The Unforgiven { Legolas x OC - LotR Fanfiction}

Tower of Isengard

A great ring wall of stone, like towering cliffs, stood out from the mountainside's shelter, from which it ran and then returned. One who passed in and came at length out of the echoing tunnel, beheld a plain, a great circle, somewhat hollowed like a vast shallow bowl: a mile it measured from rim to rim. Once, it had been green and filled with avenues, and groves of fruitful trees, watered by streams that flowed from the mountains to a lake. But no green thing grew there in the latter days of Saruman. The roads were paved with stone flags dark and hard, and besides their borders instead of trees, there marched long lines of pillars, some of marble, some of copper and iron, joined by heavy chains, to the center all the roads ran between their chains.

There stood a tower of marvelous shape. It was fashioned by the builders of old, who smoothed the Ring of Isengard, and yet it seemed a thing not made by the craft of Men, but riven from the bones of the earth in the ancient torment of the hills. A peak and isle of rock it was, black and gleaming hard: four mighty piers of many-sided stone were welded into one, but near the summit, they opened into gaping horns, their pinnacles sharp as the points of spears, keen-edged as knives. Between them was a narrow space, and thereupon a floor of polished stone, written with strange signs, a man might stand five hundred feet above the plain. (depicted by J.R.R Tolkien)

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In the middle of the tower, the stoned and ancient stairs stood Saruman; he swept down the Orthanc stairs. "Gandalf the Grey rides to Isengard seeking my counsel... For that is why you have come, is it not, my old friend?" He asked the Grey wizard, although he already knew the answer.

If the tower of Iron, built on blood and bone, could talk and beg for deafness. However, Gandalf couldn't hear the whispers of the ages, tales of lives lost, and deaths of agony that echoed around the staircases of twisted rock. And even if he did, he was still trusting Saruman the Wise. He moved quickly towards him, grimy and weary from his long ride. "Saruman! The Ring of power has been found," he responded with seriousness in his voice.

"Are you sure of this?" Saruman buzzed as he stepped down the Orthanc stairs, which had much to say and no ears willing to hear, no soul willing to feel the torment that lay within.

"Beyond any doubt. All these long years, it was in the Shire, under my very nose." Gandalf responded in a dose of silliness, climbing up the stairs and following Saruman inside the Iron Fortress.

"And yet you did not have the wit to see it! Your love of the Halfling's leaf has clearly slowed your mind." The white wizard commented as they slowly reached the side of the cavernous central chamber.

In the western parts of the chamber stood Ethir. The young girl with cheeks that always seemed flushed and curls that did a lively dance when she ran had now grown to something dim and gloomy. Gandalf bypassed Ethir casting a fast glance at her and noting that he had to talk with the troubled child "We still have time...time enough to counter Sauron...if we act quickly.."

"Sauron has regained much of his former strength. He cannot yet take physical form... But his spirit has lost none of the potency. Concealed within his fortress, the lord of Mordor sees all. His gaze pierces cloud, shadow, earth, and flesh. You know of what I speak, Gandalf... Great Eye, lidless, wreathed in flame." Saruman the Wise divulged proudly.

Gandalf's eyes opened widely. "The eye of Sauron. Do you know this? How?" Saruman lifted the cloth to reveal the Palantir, as Gandalf added, "A Palantir is a dangerous tool, Saruman. You cannot simply use it."

"Why? Why should we fear to use it?" Saruman voiced as he sat on his throne. "The hour is later than you think. Sauron's forces are already moving... They have left Minas Morgul. They crossed the river Isen on Midsummer's Eve, disguised as riders in black..."