Merry Christmas everyone! Ok, the day after Christmas, but I think it still counts.

For older readers, this is the first chapter, revamped! I added and expanded upon the initial scene when Gandalf first came into Orthanc and fights Saruman. I think it adds some needed detail. I considered combining it with chapter 2, but I decided this was a separate scene altogether, needed to set the stage. I hope you like this new version!

For newer readers, welcome! I hope you enjoy this epic story!

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Prologue 1.

Isengard

Two men walked along a paved road into the door of a imposing black tower, one robed in grey, the other in a shimmering white. They both had the appearance of old men, yet the frailness of age was not upon them, though they both held staffs in their hands. They spoke of the events sweeping across the land.

"Sauron has regained much of his former strength." Saruman spoke, his voice toneless. "He cannot yet take a physical form, but his spirit has lost none of his potency. Concealed within his fortress, the Lord of Mordor sees all. His gazes pierces cloud, shadow, earth and flesh. You know of what I speak, Gandalf. A great Eye. Lidless, wreathed in flame."

Gandalf nodded. He knew of it. He spoke softly."The Eye of Sauron."

"He is gathering all evil to him."Saruman agreed. "Very soon, he will have summoned an army great enough to launch an assault upon Middle Earth."

Gandalf turned to his companion, his gaze questioning. An edge of suspicion crept into his voice. "You know this? How?"

Saruman gave him a mysterious look, his face unreadable. "I have seen it." He beckoned Gandalf to follow him into a huge chamber.

At the very centre of the room was a raised stone plinth. On top of it rested a spherical object covered in a cloth. Saruman lifted the cloth, revealing a glass sphere, lit from the inside by a pulsing red light. Swirls of light swept over the globe, giving it an eerie glow.

Gandalf raised an eyebrow in surprise. So the seeing-stone of Orthanc had been preserved. And Saruman dared to use it? "A palantir is a dangerous tool, Saruman."

Saruman sneered. "Why? Why should we fear to use it? it is tool, no more. An exceedingly useful tool. I have seen things throughout Middle Earth from the comfort of my chamber. And I have seen many things, Gandalf. Many things."

Gandalf felt a claw of foreboding grip his heart. Why was Saruman speaking like this? Something was not right here.

Saruman continued. "The hour is later than you think. Sauron's forces are already moving. The Nine have set out from Minas Morgul."

Gandalf gasped. "The Nine!"

Saruman shrugged. "They are unstoppable. They will find the Ring…and kill the one who carries it."

Gandalf started towards the door, horrified. He had learned what he needed. Frodo was in danger now. He would have set out from the Shire a few days ago. He would have to be there to protect him. suddenly, a loud creaking sounded, and the doors he had been heading for slammed shut, locking themselves with a magical command. Gandalf stopped short of the doors, shocked and puzzled.

From his throne, Saruman spoke calmly. "You did not seriously think a hobbit could contend with the might of Sauron? There are none who can."

The claw of foreboding turned to fear and horror. A niggling suspicion at the back of his mind blossomed into a dawning realization.

"And listen, Gandalf, my old friend and helper! " He said, coming near and speaking now in a

softer voice. "I said we, for we it may be, if you will join with me. A new Power is rising. Against it the old allies and policies will not avail us at all. There is no hope left in Elves or dying Númenor. This then is one choice before you. Before us. We may join with that Power. It would be wise, Gandalf. There is hope that way. Its victory is at hand; and there will be rich reward for those that aided it. As the Power grows, its proved friends will also grow; and the Wise, such as you and I, may with patience come at last to direct its courses, to control it. We can bide our time, we can keep our thoughts in our hearts, deploring maybe evils done by the way, but approving the high and ultimate purpose: Knowledge, Rule, Order; all the things that we have so far striven in vain to accomplish, hindered rather than helped by our weak or idle friends."

It was true then. Saruman had fallen. Gandalf spoke slowly, in a voice grown cold and deadly. "Tell me, friend, when did Saruman the White exchange wisdom for madness?"

Saruman threw back his head and laughed. "Saruman the White? I cast aside that name. I am Saruman the Wise, Saruman of Many Colors!" He stood, and Gandalf suddenly perceived something, as if an illusion had been dropped. Saruman's robes, which had seemed white at first glance, were woven of hundreds of colors, of many hues, all shimmering and blending as he moved to give the original illusion of white.

Gandalf growled. "I liked white better."

Saruman sneered scornfully. "Enough. I bought you hither to give you a choice. Will you submit to me, and to Sauron?"

Gandalf planted his staff firmly on the ground, gathering his power. "I give you my answer then, Saruman. Never."

Saruman's face turned hard as stone, and slowly, like a serpent coiling to strike, he walked down towards Gandalf, his smooth white staff glowing.

Gandalf barely had time to summon a shield before the wave of energy slammed into him, pushing him back. He immediately retaliated with a push of his own, designed to push Saruman off balance. He knew Saruman was stronger than he was. His only hope was to keep Saruman off balance long enough to find a way out.

A chain of lighting erupted out of Saruman's staff, barely missing Gandalf's side and singing his grey robe. Gandalf raised his staff and sent two of his signature fireworks screaming towards Saruman. He avoided one of them and deflected the other with a scornful look, then slammed his staff on the ground. A shockwave of energy burst out from the impact point, knocking Gandalf off his feet.

Gandalf groaned with pain, then swept his staff in front of him, shooting out a blinding bright light, causing Saruman to throw up his hands to shield his eyes, and giving him enough time to recover. A scything bolt of energy flew out of the light towards him. Gandalf barely jumped out of the way in time. His body ached. I'm too old for this.

He resorted to a classic defense, a ring of fire. Sweeping his staff around him in a circular motion, a wall of flame roared into life, surrounding him. he then slammed his staff into the ground, and the burning ring expanded outwards with surprising speed. He hoped this would disorient Saruman, but the other wizard had other plans. Saruman doused the flames with his staff, then fired two spells of binding.

Gandalf barely managed to deflect the first, but the second caught him unprepared. He fell stiffly to the ground, paralyzed. Saruman contemptuously strode over and plucked his staff out of his powerless hands.

Gandalf was now utterly helpless, his own staff turned against him. Saruman pointed both staffs at him, and he was pinned down by the force. Saruman had an evil glint in his eye, and he slammed Gandalf repeatedly into the walls and the floor. Gandalf groaned in excruciating pain. The pain was too much. He couldn't fight his own staff along with Saruman.

"I offered you a choice" growled Saruman, slamming Gandalf into the wall. Gandalf gasped in pain as his ribs collided with the wall. "But you have elected the way of…pain!" Each word was emphasized with Gandalf slamming into something or other. Saruman raised both staffs, and Gandalf felt himself rising against his will. He flew higher and higher, until he was at the very top of Saruman's tower, Orthanc.

He had been defeated. He was a prisoner now.

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Now, a tired, hunched figure with tattered robes of grey, he lay upon the top of Orthanc, at the platform in the centre of the four black spires. Up here, without his staff, with no way to get down, he was well and truly at the mercy of Saruman. He paced up and down the small platform, the moon shining in his hair. He was helpless. Even now, Frodo would be at Bree, perhaps even at the inn, with the Ringwraiths closing in on him. He had left a letter with Butterbur, the innkeeper, but that man had a tendency to forget the things that were most important. All his thoughts and prayers now rested on the ability of Aragorn to find the hobbits and help them before the Ringwraiths did.

Suddenly, he sensed the presence of something else, something pure, innocent, untainted by the evil here. A small moth fluttered past the tall spires. An idea hit him. In a quick, darting movement, he caught the moth and held it in the hollow of his hand, and spoke to it, an appeal in the language everything understands. A simple word:"Help". He released the moth, and it fluttered away, towards the direction of the Misty Mountains. A small piece of hope flared within him. Someone will hear, someone will come. The old man settled down for a long wait.

Unknown to him, his message would reach ears far beyond what he had intended. Far enough, even to reach another world. And help would come. Help from another World.

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DUN DUN DUN!

Okay, then. I will be starting work on chapter 2. I think that's the messiest chapter so far. I still had no idea how to use quotation marks then. (embarrassed) So, I will update my bio at my profile page regularly to reflect changes. Readers can come here to see which chapters have already been revamped, ok?

Leave a review saying which things you liked and which things are better!

PJCrazy signing out.