Guess what, I managed to write another part! Mainly due to the fact that I am in a shockingly good mood because I found out that my favourite book (Neverwhere by Neil Gaimen, if you are interested) is being made into a radio play. So, thanks to this news I was able to stomach writing another chapter.

I own NOTHING! Zip zada zilch! None of the character, none of the places, none of the, uh, lyrics. They all belong to their respective owners.

Cookies in the last chapter went to Meepalicious, Crookneck, Certh and K.J. Moon. Vana Jedi can have one too for getting part of it right. :)

Enjoy!

The Fellowship was preparing to depart. Gandalf puffed on his pipe, blowing out clouds of smoke in quick succession to try to calm his nerves.

"What do you suggest we do?" Aragorn asked. They both looked over to Leggy and Galabríawenúthien. The pair had finished comparing bows and had moved on to checking each other's luxuriant manes for split ends.

"Lose her as soon as possible," the Wizard replied grimly. "If we try to kill her then we may find ourselves outnumbered."

"Mithrandir," a cool voice behind them said. They turned to see Glorfindel, dressed in travelling clothes.

"Ah, excellent. Glorfindel, ride with all haste to Isengard," Gandalf said. Aragorn and Glorfindel stared at him in horror. "I know it would appear that Saruman has turned against us," Gandalf said quickly, "but he is very learned and we shall need his powers, the powers of all the Wizards, if we are to stand against her."

The three turned to look at Galabríawenúthien. She flipped her wilver hair and the resultant flash in the morning sunlight blinded some poor ellon who happened to be passing. He instantly collapsed face first onto the flagstones with a sickening crunch and began to mumble to himself.

"May the Valar grant us the strength and wisdom to defeat her," Glorfindel murmured.

"Dearest Fellowship, the blessings of all the Free Peoples go with you on this most perilous of quests," Elrond said dreamily. "May you safely reach your journey's end, with or without the hobbit. He is expendable after all."

"And I don't know the way!" Frodo added enthusiastically. Elrond gave a silvery laugh that made the hairs rise on the back of Gandalf's neck.

"Oh, how he would be lost without the nine of you!" he said. Eight, Gandalf thought, it should be eight!

"Or possibly eight," Elrond continued and Gandalf's heart leapt. This was it, Elrond's mind was returning! They were saved.

All hopes were dashed as Elrond pointed languidly at Sam and announced "I doubt the fat one could do much."

"Do not fear Ada, I shall protect the Ring-bearer with my incredible archery skills!" Galabríawenúthien trilled. She flipped her hair again and several ellyn in the crowd were felled like trees in a forest. Leggy reached out and stroked her hair.

"You are so pretty," he sighed.

"So are you," she replied, giving him her brightest smile. There was a crash as several more ellyn folded up.

"No," he said, taking her by the shoulders and staring into her urple eyes, "you really are beautiful..."

Fearing the worst, Gandalf cleared his throat. "We should be going," he said with false cheeriness and prodded Frodo in the back with his staff. The hobbit obediently trotted forward but immediately froze a few steps outside the gate of Imladris.

"What now?!" Gandalf barked. Frodo looked carefully to his left and then his right, where two paths curved off in either direction. The young hobbit's bottom lip began to tremble and then he threw back his head and started to howl.

"Mr Gandalf, I don't know the way to gooooooooooooooooooooooo!" he wailed.

"Left," Gandalf said promptly.

"Right," Galabríawenúthien said at the same time. Gandalf turned and met Galabríawenúthien's urple gaze with narrowed eyes.

"What makes you say right, my lady?" he asked in the honeyed tones of false courtesy.

"The sun rises in the East," she answered. The Fellowship looked to their right and saw the newly risen sun peeking over the trees. "If we want to go to Mordor, we must go East," Galabríawenúthien added helpfully.

"Indeed we must but that path does not lead anywhere," Gandalf replied. "The one to the left curves around again; to head East, we must start West."

Galabríawenúthien smiled thinly. "Mithrandir, Imladris is my home. I know it incredibly well. We go right."

"My lady, we are no longer in Imladris, we are one step outside of it. I know nearly every road, track and path in Arda and I assure you, we go left. And forgive me, my lady, but I thought you were raised in Lórien?"

"I still know my birthplace," Galabríawenúthien said sweetly. "Enough talk, let us start to the right."

She swept off down the right-hand path; Leggy, Boromir, Gimli, Merry, Pippin and Sam obediently trotting after her like hounds. Frodo was attempting to follow but was only held back by Aragorn's hand on his shoulder.

"Strider, let me go!" the hobbit protested. "We should trust the Lady Galabríawenúthien!"

"Frodo, Rivendell was my home once as well and I trust Gandalf more than Galabríawenúthien," the Ranger said. "Let us wait and we shall see if the right path is the true one to take."

They waited. Eventually Galabríawenúthien came storming back around the corner, the Fellowship meekly following. "To the left then," she snarled and continued up the path. Gandalf chuckled to himself.

"If my Lady is sure then!" he called.

Glorfindel reined in Asfaloth and stared in horror at the spectacle in front of him. Despite having never visited the place, Galabríawenúthien's powers had seeped into Isengard and the results were truly terrifying to the Elf-lord. He would rather face the Balrog again in Gondolin than ride further into the circle of rocks. The pits and fires of industry that Gandalf had reported upon his escape from the lofty heights of Orthanc had been filled in and re-turfed with glittering emerald grass. The sun shone down upon the tower of black stone in a most unlikely fashion for the time of year.

However, it was the figures moving on the grass that were of most concern to Glorfindel. They appeared to be Orcs, and they sounded like Orcs, and they even smelt like Orcs. However, they were not dressed like Orcs. They were dressed in golden tunics that sparkled in the sunshine like dew upon a leaf.

Also, they were moving in a very strange manner. Glorfindel tried to find a word to describe the motion. Shimmying, possibly?

The figure in front of them, clapped his hands and the Orcs ceased in their shimmying and scurried forward. The figure raised two hands in the air and dropped them rapidly.

Asfaloth reared and pranced wildly as the wall of sound rushed over him and his master. Glorfindel calmed him and dismounted for fear that, for the first time in all their years together, Asfaloth would throw him from the saddle. The Elf-lord left his trembling horse and ventured down into Isengard on foot.

"...Disgraceful, that is what it is!" his keen ears heard as he moved closer. "How are we going to be ready in time? Hm? Answer me that? The Dark Lord shall weep,simply weep I say, when he sees you lot gallivanting around on stage. Now let me hear it again."

"Argh argh aaaaah!" the Orcs chorused obediently.

"No!" the figure screeched and placed a hand dramatically to his forehead. "Ah-ah-aaaaah! The sound should be smooth; no breaks between each syllable and the next!"

An Orc timidly raised a hand. "Yes, Bluk?" the figure snapped.

"There is someone here to see you, your Fabulousness," Bluk said, pointing at Glorfindel. The figure turned and Glorfindel had to rely on all the courage and grace of the Eldar to prevent himself from sprinting back to Imladris, screaming as he went.

The being in front to him was dressed from head-to-toe in a tie-die robe of every colour under the rainbow. His hair was styled into a long fish-tail pleat, topped with a turban made of the same material as the robe. Even the long white beard was pleated, with a pink ribbon tied to the end. The ribbon had small bells on it that made a sound pleasing on the ear as the owner of the beard moved.

"Yais? How may I be of assistance to you, Elf-lord?" he asked, his dark eyes staring into Glorfindel's.

"I was wondering as to where I may find Saruman," Glorfindel replied weakly, dreading the answer.

"My dear ellon, he stands before you!" the person shouted and thrust one hand into the air, the other on his hip. "I am he, the Fabulous Saruman of Many Colours!"

The Orcs all burst into applause.

"No, no, it is too much," Saruman said modestly, flapping his hands at the Orcs.

Glorfindel shifted from foot to foot nervously.

"What are you doing?" he couldn't help but ask.

"I have been charged with composing, choreographing and directing a musical based upon the life and sufferings of our esteemed Dark Lord," Saruman informed him. Behind him, the Orcs were reshuffling.

"First he was afraid, he was petrified!" they screeched at pitches that were both horribly off-key and frankly unnatural. Saruman turned and started to make cutting motions but the Orcs were lost, completely in the zone, oblivious to all around them.

"But then he spent so many nights thinking how they did him wrong," they sang, walking towards Saruman and Glorfindel menacingly, "And he grew strong, and he learned-"

"Enough!" Saruman thundered and the Orcs fell silent. He glared at them. "That song is sorted! There are others requiring our attention!"

He stopped and cleared his throat then sung in a musical baritone, "I wore my coat, with golden lining..."

"Argh argh aaaaah!"

"NO!"

Saruman started to scream and stamp his feet, screeching something incomprehensible about timbre and consonance.

Glorfindel backed away slowly. Saruman had fallen prey to Galabríawenúthien and all hope was lost for him. He could only pray that Radagast was his usual self.

If I ever meet Christopher Lee - who is one of my favourite actors, I won't deny - I am doomed because I won't be able to get the Fabulous Saruman out of my head.

The "You're so pretty, no you're beautiful!" thing actually happened to my friend. A random stranger walked up to her and told her how pretty she was. She didn't react like Galabríawenúthien, she smiled and thanked them and then walked away quickly feeling a bit creeped out.

The little spiel his Fabulousness makes to the Orcs about how bad they are is almost a direct quote from a teacher of mine from when my school tried to put on Joseph. Needless to say, the production didn't go ahead.

I've also decided to offer something to the readers in each chapter. This chapter, I am thrilled to inform you that the Orcs take requests. Got a favourite showtune or song? Stick it in a review and you may see an Orc pop up and sing it somewhere! :D