CHAPTER VII of Unwelcome Visitors

One of these days Saruman set Sick to move the remaining pipe-weed barrels from the wine cellar into the second-level storeroom, and she was labouring with this one spring morning, before the sun had risen. It had apparently not crossed Saruman's mind that putting some lithe Elf girl to do a Man's heavy labour might be inappropriate; he seemed to consider Sick as free working power simply because she was there. In actual fact: Saruman seemed to consider Sick more and more as his property.

Sick didn't mind. Or, she didn't grasp the realities. She sang as she was toiling with the barrels. Her voice resounded through the tower accompanied with the thudding of the barrels, as she dragged them up the stairs, rolled them through the dark corridors and heaved them in place. Every now and then she took a break and had a pipe from the very best Longbottom leaf. Wearing a pair of riding trousers that she'd found in her wardrobes, she felt most comfortable.

But by sunrise, just as she was putting in place one of the last barrels, right below the only window in the storeroom, something happened that she didn't expect: A Man approached her, one of Saruman's Southeners. Suddenly he stood behind her. Sick choked on her singing and jumped when she almost ran straight into the tall creature. «I say, my Lady!» exclaimed the Man (or sooner boy-Man; he was not very old).

He came into the light from the window, and Sick recognized him: It was one of the gate guards; not the leader, but one of those who guarded her that day she came. «Uh--» Sick began, and laughed nervously. «I'm sorry. I didn't see you.»

«My mistake, Lady, I didn't mean to startle you. But I heard your most lovely singing.» Sick noticed with curiosity that he spoke differently. Studying his face discreetly she determined that this had to be the least greasy of them, however. At least he was polite. She was about to move past him, -- but a barrel blocked the way.

«My voice is really nothing particular,» said Sick.

«I have never heard its like. … Oh, I apologise, Lady! I'm blocking your way! Please.» The boy stepped aside, and Sick snuck past him. «Well,» she replied. «They say Elves have more of a tradition with songs than Men do.»

«Elves,» echoed the human. He sat down on a standing barrel, relaxed; he appeared increasingly charming. «My Lady. Are you an Elf?»

«These ears indicate so.»

«I must say, I never heard of smoking Elves!»

«To every rule there must be an exception,» replied Sick.

«And you certainly are one. Let us have a pipe together, shall we. Come! Sit with me!» He patted the neighbouring barrel with his hand and gave a friendly smile.

Sick didn't mind; she went over and jumped up on the barrel.

«What a beautiful pipe,» the boy said when Sick took her pipe out. «May I know your name, Lady?»

«My name is Silmariël.»

«I'm Bert. Very pleased, lady Silmariël. You knew Lord Saruman after all!» Bert took a small tinderbox from his pocket, filled both pipes and helped Sick lit hers. «They talk about it, you know,» he chuckled. «They wonder if our Lord finally found a lady to keep the house.»

«They are wrong, whoever they are,» said Sick dryly. «Though I do keep his house sometimes.» She didn't elaborate and Bert didn't ask.

They smoked in silence for a while, Sick catching occasional glances from the human. It made her stir incomfortably. What did he want, really Shaka yelled in the back of her mind, but Sick wouldn't dare let her through.

«They say Elves are very different from regular people,» said Bert at last, thoughtfully.

«Well. I wouldn't know.»

«It's very much true, lady Silmariël,» said Bert. He was studying her openly but looked solemn. He said: «Regular women's skin is darkened by the sun. Not milky white like yours. It's hardened by work. Not so fine.» He touched her arm. Sick didn't do anything, but she felt chills of discomfort run down her spine all the way from neck to tail.

«Their hair is sparse. And sometimes yellow, like straw,» Bert continued. «But Elven hair is not like that.» He smiled kindly and took a lock of her hair, running his fingers through it. «Never so rich and dark. And their smell--»

That was enough.

«I have work to do,» affirmed Sick and jumped off the barrel.

«But lady!» Bert exclaimed and ran after her into the main hall.

He grabbed her by the arm. «Lady, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to alarm you!»

«Alarm! I'm not easily alarmed,» said Sick. «You are another matter! Unless Saruman specifically ordered you to be here, I advise you leave the tower.»

«But Saruman didn't order a single matter today.»

Sick turned. There, in the upward staircase doorway, appeared Saruman himself: tall as a tree and clad in gleaming white, maybe a little morning drowsy (though only Sick would notice that). The wizard looked wistfully past the Elf and set his eyes in the boy.

«My Lord!» cried Bert, «I just --»

«You just helped yourself to my finest pipe-weed, as well as to my guest; so I see,» interrupted Saruman, most calmly. He stood pondering for a while. And Sick felt her blood chill: She could see in Saruman's dark eyes that he was cooking up something nasty.

«My Lord--»

«Quiet,» sneered Saruman and walked into the hall. Sick tried to become invisible with the walls as she observed. Nothing seemed to happen, though: The wizard approached Bert, put his long hand around his neck (the human was stupefied), and elevated him ten centimeters from the floor; -- Saruman muttered some well-chosen words -- Sick couldn't catch them -- then released him.

The boy slumped together in a heap.

Saruman kicked him, not too hard. His shoes were indeed high-heeled, and white. «Get up.»

Bert got to his feet in an instant.

«You foolish child! Remove yourself from my residence at once!»

Bert turned and vanished down the staircase.

In the corner, behind a tall candleholder, Sick sighed: «I was so worried you would kill him for trespassing!»

«What are you imagining!» Saruman snorted. «Get out from there! Would I not punish a minion for breaking the rules?»

Sick came out from the corner. «But you only seemed to say him a few words, my Lord!»

Saruman chuckled, and it sounded terrible. «He will go mad. Slowly. And most likely he'll commit suicide, unless he is murdered first.»

Sick gaped like a fish, speechless.

For the first time, Saruman had said something she wouldn't approve of.

«But--!» she stammered, wide-eyed. Then -- acting before thinking -- she ran up to him and grabbed his robes, yelling into his face: «That is cruel! Why did you not punish him another way? If you had to murder him, why didn't you do it right away? That boy wasn't evil! He was only dumb!»

Saruman stared calmly until she let go.

«Because,» he said slowly. «I have, unlike you, imagination. I need to be a strategist on all levels. Think, Elf! This way the boy will live to tell, then die in due time. Everybody will understand why, and most importantly, remember and learn. Keep that in mind.»

Sick hadn't fully grasped the extent of Saruman's cruelty before this. (She still really hadn't, even afterwards.)

One night she thought she heard somebody screaming, at the hour Saruman's war machine was asleep, and it made her skin creep. But at the same time she troubled herself by admiring Saruman's sense of strategy and commandment, -- no matter how strict he had chosen to be.

So it was, that the sunny morning Saruman had planned up towards: the day he had decided to unleash the entirety of his armies (he hadn't heeded Sick's hunch of sending them out three days earlier), Sick opened the window in the storeroom on the second level of Orthanc and scanned Isengard for a sight of the unfortunate boy.

The sight out there was unbelievable. First of all, Isengard was a vast area, seeming even larger from such a low level in the tower. Saruman had been out for days straight before this, and by now the commanders had lined up their troops, they were waiting eagerly to be released, their spears and swords and shields glinting in the sun, drums and horns and wild cheering sounding from each corner of the vale, Sick had never seen anything like this, -- and they were so many more than she had expected! But still, no sight of Bert. That was it, then. He was dead.

Sick's window faced south, and she spotted Saruman next to the gates as they opened. Of course he'd prefer to watch every soldier leave. Sick didn't know anything of the details about his assault, that is, what and who he attacked and why, but obviously it was an important part of Saruman's plot.

… Her train of thoughts was suddenly interrupted.

Just as the last troops left, a crack resounded from the gates. Nothing was to be seen -- no. Wait. A cloud of dust rose from behind; behind the very walls of Isengard. Sick stretched her neck and strained her eyes, -- and far back there, behind the dust-cloud, she saw a herd of huge tree-crowns. «Aa!» she screamed in alarm when a earthquake ripped through Isengard and shook the foundations of Orthanc itself; she could feel the windowsill vibrate beneath her hands.

Although earthquake: It was very local, and caused by a horde of raging, walking trees! It hit Sick like a bomb to the head: The tree-herders. She'd already warned Saruman. What foolishness! He had cut down their woods -- and the tree-herders would prove the end of his schemes!

She drew back from the window and peered around its sill. One of the Ents had breached through, and the speeding little white figure it seemed to be chasing, it had to be --

«Saaarumaaan!!» screamed Sick. She heaved herself around, ran towards the exit, met the door with a nasty crack (so much for Elven grace), chased out seeing stars and planets and flew down the stairs.

Reaching ground level she used both hands to turn the enormous key in the lock. After hauling the huge rings for a minute, however, she realized that she'd just locked the doors instead of unlocking them. And would you look at that: as soon as she managed to unlock the doors, the one slid open with the most ridiculous ease.

At the same time Saruman hit it and sent Sick flying; she slid along the slippery floor and hit her head in the opposite wall. Everything went black for a moment, but seconds later she was back up and put her full weight onto the door to shut it. While Sick slammed it shut, Saruman turned the key. It wasn't a second to soon. Only moments later an unbelievable chaos broke loose around them.

«Saruman!» Sick yelled through the pandemonium of giant trees roaring and hurling themselves against the Orthanc walls. Now and then new earthquakes would shake its foundations and send anything wildly about which wasn't tied up; Sick and Saruman certainly wasn't -- but then Saruman didn't seem to be perfectly conscious. Sick saw him flump together in a heap of white hair and robes. «Saruman!» she cried and grabbed the back of his clothes. «Did they hurt you!»

«Be off, Elf, or I'll put you out there,» sneered Saruman. So he was in perfect shape, only exhausted from the run! «Oh!» Sick cried happily. «Thank goodness! Nothing is wrong with you at all!» And in the middle of this senseless situation, Sick laughed and gave the wizard a hug.

That would be the last she remembered. The next moment she only assumed that the Ents had broken in. A solid metal candle holder skid over and hit her over the head -- knocking her out cold.

And maybe that was a good thing.