Epilogue

Sauron stared moodily out at the sea, chin on his knees. He'd never cared for chaos that was the sea, and his mood was at an almost all time low. He had never been one to confront his problems, rather one to try to run from them all. But fate had caught up with him, and now here he was, heading back to Middle-earth. He had an impossible mission to fulfill with only a single ally. Never before had he attempted something so foolish. Well, foolish by his standards. He knew many considered his attempts to take over Middle-earth to be foolish, but truly he had planned them all out well, and several times come extremely close to fulfilling his goal. This time though, he hadn't the slightest idea how he was going to accomplish what he needed to do.

"It would be much easier if we set sail from Tol Eressëa," a grumbling hobbit broke into his rather pessimistic thoughts. Sauron turned, and gave Frodo a slight smile.

"Not after my appearance caused a panic," he said, slightly amused with imagining it. Frodo huffed, and sat down beside him.

They sat in silence for a while, before Frodo quietly asked, "Are you ready?"

"No," Sauron answered honestly. It was one thing he had decided on. No more lies. Not unless they were truly necessary. He sighed.

"No, I'm not ready, and even if we could wait another hundred years, I still don't think I would be. I have no idea how I'm going to be able to accomplish this," he said, trying to push back the panic that was filling him, now that this insanity was staring him in the face.

"You're not alone in your mission, you know," Frodo pointed out. "There will be others willing to help you." Sauron stared out at the sea again.

"Who?" he asked. "I cannot think of a single person in Middle-earth who will be glad to see me return, or wish to help me."

"You may be surprised," Frodo said. "But others will be attempting to do what you have been set to do. There are others who for reasons of their own wish to see the old cities rebuilt, or protect the house of Telcontar. Men and Elves will wish to see their lands safer, and so will hunt the remaining dark creatures that lurk there. Your job is to help them."

Sauron nodded slowly. When he put it that way…

"But there will be many who will refuse my help, simply because I am the one offering it," he pointed out. Frodo nodded.

"I am sure there will be, and that will probably be your biggest task. But the letters I am carrying will help somewhat in that regard. The leaders of Middle-earth, at the very least, will know that you are sincere in your offer."

"I hope that will be enough," Sauron sighed. There seemed nothing more to say, and they sat in silence for a while, before it was time to load the ship that would carry them back to Middle-earth. Frodo spoke a bit to the Maiar helping them, but Sauron stayed silent, too unsure around them to speak.

Finally, all was aboard, and the ship was loosed from the improvised moorings. A brisk wind rose in the West, filling the sails and driving them towards Middle-earth. Helpful to have the Valar around on long journeys, Sauron thought sardonically. Slowly but surely, the coast of Valinor slipped away. Sauron expertly set the sails, then sat next to Frodo.

"Where did you learn to sail?" Frodo asked curiously. Sauron grinned.

"Númenor," he said wryly. "Apparently it was unheard of for the King's advisor to not know how to sail, so I got extensive lessons...despite the fact I've never cared for the Sea."

"That must have been...interesting," Frodo commented.

"You have no idea," Sauron muttered. "I was terrified, but couldn't show it. Then of course, Númenor was drowned, and my fears of drowning came all too true."

"That was your fault though," Frodo pointed out. Sauron nodded.

"Yes, but I'd never intended for it to go that far," he explained. "Sending the warriors to their deaths was one thing. They knew death was a possibility. Killing all of the innocents was another."

"According to reports, you killed quite a few innocents in that temple of yours," Frodo argued.

"Yes, but that was...necessary," Sauron said. Frodo raised his eyebrows.

"Necessary?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, maybe not to your viewpoint," Sauron allowed. "But if you're trying to take over, fear, chaos, and distrust are powerful allies. All I had were my wits when I was in Númenor. I was playing a very dangerous game, and I used everything I had at my disposal. Plus, it had the added benefit of lowering the numbers of the Faithful, who were frankly annoying. But it wasn't like I was wholesale slaughtering anyone. Actually, after the first few, the Númenóreans were willing to do it to each other with almost no prompting on my part." Frodo looked thoughtful.

"What were you planning to do after Ar-Pharazôn attacked Valinor?" he asked. Sauron shrugged.

"It depended on who won," he said. "I was assuming the Valar would, and then I would console Tar-Míriel, who, in all actuality wouldn't have been very heartbroken at all, and then settled down as her advisor, ruling from the background until her death, upon which I would seize power in my own right. If Ar-Pharazôn came back…Well, let's just say his beloved Queen probably would have seen to the fact he didn't live much longer. And then the same thing would occur."

"You really did have the whole thing planned out," Frodo commented. Sauron nodded.

"I generally do," Sauron said. "Which is why I feel completely unprepared now. I have no idea what I'm going to do when we arrive in Middle-earth."

Frodo looked at him sympathetically, knowing that there was nothing he could say. For the generally highly organized and strategic Maia, being thrown into something he hadn't planned for was probably highly stressful, and more than a little frightening.

They sailed on, Frodo learning more about the Maia. He quickly learned that almost every action Sauron had ever taken he could justify, at least to himself. Frodo personally still held that the ends did not justify the means.

One night, Frodo was awakened by Sauron gently shaking him and whispering his name. Confused, he was simply given an enigmatic smile, and a "I think you'll want to see this," as Sauron lead him above deck, and pointed out over the ocean.

"Can you see it?" Sauron asked. Dimly, Frodo could make out what appeared to be a low island, waves breaking over it.

"Is that…" he trailed off. Sauron nodded.

"It's the Meneltarma," Sauron said softly. "The only thing remaining of Númenor. We have again entered Mortal seas." They stayed there for a time, then Frodo, growing cold, bade Sauron goodnight and headed back below. Sauron stayed there until the sunrise, his mind Ages in the past.

Frodo noticed that Sauron grew quieter as they drew closer to Middle-earth. He would often stare to the East or the West, or occasionally the North, for long periods of time, unmoving. One morning Frodo came above deck to find Sauron talking softly with Ossë. What their conversation was about Frodo never learned, but Sauron was even more pensive that day.

Finally the day came when the shores of Middle-earth came into view. Sauron was silent the whole day. Slowly, slowly they drew ever nearer. It seemed that they would arrive just before the sun set. Sauron made sure that everything he and Frodo had brought was packed, and then set all his attention to sailing, trying hard not to think.

The quays of Mithlond came ever closer, despite how much Sauron didn't want them to. He had only been more nervous a very few times in his long life. He took a deep breath. This was it, his very last chance. He had been running for Ages, now it was time to stop. Their small vessel gently docked. Frodo went first, and began talking to Círdan, who had met them. Slowly, gracefully, he followed, banishing all emotion from his face. He had returned to Middle-earth.

Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien.