Saruman's Revenge

by SkyFire

Summary: Like the title says. Saruman gets a bit of revenge for events in TTT. *g* To say more would give away the story!

Disclaimer: Not mine, wish they were. Really. Clones welcome, esp. chocolate-covered Elf-lords! ;)

A/N: 1)This is just a little something that popped into my head one day. The way it will go is this: The first chapter is sort of an intro, then the rest will be a series of snippets. I have 3 such snippets just waiting to be posted. The more reviews I get, the sooner I post. I have no ideas for an end this. *shrugs* Can't have everything, I guess. Let's just have fun in the meantime, hmm? *g*
2)Thoughts are in / /. Emphasis is in * *.
3)Takes place after Saruman gets kicked out of Isengard.

Please review! ;)

*****
Saruman's Revenge
by SkyFire
*****

Saruman walked along the road, heading northwest, the miserable excuse for a man, Grima Wormtongue, slinking along at his feet.

The once-great wizard muttered angrily to himself as he went, ignoring his traveling companion unless it was to snap at him or kick him out from underfoot.

"Ruined my tower, my home, will they? Break my staff, will they? Cast me from my place at the head of the Istari Council, will they? Fools! They are fools to do these things and think me beaten. I am not as stupid as they would have me appear." He grinned evilly. "Do they really think that one so wise as I would concentrate my forces so badly? Do they really think that I would not have forseen the possibility of this happening and had contingency plans? Fools!"

For hours, the two walked; fallen wizard and groveling lackey. They stopped when they got to a smallish stone obelisk at the side of the road; a weather-worn road marker. There, Saruman turned from the road and walked into the trees to the right of it, looking for a specific tree.

"Where is it?" he muttered, looking around as he walked. "That's not it. No, that's not it, either. No. No. No. Aha! There it is!"

Saruman hurried over to the tree. It was cracked vertically for perhaps the first ten feet of its trunk, the crack wide enough to slip an hand inside... or other things. Pushing up the sleeve of his worse-for-wear robes, Saruman stuck his hand into the crack in the tree and pulled out... an elaborately tooled leather scroll-case.

He frowned at it, dropped it to the ground and reached back in.

Two more scroll-cases, a bit of carved bone, a stringless bow and three books of Elvish love poetry later, the wizard was becoming annoyed.

/People who stick things in other peoples' secret hiding spots should be turned into something tasty and eaten,/ he thought to himself, frowning. /Preferably alive./ His fingers touched slick, polished wood. He grabbed the thing, pulled it from the tree. /Finally!/ he thought in satisfaction, grinning.

/Fools they were to think that I had only *one* staff! Now for some revenge! But against who? Those friends of Gandalf's? No. Gandalf himself?/ The very thought sent a shudder through him. /The hobbits! But I've already got revenge-plans for their horrid little land. Who was ultimately responsible for sending those... people... out against me?/ Saruman's face grew dark with anger. /Elves, of course. They always stick their noses into everybody else's business. Those... people... left Rivendell after that council held by Elrond. And the original group was aided by that twit, Glorfindel./ He smiled, a vicious smile full of a dark and twisted humor. /Elrond and Glorfindel. *They* shall be the ones to suffer my revenge. They look out over the affairs of Middle-Earth as if they were parents watching over wayward children./ The smile widened. /Now let those roles be reversed! And to add to the confusion, let that be only for a certain part of the day!/

Saruman gripped his staff tightly, began the incantation even as evening's darkness grew thicker about him.

*

Elrond and Glorfindel, along with many other Elves, were in the Hall of Fire that evening, listening to the tales and songs being told or sung.

It was a pleasant evening; the skies were clear, the stars beginning to come out against the darkening blue of the sky. A warm summer breeze blew gently throughout the valley of Rivendell, and most windows were open to allow for its refreshing passing.

It was during the middle of the singing of the epic ballad of Beren and Luthien that both Elrond and Glorfindel were stricken.

Rising abruptly from his high seat even as Glorfindel doubled over with a barely-choked-off cry, Elrond clutched at his abdomen and the flaming pain that had suddenly awakened therein. He stood hunched over an his dais, unable to straighten up.

"Father?" a voice asked in concern.

Full of spreading pain, it was all he could do to recognise the voice as that of his son Elladan.

"Father, what is it? What's wrong?" Elladan asked. He grabbed hold of his father's arm, guided him down to sit on the cool floor.

The hall was silent save for the crackling of flame and the occasional hushed murmur among the gathered people.

Elrond could not answer his son's query; at that moment it was all he could do to simply keep back the pained scream that was building in him. If Glorfindel's soft moans were any indication, he was feeling the same thing.

The pain spread from his abdomen all through him, into every limb and appendage until it felt like he was on fire.

Then, as abruptly as it had come, the pain was gone.

Elrond took a deep, shuddering breath, then abother. He raised a trembling hand and wiped chill sweat from his forehead. Slowly, he stood, straightened his robes.

"I am well," he said clearly, strongly.

"As am I," Glorfindel said, coming up beside him with Elrohir close behind him.

Elrond looked over those assembled, then once again sat on his ornately carved chair. "Continue," he said to the Elf whose song had been interrupted.

With that, the conversations in the Hall resumed, the balladeer began to sing once more, starting over from the begining.

Part 2

Elrond and Glorfindel were walking in the moonligt garden in the chill of the fading night, followed closely by a concerned Elladan and Elrohir.

For the sixth time that night, Elrond sighed in frustration and stopped walking, then turned to face his sons.

"For the last time," he said in exasperation. "I am quite all right, as is Glorfindel. There is no reason for you to continue to follow us like this."

"But, Father, we are concerned for you," Elladan said. "You were the only two so stricken."

"Perhaps so," Elrond conceded. "But we are well now."

"For how long? Father, you told us yourself that you didn't know what had happened. How can you be so certain that it will not happen again, worse than before?" Elrohir said. "If something
were to happen-"

"Nothing is going to happen, Elrohir," Elrond said. "I am happy that you are so concerned for me, but I assure you that I am now quite well."

"But for how long?" Elladan asked as grey false-dawn light spread across the land, though much of Rivendell remained in shadow.

"Enough!" Glorfindel said. "As my Lord said, we are both quite well."

Just then, the Sun peeked her firey edge over the mountains on the horizon.

Elrond and Glorfindel both stiffened abruptly in shocked pain, brief, quickly choked-off cries of pain escaping them.

Even as the twins hurried forward, the two great Elven lords fell limp to the dew-wet grass.

Then Elladan and Elrohir arrived at the side of the collapsed Elf-lords, who were just beginning to stir from their positions on the ground. Their clothes seemed to have grown many sizes in the past moments. Then the twins gasped in shock as the truth of the matter revealed itself... or rather, *themselves*.

Sitting up slowly in the great puddles of loose clothing, yawning widely as if just now coming awake, were two young Elves. Two *very* young Elves. Rather, one Elf and one Half-Elf.

As the twins stood there staring at the two, disbelieving shock running through them, the two young ones looked to them with bright eyes and giggled.

The Elflings then stood, the overlarge clothing falling effortlessly from the small bodies. They giggled at the twins one last time, then turned and ran away deeper into Rivendell, nude as the day they were born.

"F-Father?" Elladan managed to stutter, staring absently after them in shock. "G-Glorfindel?"

Elrohir shook himself, rose quickly to his feet. "Come, brother!" he said, shaking his twin slightly, enough to shake him from his dazed state. "We have to catch them! They're getting away!"

"Wha-? Oh. Oh!"

Together, the twins ran off into the light of the new day, following the trail in the drying dew on the grass and the sound of those carefree giggles.

Part 3

Elladan and Elrohir followed the sound of high-pitched giggles. They could not believe how *fast* those two skinny younglings could run! They'd been chasing the two for nearly a quarter-hour and still hadn't caught up.

The twins paused at the sudden stop of the giggles, looked at each other in alarm. They'd *never* catch their father-child and little Glorfindel if the two were quiet!

But then, just as the twins were beginning to get truly worried, they heard two heavy-sounding splashes, then the giggles began again, this time accompanied by small yips and yells, as well as yet more splashes.

The twins started running again, gaining quickly on the giggles and yelps as the boys seemed to have quit running. They burst into a small clearing, took in the sight before them and groaned in distress.

They had found the boys. Unfortunately, the *boys* had found something as well: a mud puddle. And not just a *normal* mud puddle. *This* had to be the mother of all mud puddles; full of thick black mud, perhaps six inches deep, wider in all directions than the twins were tall.

Elrond and Glorfindel were wrestling in the mud, rolling over and over in the black stuff, mud clinging to them until it was impossible to tell the slimy figures apart at any distance. They were having a great time, trying to shove each other down in the puddle, trying to force each other to eat handfulls of mud. They were covered in black mud from head to foot, their long hair matted with it, the color of the strands hidden.

"Father... Glorfindel," Elladan moaned.

Elrohir whimpered slightly; the boys must have been wearing *at least* ten pounds of mud each. Then he straightened, a determined light growing in his dark eyes.

"Fa-Elrond!" he called. "Glorfindel!"

The boys paused in their playing, looked over with twin expressions of innocence, which was quite astonishing considering that one was lying full-length on his back in the mud and the other was sitting on his chest with a handful of mud slowly oozing from one hand to plop to the puddle, hand poised close to the other's face.

"Get out of the mud!" Elrohir said harshly, voice firm and unyielding.

Wearing expressions of muddy annoyance, the boys climbed out of the mud, the thick stuff letting them go with obscene smacking, slurping noises somewhat reminiscent of some indelicate bodily noises. The sounds made the two mud-covered young ones laugh.

"You do *not* play in mud puddles," Elladan said firmly, at last getting over his distress enough to help his brother.

"But it's *fun*," one of the boys said, tone both pouting and whining.

"That doesn't matter. No playing in mud puddles."

The boys didn't seem too happy about that. Then one leaned over, whispered something in the other's dirty ear. The second nodded. Then, before the dark-haired twins could even react, the two were off and running again.

"Not again," Elrohir groaned. Then he paled. "Elladan."

"What?"

"They're heading toward Father's house."

"So?" Then Elladan's eyes widened. "Oh! Oh, no!"

The twin sons of Imladris' lord ran as fast as they could toward their home, each imagining the sheer *damage* the two Elflings could cause simply by tracking all that mud in.

They *had* to catch those two younglings!

TBC...
in part 4

So, what do you think of it so far? Any guesses as to what Saruman's Revenge is? *g* Please review! The rabid plotbunnies want to hear from you! Really! ;o)