DISCLAIMER: Alas, I own nothing… otherwise there would be no need for me to be writing fan fiction, would there?

SUMMARY: Set about a thousand years into the Second Age, around when Sauron begins building Barad-dûr.  Just a goofy little story about Sauron trying to convince a certain someone to join forces with him, as well as a theory as to who Tom Bombadil could be (completely ridiculous of course!  ^_^).

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is dedicated to my good friend Rebecca, aka Bootstrap Beka, who also helped me write it.  Thanks Bootstrap!

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            Sauron had officially decided that he did not like the forest.

            The up-and-coming Dark Lord mumbled various curses in Black Speech and slapped at a mosquito biting his neck.  He hated mosquitoes.  And trees.  And the smell of the Old Forest just after a spring shower.  He was so glad he'd decided to turn Mordor into a barren wasteland.  He couldn't have mosquitoes and trees and fresh-smelling air distracting him while he plotted to take over the world.

            Actually, it was just the mosquitoes he truly despised.  He didn't mind the trees and the smell so much.  In fact, he rather enjoyed it.  However, it just didn't fit in with the whole Dark Lord thing, which was precisely why he was in this wretched forest to begin with.  It was time to convince the only one greater than him to take action.

            He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking, but he was certain it was a very long time.  There was a path below his feet, but it was getting harder and harder to follow as it went deeper into the woods.  The idea that he'd been given wrong directions occurred to him, and that thought plagued his mind and was beginning to annoy him greatly when the path suddenly opened up into a large clearing.  At the opposite side of the clearing, just below a grassy hill, stood a house with a thatched roof and smoke coming out of the chimney.  Sauron smiled.  He'd arrived.

            Sauron quickened his pace.  It only took him a few minutes to cross the glen over to the house.  Just as he raised his hand into the air in preparation to knock on the door, it opened.  Sauron let out a cry of surprise and stumbled backwards.  Quickly recovering his balance, the powerful Maia rubbed his eyes, blinked, and stared.  "You… you look different."

            "Ah, Sauron," said the short, funny-looking man with the wrinkled face, bushy brown beard, and bright blue eyes.  "I see you got my letter."

            Sauron nodded.  "Yes."

            "Well, come inside, old friend."

            Sauron had to bend down to avoid hitting his head inside this house with the unusually low ceiling.  A fire was burning brightly in the hearth on the opposite end of the room, and a table and two chairs were set up nearby, with a teapot and two cups on the table.  The man led Sauron over to the table, and they sat down.  "Tea?" he offered.

            Sauron couldn't even remember the last time he had tea.  In fact, he wasn't completely sure if he'd ever had it at all.  However, he didn't want to seem rude, so he accepted the offer.  The man smiled and poured some tea into his guest's cup.  "Sugar?"

            That was too much.  Sauron declined the offer as gracefully as he possibly could.  Sugar was sweet and held too many connotations of happiness and glee.  Besides, it rotted your teeth.

            "Suit yourself," the man said, and dropped a heaping spoonful of sugar into his own tea.  Sauron suppressed a grimace.

            The man lifted his teacup to his lips, took a sip, then set the cup down.  "So," he said, "to what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

            Sauron didn't understand.  "But it was you, my lord, who sent me the letter."

            The man smiled.  "Yes, and I had a quite difficult time with it, too, seeing as you left no forwarding address.  But surely there is a reason you hastened to my presence."

            "Forgive me, my lord, but… but I did not believe it could really be you."

            He continued to smile, but did not reply.

            Sauron poked his teacup with his finger.  The hot brown liquid inside jiggled with the movement.  "So… you're back."

            "Yes, I'm back.  Manwë and the others weren't too happy, but you know Ilúvatar."  He took another drink of tea.

            Sauron shifted in his seat.  He wasn't much in the mood to hear this story now.  It could be told later.  There was much that needed to be done, and the sooner they got started, the better.  "I have a plan," he said, cutting right to the chase.

            The man choked on his tea.  "Already?" he said, wiping his beard.  "I see you've wasted no time."

            Sauron shook his head.  "I cannot afford to."

            "What's your plan?"

            "Rings of power.  Three for the Elves, seven for the Dwarves, and nine for Men.  In secret, I plan to create another ring to control all the others: one ring to rule them all."

            "Good plan."

            "Thank you," Sauron said, feeling a glow of pride.  "But there's more.  I've already started construction on a fortress in Mordor.  It's no Angbad, of course, but it should serve our purposes quite nicely."

            The man frowned.  "'Our'?" he repeated.

            Sauron blinked in confusion.  "Of course, our.  Why else would you have returned?"

            "I'm here with the knowledge and consent of Ilúvatar, Sauron."

"I'm aware."  Sauron decided to try the tea and held the cup to his lips.

"You don't understand.  I've retired."

            Now it was Sauron's turn to choke on his tea.  "You've what?"

            "Retired," he repeated.  "I did the Dark Lord thing before, and besides, I felt a change of scenery was in order."

            Sauron groaned.  "You can't be serious…"

            "I'm dead serious, Sauron.  Besides, Ilúvatar said that if I cause any trouble, I have to go back into the Void."

            "He doesn't have to know you're involved!"

            "Oh, come on, Sauron.  Don't tell me you actually want to relive the War of the Wrath."

            "No, of course not, but… but this plan is foolproof!  The Valar-"

            "The Valar are watching me like hawks.  Any move I make, they'll know."

            "So… you're on probation?"

            "Pretty much."

            "Damn it."

            The man nodded and drank some tea.  "I have to admit that I miss the excitement, but this life isn't so bad."

            Sitting around in the forest and drinking tea.  Sauron felt like gagging.  He would throw himself off the peaks of Thangorodrim before taking up "this life."

            Just then, a beautiful woman with yellow hair and pale blue eyes entered the room.  "Tom, the-"  She stopped talking when she saw Sauron, and her eyes narrowed.  "Who are you?"

            Sauron's mouth dropped open, and he stared at the woman.

            "Ah, Goldberry," the man said.  "This is my former lieutenant, Sauron.  Sauron, this is Goldberry, daughter of the river and my companion."

            Goldberry frowned.  "You're not… plotting or anything, are you?"

            The man laughed.  "No, my darling, of course not!  Sauron just dropped by for tea."

            Goldberry shrugged and left the room.

            Sauron blinked.  All of a sudden, "this life" didn't look so bad.

            "My apologies, Sauron," the man said.  "I would help you if I could, but… well, frankly, after spending a thousand years in the Void, one begins to ponder the consequences of one's actions."

            Sauron nodded.  "I understand."

            Stupid Ilúvatar.

            Sauron sighed and stood up.  "Well, I really should get back to plotting… and it's not going to be easy to make those rings…"

            The man shook his head.  "No, it's not.  Good luck, my old friend."

            Sauron felt rather uneasy about doing this by himself.  "Uh, look… about the rings of power thing… well, seeing as you can't join me, could you suggest some hapless soul whose mind I could twist and manipulate into helping me make those things?"

            "Oh, sure!" the man said brightly.  "I've got the perfect one.  Noldor; Celebrimbor by name.  Remember him?"

            Sauron smiled.  "Ah, yes, him."

            "Just promise to set him up with Galadriel.  He'll do anything."

            Sauron stood up.  "Thank you, my lord."

            The man stood, too, and walked Sauron to the door.  The two of them reminisced about the days of old for a few minutes, and then said their good-byes.  Whether or not it would be their final farewell was unknown even to them.

            "Good-bye, Sauron.  Have fun taking over the world."

            "Thank you, Morgoth."

            "Please, call me Tom Bombadil."