𝕰𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖆

Chapter Forty-One: The Fall Of Orthanc

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The trees of the forest began to grow sparser and the air heavier, as our horses steadily approached Isengard. Tree stumps stuck up from the ground, and gnarled roots lay torn from the cool earth they'd once inhabited. The trees that had once belonged to them fallen victim to the industry of Saruman's tyrannical campaign. Soon, the earth below the horses grew softer and muddier, and before long our mounts were wading through ankle-deep water. Legolas and I exchanged glances as we plodded on.

The water soon disappeared, however, as we began to ascend a gradual rocky slope. The slope, evidently a path coated in ruin, led to the walls that surrounded Isengard. Where once there had been a gate, a gaping hole was cleaved into the wall, the producer of the rubble that was scattered over the path behind us. As we neared the tower, a dark feeling took over me, burning faintly, deep in my chest. I brushed it off, chalking it up to sore memories.

At last, the ground levelled and the ruin of Isengard stood before us, wholly devastated and yet somehow more serene than ever it had been. And there, sitting proudly amongst the rubble of the wall was a sight for very sore eyes.

"Haha!" the sound of Pippin's joyous laughter fell over us like warm sunlight, as the hobbit lifted a tankard in greeting.

The Hobbits sat amongst an array of pillaged goods, opened crates with their contents spilled out over the rocks. Merry stood regally, spreading his arms in welcome.

"Welcome, my Lords, to Isengard!" he swept a hand backwards at the tower that stuck up like an uprooted tree from the watery ruin that surrounded it.

"You young rascals!" Gimli called gruffly from his seat behind Legolas, "A merry hunt you've led us on, and now we find you feasting and smoking!"

"We are sitting on a field of victory, and enjoying a few well-earned comforts," Pippin said dismissively through a mouthful of food, "The salted pork is particularly good."

Gimli's anger faded instantly into mild curiosity, "Salted pork?"

"Hobbits," Gandalf breathed in frustration, with a shake of his head.

"We're under orders from Treebeard, whose taken over management of Isengard," Merry said.

Gandalf nodded, "He's precisely whom I mean to speak with."

"You mean you didn't come all this way to reunite with the intelligence of your Company?" Pippin frowned.

"She is already here, if you'd like to know," I smiled from behind Aragorn.

"Elena!" Merry smiled brightly.

"You look dreadful," Pippin frowned.

"Thanks very much, Pippin," I laughed heartily, "I hope you'll excuse my appearance, we've not all had the luxury of salted pork and pilfered pipe-weed to quench our after-battle appetites."

"Now you might part with that salted pork and pipe-weed and get on a horse, unless you wish to wade across the field to the tower," Gandalf said.

Merry and Pippin shot a glance at the ruin over their shoulders, and immediately snapped to attention, coming to the horses of Éomer and Gamling. The two Men lifted the Hobbits up onto the steeds, and Gandalf cracked the whips of his own horse, again taking the lead.

His horse cut a path through the rubble, stepping cautiously around the rocks that stuck out jaggedly from the ruined wall. Once the wall was cleared, the horses were plunged into water deeper than before, which submerged half of their legs in murky grey.