Author's Note: So I came across this! This gem! Oh MY WORD! This! This pair of quotes from HoME Vol VIII, and I couldn't even. How has no one written a fic about this yet? Please someone adopt this idea and do this better justice than I ever could! Please!

"I said that Isengard was overthrown, and the Stone was going on a journey, said Gandalf. And that I would [look] speak to it again later when I could, but [?at the] moment I was in a hurry"

"The implications of these words must be that Gandalf, in the opening sentences of the text, was speaking to a person in Mordor: and if that person was none other than Sauron himself, there was a delightful glimpse of Gandalf telling the Dark Lord that he was busy…."

-A draft of the Two Towers from the War of The Ring HoME Volume VIII

So basically Gandalf told the Dark Lord to sod off. This is beautiful! And I love it and I will try so hard to capture my utter delight and pour it into whatever nonsense comes spewing out of my fingers onto the screen below, but please FF Community adopt this idea and do it better justice than I. Please!

Disclaimer: No woman, no cry.

Sass Between Strangers

'Herumor I have favour to ask of thee….' Fuinur trailed off, unsure if he truly wanted his cousin's help. It mattered little what the outcome would be, whether Herumor said 'yes' or 'no.' He had resolved to do what he must, for lord and land, but the Lord of Mordor was in a frightful state, and even one brave as he had reservations about waltzing into the Dark Lord's chamber without being called for.

'Oh Cousin,' Herumor purred, 'How fortuitous! I've come with dice and card in hand. I love the little talks that begin with a wager.' His dark eyes glitter cruel and fell, and in the Palantír he saw his cousin smirking. He rolled his eyes. Of course he did, but why wouldn't he. Who wouldn't love their gift of luck, who wouldn't love their own invincibility? He'd never lost a bet. He'd ever wagered wrong. Even against their own master he'd triumphed, and that was why Fuinur sought him now. He needed the extra assurance of his own safety. It changed nothing, as he would still end up going regardless, but if his cousin felt compelled to bet in his favour it would ease his mind a great deal.

'Master is in a foul mood, and of a delicate matter I need to speak with him. It is imperative, and I feel that I cannot and should not wait, but I wonder if I truly have the ability to prevail upon him. I need him to hear me, to listen, and I…for all my years his diplomat and messenger, I fear that I know not the words to say….'

'A frightful mood? That's one way to describe it. Even here we can feel his anger- it trembles in the earth...'

Herumor sighed, and his smirk ran away from his face, and grimly he sat, so quietly, and so still, head cocked as if listening. His eyes glinted with some facetious, and slowly a little smirk began to tease the corner of his mouth. He reached from his little satchel of dice, and a pair little cubes fell into his palm. He pressed his lips to them, and the he let them roll. They clicked and clacked; tumbling to stop a short distance away.

The Palantír's gaze twisted, and Fuinur saw the dice where they sat against wall. Then once again he saw his cousin's face, smug as ever, eyes brilliant with mirth, but the smirk had turned into a knowing diabolical grin.

'Tis a glorious day to be Numenorean! No conversation closes better than one where the Dark Lord's servants gain the upper hand! Fuinur, I know not what it is you intend, but I've staked my bet against Lord Mairon. Thy travails prove fortuitous!'

He gathered his dice, and Fuinur bowed his head all but melting in relief.

'I mean to speak with him about-'

Both wraiths stilled, falling silent. A will from beyond was suddenly reaching out, and hurtling toward them.

'Isengard!' Fuinur hissed, and Herumor took his leave.

Uncertainly, Fuinur waited. It was not the first time he'd spoken to an agent from Isengard. He was the Dark Lord's messenger, after all, and dealing with traitorous wizards had regrettably become part of his job, but those had been scheduled meetings, and he stood holding the Stone aloft, deliberating, but even as he pointed his toe toward the door a voice spoke to him, and a face appeared in his mind.

'To whom do I speak?' The voice asked, and blue eyes, brilliant and bluer than the sea, looked him over, and Fuinur felt them peering deeper than he liked, probing, and prying. He bridled, lip curling into a sneer as he rallied himself.

'Lord Fuinur, Messenger of Barad-dûr. By whom am I being addressed?'

The will paused, and the eyes- a boiling blue- were thoughtful, for a moment.

'I trust you can speak to the Dark Lord on my behalf. I have urgent news for him.'

The wraith scowled. 'To whom am I speaking; for Saruman knows me and it is clear you do not?'

'No, no, I suppose not,' the Blue-eyed voice spoke, almost sighing. 'No. I do not know you, as you do not know me, but if you are who I think you are, then we have met before.'

'Really?' Fuinur's brows rose. 'I'm afraid my memory is faulty. Would you do me the courtesy of shedding light upon your identity?'

Shed light the voice did. Literally. In Fuinur's mind fires leapt and seared. He shut his eyes against them, but still they burned. Wide eyed he stared at the image- the memory of himself, of his brethren upon a hill fighting fire with terror into the wee hours of the dawn, until one by one they were driven back, admitting defeat, and the wizard mantled in grey sighed, and Fuinur felt himself wracked by exhaustion, as a wooden staff was dropped with clatter. Panting and winded, the old man flopped to rest by a broken stone, and in the grey surface of the rock he carved the letter G.

Horror rocketed through Fuinur like lightening, as he looked into the face of that very same wizard- who now possessed the Stone of Orthanc-who'd defeated them once before, and every waking moment challenged his master for the right to rule middle-Earth.

'Gandalf!' Unbidden the name slipped from his mouth slaked in shock and terror, and the wizard smiled.

'I have little time to speak, but I wish you tell your master this….'

With a mental shrug Fuinur gathered himself, and he listened to the wizard.

'Do you understand?'

'Yes.' Fuinur's voice was strangely demure, lacking its usual lordliness. 'Yes, I do.'

'Excellent! Now run along, and tell him what I've told you as I've told you.'

Fuinur raised a finger to beg him wait, but already he was receding, too fast, and already too far gone to chase after.

He looked away from the Stone, and hastily swaddled it with its velvet cover. For a long minute he stood, mind a whirlwind of confusion, and his emotions a tangle quivering knotted threads. Running a hand through his hair, he straightened, poking at his robes, giving himself precious time to compose himself for what was guaranteed to be an unpleasant audience.

The Lord of Mordor was at his desk, bowed over a report, as bright as the Void and as warm as snow.

"My Lord…."

"I did not send for you."

His master's hooded head lifted, and molten eyes laved across him, scalding in their silent appraising stare. Fuinur bowed his head, quailing under his lord's austere gaze, while the unspoken question loomed like a lead weight between them.

"No my Lord, you didn't, but at last there was a report from... the Orthanc Stone."

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed. Around him the darkness grew darker, and at its centre an eye glowered at him. His lord broiled red and ruddy in his wrath, but it was not directed at him-not yet.

"Saruman, ever so talkative and swift to send word. One day I might have to forcibly peel him from the indent his face has left in the side of his poor Palantír, just to hear myself think."

Inwardly, Fuinur winced, and his Lord saw it.

"You find my humour lacking?"

"With due respect Lord, I've only ever stood in admiration of your ability to quip witticisms with such ease. But, it was not Saruman who I spoke to. It was none other than the Grey Pilgrim. Gandalf himself spoke to me. He had a message he wished you to hear…." The wraith shut his eyes against the roiling seething light amid the black. He shuddered as the air grew static, and his lord's gaze grew sickening. He shut his eyes, and fisted his hands in his long dark sleeves, as his lord's puissant fury crackled like lightning in his ears.

"What did the Grey Wizard say?"

His Lord's voice was soft like satin, cold as ice, and sharper than the steeliest of blades. His fury was incandescent haloed by mirage, and his eyes were riveted to him. Fuinur knelt, obeisant, terrified, and quailing.

The Dark Lord remained unmoving, eyes relentless, gaze unblinking and ceaseless.

"He said, and I quote; 'Orthanc has fallen, and Saruman's forces utterly destroyed to never again trouble the realms of men. I have the Stone in my possession and it will soon be travelling, but I intend to speak to your master when no longer pressed for time-"

"The Stone!" The Lord of Mordor snapped, and Fuinur hastily held it out, for him take. His Lord pulled back its covers, and took it, all his fury and confusion bent on the Stone, and the one who held possession of the other.

Like a bird his gaze flew passed mountains, over rivers, and under distant blue skies spotted with white clouds. At last he found what he sought, and a pair of blue eyes met his.

'Greetings Sauron. I fear you've met me at a rather inopportune time.'

'That may be, but you will treat with me.'

The wizard sighed. 'I see your messenger did not give you my message. I said that Isengard was overthrown, and the Stone was coming on a journey, and that I would look and speak into it again later- When. I. Could. But at the moment I was in a hurry. And frankly I still am.'

To his amazement he felt the wizard's connection growing tenuous.

'Wait!'

The wizard for a second, paused. 'I assure I am in no position to talk. Would that I could, but I can't. But if I may be so bold, I'd like to suggest that you heed your own advice: and wait. Fare thee well.'

The wizard's blue eyes disappeared, and the Dark Lord was left alone, perplexedly staring at the Stone in his hands.