When the Black Gate was Closed
“Master. Forgive this intrusion. But, I am compelled to tell you. My position demands I inform you. A man animal has been heard. The man animal is saying your name, master. Saying your name in his septic voice. The man animal is thinking, no doubt. The man animal is thinking he can give orders to your most excellently ordered self. Give you orders, my master. Give orders and still keep his blasphemous tongue. Keep his tongue in his man animal mouth. Keep his tongue after . . .”
Sauron had been beautifully, mindlessly busy until he was interrupted by his Mouth of Sauron; who, it seemed, always had something to say, and then took forever to say it. Mouth wasn't supposed to be his job title: Sauron had made a joke calling him Mouth.
Sauron thought he made a joke.
He had tried to joke. But, this Dark Lord was not very good at chit-chat. No small talk for Sauron. He said something and it was done. Or else. With Sauron, everything was, everything had always been, a do or die situation: you do what Sauron tells you or you do not do it.
It was all about order. And, Sauron was good at ordering.
But, he was good at forging and making. He was so good at it, he had made his Vala, Aulë, proud of him.
No one: none elven, human, or dwarven, was mightier than Mairon with a hammer at the anvil: and that included Féanor, who didn't forge everything in the world despite all the rumors to the contrary.
And the Dark Lord could often still be found at the anvil, swinging his hammer of the underworld, (not that Hammer of the Underworld; Sauron's lowercase hammer) beating metal, heating metal, folding, shaping, pounding: it had been Mairon's first love. And like a first love was supposed to be, it had been almost an obsession, mastering Mairon's heart instantly, controlling his every move, this love colored every thought in his head, and yet, this love was simple and uncomplicated, powerful and wholesome, accepted humbly and given unreserved.
But, then, one day, Mairon had seen his true love. His real love. The love he would live for. The love he would kill for.
For, on that day, Mairon saw ordered being imposed and maintained through power. No questions. No arguments. No choice. Order or nothing. It was everything Mairon wanted. It was what Sauron had to have. Sauron would have.
But, this love was a complicated love. It was not simple. It required any who would have it to themselves already be powerful. And it left no room for wholesomeness, with its innocence and purity.
To dominate those who profaned Eä with freedom; to control those who sinned in individualism; to impose order, Sauron would have to deceive, confuse, compel, kill: anything would be better than free will; anything done in the pursuit of order would be excused by order's imposition.
But, Sauron never forgot his first love. And order wasn't cheated by Sauron's forging. So, he often escaped into the simple pleasure of the past.
But, the now could be good, too.
Order was good.
Torturing the disorderly . . .
“. . . this rabble who accompany the man animal are no threat to your Greatness, my master, however . . .”
He was still talking.
“What is it that you want, Mouth? Get to the point will you please! Everytime you open that mouth I envy my Lord Melkor's exile in the Void.”
“Yes. Of course my excellent master, the most vicious Gorthaur the Cruel, the Lord of Werewolves, Necromancer . . .”
With a defeated sigh, Sauron dropped his hammer and moved to the closest window to take a look. Everyday he regretted leaving the people of Aulë a little bit more. Everyday he lamented that he had ever seen the beauty and perfection of order imposed.
“Hummm . . . I don't see any man animals anywhere, Mouth. What in Eä are you babbling . . . Wait! What is that? It is. A man animal. Oh! This perfect!”
Sauron turned from the window and looked at Mouth. Pointing outside he asked. “Mouth! Do you know who that is?”
“Yes, my most vicious master. It is the man animal whose tongue is still in his vile man animal mouth. The vile man animal mouth that said your great and torturous name. The . . .”
“It is,” said Sauron loudly, speaking over Mouth’s voice. “The man animal who called and hung up on me! The rude man animal.” Sauron said, most pleased with this turn of events.
“Melkor has been most kind to me! Delivering this gift right to my Black Gate for me! Cursed be his black name!” Sauron almost squeeked with joy.
“I don't remember any man animal calling and hanging up, oh, great Lord of Barad-dur! Vampire! Melkor's greatest lieutenant! That one called and took away your seeing stone service. My dark master of eternal death. I remember him, my most excellent master. But, what man animal hung up . . .”
“Shut up, Mouth! My stone service was not cut off by any man animal.”
Sauron looked back out the window. He smiled cruelly.
“And he's brought some rabble with him.” An idea, seemingly out of nowhere, popped into Sauron's head and suddenly knew exactly what to do.
“Mouth! Take those clothes and that knife we were going to donate to the Gorgoroth Damnation Army and go greet our guests. Tell them . . .”
It was all falling into place. It was almost over. No one could stop him now. There was none outside Valinor mighty enough to prevent him from destroying the last of the Virus of the West infecting Middle-Earth. No one was powerful enough to stop him now. No one but himself, Sauron the Great, possessed such strength. But, Sauron would do nothing to harm his great self.
Sauron felt the thrill of victory begin to wash over him.
Sauron felt the joy of the order that he would soon impose on the world.
Sauron felt the bliss of torturing those who opposed him for eternity.
Sauron felt . . . a draft. It was chilly.
“Hey. Wait a second, Mouth. Did you leave a door open?”
A cold wind blew in from the West.
It sounded like it was laughing.