Chapter Seventeen: Vengeance and Victory

We followed Elrond out to the stables of Helm's Deep, where we joined our friends and selected a steed for the journey. I was a bit apprehensive, as my last encounter with horses had not ended well, but eventually Aragorn managed to convince his horse, a stallion called Brego, that I wasn't an enemy.

I clung tightly to the man's shoulders as we rode west. We and our companions – Elrond, Gandalf, Théoden, Legolas and Gimli – travelled with the morning sun shining upon our backs and the whispery breeze cooling our faces. Soon Orthanc reared up against the blue sky, and an unexpected sound reached my ears – laughter!

Wondering who it could be, I stared around Aragorn's torso at the source of the cheerful noise, and gasped in shock and delight. Merry and Pippin were seated casually atop a low wall, drinking deeply from tankards of ale and joking happily with each other.

Pippin turned in our direction, spotted us, and leapt to his feet, waving enthusiastically in greeting. Merry rose as well, bowed awkwardly and shouted, "Welcome, my lords… to Isengard!"

I sat up a little straighter, trying to look over Aragorn's shoulder. The man seemed to understand; slowing Brego, he allowed me to dismount and rush to my friends.

I climbed carefully down from the stallion's back, and splashed into several inches of water. Isengard had been flooded by something or someone – quite recently, it seemed. Regardless, I sloshed readily toward the hobbits; they both jumped down into the water, which came almost to their knees.

"Isilden!" cried Pippin. "You're alive!"

"Of course I am," I replied, laughing. "Would any other orc travel among men and elves?"

"You forgot the dwarf, laddie," Gimli said from behind me, in a rather disgruntled voice.

"Right," I nodded, hurriedly correcting myself. "Would any other orc travel among men, elves and a dwarf? I think not!"

"We thought you'd been killed," Merry told me. "After you left the tower that day, we figured you were as good as dead. How did you escape the horde this time?"

"I didn't," I answered. "I was a commander, remember? I couldn't just leave. They would have killed me. I had to go all the way to Helm's Deep."

"So how did you survive?" Pippin asked.

"With a lot of luck," I replied. "And a little help from friends," I added, glancing back at Elrond and smiling. The elf smiled calmly back, his dark grey eyes twinkling.

Turning to face the hobbits again, I nearly jumped right out of my tunic. Someone was now standing behind Merry and Pippin – a very tall, very tree-like someone.

Bright yellow eyes regarded me dubiously from between thick, mossy eyebrows and a large, protruding nose. The tree-creature spoke in slow, rumbling tones.

"Hoom! What have we here?"

I stared fearfully up at the creature before me, whose eyes were narrowed in mingled dislike and confusion. It took a step toward me; I leapt back from its outstretched arm, but not far enough. The creature fingered my tunic warily, frowning.

"You dress like a soldier of Gondor," he said slowly. I could tell that he didn't trust me one bit.

"Y- yes," I replied, stammering nervously. "I am a soldier of Gondor. Minas Tirith, to be exact. I serve the lord Denethor."

The tree-creature nodded again, still disbelieving. "But you are an orc."

"Well, I'm not really an orc," I explained. "I was an elf, but then Saruman tried to turn me into an orc, and only got halfway done. It's quite an interesting story actually, ask anyone…"

The creature frowned, looking over my shoulder. "Ahh, young Master Gandalf," he said. "I'm glad you've come. I can master the wood and water, the stock and stone. But with the wizard lies the trouble, though his tower is tightly locked, with him inside."

"And there he must stay," Gandalf replied, nudging his mount forward. "Under your guard, Treebeard."

Treebeard nodded, and Gandalf gestured for me to back up slightly. I did so, and my gaze shifted over to Orthanc. The tower seemed deserted, but I knew better. Saruman was a coward.

"Show yourself," I whispered. My right hand carefully grasped the hilt of the dagger that was concealed under my tunic.

"Be careful," Elrond murmured to me. "Saruman has been defeated, but he's still dangerous."

"Then let's be done with it!" cried Gimli, gripping his axe. "I'll take his head!"

"No," said Gandalf firmly. "We need him alive. We need him to talk."

Just then Saruman himself appeared at the highest window of the tower. His white hair was mussed, and his robe was much dirtier than it had been when I had seen him last. I shuddered at the sound of his voice, and held my hidden weapon tighter.

"I know why you've come, Gandalf Greyhame," the wizard said icily. "You want information… I have some for you."

Saruman reached into his robe and drew out a large, black orb of stone. Gazing intently into it, he spoke for us all to hear. "Something festers in the heart of Middle-earth. The Eye has seen it; he knows what you do not. But I will tell you."

Lowering the dark sphere, the wizard smiled cruelly and finished, "You are all going to die. One by one it will destroy you all. There is no escape from the darkness."

"LIAR!"

That word tore from my throat in a scream. Charging forward, I gazed loathingly up at Saruman, whose eyes widened in shock.

"You!" he gasped. "Snaga, the mute orc. You can speak?"

"That's right," I snarled, eyes narrowing in rage. "But it's not Snaga anymore."

Saruman stared evilly down at me. "Who are you?"

"Isilden, be quiet!" Elrond whispered to me through clenched teeth. "Don't anger him!"

"My name is Isilden," I went on, ignoring the elf and tightening my already vicelike grip on my dagger. Blood trickled down my wrist from where my nails bit into my palm.

Saruman nodded. "You're very brave, Isilden," he told me. "But tell me, why am I a liar, as you so earnestly believe?"

"There is an escape from the darkness," I snapped. "I escaped. You tried to make me one of your slaves, but you failed. I don't serve you. I never did. I serve Lord Denethor of Gondor."

"Isilden!" Aragorn hissed.

"You thought I was a mute," I said to the wizard. "It was a ruse. You made me a commander; I deserted the horde. But now I'm back."

Saruman scowled. "And your point is?"

"My point," I spat, "is that I'm here for revenge. I want what you stole from me."

"And what would that be?" the wizard inquired silkily.

"My life," I snapped. "My parents. My sister."

"Hmm," Saruman frowned. "Well, I'm afraid you're out of luck this time, Isilden. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Redness was slowly enveloping my sight; the fingernails of the hand that held the dagger were cutting into my palm. My next reply was an animal-like snarl. "Come down and fight me!"

"In case you haven't noticed," the wizard told me calmly, "the tower is locked, therefore I can't come down."

"Yes, you can," a voice rang out from behind Saruman. "I'll help you!"

The wizard half-turned, saying, "You fool, Grima. What – get back, you imbecile! I said get ba– aaaaggghhhh!"

A split-second later, Saruman was plunging to the ground, having fallen back from the window. Or had he been pushed?

Staring up at the window, I saw a man looking down at the ghastly scene, a satisfied smile on his lips. He had a sickly pale face framed by dark, greasy hair, and maliciously glittering eyes.

Swift as lightning, Legolas fired an arrow at the window. Fortunately for the man it was only a warning shot; it zipped harmlessly past his ear. The man hurriedly ducked away.

Saruman splashed into the water swirling around the base of the tower. He struggled upright, speaking to me in a hoarse but haughty voice, advancing steadily.

"I know what you do not. The change was not halted, only delayed… it has already begun again. Before this is finished, it will be complete. The truth is in the eye of the beholder, and seething in your heart. You know it. You will be mine. You will—"

He suddenly broke off, and would never continue. My dagger was protruding from his throat, buried halfway up its blade in his flesh.

Saruman fell limply back, stone dead. Silence reigned in the Ring of Isengard, until it was suddenly broken by Aragorn's voice.

"Isilden," he said in disbelief. "You…"

I merely nodded, my expression blank.

"Yes," I replied emotionlessly. "It's done. I've tasted revenge… it was sweet."

Then, slowly and deliberately, I moved toward my enemy's carcass. Gazing down into the wide, glassy eyes, I smiled to myself as I spat.

----

That evening there was a grand feast in King Théoden's hall. Every tankard and goblet was full to the brim; no plate was empty. The men of Rohan were talking and laughing as they celebrated their triumph.

Then Théoden rose to his feet, and the hall fell silent and stood with him. Raising his goblet, the king spoke to his people solemnly.

"Tonight," he said, "we remember those who gave their lives to defend this country. Hail to the victorious dead!"

I raised my glass, adding my voice to the chorus of "Hail!" that filled the room. Before I drank, however, I paused a moment to reflect on recent events, especially what I had done to Saruman. I had killed him. I had achieved my goal. Now, at last, my sister was avenged.