The War of Light and Shadow
By Freddie23
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Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.
A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews. I hope you are all still liking the story and that you enjoy this chapter.
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Chapter 64 – Power
Singing. They were singing now. Legolas sighed in distaste at the increasingly crude ditty coming from behind closed doors and growing louder and ever more riotous by the minute.
What had started out as a meeting of the great minds of the strategists had descended quite by accident into a celebration of sorts with most of the city present. Not that they didn't deserve to unwind a little in whatever fashion they desired. Faramir and the others close to him had spent two full days thrashing out every detail of the planned assault on Minas Tirith within the command post and the rumours were that, between reports of lack of supplies for an attack and continued resistance from the Council, it had been far from an easy endeavour.
The soldiers, it turned out, had reacted surprisingly well to the breaking of the news of an invasion despite Aragorn's fears that they would be reticent to answer the call to battle. For years they had been charged by the Steward Denethor with simply maintaining the security borders of Osgiliath, but now, for the first time in their generation, they were going on the offensive, actually doing something pro-active in the fight against the Shadow. The overwhelming reaction to the news had been relief. It had swept through the city as the news had broken that war would soon be upon them, fairly tangible in the air. In turn, Aragorn had been simultaneously impressed and relieved by the reactions of soldiers who remained to him an unknown quantity. His unspoken fears had proven unnecessary though. No convincing of the general populous was needed and that was a great weight off his shoulders, as well as off Faramir's, who perhaps had it worse living in the shade of his father's benign rule.
Heaving another sigh off into the night, Legolas looked away from the brightly lit windows of the tavern-come-meeting house.
It was to be expected, he reasoned, that no invitation to the celebration or the Council's meetings had been issued to him. He was in no one's good graces at the moment. Not that he particularly wanted to be inside the crowded tavern with the Men, he told himself with false resolve. He had never sought that out before and he wasn't going to start now. And yet it still stung to be so left out. He could not banish this emotion entirely, although hiding it from view was easy enough to do when no one spared him a second glance.
What good would he be in such a social situation amongst Men, anyway? Why should he feel at all disappointed that he had once more been left out in the cold by those he had fought beside in battle? He had done nothing but distance himself as much as he possibly could from the Men of Gondor in recent days, fearing their opinion of him and not having the energy to alter their views. Surely he should not expect anything but the same sense of distance from them now they celebrated.
Besides, he reasoned to himself as the singing became even more raucous behind him, he was too distracted to even consider inviting himself into the party. He could have walked in and settled himself at a corner table and no one would have approached him. But his mind was filled still with so many thoughts of what had transpired upon the streets of Osgiliath. His days and nights remained equally disturbed by the happenings, of his run-in with the agent of Shadow. He mused that it was a relief not to have a bed to sleep in because in sleep his mind would surely be free to run wild and he feared he would be haunted by the Shadow that had touched him. He wasn't sure he could stand that.
It was not only the thought of the Mouth of Sauron's cruel words of purposeful torment that plagued his every moment. It was that image, ingrained into his mind; his father's great sword, which he had thought long lost at the fall of the king and Mirkwood, now in the possession of the Dark Servants and used against him, the Prince of Mirkwood. It made him sick to think that that object of reverence, of power in Mirkwood, was now also tainted by the Shadow. Everything he had once had was turned to darkness. There was nothing sacred left to him now. His home was destroyed beyond all repair and he knew he would never again see the vast green forests of Mirkwood. All he had ever had since the fall of his home were his memories. Granted, they had been carefully locked away where they could not interfere with his assigned task upon this earth but they remained all the same, ready for when the time came that he could look without fear at what had been done to his old life.
But now, not even his memories were safe from the foul creeping influence of the Shadow. Sauron had seen into his mind, had rifled around his thoughts and thrown them into chaos and it tortured him to ever be aware of this vile violation, to have that which was most private, most cherished had been tainted simply to torment him.
His home, his father, his wife, his children had all been taken away from him and now it seemed that the Dark Lord sought to take his sanity from him as well. Had he not suffered enough already? How much more would he be forced to endure? Would he be pushed in this way until he broke entirely? He just didn't know how much longer his promise to restore the rightful line of Kings to the Throne of Gondor could keep him going. His acknowledgement, even though it was a secret he would ever keep to himself, of this weakness in his faltering heart startled him and dragged him even further down into his despair and his hand unconsciously drifted to rest against his chest in an attempt to sooth the pain building there.
He was weary beyond endurance. Not just weary in body, but in mind and soul also.
He closed his eyes and focused on pushing back the darkness that lingered on the edges of his senses, instead letting the crude words of the Men drift over him in the vain hope that it might drown out the taunting voice inside his mind. He knew though, that not even the sounds of joy and celebration could halt the whisperings of the Shadow.
Running his hands down his face in an attempt to regain some semblance of control over himself, Legolas shifted against the wall he rested on and let his eyes roam all over the lit up city spread before him.
"It's chilly out here tonight."
Legolas startled, looking around to find Eomer stood at his side, holding a tin cup of steaming liquid in each hand. He had been so distracted that he hadn't even noticed the man's approach. A Human sneaking up on an Elf, he thought with a weak smile. What had the world become?
Eomer laid both mugs down on the high wall and rubbed his hands together to warm them. One of the cups he pushed towards Legolas, whilst he pulled the other towards himself.
"Here, eat this." He nudged the cup again persuasively. "You haven't eaten in days. You look like you're about to keel over."
"Thank you."
Although this was said with a touch of sarcasm, Legolas nevertheless gratefully accepted the cup, which it turned out was filled with vegetable soup that although watered down almost to a tea nevertheless smelled wonderful enough to make his stomach growl with hunger. He could not remember the last time he had eaten anything and although he had been hungrier than this, the niggling ache in his stomach was beginning to bother him.
"Mind out," Eomer cautioned when the cup tipped dangerously in the Elf's pale hand. Seeing that the Elf's hand trembled ever so slightly, he guided the hand to place the cup back on the wall, worried that he might drop it. "Cold?" In anyone else, he would not have paid any heed to the slight shake in the hands but compared to the usually rock-steady hands of the Elven prince, this stood out in the eyes of the Man.
Whilst the Elf made a noncommittal noise, Eomer stared long and hard and decided with a shock of concern that Legolas did not look cold. He looked weak.
"How are things going in there?" the Elf asked, seemingly oblivious to Eomer's worries over his health.
"Fine."
"Good."
"They're still working things out but at least they're all agreeing – or they're not arguing at least. A step forward, I would say."
Again Legolas nodded in agreement. "A step forwards indeed. Wonders never cease."
When a loud chorus if cheering erupted in the tavern behind them, Eomer glanced back with a grin on his face. "Things have descended into celebration, I'm afraid," he chuckled.
"So I hear."
Turning back to Legolas once more, the man noted the still full cup on the wall, as of yet untouched, so he prompted, "Eat that while it's still warm." Again, he nudged the cup towards the Elf. "You need food inside you."
This time Legolas paid heed and picked up the cup again. After taking a couple of grateful sips of the wonderfully warm soup, he rested his hands on the wall, clasped around the blissfully heated tin, leaning against the stone.
"And Aragorn? How is he doing?" the Elf asked his unlikely companion.
"Aragorn is doing just fine. Of course, if you joined everyone else inside then you would know that already."
Taking another sip at Eomer's urging, Legolas swallowed the broth and said, "I am not welcome in there, I don't think."
Eomer rolled his eyes, simultaneously releasing a sigh of exasperation and leaning heavily against the wall next to the Elven prince. "Would you like my advice?"
"Absolutely not."
"I'll give you it anyway. Stop being so bloody-minded and just apologise. Put all this behind you."
"It's not that simple."
"Yes, actually, it is. 'Sorry'. There, I said it so by your reckoning anything I do can't be too challenging, can it? You ought to try it out for yourself some time. You'll feel better for it."
Finishing off the last of his thin vegetable soup, Legolas shifted his elbows on the wall so that he could cradle his head in his hands. He made no further reply to the man who, most surprisingly, had remained at his side this long. Only the muffled sound of singing, no doubt perpetuated by the Rangers' liquor which would probably be getting passed around right about now, broke the thick silence of Osgiliath. It seemed so eerily out of place, such merriment amidst the constant threat of all-consuming Darkness. Celebrations of this kind were few and far between these days, even in the most peaceful of places left on Arda. Generally, there was little to celebrate. What, Legolas wondered, would Sauron make of such mirth? A thrill of pleasure zinged through his mind at that thought. Anything that put the Dark Lord ill at ease had to surely be only good.
"Legolas?"
"Mm?"
"You do not look well."
"Thank you kindly," muttered the Elf dourly, nodding his head in a mocking bow.
"I am being serious."
"What do you care anyway?" He didn't have the patience to deal with Eomer right then. His mind was occupied with too much else. Most of the other Men he could bring himself to tolerate such comments from but not the Rohirrim Commander. Eomer simply grated on his nerves whenever he was with him, especially the rare times when they were forced into being alone with each other.
"I care because you are Aragorn's guardian and I don't want to see him hurt, which he surely would be were you to leave him for any reason."
Legolas scoffed, eyes falling shut, willowy body resting against the wall as though for support. "Your concern is touching, Commander, but you needn't worry. I promise not to fade where I stand." He released another heavy sigh, thin chest heaving at the effort of even this simple action. "I am just tired."
"Anything I can do?"
"Not a thing."
"Uh-huh. We'll see." After taking a quick glance around himself, as if checking that there was no one else about to see him in a moment of kindness towards one who was ostracised amongst the allied Men in Osgiliath, he boldly took Legolas' arm and tugged on it gently. "Come on. The least I can do is walk you back to your rooms. One cannot sleep standing up and certainly not with that racket filling the air."
Legolas stood up straight as directed by Eomer's persistent motion against his arm, but protested, "I don't have a room in which to sleep."
"You weren't given one?" Eomer asked with a frown of confusion even as he led Legolas away from the packed centre of command. Legolas was a good ally to the King of Gondor and a prince in his own right, albeit one in exile from his fallen kingdom; surely the Men of Gondor had not completely ignored his presence amongst them.
"They don't like me much." Legolas chuckled mirthlessly to himself at the size of that understatement.
"You do see to have that effect on people." Again, Legolas laughed at this, unfazed, it seemed, by the truth of the observation. He had made no friends in Osgiliath so far. Nor had he any friends, perhaps with the exception of Eowyn, amongst the Rohirrim. Yes, he got on with a handful of the Rangers, on and off. Times were, he missed Kinnale. Sometimes, he thought that he had been the only Human he had really had anything in common with; he'd been the only one who had understood the heart of the Elf even to a point. "All right, you can use my room for tonight. You need to sleep before you become completely useless to everyone."
"No, I'm all right, Eomer. Genuinely. Thank you for your concern."
"Yes," insisted the blonde man, pulling harder against the resistant Elf. "Like you said, you're not needed inside. You can afford to take a little time to rest."
"I should stay. Just in case Aragorn needs me."
"Aragorn will be fine without you for one night," the Rohan man assured, again pulling on Legolas' arm when he went to turn back towards the tavern. "Come on. Stop resisting." When Legolas still refused to relent, he unrepentantly stressed the point that he knew would hit a nerve with the King's guardian, "What good will you be to Aragorn if you continue on in this state, hmm?"
"That was low, Eomer."
Just as Eomer had predicted, however, there was no better persuasion. Legolas turned away from the party with a rather dejected nod of consent.
"This way."
Just as Eomer had shown proper courtesy to the Rangers when they had come to Rohan, so the commander of the Gondorians had given similar quarters to the leaders of the Rohirrim and Rangers. Etiquette amongst Men was difficult to erase even after decades of deprivation and war. Faramir had granted Eomer a medium-sized room in a house not too far from the central command post. Of course, space was limited so the room was shared with two other men, which was still exceedingly generous given that many others were packed into rooms shared by eight or ten others, bedding down on the floors wherever there was space to spare. But almost everyone except the vigilant sentries patrolling the city's borders were at the celebration so the house currently stood empty.
"Lay down here." The man led Legolas to his own modest bedding, a comfortable mixture of blankets and furs. "Lie down."
"This is all very disconcerting, you know."
"What is?"
"You, being kind to me."
"Well, you did save my sister's life. I still owe you much for that kindness."
"One good deed."
"A great deed."
"But still not enough."
"Excuse me?" Eomer picked up one of the blankets from the mattress of a fellow housemate, certain that the man wouldn't mind when finally he returned inebriated once the celebration was over, and prompted, "Sit."
As he lowered himself down wearily onto the slim mattress, Legolas continued quietly, "He saw. He saw what I truly am, Eomer; what I have sought to hide even from those trusted to me."
"Who? What are you talking about?"
"More than anyone I have ever encountered, he knew what I was, what I have done. He saw into my heart and threw all within into chaos."
Having come to the conclusion already that he would make no sense out of what Legolas was saying to him even if he determined to spend the entire night trying to figure it out, Eomer just nodded vaguely at the Elf's rambling in order to appease him. "Lay down."
The Elf flopped down without any of his usual grace onto the mattress, collapsing back so that his head only half rested on the thick cushion made of old fabric and feathers from some type of bird. "Do you know what it's like?" he enquired of the Human hovering over him; eyes boring disconcertingly into Eomer's as he patiently awaited an answer.
"Know what what's like?" Noting that Legolas was making no move to adjust himself on the bed, Eomer sighed around his question and straightened out the pillow beneath the golden head with almost gentle care. Why he suddenly felt the need to look after the Elf, Eomer was clueless. Perhaps it was because for the first time since he had met Legolas, the Elf honestly looked like he needed caring for.
"To have your whole existence scrutinised, touched upon by the Darkness."
"Can't say that I have ever had it happen to me."
Legolas released a breathy laugh. "You are lucky then."
"Uh-huh."
"I was tempted, you know."
"Tempted to do what?"
"Comply with his wishes."
Eomer paused in laying the fur blanket over Legolas' prone form, taken aback momentarily by that statement.
Of course, he had learned somewhat of what had happened to Legolas in the streets of Osgiliath during the Wraith attack from his sister; or at least he had once he had ceased shouting at her for her foolishness in risking her life to rescue the Elf and given her leave to speak.
He knew not what exactly she and Legolas had encountered for she honestly did not know herself and until this night Legolas had made no attempt at all to speak to anyone of what had occurred.
Eowyn had been shaken by her encounter with the Shadow, that much was for sure. Eomer had only seen Legolas a handful of times since but he hadn't looked particularly afraid – just bone weary. He'd flitted around the city, helping out where needed, aiding in everything from working in the healing halls to doing minor repairs on abodes damaged during the attack. Rarely had he been seen with Aragorn lately although there seemed to be no lingering animosity between them to explain the distance they kept from one another. And then Denethor had been discovered dead, killed by his own hand, and everything had changed once again. The ensuing confrontation between the Elf and Faramir had been far from civil. Faramir had flat-out accused Legolas of the murder of his father and lord and commanded that the guardian remove himself permanently from his sight or risk death himself. Hurt and offended by the allegations made against him – which in truth Eomer didn't think had any substance in spite of his continued lack of faith in the Elf's overall character – Legolas had retreated further and Eomer had not seen him again until this very night.
So, he found himself completely underprepared for Legolas' words now.
Even so, he asked, "Who do you speak of, Legolas?"
Legolas just shook his head against the soft fabric of the pillow. How could he tell Eomer of his weakness, what lay hidden deep in his heart? Already the commander of the Rohirrim had a low opinion of him; did he really want to further alienate people from him when there was a glimmer of hope for a friendship?
So, Legolas simply shook his head again. "Terrible things, Eomer."
"All right," the man sighed, finally lowering the blanket over Legolas, "you're not making any sense. Go to sleep."
Blue eyes fixed him with a stare somewhere between sadness and pleading and Eomer found that he could not look away so hypnotic was that look. Only when Legolas' eyelids dropped and the spell was broken did Eomer blink in confusion.
"Look after Aragorn, Eomer. Make sure he doesn't drink too much this night." Legolas was already closer to sleep than wakefulness, his words soft and slightly slurred.
"Of course I will. Just rest now, my friend."
With the Elf finally safely tucked up in bed and getting the sleep he clearly desperately craved, Eomer crept quietly from the room, shutting the door behind him. The party would no doubt go on for hours yet; no one would be in to disturb Legolas for a while.
Although he didn't particularly feel like mingling anymore, Eomer returned to the increasingly rowdy command post because he couldn't think of anywhere else to go. The two Dwarves, Gimli and Gloin, were currently singing in coarse voices some kind of unintelligible Dwarven ditty atop the tables, heavy feet stomping out a beat against creaking, alcohol-dampened wood. Almost as soon as he entered the tavern, a cup was thrust into his hand by a fellow reveller; although he found that he had lost his appetite for celebration this evening and doubted that even Ranger liquor would restore his spirit.
"Where have you been?" asked Kalub, coming over to him and giving him a playful but hard thump on the back.
Once he'd finished coughing over his drink and shaking the foul liquid off his hand where it had been spilled at the overly rough greeting, Eomer replied, "With Legolas."
Kalub was surprised and didn't bother to hide it from his face. "Oh, I haven't seen him around here."
"He's been in hiding, I think. I gave him my bed to sleep in for the night."
"Right."
"Have you seen Eowyn about?"
"No. Are you staying? Honestly, I think you should. Word is that Jecha and his taciturn companion might do a dance later. Can you imagine?! And Jadan is threatening to sing for everyone. The night is far from over, my friend."
"Uh, yes, I suppose." He looked around, craning his neck to see over the crowds, searching for his sister. He found himself curious about what Eowyn and Legolas had really experienced during the recent Wraith attack. Legolas could not – or would not – tell him anything but perhaps Eowyn could enlighten him. "What about Aragorn? Have you seen him anywhere?"
"No, haven't seen him either. Relax, Eomer. I'm sure they're around here somewhere." With that, Kalub spotted a friend in the crowd and slipped away, hollering across the room a rowdy greeting.
"Something the matter?"
"Jecha," Eomer started, finding the man stood right beside him. "No, nothing. Well, yes, actually. Something Legolas said. He mentioned something just now; it's troubling me, that's all. I thought to speak to Aragorn about it."
"What is it?"
Leaning in close to the Easterling's ear so that he couldn't be overheard by any of the revellers, Eomer said, "I'm worried…Legolas might have been influenced by the Shadow." He hated himself for speaking the words and yet he could not put it from his mind. "I fear he may have been compromised."
For a long minute, Jecha stared at the Rohan man, dark eyes peering above rich burgundy cloth. Releasing the breath he had been holding, Jecha searched out his companion Sonal who sat still and quiet at the bar, eyes watching everything around him but never once glinting with joy at being surrounded by such frivolity. For an instant they locked eyes but said nothing. Then Jecha took Eomer's arm, long fingers gripping just a little too tight for comfort. "Come on; let's go somewhere a little more private to discuss this." Somewhere private turned out to be the exact same spot outside where Eomer had earlier found Legolas. "Do you realise what you're saying?" Despite there being no one at all about, Jecha spoke in a whisper, rushed and urgent.
"Yes, I realise."
"If you just accuse someone of such a thing without proof…"
"I know! I know that, Jecha. But how can I ignore this possibility if I suspect it to be so? Something this important cannot go without investigation."
"Where has this suspicion come from? What has caused such an idea?"
"Something Legolas said. Something happened the other day, during the Wraith attack on the city. I'm not entirely sure what but it was something. He said that he was tempted."
"To do what?"
"By the Shadow. I'm not sure."
Jecha's voice went softer still, "You think that the Shadow attempted to recruit him to the ways of Evil?"
"Who knows what the Shadow has been whispering to him? He would not tell another soul for no one in this city trusts him. And he would not speak of such a thing to Aragorn, would he? He only spoke to me by accident. Had he been in his full wits he would never have said anything, I a certain."
"It's not so unusual, Eomer, to be touched by the Shadow. Spies are everywhere, they constantly attempt to coerce the unsuspecting towards Darkness. Just because a servant of the Shadow tried to tempt Legolas and because he felt tempted to accept whatever Sauron offered him doesn't make him a threat."
"Of course I know that."
"And don't you think that he deserves the benefit of the doubt after all he has done for the cause?"
"Yes, I do. But it is suspicious all the same."
Jecha sighed and raised his hands to rub his eyes, an action seldom seen in the usually composed man. "All right. Have you spoken about this with anyone else?"
"No."
"Good. Do not. I will speak with Legolas, take care of it."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Just that I will take care of it. Better I speak to him about it than any other. From what I've seen and heard, the two of you are not the best of friends. If you confront him, it will only end in argument," Jecha patted Eomer on the shoulder in reassurance. "Don't worry anymore about it."
"Don't worry? Look, you don't know Legolas like I do. He's…If he was tempted to change sides then it would be…"
"I said that I would take care of it."
Not relenting so easily in the face of what he suspected to be a very serious matter, Eomer refused to let the Easterling leave, sidestepping so that he blocked Jecha's retreat. "How?" he demanded shortly, green eyes locked with deep brown. "How will you deal with it? What do you plan on doing, exactly?"
"Are you questioning me, Rohirrim?"
Eomer fought with his immediate impulse to be swayed towards anger by his companion. "Maybe."
"So I am now allied to the Shadow as well? All but you, is that not so?"
A smooth pace forward brought Jecha mere inches from Eomer. What captured the eyes of the Rohan man though was not the anger projected towards him but rather the flash of steel at Jecha's side. Even in celebration, this warrior was armed and fearsome. And yet still Eomer feared the Shadow and its creeping influence amongst them more.
"You don't advise caution?"
"Of course. But I also caution against rampant paranoia. It is a powerful weapon of the Enemy in itself, you should not indulge in it, nor should you encourage others to."
"I am not being paranoid," ground out the taller man through gritted teeth. How he wished he'd had the forethought to be likewise armed. Never again, he silently vowed to himself, would he venture out unarmed. It was careless. "I am being careful. And so should you be."
"Would you be as suspicious, I wonder, if it were another that spoke of such doubts with you?"
"I beg your pardon?"
Calmly, Jecha rephrased as if it was just a case of simple misunderstanding between them, all the while perfectly aware of how much it would irritate Eomer to be spoken to in such a manner. "Do you think you would be as convinced of danger if it had been any other than Legolas who had voiced such a concern to you?"
"You think that this is because of Legolas? You think I have something against him and am attempting to discredit him?"
"It is no secret that you do not care for him."
"That is absurd!"
"Really? Then ask yourself: would we be having this conversation if it were Eowyn who had put voice to her fears? Or Jadan? What about Faramir?" Jecha challenged, his voice remaining soft the entire time he spoke his accusations. "Did you fear this after what Ciaran and Aragorn endured when they glimpsed what lay in the Seeing Stone?" Eomer's empty look prompted Jecha to carry on. "Ciaran looked directly into the Palantir, as did Aragorn after him. It was you who informed all who would listen that the Stone of Seeing is evil, that it turns sane Men to madness. Both of them were touched by the Shadow, by that madness, when they laid hands upon its surface and yet they walk free and unwatched. Why trust them but not Legolas?"
Eomer scoffed at this and, without even thinking, took a submissive step back. "You think that Ciaran was left entirely alone, that he hasn't been constantly and carefully watched after what occurred? You think that Aragorn went entirely unobserved?"
"Persecuted though?"
"Who is persecuting Legolas? I'm discussing this with you before I take any action of my own, justified though that might be, and you are accusing me of being unfair?"
Calmly Jecha said, "And yet we have never had this discussion before tonight."
"Forget I ever said anything about it then if it suits you better!"
With that, Eomer pushed past Jecha, secretly relieved that the Easterling chose not to stop him from leaving.
As he passed, Jecha calmly, infuriatingly calmly in Eomer's opinion, told him, "I will talk to Legolas if it will ease your concern."
"It would," Eomer replied around an exasperated breath. "Thank you."
OIOI
"Please. Please!"
Saruman stared out of the tall window of his study without really seeing what lay beyond the wavering glass. Not that there was anything to see even if he had been focused. Isengard had fallen quiet once more. Ever since Fangorn Forest had been razed to the ground by his Uruk-hai, fuel had been hard to come by and the fire pits had gone dark. So much for his infallible machine of war. A mere lack of wood had stalled it and brought his entire enterprise to a grinding and somewhat embarrassing halt.
"Please! Master!"
The White Wizard sighed in irritation at the constant distraction of his thoughts. He was tired of hearing the same, pitiful cry over and over without rest. It was beginning to grate on his nerves. Weeks of such baleful cries was bound to get anyone riled, particularly as he was stuck within his tower, unable to leave at Sauron's command, unable to escape this torment partly of his own doing. There was just no escaping it. Of course, disobedience had crossed his mind during the long months of his imprisonment. Briefly considered and quickly rejected. He was afraid of Sauron. That never got any easier to admit to himself. And yet fear him, he did. So he stayed.
"Please. Please!"
"Grima," Saruman growled loudly in reply, even though there was no way that his treacherous, currently incarcerated servant could hear. He could just have killed the man, he knew. It would be easy enough. Weak and drowning in self-pity Grima would not put up enough of a fight to even be considered a threat. But he had not received the order to do so yet. Sauron might yet have use for the man who had for a time successfully infiltrated the Rohirrim. Still, for the Wizard, the temptation was there and grew greater with every passing shout.
One month ago, Grima had returned to Isengard, limping on blistered feet from the walk and very near to collapsing at the door in exhaustion, reporting that his mission to retrieve the Palantir from the Rohirrim had been wholly unsuccessful. This failure could not be forgiven, it could not be overlooked for it made Isengard, and in turn, Saruman, look bad. It was an inexcusable crime.
Too afraid of the repercussions of what had transpired, Saruman had yet to inform his superiors in Mordor of the dreadful mistake. He could just imagine what the consequences of such an error in his judgement would be and he was not too proud to admit that he did not want to face any such consequence dished out by the Dark Lord of Mordor. Grima would not be punished by their master for his failure. No, this would fall on Saruman's head. He ruled Isengard and it was he who had entrusted Grima with the important task of bringing the Palantir to Isengard. Blame was his.
Truth be known, he was anxious. He'd had no word from the Black Lands in months. No more visits from the Nine, no messages, no orders, no news at all. It was disconcerting. Granted, he did not like being hassled by the servants of the Shadow he considered to be beneath him, namely all but Sauron himself, but nor, he was finding, did he like being ignored either. Being disregarded in this manner could only mean that someone in the Black Lands was angry with him and that could only ever bode ill for Isengard and its master.
The trouble was, there was nothing he could do. The Palantir currently in his possession had been dark for weeks now. He could, he supposed, have looked into the orb himself, demanded to speak with the Dark Lord and get answers, but he was too afraid to make such a bold move for fear of what Sauron would see of him.
Instead, he paced restlessly about his tower, listening to the pathetic wails of his prisoner and wondering whether his own cries would soon join those of the unfortunate Grima. It was infuriating to be thusly trapped within his own home, fearing for his very life after all he had done for the Lord of Shadow.
"Let me go!" came the desperate cry, echoing off curved walls and clearly reaching Saruman's already tortured ears. "Master, I beg of you! Let me go!"
The Wizard wondered, as he idly shuffled papers around on his large black desk, how long Grima could keep up the tirade. How long could a man survive without food and water? Surely, at least his voice would give up soon and blissful silence would return. Or so he hoped.
OIOI
"This is…disappointing."
"Yes, my Lord. Yes."
"You of all…My most trusted."
Crouched in a painfully low bow, forehead almost scraping the floor, the Mouth of Sauron, newly recovered from injuries sustained in Osgiliath and returned by the Wraiths to Mordor, clasped his clawed hands before him, unabashedly begging for his life. Seldom had he felt such fear as when the Nazgul had announced to him their imminent return to Mordor and their intent to bear him to his home. Facing his master after such failure was never going to be easy. And it so far was going just the way he had predicted.
"Why? How…did this…happen?"
"I know not, Master."
It was indeed a mercy that Sauron was currently not at his best. As a matter of fact, he had rarely looked worse in a host. In the sparse room near the very peak of Barad-dur, the Lord of All Arda was reclined on a plush bed, body spread out ridiculously in an attempt to get some comfort. Once, he would never have deigned to repose as mere mortals did and yet he was now reduced to doing just that. The Elven body, this filthy, degrading carcass he was bound to, was fading once more. He shouldn't complain; it had lasted longer than any of the others. It was progress for the technique to be sure. But still far from good enough. Of course, he had known it wouldn't last and yet he still remained disappointed at its failings. Saruman had promised better for him. Such a failing on the part of the Wizard was unacceptable, although just another in a long line, he thought sourly.
Failing had seemed to become the theme of his day. Which brought his increasingly scattered mind back to the grovelling creature on the floor at his bedside. The pitiful being remained talking, extolling his many virtues in a desperate attempt to inspire clemency.
"Enough."
One word induced complete silence. The being kept its hands clasped before him but raised its head from the floor to stare pleadingly at its master.
"You know now…what we must do." The being cocked its head to one side, smile wide and fixed awkwardly, desperate to please in any way it could. "For once and for all, this must end. I will no longer abide this rebellion in my lands. It has gone on too long already. And the false king grows bolder every day."
"Gondor," hissed the black creature in sick pleasure.
"I want it back."
"Yes!"
For a moment, there was silence. Both were waiting.
Sauron spoke first, rasping and quiet and weary. "Go. Get it done. For me."
"Yes Master." The Mouth of Sauron raised its body from its position of supplication and backed hastily away, back hunched awkwardly all the way out the door in order to maintain its low bow.
He could hardly believe his luck; he had gotten away with his dreadful miscalculation in Osgiliath. Unscathed. It was almost too good to be true. Anyone who was sided with the legions of Shadow knew that deceit lay around every corner. Nothing could be trusted, especially when things were going well.
But he had been given a second chance. He was smart enough not to squander it. Sauron had ordered that Gondor's progress be halted. This victory, for victory was almost certainly assured now, would be his salvation. Do the best job he could on that and he might just come out the other side of the coming battle with his title and his life intact. That was the best he could hope for.
For long moments after his wretched servant vanished from sight, the Dark Lord watched the ceiling above. Ruling in this condition was tiring, he was finding. In this wreck, he could manage but a few hours a day. It was terribly restricting. How could he rule his empire if he was curtailed by these awful inadequacies that were only going to get worse?
His thoughts turned to the Wizard in Isengard. Only one potential vessel remained in the pits beneath Barad-dur. Nowhere near enough to get him through this war that was even now being lined up in Gondor. The magic of the Istar was strong but even it could not sustain an Elven body indefinitely. What Sauron really needed remained frustratingly beyond his reach, with the child currently encamped outside the White City of Gondor.
None could help him, it seemed. Even his strongest, most trusted servants had failed him with regards to the Human pretender standing stubbornly against him. What then could he do? Of course, he knew the rational thing to do would be to take to the battlefield himself, just as he had done during the war when Men and Elf had allied and when he initiated and completed his second takeover of Arda. He had been successful then. Perhaps he could be so again. But much had happened since that last time. He was not all he had once been. He was spent, useless, confined within a body that constantly failed him. Pitiful, that it had come to this. The mighty Lord of Arda brought lower than even the lowest beings to crawl the face of Middle Earth. So much power and he could use none of it.
Sauron's meandering thoughts turned yet again to the White Wizard. Power was something that the ancient Maia had in abundance.
Sauron eased his heavy body up on trembling arms, thoughtful. The Nine had power also. Even the Voice of Mordor had been gifted with magic. His magic. He had gifted it to all of them, therefore it was his to recall any time he chose.
Hope soared in his mind. Perhaps things were finally looking up.
With one sharp silent command, Sauron summoned the Nine to him. For the time being he needed his herald commanding his army. For that reason alone he would let the faithful Voice be. Saruman. That was where the power he needed laid. With the Wizard's magic, combined with his own taken back from the Nazgul, perhaps he could be somewhat of the being he had once been again. The end was approaching and he wanted to be hale and prepared for whatever force Aragorn had lined up for him and his armies.
To Be Continued…