A/N: There were lots of things that needed fixing in this, as a nice reviewer (thank you Loki :) ) helpfully pointed out. I've attempted to fix them. There are now carroty things where carroty things are due, and less unnecessary commas.

Warnings: the result of a deranged idea I had in the early hours of the morning when I really should have been sleeping and not inflicting said deranged ideas on the world. Oh well.

Disclaimer: Sauron, the Witch King and any other character you recognise belongs to JRR Tolkien. Actually the Witch King and his underlings technically belong to Sauron, who belongs to Tolkien. Whatever. You get the idea.

Sauron is sitting atop a pinnacle of Barad-dûr, taking afternoon tea with his favourite minion, the Witch King of Angmar.

Taking a deep lungful of the scorching Mordor air, he wanders to the pseudo-gothic balcony and peers down at his beautiful kingdom of torture.

Then comes the question.

"What's it all for?"

The Lord of the Nazgûl sighs and shakes his hooded head in despair. (They don't call him the Captain of Despair for nothing…) This was the third time this week that the master had questioned his own motives. It was worrying when he was in one of these moods. He could be exceedingly unpredictable.

Without warning, Sauron let out a small chuckle.

Not the usual evil manic chuckle that lacked any humour whatsoever and was expelled from the master's lips when he lighted upon a cunning new torture device, or plan to take over all of Arda – but a genuine chuckle.

This troubled the wraith greatly. Such things were unheard of in the-land-of-Mordor-where-the-shadows-lie.

"Master… are you all right?"

"What? Oh, yes, yes of course! Never better my dear boy! It just occurred to me how amusing our predicament is."

The Nazgûl was slightly taken aback. "Amusing, sir?"

"Why yes!" exclaimed the Dark Lord, "Take me for example, here I am, the most powerful and evil force in all of Middle Earth – thousands of orcs, trolls and men at my disposal, unmatched abilities in sorcery…"

Sauron rattled on for some time. 'Nothing like blowing your own trumpet', muttered the Witch King under his venomous breath, as he helped himself to more tea 1 .

"... And of course nine of my own adorable home-made ringwraiths." Sauron beamed in the Witch King's general direction with a worrying expression of benevolence. "What was that, dear boy?"

"Nothing, nothing…"

"Anyway, as I was saying -here I am with all my power and unmatched evil temperament, and not only have I gone and put the best part of my power into a little insignificant ring but I then had the misfortune to have it chopped off by some jumped-up Gondorian. Along with my finger. " Sauron gazed wistfully at the stump on his left hand. "It was in that little skirmish we had a while back. You remember, with all those elves and whatnot. The Lost… something"

"The Last Alliance?"

"Yes, yes! That's the one. You see, not only has my power gone, but so has my memory. It must be my age."

But of course, it was not his age. The ring affects us all in different ways. Unfortunately, The Lord of the Nazgûl (BSc, SCs, PhD etc. etc.) didn't really know what to say to this, so decided on a change of tack. "Err... more tea sire?"

"Thank you."

A pair of gauntleted hands reached for the black pseudo-gothic teapot and poured its contents into a small black teacup. They then proceeded to add fresh warg milk and two teaspoonfuls of sugar. A thoughtful silence fell upon the two villains.

"I want it back."

"The Ring?"

"No, my virginity. OF COURSE THE RING YOU INCOMPETENT FOOL! Find it. Now. "

"Yessir." The ringwraith leapt to his feet and sped out of the door.

"Finish your tea first you silly boy!" The former lord of Angmar shuffled sheepishly back onto the balcony and drank his tea. "And before you go rallying your incompetent rabble I have a lead for you…"

With that, the Dark Lord stood up and beckoned his minion with an unnaturally long pointy finger. The Witch king followed him to a dark cell in one of Barad-dûr's darkest dungeons. Sitting in a corner of the cell, muttering to itself and rocking backwards and forwards was a small, slimy… thing.

"Nasssty orcses, they hurtsss ussss, precioussss, we doesssnt know, we doesssnt know, precious!" The ramble cumulated to a tortured wail.

"See if you can get any sense out of him. He says he doesn't know, but I'm sure you can… change his mind. " Somewhere under his unnecessary amount of pseudo-gothic armour, Sauron's face contorted into a malicious smirk.

The Nazgûl loomed over the pitiful creature and rubbed his hands together, causing the scraping of iron on iron to echo ominously around the dungeon as his master turned to walk away.

"And Witchy…"

The Nazgûl emitted a long-suffering hiss. "Yes?"

"DON'T mess this up." Sauron held the Nazgûl's icy gaze as he continued down the passage to return to his plotting and scheming.

1. Which incidentally, had been …imported… directly out of the East, to fuel the growing addiction of some of Mordor's more executive personnel. In fact, some of Sauron's favourite troops had been sent to the cause, as the Easterlings refused to give up their tea without a fight. The best thing about it was that those pompous forces of light wouldn't touch it, screaming 'Eastern sorcery! Servants of Sauron! Servants of Sauron!' before collapsing into a terrified stupor.

A/N: Enjoyed it? Then please review!Didn't enjoy it? Then go and find something better to read!