Prologue: A Stirring of Fates
In hindsight, he realized the flaws in his past strategies. The small, easily lost object that had been central to his plans—the One Ring— now seemed like a foolish choice. How could I have relied on something so fragile, so prone to being misplaced or forgotten? he berated himself, reflecting on his lack of foresight. It was a miscalculation, a lapse in judgment, and he cursed himself for not foreseeing the potential pitfalls.
Now it was way too late. Not much was left of him, a fragmented shell of his former self. The realization struck him with a sense of loss and regret. He, once a being of power and influence, now found himself reduced to a shadow of his former glory. The weight of his mistakes bore down upon him, the consequences of his choices laid bare.
As a disembodied spirit, Sauron wandered Middle-earth without form or solace, barely aware of anything, even his own self. The agony Sauron experienced during the creation of the One Ring when he tore apart his feä and poured half of it into his new source of power, was but a fraction of the suffering that awaited him. When the Ring was ultimately destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom, the fragile bond that had held together his half-shredded spirit completely unraveled.
Sauron, at that moment, lost his sense of self, his Maian abilities, and all hope of ever reforming. The destruction of the Ring, the very source of his power and influence, ripped away his connection to the world, leaving him bereft and broken. The pain was not just physical, but a searing torment of the soul.
The loss of his Maian abilities—the innate powers that defined his being—was a devastating blow. Now Sauron faced the true cost of his actions. The Ring, which had granted him immense power and control, had also become his shackle, binding him to a path of darkness and ultimately, his undoing.
Sauron, his existence as a specter marked by suffering and a slowly unraveling feä, found himself suddenly enveloped by a radiant divine presence. The darkness that had consumed him was drowned out by a light so bright it caused him to reel. For the first time in years, Sauron became aware of himself and his surroundings, the pain that had been his constant companion now soothed by this mysterious presence.
The unknown voice, gentle yet resonating with immense power, enveloped Sauron's very being, sending shivers down his soul as he heard it. The words echoed through his consciousness, stirring a mix of awe and apprehension within him.
"Rest now, dear one," the voice intoned, its timbre as soothing as it was commanding. "Your journey is just beginning."
"What...?" Sauron questioned, his voice laced with confusion and a growing sense of fatigue. His mind, once sharp and focused, now struggled to stay awake, the weight of his exhaustion pulling him towards an unintended slumber. "Who...?" he continued, his words trailing off as his eyes, heavy with sleep, began to close, lulled by the sound of a Song—a melody that spoke of hope and redemption. It was as if the very fabric of his being was being mended, his shattered feä slowly pieced back together.
The light that surrounded him was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the cold emptiness he had endured for so long. As he drifted closer to sleep, he felt a gentle mental touch, like the caress of a breeze.
Images flashed before his closing eyes—memories of his time in Valinor, the beauty of the Two Trees, and the joy of creation. He felt the purity of those days, a time before ambition had led him astray. The light around him seemed to pulsate with the rhythm of the Song, each note a thread weaving through his soul, repairing the fractures and soothing the scars.
CRASH
Sauron startled awake, surprised to find himself lying on a comfortable bed. Blinking rapidly, he tried to make sense of his new surroundings, a room bathed by the warm light streaming through the windows.
"I cannot believe you broke my favorite vase! It was a gift from Yavanna herself, and you shattered it into a million pieces!"
"I know, I know! I'm sorry, truly I am. But it was an accident! I tripped, and the next thing I knew, your precious vase lay in pieces on the floor!"
Sauron paid no attention to the argument as his mind was enveloped by a sense of familiarity and comfort. Am I dreaming? Hallucinating? he wondered, his thoughts tangled with confusion and a sense of disbelief. The pristine state of his old room and belongings in Valinor contradicted his assumption that they would have been destroyed after his betrayal and descent into enmity. It all felt too real, and looked too detailed, yet it was all very impossible.
He took a deep breath, the air in Valinor feeling different, purer than what he had grown accustomed to in Mordor. His eyes wandered around the room, taking in the details that seemed untouched by time. Everything looked undisturbed. From the large bed and windows to the mirror by the door.
An array of tools—hammers, chisels, and delicate carving knives—lay on his workbench. Various half-finished projects and intricate blueprints covered the rest of it, a silent reminder of his once passionate pursuits.
The bookshelves that lined the walls were a testament to the insatiable thirst for knowledge that had always been a part of him. Meticulously organized tomes on the history of Middle-earth, treatises on crafting, and the natural sciences filled every shelf.
"You know, you're not exactly known for your grace and coordination. Maybe it's time to work on your spatial awareness and reflexes."
"Hey, I resemble that remark! I'll have you know that I'm usually quite graceful... and anyway, it's your own fault! Why did you leave it in the hallway?!"
As the argument escalated in volume, Sauron couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, a subtle yet undeniable sense of disquiet settling over him like a heavy shroud. Once revered as a trusted Maia, Sauron had since become the most loathed enemy, second only to Melkor himself. He had anticipated the annihilation of everything he had held dear, yet here he was, confronted by the inexplicable preservation of his former life.
A torrent of emotions washed over him—confusion, suspicion, and a profound sense of unease. Sauron questioned the nature of his reality, the motives behind this unexpected preservation, and the potential implications for his future.
Is this a hallucination after all? Or one last cruel trick by the Valar before they throw me into the Void? Sauron mused, his thoughts tinged with a bitter resignation.
The possibility gnawed at him like a relentless beast, the fear of being cast aside and forgotten by the very beings who had once embraced him now a constant shadow lurking at the edges of his consciousness. He had heard about the fate of his Master, Melkor, as he was cast into the Void, condemned to an eternity of oblivion and despair. And now, Sauron wondered if he too was destined to suffer a similar fate, his existence erased and his legacy forgotten.
Sauron's contemplation was abruptly shattered by a glimpse of his reflection in the floor-length mirror. The sight that greeted him was so unexpected, so utterly surreal, that he couldn't help but rush towards it, his heart pounding with a mixture of disbelief and trepidation. As he stood before the mirror, his eyes widened in astonishment as he took in the profound transformation that had occurred to his physical appearance.
Gone was the shadowed visage he had grown accustomed to during his dark reign in Middle-earth. In its place stood a figure that bore a striking resemblance to his former self, to the Mairon he had once been before the corruption of Melkor had twisted his form and his soul. His hair, once darkened by the influence of evil, now shone with a radiant silver-white hue, reminiscent of the pure starlight that had once illuminated the heavens of Arda. And his eyes, once tainted by malice and deceit, now sparkled with a vibrant emerald glow, reflecting the depth of his true nature, hidden beneath the veil of darkness for so long.
Sauron, his breath catching in his throat, found himself transfixed by the sight before him—a reflection of his true self, untainted by the darkness that had clouded his spirit. It was a stark reminder of the path he had walked, a descent into shadow and corruption, which had changed even his inner self. Despite the ability of Maiar to shift their forms, each Maia had a "state" that they found most natural, a default appearance they returned to when their energy levels fell too low.
Mairon, now called Sauron, had been no exception to this rule. Under the insidious influence of Melkor, Sauron's once noble form had become distorted, a reflection of the darkness that had consumed his soul. The weight of the atrocities he had committed, the choices he had made in service to the Dark Lord, had left their mark, twisting his very essence and manifesting in his outward appearance.
But now, as he stood before the mirror, Sauron marveled at the sight of his restored form. Gone were the traces of corruption that had marred his features, replaced instead by the familiar countenance he had known before his descent into darkness. It was as if the years spent as Melkor's lieutenant had been erased, leaving behind only the pure essence of the Maia he had once been.
Sauron, his eyes wide with disbelief, reached up to touch his newly restored hair, his fingers running through the silvery strands as if to confirm their reality. The sensation of his hair, soft and silky, felt unfamiliar, a stark contrast to the coarse and darkened locks he had known when he last had a body.
With a surge of determination, Sauron called upon the depths of his power, his essence pulsating with raw energy. The very air around him crackled with anticipation as he unleashed his formidable abilities, seeking to unravel any enchantments or illusions that may have cloaked his true form.
His consciousness delved deep within, probing the boundaries of his being as he tested the limits of his strength. Yet, despite the torrent of power he unleashed, his appearance remained unaltered, aside from how his eyes started blazing with an incandescent glow, reflecting the sheer magnitude of energy coursing through him
The assumption that his newfound state was a trick, a deception before his judgment and punishment, wavered. The Ring, with its promise of control and influence, had come at a terrible cost—the painful tearing apart of his feä, the very essence of his being. And then, without the Ring, he had been left vulnerable, his Maian abilities diminished, and his judgment clouded by the shadows of his past.
The irony of his situation had not been lost on Sauron. He, who had assumed that no one could take the Ring from him, found himself bereft of its power, left with permanent damage to his feä and a weakened connection to his innate abilities. It was a bitter trade, a reminder of the true cost of his ambitions. And yet now, it was as if the damage to his feä had never happened. His powers surged within him, coursing through his being with a strength and vitality he had long since forgotten.
Sauron, his thoughts swirling with the implications of his changed appearance and return of his abilities, came to a startling realization—none of the Valar could have brought about these changes. Melkor, once the strongest of their kind, would not have been capable of such an act, even if he had been willing. The restoration of Sauron's feä, the very essence of his being, was beyond the reach of any Vala.
The intricate weaving of his feä could only be the handiwork of Eru Ilúvatar, the supreme creator of all.
"That's enough! Both of you stop this right now unless you want the Valar to get involved!"
"But he brok—"
"Have you forgotten how to do even the most basic of spells? Fix it and disperse!"
The authoritative voice echoed down the corridor, cutting through the escalating tension like a sword through silk. Sauron, startled by the sudden intervention, listened as the argument dissolved into muttered apologies.
A sullen silence filled the hallway, even as Sauron found himself laughing at the absurdity of his situation. Ilúvatar rarely involved himself directly in the affairs of his children and yet now he had done so for one of the most hated beings in Arda.
Why? Sauron questioned him incredulously, not even expecting a response. Why had the divine Eru chosen to save him from the fate he had brought upon himself? Was it an act of mercy, a chance for redemption, or something else entirely? The implications of Eru's involvement left Sauron with more questions than answers.
"What does Eru expect to gain from this? Another soldier for his army? When Melkor is already in the Void?" he wondered aloud, his thoughts racing with apprehension. "Wait...It's not already time for The Dagor Dagorath, is it?"
The possibility that he had spent so long as a mindless spirit that it was already time for the end of Arda filled him with dread. But then why weren't the Valar here to force his compliance? The absence of their intervention only added to the mystery shrouding his newfound circumstances.
Sauron's thoughts twisted in on themselves as he pondered the complexities of the divine realm. It was a realm governed by beings of immense power and wisdom, yet plagued by the same flaws and conflicts that plagued the mortal world. The notion that the Valar and other Maiar might be oblivious to Eru's actions seemed both incredulous and entirely possible.
The argument in the hallway only served to reinforce his doubts. If the Maiar were indeed aware of his return or the changes wrought upon him by Eru, they showed no signs of it. Instead, they seemed preoccupied with their petty squabbles and grievances, their attention diverted by trivial matters even in the face of the return of Melkor's chief lieutenant.
A flicker of disdain crossed Sauron's features as he contemplated the intelligence—or lack thereof—displayed by the arguing Maiar.
But what about the Valar? Had they simply left him be, assuming he wouldn't escape at the first opportunity? Sauron's mind raced with scenarios, trying to make sense of their inaction. Were the Valar truly so trusting, or simply waiting until he let his guard down?
Sauron's memories of Valinor were faint, clouded by the influence of Melkor's teachings, which painted the Valar as blind servants of Eru's will. In his time serving under Melkor's banner, Sauron had absorbed these views without question, internalizing the dark lord's contempt for the powers of the Blessed Realm.
Melkor's words had been like poison, seeping into Sauron's consciousness and poisoning his perception of the Valar. The dark lord's narratives painted the Valar as naive and foolish beings, easily manipulated by the will of their father. According to Melkor, their actions were not guided by wisdom or foresight but rather by blind obedience to the dictates of Eru, a notion that Sauron had accepted without much resistance.
Despite harboring a curiosity about the incidents that had led Melkor to such conclusions, Sauron had learned through painful experience that questioning or challenging the dark lord's views was met with harsh reprisal.
Now he was starting to wonder if Melkor had been right about the Valar's naivety after all. The fact that he had been left alone with his restored abilities, and without even a Maian guard to watch over him, seemed to support Melkor's claims. It was as if the Valar, in their infinite wisdom, had overlooked the potential consequences of their actions.
There was, however, one way to check whether he was at least being monitored. In his previous exploration of his newly restored feä and abilities, he had stumbled upon two bonds that he had previously lost in the course of his service to Melkor. One to Aulë, the Vala of craftsmanship and smithing, as all Maiar had a bond connecting them to the Vala they served, and one to his older brother. Sauron forcibly stopped himself from ruminating on the painful severing of the second bond to focus on finding out what he could feel from the first.
The bond with Aulë, his old master, felt surprisingly solid as if their shared past held a resilience he hadn't expected. He didn't dare access it fully not wanting to alert him of his presence, but as Sauron probed further, he couldn't shake the nagging sense of unease that gnawed at him. Aulë's focus on his projects seemed unwavering, his attention consumed by the intricate workings of his craft. It was as if he was oblivious to the turmoil brewing in the world around him, unaware of the return of his wayward disciple.
Was it indifference, Sauron wondered, or simply a lack of awareness? Had Aulë truly grown so detached from the affairs of the world, or had Sauron's return gone unnoticed amidst the vast expanse of time and space? The questions swirled in his mind, each one adding to his growing sense of perplexity and uncertainty.