Shadow of a Doubt
Chapter Fourteen: Stand Alone
A/N (August 6th) - *raises arms and dances around cheering) I got the DVD of LOTR today! Watched it twice, and watched most of the other stuff twice too ^_^
I'm very very happy to say that the writer's block that held me captive for the last month is GONE! I couldn't think of how exactly to do something, and then I got some much needed inspiration that just thumped me on the head, so thank you to theonering.net: The Green Book! You're my savior ^_~
And also thank you to Dark Hikari Kamiya for the idea help. I don't need it now, I think, but if I do you'll be the first to know.
Remember to review, please! It's my waybread of writing. :)
__________________________
"I stand alone
Feeling your sting down inside of me
I'm not dying for it
I stand alone
Everything that I believe is fading
I stand alone."
-Godsmack
__________________________
The hard rapping of Gandalf's staff on the doors of Orthanc echoed through the barren waste of Isengard. "Saruman, Saruman!" the wizard said loudly, the tone in his voice said that he expected Saruman to appear immediately. "Come forth, Saruman!" His voice was somehow amplified even louder and that echoed also, until what seemed like a hundred voices called Saruman out. A strange sort of calm had settled on Harry, now; it felt like he had somehow been removed from his body, and that he was watching someone else stand impassively, clutching a narrow wand in a white-knuckled fist.
No answer came for some time, and Harry began to think that maybe Saruman wouldn't come at all. He couldn't tell whether he felt relief or disappointment. He thought he felt both.
"Who is it?" a sniveling voice said from above. "What do you wish?"
In front of him, Theoden started and looked angrily at the window where the voice had come from. "I know that voice, and I curse the day when I first listened to it."
"Go and fetch Saruman, since you have become his footman, Grima Wormtongue!" Gandalf said. Harry faintly remembered Gandalf telling him about Wormtongue sometime after he was rescued from the tower. "And do not waste our time!"
There was a faint hiss from the window, and it closed. Not even a minute after, another voice spoke, ringing like bells through the courtyard, its very sound an enchantment. Harry remembered that voice and he hated it with all his soul, but for some reason he could not quite remember now what Saruman had said to him, in that small room in Orthanc. The memory of it seemed fuzzy and somewhat distorted to him, now. Seeing the rapt faces of the men around him, their mouths hanging slightly open and awe clear in their eyes, Harry thanked Varda that he had been able to resist.
Wait, who was Varda?
The voice spoke again, and Harry didn't have time to think about Varda, or anything, as the soft tone tried to worm its way into his consciousness. It beckoned with a sweetness not unlike the Imperius.
"Well? Why must you disturb my rest? Will you give me no peace at all by night or day?" The tone in spoke in as it wove its enchantment was that of a kindly heart grieved by insult undeserved.
He saw the heads of the men around him whip up and stare at the balcony, which now had an old man in a strangely coloured cloak. His long face had deepset, twinkling eyes that stared out at them all, and they projected an air of kindness and weariness. His hair and beard were white, but strands of black showed around his lips and ears.
Gimli muttered something that Harry barely heard. "Like, and yet unlike." For a moment Harry wondered what he meant.
"But come now," Saruman murmured softly again. "Three of you I know by name. Gandalf I know too well to have much hope that he seeks help of counsel here." Saruman stopped, obviously debating on whether to reveal that he did know of Harry. His dark eyes passed over to Theoden with only what seemed like a moment's pause. "But you, Theoden Lord of the Mark of Rohan, are declared by your noble devices, and still more by the fair countenance of the house of Eorl. Why have you not come before as a friend? Much have I desired to see you, mightiest king of the western lands, and especially in these latter years, to save you from the unwise and evil counsels that beset you. Is it yet too late? Still I would save you, and deliver you from the ruin that draws nigh, if you ride upon this road which you have taken. Indeed I alone can aid you now." Those eyes remained on Theoden, but Harry could feel the weight of Saruman's regard, wondering if he was a potential threat. Olorin always had said that Saruman was a shrewd foe, if threatened.
Harry shook his head a little, trying to clear the fog that had descended upon his vision when that thought crossed his mind. Unbidden, random thoughts of Olorin rose in his mind; that Olorin loved to walk with the Elves unseen. That Olorin had hair black as night. That when Olorin laughed, the sun broke out from behind the clouds.
Is this some spell? Harry thought desperately. I've never been here in my life. How could I know this Olorin as if he were my brother...or lover?
He came back to himself when Eomer's voice broke through his thought. "...stand at last amazed by an old lair with honey on his forked tongue? So would the trapped wolf speak to the hounds, if he could. What aid can he give to you? All he desires is to escape from his plight. But will you parley with this dealer in treachery and murder? Remember Theodred at the Ford and the grave of Hama at Helm's Deep!"
Harry lost the string of conversation as he tuned out the talking again, and as thoughts that were not his ran through his mind. That Uinen loved the creatures of the sea as she loved her husband, Osse. How Osse had sometimes too hot of blood. That Melian loved to sing when she walked through the trees. That Osse had a long scar down his arm from the war with Morgoth. How beautiful Ilmare was. For some reason, her somehow familiar lovely face filled Harry with a detached sort of sorrow.
Gods, get out of my head! Harry cried to himself, trying to push the thoughts away, but they would not leave; dozens of shining faces flashed through his head along with small thoughts that somehow spoke of loneliness. He was not aware of how long he stood there, staring at the steps, but he felt a nudge on his shoulder and looked sideways into the beautiful gray eyes of Legolas. The elf's brows were furrowed and he looked at Harry with confusion, obviously wondering why Harry had been gazing at nothing with a blank look in his eyes. Harry shook his head helplessly.
He caught the conversation again, looking up to find Saruman filled with fury as Gandalf continued speaking. Obviously, he was offering terms of release, ones that Saruman didn't like.
"...you will first surrender to me the Key of Orthanc, and your staff. They shall be pledges of your conduct, to be returned later, if you merit them."
Saruman's face twisted with rage, and a strange light was in his eyes; his voice raised to a scream when he replied: "Later! Yes, when you also have the Keys of Barad-dur itself, I suppose; and the crowns of seven kings, and the rods of the Five Wizards, and have purchased yourself a pair of boots many sizes larger than those that you wear now. A modest plan. Do not be a fool. If you wish to treat with me, while you have a chance, go away, and come back when you are sober! And leave behind these cut-throats and rag-tag at that dangle at your tail! Good day!" Harry closed his eyes as another wave of someone else's thought hit him, and when he opened his eyes again, nothing that was Harry Potter looked out on the world.
"Saruman Istari!"
The voice that burst from Harry's throat was not his own. It had two qualities, like two bells of different pitch ringing together; one high and one low, blending perfectly. Harry had no idea what an Istari was, but that didn't matter, for Saruman stopped and turned around, staring at him with amazement and...recognition?
"You shall come back. I did not give you leave to go." Harry's voice was steel now, each ringing word was a command. Saruman turned, and came slowly back to the rail, breathing hard. His hand clutched his heavy black staff like a claw.
"You have not only disgraced yourself, but you have disgraced your Order, and you have turned your back on Eru, may his name ever be praised. Sauron is a dangerous master, Istari, and not one to be taken lightly, but I serve the Lord of the Breath of Arda, ruler of this realm. Him have you disobeyed, and he is displeased. You have been sent to be a servant, but you seek to be a master. Your greed has consumed you as if you had a Silmaril in your grasp; you are fit no longer to be an Istari; you have no color, and you are cast from the order and the Council. You shall no longer be called a Maia, but a thrall in the service of one who shall be defeated. The first of all Kings casts you out!" Harry raised his right hand, and clenched it into a fist. "Saruman, your staff is broken."
Saruman's staff split in half with a loud snap, the head of it falling down at Gandalf's feet. Saruman fell back and crawled away with a broken cry.
"Go!" Harry said, his voice like a crack of thunder. He ignored the faces turned to him in amazement.
A heavy shining thing came hurtling down from above, glancing off the iron rail and breaking it, passing close to Gandalf's head. The ball rolled down the steps, a globe of black crystal, but glowing with a heart of fire. As it bounded towards a pool of water, Pippin ran after it and picked it up.
Suddenly it was as if all the breath had left Harry, and he was left teetering on the edge of awareness, feeling as if he had just been knocked in the head with a hammer. He could barely remember what had just happened, save that it was not him who had been speaking.
His legs gave out from beneath him and he crumpled to the step beneath him, his last vestage of thought before he passed out of consiousness wondering if he would ever wake up again.
______________________
"I think they are done, Merry. Rag-tag! Can you believe it?"
Merry looked up at the top of the stairs, and it did appear that they had finished, for Saruman was nowhere in sight. He let out a sigh of relief.
"Who was that talking, anyways?" he asked. "I did not regonize the voice, Pippin, but it sounded so..." He couldn't quite think of the right word to say; beautiful would be the best word to describe it. It had been hard to tell if it had been male or female, but Merry figured that it had to be someone up there, and they were all male. Pippin shrugged and bit into his apple.
Merry and Pippin started to look up in surprise at the top of the stairs when they heard a loud thumping noise; a large orb of the darkest crystal. It rolled off, and Pippin raced after it to catch it before it went into the pool of water. Merry stood up to go after him, but was suddenly knocked off his feet by a large, warm object. For a moment it lay on top of him, obscuring his vision, but somehow Merry pushed it off and got to his feet again. His eyes widened.
"Harry?" he said, kneeling down by where the wizard lay, eyes closed. He was so ghostly pale that for a moment Merry thought he was dead. He lay his head carefully on top of Harry's chest, and was relieved to feel a heartbeat throb under him; Harry's slender chest rose and fell very slowly with labored breaths. As Merry pulled away, he could have sworn that he felt an ice-cold breeze blow past his face.
Suddenly Harry bolted up, his head knocking against Merry's with a loud smack; Merry fell back from where he was crouching to his bottom, rubbing the sore spot on his forehead that was sure to leave a bruise.
"Sorry, Merry," Harry said apologetically, a dazed look in his green eyes. Merry figured it was just from the collision. When he heard the thick accent in Harry's voice, the hobbit ruled out Harry from being the one who was speaking to Saruman. That voice had an accent not unlike an Elf's, like bells and flowing water.
Merry frowned and leaned forward.
"Harry, your eyes --" he said, squinting his eyes to make sure what he saw wasn't some trick of the sunlight.
Harry looked anxious, his black eyebrows furrowing in worry. "What? What's wrong?"
"I don't know -- for a moment your eyes looked all shimmery and silver." Merry leaned forward again. Whatever had made Harry's eyes look different was gone. "And you've got something on your forehead, right here." Merry pointed to right below his hairline. Harry rubbed vigorously at his head.
"Gone?"
"No, it's -- right here, Harry. It looks like a -- a moon, or something." Merry leaned back frowning, trying to remember exactly when Harry had gotten a moon-shaped scar. "Have you always had that? Harry?"
Harry jumped a little when Merry said his name, his eyes looking not just a little like a horse after it got spooked; with a small gasp, Harry leapt up and ran off without another word.
Merry blinked. That was strange, he thought to himself, and was in the middle of trying to work things out in his mind when Pippin called for him. He started off for the little circle of people in front of Saruman's stairs, still wondering about exactly when Harry had received another scar.
_________________________
Chapter Fourteen: Stand Alone
A/N (August 6th) - *raises arms and dances around cheering) I got the DVD of LOTR today! Watched it twice, and watched most of the other stuff twice too ^_^
I'm very very happy to say that the writer's block that held me captive for the last month is GONE! I couldn't think of how exactly to do something, and then I got some much needed inspiration that just thumped me on the head, so thank you to theonering.net: The Green Book! You're my savior ^_~
And also thank you to Dark Hikari Kamiya for the idea help. I don't need it now, I think, but if I do you'll be the first to know.
Remember to review, please! It's my waybread of writing. :)
__________________________
"I stand alone
Feeling your sting down inside of me
I'm not dying for it
I stand alone
Everything that I believe is fading
I stand alone."
-Godsmack
__________________________
The hard rapping of Gandalf's staff on the doors of Orthanc echoed through the barren waste of Isengard. "Saruman, Saruman!" the wizard said loudly, the tone in his voice said that he expected Saruman to appear immediately. "Come forth, Saruman!" His voice was somehow amplified even louder and that echoed also, until what seemed like a hundred voices called Saruman out. A strange sort of calm had settled on Harry, now; it felt like he had somehow been removed from his body, and that he was watching someone else stand impassively, clutching a narrow wand in a white-knuckled fist.
No answer came for some time, and Harry began to think that maybe Saruman wouldn't come at all. He couldn't tell whether he felt relief or disappointment. He thought he felt both.
"Who is it?" a sniveling voice said from above. "What do you wish?"
In front of him, Theoden started and looked angrily at the window where the voice had come from. "I know that voice, and I curse the day when I first listened to it."
"Go and fetch Saruman, since you have become his footman, Grima Wormtongue!" Gandalf said. Harry faintly remembered Gandalf telling him about Wormtongue sometime after he was rescued from the tower. "And do not waste our time!"
There was a faint hiss from the window, and it closed. Not even a minute after, another voice spoke, ringing like bells through the courtyard, its very sound an enchantment. Harry remembered that voice and he hated it with all his soul, but for some reason he could not quite remember now what Saruman had said to him, in that small room in Orthanc. The memory of it seemed fuzzy and somewhat distorted to him, now. Seeing the rapt faces of the men around him, their mouths hanging slightly open and awe clear in their eyes, Harry thanked Varda that he had been able to resist.
Wait, who was Varda?
The voice spoke again, and Harry didn't have time to think about Varda, or anything, as the soft tone tried to worm its way into his consciousness. It beckoned with a sweetness not unlike the Imperius.
"Well? Why must you disturb my rest? Will you give me no peace at all by night or day?" The tone in spoke in as it wove its enchantment was that of a kindly heart grieved by insult undeserved.
He saw the heads of the men around him whip up and stare at the balcony, which now had an old man in a strangely coloured cloak. His long face had deepset, twinkling eyes that stared out at them all, and they projected an air of kindness and weariness. His hair and beard were white, but strands of black showed around his lips and ears.
Gimli muttered something that Harry barely heard. "Like, and yet unlike." For a moment Harry wondered what he meant.
"But come now," Saruman murmured softly again. "Three of you I know by name. Gandalf I know too well to have much hope that he seeks help of counsel here." Saruman stopped, obviously debating on whether to reveal that he did know of Harry. His dark eyes passed over to Theoden with only what seemed like a moment's pause. "But you, Theoden Lord of the Mark of Rohan, are declared by your noble devices, and still more by the fair countenance of the house of Eorl. Why have you not come before as a friend? Much have I desired to see you, mightiest king of the western lands, and especially in these latter years, to save you from the unwise and evil counsels that beset you. Is it yet too late? Still I would save you, and deliver you from the ruin that draws nigh, if you ride upon this road which you have taken. Indeed I alone can aid you now." Those eyes remained on Theoden, but Harry could feel the weight of Saruman's regard, wondering if he was a potential threat. Olorin always had said that Saruman was a shrewd foe, if threatened.
Harry shook his head a little, trying to clear the fog that had descended upon his vision when that thought crossed his mind. Unbidden, random thoughts of Olorin rose in his mind; that Olorin loved to walk with the Elves unseen. That Olorin had hair black as night. That when Olorin laughed, the sun broke out from behind the clouds.
Is this some spell? Harry thought desperately. I've never been here in my life. How could I know this Olorin as if he were my brother...or lover?
He came back to himself when Eomer's voice broke through his thought. "...stand at last amazed by an old lair with honey on his forked tongue? So would the trapped wolf speak to the hounds, if he could. What aid can he give to you? All he desires is to escape from his plight. But will you parley with this dealer in treachery and murder? Remember Theodred at the Ford and the grave of Hama at Helm's Deep!"
Harry lost the string of conversation as he tuned out the talking again, and as thoughts that were not his ran through his mind. That Uinen loved the creatures of the sea as she loved her husband, Osse. How Osse had sometimes too hot of blood. That Melian loved to sing when she walked through the trees. That Osse had a long scar down his arm from the war with Morgoth. How beautiful Ilmare was. For some reason, her somehow familiar lovely face filled Harry with a detached sort of sorrow.
Gods, get out of my head! Harry cried to himself, trying to push the thoughts away, but they would not leave; dozens of shining faces flashed through his head along with small thoughts that somehow spoke of loneliness. He was not aware of how long he stood there, staring at the steps, but he felt a nudge on his shoulder and looked sideways into the beautiful gray eyes of Legolas. The elf's brows were furrowed and he looked at Harry with confusion, obviously wondering why Harry had been gazing at nothing with a blank look in his eyes. Harry shook his head helplessly.
He caught the conversation again, looking up to find Saruman filled with fury as Gandalf continued speaking. Obviously, he was offering terms of release, ones that Saruman didn't like.
"...you will first surrender to me the Key of Orthanc, and your staff. They shall be pledges of your conduct, to be returned later, if you merit them."
Saruman's face twisted with rage, and a strange light was in his eyes; his voice raised to a scream when he replied: "Later! Yes, when you also have the Keys of Barad-dur itself, I suppose; and the crowns of seven kings, and the rods of the Five Wizards, and have purchased yourself a pair of boots many sizes larger than those that you wear now. A modest plan. Do not be a fool. If you wish to treat with me, while you have a chance, go away, and come back when you are sober! And leave behind these cut-throats and rag-tag at that dangle at your tail! Good day!" Harry closed his eyes as another wave of someone else's thought hit him, and when he opened his eyes again, nothing that was Harry Potter looked out on the world.
"Saruman Istari!"
The voice that burst from Harry's throat was not his own. It had two qualities, like two bells of different pitch ringing together; one high and one low, blending perfectly. Harry had no idea what an Istari was, but that didn't matter, for Saruman stopped and turned around, staring at him with amazement and...recognition?
"You shall come back. I did not give you leave to go." Harry's voice was steel now, each ringing word was a command. Saruman turned, and came slowly back to the rail, breathing hard. His hand clutched his heavy black staff like a claw.
"You have not only disgraced yourself, but you have disgraced your Order, and you have turned your back on Eru, may his name ever be praised. Sauron is a dangerous master, Istari, and not one to be taken lightly, but I serve the Lord of the Breath of Arda, ruler of this realm. Him have you disobeyed, and he is displeased. You have been sent to be a servant, but you seek to be a master. Your greed has consumed you as if you had a Silmaril in your grasp; you are fit no longer to be an Istari; you have no color, and you are cast from the order and the Council. You shall no longer be called a Maia, but a thrall in the service of one who shall be defeated. The first of all Kings casts you out!" Harry raised his right hand, and clenched it into a fist. "Saruman, your staff is broken."
Saruman's staff split in half with a loud snap, the head of it falling down at Gandalf's feet. Saruman fell back and crawled away with a broken cry.
"Go!" Harry said, his voice like a crack of thunder. He ignored the faces turned to him in amazement.
A heavy shining thing came hurtling down from above, glancing off the iron rail and breaking it, passing close to Gandalf's head. The ball rolled down the steps, a globe of black crystal, but glowing with a heart of fire. As it bounded towards a pool of water, Pippin ran after it and picked it up.
Suddenly it was as if all the breath had left Harry, and he was left teetering on the edge of awareness, feeling as if he had just been knocked in the head with a hammer. He could barely remember what had just happened, save that it was not him who had been speaking.
His legs gave out from beneath him and he crumpled to the step beneath him, his last vestage of thought before he passed out of consiousness wondering if he would ever wake up again.
______________________
"I think they are done, Merry. Rag-tag! Can you believe it?"
Merry looked up at the top of the stairs, and it did appear that they had finished, for Saruman was nowhere in sight. He let out a sigh of relief.
"Who was that talking, anyways?" he asked. "I did not regonize the voice, Pippin, but it sounded so..." He couldn't quite think of the right word to say; beautiful would be the best word to describe it. It had been hard to tell if it had been male or female, but Merry figured that it had to be someone up there, and they were all male. Pippin shrugged and bit into his apple.
Merry and Pippin started to look up in surprise at the top of the stairs when they heard a loud thumping noise; a large orb of the darkest crystal. It rolled off, and Pippin raced after it to catch it before it went into the pool of water. Merry stood up to go after him, but was suddenly knocked off his feet by a large, warm object. For a moment it lay on top of him, obscuring his vision, but somehow Merry pushed it off and got to his feet again. His eyes widened.
"Harry?" he said, kneeling down by where the wizard lay, eyes closed. He was so ghostly pale that for a moment Merry thought he was dead. He lay his head carefully on top of Harry's chest, and was relieved to feel a heartbeat throb under him; Harry's slender chest rose and fell very slowly with labored breaths. As Merry pulled away, he could have sworn that he felt an ice-cold breeze blow past his face.
Suddenly Harry bolted up, his head knocking against Merry's with a loud smack; Merry fell back from where he was crouching to his bottom, rubbing the sore spot on his forehead that was sure to leave a bruise.
"Sorry, Merry," Harry said apologetically, a dazed look in his green eyes. Merry figured it was just from the collision. When he heard the thick accent in Harry's voice, the hobbit ruled out Harry from being the one who was speaking to Saruman. That voice had an accent not unlike an Elf's, like bells and flowing water.
Merry frowned and leaned forward.
"Harry, your eyes --" he said, squinting his eyes to make sure what he saw wasn't some trick of the sunlight.
Harry looked anxious, his black eyebrows furrowing in worry. "What? What's wrong?"
"I don't know -- for a moment your eyes looked all shimmery and silver." Merry leaned forward again. Whatever had made Harry's eyes look different was gone. "And you've got something on your forehead, right here." Merry pointed to right below his hairline. Harry rubbed vigorously at his head.
"Gone?"
"No, it's -- right here, Harry. It looks like a -- a moon, or something." Merry leaned back frowning, trying to remember exactly when Harry had gotten a moon-shaped scar. "Have you always had that? Harry?"
Harry jumped a little when Merry said his name, his eyes looking not just a little like a horse after it got spooked; with a small gasp, Harry leapt up and ran off without another word.
Merry blinked. That was strange, he thought to himself, and was in the middle of trying to work things out in his mind when Pippin called for him. He started off for the little circle of people in front of Saruman's stairs, still wondering about exactly when Harry had received another scar.
_________________________