The journey to Mordor was long, and painfully tense.
Saruman and Gandalf spoke little over the days and nights, both feeling the great stress of what they were entering into.
But at one point, as they sat by their fire, Saruman turned to Gandalf, and asked him a question that was very difficult to answer:
“If we prevail, and stay his hand- then what? Shall we strive to slay him? Or cast him out, into some far-flung land? There is no land far enough, to create safety from one so mad!”
Gandalf sighed deeply, and reached out to touch Saruman’s troubled, weary face.
“Ever we must aspire to the highest, as you yourself taught me so long ago! If Annatar will allow it, we ought to spare his life, ill-gotten though it is! As for what to do with our captive- and we can only pray we are victorious over him, before he activates his infernal device! – but I will- give him a choice- all we can really do is to lock him away, or end his mortal life”
He sighed- and then continued:
“I do not like to kill, as you know very well. But in this case- it might be better- even for him! -but it will be his own choice. I will let him choose my blade or a life in restraint. Do you concur?”
Saruman looked away, his face grave and worried.
“Yes, for the most, I do. But we are assuming too far ahead, I suppose. Annatar is likely to put up a terrible fight, and one- or both of us- may not survive! He is a brother- but an elder brother- and his power is vast.”
They fell silent then, and found little sleep that night, in each other’s embrace against the cold.
And then, there before them, the great black Tower of Barad-Dur appeared on the horizon, like a demon’s fortress. And indeed, it very nearly was that.
With grave care and caution, the two Istari penetrated the Keep of Sauron.
With instinct and preternatural knowledge, they made their way to the Chamber of Annatar the Maleficent.
Sauron stood before a great wheel, alight with candles and charms, that loomed above, as if some malignant idol. His long golden hair fell down past his shoulders, and he wore robes as dark and inscrutable as his own soul.
He had his back turned to them, working on the wheel, muttering strange words- if there would ever be a time to strike, it would be now.
With the briefest of glances to one another, the two Istari leapt upon him from behind, Saruman wrapping his long arms around his neck, and Gandalf took out his legs, and they all fell to the stone floor, a chaotic tangle.
But it was not to be as they had expected.
Sauron did not battle fiercely, indeed, he did not battle at all.
Gandalf pressed his sword to Sauron’s throat, praying this might go no further.
“Surrender, Annatar!” Gandalf gasped hoarsely, “This ends, here and now, and you may choose to preserve your mortal life, or force me to end it. Either way, this is it!”
Saruman watched in silence, impressed that Gandalf would yet give Sauron a chance to live.
Sauron, for his part, knelt down, looking at his enemies with eyes that were wide with fear and shock- but when he spoke, his voice was soft, a dagger shrouded in velvet.
“I give way, you have bested me.” He hung his head, as if in submissive humility.
But Gandalf, not easily fooled, knew the deadly danger of his fallen brother Maia.
“Curunir! Bind his wrists behind him!”
Saruman took one of the many sashes from Sauron’s belt, and knelt down, wrapping it securely around Sauron’s slender wrists.
In seeming docility, Sauron remained silent, with head bowed. They could not see the slight smile on his mocking lips.
Finally, he spoke, as Gandalf finally took away the sword from his neck-
“And what do you plan to do with me, now that you have me?”
Gandalf looked at Saruman, who frowned- then answered:
“There is no possibility of exile for you, Annatar, as you have proven, a life lived free, will be used to destroy others. You will be given over to a secure place, and there you will stay. I will not allow you to be executed, as you have given yourself in surrender- but I *do* give you a choice- do you prefer a quick release by my blade, or a long life spent in imprisonment in Gondor? If you choose the latter, you will not be harmed, or abused, but we will see to it you do not escape to wreak misery again! And if the former is taken…it will be very quick, and you will feel nothing. And then- you may go to explain yourself to the Valar, and I believe- if you will be truly remorseful, for once!- you will find mercy. But I am sure there will be some penalty, for what you have done! Tell, me, then, what is your decision?”
Sauron smiled, and replied:
“I do not choose death, after all I have gone through to live incarnate again! I place myself in your hands, my brothers, and trust you will treat me well enough.”
Gandalf sighed, and spoke to him in a tone of pity and regret:
“Alas, Annatar the Fair, that it has to come to this! So much more could you have been, than a lifelong prisoner in a city of Middle Earth! Someday, you will perhaps have another chance to redeem yourself, but for today, this is all that may be done. So be it, then.”
Sauron only smiled, and said nothing. But in his deep blue eyes, something began to stir, and Gandalf felt drawn to meet his gaze, as Saruman watched, alarmed, sensing danger.
He walked around and stood at Gandalf’s side, and then he, too, looked in the eyes of the Fairest Maia.
They fell within the cobalt sea, then, their eyes mutually locked, and Sauron held their gaze, as a snake holds the gaze of his prey.
Spellbound and speechless, they could only watch, as Sauron rose slowly to his feet, hands still bound behind his back- and then, the sash fell to the ground, and he raised his freed hands, and beckoned them to him.
With a smile still gracing his full lips, Sauron slipped off his heavy black robe, and drew the two hapless Istari forward, until they were all three very close.
Glamdring fell to the floor, with a loud crash, but no-one, including Gandalf, seemed to notice.
In the inky and beautiful blackness of Annatar’s embrace, they could only succumb, never taking their eyes off his, drowning, dying, in the vivid blue depths.
Saruman muttered something, under his breath, as if in a dream- or a nightmare:
Sauron took them, then, even as they took him, and he gave himself to both of them at once, and they sank to the cold floor, Maiar entwined and entrapped, a tangle of bodies and minds.
At what point their own robes left their bodies, they would never know, and it did not matter now.
They surrounded him, as white angels around a victorious God, and entered him together, wrapped around him in mad passion. And only then, did the wise smile leave his lips, and he closed his deadly eyes, and swooned into the pleasure of what they were doing to him.
What they were all doing- together.
Barad-Dur stood tall and proud in its malevolence, as its Master joined in unholy union with his brothers, and their mingled cries echoed through the tall tower, causing the Orcs to look up in alarm.
The three Maiar were locked together body and soul, and in the two-in-one, three-were-one.
Savagely they thrust into him, both of their cocks straining hard inside him, striking against each other, and the two Istari enveloped Sauron in wild ecstasy, as he lay in their twinned embrace.
The beautiful face was shrouded in some unearthly shadow of flame and smoke, and his cries became very like those of his Nazgûl , screams from an endless Abyss. The long graceful body arched and thrashed, and in a mutual cataclysm they surrendered to unspeakable sensations, pleasure beyond imagining, and with it, doom past all reckoning.
In the darkness of the cloistered chamber, Sauron arose at last in the moonlight, body satisfied, and mind rejoicing.
He gazed down the sleeping and utterly spent Istari.
“My brothers..now we are one.”
And again, the smile flashed on the elegant lips.
Silently, and with the grace of a stalking panther, he knelt down and took their hands in his.
When he stood, they each bore a token of a brother’s affection…and more.
For, on their fingers, both Istari now wore a thick golden band, glistening in the bright moonlight.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.