A special gift for Sauron Gorthaur.
A/N: Story contains some elements from the Silmarillion, so here is a quick explanation for those who haven't read it.
Valar and Maiar are powerful spirits who created the world through Song. Sauron, Radagast, Saruman and the other two wizards are Maiar as well. Sauron's orginal name is Mairon, Radagast used to be called Aiwendil and Saruman Curumo.
Mandos aka Námo aka the Doomsman is like... the Hades of Tolkien's legendarium. (Only cooler.) His Halls are used also as a prison, so it makes sense that Sauron was imprisoned there after his defeat (after Námo summoned his almost-destroyed spirit).
Melkor is the first Dark Lord, he's the one who turned Sauron into a bad guy.
Sauron was, in fact, defeated a few times before - by Arwen's ancestor (another very beautiful elven maiden who fell in love with a mortal).
Story is written from Sauron's point of the view.
Lord Námo said that he's tired of listening to a drama queen Dark Lord complaining. I replied that I'm tired of having the gloomy doomy Lord of Dead as my only listener. So I think we are square now. It also means that I can only talk to the wall of my cell in Mandos now. It has exactly 3,565,189 blocks. I had more than plenty of time to count it. Thrice.
I feel like Mandos is going to give me a few extra centuries in prison because I couldn't resist calling him the jail-crow of Mandos. Not the best move for someone with such a brilliant, strategic mind as mine, but hey, Námo's face was priceless. Although in retrospect, I'm slowly starting to regret it. Because, you know, enslaved and free people of Arda and all others, you need to know something about me.
I have the worst luck EVER.
And believe it or not, it went only from bad to worse. Somebody would think that I would figure out Murphy's Law by the time I was thaaaat close to world domination.
Sadly, any time I get thaaaaat close to world domination, things tend to go awry. Very awry. Like having an army of gem-obsessed lunatics on my doorstep, having a total jerk as a boss, being defeated by little girls and their petty pets, being humiliated, getting drowned by the Powers, making enchanted jewelry they then STEAL from me, and of course, getting defeated by something that is even smaller than a Dwarf!
Seriously, everything seemed so perfect at first. I -Sauron, Mairon, Aulendil, Annatar the Fair, The Great Eye, The Eye of Barad-dûr - was about to become the ruler of Middle-earth. As a Lidless Eye I watched the landscape with my piercing gaze. I saw everything, through disguises, walls and flesh. That, in some aspects, wasn't that great. Believe me, there are some images you don't want to see. Let's say, drunken Dwarves counted as some of the less disturbing images compared to others. Aaarrrghhh!
But, my army was building up. Frankly, the most important thing to know about Orcs is that they are as dumb as night. Once when I told them to find something to eat, they started eating each other. One especially bright one started to nibble his own toes. I was wondering why, oh, why, didn't Melkor make them smarter? How can it be that creatures made from elves are so stupid? I guess that their intelligence went away with their fair looks. But hey, at the end if you have an immeasurable number of Orcs, it doesn't matter that they die like flies.
Even that old bastard Curumo joined me, and a few dead spirits were on my pay list too. Someone would think that Nazgûl would be quiet and solemn creatures of darkness, maybe only hissing something incoherent, but I didn't have this luck. You can't imagine how chatty they can be. It was slowly starting to get on my nerves. Not to mention, they weren't that bright either. I swear I told the Witch-king of Angmar a THOUSAND times that the prophecy didn't include Elves, Dwarves, and other species. Did he listen to me? Yes. Did he understand what I was saying? No. He got killed by a WOMAN! Sadly, I know from first-hand experience how is to be defeated by girls, but of course I didn't mention Lúthien to the Ringwraiths. I have my pride, after all.
The only thing I missed was my Precious. My adorable, shinning darling. My Ring. Light and power of my spirit. Blast that, the darkness of my spirit. Anyway, I missed it terribly. I regret coming out on that night. Why, exactly, did I go to the battlefield? I always preferred to be an evil mastermind. If I ever get a stupid idea like that again, feel free to advise me against it. But why didn't someone teach these mortals that taking a Maia's belongings as a war trophy is unacceptable? Youth and their manners.
It all started when three particular grandfathers came to Middle-earth. Olórin was the most obnoxious, rigid git even back in Almaren. Bad news, he didn't get any better. Quite the opposite, he only picked up a few new charming habits.
My old rival Curumo joined me in my quest of bringing order and perfection to Middle-earth. (I still can't see why others called this evil world domination. It was more like guided renovation, you see.) Once, after a few bottles of my finest wine, he got pretty nostalgic and told me everything about how five Wizards came to cause my downfall. Seriously, like they helped to defeat me. It was all due to my bad luck. Advice for all of you who want to become Dark Lords someday: you can plan, scheme, plot for entire centuries, only to discover that some haired-foot claimed your Ring. Because somehow, he decided to come out of his hole at the wrong time in the wrong place. Do you realize how low the chances were that would happen right when I, Lord Sauron, tried to rule the world? Námo calls it irony. I agree. Bottom line: if you are doomed, you are doomed, as Mandos informed me with (too much) delight.
Well. How did big wizards come to that lovely land every Tolkien fangirl wants to visit?
The Valar kicked their asses.
I'm not even kidding. Curumo spilled everything to me.
Olórin cried along with his Lady Nienna like a baby when High King Manwë informed him that he had to go to Middle-earth. Someone would think that he cried because of sympathy for his fellow fallen Maia. Because of mercy, pity? No, the true reason was that spoiled little brat didn't want to leave his cozy library at the top of the Mountain Everwhite. I always believed that I had the most guts among Maiar and that particular fact about Olórin's life didn't help to refute my statement. Worse, Curumo told me that poor little brooding Olórin in Middle-earth picked up some unhealthy habits because of his apparent depression. He started spending time in the company of the creatures that ate a thousand times a day, were crazy on ale, and smoked pipe-weed every time they got a chance. If he were mortal, I wouldn't even have to fight him. His own unhealthy lifestyle would kill him. And seriously. Both he and Curumo could have gone without looking like decrepit old men a few days shy from their death bed; all three actually.
To be politically correct, there were at first five Istari. But the other two went on a picnic and got lost somewhere in the East. I guess they are lying somewhere on the beach, free and far away from the Valar, duties, and Olórin, drinking those cocktails with the little umbrellas. Frankly, if I had to stick with Olórin and Curumo in a counsel, I would run away at the first opportunity too. Albeit that roped them fame in this tale. What a shame.
So. Three remaining wizards followed their noble pursuits. Olórin aka Gandalf was spending time doing fireworks, smoking pipe-weed and messing with poor creatures' lives. Curumo aka Saurman was spending time trying to get my Ring, breeding Orcs 2.0 and generally being a devious jerk. Aiwendil aka Radagast was spending time watching after rabbits, talking to plants, and taking care of poor little animals. I had a growing suspicion that he was called bird-friend because he also had a brain like one.
How on Arda did Aiwendil decide to come to Middle-earth was a mystery until Saruman told me that Yavanna made him take birdbrain with him, but Aiwendil cared only about the animals. Well, we all know what Curumo did. He left him play with animals. Used him. How he did that, I don't know. Birdbrain seems pretty useless if you ask me. And for what did dear Saruman use Radagast for? TO GET MY RING!
Seriously, why does everyone want to have my Precious? It's MINE! GET OVER IT!
WORSE, in Middle-earth there apparently existed idiots who wanted to destroy my Precious. They formed some sort of a gang. They found clear delight in copying my preference for numbers and decided that the happy one is nine. How original. This cheerful company consisted of grumpy Olórin, the Halfling that took my Ring, his chef de cuisine, a king with self-esteem problems, another mortal with greedy hands (he wanted my Ring too!), Goldilocks pretty elf, hard headed dwarf, and two more miniature troublemakers that liked to smoke pipe-weed.
The fellowship was formed by Elrond Half-elven. Half-elven? Pha, this is a lie, let me tell you. Both his mother and his father had mixed human-elf ancestry, and as a result Elrond himself was 6/16 human, 9/16 elf and 1/16 Maia. Math and genetics, dear people, math and genetics. Albeit I'm truly horrified that I'm somehow related to that mongrel, who was adopted by Kinslayers after his mother turned into a bird. Not to speak about his father. That git was responsible for the defeat of my Master in the first place. His son apparently decided to carry on the tradition of kicking Dark Lords' asses.
Anyway, this fantastic company soon broke up. One mortal was killed, others fled. If somebody decided to write a trilogy about me (such a noble pursuit), this league wouldn't last more than one book!
As I heard only later, many events took place. Three human-elf-dwarf friends went on an orc-hunting trip. A battle took place at Helm's Deep, which was how I realized orcs were really useless. Also, I still can't believe that Saurman got defeated by plants. I couldn't stop hysterically laughing for several hours when I first heard the news. Gandalf and the troublemakers were messing with the King's mind, and two little hairy-footed bastards were sneaking into Mordor.
Mrs. Righteous, also known as the Lady of Light (pha, I'm sure she gave herself this title, she has an even bigger ego than Olórin) decided to gift this Halfling a phial. The Phial of Galadriel was a crystal phial filled with water from her fountain which held the light of Eärendil's star: the light of the Two Trees as preserved in a Silmaril. In other words, she gave him her son-in-law's father in a vial, which carries my ex-Master's gem that was stolen from the greatest Elven craftsman with attitude problems. I know, I know, it's weird.
Frodo, bringer of my doom, thief of my Ring, also used it while entering into Mordor to defend himself from my spider Shelob. When Shelob first approached, cooking boy reminded Frodo of the "star-glass" and its light drove her away. Frodo gave the light to him to hold while he cut through Shelob's webbing, and chef de cuisine wielded it when he attacked Shelob to rescue his "master". The Phial of Galadriel seemed to inspire its bearers to call out to Elbereth, who is also known as Varda. Of course, of all Valar, the Star Queen had to mess with my plans.
And Námo took creepy pleasure in pointing out all the weak spots in my defense. I felt like a total moron. For someone as clever as I am, this was soooo humiliating. For a time, I was seriously wondering why Namo isn't called the Dark Vala. He wears only black robes, has a dark sense of humor, and is Lord of the Dead... Ooooh, what have I done to end up in the Halls of Mandos? On second thought, the Valar might have ten to a hundred good reasons. Oops.
But back then, I was oblivious to the fact that two bastards where approaching Mount Doom. Why? The ENTIRE UNITED ARMY OF MY ENEMIES was before my doorstep. This was so sweet, so perfect, so naïve. They thought that they can defeat me with their little army! Adorable. This was going to be sweet, sweet victory! I almost pitied them. Almost.
But why was there a strange feeling of incoming doom in the back of my mind?
Because it was my doom.
That back-stabbing lover of mushrooms, filthy little bastard, smaller than a dwarf, a mere pygmy in comparison who ate a thousand meals a day, the thief of my Precious, claimed my Ring!
The next thing I knew was the lacerating feeling as my Ring fell straight into the Mount Doom, melting. Ash nazg! Destroyed! My Ring!
A colossal monochromatic canvas. A memento of a fallen era. A churning mass of dull grey clouds was covering Mordor's sky. The air was thick and noxious, rank with the smell of ash and death. An era had fallen, my rule defeated as the tower collapsed, my fiery Eye rapidly moving but knowing that it was too late. With a loud thud it hit the dark, gray earth and caused it to crack. My entire army, minions and servants were consumed; they fell inside the giant hole like Arda itself wanted to destroy them.
It was the End.
And believe me or not, dying isn't pretty, even if your immortal spirit survives; especially if your immortal spirit survives.
Because the first thing you see after you gain consciousness is the Lord of the Dead in a Prison Fortress.
And that's exactly why I hate, hate, hate losing.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed the story. I wish you a happy birthday, SG! :)