Pleased with his hand in sowing the seeds of malcontent among the Men of Númenor, Sauron again turned his attention to what remained of Middle earth. Many of the Elves had not accepted the summons to the West, none to his surprise, and he pondered how they should be dealt with. Meanwhile, he knew his best bet gaining Men as followers lay with the clans that had served Melkor and betrayed the Elves in the Wars of Beleriand.
The wild Men of the east lived in sparse chiefdoms, neglected by the gods. Sauron quickly manipulated their ignorance. It often cost only one display of his power to convince them of his godhood and swear their loyalty to him as king. While enlivened by this success, he sought ever more desperately how he might earn the support of the Elves and thus eliminate his primary resistance.
Melkor insisted it could not be done, but Sauron did not wish to emulate the mistakes of his master by making swift enemies. The less conflict, the better. And besides, even if he mustered the greatest forces of the Edain, the Eldar were the wiser and more powerful. It was preferable to have them for his servants.
He was still contemplating how he might do this as he sat before the campfire of an Easterling clan, pretending to listen to one of their tales from what they considered "the old days". The Men dressed in primitive clothing and wielded primitive weapons, except their chieftain wore a helm molded in the shape of a fire drake.
"My great-great-great grandfather owned this helmet," the chief bragged. "There were dragons then, that's what we call them. Hundreds of 'em! Big, giant beasts with iron-hard scales breathing fire! What was the name of the largest one? Anca… Ancalo… No, that's not it…"
His son placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Take your time, Father."
The old man looked to be thinking, but a moment later his head sank to his chest and his audience heard snoring.
The chief's son was a strong youth with dark hair and keen, yellowish eyes. There was intelligence in them, Sauron noted, a rarity among this race. He stared across the fire at Sauron like he was analyzing him.
"If you are an emissary of Melkor, you must already know about these things," he perceived.
Sauron bristled with offense. "I am not an emissary of Melkor. I was his chief officer and lieutenant. I fought in every single war as your great-great - however many greats, I cannot keep track of something so frivolous. I have existed since the very beginning of the earth, just as Melkor. Why is immortality so difficult for you to comprehend?!"
The circle around the fire went quiet as the Men stared in fear of the Maia's temper. Only the chief's son seemed unfazed.
"I am sorry," he apologized. "It has been a long time in the years of my people since we served under Melkor. We do not live long, and our memories do not stretch back so far."
Sauron gave a slight tilt of his head, meaning he had dismissed the insult.
The chief startled awake as suddenly as he had fallen asleep. "Is it true you can raise the dead?"
"Yes." The Maia focused his hypnotic gaze on the old man. "I can give life to the dead, and I can keep mortal things from dying."
A hopeful spark glowed within the chief's eyes. "Did you hear that, son? By the time you are chieftain, Men will be living for hundreds of years! Maybe forever!"
His son looked suspiciously at Sauron. "And what must we do? What is our end of the bargain?"
"Only swear to serve me, and not the barbaric Men of the west."
The chief scowled. "We would never serve Elf-lovers!"
Sauron smiled pleasantly. "Good. Then our pact is sealed." He stood, hoping for a fast exit, but the Men were already on their knees bowing before him. The chief's son ran past his kinsmen and called "Wait!" to the Ainu. He held out his hand only to retract it as he recalled Sauron's deity status, as if the latter's skin might burn him.
Sauron paused mid-step, waiting impatiently.
"Will you visit us again?" the youth asked. "How shall we know if we become immortal?"
"If you are faithful to me," the Maia answered slowly, "you will never die."
"Remember me, then," the boy said. "Remember Khamûl."
He dipped his head to bid farewell. "Until we meet again, Khamûl."
Sauron was weary of Men, of short memories and long lists of "greats", and no closer was he to solving the problem of the Elves. He arrived at the deserted tower and dismounted his horse outside the gate. When his attendant did not immediately run out to greet him, he sighed in annoyance and removed his steed's saddle to groom her black coat himself.
"At least you are immortal, Muilë," he said to the horse. "I shall never have to replace you like I will feeble Men."
He sensed the arrival of his attendant before the latter could speak. He turned and glared as the wraith hastened into the courtyard with urgency.
"Forgive me, my lord! I was receiving word from your spies."
"And what have they to say?" he asked indifferently.
"Only more of the same, I'm afraid. Another dwelling of the Elves has been discovered. It is led by a Noldo named… Celebrimbor, I believe, son of one of Fëanor's sons. He is a great craftsman, they say, and he has many of the most skilled smiths in his guild. But I'm sure you would not be interested, so let me move on to-"
"Wait," Sauron interrupted. "Tell me more. Where is this guild?"
"In Eregion, a beautiful place, so much nicer than here."
The Maia had paused in his grooming, but now he put the boar-bristle brush away and faced his attendant. "Prepare my things and provide me with a map. I shall be paying a visit."
"Visiting, my lord? Are you sure? There are many Elves there. You will need guards."
"I will need no such thing." Sauron had already started walking into the tower. "I am always welcome in crafting guilds."
The attendant looked confused. "Even this one?"
"Even this one. Now get to it! Go!"
Although he made it appear otherwise, Sauron was in no rush. He had no plan, other than to show up in fair form, hope he was accepted, and let his skills do the rest. But no… that had not worked in the past. No matter his good intentions or generous gifts, they always refused to see reason and serve him of their own accord. There had to be some way.
It began as a slight ripple on the dark pond of his subconscious, growing larger and expanding until it was a roaring torrent he could not ignore.
Of their own accord…
What if the Elves could be tricked into serving him? But how? By what means? If persuasion failed, what instrument was effective enough and would be so willingly accepted, eagerness overwhelming caution? He pondered long and hard, his thoughts racing miles per minute.
In his mind's eye, he saw Nuin adorned in all his glittering jewelry, the Noldorin smiths wasting their talents and the best of Aulë's forges on useless trinkets…
A ring.
The corners of his mouth tweaked into a smirk. Yes! He just had to persuade this guild of Celebrimbor to fashion the rings and a few – the leaders, the most influential – to wear them. Then he would govern them through his own ring. And why stop there? Why not distribute these rings to every race? There would be no chance of opposition! None at all! He was the master, the supreme lord of Arda!
Sauron laughed aloud at the ingenious plot unfolding before him on his way back to the courtyard. He found his attendant waiting with the lead rope, a saddlebag of provisions, and a map.
The Maia placed his foot in the left stirrup and swung his leg over. Then he snatched the map and pored over it.
"Do be careful, my lord," his attendant cautioned.
"I do not require guidance," he snapped.
According to the map his spies compiled, Ost-in-Edhil lay in an open vale beyond the Misty Mountains, only a few days' ride away. He adopted the appearance of a Noldo, weaving delicate braids in his hair and fitting a silver diadem over his temples. Trusting in his disguise and the competence of his steed, he followed the map southward to Eregion.
He managed to keep his own servants from attacking him whenever they met along the road. The Maia saw few others, save wild Men and occasionally Silvan Elves, who ran and hid in the foliage as he passed. At daybreak on the fourth day, the rising sun revealed pale city walls gleaming below rugged mountain cliffs. Sauron knew this must be the location he sought. He rode towards the main entrance in plain view of anyone gazing out. A single guard kept watch in the tower. It was just as he had hoped – hundreds of years confining the Orcs had made them weaken their defenses.
"Hail, traveler! From whence have you come?"
"I've no homeland," Sauron revealed. "I am a wandering craftsman, hoping to find those of similar mindset with whom I may share my skill."
He waited no more than five minutes before the marble gates opened to permit him entry into the city.
Any view of Ost-in-Edhil was cut short as a group of uniformed guards approached the Maia, enclosing him in a circle. They searched his pockets and saddlebags for weapons before giving an all clear. The leader of the guard then appointed one of his men to escort Sauron to Celebrimbor. At their urging, he reluctantly permitted the Elves to lead away his horse.
His Elven escort accompanied him over winding paved roads, across many slender bridges, up flights of glowing white steps. There were workshops and forging spaces on every street, their halls nearly rivalling Aulë's own. The craftsman inside him leapt for joy. But the other part of the Maia, the one with the devious plan, remained calm and composed on the outside.
The guild had its headquarters at the very pinnacle of the city. A ring of outdoor furnaces, anvils, workbenches, and galleries surrounded a pool of water fed by a fountain. Under the shade of an awning, a tall Noldo sat awaiting the visitor. His icy blue stare was unwavering. His chiseled jaw tried to contain the eager smile fighting for his lips. Only once Sauron's escort directed him to stand a few feet away from the lead craftsman did the latter rise and meet his guest.
The Noldo went to clasp his arm in greeting, but Sauron surprised the Elf and his audience by dipping his head low in a show of respect.
Celebrimbor laughed. "My friend, there is no need to bow. We are a guild of equals. My men tell me you have come to seek membership. What is your name?"
"Annatar, my lord."
"That is quite a name."
"A more accurate name has never been given, my lord. For I walked the sweet lands of Valinor in my youth, and bring many gifts given me by the gods."
Celebrimbor raised his eyebrows, skeptical. "A welcome addition to our guild. I hope you will not take offense if I ask to observe your skills firsthand."
"Certainly. Although I'm sure I will not compare to your seasoned members," he replied humbly.
One of the craftsmen handed Sauron an uncut diamond.
"Cut the gem," Celebrimbor requested, motioning to the table spread with a vast collection of tools, "using whatever method suits you."
Sauron made an effort to appear self-conscious while he looked over the tools. He finally selected a hammer and chisel at random and cupped the gem in his palm, cutting it so deft and swiftly that to the Elves it seemed the job was done in the brief seconds between him closing and opening his hand to reveal the newly cut gem.
Celebrimbor paled. The rest of the guild members gasped in disbelief. "How did…?"
The Maia glanced down at his feet and blushed. "As I said, I'm sure I fall short of everyone here."
Celebrimbor sprang forth and grabbed Sauron's shoulders. "My friend, you do not fall short! Not a little, not at all! The only other craftsman I've heard possessing such skill was my grandfather."
"You flatter me."
"We would be honored if you joined our ranks." The Noldo clasped his arm in earnest. "Welcome, Annatar, welcome! You are officially a brother among the Gwaith-i-Mírdain!"
Sauron cast a sly smile at Celebrimbor. "No, my friend, the honor is all mine."
The jewel smiths of Eregion escorted "Annatar" around the city to show off their new member and give him a tour of Ost-in-Edhil. Along the way the people cheered and applauded Sauron as he walked at Celebrimbor's side.
See, isn't this easy? he thought. You should always be worshiping me.
Although he reveled in the attention and respect, Sauron grew impatient to set his plan into action. He put on a friendly façade and pretended to be in awe while Celebrimbor introduced him to prestigious members of the guild. He analyzed everyone he met, searching for the ideal wearers of his rings.
After a time, his hands began to twitch involuntarily, so eager was he to begin forging the rings.
Another of the jewel smiths happened to notice. "Look! He is a true craftsman. His hands are itching to create!"
The others received his words with laughter. "Let us not keep Annatar waiting," Celebrimbor said.
Sauron breathed a sigh of relief when they circled back to the workshops at the center of the city.
"What shall our next project be?" the head Noldo asked his craftsmen. "I've been considering a gift for the Lady Galadriel. Have you any suggestions?"
Sauron spoke up before anyone else. "I have a special task for us, if you are up to the challenge." He waited until he possessed their full attention. "The Valar taught this to me alone, in secret. Aulë himself showed me the process to craft them. They are known as "rings of power"- rings that enhance the abilities of their wearers, making them fairer, wiser…and more powerful."
He stole a glimpse of Celebrimbor to judge his reaction. There had come a great hunger and yearning into his face.
"Never before have these rings been crafted. But if the smiths of Eregion are truly the greatest in all of Arda…" His voice trailed off.
The Noldo had heard enough. He turned to the rest of the jewel smiths. "Are there any objections? No? Then it is decided- we will craft Aulendil's rings of power."
The crafting hall became a blur of coordinated movement and unbridled fervor. The Elven smiths threw on their aprons and fastened the hair behind their ears, scurrying to the supply rooms and back again as Sauron barked orders from the eye of the hurricane. Toolboxes clattered on workbenches, blueprint scrolls unraveled, the fires in the forges crackled to life. Sauron breathed in the smoke and let the familiar sharpen his senses.
Special casts were made to accommodate the rings. Gold, silver, mithril, and every precious metal poured up to the brims and hissed inside the furnace. Sauron hovered beside the Elves hammering away, waving his hand over their creations and uttering aloud the words to a spell. After the rings had been shaped and cooled, he carefully examined each one, grinning at the superior workmanship. The intense energy within the metal hummed against his fingertips.
"Very well done," he murmured.
Sauron taught Celebrimbor and his smiths much in the ways of crafting, and in exchange he learned of the influential Elves remaining in Middle earth. King Gil-galad of the line of Fingolfin reigned in Lindon along with Elrond, descendant of Bëor – he scowled at the name, finding his hatred of that house had never subsided – and Finarfin's daughter Galadriel, who had always been one of the wisest of the Noldor.
By now word must have spread to the other kingdoms of his acclaimed deeds in Eregion, so the idea came to Sauron to try his luck elsewhere. But at the gates of Lindon he was denied, no matter how fair he made his appearance or embellished his words. Bitterly did he realize Elrond possessed Melian's gift of foresight.
When he returned in dismay to Ost-in-Edhil, he noticed three rings in addition to the original sixteen the jewel smiths forged with his help. Celebrimbor, in the fashion of Elves, created three rings more beautiful than all the rest, intricately designed and set with colored gems.
"Your hands have not been idle," Sauron observed.
"I never put aside my desire to craft a worthy gift for the Lady Galadriel," Celebrimbor admitted. He admired the gold-banded diamond ring adorning his forefinger. "Perhaps I shall also give a few to Lords Gil-galad and Elrond," he said as an afterthought.
Sauron smiled wide at that. "Ah, the worthiest of gifts!" Quite unexpectedly, he reached out and took Celebrimbor's hand, covertly sensing the power of the ring inches under his palm. "Select a ring of your liking and never take it off. Let it be a symbol of our brotherhood."
Celebrimbor bowed his head. "As you say, friend."
The Maia went on a leisurely stroll around the perimeter of the crafting hall to make sure the other members also wore their rings. What he saw pleased him, for they were obsessed with their creations- and he determined it was time to move on to the next stage of his plan.
He knew of one place hot enough to forge his ring. Already Sauron had begun searching for a better, more practical location to build his fortress, and he believed it lay in the lands far to the east. In fact, he was currently involved in the long, tedious process of transporting his headquarters thence. Mordor reminded him of the dreary plains of Ered Gorgoroth and the impregnable fastness of Angband combined into one, with an added feature: a volcano in the realm regularly erupted lava and ash that could be heard many miles off. The mountain of fire must have been raised at the end of the First Age, forced to the surface as a result of violent upheavals of the earth.
To get to the volcano and its surrounding shadow lands, he needed to pass through multiple camps of his servants and spies. Thankfully, during those long years spent in hiding Sauron had not been idle. He used that time to create a distinct language his Orcs could speak, for fear the enemy might overhear their plans, and to identify others of the same allegiance. The use of Black Speech was strictly enforced. Now he spoke in that tongue to prevent his subjects hindering him on his travels.
Billowing clouds of smoke blotted out the sky over the dusky land barricaded by sheer mountain walls. Soot blanketed the barren dunes of its desert landscape. Sauron navigated the pass leading from the northwest and there beheld Orodruin's terrible height. Red-hot magma flashed in the cracks and spilled in fiery rivers to the valley floor.
He left his horse waiting at the base of the mountain after unpacking his tools. He lifted an anvil into his arms and began climbing the steep slope, careful not to stumble over rocks. The heat intensified with every step until the fire beat directly on his face and neck. The Maia wiped sweat off his brow and mindfully set down the anvil on a high ledge overlooking a chasm of flowing lava. Liquid gold seeped into the cast he held above the flames, melting instantly on account of the boiling temperatures.
Sparks flew at every blow of his hammer. As the object took shape, he imparted pieces of his own essence into its composition. Then he spoke the very same words he used in fashioning the lesser rings, connecting each one to his master ring, the ruling ring. Once cooled to perfection, the surface seemed too plain, so he took a very fine chisel and inscribed a text in Black Speech:
One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them. One ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them.
Much strength left him in its forging. But the second he placed the ring onto his finger, the fiery letters of the inscription glowed, and he felt his strength returned to him once more. Only now his power increased with every ring he had brought into existence, and with the final ring sliding into place, the result was an intoxicating and overwhelming rush of energy that surged throughout his aura.
The Maia turned inwardly, feeling for the locations of his rings. His will was like a probing hand sweeping every hill and crevice of Middle earth. The rings sent out signal flares as if they were lit beacons answering the call of the One. And their lord, the lord of the rings, sought the minds of their wearers.
