Return from the Void ~Míriel

Chapter 3 ~Of Nose Rings and Little Barrels

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            Sauron closed his eyes for a moment, but the light still pressed against them. 

            “Ugh...this light...”

            The voice was Melkor’s, but where was Melkor?  Sauron tried to turn, but found that he could not.  His eyes finally adjusting to the light, he realized that all he could see was nothing.  Wonderful.  There was something akin to a wall in front on him, and behind him...he tried to turn again, but to no avail.  He was stuck. 

            After several moments of repeatedly trying to see, Sauron realized several things: one, his legs and arms were missing; two, he could see above him by rolling his eyes back, which, strangely enough, was not uncomfortable in any way; third, there was nothing behind him except darkness;  and fourth, Melkor’s voice was loudly echoing behind him. 

            Sauron attempted to place his hands over his ears, but discovered he had no hands.  Or ears, for that matter.  He looked down, realizing that he could see when he looked that way.  What was that down there?  It was green, prickly looking stuff...Hm.  Odd. 

            “Sauron?” Melkor called.  “Sauron, where are you?”

            Several moments later, Sauron was ready to weep in frustration.  He could not answer Melkor, no matter how hard he tried, nor could he move or see very much at all.  Sauron considered his options, and decided that weeping would be the best course of action.  If he could even do that.

            Several moments later, Sauron felt the hot wetness of tears in his eyes.  They trickled out of his eyes and rolled down his sides.

            Melkor cursed above him.  “Why is my nose running?” he said in disgust.

            Horror went over Sauron.  Could it be...there was only one way to know for certain.

            He twitched.  First a little bit, then a lot.

            “Ah...ah...achoo!” Melkor sneezed around him.

            Sauron mentally moaned.  His suspicions had been confirmed.  The return to Middle Earth had not been as successful as they might have hoped.  He had returned as a nose.  Worse, he was not just any nose, he was Melkor’s nose.  And, to top it all off, he had a horrible itch in his side that was being caused by an unsightly nose ring.  He should have known better than to have chanted the Ringverse as a spell.

~~~

            Melkor sighed in frustration.  Where were those idiots, Sauron and Saruman?  Melkor scratched his unusually itchy nose, and was horrified to find a thick metal hoop in it.  He shuddered.  What had happened?

            Looking down at himself, Melkor was horrified to find that he possessed a body.  Not just the form, that would have been ideal, but an actual, physical body.  Ah, well, perhaps in time he would regain his former strength and be able to regain his ancient form.

            Melkor sighed and scratched his face, then his head, and was disgusted to find a scraggly beard and long, shaggy hair.  And...What was this?  Melkor felt his ears in surprise.  They weren’t the lovely, pointed ears of the elves.  To his disgust, he realized that his ears possessed the roundness of those of mortal men.

            Melkor glanced down and took in his appearance.  The dark hands, muscular arms, strange garments, and thick legs—these were not the makings of an elf.  He was most certainly a man.  A weak mortal, subject to death and illness.  This hadn’t been part of the plan!  He had been chanting: “Dark, terrible Lord, dark terrible Lord.”  Perhaps he should have been a bit more specific.

            He glanced about frantically, afraid that he would be sick.  The great lord Melkor, reduced to this.  The bright sun, blue sky with several clouds sprinkled through it, the birds chirping, green grass, and trees seemed to torment him with their purity.  Now he was going to be sick.

            No!  He would not.  That was hardly the reaction of one of the most powerful of Valar, although Tulkas would laugh if he could see Melkor now.

            Dark Balrogs, there was even a little waterfall trickling into a stream.  Melkor glared at the enormously fat black pony drinking from it.  Where was that dratted Sauron?

~~~

            Saruman opened his eyes and promptly closed them.  Bright light.  He slowly proceeded to open one eye, then the other.  He closed them again, afraid to see what was around him.

            He wondered what his new form would be.  Would he be back in the spirit of a true Maiar; able to change form whenever he so desired?  Surely he would not be in the guise of an old man again; now that was truly unbearable!  Perhaps, if not a Maiar, he would be a young, handsome elf.  As he had become dark towards the end, he had resented the elves, always happy and eternally young instead of eternally old.

            Saruman let himself enjoy the fantasy for a moment.  Ah, to be young!  Hopefully he would be an elf.  Sauron and Melkor had not been the only one chanting about their forms.  He had been chanting: “Young and handsome, young and handsome.”  The part about the elven maidens surely hadn’t hurt either.

            “Well,” he decided; “I believe that I shall now see my lovely form!”

            He opened his eyes.  He was near a little stream in a beautiful forest.  There was a little waterfall trickling down near him.  Looking into the stream, he saw a reflection.  At first it was blurry; then it began to clear.  Saruman could see the reflection of the trees, grasses, and an extremely fat little pony.  “Like a little barrel,” Saruman mused to himself.

            But where was he?  There was no young, slender form by that of the pony...half a moment!  He had not seen a pony.  Was the water playing tricks?

            Turning his head first one way; then the other, Saruman could see nothing.  No pony.  Dread filled his heart.  He knew what he had to do; but he was afraid to do it.  He looked down.

            Hooves.  Thick pony legs.  Saruman screamed, but it came out as a whinny.  He screamed harder.

            Wheeling around frantically, he began to gallop, but, after realizing that his girth would not permit that, began to trot.  He had to get away from this stream!  There was a dark man who looked like one of the Haradrim near the edge of the forest.  He seemed to be having a similar problem, except—Saruman stopped his panicked trot next to the man and looked him in the eyes.

            The man glared.  “Foul pony!” he snarled.

            Melkor.  Who else could it be?  But what had happened to his nose?  It was running like a stream.

            Suddenly, the nose stopped running.  Then it began to whistle.  Saruman fancied that he could make out words in the whistles.

            Wait—it wasn’t a fancy!  The nose was speaking!

            “Saruman, is that you?” said the nose in shock.

            Melkor crossed his eyes and stared down at his nose.

            Yes, this had been a very odd day, indeed.

The End

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Author’s Notes:  Now, before you say anything; I know that noses cannot speak.  But Sauron is one of the Maiar; therefore his powers are somewhat greater than those of other noses.  (Have you ever heard your nose speak?  No?  Neither have I...) 

So, for literary purposes, I have given the Nose of Sauron the ability to speak.  You may roll your eyes in disgust, or walk away from this story in anger, or go into a private room and hold a conversation with your nose.  Whatever you do, please remember that this story is AU.

(Ok, now go back and read the chapter title.  Does it make sense now?)

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This is the final chapter.  The idea fizzled out after this chapter, but I am posting what I have written for your enjoyment.  If anyone can think of a way to continue it, be my guest, the story is yours.