When Saruman came back three hours later, he had a fresh bowl, a new glass, and a sharpened knife in his belt. His captive was nearly unconscious.

"Let's try this again, shall we?" Gandalf grudgingly nodded, looking away. Being spoon fed by the enemy did nothing for his pride; he felt like a helpless babe.

"If you do not keep it down this time, my friend, I will not give you another chance."

"He needs you," the logic inside Gandalfs mind whispered softly. "He wont kill you." "not now at least" he argued back. Nevertheless, this time when his stomach cramped, he swallowed desperately and forced the bile back down.

"Good boy." Saruman said and patted Gandalf on the head like a dog.

"Enjoy your victory while it lasts," his voice was hoarse and it hurt to talk but he forced the words out anyway, "All castles made of sand must be swept away by the rising tide."

"Oh?" Saruman chuckled sarcastically. "And who might this 'rising tide' be hmmm? And where might it come from? We are miles from the sea my friend." He fed Gandalf another spoonful of soup.

"The tide will not come from the sea, but from the one you worship most, the one who will shape your future wherever you go and whatever you do, because without knowing, you let him. He will rise up and slam down your dreams and delusions, and leave you only in a hollow shell. Saruman, that tide will be Sauron."

The soup almost slipped out of the wizards hands as his whole body flinch as if injured. He stared at the floor for a long stretch of time in silence, then calmly set the bowl down. He unsheathed the knife from his side and held it in a while knuckled grip.

When Saruman finally looked up, his eyes were nothing but sudden, ferocious storms. "NO!!" he screamed, and brought the knife down and across Gandalfs chest, cutting deeply. The wizard flung his head against the wall and gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. That became harder and harder as Saruman kept slicing blindly at his chest and arms and shoulders, screaming all the time. "NO!! THAT CAN'T BE!! YOU DO NOT KNOW!!! HOW CAN YOU EVEN BEGIN TO COMPREHEND WHAT WE HAVE???!!! WEAKLING! YOU KNOW NOTHING!! YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A BAG OF HOT AIR!! I COULD KILL YOU FOR SAYING THAT!! I'LL KILL YOU I SWEAR!!!" Finally, his hand dropped to the floor and he knelt there panting. Gandalf, in spite of his pride, was almost in tears. The gray robes that Elrond had given him only a month ago were torn and soaked through with his own blood. The pain was almost unbearable, and it was all he could do to stay awake.

Painless, soothing oblivion was tempting but he would rather die awake and messing with his captors mind than asleep and totally helpless.

For comfort he thought of Elrond, conjured up a picture of him in his mind. The midnight black hair with that thin circle of silver at the top. The only other hint of gray in his face resided in his eyes, and they both shone like stars, like the otherworldly power of some God lived in him. Gandalf was forever loosing himself in those eyes, and he tried to now. He tried to relive the warm, comforting nights when they were both still young, when they would lie together, holding each other. Without meaning to, he fell asleep to those memories, with ghostly elven arms around him, and an exhausted psychotic wizard on top of him.


When he awoke he first noticed his hands. The hands that had been chained above and to the sides of his head were now lying limp on the floor. He moved his wrists a bit, a part of him fascinated at the fact that he could. He moved his eyes next and looked up above him into the beautiful blue sky dotted with white fluffy clouds..A light breeze brought some clouds together and some clouds apart again, and also brought a voice to his ears.

"Gandalf!" He instantly recognized that voice as belonging to Elrond when he was younger. His ears must be playing tricks on him, maybe his head was confused from loss of blood.

"Gandalf!" Elrond called again, impatience and amusement in his tone. "Are you going to lay around there in the grass all day and let the sun fry your stubborn head or are you going to come inside with me?!" Gandalf propped himself up to a sitting position and looked at a surprisingly young elf jogging over to him. His waist length black hair swayed gently side to side, covering an elegantly pointed ear. The young elf knelt down beside him, the slanted silver eyes laughing.

"Really! I know you do not favor mothers cooking but will it kill you to at least nibble a muffin to be polite? He shook his head no, suddenly understanding where he was. He was in his childhood, back when he was no more than 20 and things were simple.

By some twist of fate or stars he had been propelled here, but for how long? Elrond grasped his hands and pulled his up and forward, toward the small house where he had lived as a child. "Please come in -- for me?" The elf's face pouted up in that adorable way it always used to and Gandalf suddenly flew up and wrapped his arms around Elronds neck.

"Please don't let this be a dream!" he whispered.

"Gandalf! Why the sudden change in heart? I thought I'd meet more resistance from you when it came to mothers muffins.."

"No! not the muffins...you.." Gandalf rambled desperately in his friends shoulder. "Gandalf!" Elrond pushed him back so he could look into his eyes. "Love! I'm here. I am not a dream. I promise!" The taller elf leaned down and pressed soft firm lips against his and he returned the kiss with a fever, diving his tongue in mercilessly and gripping the compact body tightly. If he let go his lover would disappear.. "Don't leave me," he begged, "Don't let me go back to him..."

"To who?" Memories of Saruman and The War and The Ring and Frodo and the hardships of his old life beckoned to him, shouting responsibility. But what did he really owe them? He'd helped as well as he could, and what did he get in thanks? Whispers and rumors where ever he went, a reputation as a crib snatching wanderer, who did nothing but corrupt good little boys and girls? Well he'd had enough of it. All things must come to an end and who was he to fight an end this sweet? "No one." He said firmly. "Now what flavor muffins were they again?"

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there is more. dont think this is over. i dont care if no one likes it.