Conversations in the Void ~Míriel 

Chapter 1

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Authors Notes: While it is unclear as to what happened to Sauron after the War of the Ring, this is my take on it.  Slightly AU.

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            He was falling.   

            Falling, falling in the dark.  He should have foreseen this.  He was, after all, Sauron!  The mighty Lord of the Ring! 

            But who, who could have foreseen that the enemy would seek to destroy the Ring?  Surely, not he.  Destroying it had been the furthest though from his mind. 

            The descent into under darkness stopped abruptly.  All was silent for a moment.  Sauron glanced about.  Spirit as he may be, he still had the gift of sight, although, it was not very useful in the pitch black. 

            Suddenly, something gripped his heart.  Fear, fear and utter terror gripped him. Terror he hadn’t felt since he had been in the presence of Melkor.  Could it be...? 

            “What news?” hissed a voice. 

            “Pardon?” Sauron answered waveringly. 

            “I said, what news, you insolent fool!” The grip on his spirit became tighter, and the voice continued.  “The last that I had heard, my foolish slave Sauron had put all of his power into a little trinket, and had the misfortune of losing it.” 

            Yes, this certainly was Melkor.  “It was not a little trinket.  It was a great ring; the Ruling Ring.  And, as I remember, I was your lieutenant.” 

            The grip on his spirit instantly released.  “Sauron?” the voice said in shock. 

            Sauron sighed.  “Yes.” 

            To his utter shock and annoyance, the voice began to laugh.   

            “I hardly see anything amusing in this matter.” 

            “You...the Great Sauron!  Here, with me, in the void...what happened, one of the little elves use your earring against you?” 

            Sauron had forgotten how irritating Melkor could be.  “It was a Ring.  And it wasn’t destroyed by the elves.  It was destroyed by a hobbit.” 

            The laughter ceased.  “A what?” 

            “A Hobbit.”  Sauron decided that what Melkor did not know would do him no harm.  After all, they were in the Void.  “A great, big, powerful Maiar.  Think Tulkas with hairy feet.” 

            “Really?” Melkor sounded impressed.  “The last I had heard, you had lost your little trinket...to a mortal, nonetheless.” 

            Sauron was feeling a bit grumpy.  “And how did you hear anything?” 

            Melkor gave what was akin to a yawn.  “From time to time the mortals sacrifice their kin to me.  The poor souls are terrified, and tell me whatever I want to hear.  In return, I send them back, slaves to my will.” 

            An idea brightened in Sauron’s mind.  “Does this mean that I shall too, in time, be sent back?” 

            “Where you sacrificed to me?” 

            “No.” 

            “Then, no, I have no power to send you back.” 

            Sauron waved his arms around.  He could feel nothing and see nothing; simply hear.  He could hear that horrid, grating voice of Melkor.  This would be a very long eternity. 

            “So,” Melkor pressed.  “Your ring was destroyed.  By a...Hobbit, was it?” 

            “Yes, a Hobbit.” 

            “And you had no knowledge of this?  How could you not know where your ring was at all times?  However did you lose it in the first place?” 

            Melkor was mocking him.  He knew very well how Sauron had lost it.  “It was cut off of my hand.” He said sullenly. 

            “Cut off of your hand?  By whom?” 

            “One of the Numenorians.  Isildur, son of the kings*.” 

            Melkor tsked.  “Cut off your hand by a mere mortal?  Shameful.  Then what happened?” 

            “While I regained my former strength and rebuilt Barad-dur, the Ring was passed to many people until it came into the hands of—” Sauron desperately searched his mind for a name.  He knew hardly anything about these hobbits, let alone what they named themselves.  He needed a name, a powerful name, one that Melkor may have heard but never associated with anyone.  

            “A powerful Hobbit named—Gandalf!”  Sauron waited, hoping that Melkor knew nothing of this Gandalf.  Although, even if he did know Sauron was lying, what could Melkor do?  They were already dead. 

            “Gandalf?” Melkor mused.  “That name...I have heard it before...” 

            Good, Melkor was falling for the ruse.  “Yes, Gandalf.  It fell into his hands, and with it, he became powerful!  Mightier than the mighty!  I had one of my servants, Saruman, try to convince Gandalf to join with me, but he would not hear of it.  Instead, he gathered the most powerful of Hobbits and marched to Mordor.” 

            “Did he now?” Sauron wasn’t sure if Melkor’s tone was one of amazement or mockery.  Hoping that it was the first, Sauron proceeded. 

            “Yes, he did.  Once they were there, Gandalf used his mightiest forces to assail Barad-dur.  I had no choice but to stay there and defend myself.  Unbeknownst to me, however, Gandalf had sent the Ring to Mt. Doom while he distracted me.  They then destroyed it in the fire.”  Sauron bowed his head.  Curse his stupidity!  How could he have not even considered the possibility of the Ring’s destruction? 

            “Why would this Gandalf destroy the Ring?  Could he not defeat you with it?” Melkor said mockingly.  “Would he not use it to greaten himself far above you and strike you down?” 

            Sauron’s lips curled into a sneer.  “I still controlled the Ring, no matter how great it made he who possessed it.  Gandalf knew this, and...That’s how I came...here.” 

            “Hm.” Melkor said after a moment.  “So, what happens now?” 

            Sauron sighed.  “How do you expect me to know?  I’m dead, remember?  I expect that the fools set up Gandalf as king and are now his slaves.” 

            “This...Gandalf...” Melkor mused; “Perhaps he could be persuaded...” 

            “That fool Saruman...he tried already.  He could not do it.” 

            “Did you try?” 

            “No.” 

            “Well, why not!?” Melkor thundered. 

            “I was...busy!” Sauron answered defensively.   

            “Too busy to save yourself?” 

            “There was another matter...Isildur’s heir.  He had a very large army.” 

            “You didn’t mention him earlier...” 

            “Well, I—” 

            “Silence!” Melkor hissed.  “There is another here.” 

            Sauron could feel the grip on his spirit for a moment; then it passed.   

            “What news?!” Melkor thundered. 

            “Pardon?” Another voice said waveringly. 

            “What news, you insolent fool!  The last that I heard, Sauron had been defeated, and Gandalf set up as king!” 

            “Gandalf?” the new voice sneered.  “That frail Istari, King?” 

            Sauron’s spirit went icy in terror.  The new voice was Saruman.         

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*I know that Isildur was not technically the “King’s son,” but he was of that bloodline.

Oh, and the part about how news came to Melkor was taken from Bryn's Mirinus Stiria.  Thanks, Bryn!

So far, this is the only chapter.  I am working on several follow-up chapters.  Any ideas right now would be greatly appreciated, and there is a high possibility of any ideas being used.  If you enjoyed this, please review.

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