Found as a baby within Saruman's tower, Tuilindil is adopted and raised in the 4th Age after Sauron's defeat. The curious elf grows close to Legolas, who comes to visit Minas Tirith. One day, Saruman's dark magic sends her back into the past as his...
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In the dark depths of his towering fortress, Orthanc, Saruman the White, once Chief of the Istari, sat upon his ancient chair, surrounded by the trappings of his immense power. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows upon the cold sftone walls, while the air itself seemed heavy with anticipation. The fallen wizard, having shed his noble title due to his unholy alliance with the enemy, exuded an aura of both cunning and grandeur.
His piercing eyes, once filled with wisdom and kindness, now glinted with a malevolent gleam. Saruman possessed a skill coveted by many, the ability to control the minds of others. With mere words, he could charm and bedazzle even the mightiest of beings. Such was his prowess that not even the Dark Lord Sauron dared to challenge him openly, for he feared the cunning that lay within Saruman's very being. And so, the One Ring, the object of ultimate power, beckoned to him, drawing him ever closer to its coveted embrace.
Hunched over a parchment, Saruman's quill scratched against the paper, meticulously recording his plans, schemes, and contingencies. His mind, sharp as a finely honed blade, contemplated every outcome, every possibility. Hours upon hours he toiled, considering the intricacies of the Ring's fate and his own.
The parchment, filled with his calculated machinations, was carefully rolled and placed amongst its brethren, forming a collection of meticulously prepared strategies. Saruman knew that the Ring would soon be his, for he felt it in his very core. It was his destiny to possess the ultimate power and wield it to shape the world to his desires.
Yet, in the recesses of his brilliant mind, Saruman was no fool. He knew that the road to absolute dominion was fraught with peril, and even the best-laid plans could falter. Thus, he had prepared himself for the slim chance of failure, should the Ring be destroyed and his current mortal form discarded.
Through his immense knowledge and forbidden arts, he had woven spells and crafted talismans that would allow him to cheat even death itself. Pride surged within him, for he alone possessed control over his own destiny, even in the face of ultimate defeat. Such was his ambition, his audacity, that he dared to challenge the natural order of the world and claim mastery over life and death.
With a sense of contentment and self-assurance, Saruman rose from his seat, his aged hand grasping the staff of power. Its polished surface gleamed under the dim light, a symbol of his authority and ambition. He strode out of the chamber, his mind resolute and his heart filled with unwavering conviction.
Walking with purpose down the long, circular flight of marble steps, Saruman entered the small kitchen on the ground floor of Orthanc. To any casual observer, the room appeared ordinary, with the flickering light of a hearth casting a warm glow. But Saruman knew the secrets that lay hidden beneath the surface.
Stopping beside a worn rug positioned in the middle of the room, he used the tip of his foot to push it aside, revealing a concealed trapdoor. With a whispered word and a resounding click, the trapdoor unlocked, and the glow of his staff illuminated a narrow passageway leading downwards. Carefully descending the rough stone slab stairs, Saruman was enveloped by dancing shadows, his presence hidden from prying eyes.
