Legolas Greenleaf, Agent of MESS, in

Kill Me Tomorrow


Disclaimer: Legolas Greenleaf and associated characters belong to Tolkien (you know who he is. The one turning in his grave fast enough to power an entire town). James Bond was created by Ian Fleming. The title "Kill Me Tomorrow" comes from Othello, where Desdemona says "Kill me tomorrow, let me live tonight".

Author's Notes: This is actually a sequel to "Legolas Greenleaf: Agent of MESS", which I posted last year, though it can be read on its own. The basic concept is Legolas is an Elven secret agent in the style of Bond (and called "Greenleaf" for this reason). He works for MESS, or the Middle Earth Secret Service, which is headed by G, the mysterious lady Galadriel.

To all those who read the original fic, this isn't the promised sequel, though that is on its way. I'm still writing it, and it's promising to be about twice as long as the original. Stick with it, I will finish it. It now has a title: "You Only Live Forever".

Thank you to Julia, who beta'd this for me. She's very good at pointing out my typos, even if I do use words she's never heard of (she didn't know what "masochism" was, she's that sweet and innocent). Thanks, Ju!


Kill Me Tomorrow

Even before he had entered the Thieves' Knot in the lower circles of Minas Tirith, Greenleaf could see that it wasn't a particularly pleasant inn. It wasn't that he was prejudging the place, or deciding beforehand what it would be like inside. It was more of an idea based on observation. Broken windows were, in his experience, generally a precursor of what was to be found within. And the fact that a man was hanging half in and half out of one window was an even bigger hint. After that, the clientele who had already been thrown out and were laid on the street were merely added detail. The noise from within -that of too many people enjoying themselves in all the wrong ways- was only expected.

Hood up, Greenleaf entered the inn, losing himself in the apparent melee inside. He wore an ordinary, nondescript traveller's cloak, not wishing to draw attention. To this end he had also foregone his bow and arrows, keeping only his knife in case of trouble. To be recognised as an Elf would be contrary to what he was trying to achieve. But the press on men and women around allowed him to pass with sufficient anonymity, though a few cursory glances were thrown his way. No one was interested enough to risk it though; hooded strangers in pubs could be dangerous and besides, they had their own things to worry about. Greenleaf made his way to the bar unhindered.

The barman slid up to meet him, setting down the glass that had been getting grimier with each wipe of the cloth. "What'll it be, stranger?" he asked. Short, quick and to the point. Greenleaf approved of that, even if he didn't like the man's hygiene.

"House brew," he replied. That was enough to get you through in most inns. He placed one elbow on the bar top, avoiding the varying puddles of liquid, while the barman got his pint. Just along from him a woman, wearing interesting clothing, was trying to convince a man of her obvious assets. She was doing very well, as the man seemed to be appreciating her 'assets' rather thoroughly. Greenleaf turned away as the barman came up and set the pint before him.

He had the money in his hand, but didn't give it to the man instantly. "I'm looking for Thom Nurnen," he said, keeping his voice low. It was a conscious effort for him to make his tone deeper and more like a man's. "I believe he's known as 'Knees'."

The barman gave him a long searching look. "He's over there," he grunted eventually, "on his own at that table." He moved away.

Greenleaf glanced casually around. The man whom the barman had indicated sat alone in a corner, a half drunk pint of some ale before him. The Elf picked up his own drink and went over. 'Knees' Nurnen looked up as the chair opposite him was pulled out and Greenleaf sat on it. There was a clink as he set down his pint.

"Evening," he said, staring directly at the man. "A friend said I should come and see you."

Knees' hand clasped the handle of his mug nervously. "About what?" he asked.

Greenleaf looked around him, more for appearances than anything. He knew no one was listening. "What you saw."

"I see a lot of things," Knees said. He wasn't giving anything away.

"Something in particular." Greenleaf paused and examined the man. Knees was an unprepossessing character, looking normal enough but with a narrow-eyed shiftiness. His skin was greasy, and his hair lank and falling across his eyes. His left hand only had two fingers and a thumb. He was tall and powerfully built, apparent in the wide shoulders and broad forearms. But despite this he was nervous, afraid even. Greenleaf decided that it couldn't be because of him; if he was assumed to be a man as he was meant to then he didn't seem a physical threat -that he knew- appearing small and slight.

"I'd need more of a guide than that," Knees commented, "and a little incentive, you know?"

"Let me get to the point." Greenleaf pulled out a couple of coins and placed them on the table. "You were in the mountains."

"I was," Knees responded, more keen to talk now, though he still seemed nervous. "Just doing a little something, you understand? But I heard something coming, you see, so I hid down among the rocks there. And then they came past."

He paused for a moment and looked quizzically at his questioner. Either for dramatic emphasis or wanting more money, Greenleaf decided, probably both. He simply indicated for the man to continue.

With a sigh, Knees did. "Great ugly orcs," he said, "running past. Loads of them. Hideous bastards."

"How many?" Greenleaf asked. "Describe them for me."

"It was dark, I couldn't see much," Knees defended, "but there had to be at least one hundred though. They looked bigger than your normal orcs as well. Massive buggers they was. Oh, and they had a white hand or something painted on them."

"Are you sure it was a hundred?" Greenleaf leaned a little forward. "This is important."

"About that." The man glanced around again. He seemed to be getting twitchier. "I don't count so good, but that's what it seemed to me. Is that all you want to know?" He fidgeted with his mug.

"One more thing. Where were they heading?" Greenleaf asked.

"Into Mordor," Knees whispered, and his eyes rolled slightly, "I heard the Black Gate open."

Greenleaf gave him a long stare, and knew that he was telling the truth. "That's all," he said. The information was useful. It proved that the surviving Uruk Hai from Isengard had gone to join the orcs in Mordor. Not all of them had been killed when Greenleaf, with a little help from some friends, had flooded the stronghold. The Middle Earth Secret Service (MESS) wanted to keep an eye on orc activity, and that was why Greenleaf had been sent out to Minas Tirith, the closest city to the area controlled by Sauron. He had his contacts -none of whom knew exactly who or what he was- and his contacts also had contacts. He was in the act of taking out some money when an odd sound made him look up.

Knees Nurnen still sat opposite him, but with an addition. A quarrel of the type fired by crossbows protruded from his throat. The man gave a stifled gasp, and slumped slowly to the tabletop. Noticing that the angle of the quarrel indicated that the shot had been fired from behind him, Greenleaf turned quickly, only to be faced with the crossbow itself, reloaded and aimed directly at his face. His hand went instantly to his knife, but he stopped as the point of the quarrel pressed into his forehead.

"Place your hands on the table," the holder of the crossbow instructed, "slowly, mind."

Greenleaf complied. He wasn't suicidal enough to try anything in that position. He could see at least three more men behind the crossbow-wielder, and the way they stood effectively shielded the corner from the view of others, even supposing anyone was looking. One man pulled Greenleaf's knife from the sheath on the Elf's belt, tucking it into his own. Another pushed Knees' body under the table, casually picking up the coins from the table as he did. He lifted Greenleaf's untouched pint, sniffed at it, and then downed it in one long swallow. The Elf ignored him, attention still on the first man.

"Stand up," the man ordered," easy now. We want to talk to you, so we're going upstairs for a little privacy, savvy? And you're not going to make any fuss. You don't want to make a scene of this, do you?"

Scowling, Greenleaf did as he was told. It was true that he didn't want a scene; what he was there for was rather cloaked in secrecy, even more so than these men probably thought. It would be nigh on impossible to fight his way through the crowded inn. And besides, he was suddenly very interested in what the men wanted. They couldn't be concerned with the movement of Uruk Hai into Mordor. There was obviously something else going on and Greenleaf decided, on the spur of the moment, to look into it.

Not that he was willing to be dragged off by a gang of men, but he didn't really have a choice. The burlier two of the men took his arms, one on each side, and pulled him with them. No one else in the inn took any notice, maybe not even realising the existence of the drama playing out in the dark corner. Greenleaf glanced across at the barman, who watched them for a moment then turned away. So he had been in on it somewhere, probably telling the men.

The stairs were narrow, and Greenleaf was crushed between the two well- built men. The bald-headed man with the crossbow followed behind, occasionally prodding the Elf in the back. Greenleaf's feet barely touched the steps as he was pulled up. He was hustled in no short order into one of the upstairs rooms, whereupon the door was shut and bolted. It was a small room, the only contents being a bed, a wooden chair and a small chest of drawers. Greenleaf was thrust unceremoniously onto the chair and held there firmly.

There was the inevitable gasp as his hood was thrown back and his face revealed.

The man with the crossbow, who Greenleaf had decided to dub 'Baldy' for obvious reasons, spoke first. "What's a mighty Elf like yourself doing here?" he asked. He put his crossbow down on the bed and stood directly before the Elf.

"My own business," Greenleaf replied. It was probably the wrong answer to give in his present position, but no man made demands of him. He wouldn't tell them why he was there -that was MESS business- and he was aiming for antagonising them enough so they told him what they were doing. It was obviously something illegal that they wanted kept secret, if their current actions were anything to go on. They thought he was interfering, which he hadn't actually been. But, due to their reactions, he was now.

"Your 'business' seems to be trying to cut in on ours," Baldy said, "so try another answer."

Strongman One (the man on Greenleaf's right) tightened his grip on the Elf's shoulder. Not to be outdone, Strongman Two (on the left) did the same. They were uncomfortably strong, though Greenleaf didn't particularly rate their intelligences, not even combined. He stayed silent, figuring out ways instead to catch his questioner out.

Baldy, angered by the lack of response, resorted to physical violence, as Greenleaf had found out was often the way with men. He slammed his fist into the Elf's stomach. Funny, Greenleaf thought, through the pain, they usually go for the face. Oh well, probably later.

"What were you talking to Knees about?" Baldy demanded. "The barman said you came in and asked about him, and then went and sat with him. And then money changed hands. We haven't been trusting him for a while, hence why we killed him. But who are you? And what was all that about?"

"What do you think it was about?" Greenleaf asked. He raised an eyebrow, knowing full well how infuriating it could be. It was a trick he had picked up from G. She had developed her facial expressions so well that she barely needed to say a word.

"Don't get clever with me, Elf!" Baldy spat. He smacked the Elf across the mouth, to nobody's surprise.

"Oh well," Greenleaf said, through the blood that now dripped from his lip, "I can be a tad forgetful sometimes. Suppose you'd enlighten me on what I'm supposed to be remembering?" His face appeared ignorant, but there was a wicked gleam in his eye. He was playing a dangerous game, that he knew, but he had played worse in the past, and got results from them.

"You expect us to tell you?" Baldy laughed, unpleasantly of course. "What do you think we are, stupid?"

"In a word?" Greenleaf asked, grinning. "Yes. Particularly these two." He nodded towards Strongmen One and Two. They looked confused for a moment, then realised that he had insulted them and decided accordingly.

"Can we hit him?" Strongman One asked, grip tightening in anticipation.

"I don't see why not," Baldy said, glaring at the Elf, "he doesn't seem inclined to answer any questions at the moment."

That was all the encouragement that they needed. Although stupid, they possessed some skill -or at least blind viciousness- in beating others. Greenleaf knew that he would have some splendid bruises later, though no broken bones as of yet. The two men were holding back, he was sure. He wasn't defending himself -not that it would have been easy to, they still held his arms tightly- but he knew that the blows could have been much harder. The fourth man, who hadn't spoken yet, stood just behind Baldy, fiddling with Greenleaf's knife. He wore a ridiculous-looking red cap, somewhat too large for him.

"Can I have a go?" he asked, an unwholesome light in his eye. His tongue touched the corner of his lips.

"Not just yet," Baldy told him, "maybe later." He watched the two men beating Greenleaf for a little while longer. The Elf was dizzy, the repeated pounding affecting him. "That'll be enough for now, lads," the man said.

The two men stopped, albeit reluctantly, and hauled Greenleaf back upright in the chair. Blood ran now from his mouth and his nose, and bruises were forming darkly on his skin. He feigned worse injuries than he had sustained, slumping against the grips on his arms. He arranged his face into a pathetic expression.

"What did he tell you?" Baldy demanded. He shook the Elf's head by grabbing his hair and tugging violently.

"E-everything," Greenleaf stammered. His head fell forward as Baldy released his hair and stepped back.

"Everything?" Strongman One said, sounding worried. "Even the weapons?"

"And the Wildmen?" Strongman Two added.

Greenleaf smiled. Got you, you bastards, he thought. So that's your game.

"Fools!" Baldy shouted. "Couldn't you see he was bluffing? You idiots!" He threw his hands into the air in irritation.

The two men looked at each other, confused again. Greenleaf decided to take the opportunity. He pushed up from the chair, kicking first one then the other man in the groin. Both folded in the middle and fell to the floor. Greenleaf moved forwards, but was pulled up short by the abrupt pain as he moved, catching him rather by surprise. He staggered a little, lights filling his vision. Baldy and Red Cap charged him together, giving the Elf no chance. They knocked him to the floor, Baldy landing on top and holding him down. Red Cap, grinning horribly, pressed a knife to his throat. Greenleaf realised with irritation that it was his own knife, and spent a few moments wishing that he didn't keep it so sharp. Strongmen One and Two, having recovered from those rather low blows, came over and helped pin the Elf down. Baldy was still straddling him, but he sat back on Greenleaf's legs, his weight heavy on the slender Elf. He looked rather angry, to say the least.

"That was a very big mistake," he hissed, bald head gleaming with sweat, "and one you're going to pay for."

Greenleaf suddenly realised properly what a bad situation he was in. Before, he had been confident of his superiority to the four men, but he saw now that he had been a bit premature in this. The four men were currently looking very murderous. He should have taken everything into account, like the men's strength and suchlike. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He was paying for it now. Each pain from the beating he felt with a savage glee, and sort of masochism, reminding him of how stupid he had been. It was good for him every now and then, in his opinion, in order that he should remain a little humble at least. It stopped him acting like the stupid, reckless, idiotic, absolute prince that he'd just been! He almost deserved whatever these men had planned. Almost.

"Do you know why he was called Knees?" Baldy suddenly asked.

"Should I be interested?" Greenleaf said in reply. He was pretending to be completely calm, and the fear he felt didn't enter his voice.

"I'll say you should," Baldy answered, "as it'll concern you very soon." He chuckled. "You see, he was given the name 'Knees' because he had a nasty little habit. If he didn't like someone enough then he had an unpleasant way of showing it. You fond of your kneecaps?" He leered nastily. Greenleaf feigned disinterest as best he could with a knife at his throat, but inwardly he felt rather sick. Baldy continued, enjoying every moment. "Ever wondered what it'd be like without them? You'd be forced to crawl, unable to walk. I know, because I've seen it. Of course, Knees was the expert, but as he's dead we'll just have to improvise. I'm sure my friend here wouldn't mind taking a stab at it." He indicated above Greenleaf's head, to Red Cap.

Greenleaf looked up into a pair of some of the worst eyes he had seen. Alone, they would be mildly disconcerting, but coupled with the malicious smile and eagerness to cause pain they were deeply unsettling. Oh great, Greenleaf thought, one of those. One of the sick bastards in this world who enjoy this sort of thing. Why do I always seem to attract them?

"You bet I will, boss," Red Cap sniggered, "a stab at it, hee."

Psychopath definitely, Greenleaf judged, but no finesse.

He decided, quite logically, that he didn't want to be kneecapped, thank you very much. Having his kneecaps prised off by a deranged man, and probably using his own knife as well, would be rather humiliating (a mere man!), not to mention being a hindrance in his line of work. Of course, to prevent this he would actually need to do something in opposition to the men. And to do that he needed them to be distracted. The best opportunity would be when they moved.

That opportunity soon presented itself. Red Cap stood, removing the knife from the Elf's neck. Baldy moved too, his weight lifting. That was all Greenleaf needed. He rammed his knee into the man's groin, noting with satisfaction the crunching sound and the yell of agony from the man. He knew well how much pain could be caused in that area, and he used that knowledge ruthlessly. He kicked the man again, sending him sprawling to the floor. Following through, Greenleaf caught Red Cap in the face with his foot, knocking the nasty little man back with a surprised yelp. Strongmen One and Two were a little slow on the uptake, but they held the Elf's arms down tightly still. Their grips seemed impossibly strong, but Greenleaf didn't waste time trying to break out of them. He was stronger than most men, but they seemed to be an exception.

His legs were still above his head, and he swung them round, using his shoulders as a pivot, and connected his feet with Strongman Two's throat. It was a bit like kicking iron, but the man fell back with a grunt anyway. Greenleaf wrenched his arm up, sitting up in the same movement. His fingers found Strongman One's eyes, jabbing fiercely. The man cursed and hit at the Elf's hand, releasing the other arm in the process. A well-placed fist sent the man backwards.

Greenleaf pushed himself up to his knees, and almost missed Red Cap's lunge at him. A quick duck on his part meant that the knife still in the man's hand missed, but the forward momentum sent the man crashing into the Elf, knocking him to the floor. Greenleaf, lying on his back, grabbed Red Cap's wrist, holding the knife -his own knife- away from him. They struggled, but Greenleaf wanted to end to end it quickly, wanting to dispatch the man before any of the others joined in again. Arching up, he headbutted Red Cap solidly in the forehead. The man was stunned, and slumped to the side. Greenleaf pushed him off, taking his knife back and giving him a rap on the side of the head with the hilt for good measure. He stood up.

And then was sent stumbling by a punch from Strongman Two. Wasting no time, Greenleaf whipped round with an answering fist, colliding with the man's nose. Blood flew, but he remained upright and able. Greenleaf could see in his peripheral vision that Strongman One was also on his feet and heading his way. One thing that the Elf had over the two men was speed, and he used this now. He hit Two in the forehead, spinning almost instantly to kick One in the stomach, drawing a gasp. But it took more than that to knock down these two, and Greenleaf knew it. He moved constantly, never giving them a stationary target. When they finally worked out that it would work better if they worked together, Greenleaf was ready for them. As Two lunged for his legs while the Elf was facing One Greenleaf leapt, landing as heavily as he could on the man's back. This put him at a better height to crack one over the head with his knife hilt, doing it again as the man fell, just to make sure. Two received the same treatment. This left Greenleaf with one more opponent: the one who seemed to be the leader of this little lot.

The man had drawn his own knife, a fairly cheap, flashy affair. He and the Elf circled, holding their knives ready for the other to move. Greenleaf smiled, happier now he had successfully dispatched three of them. He let Baldy see this, allowing the man to see how good he was feeling, and hopefully make him think that the Elf was relaxed. But underneath he was prepared, mentally daring the man to make his move. It didn't take long; Baldy seemed to snap under the tension.

He lunged at Greenleaf, teeth bared in a snarl. The Elf easily side-stepped the attack, allowing the man's speed to carry him straight past. But despite not being the brightest coin in the purse, Baldy was not without some intelligence. He turned quickly, hoping to catch his opponent off guard. Greenleaf was better than that. He was round the other way in an instant. His knife rose to parry while his other hand was a fist, catching the man hard in the stomach. As Baldy gasped from that blow Greenleaf whacked him across the knee with his foot, feeling the kneecap jerk out of place. He smiled grimly, figuring that he was due some payback for what they had been willing to do to him.

He grabbed Baldy's arm as the man was about to fall to the floor. The knife was sent flying from his suddenly weak hand, skidding into a corner of the room. With a knock on the head to keep him stunned, Greenleaf proceeded to work out some of his frustration on the man. It was only fair. After all, they'd been going to maim and probably kill him, so a little resentment was surely allowed. And it made the interrogation all the easier. Having reduced Baldy to a near-unconscious pile on the floor, Greenleaf hauled him back up by the shirtfront.

"So," he said conversationally, "weapons and Wildmen. Or Wildmen and weapons, what you will. Tell me about them."

"What if I don't want to?" the man asked, a lot less comfortable now he wasn't asking the questions, but still belligerent.

"Not an option," Greenleaf told him, "unless you enjoy severe pain. Some people do, you know. Would you like to find out?"

Baldy took one look at the Elf's cold eyes and almost wet himself. "No, no! I'll talk! We were providing weapons for the Wildmen of the DrĂșadan Forest. We got the weapons up this end and got them to the edge of the mountains, where they'd get picked up."

"That's too big an operation for you to organise," Greenleaf said. "Who tells you what to do? Who's your boss?"

"D-don't know." The man squawked as Greenleaf's grip tightened. "It's true, I promise! We just get orders on paper, sealed, every week."

"What's the seal?"

"Don't know. Wait! It's a whatchamacallit, an eye! On red wax. That's all I know. I swear!"

Greenleaf was satisfied that the man had told him everything. Coldly, he pinched a nerve on Baldy's neck. The man was unconscious before he'd even realised what had happened. Greenleaf dropped him rather contemptuously to the floor, leaving him in a heap. He pondered for a moment the idea of exiting through the window, but then noticed that it was barred closed. And even as he turned to the door, he heard a loud knocking on the other side of it. Someone must have heard the commotion of the fight.

"Are you all right in there, boys?" questioned the voice of the barman.

Greenleaf stayed silent, even when muffled curses were followed with the sound of a heavy body hitting the door. Let the barman break open the door, Greenleaf reasoned. It would take him too long to search out the key from the men's pockets. The door shuddered in its frame, splintering a little at the lock.

He stood to the right of the door, against the wall. As the door finally broke and the barman fell inwards with the momentum, he slipped past the man and out into the corridor. At which point he met three more men who had followed the barman upstairs. Not wishing to waste time, Greenleaf knocked them all down in moments, using surprise to his advantage. As the last one's head connected with the wall the Elf was past them and leaping down the stairs, the barman shouting behind him. He knew he would have to fight his way through the inn now, but there wasn't really another option. He didn't know another way out, and it would take too long to find one. He would just have to do his best. And looking at the rather angry crowd of people, Greenleaf reflected that his best had better be pretty damn good. It normally was.

He paused on the stairs for a moment, surveying the scene. The door stood partially open in the wall directly opposite. The bar was along the left hand side, and along it were gathered most of the pub's occupants. More sat at the tables to the right. Each man seemed to have a weapon in his hand, and even the women looked threatening. Greenleaf needed a plan, and luckily he had one. Sort of.

Oh well, he sighed to himself, I never claimed to be an ambassador for my people.

He jumped the remaining steps to land lightly on the floorboards. His knife was in his right hand as he grabbed a girl from the edge of the crowd with his left, pulling her against him and touching the knife to her neck very gently. She trembled, and Greenleaf thought just for an instance of how much of a cliché villain he must look. He had a sudden urge to laugh but forced himself to remain stern. This bluff had to work, or he would end up dead.

"Back away, all of you," he instructed, adding something of a worried edge to his voice so they would think that he was desperate enough to actually use the knife. "That includes you behind me," he added, hearing the barman's laughable attempt to creep down the stairs. "Put all your weapons down. I just want to get out of here without too much of a fuss, got it?"

Everyone in the inn got it, except one. But that was always the way, wasn't it? The one was a young man, impulsive and angry-looking.

"Unhand her, foul creature," he declared, "you shall not harm her, else I shall run you through with my sure blade."

The blade in question was an old and rusty knife, quivering in the man's grasp. It looked like it would have had trouble cutting through dead grass, let alone deterring an Elf. Greenleaf was just composing a suitably scathing reply when the girl saved him the bother.

"Don't, Dar," she pleaded, "he'll kill me, I know he will! Just let him through, please!"

Her plea worked like magic, parting the inn's occupants like grasses in a breeze. Greenleaf at last had a clear path to the door and he didn't hesitate in taking it. Pulling his hostage with him, he arranged his face into the most evil expression he could muster without laughing out loud. All the inn's customers watched him warily as he went, but none made a move, either through fear of getting the girl hurt or just disinterest. Again Greenleaf reflected on the damage he was doing to the reputation of his people, but dismissed it. These people already had those sorts of ideas about Elves, so it wasn't as if he was starting them off.

He left the Thieves' Knot through the open door, pulling it mostly shut behind him with his foot. He released the girl and sheathed his knife at his waist. He walked away, expecting her to go straight back inside. But she surprised even him.

"Here," she said, in a rather pointed tone, "aren't you going to ravage me or something?"

He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. "I wasn't planning on it," he replied, "I'm no barbarian, you know." He grinned wickedly. "But I'm sure your young man in there would be more than willing." He laughed, and kissed the corner of her mouth cheekily. "Thank you," he said, and vanished into the shadows.

She stood there for a moment, then sighed and went back into the inn, no doubt ready to tell a terrifying tale of her daring escape from the horrifying and lascivious Elf that had taken her hostage. It would probably earn her a few drinks at least.

Greenleaf watched her go and then went on his way. He would inform the Gondorian authorities of the weapons smugglers and they could dismantle this end of the operation. But to stop the whole thing would mean going to the head of the problem, the one whose seal was an eye on red wax: Sauron. There was more work to be done before that particular fish could be hooked and drawn in. Greenleaf had places to go and people to see before anyone could contemplate a mission into Mordor.

But he would see Sauron brought down, or die in the process.

The End, for now.