Return from the Void ~Míriel

Chapter 4 ~Who We Are Instead

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            Melkor could feel frustration filling him.  “Enough!” he screamed. 

            The pony (“Saruman” he reminded himself) instantly stopped bucking and looked at him.  His nose (“To think that that idiot Sauron is now a permanent part of me!” Melkor thought mournfully) stopped frantically whistling and dripping.

            He took a deep breath.  “Let us work through this rationally,” he said through tightly clenched teeth.  “You,” he pointed to Saruman, “are a fat little gray pony.  You,” he gestured to his nose, “are part of my face.  Judging by my garb, I am a weak, pathetic, mortal.” he spat.

            His nose snorted.  “Try being a nose.” It said in disgust.

            The pony whinnied something unintelligible, causing Melkor’s nose to burst into hysterical laughter.

            The pony tried again.  And again.  Finally, words because audible in the whinnies.  “I’d rather be a lord of the Haradrim then a pony.”

            Melkor felt a slight sense of pride.  “I am a lord?”

            The pony rolled its eyes in annoyance.  “Could you not tell by your dress?” it said somewhat snottily.

            Melkor looked at his clothes.  He was wearing high quality boots, black breeches with a red stripe down the sides, and a black shirt and vest.  The vest was the most exquisite of the outfit; it had many medals and badges on it. 

            He was also wearing a golden chain around his neck.  He reached into his shirt to pull out the chain, and as he did, he noticed three rings on his fingers.  They were golden and had large stones set into them: emerald, diamond, and ruby.  Yanking the chain free from his shirt, he carefully studied the charm on the end.  For the life of him, he could not figure out what it was.

            His nose sent out a puff of exasperation.  “It’s a Mumakil.”  Sauron/Nose said.

            “A what?”

            “A war beast of the Haradrim.”

            Melkor nodded.  “I am a lord.” He said importantly.

            “Save us all,” the pony whispered.

            Melkor chose to loftily ignore this.  “If I am a lord, I must have an army.  Slaves!” he called.

            Dead silence.

            His nose cleared its throat, er, nasal passages.  “The Haradrim are not slaves.”

            Melkor tried again.  “Haradrim!”

            To his shock and delight, two hundred dark men heavily armed poured out of the woods and came to stand before him.

            The foremost man bowed.  “What is it, my lord?”

            “They recognize me.” Melkor thought in surprise.  “Part of the spell must be that they know my face.  But were they here before the spell?  Or is their existence here merely from my doing?”

            He cleared his throat.  “Which one of you is a scout?”

            A nondescript man stepped forth.

            “Where are we?”

            “The Forests of Ithilien, m’lord.”

            His nose stiffened.  Melkor desperately hoped Sauron would not speak.  He could only imagine how absurd it might look.

            “Ithilien!  We’re right near Gondor!”

            All heads swiveled towards the pony, which was contentedly munching grass.  Confusion filled their faces for a moment; then they shook their heads in amusement.  Were they insane?  Ponies didn’t speak.

            “Gondor...” Melkor mused. 

            Another Haradrim, only a little less well dressed then Melkor stepped forward.  By his confident air and the several medals he sported, he was obviously used to being respected.  “Lord Melki, where did you get this...little pony?” He asked, nose wrinkling in disgust.

            Melkor digested several bits of information with this statement.  Firstly, this man was clearly a threat to his authority; secondly, while studying him, Melkor became aware that his name was Omar.  And thirdly, this pony had not been with them before...although neither had he.  Hm...

            “He was gazing by the stream.” Melkor declared.  “He will be an excellent pack pony.”  Saruman looked up from pretending to graze and glared at Melkor.  Melkor gleefully continued.  “We shall call him...Little Barrel.”

            Little Barrel whinnied angrily and bucked.  Well, actually, his bucking was greatly hindered by his rather enormous size, thus, it was more of a kicking of one stout leg.

            Melkor stifled a laugh.  Omar cleared his throat.  “Lord Melki, where shall we go now?”

            “I need a moment to decide.” he declared.  Omar nodded.  “Men!” Omar shouted, “Get back into the caves!”  Just as silently as they had entered the woods, the men disappeared.

            Saruman wasted no time.  “Little Barrel?!” he said angrily.

            Melkor waved his hand in dismissal.  “That is not the problem right now.  Sauron!”

            “Yes?” his nose whistled.

            “You know more of this land than I.  What are our options?”

            The nose snorted a bit.  “I could remember better, perhaps, if I were not a nose...”

            Melkor sighed.  Truth be told, he hated having Sauron as part of him.  It would be simply to turn him into a man, as he was already part of one.  “Fine.  Burzon-ishi!”

            Instantly, the pressure on his nose was relieved.  There was a flash of light, and a whirlwind started before him.  Within moments, before him stood another of the Haradrim, who was heavily pierced with many rings: three in his nose, five per ear, two in each eyebrow, and one in the lip.  He also had a golden ring on each finger.  His eyes glowed a strange red.

            “Much better,” Sauron declared.  “Now, as for Gondor...”

            “Wait!” Saruman cried angrily.  “Change me to a man!”

            Melkor shrugged.  “I cannot.  You are a pony; Sauron was part of a man.  The results of attempting to change you would be far worse than as you are now.  I fear for those who would see a man with the fat legs of a pony and the head of a man.”

            Saruman threw himself down upon the ground in frustration.

            “M’lord,” Sauron said softly.  “We should invade Gondor.  You and I.”

            “It is weak?”

            “Nay, it is strong.  Unless we take the one thing that keeps it together.”

            Melkor gazed at Sauron doubtfully.  “How know you this?”

            “Much has been made known to me as I was transformed.  I now know all of what has transpired since my absence.”

            “All right, then.  Back to Gondor.  What, Sauron, holds the city together?”

            A sly smile stole over Sauron’s face, which looked positively ridiculous considering the lip ring.

            “What holds the city together, my lord Melkor?  Her prince.”

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Author’s note:  I have inspiration once again!  You may now expect regular updates from me.  Many questions shall be answered in the next chapter, although feel free to ask me any you might have in a review.  I shall answer any questions there.

My apologies to any who wished to keep Sauron as a nose.  It simply could not work for what I have planned.  Be comforted however, Saruman shall remain Little Barrel.

This story is still in the makings, so any ideas would be greatly appreciated and credited.

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