Prophet (a LOTR fanfic)

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His horse clopped up the path towards the dark tower. A full moon shone above, providing ample light for him to travel by. Not that he needed it, of course- he could see perfectly well in the dark. The land around him had been stripped of trees, which just gave him a clearer view of the deep gouges in the earth, with hot light spewing forth and orcs crawling around them like ants on a hill. His pointed ears tingled with excitement. Isenguard, practically the front lines. A wicked grin split his face as he rode through the gate and among the orcs. Most of them, of his own formula. The first of his breed of uruk-hai hadn't been so successful, true. She had managed to kill them... but these ones were much, much better.

He swung off the horse and lead it to the massive doors of the tower. Orcs sitting around fires shot him suspicious glances, but could obviously tell by the pallor of his skin and the madness in his eyes that he was on their side. He burst through the double doors and marched into the tower.

"Oh Saruman, darling, the master has sent you a gift!" He called into the darkness.

"And what would that be?" Saruman's voice boomed from all around him, and he could only chuckle.

"Stop that, you old coot. Your parlour tricks don't scare me."

"And who, are you." Saruman emerged from the darkness, facing him straight on.

"I am your gift," he grinned. "You already have my uruk-hai, and now you have the real deal: me."

Grima Wormtongue surged towards him from behind the wizard. "Who do you think you are?"

"I, am your salvation." He flashed another wicked grin and sank a dagger into Grima's gut. Wormtongue gasped and sputtered as the dark elf yanked the dagger out and dropped Grima to the floor. "Well," he said, stepping over the body, "now that thats done.." He snapped his fingers and sparks erupted, casting sinister shadows across his features.

The old wizard's eyes widened.

"Let's make some bombs."