Chapter 11

The Dealings of Wizards

"Losing your innocence is like losing a limb. You can still live - you can move around. But you will never dance again, not like you once did. You will never again run across a meadow without a shadow drifting over your heart. They have crippled me and for that, I too will cripple them."

5th March 3019 of the 3rd Age

Pippin allowed a wheel of smoke to float from his lips and into the sky above him. He watched as it drifted across the desolate landscape around him: a little piece of the Shire in a graveyard of evil. The smoke tasted like ash in his mouth and he could not possibly have enjoyed it, had the smell of pipeweed not reminded him strongly of Merry. He breathed it in deeply: trying to make the rich scent conjure memories of happier times with his cousin before his eyes.

Isengard lay in drowned destruction all around his little rocky haven, on top of an old guard house. The filth of Saruman was finally washing away and he would have rejoiced, as the Ents did at their victory, but he could not. He simply could not bring himself to feel happy while his beloved cousin was still hostage to the tower. All seemed calm at the moment, but he knew it was a trick. Merry would not be won back without more fighting; and that could not take place until Gandalf and Aragorn joined them.

He glanced behind him to see Legolas balanced a little above mending and sharpening his arrows. Every now and again, the Elf would scan the outer walls for any sign of their friends, but so far none had been spotted since Gandalf's unexpected visit two nights before.

Pippin was growing impatient. This may very well be the eye of the storm, but he wished it would pass quicker. All the time he was helpless to do anything except wait down here, Merry was in constant agony up there. The storm must break soon or Merry and all hope for Frodo would be lost. He had heard his cousin's cry for help on the eve of battle and even then he had sounded desperate. Now two days on Pippin shuddered to think what he must be enduring. Why couldn't Gandalf hurry up? The fate of the world, not just his cousin, was hanging in the balance.

"What news of the tower, my friends?"

Both Legolas and Pippin wheeled round to face the owner of the voice. "Gandalf! At last!" Pippin went slipping and sliding down the pile of rubble and practically threw himself into Aragorn's arms; who had dismounted to greet the hobbit. He left the formalities of greeting the king to Legolas. He should know what he was doing, being a prince himself.

"You're looking considerably better, if a little pale, than when I last saw you, Peregrin," commented the ranger looking his friend up and down; then lowering his voice for only Pippin to hear he asked, "How does Merry do?"

Pippin chocked on his words, "I don't know, Strider. We have heard nothing from the tower for two days now." Aragorn increased his pressure on the hobbit's shoulder.

What happened to you, Master Elf," inquired Gimli, none too politely, as he appeared at Pippin's other side. "What battles have you been in? I'll wager they were not so tough, nor so grand, as ours."

Legolas glanced down at his chest. He presently wore no shirt as his had been destroyed beyond repair and his bag had been left behind in Fangorn by a hobbit who had had many other things on his mind. A bandage was wrapped around his mid-section, hiding the remnants of his rather extensive wounds which the Ent-drafts had not fully healed. "I'll take that wager but it's a long story, Master Dwarf," replied the Elf, with the same half cheek in his voice as Gimli's had had. A small smile played across his face as he spotted his friend. "One we do not have time for at the moment as far more pressing matters await our immediate attention."

The sortie rode towards Orthanc, now accompanied by Pippin and Legolas atop Arod, who had trotted into Isengard as soon as the waters had receded enough to allow it; Pippin's scarf still clenched in his mouth. He had received many dirty looks from the hobbit for the teeth marks in it.

They stopped below the high balcony. "May Saruman of Many Colours, as he has named himself, come forth and face those he has wilfully and purposefully harmed!"

For a minute Gandalf's cry hung in the air and only a deathly silence answered it. Pippin's hand twisted violently in his lap, terrified that no reply at all would be forth coming. One of Legolas' comparatively bigger hands reached down and took both his in a comforting grip. He squeezed back, shivering with fear and making the Elf wince a little as his knuckles turned white. He had to be strong now and maintain his shaky grasp on his composure, if only for Merry.

ooo

Far above Merry heard the cry, though it hardly registered in his thoughts. Everything seemed distant and unattached to him, as if happening to another. His world was pain, both mental and physical, and that was all. He clung to any thoughts and memories that he still possessed jealously. He had built a wall around them all, both fair and foul; they were all that remained to him now and none would take them from him.

He had given Saruman all his knowledge, memories and emotions, his childhood, his fears and his moments of greatest weakness. He had given his entire self, save anything that had the remotest connection to the Ring or its bearer. Those he had locked far away in himself, so that even he could hardly remember them.

Saruman, sensing what he had been doing, had not been gentle and had used methods on him that he shrank to remember. However, he clung to his agony; it was real, familiar and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he deserved it.

Dimly, he was aware of being dragged down a corridor and of raised voices near at hand. He paid it all little heed. He had begun to hallucinate during the last few days and he no longer trusted anything his senses told him. He would not be taunted by false hopes any longer as it didn't matter what happened anymore. A Nazgul was on its way to take him to Barad-dûr and once there he would not be able to hold out long. What scared him the most: was how little he cared anymore. The whole affair was doomed to failure anyway.

Suddenly, a harsh, but refreshing wind him in the face, and ran tendrils or his blood-matted hair. Slowly, he opened his tired eyes to brilliant sunlight that streamed through open doors before him. He blinked in surprise. He had not dared to hope he would see the light of day again and now here is was blinding and filling his senses. What was going on? Had the Nazgul come already? Not yet surely. Oh please, not yet!

His eyes slowly grew accustomed to the light and he began to take note of the debate taking place in front of him. Saruman stood out on a balcony and conversed with someone far below who was out of Merry's line of vision. The convocation sounded not too dissimilar to the one he had had with the wizard only a few days previously.

"Tell me the whereabouts of the Ring and I will reward you all heavily. I will give my aid in this war and shall return your hobbit to you, though he has brought troubles upon his own head that I could not prevent. Merely give me information of who bears the Ring and great power shall be given to each of you beyond your imagining. I offer you much, considering you have destroyed my armies and my home as well as insult me so severely." Saruman's voice was oily and persuasive; it reminded Merry of a snake. However, under this tone ran a note of exhaustion and desperation; the final attempt at negotiations of a cornered man.

From below came another voice. It sounded calm, confident and to Merry slightly familiar. "This is much to ask and your terms are questionable. You have no aid to give that can now have any sway on the future; not now all your foul army is destroyed. How do we know you will give anyone present here any more power than they are destined to gain? You have done nothing to win our trust, that would even tempt us to give you any information we may possess. Besides, how do we know that your prisoner is still alive. We shall need proof of that at least before we put even a thought to the possibility of consenting with this bargain."

Growling, Saruman turned to face Merry. "Bring the vermin forth, Grima," he hissed venomously. Merry was dragged further forwards out onto the balcony and he yelped as he was picked up by the scruff of the neck and was dangled over its edge. A scream tore from his aching, parched throat as he thrashed about wildly, terrified by the distance below him. A sharp blow stuck him across the back of the head. "Keep still, fool, or do you want the worm to drop you?"

He went as limp as a wet rag and merely stared at the land below him. It wasn't the clout to his head that froze him so; it was the people below. Even from this distance he could clearly make out Aragorn standing proudly beside Gandalf. Gandalf?! But he was dead! It couldn't be him; could it? His gaze moved across to Gimli who stood at Gandalf's other side. He could not believe they were all here when he had thought them leagues away with Frodo. However, his jaw dropped as he made out who sat astride a horse next to the dwarf. Legolas gazed up at him and almost smiled sadly.

His heart leapt for joy, despite his situation. He had been so sure the Elf was lying dead in Fangorn forest. What miracle had brought him back? A bandage circled his chest, but apart from that he appeared to be in the bloom of health. It was the figure in front of the Elf, though, that brought words to his mouth, which had not formed coherent words in days. "Pippin?!" It was a strangled whisper, but it brought tears flowing from his eyes; probably the last moisture left in him. His cousin sat far below starring in terror up at him. He drank in the sight of him, rejoicing in every familiar feature of him. He must be dreaming. This couldn't be true! He would not let his hopes be raised, only to be dashed yet again.

"Here is your friend, Mithrandir," cried Saruman, "and as you can see he lives still. Now tell me what I want to know or I will see to it that his remaining days are spent in the worst possible agony my arts can contrive."

No one below answered. The sight of Merry's situation seemed to have paralyzed them all. A tear rolled down Pippin's cheek, though his clear green eyes never left his cousins. Merry shook his head slightly, silently begging them all not to say anything. If this was a dream then it was a nightmare. He had fought so long to keep the knowledge of Frodo from Saruman. He was insignificant to the grand scheme of things. "Please don't let them say anything!" he pleaded silently. "Please I'm not important enough."

Maybe, there was only one way out of this. His friends might betray all their knowledge to save him and he refused to put them through that or to have that on his head. Even if they didn't, a Nazgul would be here soon and, once it had him, it would only be a matter of time before he told all he knew. Either way Frodo would be found and killed all because of him. If he was no longer around, then none of this would be at risk.

He thought of the hurt he would do to Pippin, if he did as he now planned, and almost wept anew. On the other hand, before they had left the Shire or even told Frodo of their conspiracy, he and Pip had sworn to each other that they would sacrifice everything to see Frodo as safely as was possible to whatever doom he was called. It had gone unsaid, but they had both known that they included each other in the oath. If he could give him this chance then Frodo would be able to comfort his Pippin when he returned from Mordor. It was the only way.

Glancing off to the east he saw, to his horror, a large winged creature silhouetted against the horizon. The Nazgul had come and so had his time. He lowered his eyes to his cousin's far below. A crooked smile flickered over his lips and Pippin cocked his head slightly; not understanding Merry's strange behaviour. Merry then turned his gaze to Legolas, begging him silently to look after Pippin. The Elf may not have understood his exact meaning but he seemed to realise Merry's intention and his eyes widened as a brief look of horror crossed his face.

There was nothing left for him to do now, nothing else he could do. He took a deep breath, gazed one last time at the sky. Quite suddenly, he let out a wild cry of fury as, at the same time he used all his strength to twist around and yank at Wormtongue's grasp on him. Taken completely off guard, Grima gave a yelp and loosened his grip on the hobbit. Merry slipped through his fingers and fell. Free at last.

ooo

A scream ripped from Pippin's throat as he saw what his cousin was doing. Time seemed to slow and all sound was silenced in an instant, everything died as he saw the frail body falling. His heart seemed to stop and he was totally paralysed with shock, so that even the scream was cut short. No! No, please not this! This was worse than any other path he had imagined fate would bring them on. How could this be happening? There was nothing he could do. He could not tear his eyes from the plummeting figure and yet, he wanted to screw them shut and howl in defiance of what was happening.

All the others where immediately springing into action. He could see Treebeard, who had appeared out of nowhere, sprinting toward the scene, hand out stretched to catch Merry. It seemed for a moment that he would and that maybe, just maybe, all would be as well as it could.

But it was all in vain. From behind them a whoosh off wings was heard, a black creature streaked into their vision and Merry was snatched out of the air by razor sharp talons. The Nazgul circled the tower once, its blood-curdling shriek piecing every ear, then it sped back towards the east; Merry still clenched in the beasts claws.

Pippin could not move for shock. Everything was happening too fast for him to comprehend. Legolas, however, dug his heals into Arod's chest, looped his arm firmly around Pippin's middle and spurred the horse after the foul creature; Aragorn and Gandalf drawing level with him in seconds. "Take these!" he commanded over the noise of the wind, handing the reigns to Pippin. "Keep your head down and bring us along the beast's left side."

Pippin obeyed silently, handling the animal with far more aptness than he would normally have managed. Adrenalin pumped through him and his jaw was clenched in a fierce determination roused within him.

Legolas strung his bow with swift fingers and notched an arrow. The bow sang and the arrow flew, aimed straight for the winged creature's neck. At that same moment, the rider flicked the reigns and its steed swerved so the arrow only pierced its wing. A croaking screech tore through the air from the wounded beast, but its injury was not enough to halt its flight.

Cursing softly, in what sounded remarkably like Dwarvish, Legolas set another arrow to the bowstring. This one, however, was only permitted to stick into the beast's tail. It was like an enraged wasp now.

The Nazgul swung around a hundred-and-eighty degrees, catching its pursuers off guard and plunged towards both Elf and hobbit. Arod reared in fright tossing its smallest passenger to the ground and narrowly avoided being spited by the Nazgul himself.

Pippin rolled clear of the horse's stamping hooves and pulled himself to his feet. The Nazgul still seemed intent on putting an end to them that had dared put arrows in its flesh. It swooped at the Elf repetitively, each time missing Legolas by a hairs breadth, as the he both tried to control his horse and not get severed in two at the same time.

However, neither steed nor rider seemed to have noticed Pippin, only a small hobbit after all and in his Lorien cloak hard to spot by the best, most watchful eyes. He would not let Legolas fight alone; not this time. He bent and pick up a stone by his foot. He could see Merry's limp form still hanging from the beast's talons. The stone flew. "Please don't let him be dead," he thought desperately, "anything rather than that!"

The Nazgul was this time unaware of the missile directed towards its exposed head and the stone hit its mark: on the back of the creature's head. The blow was not enough to kill or even wound it, but it did achieve its goal as it was a sufficient distraction from the Elf. Now, the beast plunged towards Pippin who stood ready to meet it. His sword (that Aragorn had given him back) was in his hand, though he could not recall how it had got there. It was coming straight at him, his death written in its face, but he did not quail. Rather, he stared it in the eye as it drove down upon him. This foul Nazgul was all that now stood between him and Merry. He would not give up now.

At the last possible second Pippin threw himself to the right and the rider passed right over him. He could see Aragorn and Gandalf both trying to get to him to help, but each time their efforts where flaunted by the Nazgul who prevented them getting within range.

A sudden scream of rage from the Nazgul made Pippin drop his sword and clutch his ears, to stop the noise from piercing his brain. He looked up and saw three arrows had punctured the winged beast's neck. It was loosing altitude and control of its limbs. Out of its talons slipped Merry's unmoving body. He plummeted the short distance to earth and met it with a sickening crunch.

Another scream of pure hatred left the rider, but it knew when it was beaten and when it was foolish to continue a lost fight. Savagely, it kicked its steed into flying above the forest of Fangorn, less than a mile to the north-east, before allowing the thing to give up its struggle and die; falling out of the sky into the trees.

Gandalf, along with Théoden and his men, galloped off to the dark forest to locate the Ring-wraith; if possible. Pippin paid no heed to anything, except Merry's body lying feet in front of him. Painfully, he crawled to his side, shaking with fear. He could not see any rise or fall of the chest. His breath caught in his throat as, gently, he turned Merry onto his back and his cousin's condition was made clear him for the first time.

Merry's face was covered in blood, bruises and dirt, yet it showed a remarkable peace like one who has found rest at last after long struggles. His clothes were soaked in blood and were shredded as if racked by claws. Long wheals ran across his back and chest. His arm and left leg lay at odd angles. No movement was visible in the tortured form though the expression on Merry's face looked like that of a deep sleep.

Pippin buried his head in his cousin's chest weeping uncontrollably. An unearthly scream left his contorted mouth as grief wholly overcame him. Merry! His Merry! Why had this happened to him? Few could have deserved it less. It felt like part of his heart had been ripped out: the part that had once laughed, smiled and thought the world a good place. His innocence, his joy, his Merry was gone.

He felt arms try to tear him from his cousin's body, but he lashed out at Aragorn, clinging tightly to his lost friend. Hands fastened around him and lifted him into a tight embrace. He yelled and thrashed in Legolas' hold, "Don't take him from me! I won't be parted from him; not again. Let me be with him, if only to say goodbye! Please! Oh Merry!"

"You must be strong a little longer, Pip," said Legolas gently but firmly, still restraining the hobbit as Aragorn gathered Merry up into his arms and hurried away with him back to Isengard. "Save your tears and summon your wealth of courage. Not all hope is lost yet. Your Merry still lives, if only just, and I will not let you give up hope on him yet. We have come too far for that. Come, you are your cousin's only hope of recovery."