Tedium in Barad-Dûr

Chapter One: The Dark Lord of Boredom

Sitting alone in the throne room of Barad-Dûr, the Dark Lord Sauron was feeling decidedly bored. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his ne, ne, a the click of his fingernails against the ebony resonating in the empty hall.

All his plans had been put in motion. His armies were being rebuilt, he was consolidating his power, and everything was all round peachy. The only drawback was that there was now nothing to do except wait for news on the progress of his expansion and silently hope for word of that quintessential piece of jewellery Isildur had so rudely nicked all those years ago.

‘Bloody humans. Almost as bad as those wretched elves.’ The though echoed in his head as Sauron glared at the emptiness and the flickering torches designed to cast looming shadows to further intimidate those who dared enter his presence.

Loathe as he was to admit it, Sauron was not only bored but lonely as well. That was the problem with being a paragon of malice. People didn’t visit very often. Although in recent days, a few random humans had somehow mastedsted within Mordor and swore their allegiance to the Dark Lord. But they were all incredibly dull and tedious, so Sauron had chosen to have them tortured over a long period of time as a form of backup entertainment. But the novelty had already ceased and the self proclaimed ‘goth’ prisoners had been thrown into cells to moulder until Sauron could think of a new way to use them to amuse himself.

What to do, what to do. Not yet powerful enough to start a proper war, but still powerful enough to be restless and agitated at the necessary months of quiet crucial to secure the military power. Looking around at his empty surroundings, Sauron let out an irritable sigh. Extending his intact hand he whispered something quietly in the black tongue and waited as slowly a Palantír slowly misted into existence in his ebony-skinned palm.

“Saruman,” he whispered, lifting the Palantír to eye level and gazing into it with his fiery crimson orbs. A flicker pulsed at the centre of the globe and began to expand as Sn wan watched the figure of a white-clad wizard form.

“Yes, my Lord?” inquired the wizard with strained politeness. His beard appeared to be wet, indicating that Sauron had probably disturbed his clandestine minion in the middle of washing his beard.

“I’m bored. So very BORED,” moaned Sauron dramatically. The wizard’s lips twitched, then opened to say something, but shut swiftly.

“Perhaps you should go for a walk?” tried Saruman. Sauron glared at him.

“And the point of that would be?” he demanded. The wizard shrugged, trying not to look as irritable as he felt.

“I don’t know. It’s what people do. Anyway why are you bothering me?” demanded Saruman. He turned and picked up a towel to wrap his beard in.

“BECAUSE I’M BORED! Fuck, you’re useless. I’m going,” snapped Sauron. He tossed the Palantír up into the air, clicked his fingers and it vanished. ‘Useless fucking wizard. If it wasn’t for the strategic importance I’d smite him good.’ Crossing his arms and looking sulky, Sauron glared at the massive iron doors at the end of the chamber.

Glaring didn’t seem to be improving his situation much, so the Dark Lord sat back in his throne and again began to drum his fingers on the armrests. It took about a minute for him to grow tired of the arrhythmic sound caused by the absence of that one digit on his left hand. As strong in his powers as he had become, there were some things that he could not compensate for. He had learned to deal with the lack of symmetry but was still vain enough for that missing finger to grate on his nerves.

It was indeed most aggravating. Other than that flaw, he quite liked the manifestation he had chosen. The giant flaming eyeball bit was useful for keeping an eye (so to speak) on his underlings and scouring the lands in the hope that his precious trinket would yet be revealed to him. Yet his sense of irony allowed him to revel in his present appearance. In keeping with his mockery of elvenkind he revelled in his jet-skinned manifestation. Marred only by that missing finger, his appearance was as stunning and alluring as that of the elf lords of old.

In addition, appearing as such allowed him to experience the same sensations as any other creature. In this form he could enjoy the taste of food and fine wines, consume and enjoy mind-altering substances, and feel pleasure and pain.

That was another thing that didn’t help with the current tedium of Barad-Dûr. The lack of suitable female company only added to Sauron’sstrastration during these days with so little to do. Sure, there were plenty of deluded females out there willing to serve Sauron in any way, but that was too easy for him.

Dominance was tm rom routine, mundane. He found little pleasure in the idea of bending yet more creatures to his will. There was virtually no excitement to be found in that.

What did excite the Dark Lord was thoughts of being humiliated and forced into submission by an attractive female wearing skimpy black leather, preferably with spikes. What Sauron truly craved was the endearing abuse of a strong-willed mistress, forcing him to grovel and lick her shiny boots. Now THAT was an exciting prospect.

It was also, at present, somewhat unfeasible. There was a distinct lack of women with that kind of backbone and mentality in Mordor. But then, that’s what Sauron got for heading what was a fairly misogynistic evil empire when you thought about it. Plus the flowing black robes and intimidating demeanour didn’t really get these inner desires across.

That was a point. Sauron glanced down at his apparel and sighed. He’d somehow stagnated into this look and had maintained it for centuries. It wasn’t by any means a bad look. The flowing fabrics blended well into the shadows and contrasted with his eerie crimson eyes. Still, perhaps a change of style wouldn’t be a bad thing and would certainly prove to be far more interesting that sitting around pnd posing menacingly. That seemed to be more of a Nazgûl thing. On their days off they’d spend their time trying to out-sinister each other on the battlements and get the Mouth of Sauron to judge them and dispense the prize, usually some kind of pie. Blueberry seemed to be the pie of choice this month.

Standing up with an air of finality, Sauron reached out and grabbed hold of a rope near his throne that sounded in the bowels of Barad-Dûr.

Deep within the basements, right next to the torture chambers, the Lord of the Nazgûl sat playing a game of cards with the uruk guard on duty.

“Go fish,” hissed the Nazgûl as the bell sounded. “Oh what does he want me for now?” he muttered, slamming his cards down. “Touch them and you DIE,” he hissed at his opponent. The orc rolled his eyes. Like he’d be stupid enough to tamper with a Nazgûl’s hand.

Storming upstairs as hastily as he could, the Lord of the Nazgûl dramatically threw open the doors to Sauron’s chamber.

“I’ve told you that kind of drama isn’t necessary!! Look at the dents you’ve got on the handles!” chided Sauron as his captain knelt before him.

“Sorry, my lord,” muttered the Lord of the Nazgûl.

“Anyway I have summoned you here for a purpose!” proclaimed the Dark Lord, looking pleased with himself.

“And that purpose would be…” The Nazgûl looked up at his master, waiting with dread to hear what crackpot idea his master had now come up with.

“I’ve decided it’s time for a makeover. And you get to help!! Now. Escort me to the dungeons. I quite liked the look of those clothes some of those prisoners had on. And those piercings! Those looked interesting!” Sauron sounded quite cheerful, which generally heralded a bad day of menial tasks for the Nazgûl in general.

Trying to hold his ethereal tongue, the Lord of the Nazgûl skulked behind Sauron, feeling annoyed at the injustice of having to go all the way back down after running all the way up to the throne room.