I'll probably be posting these next few chapters fairly quickly, cause a) the end of this week is the end of my semester, and even with finals coming, I was able to write a lot of Thanksgiving Break, and b) I want to get up the chapter where something finally happens between Alandria and Eomer by Christmas for you all :) And you know what would spur on me to post/write even quicker? Reviews! lol some, please? I hate to beg, but you've all really no idea how helpful they are... Take care xx
Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.
Dawn came unexpectedly and none too swiftly, being only a pale glow in the dark mist that shrouded them all. They saddled and mounted quietly, all still unnerved by whatever had passed them in the short hours of the night. Alandria did not mention her nightmare, or the tremors it still sent through her. Instead she followed again at the rear of their group as they trod slowly on the highway, marching the final short distance to Isengard. The land should have been green and lush, pleasant to look upon, but the torment of Saruman had ruined it. Now it was dark and dying, riddled with thorns, cruel weeds, and axe-hewn tree stumps. It reeked of burning, and smoke and steam drifted everywhere, even as the River of Isen muttered through it. Alandria couldn't help but wonder if they truly were headed towards anything hopeful, and anything alive. They continued to march for another several miles, before coming upon a wider road, set with greater skill. Gandalf told them all that Isengard lie near ahead, but they could not see through the thick mist.
Eventually they came to the disturbing figure of a White Hand, it's nails painted a gruesome red and stained with blood. Gandalf led them steadily on, to the walls of Isengard. The mists cleared as they approached the great fortress, and they could see the bright sun high above, signalling noon. The came to the Gates, and stared in surprise at the sight before them. The stone and metal of the Gates and surrounding wall was broken and torn, twisted and ripped from it's original placement. The Gates were destroyed and the way was open to their passing, allowing them through and into the dwelling of the White Wizard. Their horses sloshed through knee-high waters, water that flowed slowly and was everywhere, as if a sudden flood had claimed the blackened land. It was murky and brown, and the steam they had seen before rose slowly from it. Ruined pieces of civilization floated past them: trunks, bits of foul clothing, cauldrons and ropes. All seemed barren and ruined before them, and was only enhanced by the sight of the Great Tower of Orthanc standing high above them. The Tower was menacing, as was it's purpose, and stood hundreds of feet high, it's black spikes jutting crudely towards the sky. It seemed made of black stone that shone faintly, as if it was metal too. There was not a scratch on it's hard surface, save for the curves and slices left from it's making. It seemed impenatrable, and indestrucible, and held a darkness that disturbed Alandria to her depths. Everything about the Tower was ruined and dying, save for the Tower itself. It might as well stand forever.
Then suddenly, one of the most unusual sights she would never have expected caught her attention. Two hobbits lay leisurely on a mound of broken wall, various foods and drinks scattered about them, mugs of ale in hand. They each held a pipe as well, smoke drifting lazily from it's mouth. None would have thought that they were indeed the two hobbits that had been captured and left in the care of a group of monstorous Uruk-hai, and then trekked for leagues with a tree for a guide. For they seemed far too peaceful to have possibly been the same hobbits, and their smiles and laughter were oddly out of place amidst the crumbles of Isengard. But it was indeed them - Merry, with his curly blonde hair and crooked jaw; Pippin, his curls more brown, and an impish smile about him. They noticed the arrivals with equal surprise, grinning, Pippin laughing and raising a tankard of drink to them, Merry clambering to his feet. Their eyes roved eagerly over the faces they knew, and then both halted when they came to Alandria. She held their gazes firmly, registering the disappearance of their smiles once they saw her, and the mixture of emotions behind their eyes. They knew what they had left behind for her to find; who had fallen to protect them. They did not know how she had reacted, but they could guess. Their unnervement lasted only a breath, and quickly both looked away from her, turning back to the newcomers before them.
"Welcome, my Lords!" Exclaimed Merry, holding his arms high, a drunken smile on his face. "To Isengard!"
"You young rascals!" Growled Gimli, from behind Legolas. "You've led us on, and now we find you feasting and..and smoking!"
"We are sitting," Pippin began to argue around a mouthful of salted meat. "on a field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts. The salted pork is particularly delicious." He smirked at the Dwarf, waving his pipe.
"Salted pork.." Gimli gasped, and Alandria swore she could hear his mouth begin to salivate.
Gandalf muttered something, but was not heard as Merry continued. "We're under orders from Treebeard, who has taken over management of Isengard."
"And where might we find Master Treebeard, if you two fools are willing to pause your lounging for a moment?" The Wizard growled, only receiving grins from his listeners.
"He's waiting, at the Tower."
"Well then come on you two, we haven't all day! Pippin, with Aragorn. Merry, with Éomer." The two riders named obeyed and rode forth, much to Merry's relief as he hadn't the slightest idea who Éomer might be. Each hobbit carefully climbed from their perch in the rubble to behind the riders, on the horses' backs. Gandalf nodded, then turned and led them to the dark, looming tower.
Alandria surveyed the continued ruin in awe, seeing fallen and destroyed machinery and buildings, all drowned in the ruddy water. Then came a low, rumbling groan from ahead, and she raised her eyes towards it - only to nearly fall off her horse. Before them stood a huge creature - fourteen feet tall or more, and appearing exactly like a tree - except that it was moving. It was immense, and bizarre, and frighteningly fascinating. And it began to speak, slow, deep, and halting. "Mmm...young Master Gandalf. I'm..mmm..glad you've come. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master. But there is a Wizard to manage here, locked in his tower."
They all stared up at the tall Tower, each cautious and wondering just where and why Saruman was hiding. "Show yourself." Aragorn was the first to mutter, but was silenced by Gandalf.
"Be careful. Even in defeat Saruman is dangerous."
"Then let's just have his head and be done with it!" Gimli growled.
"No!" Gandalf countered. "We need him alive. We need him to talk."
"You have fought many wars and slain many men, Théoden King, and made peace afterwards." The voice came from above them, and although soft, it carried to them with ease. It seemed to Alandria like it was the gentlest voice she'd heard in ages, comforting, and reassuring. It held promise, and knowledge, and she wanted to trust it. But the figure that appeared over the highest balcony of Orthanc ruined the voice's sway, and she was left only with the knowledge that it was his Uruks that had attacked at Amon Hen, and a fire of hate seethed through her blood. The White Wizard was no longer White, but robed in a variety of constantly shifting colors, unnerving and dazzling to the eye. He leaned on a black staff with a white crystal at the top, and his long, thin face seemed stretched with weariness. His hair and beard were white, like Gandalf's, but unlike Gandalf's they lacked the pureness of good. Instead, they were dark grey at the edges near his face, and somehow that simple color ruined his appearance, showing him to evil, as they all knew he truly was.
"Can we not take counsel together as we once did, my old friend? Can we not have peace, you and I?"
"We will have peace." Théoden answered, much to Alandria's alarm. But a glance towards the King showed firm features and dark eyes, not obedience. "We shall have peace, when you answer for the burning of the Westfold, and the children that lie dead there! We shall have peace when the bodies of the soldiers, who's bodies were hewn even as they lay dead against the gates of the Hornburg, are avenged! When you hang from a chibbet, for the sport of your own crows..we shall have peace!" Alandria smirked faintly, wanting to applaud her King on his defiant speech, but held her tounge as the Dark Wizard spoke again.
"Chibbets and crows?" The Wizard snarled. "Dotard! What do you want, Gandalf Greyhame? Let me guess - the Key of Orthanc? Or perhaps the keys of Barad-dur itself? Along with the Crowns of the Seven Kings and the Rods of the Five Wizards?!"
"Your treachery has already cost many lives," countered Gandalf. "Thousands more are now at risk. But you could save them, Saruman! You were deep in the enemy's counsel."
The Wizard above them smiled cruelly. "So you have come here for information? I have some for you." And he pulled from his robes a dark globe that just fit in his palm, and swirled and twisted with fiery light inside. "Something festers in the heart of Middle-earth - something that you have failed to see. But the Great Eye has seen it! Even now he presses his advantage. His attack will come soon. You're all going to die." He sneered, pleased by the fear Alandria could see he was invoking on the hobbits. Gandalf did not answer, other to walk Shadowfax closer to the Black Tower. "But you know this, don't you Gandalf?" Saruman continued. "You cannot think that this Ranger will ever sit upon the throne of Gondor! This exile crept from the shadows will never be crowned King! Gandalf does not hesitate to sacrifice those closest to him - those he professes to love." The Wizard still smirked, amused by the fears he was slowly striking into each of them, and turned to Gandalf himself. "Tell me, what words of comfort did you give the Halfing before you sent him to his doom? The path you have set him on can only lead to death." The Wizard smiled slightly, but Gimli growled.
"I've heard enough! Shoot him." He encouraged Legolas, and the Elf slowly reached for an arrow from his quiver. "Stick an arrow in his gob!"
"No!" Gandalf stopped them firmly, turning his eyes back up to the Wizard upon the Tower. "Come down Saruman! And your life will be spared."
"Save your pity and your mercy! I have no use for it!" Saruman cried, and thrust his staff's bottom towards them. A shaft of flame burst from it, and flew down towards the White Wizard and his White Steed, before enveloping them. The surrounding horses whinnied and spooked, dancing away from the spontaneous flames. They all shielded their eyes from the burst of light and heat, turning away from it in surprise. But in an instant, it disappeared - leaving the Wizard and his horse whole and uncharred, standing still and staring boldly back at the offender on the Tower.
"Saruman," Gandalf cried up. "Your staff is broken." And it was, for the black pole in the traitor's hand seemed to shake, before quickly bursting into pieces, and falling to the foot of the Tower he stood upon. Just as the staff was destroyed, a lowly black wretch crawled into view, cowering beside the White Wizard.
"Gríma!" Théoden called, recognizing the creature that poisoned his mind. But there was no anger in his voice - rather, he seemed relieved. "You need not follow him! You were not always as you are now. You were once a man of Rohan!"
"A man of Rohan?" Saruman leered. "What is the house of Rohan but a thatched barn where briggards drink in the reek and their brats roll on the floor with the dogs?! The victory does at Helm's Deep does not belong to you, Théoden Horse-master! You are the lesser son of greater sires." Théoden was silent, where faint realization and sorrow tinted his features.
"You speak lightly for one restrained to his Tower!" Alandria snarled, a flash of the anger that had been simmering unleashing in her King's defense. "You would be dead where you stand, if you might not serve some use in the end!"
"Alandria!" Gandalf snapped, aggravated and secretly worried. "Control yourself."
Saruman just smirked, as although without his staff to draw a sense of power from, he still found pride in the obvious aggravation from Alandria. "Yes, Lady-Rider, control yourself. You wouldn't want me to send you to join your little Captain of Gondor, would you?" He smiled wider as she flinched visibly, and although she knew he no longer had such power, dropped his gaze. "But then again, perhaps you would.."
"That's enough, Saruman!" Gandalf was ever in charge, controlling the conversation, as his sharp blue eyes pierced the Wizard still looming above them. To all their surprise, the corrupted Wizard obeyed and was silenced.
"Gríma," Théoden spoke, after a moment of silence among the company. "come down. Be free of him."
"Free?!" Snarled Saruman. "He will never be free!" Gríma looked up at the Wizard beside him, and his lips moved in a defiance Alandria could not hear, but understood. "Cur!" Spat Saruman, loud enough for them to clearly hear, and brought his hand swiftly across Wormtounge's face, knocking him to the ground with a cry. As much as she hated the Wizard, Alandria felt faintly pleased to see the Snake beaten down so.
"Saruman!" Gandalf called again, regaining the Wizard's attention. "You were deep in the enemy's counsel. Tell us what you know!"
"You withdraw your guard, and I will tell you where your doom will be decided. I will not be held prisoner here!"
In that instant, two sudden things happened. Gríma appeared behind the Wizard and leapt on his back, thrusting a knife deep into his shoulder and back, stabbing twice. Then Legolas suddenly had an arrow on his bow, and loosed it, so that it sunk into the Snake's chest. The slimy, black, cowering traitor stumbled backwards and fell, dying slowly and out of their sight. The traitorous Wizard, however, toppled forward, off his great Tower, and began to tumble head over heels in a flash of shifting robe-colors, ever falling and falling, before landing with a sickening thud on his back, on a spiked wheel of his own making. The company stared in shock and horror, Merry covering his mouth with his hand, Alandria's lip only twitching in a grimace. The White Wizard, at last, was dead.
"Send word to all our allies," Gandalf spoke to Théoden. "and to every corner of Middle-earth that still stands free - the Enemy moves against us. We need to know where he will strike."
The wheel he had landed upon began to turn then, and slowly the body of Saruman was drawn under the ugly water. Alandria watched the body slowly disappear, her green gaze glittering for a moment with joy. She blinked, as something seemed to slip from the Wizard's sleeve, and fall into the water. She could not discern it's proper color though, or shape, and once the body had disappeared, looked away as Treebeard's voice boomed again.
"The filth of Saruman, is washing away..Trees will come back to live here. Young trees, wild trees.."
"Pippin!" Aragorn's voice broke the slow murmur of the Ent, and all turned their attention to the little hobbit who had abandoned his seat behind the Ranger. The little man waded in waist-high water over to where Saruman and his Death Wheel lay, and he bent over, his arms plunging into the dark water. He stood straight again, and held the object that had fallen from the Wizard's cloak - the palantír, Seeing Stone of Númenor. Alandria knew what it was, although she had never seen one until now, and watched with keen interest as the dark blue ball appeared to have inside it a faint, twisting, fiery light.
"Bless my bark!" Exclaimed Treebeard, in his slow way.
"Peregrin Took! I'll take that, my lad." Gandalf spoke from beside the hobytla, having ridden over to see what the curious being had found. He extended his hand, and Pippin glanced at him for but a moment, before gazing back at orb in his hands. "Quickly now!" Encouraged the Wizard, and slowly the hobbit turned over his discovery. The Wizard snatched it away swiftly, and just as swiftly wrapped it deep in a cloth the same color as his pale robes. He turned Shadowfax to walk away, but not before giving the hobbit one last, long, hard stare. Pippin bowed his head and turned away in submission, and the Wizard rode away. Alandria continued to watch the little man, and saw in surprise, he turned back to glare at the Wizard's retreating form, before Aragorn lifted him back into his saddle.
"Thank you, Fangorn my old friend. I trust you will take care of matters here." Gandalf spoke to the great Ent again.
"Indeed, we shall." Replied the monstorous creature. "Isengard will no longer..mmm..be a feared place. Barooom. The Ents will stay."
Gandalf bowed his head for a moment, then turned back towards the ruined Gates. "We ride back for Edoras, and quickly. I hope we shall be there by the early evening tomorrow at the latest. Now come!" Again Shadowfax, Lord of the Mearas, lept forward faster than a white arrow, and the others were quick to follow.