A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed and on a further note to everyone who was and still is reading this thing.

Ranger's Scop: Yes, he is like a teenager in a way that he just can't stand to look at his own flaws and admit that he may have botched it up big time. But there is an actual reason for why Sauron is acting all haughty and mighty and we're slowly but surely coming it. Let's just say your carefully crafted perspective of yourself and the world can be like a house of cards. Read the chapter if you want to know what I mean.

yesboss21: I'd like to postpone my thoughts on Tom Bombadil a bit if you don't mind. As what I see him is actually crucial as to how the story is going to play out and I don't want to show my hand just yet. Sauron will meet the hobbits, yes, although it won't be a main focus of the story. Which way he is going to choose is the big question in the end, isn't it? Or is it all predetermined by the Divine Plan anyway. We're going to cover this question among others. I just ask for a bit of your patience.

Anyway, on to chapter Four in which we reach our first big turning point of the story.

IV. Sticks and Stones

o

o

Midway upon the journey of our life

I found myself within a forest dark,

For the straightforward pathway had been lost.

*o*o*

Dante Aligheri, The Divine Comedy, Inferno, Cantica I.

The Shadow may have been pulled away from the forests of the world, but here in the deep heart of the Old Forest, traces of it still lingered and no light of the Eldar or other powers would ever be able to heal the marring that was so deeply engraved in this land and the trees that inhabited it. The darkness had never fully consumed the Old Forest, but it had taken root here and it would not leave.

The trees huddled close around him, their evil intent clear in the air. Branches whipped at his face, thorns tangled in his hair and at the seams of his tunic and stones and rocks cut into the soles of his feet. At first Sauron tried to keep the dark machinations at bay with the power of his voice, he sang and cursed, spoke incantations and bans, but it did not work like it had worked with the old willow. For one Old Man Willow had himself already possessed a will to wake and Sauron had merely incited it, and besides the tree had been alone. Here, instead, he was straining against the united mind-force of an entire forest and soon he found that the words died in his throat, that the air itself became as stuffy and clotted as his blood and soon he was bent over, gasping for air. For an unfathomable amount of time that could have been hours or days or weeks, he marched on, dragging himself forward through the under-brush, climbed down into low grounds and valleys of rivulets long dried out, and up on the other side again. He did not know for how long he had been here nor how big the forest was, only that he should have reached the end by now, for not even Mirkwood had taken so long to traverse on foot. He was heading westward, as far as he knew, but the forest seemed to twist around him, sometimes goading him with a sliver of a silver path visible between dark tree trunks, other times leading him to dead ends between great boulders.

And suddenly, in one moment, when the canopy of leaves seemed merely inches over his head like the lowerable ceiling in false guest rooms in his old fortresses, when he thought he was breathing water and chunks of earth more than he was breathing air, when he was scratched and bleeding, doubled over and soiled with dirt, his feet cut and bleeding and his hands scratched and ripped open, when nature, which he had dominated and tortured for so long, bore and pressed down on him and threatened to snuff him out like a candle-flame—only then did Sauron realise what he had done when he made the Ring and what a great part of himself had been irrevocably lost and destroyed.

For years and centuries he had desired to rule and not be ruled over, be it by madmen or gods. In his desire to dominate all life, he had made the One Ring, but he had cut out a piece too big of himself and poured it into the Ring and then the Ring had ruled over him. And now that the madmen had sunken into their graves, the gods were banished to the Outside and the One Ring had been destroyed, he was caught in the valley of Tom Bombadil and he was less than a ghost, less than a wraith, and not even his feet left any prints on the path he walked now. And he saw that he would never make it to Angmar, not even as a mote; and even if he had, there was no way that he would ever be more in this world again than a speck of dust in the twilight, casting not even the slightest shadow in the midday sun.

And just with that his resolve, which had been like hardened steel, melted away and out of him and it became to hard to make another step. He stood there, in the middle of the Old Forest, lost not only between the trees, but lost also to himself. The heavy, stuffy air was weighing him down and slowly, very slowly, his knees bent and he slumped backwards against a big old tree trunk and slid to the ground until he was crouched there, half-sitting, half-leaning against an adjacent boulder whose sharp edges were digging between his ribs. An echo of his determination told him to stand and go on, but Sauron, who had never since the beginning of Creation been without ambition or goal, found himself bereaved of both.

What for? he asked himself. Every further step will avail me nothing except exhaustion and pain. There is no escaping this forest or this dilemma. For once, I am well and truly caught in a trap I cannot escape. What none of the Valar could do to me, I did to myself. I created the Ring and I poured all of myself into it and when it was destroyed, so was I. I am not even a whole living being anymore. I am less than a shade, and I would come undone were it not for a necklace of flowers holding me together.

He lifted the necklace of lilies before his eyes and let it slide through his dirty and bloody fingers. The white petals were already wrinkled and drying, wilting before his eyes, even if it took longer than the night before for reasons he could not care to guess. So he had left Tom's realm. At least in this he had succeeded, although this success and every other victory he had ever achieved felt hollow and useless and when he looked for the difference between his past victories and his losses, he could find none. For every thing he had gained, there were ten things a hundred times as precious he had lost, until he was left with nothing more to give and nothing left to lose.

The gathering darkness pulled closer around him. Trees were hunkering over him, some branches hanging dangerously low now. They moved faster and with more courage. It must be night then, Sauron thought, for darkness lent strength to her spawn, as were those corrupted trees. But darkness was no longer his friend and no longer did he find refuge in the night. She seemed to pull back from him, even, refusing to hide him and instead leaving him clear to see for all her creatures, bright like a bonfire. He belonged nowhere and to none, an outcast of this world, overextending his allowed stay.

One last time he tried to move, but he could not get his feet under him. He fell against the boulder, his back aching where the jagged stone and thick bark pressed against skin and bones He tried to drag himself upward, but his body was not as strong as his fading will and at last he sat still, his eyes clouding and unseeing, his right hand gripping Goldberry's necklace, while the wilting petals of the lilies slowly fell to the ground like a the fall of the first snow in the Old World before the sun had been born.

He felt the bounds that held him to this world coming loose and fading. Bonds that were keeping him together became weaker and broke, one after another. The pain in his limbs faded as he himself started to fade and the rustling of the advancing trees became muffled and distant as the cracks in the world began to open around him. Deep bottomless gorges they were, swallowing everything that never was, or had been forgotten even by the Gods or had been so thoroughly maimed and destroyed and taken apart that the net separating Above and Below was too wide-meshed to keep it from falling through. Sauron wondered if there was the Void waiting below, but the idea was fleeting and vague and evaporated like mist but he found he did no logner care.

For a thousand times a man's life he had wandered from the icy crags of the Mountains of Shadow in the north to the southernmost reaches of Far Harad in the south before the face of the world was forever changed and Beleriand was sunk. He had lived and fought alongside and against Men and Elves in more battles than he could remember. He had been a disciple and a teacher, a servant and a master, a friend for a lifetime and a mortal enemy; he had lived in palaces of Elven lords and he had hunted under the stars in the endless grasslands with the dark-skinned people who knew no kings and queens except for the sun and the rain. He had seen he ages of the world come and go without being aware of the passing of the millennia, for he was immortal and the world was an ever-changing miracle. It had cost him no strength to be all this and to fight and tear and forge his way through the world, no. On the contrary, the constant need to fight had invigorated him and forced him to become smarter to survive against the powerful enemies he provoked again and again with fierce joy. It had poured fire in his soul and sharpened his thoughts to a point that he had thought he could see the plan the Ancient Gods had envisioned for the fate of the world.

But now, his limbs were sore and aching, his mind was fogging over, his eyes were burning and his throat was dry. He felt exhausted and worn and the weight of a thousand years that he had never felt before came to weigh down on him all the heavier now. For the first time in all the ages of the world Sauron could remember he wished to rest.

He let his grip around the necklace become loose, his fingers opened and his hand slid down to rest on his legs, his empty palm turned skyward. He looked at it and a wry smile curled around the corners of his mouth. No more rings. No more gifts. He was tired. Sauron closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree behind him.

A darkness deeper than any other enveloped him, but it was not complete and from time to time he could see a sliver of grey or green light or the smell of damp soil. He felt a root tightening around his wrist, first like a caress, then like a tight embrace and finally crushing. Leaves were piling on top of him and little creatures with many legs were skittering to and fro about his arms, his neck and his face. He tried to bat them away, but then remembered his right hand was trapped and his left hand was wedged between his side and the boulder. He drifted off again.

He thought he heard the sound of rain, once, and ear-splitting thunder. He started awake, but when he listened, there was only silence. A thick, gnarled root had wrapped itself around his shoulder and his ribcage. A few white petals of water-lilies were glowing like stars on the ground. He looked up, but there were no stars visible through the thick canopy of leaves. With something akin to regret he let his head fall back forward and tried to sleep.

When he woke for the third time, he was blind and could no longer move. Roots like iron vices were holding him tight and he was more than half-buried in dirt and gravel and dead leaves. But—hark!—there was something else: a jingling bright as crystal water upon white stones and it danced just at the edge of his hearing. Annoyed, he turned his head away, as if it could drown out the sound of bells. Just when he was about to drift off, he heard someone calling him by a name he had not heard in aeons—a name which he had forgotten that he had once held. It grated with him like nails on a chalkboard and it rattled the very bones inside of him. But despite his unwillingness, his spirit was forced to rouse itself by the power of the ties that bound him to his true name and answered to its call.

Ho, now! This looks like an uncomfortable place to sleep, my friend.

"Leave me alone, I am tired," he forced out between teeth that were grinding themselves to dust on the words.

Of all the times when you could have rested, you pick the worst one. Ho dol! You are inclined towards bad choices, little spirit. Your part in this story is not yet over! Here, let me help you.

"Begone, I wish to rest," he snarled, and his voice was raw and dried like old parchment.

Not now! Come back and out of the deep dark water! Water will only quench the fire in your soul! Don't let yourself be buried! You are fire and air, not water and earth! Breathe! Breathe air, not mud and dead leaves! Move your arms, your legs!

And as the voice spoke, a fresh dark wind blew the decaying foliage from his face and the roots which held his body tight retreated and let him go. A sudden brightness struck as if he stood face to face with the sun and he opened his eyes, one arm shielding him against the brightness.

And then the glow became weaker and he noticed that he was, in fact, just looking at the starry night-sky through a gap in the foliage. He was in a small glade and there was a silhouette leaning over him, sharp and black against the midnight blue sky.

Tom Bombadil was standing before him and held out his hand. "You've been far gone if the starlight is hurting you so! Come now, come! You have two legs, let us make good use of them!"

Sauron glared up at him.

"Is this my way of doing penance?" he growled. "That I cannot be rid of you? Do the Greater Gods desire to see me humbled and punished so badly? Are you the one to carry out their punishment?"

Tom Bombadil's gaze was not unfriendly, but nevertheless it pierced him to the bone. "I am old, and I am master of this valley," he said, drew his offered hand back and spread his arms wide. "But while I am sure you will be judged for what you have done the judge is not me. Tom Bombadil tends to his land and its trees and stones and to Goldberry River-daughter. He is no judge."

"Good," Sauron said sharply and rose to his feet. "Then there is no reason for you to follow me around, either!" He dusted himself off and started to walk away.

"Ho dol, merry dot! I don't think so! Someone who wanders off and gets lost and then falls asleep in the forest and fails to wake again might need a bit of help." Tom caught up to him and started to walk next to him.

"Leave me alone." Sauron accelerated his steps, but Tom Bombadil was not to be deterred. They walked winding paths, over hill and under tree and under low-hanging branches, across dry riverbeds and climbed over stones in their way.

To his great chagrin Sauron noticed that the trees were keeping out of their—no, Tom's!—way. Indeed, the shadows themselves seemed to shirk away from Tom Bombadil, who was whistling a merry tune and every now and then burst into a mirthful, albeit nonsensical song. Every attempt to shake him off went in vain.

At last, they reached a high, dark hedge with an iron gate set into it. Sauron looked up at the forbidding hedge, looming over them like a sinister guardian and frowned.

"Here we are!" Tom called out merrily, and walked past Sauron with long strides and a spring in his step.

Sauron bristled. "You have led me here on purpose?"

"Why, no, little spirit. You have been leading the way the entire time." Tom pulled out a wooden key of his jacket and unlocked the door. "But as it is, you have come to a very interesting place and while we are here there is something Tom wants to show you. Come!"

Sauron did not believe for a single moment that Tom had not meddled with him or the forest paths, but when he saw far and open lands on the other side of the dark hedge, a very close promise of getting away from the damned roots and evil trees, he stepped through, resigned and angry.

The moment he reached the other side, the whole world opened up around him. Rolling hills fell and rose gently, wide fields and acres lay full of corn, dotted with trees here and there, and every now and then the yellow lights of little farmhouses twinkled beneath a high and deep starry sky, vast and dark like the ocean. The very air itself seemed to be as fresh and new as on the first day; gone was the stuffiness and murk from beneath the forest and Sauron, for all his loathing of stars and nature, felt like a load had been lifted of his shoulders.

"Ho dol, breathe deeply and with joy! The air is always fresher in these parts! This is what lies west of Tom's realm," Tom Bombadil said. "Few still know of this land and it gets overlooked very often by the tall peoples and then by some even greater than them. Stay with me now and stay close! Goldberry's gift alone will not keep you in one piece outside of Tom's realm and I do not want you to fall apart while we are wandering outside of Tom's lands!"

Sauron followed him along the path between young birches and elms. "Where are we going?" he said slowly.

"Tom has a dear friend on this side of the Old Forest," he spoke into the silence. "He is a Hobbit, and a remarkable one at that."

"A Hobbit?"

"A Halfling," Tom said. "A people which you would do well to remember. His name is Farmer Maggot and I have yet to see another creature as shrewd as him. He has not seen a lot of the world, but the part which he has seen he knows like the pockets of his waistcoat. He used to come to visit Tom when he was younger and Tom in turn went to find him at the borders of the Old Forest, back when the trees were still asleep and their roots not yet filled with so much wrath. Maggot lives near the Old Forest, but he is not afraid, neither of Trees nor of other things. He knows what he can and what he cannot do and he has a sure footing in his world, because he is keeps his eyes and ears open and knows when he has to be careful. But see for yourself, you will meet him shortly!"

A/N: Fun fact out of the writing lab: While I was writing the passage wherein Sauron tries to get away from Tom Bombadil in the Forbidden Forest, but Tom just keeps following him singing songs, I could not get the image out of my head of him going all "Asante Sana Squash Banana" on Sauron. Old mentor figure? Check. Following a stubborn character through the wilderness singing? Check. Stubborn character being thoroughly unnerved by said singing and trying to get away from mentor? Check.

I feel sorely tempted to write an omake. I just really want to have Tom explain to Sauron that "It means that you're a baboon. And I am not."

Also, Sauron, really needs a whack over the head with a stick at this point. He has to learn from the past, after all.

Oh well, Hakuna Matata.

Because this chapter was fairly short, the next one will be posted on Monday, 18th of April.