Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Lord of the Rings franchise, nor do I intend to make any money from this venture.
9th Yavannië, III 3018
It was raining as Wulfila, late of Dunland, rode towards Isengard. The rain only contributed to Wulfila's vague sense of bitterness towards life, which had been steadily increasing ever since he had first been dispatched to negotiate the purchase of pipeweed from the Shire. The journey to and from the wretched place was trying, thanks to the state of disrepair the Great Road had fallen into after the fall of the North Kingdom. Nor was he over-fond of the Rangers who seemed to be forever lurking about the Shire's borders. However he knew that it would be foolish to incur Saruman's wrath when the wizard was one of the few people willing to employ him, so he did as he was bidden, and kept his annoyance to himself.
The worst part was having to pass by Dunland, he reflected. Had it not been for Saruman's protection, Wulfila would not have dared to ride so close to his native land, for he had been banished almost twenty years ago, when it had been discovered that he had committed murder, and then borne false witness against another man to avoid imprisonment. But while the Men of Dunland had made alliance with the wizard, and so were unlikely to slay one of his trusted retainers, Wulfila was glad to have put his former homeland behind him.
Wulfila had turned off the Great Road last evening, and was now heading south towards the gates of Isengard. He had been riding swiftly all day, hoping to reach Orthanc before sunset. He was eager for his journey to be over; he had been forced to ford the Greyflood at Tharbad, and he found himself thinking sourly that he might as well have cut through the wilderness, given the condition of the Road. It almost would be worth having a king again, if it meant that cursed bridge was repaired, he mused as his horse trotted placidly along the road to the fortress.
The Dunlending had been sent to the Shire to arrange the purchase of various goods, including pipeweed and grain. Saruman had become fond of the hobbits' pipeweed, though he was careful to hide that fact: he had already mocked Gandalf's proclivity for the stuff after the meeting of the White Council in 2851 and felt that admitting to liking it now would be tantamount to admitting that Gandalf had been right, and he himself wrong. Moreover, Saruman suspected that Gandalf believed the Shire was in some important, and the money he spent bought him spies as well as leaf.
His horse, a stocky chestnut gelding rather unimaginatively named Ráuths, or Red in Westron, was tough and fit, though admittedly ugly. Thus he was able to make good time, and the clouds were still stained scarlet and gold as he halted before the gates. The rain had stopped an hour ago, and a biting wind had begun. Eager to get to shelter, he gave his name to the pair of orc-men came out to challenge him, and soon found himself being ushered in past the guards.
One of the orc-men addressed him as he dismounted. "Sharkey wants to see you."
Wulfila had been hoping to find some ale before he made his report, but he was not fool enough to keep Saruman waiting.
He turned the horse over to one of the half orcs, threatening to inflict grievous bodily harm upon him if the animal found its way into the orcs' pots. Only after they seemed sufficiently cowed did he proceed towards the stairs leading up to the doors of Orthanc. Once inside, he began the long climb to the wizard's workroom, located near the top of the tower.
He was pleased to note that there was no trace of the Worm, for he had loathed Gríma son of Galmod since the day they first met. Wormtongue, he knew, returned the sentiment. There was, of course, the fact that they were rivals for Saruman's favor, but the root of the problem was quite simply their mutual contempt for each other. In Gríma's opinion Wulfila was brutal, untrustworthy and coarse-mannered. Wulfila for his part thought that Wormtongue was a cowardly, treacherous liar. They were both correct, as it happened, and had enough in common that their dislike for one another had a certain element of hypocrisy.
He found the White Wizard waiting for him in a richly-appointed chamber near the top of the tower. Saruman didn't look up from his writing as the Dunlending entered, though he could scarcely have failed to notice the other's presence.
Eventually Saruman finished the missive he had been writing and turned to Wulfila, who had been waiting patiently for the past fifteen minutes.
"Have you concluded negotiations?"
Wulfila nodded. "Yes, Lord. There is only the matter of arranging shipment." He was careful to keep his speech formal in the wizard's presence. Saruman had made it clear that he shared Wormtongue's view of Wulfila's manners, and Wulfila knew better than to displease his master.
Saruman smiled slightly in approval. "Did Master Sackville-Baggins say anything of interest?"
"No, Lord," Wulfila answered, "nor did the Bracegirdles."
It was the Bracegirdles and the Sackville-Bagginses who profited most from Saruman's patronage, and they expressed their gratitude by sending him news of the Shire, as maps and information about its most important persons and families.
Saruman frowned. For a moment it seemed as though he wished to question Wulfila further, but he said merely: "go now and rest. When you have recovered from your journey, return to the Shire to arrange for the shipment of the wares."
Wulfila bowed and left.
As the door shut behind the Dunlending, Saruman sighed in annoyance. He had captured Gandalf the Gray on the eighteenth of Cermië, more than a month previously, but the old meddler was still refusing to reveal where the Ring might be found. Saruman was not yet desperate enough to torture the other Istar for information, but time was running short. Sauron was seeking the Ring, and while Saruman's agents hindered Sauron's whenever possible, sooner or later word of the Shire would reach Mordor.
He rose and began to pace. If Sauron discovered that Saruman was playing him false, his vengeance would doubtless be both swift and terrible, but Saruman had come too far to give up. Why should he not be the Lord of the Rings? Sauron might have more raw power than him, but Saruman was convinced that he was the more intelligent of the two of them. In any case, the White Wizard was tired of being a counselor and servant; it was time for him to rule in his own right, and to do that, he needed the Ring.
Unfortunately, the Ring was proving even more elusive than he had originally expected. At first, he had concentrated his search on the area around the Gladden, where it had been lost, but that had proved futile. He had come to believe that Gandalf knew more of its fate than he would admit, and it was in part because of that belief that he had begun to spy upon Gandalf's favorite haunts. The fact that the Shire was so zealously guarded by Rangers only increased his suspicions. However he had not the strength yet to move openly, so he sent his Dunlendish spies to watch, and report back to him.
While they worked, he concentrated on building his armies, and provisioning Isengard for the coming war. Rohan was weakened, true, but it would not fall without a fight. And Sauron would have to be dealt with in the end. Saruman returned to his desk and began to write again; there was still much to be done, and little time to do it in.
Author's notes: I chose to use Gothic to represent Dunlendish. The relationship between Gothic and the Old English used for Rohirric in LotR is probably closer than the relationship between 'real' Dunlendish and Rohirric would be, but I decided to use Gothic anyway, since the two languages aren't really mutually intelligible.
Most of the information in this chapter is taken from The Unfinished Tales. The dates of the canon events are from the Appendixes of The Return of the King. I am using the Stewards' Reckoning. If you want to convert the dates to the Gregorian calender, or just want more information on the various calenders used in Middle-earth, here is a link to the Encyclopedia of Arda's interactive calender: www . /arda/dates . html (just remove the spaces).
It's worth noting that Tolkien created four different versions of this particular story. I have opted to use the one Christopher Tolkien designates version A, simply because it is the most complete. However details from the other versions may creep in if they don't directly contradict A.
Feedback is welcome, especially regarding pacing and plot.