Yo! Sorry about the day's delay, I have started going to the gym and it threw off my rota. Anyhow, here we are. I hope you enjoy this chapter – please forgive any exhaustion-fuelled typos.

Chapter Seventy-Three: The Voice of Saruman

The silence was eerie at the base of the tower. Some of the others gazed at the desolation around them, and the rubble that broke the surface of the muddy water, but Boromir could not tear his eyes away from Orthanc itself. Even with its exterior wounded, and its door guarded by ents, it remained proud and strong, and the black stone seemed to almost shine.

Loathing broiled in the pit of Boromir's stomach, and he tasted bile in his throat. The snake in that tower had ordered an attack on their fellowship, had kidnapped Merry and Pippin and sent an army to murder the people of Rohan. Boromir had watched children die with his own two eyes because Saruman demanded it.

And Saruman might still have Nelly and Bróin in his clutches.

For his part, Boromir still hoped that they were wrong. He had told Merry and Pippin as much, pointing out that they had little evidence beside fears and feelings, but of course that had been of little comfort.

Gandalf had bidden the hobbits to stay with Théoden's guards. He had warned them of the power that Saruman held in his voice, and the danger that he posed even in defeat, and of the men of Rohan only Théoden and Éomer had chosen to come forth. But when asked to stay behind, the hobbits had protested even more fiercely than Legolas had when they had spoken of leaving him in Helm's Deep.

"We were the ones who were here when Isengard fell, and we helped bring down the orcs!" Pippin argued, a growl in his voice as fury and fear flickered in his eyes. "And Nelly is my sister! If she's – if… We're coming."

That anger had melted from Pippin now, or so it seemed. He was sitting before Boromir, on Baelfot, the great horse of Rohan, with his toes were curled up tightly, and his fingers coiled around his cape. Boromir could hear the hobbit's breath coming in short, sharp breaths, and he wrapped his arm protectively around Pippin. The young hobbit shuddered, but grabbed a hold of Boromir's arm before he could move it away.

After what felt like an age, Gandalf urged his horse forward, to stand ahead of the group, and then he let his head tilt back.

"Saruman," he called, his voice grave and commanding. It was not a yell, nor particularly loud, but it permeated everything around them. Boromir felt it resonate inside his chest, and he felt Pippin's fingers tighten around his arm. "Come out. We would speak with you."

Silence replied to him, broken only by the squawk of a passing crow, and the soft, desperate sound of Pippin's hurried breaths.

"He is not coming," snarled Éomer. "The coward sits behind his high walls, too afraid to take that which he gave out himself."

Gandalf held up his hand. "Hush," he said softly. "He is coming. Remember, there is power in his voice. With it, he will seek to enchant you. Take care."

Almost the very second that Gandalf finished speaking, a balcony door opened above them, and a tall, proud man strode out. Everything about him was white, from his long robes to his trailing beard, and Boromir loathed every part of him.

"Well," said Saruman slowly, his voice travelling to them in the same manner as Gandalf's did, though it could hardly be called loud. "What has drawn such mighty lords of men to Isengard, on such a day as this."

There was an evenness to his tone, and a pleasantness to his voice that Boromir could feel tugging at the back of his brain. As the wizard spoke, his voice implored Boromir to listen, and assured him that Saruman was perfectly sound and reasonable, and that it was horrific for him to be treated in such a way.

Boromir ground his teeth together, and dug his nails into his palm until they hurt. He would not be corrupted again. Never, ever again would he let hate and black magic twist his heart and forsake his friends, and his self. He tightened his grip on Pippin, and scowled upwards. Retorts and insults burnt like acid on the end of his tongue, but he held them back. Gandalf had warned them that speaking out of turn could put any prisoners at greater risk, especially if they showed their hand. So Boromir, trembling with rage, waited.

"Enough flattery, Saruman, we all know that you mean no word of it" said Gandalf shortly. "We are here to discuss the terms of your surrender."

A cold smile slipped across Saruman's face, as gentle as a tamed rabbit, and as deadly as a snake. "My surrender?" he repeated, his voice still calm and sympathetic. "And why do you think that I would surrender to you, Gandalf – one who has rebuffed my aid at every turn? To Théoden, perhaps, I might speak – for he has won many wars, and killed many men and yet still found peace. May we not now have peace? Let me help you, King of Rohan – truly aid you beyond the empty promises of the conjurer beside you."

Every time that sympathy tugged at Boromir's heart, he incinerated it with his anger. It seemed that Théoden's thoughts were aligned with his.

"Peace?" he said, his voice shaking. "We will have peace. We will have peace when you answer for the burning of the Westfold, and the children that lie dead there! When you pay for the lives that you have stolen, and the trust that you broke, when you hang from a gibbet for the sport of your own crows – then, we shall have peace."

Boromir growled his agreement under his breath, and glared at Saruman. Even from below, he could see the anger cracking through the wizard's carefully crafted calm. A scowl played on Saruman's lips, and he leant forwards.

"Gibbets and crows," he sneered, and at once his voice was snarling and cruel. "Bah! Your threats are nothing more than desperate lies from a desperate man. You think you have won, but you barely escaped a single battle. You have not won this war, and you never will. Rohan will perish under your command – you, the lesser son of greater sires."

Fury rose in Boromir's chest and he drew himself up, and beside him, Éomer opened his mouth in furious response. But before either man could speak, Gandalf cut over them.

"Enough, Saruman. You were deep in the enemy's counsel. If you tell us what you know, many lives may yet be saved."

A cold laugh descended upon them, and Pippin shivered.

"Many lives? If you have come to try and convince me, Gandalf, you are more naïve a fool than I thought. But I do not think that is why you are here. No – it is not many lives that concern you. It never is, with Gandalf the Grey. Ever professing to be the champion, the saviour, of men, yet at the day's end all he cares for are the few he calls his friends. Yet them, too, he sends away to die. Even those he professes to love."

A seed of horror set in Boromir's stomach at the change in Saruman's tone, and with the wizard's words it grew, gnarled and twisted in his gut. Saruman knew. He knew about Nelly and Bróin. And if he knew about them, what would mean that Gandalf's fears were true.

But it was anger, and not fear, that finally etched into Gandalf's face, and he drew his shoulders back. "Saruman," he boomed, and Pippin flinched at the sound. "If you have any information that may help in this war, I implore you to give it now. It is not too late, my old friend."

But Saruman laughed again, and it sounded twice as wicked as it had before. "Oh, I have information. Information about a young dwarven lordling, and a halfling girl with the manners of a wildling."

Pippin gave a small whimper, and Boromir tightened his arm around the hobbit's chest. Gandalf said nothing, but he stared at the defeated wizard, and Saruman's lips curled back into a hungry smile.

"Bróin, son of Bombur," said Saruman slowly, as though savouring the young dwarf's name on his tongue. "Nelly was the name he gave the girl in his screams, but we know her true name, do we not, Gandalf? Pimpernel Took. A silly name, for a foolish girl."

"What did you do with them?" roared Gimli, ignoring Gandalf's pointed look and Legolas' insistence to hush. "What did you do to them?"

Saruman's smile grew, and Boromir moved so that both of his arms were around the trembling Pippin. The hobbit's own grip on Boromir's arm tightened painfully.

"Well, I arranged a family reunion," said Saruman, an innocence to his voice that made Boromir's stomach turn. "I sent little Bróin away with the uruk-hai, and a ransom demand that will cripple the kingdom of Erebor. When they do not pay – as is inevitable, given the greed of dwarves – the uruk-hai will slaughter him. Though perhaps Thorin Oakenshield will prove me wrong – he might be persuaded to pay for the boy. After all, we did send something ahead to prove that we were serious. The girl's head, in fact. Just her head."

Boromir froze. Horror and disbelief and grief and rage were surging through him like a river breaking through a dam, and for a moment the whole world seemed to slow to a stop.

He heard Gimli's strangled wail and Merry's whispered, 'No!', and he felt Pippin slowly shake his head. He heard Gandalf order them to hush, heard him bark a warning to Saruman that lying was no use, and then, in his arms, Pippin exploded.

"Liar!" he screamed, and he threw himself forwards as if leaping off of the horse could vault him onto Saruman's balcony. Swearing, Boromir managed to hold him back, but Pippin elbowed him in the chest, and then threw his fist back into the man's eye, kicking and flailing as he roared at the wizard above them. "She's not dead, she's not dead! Where is she? Where is she – you're lying, you're lying, you're lying!"

Saruman laughed again, and Boromir's stomach heaved. Though his eye throbbed and his chest ached, he kept his arms locked around Pippin, no matter how much the hobbit struggled. He had to keep him here, had to keep him safe.

He had failed Nelly and Bróin.

He could not fail Pippin, too.

"She's alive, she's alive, I know she is!" There were tears streaking down Pippin's cheeks as he yelled, and neither Gandalf's orders nor Merry's tearful pleas could stop him. Though he held him back from a physical attack, Boromir did nothing to stop the verbal tirade. "Where is she, where is she, baraj'urm?"

"Denial is not the same as knowledge," said Saruman, his grin so great that his face looked like a skull. "Do you want proof, little halfling? Here. I have no use for this, now."

Boromir automatically dragged Pippin back as Saruman flung his arm out, but what fluttered through the air to their pony was no weapon, and Pippin reached out and caught it in both hands.

Boromir's heart crumpled inside his chest.

Nelly's corset. From Galadriel.

Tears burnt at his eyes as he glared at Saruman, and once again, Pippin was quiet. He clutched at the dirty bodice, and ran his fingers over the lace, and then he looked at Gandalf.

And, with tears in his eyes, the wizard shook his head.

"No," Pippin whimpered, clutching the fabric tighter. "No, no, she – she – Nelly-"

"Boromir, take him away," said Gandalf heavily, sorrow sparkling in the tears in his eyes.

"No!" protested Pippin, fighting Boromir harder. The horse began to neigh uncomfortably beneath them as Boromir dropped the reins, using all that he had to restrain the hobbit. Pippin was strong, and fast, and his howls ripped right through Boromir's soul. "Let me go, let me go! I'll kill him, I'll kill him! Let me go!"

"Pippin, please," said Boromir urgently, dodging another blow to the face. "You cannot kill him now-"

But Pippin was not listening ."I'll rip his throat out, I'll cut his head off, I'll stab him in the gut until there's nothing left inside him-"

"Pippin!" sobbed Merry, and Boromir felt sobs rising in his own chest. It was wrong, so wrong, to hear such violent threats pouring from the mouth of a hobbit – not-even-full-grown hobbit – and it was so wrong that they were warranted.

"Do you hear it, Gandalf?" sang Saruman. "Do you hear what you have done?"

"-let me go! Let me go, let me go!" Pippin's voice cracked, and he began to sob. The strength bled out of his flailing limbs, and his chin fell against his chest. "Let me go. Let me go."

Boromir turned his horse, without granting Saruman as much as a look. Pippin did not fight him anymore. He was limp, so limp that, for a moment, Boromir thought he had fainted. But Pippin was awake, and aware and his haunted eyes were glazed like sea-glass. Boromir softened his grip from a restraint to an embrace, and steered them out of the dark waters of Isengard, to the forest outside. There he stopped, and dismounted, lowering Pippin slowly to the ground.

The hobbit stood a moment on his feet, swaying. Slowly, he raised his head to meet Boromir's eyes. The man opened his mouth, but he did not know what to say, and before he could conjure a single word, Pippin dropped his gaze – and then his knees – to the ground. With a heavy sigh, Boromir sat beside him, and put a hand on Pippin's knee. He did not know what else to do. He had no comforts to give, and he did not want Pippin to start screaming again. So he just sat, and swallowed his own tears, until they heard approaching hoofbeats.

Before Aragorn had even stopped his horse, Merry leapt down, landing deftly on his feet and running to Pippin's side. He did not say a word, but he crashed into his cousin and wrapped his arms around him, and then Pippin was clinging to Merry as though he was the only soul left in the world. Crumpled together on the ground, the hobbits were so tightly entwined that it was hard to tell who was who. Pippin buried his head in Merry's shoulder as he began to sob, and Merry's tears forced their way through his clenched eyelids. In a matter of moments, Gimli was at their sides, and he wrapped his arms around the pair of them.

And Pippin cried harder, and Boromir hung his head.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced up at Aragorn. The ranger had made no attempt to hide his own tears now that Saruman was out of sight, and he stood as though the weight of a hundred worlds was balancing on his shoulders. Opposite Aragorn stood Legolas, still paler than he ought to be, with his good hand clutching Gimli's shoulder. His eyes, too, were paler than usual, swimming with tears of his own, and Boromir hung his head once more.

The men of Rohan sat silently astride their horses, and for a long moment, Gandalf sat beside them. Then, he dismounted, and crouched before Pippin.

"Look at me, Peregrin Took," he said softly, waiting for Pippin to raise his head. "That's it, lad. Look at me."

"Is she dead?" Pippin demanded in a rasping whisper, and Boromir saw Merry's arms tighten around the younger hobbit. "Is it true, Gandalf? Is she dead?"

The wizard shook his head, tears still sparkling in the blue of his eyes. "I do not know. I think that it is safe to say that she and Bróin are no longer in Isengard – Saruman would be using them for leverage if they were. But why they are no longer here is less certain. It is possible that they have both been delivered for ransom, though that would be a risky move for Saruman to play. It is also possible, but far less likely, that they escaped. I fear, Pippin, that the story Saruman told may, in fact, be the truth."

Merry gave a pained whine, and Gimli let out a groan, but Pippin kept staring at Gandalf. "You think she is dead?"

Gandalf opened his mouth, and then he paused. His eyes narrowed on Pippin, and then a small smile slipped onto his lips. "I think that beyond the fear, and the grief, and the pain, my heart says that there may yet be a chance for her. I will not give you false hope, my lad. It is very unlikely. But if Nelly and Bróin are no longer in the tower, Saruman has every reason to lie, and very few reasons to tell the truth."

"She's not dead," whispered Pippin. "She isn't. I'd – I'd know, if she was."

Gandalf smiled sadly, and Boromir looked away. No matter what the wizard said, hope seemed very far away. In his heart, he began to recite Gondor's prayers for the dead.

"Are – are we going after Bróin?" asked Merry hesitantly. His voice was thick and muffled, but there was a desperate strength in his eyes. "He'll need us."

Gandalf sighed heavily. "I do not know that it would be wise to try."

Gimli raised his head, his face flaming redder than his hair, but before he could speak, Gandalf raised his hand.

"For we do not know where he is," he said. "If Saruman tells the truth, he is already closer to Erebor than he is to here. If that is the case, his fate is in Thorin's hands, not ours. But if Saruman is lying, we have no way of knowing what direction to turn. We would be chasing nothing more than a rumour and a hope, and there are surer matters that need our attention."

"This isn't a 'matter'," growled Gimli, his arms curling protectively tighter around the hobbits. "This is Bróin. Our Bróin. And dead or alive, our Nelly is with him. I see no surer matter than that."

"Do you not?" There was no anger in Gandalf's voice. It was empty, save for a deep sorrow. "Saruman is right in one thing – the war is not over. We will learn nothing more from him, but learn we must. We are not safe, yet. For now, with the leave of Théoden, I will return to Rohan. There, we will plan our next move. I would have you all with me, in this. I feel you can do greater good there."

"Do you?" asked Pippin hollowly. "Or do you just want to keep an eye on us? Keep us from messing up your dear plans."

"Pip," said Merry, but Gandalf shook his head.

"Let it slide, Meriadoc," he said. "Folk say many a foolish thing, when they are struck by grief or fear."

"What's that?" asked Pippin, pointing to a bundle beneath Gandalf's arm – one that Boromir had not even noticed.

"No concern of yours."

Pippin let out a hollow laugh, and pushed his way out of the arms of Merry and Gimli. "It is a concern of mine, if it's anything to do with Saruman. Merry and me, we're the ones he captured, and that's my sister he's talking about! I deserve to know what's going on."

Gandalf nodded, his hand held out placatingly. "I know, Pippin, but at this stage-"

"Have you told Aragorn?" demanded Pippin. "Will you? Of course you will, because you trust him! You don't think he's a child, or a useless piece of baggage to drag after the fellowship and then get stolen by orcs! But why would you tell Merry and me anything? Why? It's not as though we left everything we've ever had to try and help our family, despite knowing that we'd likely die trying – oh, wait."

Boromir shifted uneasily as Gandalf's face hardened.

"You are acting like a child, Peregrin Took," warned the wizard, and Pippin let out another laugh, high and sharp and not at all like the hobbit. Merry stumbled backwards, kept on his feet only by the arms of an equally dumbstruck Gimli.

"I am not a child. You cannot see what I have seen and still be a child, Gandalf," he said, and Boromir's heart broke a little more. "No matter how old I am. I may be young, and I may be small, and I may not be smart as Merry or dangerous as Nelly, but I've risked the same as they did, and I have a right to know what's happening."

Gandalf closed his eyes, and Boromir winced, hoping that the wizard would not be too harsh in his anger, but when Gandalf looked back at Pippin, it was with the eyes of a broken man. "I do not distrust you, Peregrin Took," he said softly. "I simply want to keep you safe."

"You can't," said Pippin, his voice breaking. His arms wove around his stomach, but he stepped out of reach of Gimli's hand. "There is no such thing as safe."

Gandalf shook his head slightly, and put a hand on Pippin's arm. The hobbit flinched, but did not pull away. "The package is a tool of Saruman's, one that was thrown from the tower after your departure. I believe it was Gríma, and not Saruman himself who threw it, but I cannot be sure. It is very dangerous, and very powerful. We got no further information from Saruman, save a couple of meaningless taunts. The ents will guard him for now. Is that information sufficient for you?"

Pippin hesitated, and then gave a curt nod.

"Tell me," said Gandalf, his voice as gentle as down feathers. "You have never cared to know everything, Pippin. So what is it – what truly is it – that you want to know now?"

Fresh tears filled Pippin's eyes, and he swallowed. When he spoke, the anger had left his voice, and with it went the bitterness and hopelessness and insistence. It left the small, frightened voice of a child in its wake.

"I want to know where Nelly is," he whispered. "Gandalf, I want my sister."

Between his own tears and the speed of the wizard, Boromir barely saw the movement, but in the next second Gandalf held Pippin close in his arms, his eyes closed and his embrace strong. For the first time since he returned to them, Gandalf looked grey.

After an endless moment, he spoke. "I know you do, my lad. I know."

"Then can we find her?" pleaded Pippin, pushing away from the wizard. "Denahi can track her and Bróin, we could find them-"

"I do not think that is wise," said Gandalf gently, holding Pippin's shoulders like an old man explaining death to his grandson. "As I told Gimli, we would not know where to start looking, and we cannot waste the men, Pippin. This is a war, and a war that will shape the very fabric of our world. In war, sacrifices must be made."

Pippin shook his head, grasping Gandalf's arms. "But – it's Bróin. And she's – she's my sister. Gandalf, they're family, please…"

"That," said Gandalf, a tear trailing down his crooked nose, "my dear lad, is what makes it a sacrifice."

So, I hope you enjoyed that chapter. In case you were wondering, baraj'urm is the Khuzdul word for snake, according to the fabulous Dwarrow scholar. A little dramatic irony here – what do you think Pippin will say when he finds out what really happened? And what is the mysterious bundle that Gandalf's carrying? Why was there no wizard-on-wizard stand off? I'd love to hear your theories, so please review if you have the time and inclination.