Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

A/N: There are a couple time-skips through this chapter. I think I was pretty clear on them, but just so you are aware.

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Chapter Thirty-Four: White, Violet, and Red

It was thirteen days since the beginning of Fael, Bereneth, and Megilag's journey, fifteen since the rise of Void. Trekking on foot along Mirkwood's western border, the three Royals had just passed the southern part of the forest four days past, heading off into the lands south of their home. Night had fallen long ago, and the Royals had set up a small camp, with no fire.

The Brown Lands were a dangerous place, long ago ruined during the last alliance between Elves and Men. Where once there were trees and the gardens of the Entwives, now there was nothing but desolation and barrenness. Large boulders and stones gave little shelter from the night, and odd, deep holes in the ground could hide any manner of creatures in their depths.

Although he was not bothered by the chilled wind or silence of the night, Fael found that he could not sleep, his thoughts chasing away any hopes of rest. He worried about his brothers, sister, and father back in Mirkwood. He worried about Iãgaw and his deadly threat. He feared for Legolas, wherever he was, and prayed that he was at least all right.

It was mostly thoughts of his younger brother that haunted him. No matter how much he wished it, no matter how hard he tried, he could not think of a way that Tithenlas was going to be unharmed and well when they finally did find him. Fael knew that in order for the Chant to work, Legolas had to be Light and alive, but that did not mean he was uninjured or safe. Images of his brother being tortured or laying curled up in a dark, cold cell appeared whenever the silver-haired Prince dared to close his eyes, and he trembled at the thought that his fears might be true.

He tried to fantasize that Legolas had somehow escaped and was merely hiding somewhere in Middle-earth, but the chances of that were so slim that Fael almost laughed aloud at his own imaginings. At least once they reached Minas Morgul— no matter what else they found there— they would find the Witch-King. The Witch-King would know what had happened to Legolas, and Fael— along with Megilag and Bereneth— were all willing to do whatever it took to make the Nazgûl tell them.

Megilag was taking the first watch now, sitting at the edge of their camp with his silver-gold hair turned the color of mithril under the moon. Deciding he would get no sleep tonight, Fael rose from his bedroll, going to sit beside his brother. Green-tinged hazel eyes turned to look at the silver-haired elf and Megilag gave his little brother an easy smile.

"Are you having trouble sleeping, tithen muindor?" he asked softly, though there was a hint of amusement in his expression.

Rather than give a sarcastic response, Fael simply replied. "Yes."

The teasing faded from Megilag's eyes. "You are worried about what we are going to find at Minas Morgul."

It was not a question but the silver-haired Prince answered anyway. "Yes. I am afraid. Tithenlas has been lost for so long. Even if he is not a prisoner in Minas Morgul, I am terrified of what he will be like when we do find him. What if he does not recognize us, Megilag? Or what if he does, and hates us for leaving him in Darkness for so long?"

Megilag mulled over his fears, eyes dark and distant as he gazed blankly at the stars. "If he does not remember us, we will have to help him to, of course." he said quietly. "And if he hates us... we will have to do everything in our power to help him forgive us." His gaze returned to his younger brother's filled with deep sadness.

"There is so much that could go wrong, and so much that may plague Legolas, but we cannot worry about the future now. Now, all we can do is reach Minas Morgul, and see what we will find there when we arrive." He leaned forward, patting Fael on the shoulder. "Do not worry, Fael. We will reach Minas Morgul, we will find out what happened to Legolas, and we will bring him home." His expression shifted, the cheeky grin returning, and said. "I just hope it does not take too long though. All of the ellith will be despairing until I return!"

Fael found himself relaxing as his lovesick older brother returned, snorting. "And I am sure that Cook and her staff are rejoicing that you are not around to burn the Palace down."

Megilag gave him a blank look. "Even I would be unable to burn Adar's Halls down."

"You would find a way." Fael said solemnly. "Which is why you are not cooking on our journey."

He laughed at his brother's dramatized mock-hurt expression, his fears trickling away for just a little while. While Bereneth slept, the two Princes stayed up through the night, merely talking about good memories and funny instances from the past. They did not worry about the future, or their family at home, or the Darkness in the world.

All they did was enjoy each other's company through the night. They could worry again in the morning.

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The image of serenity and strength, Glorfindel revealed none of his inner turmoil. As he had been doing every day since Esgal had been sent to assassinate Saruman, the Blarog Slayer wandered around the Palace, acting like he had a destination and purpose when in reality he did not. He was terrified, angry, and drained, only his natural elvish biology keeping him from having dark circles under his eyes and stress lines on his face.

Erestor still had not woken, twenty days after he first collapsed. He had not shown a single sign of waking other than the time he spoke those odd three words in Sindarin. Daesīdh, Mornestel, Dūrcuil. Shadowpeace, Blackhope, Darklife. None could guess what the scholar had meant by his words, or even why he had uttered them, and nothing they had attempted afterward had any affect on the dark-haired elf.

To add to Glorfindel's worries, his Gwador was currently on a mission to assassinate the former leader of the Istari. Esgal was skilled, and apparently Ciaran had taught him defenses against magic, but that did not stop the Vanya from fearing greatly for his little brother. The golden-haired elf had wanted nothing more than to throttle Amon for suggesting that Esgal go on such a mission, and reacted with a cool, distant anger to Elrond, Galadriel, and Celeborn.

He would not have been angry at the three if they had told him of their decision before Esgal came up to him and told him about his mission. But no, instead he had learned after the fact, when his Gwador came to say goodbye. If Glorfindel had been an elf of a lesser status he would have shouted and raged at Elrond, but being a fellow Elf Lord he had taken to responding with cold detachment and icy glares whenever his friend spoke to or looked at him. Elrond took his passive antagonism in good grace, only cringing slightly and avoiding his icy blue eyes on occasion.

The Balrog Slayer knew that if Esgal died, heads would roll. He did not care about Councils and Lords' decisions and rights, if his brother was killed on this mission there would be hell to pay for all of them. Specifically that orc-spawned Delorcion Amon. Actually, even if Esgal did come back unharmed, Glorfindel was still going to find a way to legally punish the adviser... Or maybe he would just find a way to hide the body.

Raised voices interrupted his dark musings, and Glorfindel frowned as he recognized Haldir's, the Marchwarden's loud with rage. He hurried down the hall, to one of the rooms that the Galadrim had been staying in. The door was ajar, allowing him to see in, and any qualms he had about eavesdropping vanished when he heard his brother's name mentioned.

"...Esgal told me of your fight with the Mirkwood warriors." Haldir was saying, voice harsh. "You disgrace our realm and our Lady with your behavior."

"That elfling told you a false story." one of the Galadrim replied, his own voice shaking with anger. "Everyone knows he is one of the Mirkwood warriors. Bloody stupid worthless Silvan elves—"

"Need I remind you that I am a 'worthless Silvan elf'?" Haldir asked coldly. "And Esgal is no more of an elfling than you are. In fact, if anyone is a child I believe that it is you."

Glorfindel could almost imagine the expression on the Galadrim's face. Would it be horrified or angry? The Balrog Slayer smirked.

"I apologize, Marchwarden." the Galadrim said stiffly. He quickly changed tactics. "However, my other words are true. The assassin is an elfling when compared to us. He has obviously been brainwashed into believing the Galadrim are evil."

Is this elf an idiot? Glorfindel thought with fascination and no small amount of annoyance. As if Esgal could be coerced into believing anything.

"Esgal is at least eight hundred years old." Haldir said mock-patiently. "But we are not here about Esgal. We—"

"Actually, he's only five hundred." a second Galadrim warrior spoke up for the first time. "He said so himself."

There was a beat of silence, none of the elves speaking. The Balrog Slayer frowned deeply, shock becoming his forefront emotions. The source was not the most reliable, but could it be true? He knew Esgal was young, but he had believed that the assassin was at least six or seven hundred by now. Could he truly only be five hundred years old, just barely the age where young warriors were allowed to wield live weapons in spars?

Five hundred years. There was something familiar about that number. Five hundred years old...

Caught up in his musings, Glorfindel did not hear Haldir's continued lecture and list of punishments for the three warriors. Instead the Balrog Slayer walked away from the door, frowning as a thought flickered at the edge of his mind, refusing to fully form.

Five hundred years. Esgal was five hundred years old. What was so special about him beign five hundred...?

Glorfindel's body slammed into another, the other person letting out a startled yelp as he ran into the Balrog Slayer's firm form. Instinctively, the golden-haired elf reached out, catching the other before he could fully fall, and found himself smiling apologetically at Barhad.

"My apologizes, Prince Barhad." he said guiltily. "Are you all right?"

The golden-haired Prince awkwardly shuffled the books and scrolls in his hands, reminding Glorfindel so greatly of Erestor in that moment— despite they opposite hair colors— that the Balrog Slayer felt a physical pang of pain.

"I am fine, Lord Glorfindel." Barhad murmured, bowing slightly to the Elf Lord.

A few of the teetering scrolls and books slipped from his grasp, hitting the floor with loud thuds. Glorfindel winced, leaning over and retrieving them before the golden-haired Prince could.

"Let me help you with all of this."

Barhad gave him a grateful look. "Le hannon."

Both carrying a considerable stack, the Balrog Slayer and Elven-Prince made their way to Barhad's destination: his father's study. Apparently the scrolls were documents Thranduil needed to look over— Erestor always did that back in Imladris, Glorfindel thought with a wince— and the books covered the boring laws and rights having to do with the Council. The blue-eyed elf hoped Thranduil was looking for a way to punish those cocky Delorcioni for trying to stop his children from trying to find Legolas—

Oh.

Glorfindel froze in the hallway, forcing himself to keep moving when Barhad gave him an odd look. His mind reeled, fact and memory clicking, and shock once again overwhelmed him. Five hundred years. Legolas was five hundred years old. That was why the number had seemed familiar. He, Elrond, Erestor, and the Elf Lord's family had been in Mirkwood when the youngest Prince had been born five hundred years ago. They had been there when the last elfling in Middle-earth had taken his first breath of life.

All had been shocked and overjoyed when they had heard the Queen of Mirkwood was expecting another child. It had been two hundred years since the last elfling had come into the world, and the elves had lost hope of any more being born in Middle-earth. Elrond himself had been deeply involved in the Queen's pregnancy checkups, making sure that the child was healthy and well.

Part of his concern had been because Thranduil and Luineth were his close friends, another part had been because he— along with everyone else— had desperately wanted the child to be all right. An elfling born after so long was a sign of good luck and fortune, and if the babe died it would only bring despair and be shown as an omen to fear.

Glorfindel still remembered the terror he and all had felt when Luineth had gone into labor early, Elrond working with the healers to bring the child into the world. They succeeded, keeping both mother and babe alive, and little Legolas had been welcomed to the family.

Glorfindel was proud to say that he had been the first elf other than Elrond, a healer, or one of the family members to hold the newborn. It had taken hours to convince Thranduil to let anyone else hold Legolas— something that the Elvenking had been kindly teased for in the years before the elfling's disappearance— but somehow the Balrog Slayer had ended up holding the tiny babe.

He could still remember the little one, so much smaller than other newborns he had seen, but with that tiny tuft of pale blonde hair. He had not opened his eyes, no matter how much Glorfindel and the others cooed and wished for it, only opening those silver-blue orbs for his Ada.

Legolas, who had been thought to be dead for years, who was recently found to be alive, was five hundred years old and had pale blonde hair. Esgal, who had a secretive past and wandered alone for years, was five hundred years old and had pale blonde hair.

The realization was not obvious, but seeing all the facts come together, Glorfindel could not believe that he had not realized it before. He kept outwardly calm however, refusing to gasp and run to Thranduil as fast as he could, because what if he was wrong?

No. He was not wrong. Deep in his heart he knew it was the truth, but he could not fully believe it. Could Esgal— an assassin, his Gwador, the shy, strong young elf he cared about so deeply— really be Legolas?

Even if he was not... Esgal was five hundred years old. Five hundred! Ai Valar, he truly was an elfling! But... if he was five hundred years old... that meant he was two hundred twenty-five when Glorfindel met him?! He was barely a hundred years past his majority when he had killed all those orcs like a seasoned warrior?! The Vanya took a deep breath, struggling to keep his reactions from showing.

He would not begin overprotecting Esgal because of his age— Although if he was Legolas maybe he should... No, not even then. Esgal-Legolas needed to keep his freedom but if he was the Lost Prince then Thranduil needed to know as if the Elvenking would even believe him Ai Valar what should he do?!

They reached the Sinda's office too quickly for Glorfindel's liking, the Balrog Slayer's mind still running in frantic circles. He set down the books alongside Barhad's, glancing at Thranduil, and winced at what he saw. The Elvenking looked tired and stressed, staring at a document without really seeing it.

The Balrog Slayer had a feeling he was thinking about his youngest son, and worrying about him. Elrond got a similar look in his eyes whenever one of the twins or Aragorn came home injured. But at least they came home. Looking at his friend, Glorfindel realized that he needed to tell the Sinda of his suspicions, though it would bring the elf little relief. Esgal— Legolas?— was currently on a mission to kill a very dangerous opponent. That was not exactly going to reassure the Elvenking that his son would be all right.

"Barhad." Glorfindel said aloud, making Thranduil jump. Had the Sinda not even noticed them entering? "I need to speak to your father for a moment."

The golden-haired Prince took the hint. "I need to go find Aglar."

He left without another word or a backwards glance, bringing a small smile to the Vanya's lips. Barhad always was a polite and courteous one. The Balrog Slayer slowly settled into the empty chair beside Thranduil's desk, the Elvenking's blue eyes following his movements. He sat in silence for a moment, trying to think of a way to tell Thranduil what he believed to be true. He just hoped the Elvenking would not be angry or collapse in response to the news. The Mirkwood healer, Nestor, would not be happy with Glorfindel for bringing him an unconscious Elvenking. Again.

The Vanya took a breath, speaking slowly and cautiously. "Thranduil, I have heard something today that I need to share with you."

The Sinda put down his pen and rose an eyebrow at the Elf Lord, eyes slightly narrowed. "All right. Then share with me. It is unlike you to be so hesitant."

I know, Glorfindel thought. But I have never had to tell you something so large, something that I may not even be right about.

Still, beating around the bush was only a waste of time. Perhaps a blunt approach would be best. "I think that Esgal is the Lost Prince of Mirkwood, Legolas."

"What?!"

Two golden heads whipped around, facing the door, to see Bilbo and Frodo Baggins standing in the doorway, Bilbo's hand frozen as if he had just been about to knock. The younger hobbit looked stunned, eyes wide and face pale, but the older Baggins looked on the edge of a panic-attack. He walked into the room as quickly as he could, halting in front of Glorfindel and staring into his face with shocked eyes.

"How do you know Esgal's name? And what do you mean he's the Lost Prince?!"

Well. That confirmed his suspicions at least, though Glorfindel was surprised that Esgal— Legolas— had chosen to reveal his birth name to the hobbit. The Balrog Slayer turned back to Thranduil, who looked pale but unsurprised by the revelation.

"...You knew." Glorfindel stated.

Blue eyes met blue, and the Elvenking silently nodded. He gestured vaguely to two other chairs in the room, beckoning for the hobbits to pull up a seat. Slowly they did, and the two hobbits and one Elf Lord all stared at the Sinda, almost like children hoping for a bedtime story. But the story to be told was not even close to being one.

Quietly, Thranduil told the others that yes, Esgal was Legolas, his son and the Lost Prince. He told them how he had discovered the truth in Dol Guldur and the events that happened there. He told them of his conversation with Radagast, and his decision why he could not tell Legolas the truth. And he told them why they had to do the same, revealing that trying to trigger Legolas's memories hurt the assassin badly.

The study was silent for a long time after the Elvenking's revelations. No one could find the ability to speak, shock laying over them all like a heavy cloud. Esgal was Legolas, the Lost Prince. Legolas was Esgal, the amnesiac and secretive assassin they all cared for and loved.

Who also happens to be on an assassination mission right now, Glorfindel thought, feeling slightly ill. No wonder Thranduil looks so stressed.

"Poor Esgal." Bilbo said at last, his voice barely above a whisper. "He has been through and lost so much more than he knows..." His eyes flicked up to meet Thranduil's before looking deeply at them all, filled with an odd type of wisdom. "I agree that we cannot tell the truth, but I know that not telling him will hurt, both him and us. It will do less damage than if we dropped this news on him, but it will still cause harm."

"No matter what there will be grief when all is revealed." Glorfindel said grimly, heart heavy. "All we can hope to do is believe in the future, and that the fates will be kind enough to let us reveal the truth with the least amount of suffering possible."

"That will not happen for a long while." Frodo murmured, almost making it a question. His blue eyes were dark with sadness. "If even showing him things that could bring back his memories causes him great pain, there is little we can do to give him his past back."

"Yes." Thranduil agreed heavily. "I fear that if we tell Legolas the truth, he will try to retrieve all of his memories himself, and will cause himself unimaginable pain. If a connection from his past is enough for him to cry out and collapse, I fear what trying to retrieve full or all his memories will do to him. For his sake, this must be kept hidden, from him and everyone else. Do not tell your friends, do not tell your Lords, do not tell Esgal's friends. Not everyone will be so understanding."

Glorfindel looked at the two hobbits, who were grimly nodding in unhappy agreement. He too closed his eyes and nodded once, silently vowing to not treat his Gwador differently because of what he had learned. Esgal did not need to be haunted by the past he could not remember, and Glorfindel would remain his brother until the assassin no longer wanted him. The Vanya doubted that day would ever come though.

He would not let this secret lay heavily on his mind. He would not expect Esgal to be anything different than what he was now. He would not attempt to try to help the assassin retrieve memories that would not come, and whose failed retrieval would only cause him pain.

The only thing Glorfindel would be unable to contain would be his protective instincts, and those already existed and would be easily explained away. Along with the Balrog Slayer almost hugging the life out of his brother once he returned from Rohan. And he would return. He would.

For now, silence and ignorance was the best policy to deal with this revelation. He only hoped that, one day, the truth would be able to come into the light.

If Legolas even came back, that was, the young elf's current mission lingering at the back of the Vanya's mind, more terrifying than ever. But now Glorfindel knew that if the worst came to pass, he would not be the only one potentially going on a justified killing spree. The Balrog Slayer just prayed his brother would be all right.

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Just outside the door, hidden from the sight of the people within, a figure stood, listening intently to all being discussed within the Elvenking's study. His mind was blank with shock, the revelation of Esgal's identity as unexpected as it could be... beneficial.

Thoughts once again processing through his mind, the figure felt a cold smile form on his face as he planned what to do with this new-found information. How helpful of the Elvenking to say exactly what memory-triggers did to "Esgal". That rebellious assassin may be a Prince in blood, but he was no superior of his, and the figure would be sure to let him know it.

Prince or not, "Esgal" would pay for humiliating him.

The figure turned on his heel, striding away from the Elvenking's study, that triumphant smile still on his face. He would tell no one of what he heard this day. After all, all of these secrets would only make his revenge easier to obtain, and wonderfully more sweet.

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Night had fallen, dark shadows stretching through the trees surrounding Isengard. Legolas was perched on one of the strong limbs, studying the tower with eyes that pierced the night easily. The journey to the White Wizard's stronghold had taken twenty-two days, most of them consisting of riding on horseback with Aragorn. The man was somewhere behind Legolas with the elf's horse, the two separating a few days before. The horse was a good companion— the assassin had learned to ride after escaping Dol Guldur— and the man was a close friend and strong warrior, but both had no place in a mission such as this.

Legolas was on a mission to assassinate a powerful target. This was what Ciaran had truly trained him for, the basis of all his trials and skills. He had never outright assassinated someone before, not like this, and could not help but feel just a little nervous. But he would succeed. He had to. If he did not, it meant Saruman would live to fight against the Free People. And failure also meant death for the assassin.

Legolas had spent the last few hours observing the patrols of orcs parading around and atop Isengard's tall walls. From the trees, he could see the orcs clearly, though they could not see him. He took a moment to wonder why Saruman had not cut down all the trees around his tower— Maybe he was afraid of angering the Ents that lived in Fanghorn Forest nearby— before pushing the thought away.

It was time to move.

Blending in with the shadows he jumped down from the tree and dashed forward, past the patrol that had just passed by. Without slowing he leapt, landing a few feet up the seemingly unclimbable wall. Unclimbable for anyone who was not an elf, that was. Silent, he climbed, scaling the wall as easily as a fish swam through calm water.

He flipped up onto the top of the wall, right behind an orc that was walking right by him. The orc turned but Legolas struck it in the throat with his hand, cutting off its air before it could scream. The assassin grabbed the guard and pressed a point on the back of its neck, twisting his fingers lightly. The orc jerked then slumped, looking as if he were only sleeping, not dead. It would take a while for his comrades to notice the difference.

Legolas leaned it against the stone and glanced down the side of the wall, gauging the distance. He jumped, landing lightly inside the courtyard, still without making a sound. Without a pause he ran across the courtyard like a hunting wolf. Silent, unseen, and swift.

The tower itself had no handholds but that did not affect the assassin. He retrieved his climbing-claws from his sleeves, slipping them over his hands, and began. The sharp, hard metal cut easily into the tower side, and the elf ascended swiftly.

Saruman's room was at the top of the tower, the highest room. There was only one door other than the balcony, which meant there was only one way for other enemies to enter, and only one way for the Wizard to try to escape. Legolas doubted that the Istar would call for help if he had the chance to. He was too proud to ask for assistance against a cloaked figure he would assume was a man. If he saw Legolas at all.

However, Wizards had senses on par with an elf's— most of the time— so Legolas was ready for his target to sense him and fight. Legolas believed in Ciaran's teachings about defense against magic, though he had had little chance to use them for real. He could do it though. He had to.

The assassin reached the top of the tower, the balcony doors open as if they were inviting him in. He could sense the Wizard's presence inside the room, awake and aware, and knew that the Istar could also sense him. A fight it was then.

Hood and face-mask up, knives drawn Legolas stepped into the room, one with the night. Saruman stood out amongst the darkness like an evil moon, his white robes almost shining in the dark. His staff was held in his hands, and he looked calm and aloof as his eyes tried to find the violet-eyed elf in the darkness.

"I can sense you, assassin." the White Wizard said in his bold, charismatic voice— a voice which had no affect on Legolas and only made him loathe the corrupted Istar more. "I knew that the elves would be angry when they learned of my choices, but I truly never thought they would send a man to kill me."

Legolas was almost amused. Saruman believed he was a man. Good.

Saruman's eyes still blindly looked for the hidden assassin. "Why don't you step into the light? You need not work for those pitiful immortals. I will pay you four times as much if you return to your masters and kill them all for me."

The elf was behind the Wizard now, silently analyzing whether Saruman would have time to turn before his knives met his heart...

The Istar stilled, turning sharply, and looked directly at Legolas.

Saruman smiled. "There you are."

The Wizard gave a shout and something slammed into the assassin, pushing him back with the force of a hurricane. Legolas gave a soundless gasp as the spell pinned him in place, the elf refusing to fall back while the spell tried to force him into the wall behind him. Saruman's spell beat against him, trying to pin him against the stone.

Then the magic around him shifted, grabbing rather than shoving, and Legolas found he could barely move his arms away from his sides. The assassin gritted his teeth, straining against the invisible, giant hand that held him. Saruman still smirked at him.

"I activated my most powerful sensing spell the day after I learned my plan failed, just in case a little uninvited guest like you decided to drop by." he explained condescendingly. "It just took a while for me to locate your exact position. Even with your skill at hiding your presence, you are still too light to hide from me in my home."

Legolas did not speak, silently cursing himself. Saruman was more powerful than he had thought if he had managed to sense the assassin's aura. He strained against the spell that kept him immobile once more, glaring at the Wizard although the Istar could not see his eyes.

"Now I will kill you, foolish man." the White Wizard hissed, staff rising.

The elf knew that the curse would be a killing one, one unable to be blocked or avoided. Saruman was taking no chances against the assassin that had almost managed to hide from him and would want to utterly obliterate the one that had managed to get into his tower. The only good news was that meant the spell would be a complicated one. The bad news was that Legolas would have time to think before he died.

No, the assassin thought grimly. I will not be killed, especially not by a traitorous Delorcion like him!

Ciaran had taught him better than this. His mentor-father had trained him to be immune against all magic. The magical bonds that held him were nothing compared to Dol Guldur's old Darkness, the Darkness that had tried to crush him and his spirit so long ago. He would not be stopped by a orc-spawn Wizard's magic! Legolas's eyes narrowed and he pushed against the magical energy that held him.

He moved forward a step, the magic flinching and scuttling around him like startled crabs.

Saruman stiffened, halting in the middle of the curse he was casting. With an angry snarl he started over again, though he now watched the assassin in amused confusion. Legolas gained another step, then one more, his movements become easier with each step he took.

The corrupt Istar began to chant faster, pointing his staff at the elf. Legolas forced himself forward three more steps, ignoring the spell that struggled to hold him back. He strained, as if pushing against a strong wind. Another step.

Saruman was watching him with horrified fascination, still chanting the complicated spell that would unavoidably kill the assassin. The Wizard wanted to back away but could not, forced to stay still until the curse was completed. Even Saruman's oh-so-powerful magic had limits.

Legolas halted in place as the spell fought against him, desperation lending strength to the magic. His eyes narrowed into thin slits, only a small sheen of violet visible between his lashes. He growled, low in his throat, and for a moment his eyes turned black.

"You won't contain me." he snarled, and shoved forward with all his might.

The spell shattered like glass. Saruman jerked and gave a scream of pain and surprise as his spell's breaking backlashed, hitting him like a punch to the stomach. The Wizard looked up and flinched as the assassin appeared in front of him, knives slashing. Instinctively, the Istar blocked with his staff.

Shink.

Legolas's elven blades sliced through Saruman's staff, cleaving it in three. The sliced off top section hit the floor with a thud and the White Wizard stared in disbelief at the two pieces of useless wood in his hands. Bewilderment, shock, and anger warred for dominance on his face.

"You..."

He looked up to see that the assassin was no longer in front of him. Saruman felt something cold and sharp touch his neck. The traitorous Istar froze. He could feel cold eyes glaring at the back of his head. The Wizard swallowed hard but his voice remained strong.

"They are just using you, you know."

Legolas's icy anger only grew at the white-robed Istar's words. He truly was a cowardly snake. The assassin could sense the magic in Saruman's words almost screaming in pain as it came into contact with his mental shield, leaving him utterly unaffected by the Wizard's attempted mind-compulsion.

Seeing his voice was not working, the Wizard opened his mouth to speak again. Legolas did not let him. His blade moved, sharp and swift, slashing open the corrupt Istar's throat. Saruman fell to the ground, dead before he hit the floor. Crimson blood stained the Wizard's pristine white robes, turning them a color more appropriate for the fallen Istar.

For a moment, Legolas looked down at the deceased White Wizard's corpse, violet eyes blank and emotionless. Then he shook his head, and left via the balcony without another word.

By the time an orc captain entered to the room and sounded the alarm, the assassin was long gone.

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It took almost twenty-five days, but Iãgaw was finally finished. He had done what he had sought to do, and now all he had to do was wait for his gifts to the Free People to awaken. It would take a while, but the wait would be worth it to see the miserable creatures of this world suffer. And how he wanted them to suffer. They deserved all of the pain and misery he could give them before he slaughtered them all.

Once he obliterated and devoured all of the life in Middle-earth, he would move on to his the true focus of his conquering and revenge: the Valar. Above all else, they were the ones he wished to destroy. Them and their Lord, Eru Illuvatar.

Before Eru had created the universe, there had been the Void. Before there was light, stars, or life, there had only been darkness and blackness. There had been no Valar, no Maiar, no elves, men, dwarves, or hobbits. There had been no earth, trees, wind, water, or sun. Before there had been anything, there was nothing. Only blackness. Only emptiness. Only him.

Iãgaw was not seeking to erase Arda from the universe, he sought to return this dimension to its proper state. And if destroying all life on it, within it, and even it was what was required to bring back the true Darkness of the Void, well, it looked like Iãgaw had no choice in the matter, now did he?

He felt no pity for the creatures he would kill, once in this land, perhaps again in the next, before eradicating their very souls so nothing remained. He wanted to bask in his victory, to stretch it out as slowly as he ripped apart this world, as if he were pulling the innards from a creature's gut as it screamed

Those that followed him— willing or not— would be used and discarded at his leisure. They were pawns, of no real worth to him other than to give him little ants to command while he sat back and watched as the other ants were massacred. If things were done too quickly, and he himself destroyed all, then the creatures would not be given time to fear him, and he would run out of wonderful delicious lights to devour and smother too fast.

His conquering of all life would be sweet. And it would be delightfully slow. After all, he had all of the time in the world, and little to fear.

Only one thing threatened him. More specifically, three things. The Three Black Weapons. They haunted him, like a mocking light in the shadows of his Dark mind. A beacon of hope for the Free People if they ever discovered them, and a reason for fear for the Void. If they existed, that was. Still, the mere thought of the Weapons sent a shiver of what could only be terror up the demon's spine.

The Weapons could kill him. The Weapons could destroy him. They could end his existence. He refused to cease to exist. He would not become true nothingness, the absence of anything at all— even Darkness. It was true that he sought the destruction of all that was not him, but he also sought another thing: to survive. He, like all sentient creatures, feared the expurgation of his existence. Not death— for he would not die— but the absolute obliteration of his entire being. Of his... "soul" if one could call it that.

He knew that if the Weapons existed he would not be able to see them with his Shadows. The Valar were fools, but they were smart enough to hide the Weapons from his sight. Iãgaw would not be able to find the Black Weapons. But he would know if the Free People did. And so the Void did not truly worry, because if the Free People did discover the Weapons, the solution to his problem was simple: Kill the Wielders, and destroy those blasted Weapons in Mount Doom.

Iãgaw retreated from his meditative thoughts, rising to his feet and walking out of the room he had stayed in for almost a month. He cast his sixth sense— the one connected to his shadows— over the lands around him in a short scan, smiling to himself. His orcs, men, and Shadowed Elves had followed his commands, and were raiding and killing all across the Realms of Men.

The men's terror and deaths lifted Iagaw's heart, and he found himself almost smiling. The creatures of this world may be ants, but their demises were still satisfying and enjoyable to witness. Though it was a pity that the Void could not sense any more elves. They must have all died in his initial attacks. It did not matter, he would consume their Lights when he invaded Mandos's Halls.

Speaking of the Halls— Now the demon did smirk.— it had been entertaining to break through the defenses around the home of dead souls. He had retrieved what he needed to make the gifts he had prepared for the Free People and left, leaving the Halls and Mandos in panicked disarray. And the Vala was supposed to be powerful. Pathetic was a more accurate term.

Iãgaw emerged outside of Minas Morgul, the Witch-King rushing towards him the moment he spotted his Master. The Ringwraith bowed low.

"You have returned, My Lord." the Nazgûl said reverently. "Were you successful?"

Would I be out here if I were not, fool? Iãgaw thought with a mental hiss, but his expression remained bored. "Yes. And before you ask, my creations must sleep a while before they will awaken, and I will not tell you what they are until then."

The Witch-King flinched and bowed lower, head down. "Of course, My Lord."

The Void stood silently for a moment, scanning the world once more before speaking again. "I have a task for you, Witch-King. There is someone I want you to retrieve and bring to me, unharmed."

He sent an image of the man to his servant's mind, the Nazgûl gasping in pain as the mental force struck him. However, Iãgaw's annoyance with his slave decreased a bit when the Ringwraith stood up straight, recovering.

"Take your fell beast and retrieve him. Cause as much chaos as you wish." the demon said, ruby-colored eyes gleaming. "It is time that the people of Edoras learned fear."

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Translations:

Tithen: Little

Muindor: Brother

Gwador: Brother (sworn)

Le hannon: Thank you.

(Note: You may notice that I keep switching back and forth between using the English and Sindarin versions of these words/phrases. That is because I cannot decide which I want to use sometimes. :P)

A/N: ...And Iãgaw's back. Uh oh.

YOU MAY WANT TO READ THE FOLLOWING: Legolas assassinating Saruman was actually one of the first scenes I wrote for this story. The moment I realized I was going to make Legolas an assassin, I wanted him to kill the White Wizard, and wrote down the fight scene immediately. Here are the reasons Legolas won so "easily": 1) Saruman was being an arrogant, prideful ass/idiot who wanted to defeat the unknown assassin with that single spell because he is a one-track minded git. (If you want a further explanation for this part, ask me). And 2) Legolas is resistant and has had the most training against Dark magic. Here's what I am trying to say with that: in a fight, Saruman stood no chance against Legolas because the elf grew up constantly resisting and growing immune to the Darkness/Dark Magic in Dol Guldur. However, a fight between say, Gandalf, and Legolas would have Legolas having more trouble because he has had less training/resistance to Light Magic. Like, if Gandalf used a similar spell to the one Saruman did, Legolas would have trouble breaking free. Does that make sense?

I finally got some Quest Royals time in! :D I originally had a fight planned but I delayed it because I wanted to focus on the Legolas vs. Saruman fight.

By the way, the Weapons are not hidden in Mirkwood. (That would be too easy.) In other words: There is another place Iãgaw cannot "see", though it is not in any of the Free Realms. That's all I am revealing now. ;)

And finally, three more people know! :D :D :D But that figure with ill intentions also knows... D:

Thank you for all of the inspiring reviews! :D

Responses to Guest reviews:

To Guest, Guest, TiTaN, Naomi, guest 2000, Aisha, and Larisya: Thank you!

To lotrlover2931: Thank you! It is going to be a while. If he drops the news on him, it will only end in suffering and pain. Literally.

To emi: Thank you! Hmm... a situation where Esgal learns something from someone... I might be able to do that. :D The dwarves haven't shown up yet, but they will in a couple chapters. You'll hear about them after we return to Mirkwood so... chapter after next chapter.

To Guest: Thank you! The blunt answer: he was being eaten alive. (Major horror and ew, I know.)

To Kryst: Thanks for reviewing! Yeah, he really does. :(

Please review! Reviews make me happy. :)