*************************** Chapter 2: Welcome to Isengard
The air was heavy and smelled of brimstone. A dank odourous fog, hanging over the barren earth like a shroud. Figures were whirling and leaping within the fog - it seemed as if they were fighting, but that could not be possible. Aragorn was surprised to find himself running, sword in hand, yelling words he could not hear. As the fog cleared before him he beheld a mighty battle. Orcs, goblins, trolls, scores of them were warring with an army of Elves and Men. He lauched himself into the fray heedlessly and began hacking down the enemy. The bloodlust had firmly gripped him in body, although in mind he had no idea what was happening. All of a sudden he found himself fighting next to Elrohir. Dispatching thier foes, he turned to Aragorn and tried to say something, although Aragorn could not hear, try as he might. Following Elrohir's outstreched arm, Aragorn beheld Arwen engaging several goblins in some kind of bloodfest. However, unseen by her was an enormous figure clad in blood-red armour, with a mace in its gauntletted fist. It swung a mighty blow at her back, knocking her to the ground. Aragorn was running and crying out wordlessly...running...running. The figure raised its mace...
"No...no!" Aragorn muttered weakly, clutching a cold round object to his chest. Suddenly, his eyes opened. Everything was dim, as if obscured by some hidden veil. Gradually he became aware of a sensation of unfathomable height - pitch black walls of stone fading into midnight blue - he was sure there were stars up there. Without warning, a squat hairy face was thrust over his and peered maliciously at him. His reaction was sudden and violent. The goblin snarled at the blow and drew a wicked knife, raising it high in the air.
"Put up your blade."
A voice came from Aragorn's right, a melodious voice, yet with an underlying note of steel, and supreme confidence. The goblin withdrew into the shadows snarling visciously. Aragorn was fully conscious and began taking stock of his surroundings. He was lying on a hard cold floor holding something... he peered at it and rolled it off and away from him in shock. The thing was a palantir, a seeing stone. Such things were very dangerous, someone must have put it on him while he was unconscious, but who? He peered towards the place where the voice had come from but it was swathed in gloom. The palantir rolled into the far wall with a muted thunk, where it glowed redly.
"You should not have done that, Aragorn son of Arathorn," said the voice conversationally, "You woke at such an inopertune moment, you were on the point of reaching a valuable insight. I could read it in your face."
"Who are you?"
"That you know already."
Without warning, a flash of light shot out from where the voice had been coming from. Torches on the walls erupted into flame. Aragorn saw then who it was. A man sat at ease in an enormous throne of black stone which seemed to be melded with the surrounding walls. He was clad in a white robe and held a long staff, thick and black, which ended in four prongs. A lumenescent white orb pulsed between them.
"Saruman."
"Quite so."
The wizard stood and peered searchingly at him from dark eyes. He walked over to the palantir, picked it up and replaced it on a stand in the centre of the room. He raised a hand and one of the three pairs of doors, tall and carven, cracked open and ground apart. He looked again at Aragorn and smiled darkly, "Come, we have much to discuss."
* * * * * *
Legolas got up from his corner and walked around the room once more. Gimli looked at him irritably, "I do wish you would stop that. We've already realised that we're stuck here." The elf peered out of the narrow window, "I cannot help but worry about the fate of our friends, and where is Aragorn? He would be here." He did not get an answer from the dwarf, nor did he expect one. They both knew what might have happened, and it did not bear talking about. "Merry and Pippin must have had a rough time of it," said the dwarf, "Orcs are never gentle to their prisoners at the best of times, and those two have been carried through a battle. Our quest has been beset by misfortune from the very beginning."
* * * * * *
The two hobbits in question were not having a very enjoyable time. After the battle and the rout of the orcs of Mordor they had been battered and dazed and remembered little of the journey to Isengard. On arrival they were roughly searched before being cast into a dank smelly cell underground, where they were now trying to work up courage to eat the revolting rations they had been given.
"Do you think it could get any worse than this?" asked Pippin, contemplating a mouldy piece of bread. "I'd rather be going to Mordor with the others than have to eat this filth."
Merry gave him a withering look. "Like as not we will be going to Mordor as spoils of war, the only reason we're here and not dead is because they think we've got the Ring!"
"But I thought Saruman wanted the Ring for himself?"
"In that case we'll end up dead sooner rather than later. Once he finds out that we don't have it, we become useless, and he can remove us."
Pippin shuddered, and thought about Gandalf. "I wish Gandalf were here," he said, "He'd think of a way out of this mess."
Merry hushed him. Noises could be heard down the corridor, the scrape and clang of a door being unlocked, followed by rapid footsteps echoing on the stone floor and walls. A short hairy orc with long arms peered through the bars and exposed his fangs in a twisted leer. "The Master wants a little chat with you, my friends! Come along like good lads and no-one gets hurt, see?" He unlocked the door and pulled them out unceremoniously. After being dragged along countless passages and up endless stairs they were flung through a door into a wide hall. Torches burned along the bare stone walls and a fire was crackling in the hearth, but the eyes of the hobbits were fixed on the two other people in the hall. One was a man cloaked in white. The other was...
"Strider!" they yelled in unison. He smiled back at them, but glanced meaningly at the man in white. This could only be Saruman. The wizard advanced on them slowly and curiously until he towered over their heads. "Hobbits," he said thoughtfully. They were instantly mesmerised by his voice, it had a power of persuasion to it that they were powerless to resist. "You are those curious creatures which so occupied the time of the dearly departed Gandalf the Grey. Now I can see why you so interested him, because one of you possessed an intriguing trinket, a Ring if I remember rightly. Is that not so?" Aragorn started forwards but they answered before he could say or do anything. "Oh yes!" "A Ring it was , sir!" Saruman's eyes glittered. He continued eagerly, "And you know something about this ring?"
"Say nothing!" Aragorn cried. Saruman whirled around, eyes blazing, "Silence dotard!" He raised one claw-like hand and Aragorn flew backwards into the wall and crumpled up on the floor. He turned back to the hobbits but the spell had been broken. They looked up at him warily, percieving his greed. "Who bears the Ring?" he demanded. Pippin opened his mouth but Merry clapped a hand over it and shook his head. "It will be bad for you if you do not tell me." he continued dispassionately. Meriadoc stared up defiantly "We know, but we prefer to remain silent."
"Very well. Keep your secret. I have ways of finding things out. Soon you will tell all, but for now, you can go back to the comfort of your cells. Guards, take them away!"
As the hobbits were picked up and carried away, Aragorn got up unsteadily and addressed the advancing wizard calmly, "You will never find the Ring you know, it has passed out of your reach and mine." Saruman froze and looked coldly at the heir of Isildur. "You are but a rag-tag Ranger, nothing more. I am the greatest of the Wizards. It may have passed out of your reach, but not mine." His staff materialised in his hand as he spoke and he began to ascend the spiral staircase at the end of the hall. Aragorn followed him, "Can you not see what is happening to you? The very sight of the Ring drove one of our fellowship mad with desire, it is a force of evil and corruption. If you continue to believe that you want it you are being decieved. It is attracted to power, most particularly it's Master. It wants you!" Saruman continued climbing the stairs, "I have been studying the lore of the Rings for many lives of Men. I do not believe that your personal insights are quite sufficient for you to lecture me on the subject." They had reached a balcony built out of the side of the tower and the Wizard and the Ranger walked out onto it. Saruman surveyed the scene with pride, Aragorn with great fear. The commanding view revealed a huge mustering of Uruk-hai, some several thousands at the very least, lined up in battle formation. At the appearance of their master, they let out a storm of yelled salutations. "You see, my reach has grown long. With this army I can seek the Ring to the ends of Middle-earth if needs be, and anyone who stands in my way will feel the wrath of Saruman." He gave the Ranger a sidelong glance. "Perhaps you would do well to share your vision with me now?" Aragorn did not answer, but stared fixedly at the yelling horde. "Or not. Either way, rest assured that what is shown in the Stone is unalterable."
The spawned army of Isengard continued their war-cries. Soon, they would be feasting on the remains of their foes...
The air was heavy and smelled of brimstone. A dank odourous fog, hanging over the barren earth like a shroud. Figures were whirling and leaping within the fog - it seemed as if they were fighting, but that could not be possible. Aragorn was surprised to find himself running, sword in hand, yelling words he could not hear. As the fog cleared before him he beheld a mighty battle. Orcs, goblins, trolls, scores of them were warring with an army of Elves and Men. He lauched himself into the fray heedlessly and began hacking down the enemy. The bloodlust had firmly gripped him in body, although in mind he had no idea what was happening. All of a sudden he found himself fighting next to Elrohir. Dispatching thier foes, he turned to Aragorn and tried to say something, although Aragorn could not hear, try as he might. Following Elrohir's outstreched arm, Aragorn beheld Arwen engaging several goblins in some kind of bloodfest. However, unseen by her was an enormous figure clad in blood-red armour, with a mace in its gauntletted fist. It swung a mighty blow at her back, knocking her to the ground. Aragorn was running and crying out wordlessly...running...running. The figure raised its mace...
"No...no!" Aragorn muttered weakly, clutching a cold round object to his chest. Suddenly, his eyes opened. Everything was dim, as if obscured by some hidden veil. Gradually he became aware of a sensation of unfathomable height - pitch black walls of stone fading into midnight blue - he was sure there were stars up there. Without warning, a squat hairy face was thrust over his and peered maliciously at him. His reaction was sudden and violent. The goblin snarled at the blow and drew a wicked knife, raising it high in the air.
"Put up your blade."
A voice came from Aragorn's right, a melodious voice, yet with an underlying note of steel, and supreme confidence. The goblin withdrew into the shadows snarling visciously. Aragorn was fully conscious and began taking stock of his surroundings. He was lying on a hard cold floor holding something... he peered at it and rolled it off and away from him in shock. The thing was a palantir, a seeing stone. Such things were very dangerous, someone must have put it on him while he was unconscious, but who? He peered towards the place where the voice had come from but it was swathed in gloom. The palantir rolled into the far wall with a muted thunk, where it glowed redly.
"You should not have done that, Aragorn son of Arathorn," said the voice conversationally, "You woke at such an inopertune moment, you were on the point of reaching a valuable insight. I could read it in your face."
"Who are you?"
"That you know already."
Without warning, a flash of light shot out from where the voice had been coming from. Torches on the walls erupted into flame. Aragorn saw then who it was. A man sat at ease in an enormous throne of black stone which seemed to be melded with the surrounding walls. He was clad in a white robe and held a long staff, thick and black, which ended in four prongs. A lumenescent white orb pulsed between them.
"Saruman."
"Quite so."
The wizard stood and peered searchingly at him from dark eyes. He walked over to the palantir, picked it up and replaced it on a stand in the centre of the room. He raised a hand and one of the three pairs of doors, tall and carven, cracked open and ground apart. He looked again at Aragorn and smiled darkly, "Come, we have much to discuss."
* * * * * *
Legolas got up from his corner and walked around the room once more. Gimli looked at him irritably, "I do wish you would stop that. We've already realised that we're stuck here." The elf peered out of the narrow window, "I cannot help but worry about the fate of our friends, and where is Aragorn? He would be here." He did not get an answer from the dwarf, nor did he expect one. They both knew what might have happened, and it did not bear talking about. "Merry and Pippin must have had a rough time of it," said the dwarf, "Orcs are never gentle to their prisoners at the best of times, and those two have been carried through a battle. Our quest has been beset by misfortune from the very beginning."
* * * * * *
The two hobbits in question were not having a very enjoyable time. After the battle and the rout of the orcs of Mordor they had been battered and dazed and remembered little of the journey to Isengard. On arrival they were roughly searched before being cast into a dank smelly cell underground, where they were now trying to work up courage to eat the revolting rations they had been given.
"Do you think it could get any worse than this?" asked Pippin, contemplating a mouldy piece of bread. "I'd rather be going to Mordor with the others than have to eat this filth."
Merry gave him a withering look. "Like as not we will be going to Mordor as spoils of war, the only reason we're here and not dead is because they think we've got the Ring!"
"But I thought Saruman wanted the Ring for himself?"
"In that case we'll end up dead sooner rather than later. Once he finds out that we don't have it, we become useless, and he can remove us."
Pippin shuddered, and thought about Gandalf. "I wish Gandalf were here," he said, "He'd think of a way out of this mess."
Merry hushed him. Noises could be heard down the corridor, the scrape and clang of a door being unlocked, followed by rapid footsteps echoing on the stone floor and walls. A short hairy orc with long arms peered through the bars and exposed his fangs in a twisted leer. "The Master wants a little chat with you, my friends! Come along like good lads and no-one gets hurt, see?" He unlocked the door and pulled them out unceremoniously. After being dragged along countless passages and up endless stairs they were flung through a door into a wide hall. Torches burned along the bare stone walls and a fire was crackling in the hearth, but the eyes of the hobbits were fixed on the two other people in the hall. One was a man cloaked in white. The other was...
"Strider!" they yelled in unison. He smiled back at them, but glanced meaningly at the man in white. This could only be Saruman. The wizard advanced on them slowly and curiously until he towered over their heads. "Hobbits," he said thoughtfully. They were instantly mesmerised by his voice, it had a power of persuasion to it that they were powerless to resist. "You are those curious creatures which so occupied the time of the dearly departed Gandalf the Grey. Now I can see why you so interested him, because one of you possessed an intriguing trinket, a Ring if I remember rightly. Is that not so?" Aragorn started forwards but they answered before he could say or do anything. "Oh yes!" "A Ring it was , sir!" Saruman's eyes glittered. He continued eagerly, "And you know something about this ring?"
"Say nothing!" Aragorn cried. Saruman whirled around, eyes blazing, "Silence dotard!" He raised one claw-like hand and Aragorn flew backwards into the wall and crumpled up on the floor. He turned back to the hobbits but the spell had been broken. They looked up at him warily, percieving his greed. "Who bears the Ring?" he demanded. Pippin opened his mouth but Merry clapped a hand over it and shook his head. "It will be bad for you if you do not tell me." he continued dispassionately. Meriadoc stared up defiantly "We know, but we prefer to remain silent."
"Very well. Keep your secret. I have ways of finding things out. Soon you will tell all, but for now, you can go back to the comfort of your cells. Guards, take them away!"
As the hobbits were picked up and carried away, Aragorn got up unsteadily and addressed the advancing wizard calmly, "You will never find the Ring you know, it has passed out of your reach and mine." Saruman froze and looked coldly at the heir of Isildur. "You are but a rag-tag Ranger, nothing more. I am the greatest of the Wizards. It may have passed out of your reach, but not mine." His staff materialised in his hand as he spoke and he began to ascend the spiral staircase at the end of the hall. Aragorn followed him, "Can you not see what is happening to you? The very sight of the Ring drove one of our fellowship mad with desire, it is a force of evil and corruption. If you continue to believe that you want it you are being decieved. It is attracted to power, most particularly it's Master. It wants you!" Saruman continued climbing the stairs, "I have been studying the lore of the Rings for many lives of Men. I do not believe that your personal insights are quite sufficient for you to lecture me on the subject." They had reached a balcony built out of the side of the tower and the Wizard and the Ranger walked out onto it. Saruman surveyed the scene with pride, Aragorn with great fear. The commanding view revealed a huge mustering of Uruk-hai, some several thousands at the very least, lined up in battle formation. At the appearance of their master, they let out a storm of yelled salutations. "You see, my reach has grown long. With this army I can seek the Ring to the ends of Middle-earth if needs be, and anyone who stands in my way will feel the wrath of Saruman." He gave the Ranger a sidelong glance. "Perhaps you would do well to share your vision with me now?" Aragorn did not answer, but stared fixedly at the yelling horde. "Or not. Either way, rest assured that what is shown in the Stone is unalterable."
The spawned army of Isengard continued their war-cries. Soon, they would be feasting on the remains of their foes...