there on the slopes, between rivers of lava that descended from the crater, two tiny figures rested as if dead, the most insignificant figures one could imagine.

The veil was lifted for Sauron, and he finally understood everything.
He had found the fissure, the failure in his master plan. And the intricate web of delusions and illusions that he had woven around him fell apart as corroded by acid.
A pain impossible to describe made the Maia scream, and the agonized squeal of the eight Nazgûl answered him from above. The iron armour burned him, melted itself, incandescent, around him, and Sauron tore it from him piece by piece. He bared every inch of burnt, consumed and tortured skin, until he was left naked. And then the other armour that protected him, his tower, also came down with a roar that reverberated throughout the land. The Maia plunged into the void and it seemed to him that he fell very slowly, during entire years. His mutilated body disintegrated into a spasm of pain, but he still struggled to cling to a body, whatever it was. And as he fell, he mutated into each of the shapes that he had once adopted throughout his existence in Arda. He turned into bat, and snake, and large wolf. He was again Annatar, and Tar-Mairon and Aulë's apprentice. And finally, when he hit the pile of rubble to which Barad-dûr had been reduced, he regained his true form, the one he had in Angband with Melkor, the one he had always felt like his own. But now he was as small and fragile as a mortal, perhaps even a little more.
Sauron remained so for a while, shivering completely naked upon the ruin of his pinnacle, and looking around, afraid, to a world that turned gray and pale.
Then he heard a cough that came from below, and saw his lieutenant climbing and crawling through the rubble to meet him. He left behind a trail of blood that flowed from his abdomen, from what seemed to be the piercing of an eagle's claw. But if he was dying because of this injury or otherwise, Sauron didn't know.
The Maia extended his arms towards him, in a vain attempt to help him climb.

-This is coming to its end, master. But I won't say it's a bitter end, because at least I could contemplate thee one last time, just as I remembered thee. –said the man, almost inaudibly.

Sauron took his hand, and held him tightly in his lap to console him, to console himself. The frail body trembled in his arms as warmth left it gradually. But the Mouth of Sauron smiled, looking into the eyes of his master, that had recovered the brightness of reason, even if they were misted by infinite sorrow.

-Didst thou know? Lately I had thought often about the end, but of all the deaths that I could have imagined, this one in thy lap is the most beautiful by far. -and he raised a hand with difficulty to caress him; Sauron took it among his and placed it against his cheek, cold skin with cold skin. And yet the stroke felt very warm.- What will happen to me now, master? Thou hast sung in the first Music, thou mustest have seen it. Is it true that Eru welcomes us, Men, in his bosom?

Sauron didn't know. But that wasn't what he had to tell his servant in that moment. Not then.

-Yes, it is true. And after death there is no more pain for you, only a golden happiness that not even the gods know. That's why they envy you, because ye are the most beloved children of the Creator, all of you without exception.

-But evil men, does Eru welcome them as well? –he muttered with a lump in his throat, and his eyes became veiled, wet.

-You were never evil, my little servant. You have been loyal and honest and devoted. Is that evil perchance? You have just done my will. And I have done the will of Melkor. And Melkor has completed the designs for which Ilúvatar created him. How could Eru be angry with you? -and Sauron pressed him closer against his breast, until the man could hear his heart beating. Tears dampened the skin of the Maia, and yet, the Mouth of Sauron felt content.

-I wish I could follow thee, master. But I guess that's not possible.

-No. Now we must go our own separate ways. Though maybe we'll meet once more, when the world is new again. But you've followed me for a long time. Tell me, have you ever regretted entering in my service?

-Not a single day of my life.

-Is there anything you want to ask me for, before our farewell?

-Just one thing, master.

And Sauron nodded, understanding.
Carefully, he removed the bone helmet from his head, and threw it against the rocks. The helmet, which had endured three ages, broke in this moment. Then he looked at the face of his servant, not so different from the skull after so many years hidden behind it. His eyeballs appeared glazed and were barely able to discern what happened around him. The shriveled skin was mottled by purple spots, which gradually faded under the uniform pallor of death. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
The Maia thought he was very beautiful, and stroked him gently. He bent over him, and black lips parted to receive pale lips. The two lieutenants, master and servant, merged into a kiss and an embrace that said everything without saying anything. The man clung to that moment with strenghts that already failed him, he gave himself desperately to the Maia, and felt his love entering him, reflecting as in a mirror his own.
Little by little, his limbs relaxed, he loosened the embrace, and finally, with a sigh of boundless joy, the man's soul left his body and departed to paths that nobody knew. All he had desired during the long centuries of his life, he achieved in a few seconds before his death, and he departed in bliss.
It was the first time that Sauron experienced death, real death, from close. And in it he found a peace and a sense of irreversibility that he had never felt before in other creatures.
He kissed the man's forehead, and then his closed eyelids.

-Farewell, my servant, my shadow, my mouth, my dear man. The only one of the Children of Ilúvatar that ever mattered to me. I wish I could give you a proper burial, I wish I could have given you just half of what you gave me.

He left the body upon the rocks, his head still resting on his lap, as strenght was also beginning to abandon him. He was cracked in two, in more than one sense, and the flesh that enveloped him would soon vanish into nothingness.
The sun sank into the horizon and its reddish glow melted with the flames of Mount Doom. Up in the sky, the ash clouds began to open, and the first stars blinked as points of ice. Sauron cast a glance around, upon the ruin of Mordor. Debris, toppled walls and towers, open pits and crushed machines, a myriad of dead bodies dotting the desolate plains.
Then a little farther, he saw the lame Orc who had been in charge of the breeding chambers. Apparently, he had managed to escape the tower before it collapsed and now was gathering around him a group of shrieking and sobbing imps. Other survivors joined the group, and a large uruk loaded on his back a few small ones, before setting out on their tracks. Left behind, an Orc, shorter than the others, took out from his pocket a stone that gave off a green glow under the sunset light, looked one last time at what was left of Barad-dûr, and then went running after his kin.
When they were disappearing on the horizon, Sauron noticed that some of the imps had stopped whimpering and laughed again, hesitantly at first, but then more animated by the adults.

No one had seen him, there, alone and tiny upon his tower of broken stones. The gods and the great lords had fallen, while the weakest survived. Gods were very old, older than time, and the hour had arrived in which they should disappear to make way for the younger ones. And life went on. The traces of Melkor in the world would last until the end of days. Although he, Sauron, would be no longer there to see it.
The Maia smiled, reconciled upon understanding this. And gradually his body became more tenuous and translucent, it turned into air, and then into nothing. Until everything faded around him, and he was left blind, naked and powerless.
He had only one last thing to do.
And guided by this desire and this single thought still contained in his spirit, Sauron departed towards sunset.
He traveled for a long time among darkness. And at the end of the journey he felt he walls of cold blocking his path, and the silent presence of the Door, and the infinite loneliness of the border.
He waited for an eternity.

And then one day, the Door opened, and his shadow crossed to the other side.