Now follows the tale of Rosegold Morgil, daughter of Elrond Half-Elven. I write this account in the face of her accusations, that no man may forget her name.
She heard the men when they rode up to Isengard.
She was there when Saruman went out to speak with them.
She saw Wormtongue leave her side to join him.
With one ear at the door to the roof of Orthanc, she heard Grima's cry as Saruman rebuked him with a heavy hand.
She turned the knob slowly and stepped out onto the roof, casting a wary glance at the white wizard who still stood speaking to the party below.
The girl was a sight to behold. Her clothes were ragged and nearly falling off of her slender frame. Her hair was strawberry blonde and long, reaching to her waist and fanning in the breeze. Her skin, the color of sea foam, was marked with scars and bruises; tokens of Saruman's affections. The barely slanted eyes that constantly flicked to Saruman were a deep, beautiful sea green in hue. She looked like an ocean maid, born and bred.
This so-called ocean maid now made as if to creep to the side of Wormtongue, whom Saruman had struck down. But the man was already up, a mad glint in his eye. Drawing forth a hidden dagger he rushed the wizard and stabbed him once! twice! Then a green-fletched arrow came darting from below and pierced Wormtongue's chest, flinging him back to the center of the rooftop. Saruman swayed, eyes wide, then fell with a soft swish of robes. The watching girl's attentions, however, were focused upon the dying man before her. She knelt by his side and cradled his head upon her lap.
At first he seemed not to notice her, staring blankly into the distance. "All for naught," he whispered forlornly. His pale eyes shifted and stared through her with unmentionable sadness. "'Twas all for naught." He raised a trembling hand to her face. Her eyes shone wet with unshed tears as Grima's hand faltered and fell. He was dead.
The girl stood carefully, laying him back onto the stone. Going to the edge, she swung her head over the side, glaring down at the ones who had killed the man she cared for the most. But when she looked down and saw the company below, fear took her and she drew back sharply. It was too late. The breeze, catching her hair, had unfurled it like a flag. She had been seen.
A voice floated up from below. "Girl, come down. We mean you no harm. Come down to us."
She leaped for the door and fairly flew down Orthanc's stone steps. She dared not disobey, and it only later occurred to her that she could have hidden out for days within the tower.
As she passed, a boy with raven-dark hair reached out and grabbed her. Her heart leapt into her throat until she saw the terror in the young one's face. "What is happening? Where is Sharkey? Have you betrayed us all?" He raised his hand to strike her in a blind need for information. The girl whimpered and jerked away, tripping as she did so. She fell down a score or more of stairs before getting to her feet and continuing the descent.
When she came to the large doors of Orthanc, she paused. Since the overthrowing of Isengard, they had been blocked. But as she set her shoulder against one of the wide wooden doors, it creaked easily open. The five men were waiting for her. A white-garbed man on an equally white horse came toward her. He extended a hand to her, to help her swing onto the horse. When the girl had registered his appearance, however, she cringed away and would not take the man's hand. The old man sighed and snatched her arm anyway, pulling her up in front of him on the horse. Then they were away.
On the ride back to Edoras, the group chatted and swapped tales of adventures. They laughed together, just happy to be with one other again. Only the girl from Isengard stayed silent. One by one the men stopped, stared at her for a while, then went back to their conversations. Gandalf most of all darted frequent glances at the girl. Only he had seen them; the slight points on the ears of this mysteriously silent girl.