another chapter!

The door's handle glowed white for a moment, accompanied by a light tap. The door swung open, admitting Saruman and his accomplice. "Wake her, Gríma," the wizard said. The man crouched by the elf, noticing as he did so that her eyes were shut tight.

The girl whimpered softly and curled into a ball, arms still attached to the wall. "My lord," Gríma said, reaching down and placing a hand on her face. It was burning hot.

The wizard cursed, crouching and splayed his fingers over the girl's forehead, murmuring something in a strange language. The girl shuddered and moaned, sweat creating a sheen over her pale features. The light emitting from her skin was barely visible. Saruman glanced to her legs, one of which was a nasty shade of red. Something was giving off a horrible smell of rotting flesh. He tapped the manacles, which opened and fell to the ground with a clatter. "Get her up," he spat to Gríma. The man leaned down and lifted the elf into his arms. She was very light. Saruman swept out of the dungeon, ascending the steep stairs and opening the door to the other stairs, leading Gríma to a chamber off the room containing the palantir.

There was a table there, surrounded by various books and bottles. Gríma laid the elf down on the table, while Saruman looked through the books, muttering.

"Ah." The wizard picked up a bottle that had been under a cloth. "This will lower her fever and return her to some form of consciousness, and it might begin to heal her leg." He propped the girl up and opened her mouth, then poured a few drops down her throat.

He laid her back down and waited for a moment, while the girl's breathing eased, she stopped shaking, and her light grew slowly brighter. Gríma watched as her leg returned to a slightly less harsh colour, the gashes scabbing over.

"We can question her in a moment." Saruman left the room and returned a moment later with a chair. He sat himself in it and watched as the girl began to stir, moaning. Saruman smiled and leaned forward. "You're alright now. You are going to be fine."

She groaned, and her eyes flickered open. A confused look passed over her face. "N-no. They said…"

"What did they say?" Saruman asked.

"T-they said you fell. A Balrog."

"No, no. I'm here. What is your name?" Saruman said, leaning over her.

Her gold eyes seemed unfocused, and she frowned slightly. "I…"

"It's alright," Saruman assured her. "Just tell me your name."

"You know it," she muttered. "You taught me how to fight."

The wizard felt frustration sweep through his mind, but he ignored it and smiled. "Humor me."

"Tirnel."

"Who are you?"

"You know it, you know you do. I am the secret child of Thranduil. Radagast told you."

Saruman felt the heady sense of shock and twisted delight fill him, even as the elf's eyelids drooped and she slept again. "Gríma," he said, voice shaking with triumph. "We have a very valuable opportunity, if we bide our time."

A crash shook the tower from top to bottom, and Saruman staggered over to the window as Gríma whined about his head hitting the corner of the table.

Far, far below, trees were swarming at the walls of Isengard: Ents had come. In the branches of one, two tiny figures were clinging to the limbs for dear life.

Merry hadn't stopped grinning since they had approached the tower. One of the ents had ripped up a stone bigger than a respectable pantry, its fingers winding around the stone and lifting it as if it were a breadcrumb, then tossed it at Orthanc itself. The resounding crash shook them all, but Merry laughed and hefted a stone of his own.

The ents swept into the grounds, wiping away crowds of orcs like so many midges, stomping on those who tried to turn to archery. One ent was pulled to the ground by ropes, orcs beginning to hack at it with axes, but Treebeard threw a boulder that plowed through the orcs as if they were pebbles. Pippin and Merry both threw as many stones as they had, Pippin knocking one orc back into the cavern that it stood over. "A fine hit," Treebeard commented, as if at a sporting match. Orcs shot at some ents with fiery arrows, setting one ablaze before Treebeard gave his next command.

"Break the dam! Release the river!" he bellowed, and the ents obeyed, pulling at the braces that kept the water in check.

"Pippin!" Merry yelled, clinging to Treebeard's head. "Hold on!" Treebeard seemed to be literally rooting himself to the spot, digging vines into cracks.

"Hold on little hobbits!" he roared as the water hit them. The hobbits were jarred, but clung on as the other ents took the water's hit. The one who had been on fire dunked himself in the river.

Caverns filled with water, the orcs who had been in them drowning or crushed by their machinery, and a great cloud of steam rose from the pits as fires were extinguished. The river resumed it course, and the battle was won.

yay, another one done. I'm really trying yall.