The carnage and smell of death becomes a reality when the sun fully rises. Numbers of survivors are accounted for, families reunite, and the death toll has to be accepted. Pyres filled with corpses of the Uruk-Hai burn on the battlefield and funerals begin since the bodies of soldiers cannot be taken on the long journey back to Edoras. I continue working in the make-shift infirmary that is filled with cries and moaning from the injured who suffer everything from stab wounds to missing limbs, like the young boy laying in the cot in front of me. An Elvish Elleth steps away from the man beside me, as the Elves are trying to help heal the soldiers as well.
"I can't believe you fought with the men," the boy says, trying to sound excited in his feverish state.
I smile at him as I wipe down his forehead again with a cool cloth.
"I did for it is my job to help protect the realm from the enemy," I say and move to examine the bandage covering the stump of what was once his arm.
Battle is always an ugly affair, but the hardest part about it seems to come afterwards when realities like the one that happened to this boy begin to set in. Anger, sadness, disbelief, and exhaustion all comes at once. I am angry that this small boy and others like him had to even be a part of this horror.
"The Elven healer did well on your arm earlier," I say with a smile, cleaning up the very little blood left over and make sure the skin healed over properly.
I look a few beds over to see Aragorn trying to relax a man while an Elf pulls shrapnel from his leg. I can relate to him as a healer had to do the same thing to me earlier. Aragorn and I have been here the whole night and most of the morning because of our knowledge of healing, but also because the number of healers is slim compared to the injured. One of the curtains nearby is pushed back to reveal Éomer who is still in his blood covered armor. Then again, I can't say much because Aragorn and I are still dressed in parts of ours as well. Éomer nods behind him so I turn back to give the boy a pat on the hand one last time and walk over to the Third Marshall.
"What's up?" I ask in concern.
"Our party is going to Isengard now," he whispers.
I nod and turn to Aragorn. I only have to give him one look before he parts with his patient and makes his way over to us.
"Are we ready to go so soon?" he asks.
"You two have been in here all night," Éomer jokes, glad to see a small smile on his face despite him having to bury his own dead men all day. "We must go now."
We leave the infirmary behind and move through the stone frame where the gate once was to meet the rest of the group on the causeway who are already on horseback. Gandalf sits proudly on the back of Shadowfax next to Théoden. Éomer hops onto his warhorse, Firefoot, while I make my way to Legolas who holds the reigns of he and Gimli's horse and Ashkin.
"Thanks," I say tiredly as I grab the reins.
Aragorn hops onto Ashkin first before pulling me up behind him, grateful for the lift since I can barely feel my feet. In times like this, I can feel my training in Valinor paid off when I have to force myself to push forward despite my body protesting, whether it be for a few hours or several days without rest. We begin to take off and I cannot help but be lulled to sleep against Aragorn's back.
* * * *
"Faylen."
I awake groggily, and see the tower of Orthanc looming ahead, not realizing that I fell asleep for so long.
"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep," I reply to my brother.
"Why are you sorry?" he chuckles.
"Because here I am sleeping when you have been awake ever since the Warg attack."
"I'm fine. I'll get some sleep eventually."
I roll my eyes.
"I know where I got my stubbornness from," I mutter.
Aragorn shakes with laughter as our party stops. Broken walls that once acted as protection are crumbled and inches of water cover the ground. I stare in amazement at the Ents who stand around the grounds, thankful that they did this. Familiar laughter sounds nearby and Aragorn leads Ashkin to trot around the wall's corner to show two familiar Hobbits, their voices loud and full of laughter. I raise my eyebrows, not believing my eyes when I see Merry and Pippin sitting atop a broken wall while smoking at their pipes with ale in hand. I am so excited to see them once again. They recognize everyone just staring and sit up frivolously in welcome. The king and Gandalf approach them.
"Welcome, my lord, to Isengard!" Merry says and gestures behind him.
"You young rascals!" Gimli angrily says from his horse next to Ashkin. "A merry hunt you've led us on, and now we find you, feasting and smoking!"
"We are sitting on a field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts," Pippin says proudly. "The salted pork is particularly good."
"Salted pork?!" Gimli shouts, his head about to explode in anger.
"Hobbits," Gandalf mutters while shaking his head.
"We're under orders, from Treebeard, who's taken over management of Isengard," Merry says.
He gestures to an Ent standing proudly at the foot of Orthanc.
"Come on you two," Gandalf sighs.
Merry and Pippin are forced to leave their perch and jump in the saddles behind Gandalf and Éomer who gives me a look of confusion when feeling the Hobbit jump up behind him. He worriedly looks between Merry and me and I have to hold back laughter, the site of a Hobbit sitting with the next heir of Rohan on a warhorse is something I never thought I'd see. We slowly move to the Ent, Treebeard, and the foot of the tower.
"Young Master Gandalf. I'm glad you've come. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master. But there is a wizard to manage here, locked in his tower," Treebeard says.
"Be careful. Even in defeat, Saruman is dangerous," Gandalf warns us.
"Well, let's just have his head and be done with it," Gimli says impatiently.
"You have fought many wars and slain many men, Théoden King, and made peace afterwards." a loud voice booms.
I look around to pin Saruman down, him appearing at the very top of Orthanc.
"Can we not take counsel together as we once did, my old friend. Can we not have peace, you and I?" Saruman asks.
"We shall have peace!" Théoden says, my eyes looking worriedly to him before he moves on and changes my mind. "We shall have peace when you answer for the burning of the Westfold and the children that lie dead there! We shall have peace when the lives of the soldiers whose bodies were hewn even as they lay dead against the gates of the Hornburg are avenged! When you hang from a gibbet for the sport of your own crows, we shall have peace."
"Gibbets and crows? Dotard! What do you want, Gandalf Greyhame? Let me guess, the key of Orthanc or perhaps the keys of Barad-dur itself along with the crowns of the seven kings and the rods of the five wizards," Saruman bellows down.
"Your treachery has already cost many lives, thousands more are at risk. But you can save them Saruman. You were deep in the enemy's counsel!" Gandalf reasons back.
"So you have come here for information. I have some for you!" Saruman says and holds a sphere up.
My heart drops when I see it is one of the Palantir, one he must have found after they were all lost. I grip onto Aragorn tighter, feeling the sudden evil of it overtake me as I try to fight back against the shadow.
"Something festers in the heart of Middle-Earth. Something that you have failed to see. But the Great Eye has seen it," the dark wizard says as he moves the Palantir from site. "Even now he presses his advantage. His attack will come soon. You're all going to die!"
I tune Saruman's taunting out when a glimpse of an eye surrounded by fire suddenly comes into my mind and stares back into my very self. I squeeze my eyes shut and when I open them, the image is gone yet still haunting.
"I've heard enough!" Gimli says before turning to Legolas quietly. "Shoot him. Stick an arrow in his gob."
"No," Gandalf says, the Dwarf not being as quiet as he thought. "Come down, Saruman, and your life will be spared."
"Save your pity and your mercy. I have no use for it!" Saruman says and before anyone can see it coming, the wizard shoots down a ball of fire.
It instantly surrounds Gandalf but just as fast a bright light flashes and some sort of shield surrounds him, the flames dying down.
"Saruman, your staff is broken!" Gandalf says and Saruman's staff shatters into pieces.
Grima Wormtongue comes into view as he wearily looks over the tower's edge.
"Grima, you need not follow him. You were not always as you are now. You were once a man of Rohan, come down," Théoden calls up.
Saruman begins to taunt the king now, but Théoden ignores his words and continues to reason with Grima, which surprises me after what the man did to him.
"Free? He will never be free!" Saruman says.
Grima looks in astonishment at his master before being hit, knocking him down.
"Saruman! You were deep in the enemy's counsel. Tell us what you know!" Gandalf says.
"You withdraw your guard and I will tell you where your doom will be decided. I will not be held prisoner here!" Saruman counters back.
Suddenly Grima lunges at Saruman and stabs a dagger into him repeatedly. All the wizard can do is stand there in shock. At the speed of lightning, Legolas has his bow drawn and shoots an arrow at Grima who falls back and releases his hold on Saruman. Saruman hurtles to the ground, instantly being impaled on a spike attached to some sort of wheel machine in front of us. I turn my head away as the speared body comes fully into view on the wheel.
"Send word to all our allies and to every corner of Middle Earth that still stands free.," Gandalf turns around and says. "The enemy moves against us. We need to know where he will strike."
With a splash, Saruman's body falls into the water as well as the Palantir.
"The filth of Saruman is washing away. Trees will come back to live here, young trees, wild trees," Treebeard says happily while Pippin jumps off his horse and makes his way to a blurry, orange glow under the water.
"Pippin!" Aragorn calls after him.
Pip plunges his hands into the water and pulls the Palantir out. Gandalf moves right to him.
"Peregrin Took! I'll take that, my lad. Quickly now," Gandalf says.
It's handed over to Gandalf which is quickly wrapped up by the cloth of his robe.