There and Back Again: Sauron's Tale

Chapter 1: Unbound

Summary: After the destruction of the One Ring, Sauron was found to not have been destroyed like it was believed, but rather was transported to another world similar to Middle Earth. Follow Sauron's adventures as he tries to regain his power in the land of Skyrim.

Author's Note: Alright, I should have seen this coming. Let's just say that with the new Hobbit movie, an episode of Man at Arms where they made Sauron's mace, and just the sheer power of the character in question, I had to make something about Sauron. I had planned to start a play-through in Skyrim as Sauron (A Vampire Lord who specializes in Destruction, Conjuration, and hitting things over the head with a mace while clad in Daedric Armor) but due to certain circumstances I was forced to put those plans on hold. I wanted to do it for a while once I saw the Daedric Armor for the first time, but held off for some random reason. So since I can't create him in Skyrim right now, I figured I'd just put his story into a fanfiction based on how I would have played the character.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls series or the Lord of the Rings franchise. They are the properties of their respective owners. Please support the official release.

Blood-red eyes snapped open. An influx of senses he had been limited from ever feeling immediately assaulted his mind. He couldn't believe it. He was alive?

Sauron looked around in shock, almost not wanting to believe what had happened. He looked down at himself, disbelieving of the fact that he actually had a body now, and that he wasn't just a gigantic fiery eye on top of a tower in Mordor. Sauron looked at his hand, almost hoping to see the sight of his ring on his finger. Nothing, just bare skin.

Sauron mentally swore angrily in various different languages. He groaned and cursed his stupidity for getting his hopes up. Of course he didn't have the Ring, it was thrown into the fires of Mt. Doom by those stupid halflings! Sauron could tell that now anything he might have planned to do with his life would probably now need to factor in the loss of the Ring. Without it, he was mostly powerless.

Sauron, finally taking advantage of some of his new senses, looked around to try and figure where in Middle Earth he was currently at. He seemed to be in some form of a forest in practically the middle of nowhere. He groaned and tried to stand up. Key word being tried. After so long of not being able to use his legs (or not having any for that matter) his motor skills left something to be desired, and he fell flat on his face. Brushing his dark hair out of his crimson eyes, Sauron growled angrily and fought against the urge to fall again by struggling to his feet. He snarled as the muscles burned from the lack of use, and he leaned against a tree in order to get to his bearings.

Sauron coughed and spat out an amalgam of blood and saliva as he forced his vocal cords to cooperate to his will. He growled once more and coughed up more blood and saliva before wiping his mouth.

"That was unpleasant," he muttered in a gravelly voice. Popping his neck, he glanced around once more. Gingerly, he took a step forward. His leg shook, but held firm. He took another step. Then another. And another.

He fought hard against the desire to let out a triumphant roar of jubilation. At least he could walk again.

Sauron, after once again popping his neck, then set off in a leisurely pace, hoping to find some form of shelter, or civilization. Hell, he'd even do for something proper to wear and not these rags.

Sometime later…

After trudging through the woods for over an hour, Sauron was beginning to get seriously annoyed. While normally being annoyed for Sauron would result in somebody nearby dying in a horrendous manner, given his current state this was not the case. He was tired, hungry, and all around really pissed off.

Right as he was about ten seconds away from trying to channel what magical power he had left into doing something to vent his frustration, he began to hear sounds that were all too familiar to the former Dark Lord. Shouts of rage and pain, the clashing of iron and steel. These were the sounds of a battle.

A grin slowly found its way onto Sauron's face. This was something that he definitely understood. All he needed was a mace, and then he could finally vent some righteous anger by bashing someone's skull in.

Sauron crept through the trees and found himself watching what could best be described as a massacre. Groups of men and women in leather and steel armor were, for lack of a better word, slaughtering a smaller group of men and women in blue chain mail and leather. Sauron watched as the smaller group finally seemed to surrender to the other. Sauron crept forward slightly to get a better look.

"You there! Rebel! Come out of those trees before we put an arrow in your skull!"

A woman in officer's armor, and with a particularly irritating voice, was yelling at Sauron for some odd reason. Rebel? Sauron was struck a little off guard as he walked out. "Rebel?" he asked.

The officer scowled. "Don't bother denying it scum! Surrender yourself without a fight and we won't kill you!" she yelled. Sauron winced. His hearing was apparently either much better than before, or she just had a voice of the right frequency to annoy him.

"I'm no rebel," he growled. The officer's face contorted in a sneer. She looked to the other armor-clad soldiers and nodded in his direction. The soldiers unsheathed their blades and started advancing on the former Dark Lord.

Sauron's crimson eyes narrowed. "I may not be as strong as I once was, but I'm still not one to be trifled with," Sauron snarled. Channeling on his magic energy, his outstretched palms were immediately ignited in flames. The flames condensed into a small fireball in each hand, flickering with a strange intensity not often seen in magic.

With an unrestrained battle cry on his lips, Sauron extended both arms out in front of him, unleashing twin torrents of flames from his hands. Two soldiers quickly fell prey to his fire, screaming in agony as their skin and muscles were burned away. Snatching a blade from one of the fallen, he extinguished the flames in his right hand and readied the blade in a combat stance. The officer barked out orders for the soldiers to "Kill this rebel dog!" as four other soldiers surrounded Sauron.

Sauron glanced around, the bangs of his long hair falling over his left eye, his visible eye darting between his four targets. One held a single sword and leather armor, another a sword and shield, another with a two-handed greatsword and metal-studded leather armor, and one with steel armor and a mace. A smirk found its way onto his face as he noted the soldier with iron mace in his hand. Not the best quality, but it would do.

Sauron tilted his head as his smirk grew slightly bigger. "Let's see if your dancing skills are up to par then," he said with a slight mocking tone.

The soldier with the mace took that as a personal affront to his honor, and he charged forward. "For the glory of the Empire!" he roared as he swung his mace. Sauron almost lazily blocked it with his stolen sword, before slashing the legionnaire across the wrist and catching the dropped mace. Spinning on his heels, he chucked the sword like a javelin to impale said legionnaire in the stomach before breaking his neck with a rising strike from the mace.

The other three legionnaires were in slight awe and fear at the speed and efficiency in which Sauron had dispatched another one of their brethren. Sauron flicked blood off of his mace and looked at the other legionnaires. "Guess his steps were a little too shallow to dance with me," Sauron remarked before smirking. "One down, three to go."

The other three circled him warily, their blades unsheathed and at the ready. Sauron spun his mace idly in his hand, a small fireball igniting in his left hand once more. The two legionnaires with swords lunged forward in an attempt to stab the once feared Lord of Mordor. Sauron ducked under one sword and blocked the other before flinging his hand out and spraying another gout of fire at the two. The one with the shield instinctively raised his shield to protect himself from the fire, still receiving minor burns on his face and legs. The other wasn't so lucky and he fell to the ground as a charred corpse, having been consumed so fast he wasn't even able to scream. Right as the one with the shield lowered his guard, Sauron dashed forward and swung the mace across his face. Blood flew as the skin broke and bones were crushed, and the legionnaire fell down dead, blood pooling near his head.

Sauron kicked the corpse lightly with his foot and shook his head. "Yet another disappointment," he murmured. "Three down, one to go," he said, looking at the final legionnaire with a predatory grin.

The legionnaire was almost on the verge of losing control of his bowels, the greatsword in his hands shaking slightly. Sauron's crimson eyes gleamed, his predatory grin slowly becoming wider and more sadistic as he slowly stalked towards his prey. The legionnaire swallowed nervously and let out a cry. "For the Legion!" he yelled, his voice cracking a bit when he said "legion" as he leveled the sword and charged at Sauron like a jouster. Sauron's grin faded into a scowl as he dropped into a more rigid stance. Raising his mace, he deflected the blade slightly while the legionnaire kept running at him. Realizing his mistake, the legionnaire tried to back up before Sauron's mace connected with his neck. With a quick snap, the flanges on the mace broke the man's neck before severing his head completely from his body. The head flew through the air before falling to the ground with a sickening splat.

Sauron looked down at the head and scoffed. "And then there were none. Figures." He turned to the officer and her remaining soldiers. "So, are there any of you who believe that you can still keep up with my steps for a little longer?"

The officer's dark skin was slowly turning a shade of purple that Sauron had only seen on a few orcs back in Middle Earth. She drew her own sword and simply stood there. Sauron let out a cruel chuckle. "What, just going to stand there and wait for your death?" he asked. The ball of fire appeared in his hand once more. Right as he was about to cast the spell however, something struck him in the back of the head. Then, darkness.

Sometime later…

Sauron's eyes flickered open as he winced with a poorly disguised curse in the Black Speech. He groaned and attempted to move his hands. He was rather insulted to find the leather strips binding his hands. A quick tug later, he also found they had been reinforced with some enchantment, as he could no longer call upon fire like he had before. Another curse in the Black Speech escaped him, this time much more guttural and angrier than before.

"Hey, you're finally awake," a voice said. Sauron looked up to see a man sitting there in chain mail, leather, and furs, with blond hair and a scraggly beard looking at him. He must've been one of the "rebels" that bit- I mean officer was talking about.

"Ran into a bit of bad luck there eh?" the blond man asked. "Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there." Sauron groaned in confirmation. "I'm Ralof by the way," the blond stated. "Sauron of Mordor," Sauron replied.

Ralof raised an eyebrow. "Mordor? Never heard of it. Is it far from here?" he asked. Sauron nodded. "You could say that."

At that moment, the dark-haired man sitting next to Ralof, apparently a thief, decided to open his mouth. "Damn you Stormcloaks, Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell!" he whined. Sauron's eyes narrowed in annoyance. Was this land filled with people who could make him want to feed them to a Balrog just by speaking?

The thief turned to Sauron. "You there. You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants!" Ralof rolled his eyes. "Well, we're all brothers and sisters in binds now thief," he said irritably. The legionnaire driving the cart yelled out an annoyed "Shut up back there!"

The thief looked at the man sitting next to Sauron. This one looked like a nobleman of sorts with his fur robes and amulets. For some reason, he was gagged as well as bound. "What's wrong with him, huh?" the thief asked. Ralof apparently took offense to that. "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" he snarled.

Sauron's interest was finally piqued. "True High King? This Ulfric must be pretty high up on the food chain if he's considered that," Sauron mused to himself. The thief must have thought the same thing. "Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you… Oh gods! Where are they taking us?!" he asked frantically.

Ralof sighed in resignation. "I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits," he said solemnly. "Sovngarde?" Sauron asked. Ralof turned to him. "A part of our religion. It's the name of the afterlife," he replied. Sauron's eyes widened. Afterlife? He just got back from being pretty much dead already! He didn't want to go back so soon!

Sauron and the thief were in similar thoughts, although Sauron was a lot less vocal about it. "No this isn't happening! This can't be happening!" he stammered. Ralof looked at the thief, a small glimmer of pity appearing on his face. "Hey, what village are you from horse-thief?" he asked. "Why do you care?" "A Nord's last thoughts should be of home," Ralof replied in an almost sage-like manner. The thief was a bit taken aback by Ralof's words. "Rorikstead. I-I'm from Rorikstead."

As the cart clattered through the gate, Sauron noticed the sight of what appeared to be a general talking to a golden-skinned elf in black robes. The thief began quietly praying to various gods and goddesses that didn't sound at all familiar to Sauron, pleading for help from the "Divines" that made up his pantheon.

Ralof stared at the general and the elf and scowled. "Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor! And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this!" he growled. Sauron felt inclined to agree. All of his experiences with elves never went well back in Middle Earth, so he had no reason to like the elves here either.

Sauron tuned out Ralof's ranting and tales of "how he used to be sweet on a girl from here" in favor of looking around. It seemed to be a typical sort of town for this day and age, and it almost reminded him of Bree in a few ways. Glancing to his right, he noticed a man ushering a child inside the house. Sauron snorted to himself. Innocence was usually lost rather quickly in this day and age. Trying to preserve it was like keeping a fire going. It was either a never-ending task, or it failed rather quickly and was snuffed out.

Sauron was brought out of his musings when the cart stopped. "Why are we stopping?" the thief asked nervously. Sauron rolled his eyes in disgust and glared at the thief. "Why do you think? End of the line," he growled. The thief's eyes widened in panic, and he glanced around frantically. Sauron scoffed and shook his head.

The four all stood up and began getting out of the cart right as the thief began shouting. "No! We're not rebels!" he yelled. Ralof scowled and replied "Face your death with some courage thief!" "You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!" the thief screamed. Sauron gave a dry laugh. "You really think they'd just not execute you because you're not a rebel? In my home, thieves lost their hands so as to dissuade them from stealing anymore, then they lost their heads if they kept it up!" he snarled. The thief shook his head frantically, his eyes darting form side to side in an attempt to find a method of escape.

The officer from before looked at the prisoners with poorly veiled disgust. "Step forward towards the block when we call your name! One at a time!" she screeched. Sauron winced, the familiar urge to bash her face in with a mace returning at full force. Ralof groaned under his breath. "Empire loves their damn lists," he muttered to Sauron. Despite the severity of the situation, Sauron couldn't help but chuckle under his breath. Gondor had been the same with their prisoners after all.

The legionnaire holding the list sighed mournfully as he looked down at the small book in his hand. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," he called out in a monotone. Ulfric walked towards the circle of rebels, head still held high like the nobleman he was. Sauron couldn't help but respect a man with that kind of dignity. Even as a prisoner, Ulfric still held himself like a man of power, and if there was one thing Sauron respected, it was power. "It has been an honor Jarl Ulfric," Ralof said to the man.

"Ralof of Riverwood," the legionnaire called. Ralof gave a resigned smile and nodded his head at Sauron before taking his place in the circle. The legionnaire looked at the list once again. "Lokir of Rorikstead," he called. The thief, apparently Lokir, shook his head frantically. "NO! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" he screamed as he shoved aside an Imperial and took off running down the way, ignoring the officer's cries of "Halt!" "You're not gonna kill me!" he yelled. Seconds later, an arrow lodged itself in the back of his neck. Sauron watched with apathetic eyes. He really didn't like that thief, so he was glad to see him die.

The officer turned back. "Anyone else feel like running?" she asked. The legionnaire with the list suddenly looked at Sauron. "Wait, you there. Step forward," he said. Sauron snarled irritably, but stepped forward anyways. The legionnaire looked at the list, then back up at Sauron. "Who are you?" he asked.

Sauron smirked lightly. "I am Sauron of Mordor," he replied. The officer scowled, apparently remembering how easily Sauron slaughtered her soldiers. The legionnaire looked at the list. "I've never heard of Mordor before. Is it some strange country far away?" Sauron chuckled. "You could say that," he replied.

The legionnaire nodded and turned to the officer. "Captain. What should we do? He's not on the list." The officer's eyes widened before narrowing angrily. "Forget the list. He goes to the block." Sauron's crimson eyes flashed as the pupils morphed into cat-like slits for a split second, his red eyes looking more like they were made out of fire for a moment.

The legionnaire sighed. "By your orders Captain," he said. He turned to Sauron. "I'm truly sorry. I'll personally make sure your remains are returned to your homeland," he said. Sauron nodded to the legionnaire. He may have a dislike of this "Empire" from now on, but he'd at least try to remember this legionnaire specifically. Maybe he'd grant him a (mostly) painless death.

Sauron turned and walked towards the circle of prisoners. Tuning out the monologue of the General towards Ulfric Stormcloak, he proceeded to ignore practically everything up until the red-headed Stormcloak got his head chopped off. He had to give them credit, those Stormcloaks had serious guts to go to their deaths without a glimmer of fear in their eyes.

One Stormcloak screamed angrily at the "Imperial bastards" while the members of the town screamed things like "Justice!" and "Death to the Stormcloaks!" Sauron almost rolled his eyes at the hatred expressed in all of those statements. He had heard worse screamed at him from the various elves and Gondorians he had locked up in his torture chambers than what these commoners could muster up. Who knew that the musical language of the elves had some rather creative curses and swear words in it? It was very entertaining to listen to.

"Next, the milk-drinker in the rags!" Sauron's face contorted in confusion. "Milk-drinker?" he thought to himself. "Since when was drinking milk a detriment to one's masculinity?" A faint roar sounded off in the distance, breaking through his thoughts. All the legionnaires and prisoners looked up at the sky, some in confusion and others in nervousness.

The legionnaire from before, the one with the list, looked at the captain. "There it is again. Did you hear that?" he asked. The captain looked at him angrily. "I said. Next. Prisoner!" she snarled. The legionnaire sighed. "To the block prisoner, nice and easy," he replied, looking at Sauron. Sauron's scowl grew a bit bigger. Forget what he said earlier, that legionnaire is going to die MUCH more painfully than before. If there was one thing Sauron hated most of all, it was submissiveness to anything that wasn't him. It didn't help that said legionnaire was being submissive to an officer in particular whom Sauron despised with every manner of his being at the moment.

Upon refusing to move, one of the legionnaires behind him kicked Sauron straight at the captain. Catching the former Dark Lord, she forced him to his knees and slammed his head down on the block. Sauron groaned and tried to raise his head, only for the captain to smash a foot down on the side of his head and kick him back down. For the umpteenth time, Sauron cursed his currently weak mortal form.

From his position on the chopping block, Sauron could literally do nothing except stare slightly upward towards his soon-to-be executioner. He seemed to be the stereotypical headsman, large and muscular while dressed in leather and chain mail. A black hood with eyeholes cut into it wrapped around the upper half of his face, and an enormous two-handed battle-axe with a monstrously large blade held in his hands. The headsman looked blankly down at Sauron, almost like some form of a golem or an automaton. At least he didn't cough at random intervals like that weird hobbit-like thing that had found his Ring years ago.

The headsman proceeded to take his axe in both hands and begin to slowly raise it over his head. He was so wrapped up in his task that he completely missed the fact that everyone else was screaming in terror at the sight of the gigantic black dragon that just flew over the mountainside. Right as the man had gotten the axe lifted over his head, the dragon proceeded to land on the tower behind him, causing a shockwave that knocked him right on his face. As he tried to stand, the dragon looked down on him with gleaming red eyes that seemed to remind Sauron of himself. The dragon glared down at the headsman with a look of contempt before letting out an echoing roar.

The shockwave that emitted from the dragon's mouth blasted the headsman back, shattering the bones in his body and killing him instantly. At the same time, the sky turned a dark orange, as flaming chunks of rock began raining down upon the town. Sauron himself was sent flying backwards, cracking his head on a wooden railing. The dragon let out another wave of blue energy from his mouth before rising in the air with a flap of his wings. A dark, growling voice echoed from the dragon as he rose.

"Zu'u Alduin! Zok sahrot do naan ko Lein!"

Sauron had no idea what he had just said, but he had a feeling that the dragon (was Alduin his name?) was bragging somehow.

His vision blurred and his head throbbing, Sauron tried to stagger to his feet, once again cursing his weak mortal form. A hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder and helped him stand. Sauron couldn't really tell who it was, and he was loath to accept help from anyone unless they served underneath him. All he could see was a blur of skin-color, blue, brown, and blonde.

"Hey! Foreigner! Get up!" Ralof yelled over the roaring of the dragon and the screams and yells of townsfolk and legionnaires. Sauron shook his head as his vision cleared. "Come on friend! The gods won't give us another chance! This way!" Sauron, still disoriented from getting flung like a child's toy, simply nodded and allowed Ralof to half lead half drag him over to the tower opposite them.

After the two reached the tower, Ralof let go of Sauron and closed the door before propping it with a barrel from the other side of the room. Glancing over at Sauron he pulled out a small dagger and motioned him over. When Sauron didn't move Ralof walked over to him, slightly irritated. A quick slash later and Sauron's bonds fell to the ground. He rubbed he wrists before igniting twin balls of fire in both hands. Satisfied, Sauron cut off the flow of energy and closed his hands. He nodded at Ralof before noticing the one called Ulfric walking over from where they had set down their wounded.

"Jarl Ulfric! Was that really a dragon? Could the legends be true?" Ralof asked, his voice betraying his nervousness. Ulfric kept up a façade of an emotionless commander as he scoffed. "Legends don't burn down villages," he said in his deep voice. Seconds later, a loud roar filled the air from the outside, the dragon's rage evident to all the occupants of the room. Ulfric's emotionless façade cracked slightly. "We need to move! NOW!" he bellowed. Ralof turned to Sauron. "Up through the tower! Let's go!" he yelled. Sauron batted aside Ralof's hand. "I'm capable of walking just fine!" he growled.

Upon charging up the spiraling staircase of the tower, Sauron was greeted by the sight of the black dragon smashing his face through the wall and proceeding to incinerate a couple of helpless Stormcloaks with an inferno of flames erupting from his fanged maw. A few seconds later, the dragon snapped his jaws shut. He turned and regarded Sauron, for a moment. The dragon's red eyes narrowed as he spoke a single word to Sauron.

"Dovahkiin!"

Sauron raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?" he asked. The dragon seemed a bit stunned at Sauron's nonchalant response. The dragon eyed him for a moment before leaping off of the side of the tower and flying off to go rampage some more. Sauron regarded the sight of the dragon's form with interest. He had dealt with dragons before, but this one (while slightly smaller than some) seemed much more arrogant than Smaug, and given the power shown today Sauron couldn't help but give the dragon some grudging respect.

Glancing out of the hole in the tower, Sauron quickly leapt across the gap towards the inn a few yards away. To his immense annoyance, the inn happened to be farther away than he thought, and he ended up falling to the ground. He winced irritably as his bones groaned in protest, but perked up at seeing the crater that was made by his feet when he landed. Glancing at his hands, he ignited fire once more in his palms. Sauron was rather delighted to see that the fire had gotten larger and wilder, almost barely able to be contained in his hands.

Sauron extinguished the fire and took off at a run, dashing past townsfolk and Imperial legionnaires alike. As he ran, he noticed the black dragon flying by again, yelling out in his strange tongue once again.

"Pahlok joorre! Hin kah fen kos bonaar!"

Once again, Sauron got the impression that the dragon was either bragging or taunting his foes/prey. The second thought was confirmed as the dragon proceeded to incinerate a squadron of legionnaires and then pick two up in his claws and drop them from a great height.

"You! Into the keep!" Sauron turned to see Ralof, who had picked up a war axe from somewhere, gesturing towards another tower. Sauron groaned but followed him anyways.

Once inside, they were met with the sight of a dead Stormcloak with orange-red hair. Ralof quickly ran over and put a finger on the man's neck, only to sigh sadly. "We'll meet again in Sovngarde brother," he murmured. Sauron watched impassively. "Bonds," he thought. "All they ever do is cause one pain. Why would anyone willingly submit themselves to this form of psychological torture?"

Ralof stood and looked over at the dark-haired man. "We better get moving. No telling what that dragon's going to do." He gestured towards the dead man. "Better grab Gunjar's gear. He won't be needing it anymore."

Sauron took one look at the rather flimsy-looking armor and shook his head. "I prefer something that can actually PROTECT me, thank you very much," he growled as he snatched the axe off of the corpse. He hefted it in his hands. Not very good quality, but it would have to do until he found a decent mace.

Perking his ears, he heard a rather familiar and unwelcome sound. "Come on soldier! Move it!" The captain whom he so vehemently despised. To hell with that brat Aragorn, this woman took the top of his "list of most hated people" at the moment. And he was going to enjoy this.

The minute she and the other soldier walked through the door, Sauron roared and swung his axe right at the captain. Quickly drawing her sword, she blocked the strike and attempted to stab Sauron in the stomach. Ducking under her swing. Sauron slashed her across the chest with the axe, sending her reeling into the wall. Right as she stood, he impaled the axe on her left wrist, before grabbing her sword and effectively nailing her to the wall. The captain screamed out in agony as she tried to break free.

Sauron gave a sadistic grin as he took the dagger from her belt and held it up towards her face. She immediately sensed his intention and shook her head violently, pleading with him to not do this. Sauron merely tilted his head as his eyes took on their former fiery appearance.

"Payback," he remarked as he raised the dagger behind his head. "Though art a heartless bitch."

Ralof on the other hand had just finished dispatching the other legionnaire to Sovngarde when he heard the captain's ear-piercing scream. Ralof turned to see the dark-haired man laughing demonically as he stabbed her repeatedly in the eye. Seconds later, Sauron cut out her tongue, before slashing across her throat with the knife. He then impaled the blade in her forehead and simply left her bleeding corpse crucified to the wall. He turned to Ralof and smirked, his flame-like eyes reverting back to normal crimson irises.

"What?" he asked rhetorically. Ralof swallowed nervously and pointed to the body of the captain. Sauron looked back at his handiwork. "Oh come on! Don't tell me you didn't want to stab her in the face for that annoying voice of hers! Not to mention she was going to send you to your death without so much as batting an eyelash," Sauron remarked. Ralof opened his mouth to retort, but the response died on his tongue. Sauron did have a point, even if he expressed it in a manner that would leave even the most battle-hardened Orc sick to his stomach.

Sauron then proceeded to remove the corpse's armor and don it over the rags he was wearing. Seeing Ralof's stare he simply shrugged. "This is at least of decent forging," he said as he placed the helmet over his head. Reaching down to the belt of the armor, he removed a key and tossed it to his temporary companion, before removing the sword and sheath from the other dead Imperial. He buckled the sheath around his waist and held the sword in his hand before nodding to the man.

Ralof shivered uneasily at the sight of the bloodstained armor of his companion before unlocking the gate across the room. Sauron walked after him, both going down the stairs right as a large tremor hit, causing the ground to shake and a huge pile of rubble to drop down in the hallway they planned on going through. Sauron snarled angrily. "We need to find another route," he stated angrily.

Noticing the wooden door to his left, Sauron raised a steel clad foot and kicked the door right off its hinges. The two Imperials who were rummaging through the barrels in the far corner of the room immediately jumped and drew their swords. Dashing forward, Sauron stabbed one in the throat before beheading him and grabbing his sword. Turning, he slashed and "X" across the other's much sturdier armor before ducking his head to let Ralof sink one of his axes in the soldiers un-helmeted face.

Ralof raised his foot and kicked the corpse off of his axe before wiping it on the leather armor of the other. He glanced around the room. "Seems to be a storeroom. Mind seeing if there are any potions in here?" Sauron grunted and checked the barrel, finding three red potions, and one blue and a green. Grabbing another red potion from the nearby table, Sauron stuffed them in a bag at his side and walked over to the other door.

Another flight of stairs led down to a room that Sauron easily recognized, much to his inner glee. "Trolls blood! This is a torture room!" Ralof gasped. Sauron walked past the stunned Stormcloak and incinerated the torturer with a gout of fire before tossing a sword into the face of his assistant. Walking over to the corpse of the assistant, he took note of the iron mace he wielded. Discarding his remaining sword, Sauron picked up the mace and fixed it to his belt. Looking at Ralof's raised eyebrow, Sauron shook his head. "I prefer maces to be honest. Blades and axes are a bit too… mainstream for me. Understand?" he asked.

Ralof nodded. Many people used blades, but maces weren't as commonly found in use by most bandits or other warriors in Skyrim. People tended to prefer to cut rather than to crush. Unless you were an Orc.

Grabbing an iron warhammer off of another corpse, Sauron eyed it for a moment before slinging it over his back and holstering it in place. He then proceeded to shatter the lock on the cage containing a mage's corpse and take everything within it. Sauron eyed the dark grey book with a strange fiery symbol on it before pocketing it. He stripped the robes off of the mage and stuffed them in his pockets before walking over towards the exit. Ralof simply sighed and followed his current companion down into the depths of the cave systems beneath Helgen.

Squinting at the sunlight, Sauron cursed once again in the Black Speech as he holstered his gore-covered mace. Ralof emerged from the cave shortly after him. Immediately Ralof ducked behind a rock, right as the black dragon from before flew right overhead, the beast letting out a triumphant roar of some sort. (At least, that's what it sounded like to Sauron) Ralof watched the dragon fly away before standing back up. "Well, looks like he's gone for good this time, but I'm not sticking around to find out if he'll come back. We better clear out of here."

He turned to Sauron. "You know, my sister Gerdur runs the mill down in Riverwood. I'm sure she'd help you out," he remarked. Sauron pondered this before nodding at the man. Given his current "stranded" status in this strange new world, he needed all the help he could get for now. (Though thanks to his pride, he would never really say this out loud)

"It's probably best if we split up. Good luck! I wouldn't have made it without your help today!" Ralof called as he started jogging down the path. Sauron stared after him for a moment before trudging after him. Ralof turned to see him following and raised an eyebrow. "I know nothing of this land," Sauron elaborated. "I know not where this 'Riverwood' is in relation to my current location." Ralof nodded in understanding. "Not surprising. Don't worry. I'll lead you there, and we'll see if my sister can get you a map or something."

The trip to Riverwood was rather uneventful, save an encounter with a couple of wolves that were easily dispatched by Sauron's warhammer and Ralof's arrows. As they walked, Sauron read through the book he had picked up from the torture chambers in Helgen. As he read, he kept practicing with harnessing his magic energy (apparently called magicka by the book) into creating electricity instead of fire. He also found that he could use his magicka to heal himself in small amounts.

Ralof watched with interest as Sauron practiced firing streams of electricity and healing the few small wounds he had sustained in their battle to escape Helgen. "I never saw much purpose in magic, but given how you've used it today I think I'm going to be changing my mind on that matter," he remarked.

Sauron extinguished the electricity in his hands as they walked into Riverwood. It seemed peaceful, just a simple, quiet little mountain town. Sauron hated it. It reminded him far too much of the Shire back in Middle Earth. He regretted not razing it to the ground when he had the chance.

Following Ralof to the lumber mill, they were met by a thin woman with hair the same color as Ralof's who immediately pulled Ralof into a bear-hug that had the man gasping for breath. Calling down her husband Hod from the log-cutter, the group followed Ralof to a stump where the man sat down and began to tell their tale.

One explanation/exposition later…

Sauron walked down the road, simply shaking his head at the logic of some mortals. After hearing from Ralof that he had "saved" the man's life, Gerdur immediately invited him to stay at their home and even gave him a copy of the house key as well as various supplies! And he thought that hobbits were known for their hospitality.

Sauron eyed the enchanted ring in his hand. It wasn't much, just a band of silver with a small purple stone imbedded in the center. He wasn't entirely sure of the enchantment on the ring itself, but he could see a faint orange glow on the edges of the ring. Perhaps something to make his spells stronger? Sauron groaned to himself. He really needed to find someplace that taught magic so he could figure out how this world's magic worked, and if it was any different from the magic back in Middle Earth.

Slipping the ring on his right index finger out of habit, Sauron decided to head to the forge and see if he could brush up on his skills a bit. The smith running the forge, a man named Alvor, was a pretty reasonable man with his prices and was only too happy to buy the looted weapons from Sauron. After buying several leather strips and a large amount of steel and iron ingots, Sauron managed to get permission to use the forge from Alvor. Taking a hammer and a steel ingot in hand, Sauron began his work of getting himself some decently crafted armor and maybe a new weapon.

After a couple of hours toiling over the forge, Sauron was decked out in much better quality armor than what he had before. His new steel armor gleamed in the sinking sun, the shoulder pauldrons welded on tight, his gauntlets and greaves strapped on, with a horned helmet over his head and a new steel mace fixated to his belt. The shape of this mace reminded him a bit of his old one, but he'd still need one stronger than this one. The steel mace would do for now, until he found or made a better one.

He sold the Imperial armor he had been using to Alvor, along with the iron mace and warhammer respectively. Looking down at his current attire, Sauron nodded in affirmation. At least he looked capable now, rather than completely ridiculous in that old Imperial armor.

As he walked down the streets of the small town, Sauron stopped at a house with a sign labeled "Riverwood Trader" in front of it. Checking the amount of gold he had, Sauron debated whether to see what they had for sale. Against his better judgment, he decided to go inside.

Upon venturing into the Riverwood Trader, he heard the unmistakable sound of raised voices in the store. "Well, one of us has to do something!" a distinctly female voice yelled. "No absolutely not! No adventures, no theatrics, no thief-chasing!"

The two in question happened to be the shopkeeper and woman. Sauron idly wondered if the two were siblings or not. Right as the woman was about to respond, the shopkeeper noticed Sauron standing in the doorway. "Oh! A customer. Sorry you had to hear that," he said sheepishly.

Sauron walked over to the counter. "I feel like this may give me a headache, but what happened that caused you two to have such a loud argument?" he asked. The shopkeeper gave a small start. "Oh uh, it's nothing important. Me and my sister just had a bit of a break-in a day ago," the shopkeeper replied. Sauron almost laughed. His earlier assumption about their relation was actually correct. "What did they take?" "An ornament, solid gold, in the shape of a dragon's claw."

Sauron groaned to himself. "I feel like I'm going to regret this, but I'll keep an eye out for it in my travels." "You will?" the shopkeeper asked, hope beginning to creep into his voice. "Tell you what, I've just got some gold coming in from my last shipment. It's yours if you get my claw back!" Sauron sighed. "I'll see what I can do, but I make no promises," he growled. "Now, do you happen to sell spell books?"

The shopkeeper looked under his counter. "Yeah, I got a few. Wanna see the selection?" Sauron nodded as the shopkeeper pulled out a couple of spells tomes. Glancing at them, Sauron noticed three with the same fiery symbol from before, two purple books with some strange arch-like shape, and two orange ones with a tree of sorts on it, and a gold one with a bird-like symbol. Glancing at the sides, he picked out one labeled "Frostbite" on it, both of the ones with the arch symbol ("Conjure Familiar" and "Raise Zombie"), and one of the books with a tree on it labeled "Candlelight".

Counting out the necessary amount of gold, Sauron dropped it on the counter and took the four books with him. The shopkeeper nodded. "Pleasure doing business with you friend!" Sauron lazily waved a hand as he walked out the door, already having stuck his nose into the "Raise Zombie" tome.

Glancing at the setting son, Sauron turned towards Gerdur's house. It had been a long day, and he needed to get his bearings straightened out in this world.

End Chapter

Author's Notes: Wow, 16 pages in a Microsoft Word document! Not bad for a first chapter. I hope I captured Sauron's character right (given that his personality isn't really elaborated on in the Lord of the Rings other than he's evil and he's power-hungry) and I may be changing his character slightly. He'd still be dark, but he may be more of a "Neutral Evil" rather than a "Chaotic Evil" if that makes any sense. I also may have channeled some of Madara from Naruto with his love of battle and somewhat sarcastic taunting. Hopefully it works for him. So, what do you guys think? Should I continue this story? Leave a rate, comment, follow, whatever it is you want to do. I'll see you guys in the next chapter, if this story continues. Also, on the "Witch-King Cometh V2" I'm still working on that one. It might get posted soon. Depending on circumstances. Well, see ya on the flip side!

Dragon Language Translations:

"Zu'u Alduin! Zok sahrot do naan ko Lein!" - I am Alduin! Most mighty of any in the World!

Dovahkiin! - Dragonborn

"Pahlok joorre! Hin kah fen kos bonaar!" - Arrogant mortals! Your pride will be humbled!