Disclaimer: Characters and places from The Lord Of The Rings belong to the master storyteller of all time: J.R.R Tolkien. God bless.

The author note of KT SHY: Hi there. This was originally an idea I intended to turn into a comic… but considering my procrastinating habits and my super ability to lose interest in a project within a matter of days… uh… um… I kinda forgot the whole point I was trying to make…

Snappy Title Goes Here


Eye on the Prize

(shrug)…. Why not?

Act I: Hubris

Barad-dûr stood at the heart of Mordor looking for all the world like a black tear falling from a cracked and aged face. Unimaginably frightening creatures patrolled its large parameters, but these were nothing compared to the horror that awaited within… The Eye of Sauron. Sauron, the big scary eye, hovered a few feet off the floor in the darkest, evilest room in the Dark Tower, staring - for that is really all he could do - at a book that the Witch-King was holding open for him.

'… and they lived happily, ever after. The end.' the leader of the Nazgûl concluded.

'That was most unsatisfactory,' came Sauron's response. Lord knows how the words were even able to carry as the Mouth of Sauron was out T.P.ing Orthanc at that very moment as per Sauron's orders. There really wasn't much for a big disembodied eye to do by ways of entertainment. He was still waiting for The Nine to return with this "Baggins of the Shire" in their custody and needed something to bide his time. Currently he was in the process of reading from his vast collection of books in backwards alphabetical order.

'… if I had written the story, the wolf would have sautéed those damn pigs along with the idiots who would sell building materials to swine in the first place! Spares a few less fools I'd have to worry about subjugating.'

'Of course my Lord and Master,' said the Witch-King - the eternal "Yes-man".

'No matter.' spoke the Dark Lord, 'Moving on…'

The Witch-King lifted up a large and dusty book entitled "The Thaumaturgical Guide to Dark Sorcery and Evil Things in General." The words on the cover and within were lettered in scarlet, looking suspiciously as if they had been etched in blood. The pages were worn and yellow - some falling out when the Witch-King opened the book. He droned on in a hissy monotone, and Sauron was on the verge of taking a light nap (or more accurately resting his eye) when something caught his interest.

'What, what, what?'

The Witch-King jumped, 'Sire?'

'Reread that last passage!' Sauron demanded. The Nazgûl leader did so, and Sauron promptly dismissed him to give himself some time to think. So, he thought to himself, the power to traverse in dreams…

He never finished the thought, for at that very moment, news was brought to him of the Nazgûl's defeat at the Ford of Rivendell. The echoes of his furious shriek resounded throughout Mordor causing orcs to fall on their knees in fear, soiling their loincloths in the process.

For days Sauron ping-ponged off the walls, floors and ceilings of Barad-dûr, mowing down random orcs in his fervor. Where in the riggin friggin world was that damn Ring!?!? He'd sent scouts everywhere but as long as the Ring remained unworn he wouldn't be able to find the Ring Bearer except by chance. The nerve of that little rat Baggins hobbit thingy! He could just picture the smug look on the Ring Bearer's face. "Weeee!" he would say, "I beat the big bad Saaaaaauron! You know whyyyyy?" and his sucky friends would say, "Whyyyyyy?" and he would say "Cuz he's just a big fat stupid eyeball, and um… he sucks!" They would laugh then, and Sauron gritted non-existent teeth as their mockery filled his mind. "We out-smarted Sauron, we…"

"IN YOUR DREAMS YOU STUPID LITTLE…" Sauron froze. Dreams. There was something there, something turning the cogs within his brain. If he'd still had a face, the expression passing it at that very moment would have chilled the marrow of even his own master, Melkor.

'Oh yes,' Sauron hissed, 'You're mine for sure.'


Miles and miles away in a small inn in a small town, Frodo Baggins, the hobbity Ring Bearer, stirred in his sleep.


The Witch King - now official book holder - held open "The Thaumaturgical Guide to Dark Sorcery and Evil Things in General." Sauron hovered at the center of a huge magic circle etched into the stone floor. The spell he was preparing to cast was a daring one with no full guarantee of success. In theory, the"Ream-day-Vasion-Inay" while not allowing him to physically find the Ring Bearer would allow the all-powerful being of terror and evil to invade even the sweetest of the small creature's dreams. From there, a swapping of souls would commence… once again only in theory.

'Still my lord, does this not seem a little too convenient?' whined the Witch King.

'Of COURSE it does! Now shyadap.'

Sauron focused on the un-holy script scratched and spattered across the pages. He spoke aloud words too evil to be written here, and sent forth his mind to find the one he had touched so many times before with the aid of the Ring.


Meanwhile, Frodo was nestled safely within some inane dream while visions of mushrooms danced in his head. They wore grass skirts and chanted and hopped around Frodo who was tied to a poll in the middle of their circle. The largest mushroom turned to him then.

'The verdict has been passed! How do you plead!?!?!?'

Frodo, wearing a white lawyer's wig, stared down at the mushroom, 'That I'm as stubborn' as a mule and twice as sexy!!!'

'Ha!' retorted the mushroom leader, 'For that you face death by pickles!!!!!'

But just at that very moment the eye of Sauron fazed into the dream and stared down at Frodo.

You cannot hide…

'Peachy keen with butter and beans!!!' shouted the hobbit who was now paddling down a rapid river in a leaky canoe while wearing a squirrel costume. At the end of the river were two doors with "vacant" signs posted on them. One was shaped like a giant red eye and one like a blue mushroom. Frodo sped toward the doors.

'If you find the way to…' but whatever would have been said next was cut off as Sauron pried him out of the boat with an oar and into the water which felt disturbingly similar to melted cheese. Then the eyeball zoomed by mwa-ha-ha-ing like there was no tomorrow and barrelled right through the mushroom shaped door. As the door closed there was a barely audible click and a red "occupied" sign flashed into view. Frodo swam in painfully slow motion toward the other door, the red eye-shaped one, and opened it…

Darkness awaited within.

Frodo awoke with a start and… no… it wasn't Frodo at all… it was Sauron now. Sauron, wearing Frodo's form sat with eyes glued shut with sleep - an unfamiliar sensation - in a soft bed - yet another strange phenomenon. Instinct led the hands to fumble toward the neck where a familiar presence alighted.

The Ring.

He didn't have to see it to know it was there. For the first time in centuries he felt whole again - more whole than usual at any rate. When he opened his eyes he had to shut them again against the pain. Everything seemed too large and close to be real. He was used to being able to stretch his sight around the world, but everything here was so blatantly in his face.

When he finally adjusted, he started to take in his surroundings. He was in a wooden room that was faintly lit by a dying fire in the corner. A smoky cedar scent permeated the air while the musical sound of crickets drifted in from the half open window. The drapes rustled lightly in the soft breeze.

Sauron's cold gaze then took in the room's occupants. Three small figures sprawled across three small beds snoring contentedly and looking for all the world like little children. He grimaced at the sight of a fare-haired elf in an oversized nightcap sleeping (or more accurately lying in a frozen state of being pretty) in the biggest, fluffiest bed in the room. Two figures slouched in two hardback chairs with their heads down on the table in the center of the room. The smaller figure wallowed in a pool of his own drool while the other muttered and chuckled evilly in his sleep. Sauron then turned to look toward the fire.

The Dark Lord stiffened for a moment upon recognizing Gandalf as the one who had been poking about his dungeons when Sauron had still been known as the "Necromancer." The Istari sat in a high-back armchair facing the large fireplace, embers glowing faintly on the hearth. His long snowy mane flowed down to where his hands rested loosely upon the crumpled hat on his lap. Sauron relaxed slightly when he realized that the wizard was asleep; the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest (and the torrential billowing of his nose hairs) gave that much away. Sauron moved stealthily now, pink polka-dot pa-jammies melting into the shadows that criss-crossed the room.

Clutching the Ring in a tight grip, he reached the door and edged it open softly. Ah ha! Freedom! So giddy was the Dark Lord that he failed to notice that he wasn't alone in the shadowy corridor until a strong yet surprisingly gentle grip fastened on his shoulder.

'Uh, eh, eih!' Aragorn chided, 'Where do you think your going at this hour, Frodo?'

'Duhhhhh… ummmm… uhhhh...' Sauron was so shocked upon recognizing Isildur's heir that he couldn't think of anything to say, and before he knew it he was steered back into the room with a cup of warm milk and a plate of cookies. This would not do, there'd be no possible way to escape as long as the Ranger stood guard outside of the door. Sauron wouldn't be able to leave as soon as he had hoped.

The morning after found the fellowship and Sauron-in-Frodo's-form enjoying (or in Sauron's case, not enjoying) a warm breakfast before they had to set off for an insane amount of travelling that day. Despite the hobbit's general fondness for meals, Merry still managed to feel disgusted watching the quantity of food Pippin shovelled into his gaping maw.

'You know Pippin,' he began, 'one of these days your metabolism's going to catch up with you. It's gonna say "Piiiippiiiiin!" and you're gonna say "Whaaaaaaat?" and it's gonna say "Gotcha!" and then you'll wake up the next day two-hundred pounds over par!'

Pippin shrugged, then reached for the salt. However, as the misfortunes of fate seem to be rather fond of the young hobbit, before his hand even touched the container his arm knocked a glass of water off the table and onto the tiled floor. A serving maid, walking across the room, slipped on the water 'ARGH!' and the tray she carried flew into one of the wall lamps, which fell onto the curtains by the windows which went up in flames in seconds. This caused the Ye Olde sprinkler system to go off, spreading the oil and the fire across the common room. The entire occupancy of the inn managed to escape before the ceilings caved in. The fellowship stood gaping, Pippin wincing each time a wall went down.

Gandalf slammed shut the menu he had still been holding and glared down at Pippin, 'I…hate… youuuuuuuuu!'

They fled before the blame could be placed on them, reasoning that an early start on their journey couldn't hurt, where as the villagers getting their hands on them might.

After a few days of travel Sauron got used to moving around in hobbit form, and this brought back the old confidence. For days he ranted and berated them…

'You fools do not yet realize it! You have lost! Even now you carve your fate upon the stones of history!'

'Hold up!' Aragorn called to the rest of the group, 'The hobbit's getting over excited again.'

They set their packs down for a much-needed rest while Aragorn turned to Sauron. 'Okay Frodo, what do you want this time? Your squeaky toy?'

He pulled a slobbered up chew toy (that looked like a rubber sea urchin with a happy face) out from of one of the bags. Sauron took no heed and stared straight at the Ranger.

'Dirty mortal! I have told you time and again that you are to address me as Dark Emperor Sau…'

squeak, squeak, squeak


Sauron grabbed the squeaky and Aragorn, heaving a contented sigh, turned to rejoin the others. He had just sat himself beside Legolas when he heard…

Squeak, squeak, squeak, *POP* pssssshhhhhhheeewwwwwwaaaauuuuu…

This last was the sound of the chew toy being popped and deflated. They all turned then, and stared. Sauron stood holding the limp form of the once lively chew toy in an outstretched hand… the happy rubber urchin would squeak no more.

'Do you think I jest?' The cruel tone seemed so alien coming from Frodo's gentle features.

Sam stifled a sob at what his master had done and Legolas began composing a song of Elvish lament. All of a sudden Boromir stood and stared down at the small creature.

'That's it! We've been very patient with you little one, but now that patience runs thin and you leave us no other alternative.' Boromir's face was grim.

'And what would you do, son of man?' the Dark Lord hissed through Frodo's teeth, cold blue eyes glinting dangerously.

With lightning reflexes honed and refined by years of intense military training Boromir dove into his pack and whipped out a cat toy (you know, the ones that kinda look like fuzzy Cattails?) and began to waggle it in front of Sauron.

'Do you seriously…!' Sauron began.

waggle, waggle, waggle


Within seconds he was batting at the thing leaving the rest of the fellowship to discuss where they would go next under the guidance of Gandalf.

For seemingly endless days and nights they travelled, trying their very hardest to ignore Sauron who all the while bragged on and on as to what he would do when he was finally in power.

Across the fields to the base of Caradhras he bantered…

'… and when I am at last returned to my throne I will make a mandatory decree for everyone to wear wool sweaters basted in mayonnaise and lard…'

While they plowed through the mounds of drifting snow atop Caradhras…

'… all the elves will have to shave their heads and the hair will be tied around the columns in Moria so that the dwarves will trip all the time…

And while they ran for their lives across the Bridge of Khazad-Dum…

'… well, I'd better scratch that last plan…'

The events that followed came as a blur for the fellowship members. Gandalf was lost to them and they had to forge on without his guiding hand. It wasn't long before they had wandered into the golden forest of Lothlórien and were made to surrender before an ambush of Elven archers, to be taken to the Lady of the Wood.

Wise and beautiful was she that was named Galadriel. She stood before the awe-struck group with her companion Celeborn at her side. She addressed their current predicament and looked deeply into the eyes of each member, as if silently weighing their strength and resolve.

Alrighty then… what do we have here? Shorty, shorty, shrimpy, ugly, pretty boy, greasy ranger, weasel…

At last she turned her steady blue gaze upon Sauron.

'… and the Ring Bearer…' but at this she stopped and a slim pale hand shot up to cover the gasp that emitted from the soft curve of her lips. Two pairs of glorious cerulean eyes locked together - one widening in a shocked surprise and the other narrowing into a feral leer.

Sauron's smile was cruel and cold. 'So, you recognize me elf-witch?'

'You…' her voice trembled softly, '… you……………………… are so cute!' And with one swift motion that startled even Celeborn she had scooped up the little creature into a cuddle.

Celeborn and Gimli were livid with jealousy while Aragorn and Boromir stared at Galadriel dumbfounded and Legolas cast about in a vain attempt to locate a reflective surface of some kind. Sauron's (well, actually Frodo's) jaw dropped.

'You're like the son I always wanted!' Galadriel smiled. 'But what did I get instead? That sucky son-in-law of mine Elrond, and his daughter and two dim-witted sons who NEVER write me back by the way… and blah, blah, blah…' on and on she went.

Their stay at Lothlórien was restful. But while the aches and pains of their bodies were cured, a much deeper ache persisted, for even the splendour of the golden wood could not soothe their grief at the loss of Gandalf.

They were all - except Sauron of course - reluctant to leave when the time finally came. Boats were made ready for their departure along the Great River. Galadriel stood resplendent in a flowing gown of purest white, her golden hair catching the sunlight that faded in streams through the tree top canopy. One by one she handed out gifts to the members of the fellowship.

'Ooh! Thanks!'


'Much thanks.'

'But I already have a belt!'

'Can it Pippin.'

Then she turned to Sauron. 'And you, Ring Bearer. In this Phial is caught the light of Earendil's star, set amid the waters of my fountain. May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out.'

Sauron held the Phial in Frodo's small hands, the expression on his face impossible to decipher. But Galadriel was not yet finished.

'And here are some cookies I baked you.' Her face was still serious as she held out the warm tray, 'You're painfully thin for a hobbit. And I made some ginger snacks. You'll need some of these sugar sweets too. You gotta get all nice and chubby for nana Gala, o-tay?'

Already aboard their boats, the other three hobbits stared enviously at the goodies piled in his hands. 'Booooo!' 'Hisssssss!' 'Grrrrr!'

The Dark Lord stuck out his tongue. 'You ain't getting ANY!'

After hours and hours and hours and hours of rowing along the Great River they hit shore and everyone got out of the boats to stretch cramped muscles. Sauron looked to the Eastern Shore on the other side, towards Mordor. He fingered the Ring around his neck and smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. Soon, very soon he would be back in his Dark Tower, Barad-dûr. There he would reclaim what was left of his body and the Ring would at last be his. Then there would be no stopping him.

He looked back at the fellowship who were setting up camp along the shore. He would have to get away from them in order to accomplish his plan, but he needed to get to their boats. The chance would have to come sooner or later. So he waited…

Sauron volunteered to take first watch and under the cover of night he stole away from the sleeping forms, secured a boat, and rowed silently to the other side.

It was done.

All he had to do now was enter the borders of Mordor. His Nazgul would surely recognize their master no matter what form he wore. They may even have felt his presence already and were riding hard on whatever beasts they now manned, ready to escort him back to the Dark Tower - an idea he rather preferred to the long trek that otherwise awaited him. He would have to hurry before the group on the Western Shore realized he had gone.


Frodo Baggins, the giant floating eye of Mordor, was having the time of his life. He'd gotten The Nine, as well as a handful of scary orcs, to dress up and play stage-show for the last couple of weeks. They'd already gone through "The Wraith of the Opera-type-establishment", "Mama Maiar," and "alqua aelin" (badly translated elvish for "swan lake") to name a few. At the present moment they were yowling up a storm dressed up in poorly made dog costumes performing "Waargs."

Ahh, good times, good times, the giant eye thought to himself.

The denizens of Mordor weren't so bad once you got to know them…


After all this time it was still difficult to move around in the hobbit body. Sauron sprinted, ran, and stumbled until he collided into something large. Both figures went down. Sauron blinked.

'006!' he stammered.

'Call me Bori.'

Boromir got up, brushing off the dirt and leaves, and helped the hobbit to his feet. This wasn't working well for Sauron. He needed to get back to Mordor, now, and there was no way Boromir would just let him take off.

'What are you doing out here?' the Dark Lord demanded.

Boromir paused - he had been about to ask the hobbit the same question - then looked hurriedly around. 'Um… I… uh…' He spotted a rock. 'I'm collecting rocks! Yeah, that's it. Rocks… to build a fire. Yeeeeaaah, that's the ticket.'

He started gathering rocks, but Sauron wasn't buying any of it.

'You wish an audience with me, worm?'

Boromir smiled a friendly smile - which made him look creepy instead - and turned to face the halfling.

'It's just that, we are now at the fork of our journey and a choice must be made.' the larger figure began. 'Surely it is utter madness and folly to go to Mordor where the Ring may very well be taken, why not come to Minas Tirith…'

'No.' the Dark Lord's words were flat and final.

'You should…'


'But if you would just…'


'Now see here…'

'No way. Nada.'


Boromir dropped to his knees and opened up his travel bag. He then grabbed Sauron by the scruff of the neck and stuffed him in the bag.

'Right.' Boromir resumed, shouldering the pack and standing straight and proud, 'To Minas Tirith.'

'That's IT!' came a muffled growl from within the bag, 'You're going down!'

To be continued…



Oh turn off you stupid…(click)… there we go.

Hey, if you liked that then head on over to the Harry Potter section and read "The House that Riddle Crashed At." Good times and happiness abound, I guarantee it.

More author notes from KT SHY: Alrighty, that's done. I just wanted to crack this sucker out as fast as I could to get it out of my head. I have absolutely no idea what's going on in this story (that's what makes it fun) or where it's going, so it may take a while before I continue if I actually do (though I can't just leave it hanging… or can I?). I'm listening to the LOTR soundtrack and weeping openly right now (track 17 will do that to ya). I realize I played fast and loose with the story but guess what? This IS a fanfic! Soooo… yeah! Feel free to review, but please, if you have nothing nice to say, it's better to say nothing at all. Thanks.