Saruman found himself standing on a familiar balcony overlooking a moonlit landscape, that he was surprised to recognize as the plains of Naboo. "I must be dreaming," he murmured to himself. In spite of his unease, he allowed himself to relax in the comfort of familiar surroundings. He leaned against the gilded railing until a sound behind him made him whirl around. There was a man dressed in simple brown robes standing behind him. He had long hair, a short beard, and kind, but intense eyes.

"Master Dooku," is that any way to greet your old student?"

Saruman shook his head. "No. You are dead, and this is just a dream. Qui-gon Jinn is no more."

"Maybe so," Qui-gon said, "but surely your memories are alive and well? And your connection with the Force? I do not think you can deny that."

Saruman tried to think of a retort, but he couldn't. He sighed.

"I suppose not. But you must understand, I have a new life now, a new name. The Force is still my ally, but you, and everyone else from that world, is behind me. I will forget you all when I can come to accept that."

"You cannot run from your past forever," Qui-gon said ominously. "No matter how many worlds you flee to - your past will always flee there with you."

As soon as he finished speaking, a red lightsaber punched through his chest, and Saruman bellowed in rage as the cloaked attacker withdrew the weapon and fled into the shapeless shadows behind the balcony. Saruman reached out to hold Qui-gon's body, but it too disappeared, leaving Saruman to weep alone in the darkness.

When Saruman opened his bleary eyes, he noticed that the cart had stopped, and Gandalf's bedding was gone. He peered over the edge of the cart and saw Gandalf sleeping on a flat place nearby. The sun was just breaking over the horizon, turning the sky various shades of pale orange and pink, but the stars were still visible in the darker parts of the sky. Saruman wondered which stars belonged to his universe, or if those stars were even visible from here. And he wondered - though he shuddered to think it - how many Jedi had lost their lives at the hand of the corrupt Republic since he had fled...and how many more would join his old apprentice on the funeral pyre.

After Gandalf awoke, they resumed their journey. Though they took the longer route, the road and the surrounding countryside seemed more pleasant and inviting. Gandalf didn't say much to Saruman during the trip, most likely still feeling a little awkward about how the Council's response to Saruman's unorthodox ideas for fighting Sauron. But when the cart pulled up to his hovel, he smiled, as if relieved that this part of the trip was behind them.

"We must leave for Isengarde at once," Gandalf said as they stepped through the threshold of his home. "As soon as Sauron becomes aware of the presence of the Ring, we will have little time to warn the people before he raises a force to search for it."

Saruman followed him, leaning on his staff as he watched Gandalf gathering items they would need for the next journey. After a few moments, he sighed heavily, and Gandalf paused to glance at him.

"What is the matter, my friend? I know you are disappointed that the others did not agree to your plan, but you must understand the danger such a ruse would impose. Sauron is powerful, even in his reduced state. Even if you were able to gain his confidence, you would not be able to destroy him from within. He cannot be destroyed until his Ring is destroyed, and to do that you would have to cast it into the fires of Mordor."

"I do not know how something so small as a ring could bear so much power," Saruman muttered in frustration. Gandalf stopped gathering things and directed his full attention to the new wizard.

"Soon you will learn that size does not reveal an object's true power," he said.

An image flashed through Saruman's mind - a little green creature who was the revered master of the Jedi Order. He smiled dryly. "I think I can imagine."

Gandalf grunted, continuing. "The Ring may be small, bt it was forged by Sauron. He used the dark arts to graft a portion of his own soul into it. That means it is an anchor to this world, for his soul. Should he be reunited with it, he would regain his corporeal form and become as powerful as he had been before...perhaps unstoppable."

With this said, Gandalf resumed packing, plucking various bottles and paper-wrapped packages from a nearby shelf. Saruman stroked his beard in thought, concern furrowing his brow.

"If what you say about Sauron is true," he said slowly, "Then it is imperative that you travel swiftly to spread the word. It would be better if you went without me."

Gandalf turned round to stare at him, nearly dropping the jar of tobacco he was about to put in his satchel.

"Are you not well?"

"I am not exactly fleet of foot," Saruman replied, patting his leg with one hand. "Surely you remember the state I was in when you first found me, just a few days ago. I am still recovering. You will be faster without me."

Gandalf looked like he was about to argue, but he shook his head and went over to a desk. He rooted through a basket of scrolls and pulled one out, handing it to Saruman. The other wizard reached out tentatively and took it. He felt magic coursing through it, but didn't open it.

"What is this?"

"A map," Gandalf said. "A very special map. It was given to me by the Elven Queen Galadriel, a long, long time ago. Imbued with Elven magic, this map will show you how to get to any place in our world. All you have to do is open it and ask. When you are well enough, you can use it to find me."

Saruman nodded solemnly, realizing that Gandalf was entrusting a very precious treasure to him.

"I will take care of it," he promised. Gandalf smiled.

"Good. Perhaps you will make better use of it that I have - it has been sitting on my desk for the better part of a century." He chuckled. "You might even visit the Hobbits in the Shire before joining me. You know they are not far from here, and they always love company."

"Thank you," Saruman said, tucking the scroll away under his cloak. He watched silently as Gandalf finished packing the necessities. Gandalf slung his satchel over his shoulder, took his staff in one hand, and with the other clasped Saruman's hand firmly.

"Stay safe, Saruman."

"And safe travels to you," Saruman replied.

Gandalf nodded, smiled a bit sadly, then left, the wooden door swinging closed behind him.

Saruman listened as Gandalf rode away on his horse, the hoofbeats quickly fading into silence. When he was certain that Gandalf was gone, Saruman went over to a shelf and began packing a satchel of his own, filling it with dried meats, apples, and a flask of water. He took out the scroll that Gandalf had given him and unrolled it, laying it flat against a table. It was blank, but this did not deter him. He laid his hands against the parchment's surface, heart beatiing faster as he whispered, "Show me the way to Sauron."

The parchment seemed to vibrate lightly under his touch, and dark, smooth lines appeared, as if painted by an invisible brush. The unseen painter drew a hovel that Saruman recognized as Gandalf's, where he was now. Then roads appeared, surrounded by forests and rivers and hills. One road went through a jagged mountain pass, and wound into a dark foest of spiky, leafless trees. Eventually it came to a stop before what appeared to be an old castle, or perhaps an abandoned fortress. A name scrawled in neat calligraphy appeared below it: Isyll Tor. Saruman noted the path in his mind, estimating the time it would take to go there. Barring any mishaps or unwanted encounters, it looked like a four day's journey by horse...not that he had that option at the moment. Gandalf had taken the only horse to Isengarde, so unless Saruman somehow found or bought a horse, he would have to walk. His gaze wandered along the path to Isyll Tor again, pausing when he noticed a byway that led to a set of rolling hills...some with round doors set into them. He recognized it instantly - the Shire. The home of the Hobbits, he remembered fondly from his brief visit there with Gandalf. It looked like only half a day's walk from here. Perhaps the Hobbits would have a horse to lend or sell. Without a better option, Saruman decided to head that way. He put the scroll away, gathered up his satchel, and took his staff. making sure his light saber was still attached to his inner belt, he left Gandalf's hovel and made his way toward the Shire.

The walk to the Shire was not unpleasant. Though Saruman's leg did indeed pain him, the road was even and the weather was fair. The forest surrounding Gandalf's hovel was full of life - birds of every color flitted through the branches overhead and filled the air with their songs. Warm, radiant sunlight filtered through the canopy, dappling the loamy soil below. A pair of squirrels ran across the path ahead of him, chattering for a moment before dashing up the nearest tree. Saruman found it all very surreal. Never in his life had he experienced a world like this. The closest thing he could liken it to was a garden on Corescant, but even those had been contained by electric fences and climate controls. The forest gradually gave way to fields, and the fields became gently rolling hills. The hills were so green that for a moment, Saruman suspected they were covered in artificial grass. But then he remembered where he was. No one would have the technology to do that, at least that he knew of. the road took him past a hill with a round door in the side, which he recognized from his previous journey with Gandalf - the home of Bilbo Baggins. Saruman wondered if he should pay the Hobbit a visit, but looking closely at the door, he noticed a sign hanging on it that read: "On an adventure. Will be back later. Do NOT sell my things."

Saruman chuckled at the last bit. Gandalf had told him that Bilbo had returned from his last journey to find his relatives auctioning off his belongings, because they had assumed he had died. Wherever the adventurous halfling had gone now, it looked like he was taking no chances. Saruman continued walking into the little town, smiling when he noticed a young girl Hobbit peering out of a window at him. She grinned, showing a missing tooth, and disappeared. Moments later, a man and lady Hobbit came out of the house, the lady carrying the little girl.

"Mister Saruman," the man Hobbit called. "Pleasure to see you again. What brings you? Where is Gandalf?"

"Gandalf the Grey is presently engaged in another matter," Saruman said. He fumbled for the Hobbit's name. "Ragby, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," the Hobbit said, smiling toothily. "Ragby Cullins. You didn't get to meet the missus last time. This is Holly, and our little angel, Illia."

"Pleasure to meet you," Sarumann said, dipping his head.

"Now," Ragby said, rubbing his hands together. "How can we be of service to you? It isn't every day we have a wizard in our midst."

"I actually came in search of a horse," Saruman said, feeling a little foolish. Any horse that the Hobbits would have would be too small for him to ride. "Or perhaps a pony?"

"Traveling, eh?" Ragby said. "Well, we do have a few ponies, but nothing large enough if riding is your intention. A cart, however, could be arranged."

"A human-sized cart, I hope," Saruman said jokingly.

Ragby laughed. "Even better - a wizard-sized cart!" He raced away toward a stable at the end of the road. "Come with me!" he cried.

Ragby's wife rolled her eyes, but her voice was warm with affection. "Men are always so exciteable at that age."

Saruman chuckled in agreement, bidding her and her daughter goodbye.

By the time he reached the stable, Ragby had already disappeared inside. Saruman was going to wait for him outside, but he was surprised when the Hobbit rushed outside, crying for help. He crashed into Saruman, who staggered back but kept his footing.

"What's going on?" he asked in concern.

Ragby's face was contorted in grief. "Oh, Mister Saruman, it's my cousin, Colton Cullins. He's the stable keeper, and I came to see him about the cart, and he..." he paused, trying to control the quiver in his voice. "I found him dead. I...I need to tell his mother."

"Stay," Saruman said, placing a comforting hand on the Hobbit's shoulder. "Show me."

Ragby swallowed and nodded, leading the way into the stable. Saruman stooped to fit inside the short building. it was made of rich, dark wood that had the grain of pine but the strength of oak. A thick layer of straw covered the floor, and sunlight came in through windows in the ceiling. A few ponies were standing or lying down in their pens, but one pen was empty...or so it looked until Ragby led Saruman closer. In it lay an unmoving Hobbit. He looked to be roughly Ragby's age, with the same golden-brown hair and flat, round nose. His face did not express any pain or surprise, which would have indicated foul play. Saruman carefully stepped past Ragby, who was crying uncontrollably.

Saruman went into the pen and knelt by the Hobbit, laying a hand on his chest. There was no heartbeat, but Saruman could feel, by the Force or by magic, a flicker of life. He closed his eyes, concentrating on it like it was a small ember. With careful manipulation, he used tiny bursts of magic to bring it to life, growing it until it was a full flame again. Suddenly, the Hobbit sat up and retched, dislodging the pipe piece that had been stuck in his throat. Saruman opened his eyes and smiled at Colton Cullins, who looked back at him in amazement and a little embarrassed. "I swear I'll never smoke on the job again, sir," he croaked.

Ragby had obviously heard his cousin's voice, because he rushed into the pen, his eyes round as saucers. "You're alive?!" He grabbed his cousin in a bearlike hug, if bears were small and capable of tearful reunions. "Thank you for bringing him back," he said to Saruman. "I don't think any wizard has done that before. You must be the most powerful wizard alive!"

"I do what I can," Saruman said modestly.

"As my thanks," Ragby said as tears ran down his cheeks, "you can have my ponies, Shamrock and Lily."

"And my ponies, as well," Colton added. "Cornrose and Piper. We'll hitch them to the biggest cart we have, as our thanks."

In the time it took to get the ponies and cart ready, it seemed the whole Shire had heard about Colton's return from the dead. The news of Saruman's power brought almost every Hobbit out to meet him and thank him, and to wish him well on his journey. They bid him to stop by when he returned, and he promised he would. Then he left, riding on a cart drawn by four ponies.