Sauron lands inside his castle with a fwomp, crashing out of the sky as if he could not wait to touch familiar ground again. Nursing his wounded self and wounded pride, he trudges through his halls.

Oh, the humiliation of defeat! Beaten by a dog and a girl, no less! He knows his master will not be happy he lost the tower of Tol Sirion, and the thought of Melkor's wrath makes him shudder in fear. The report of his failure shall wait til the event is well in the past. As loyal as he is, he would rather not be punished for incompetence.

So he had fled, retreating like a sorry cur with its tail between its legs to Taur-nu-Fuin, where his dark stronghold populated by vampires lies. Trying to maintain a semblance of his lost dignity, he moves as grandly as possible for an injured Maia. He holds his head high as he retreats deep into his den, breathing slightly laboured from the pain of Huan's bite. Casting a dark gaze on all who dare look at him in askance, he wills his servants to shrink back into the shadows.

Eyes of crimson find you, a flicker of irritation passing through their fiery depths. Sauron draws his great wings around him like a cloak and turns away. “Now is not a good time to pester me. If thou art wise, make thyself scarce.” He flicks a hand, motioning for you to be off.