It came to pass that in the years following the War of the Ring, the Istar once called Saruman had been greatly diminished. Once, he was the head of the White Council, the leader of the Istari, the master of the legions of Isengard, and the Keeper of Orthanc. Indeed, for his betrayal of the mission on which he was sent, the wizard had been stripped of his mortal flesh and reduced to the form of a wandering wraith, a mist occasionally seen upon the face of Middle Earth. In such a form, Saruman held little sway over either the material or the spiritual realms. Though he had will enough of his own to travel from place to place, his perception of the world was much diminished. The material world especially appeared a though through a thick fog and a smothering blanket to his senses. No action he took had any effect on his surroundings in either realm. The same was not true in reverse, as his movements could be waylaid by forces as mundane as a stiff wind or stone wall.
Being now a creature of spirit, Saruman could see the changes of the other great forces of that world. He saw the fading of Lothlórien, and the light of Galadriel and Celeborn as they passed into the West. He saw the rise of the Age of Men, if indeed if could be called a rise. For the many long years following the reign of the sons of King Aragorn II saw Men multiply and spread to every corner of the world, but yet at the same time also diminish. They grew rich in knowledge and poor in valor, great in wealth even beyond the dreams of Dwarves, yet adrift from purpose.
And though Men were indeed creatures of both the mortal and immortal worlds, there became fewer and fewer as long years passed who remembered any world save the one before their earthly eyes. Even those with great insight into the realm of spirit never could discern the presence of Saruman, so removed from any existence as he was.
And in all this, Saruman had much time to himself, often spent lashing out at nothing and in futility. He wept tears of bitterness (if a wraith could indeed be said to weep), and on the rare day, yes, tears of sadness for all that had gone by. Yet on still other occasions, he, as a being of order, of precision, of structure, could not help but enjoy a sense of perverse pride as the world fell under the mechanical dominion of the sons of Men.
It was in winter of some year long forgotten, as the Istar hid, cold and wretched in the falling snow, beneath the folds of an umbrella of a hot dog merchant in the Sleepless City that he beheld a familiar presence. A golden-yellow automatic carriage rolled its way down one of the many long, straight roads of the City. But even before it had come within several miles of the place where Saruman had hid himself, the wraith had already seen it as a great light. To his senses, it appeared as a blinding pillar of luminance, of the kind that he had not seen since at least an age ago. As it drew near, it brought with it an aura of clarity, where the material world could be readily seen in sharp relief, rather than as the tenuous wisps of smoke and shadow that it was wont to appear.
The taxi rolled to a stop not far from the merchant, and a moment later, a young woman stepped out. Saruman barely paid her any heed as he felt himself drawn towards the vehicle, whose driver seemed to be the being flashing out to him as a flaming beacon. He slipped in just as the woman closed the door.
As soon as he got in, something behind the taxi let out a thunderous pneumatic bleating, the favored vehicular call to haste of the last several decades.
'Yes, yes! I shall be on my way. I am sure we all have vital errands to complete today,' muttered the shining driver as he pulled the car forward. They sped forward, following the herd of other vehicles down the floor of the concrete canyon, and after a while, it became easier to see man in the front, despite the light that surrounded him.
Within half a moment, Saruman realized that he felt solid for the first time in an age. He felt the soft leathery surface of the seat upon which he sat. He felt the slight current of air upon skin and ragged gray robes that he now saw he was wearing. His hair, now manifest again, hung in dirty, brittle clumps down his shoulders.
He saw in the polished mirror hanging on the glass before him a familiar pair of eyes set in a sun-worn face.
'Gandalf,' he sneered, surprised to hear his own voice through mortal ears.
The driver appeared as a balding man with a short, ragged beard, wearing an old brown flat cap. Indeed now that Saruman could see clearly in the mortal world now, the light surrounding the driver faded, and the rest of his thin figure and wizened face became clearer. Mortal shell or no, there was no doubt that his driver was Olórin.
'It has been a long time since I was known by that name,' said the driver in a low voice.
Saruman could not tell if those eyes held pity, or anger, or something else entirely.
'But I can imagine it has felt a longer time for you than for the rest of us… Saruman.'
'What are you doing here Gandalf Stormcrow?' asked Saruman, his fingers curling into fists, 'Have you come after all this time to mock me?'
Gandalf chuckled. 'But of course you would think that! You always did have a certain way of seeing malice where there was none, and enemies where there were but allies. No, I have come for a different purpose. I have been sent to offer you a chance at redemption.'
The world outside flashed a sickly orange-yellow as they entered a tunnel, but seconds later, the view of the outside, cars, walls, light, and all, faded out of view, and all that remained was the darkness of a deep void, save the interior of the cab, lit by the feeble light of circular runes in front of the driver. The vehicle travelled on, the unseen road rumbling beneath them.
'Redemption!' cried Saruman, with anger and some pride. His voice had never sounded so frail in his ears. He once had a Voice to command near any being that wandered the earth. 'I have wandered this earth for longer than you know, Gandalf! You would have me believe that you can offer something to me. I have need for neither regret nor pity! We could have done much for this world with the power of the Ruling Ring. I would have been its Master. You know it well.'
Gandalf remained staring into the void ahead of them, and did not speak for several moments.
'Perhaps if it were my choice,' he said slowly, with a hint of fatigue in his voice, 'I would believe you have no remorse and leave you be. But this offer is not mine.' He turned, and for the first time, looked straight back at his passenger. His eyes shone with a strange light. 'It is the will of Eru that you be given the chance. You may refuse, but I would not advise it.'
Upon those words, Saruman suddenly the weight of his mortal body. He felt for the first time that his new form - though solid for the moment - was thin and frail and very small, barely any flesh hanging on to boney limbs. He clenched his fist again, but found that he little strength to hold even that for long.
'This choice is not a choice at all.'
'This choice is indeed a choice as any other that you have made!' exclaimed Gandalf, 'If you refuse, the tunnel ends: we are brought back to the road we left moments ago, the door will open, and your wraith will wander till the end of time. If you accept, the tunnel continues: I am told that you will have chance and again to make many choices, and walk many paths. Beyond that, I cannot say.'
Saruman stared at the void outside beyond the thin glass. He slowly placed a thin hand on the clear hard surface.
'Fine!' he said finally, 'Then I will accept! I have little to lose now.'
'Very well.' Gandalf nodded once. 'Weigh your choices carefully. You may not remember what is at stake, but your heart will know, I believe.' And to his passenger's surprise, he took his hands off the steering wheel, and began to open the door. He turned one last time to Saruman. 'The Children of Ilúvatar are many - far beyond what you and I have seen. There is more to His domain than the peoples and places of Arda.'
With that, he stepped out into the void, and shut the door. The vehicle suddenly accelerated, pushing Saruman deep into his seat. Points of light appeared like stars in the glass before him, and for a moment, he believed he truly was staring into the night sky, though not at any field of stars that he had ever studied. Then as quickly as it had appeared, the lights streaking out into lines splayed out from some faraway point. And then a blinding flash, Saruman knew no more.
The boy opened his eyes as the recessed lights just below the room's ceiling were brought up to full power. He never did like sleeping on ships. They said to him that nobody could actually feel the movements of such a large ship through hyperspace past the initial jump, but the boy always said that they were wrong. He could definitely feel it every time.
He pushed the soft bedcovers away, rubbing his eyes as he tried to remember the dream he had been having. In it, he was a powerful man, a leader of some kind. Maybe a Jedi Master? Or a Senator? He was standing on the top of a tower in the midst of a factory stronghold, as it was assaulted on multiple sides by forest creatures far down below. Wookies, perhaps? It made very little sense.
The room's comm system chimed at him.
'Yes, Master?' he said, trying to sound more alert than he truly was.
The voice of the old Jedi came from somewhere near the desk in the small room.
'Good morning to you! Arrived at Coruscant, we have. Much to be done, there is. Many long days you must prepare for, young Dooku. Meet me in mess hall soon, you should.'
The boy could not help but smile, despite his unease the night before.
'Yes, Master Yoda! I'll be right out!'