** Author's Note: Oh man, I'm terrible! I've been doing nothing for a few months and forgetting my fanfic! I hope you all can forgive me, and enjoy the new chapter… I love to hear from people who read, so please, email me at pennyc@ameritech.net …If I know people want me to write more…I will! **
The final sting of the rain season sent spring showers upon the palace of the Istari. Fifty young men practiced their exercises in the yard. Eight young men watched. Gandalf and Saruman were among those two. A very handsome man with light blond hair and electric blue eyes, robed entirely in silver raised his hands and shouted words that rang clearly through the dark clouds and the rolling crashes of thunder. Thirty of the young men stopped their work, looked to the man who called, and trudged inside. The man, a wizard, turned to the other seven men, robed also in silver, spoke a few words, and left.
Hours passed and wizards had taken groups of men inside, until there was one man left, and one wizard. The wizard did not whip the man like some others, and he did not jeer or urge the young man on. He stood there, through the cold and the storm. Then, the man who worked slipped, and fell into the mud. Miserable, he tried to pull himself out of the sloppy mess. The solitary wizard walked over and put out a pink hand, helping the man up. The pale, callous, bruised hand of the worker met the face of the soft, pink, fleshy skin of the wizard. With a grateful smile, the worker got up. The wizard nodded towards the door, and the worker hurriedly rushed away, towards the scent of fresh baked loaves of bread. The wizard pulled back his silver robes, stuck one knee in the mud. Picked up the plow the worker had dropped, and began to work.
Saruman sat comfortably at the high table, his arm around the silent girl, the visitor. She would not speak to him; he could only assume that she was shy. She only lifted her wine glass for a sip of the cocktail.
Tired and muddy, Gandalf trudged in for dinner late. His robes were stained and holey, his silver-white hair streaked with dirt and grass. His grey eyes flashed, worn out by the laborious work. The expression on the girl's face became sympathetic, but she did not move.
Saruman stood up, "Where have you been, Gandalf? The food has been presented to us, and you shun it away? Are you not thankful for what your brothers have given you?"
"I am thankful, Saruman, but perhaps we should be thanking them by growing the food ourselves, instead of just eating it," Gandalf called back. He left the hall, everyone's eyes following him.
As soon as everyone started to eat again, the girl stood, and hurried out after Gandalf…
** Isn't Gandalf so nice and wonderful? And for everyone who knows this isn't what the Istari did at the beginning of time, don't flame me! It's just a fun story, and I hope everyone enjoys reading it as much as I love writing it! **