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Chapter 16: The White Wizard
The foul stench of Uruk sweat met Ron’s nostrils as his mind crept slowly back towards consciousness. Opening his eyes slightly, he found that his arms were tied and slung around the neck of an Uruk who was carrying him pig-a-back.
Captured again. So their attempt at escape had failed, and it was likely that they would not be able to try again. They would be guarded more closely from now on.
As he grew more aware of his surroundings, the pounding sensation in his head increased. But he could do nothing about the jolts that accompanied every step of the Uruk’s gait, not even by moving his arm to cushion his head. Hermione would know what to do – if she were here. If. With a sinking heart, he realized that every pounding step took him and the Hobbits further and further away from their friends and closer to Saruman.
All of a sudden, the Uruk dumped Ron unceremoniously onto the ground. Ron could no longer feign unconsciousness, so he opened his eyes and sat up slowly, wincing as his head throbbed painfully. Ron blinked a little to clear his vision before taking stock of his surroundings.
The forest still stood to the north, a huddle of dark shadows. In the distance, Ron could clearly see the dark shape of an imposing tower. Smoke rose around its base, clouding the neighboring land from view.
An Uruk spotted him staring at the tower and sneered, “So, noticed Orthanc? That’s where you’re going. I wouldn’t look forward to it if I were you.”
Ron bit back an angry retort, scowling. When had he ever looked forward to another day in captivity?
All at once, a feeling of dread rose up inside him, making his mouth go dry. He, Merry, and Pippin were all going to that tower. To Saruman.
Ron didn’t even want to think about whether they would come out alive.
What would the corrupt Wizard do once he found out that they did not have the Ring? He’d probably throw them in the dungeons or put them where he had held Gandalf captive. Atop the tower – that would terrify the Hobbits to no end. Ron did not fear heights – he played Quidditch, after all – but he could not imagine how he could possibly keep Merry and Pippin calm. Perhaps Saruman would order them to talk or be killed. Or maybe he would kill them outright.
This last thought struck him heavily. I’m not ready to die. He had known, of course, that he would die eventually, perhaps much sooner than he believed. As one of Harry’s best friends, he was a prime target for You-Know-Who. Though he could still not say the name – much less think it out of fear – Ron felt that he could defy the Dark wizard. He and Hermione had talked about it the summer before fifth year and had come to the conclusion that no matter what, they would always stand by Harry, even if it meant that they could be killed. Ron had always pictured himself falling at Harry’s side during the final battle of the war, or dying as an old man surrounded by a large family. He even remembered back in his third year, when he had told Sirius Black that he would have to kill him and Hermione before he would get to Harry. Of course, that was before they had known what had really happened with Sirius…
Yet now that he came to it – now that he knew his death could occur any minute after they crossed the gates of Isengard – he felt that he was not ready. Not ready, especially because he had not apologized to Harry…and because the one moment he had had with Hermione had been stolen…
He felt angry now, furious enough to hurt as many Uruks as he could. But he couldn’t do anything, guarded as he was. His hands clenched as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear his head.
There was nothing he could do. His insides went cold at the thought, but he knew it was the truth.
Was this how Harry had felt on the night Voldemort You-Know-Who had returned – helpless as the wizard had pointed his wand at him, feeling as though no spell would be enough to save him? At least he had had a wand. Ron had no weapon at all…
I’m no hero, he thought. What the bloody hell am I supposed to do?
He stared at his scratched and dirty palms blankly, hoping that an idea would strike him soon.
“What news?” the leader’s gruff voice asked from somewhere behind him.
“Less than twenty made it. The rest were killed near the forest by those Riders.”
“Less than twenty?”
“The ones who ran after the prisoners. The rest were caught off guard at the campsite.”
The leader growled angrily at this news. “And the trackers?”
“Scouts went back. Their trail ends where the others were slain.”
Ron remained still, but a terrible feeling had begun to rise in his chest. They’ve stopped following?
“And?”
“They went back into Rohan.”
“Useless rat! You should have followed them and killed them.”
Why? They’re letting us go to Saruman! Why? The news made the day seem bleaker than before. Ron moved his head and caught sight of Merry and Pippin, who were sitting dejectedly upon the crushed grass. The Uruks were making sure that they were far apart and faced away from each other. Both of the Hobbits were unusually silent.
The Uruks ignored their prisoners while they sat and chewed on whatever foul rations they could find. Yet even though his stomach was growling with hunger, all Ron could think of was his – and the Hobbits’ – present fate.
Hermione, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Had they really stopped their pursuit? But why?
Ron felt that the answer was staring him in the face, but he could not quite work it out. And Isengard was drawing closer.
* * *
Less than an hour after they had stopped, the Uruks began to march once more.
“Let them walk!” the leader ordered. “We are close enough.”
At his word the Uruks tied each prisoner’s hands with a length of rough cord, leaving a trailing end that could be held. Then, with Uruks holding their bonds, Ron, Merry, and Pippin were forced to march at a quick pace.
It was not so terrible for Ron to keep up, because he was only a little shorter than the Uruks themselves. But the two Hobbits struggled, almost running to keep pace with their captors.
“Couldn’t you – ” Ron began.
A whip snapped right beside his ear before he could continue – not near enough to hurt him, but close enough to make him flinch into silence. “Save your breath,” the Uruk said nastily. “You don’t know if it will be your last.”
Ron decided that he had no choice but to obey, but shot a dirty look at the Uruk all the same.
Orthanc grew larger as they approached, and even Ron noticed that for all its imposing looks, the tower really was finely built. If only Hermione were here to tell me about it – but he did not complete the thought. It caused him too much hurt to even think about any of his friends. Instead, he turned his eyes to the forest – and was startled to see that large sections of it had been cut and burned away. The smell of wood smoke hung in the air; obviously, they were using all of the trees they cut down, but for what he wasn’t sure.
Ron blinked and shook his head, glancing back at the forest. Only a moment ago a single tree had stood among its burned fellows. Was it just him, or had the tree retreated back into the green depths of the forest? It couldn’t be. The distinct lack of enough food, water, and sleep was clearly playing tricks with his mind.
They reached a wall that ran far in both directions. Ron guessed that it probably surrounded the tower.
“Isengard. Only one way out, and that’s this gate,” the leader said nastily to the prisoners. The Uruks had dragged them all close to one another and had formed a tight ring around them. The leader raised his voice. “Open!”
The gate swung forward slowly, ominously, welcoming Ron and the Hobbits into the enemy’s land.
Ron gasped when he saw the other side of the wall. It looked so – so desolate. There were still a few places where the roots of several trees remained in the ground, too difficult to dig up. Huge stands of trees and greenery had once stood here, but now the entire ringed area was full of pits through which fire shone, accompanied by plumes of smoke. Instead of the rustling of tree leaves, the clanging sound of metalworking filled the air. And as Ron glanced to the side he realized that just beyond lay a now-dry riverbed. Even the Muggles back home weren’t nearly as bad! Just how much was Saruman planning?
As they passed by one of the holes that led underground, Ron looked and saw several Uruks beating out new armor and weapons. Just how large was Saruman’s army?
The tower loomed larger and larger until they finally stopped at the base of the steps that led to Saruman.
“Wait here,” the leader growled. He set off at an ungainly pace, going up the stairs to speak with the Wizard. Minutes passed. Ron did not know what to think – he knew that hope of escape was slim, and that they all might be –
Don’t say it, he told himself sternly. It’ll be okay.
Somehow he couldn’t quite convince himself.
Both Merry and Pippin looked too dispirited to talk. In any case, Ron thought that the surrounding Uruks would prevent a conversation from going anywhere.
Finally the leader came down the steps. “Bring them in.”
Already exhausted, the prisoners were hauled up the steps. The doorway led into the darkness within the tower, looking like a leering mouth to Ron’s frightened eyes. A steady drumbeat – not unlike the one they had heard in Moria – was coming from somewhere below, increasing in rapidity, reaching a frenzied pace. Ron could hear his heart mirroring the rhythm, beating harder and faster than it ever had before. There was no turning back – this was final. A small part of him still struggled, but the fear and despair coursing through his veins left that inner voice stilled. His head turned back to glance at the world outside one last time…
The afternoon sun seemed to mock them as they headed further and further up the steps. A sudden chill swept over Ron as he stepped out of the bright light into the darkness of the tower. He blinked to clear his vision, and the outlines of the entrance hall came into focus.
The ceiling was high, extending far out of Ron’s view into blackness. Cold, dark stone surrounded him – trapped him – offered him no comfort…
His dirt-encrusted boots left a light trail on the polished floor. The only sounds were the Uruks grunting, his nervous and heavy breathing, his heart thumping…
They reached another doorway, and all the Uruks except the leader fell back, standing guard against the walls. Ron looked at Merry and Pippin. Their faces were pale and terrified. His own reflection gazed back at him from the floor, so white that his freckles stood out more clearly. He had not noticed how cold and clammy his skin felt.
He wanted to clap Merry and Pippin on the shoulders and tell them that everything would be all right, but the words died even before they reached his mouth. Even he had no such delusions. Nothing would be right so long as they were here…
The door swung open.
“Enter,” called a voice.
The Uruk leader grunted and pushed the prisoners into the room. Ron and the Hobbits stumbled in.
“You have done well,” the voice said. “Leave us.”
Wordlessly, the Uruk departed. Ron heard the door boom ominously shut.
“Look at me,” Saruman commanded.
His voice was melodious, not to be disobeyed. Ron raised his eyes to see the Wizard, the only spot of white against the blackness of the stone. He was an old man, like Gandalf – but unlike Gandalf, his eyes were dark and cold, like the stone of the tower. He was sitting at ease upon a sort of throne, a staff held lightly in a clawlike hand.
“Do you know why you are here?” he asked.
The Hobbits said nothing, terror having blocked their voices.
“You are here because – ”
Ron stood up straighter and lifted his head angrily. “We bloody well know why we’re here,” he spat. “You’re not going to get what you want.”
Saruman laughed. “Brave words from one so young.” He stood and approached, beginning to circle the prisoners in an almost predatory manner. “Have you any idea how many ways there are to break someone into giving an answer?”
“You’re not getting anything from me,” Ron repeated, clenching his fists. “Or them. I will not betray my friends.”
“They all tell me the same thing,” Saruman said dismissively, “but I have never failed to procure the information I need.”
“But you don’t need the information!” Merry burst out. “What you want would destroy Middle-earth!”
“Destroy it? No. I mean to bring down the Dark Lord and restore order to the land.”
“An order that you would head up, is that it?” Ron said through gritted teeth. “You’re nothing but a power-hungry Wizard who doesn’t have the brains to see – ”
An invisible force pushed him abruptly onto his back, knocking the wind out of him.
“Ron!” the two Hobbits cried.
Ron opened his eyes slowly as he lay there, to find Saruman standing over him, staff raised. “If I had my wand –” he spat.
A smile of cold amusement stretched the corners of the Wizard’s thin lips. “What would you do? Fight me? I have defeated Gandalf. You have not even the least chance of winning.”
“I’d kill you.”
Silence descended on the room. Merry and Pippin looked fearfully at each other, uncertain of what to do.
Saruman leaned contemplatively against his staff. “You would?”
Ron hesitated.
The Wizard laughed again. “You have not the strength for it. Brave words indeed, but spoken with the rashness of youth.”
Ron got to his feet furiously as Pippin said, “At least we can tell the difference between right and wrong.”
The amusement left Saruman’s face. “There is no right, no wrong. Power is all that matters.”
It was Ron’s turn to laugh. Harry had told him, back in their first year at Hogwarts, that Voldemort had said much the same thing. “Will you never learn? Ever heard that good always triumphs over evil?” A recklessness had taken over him, one that prompted him to insolence.
“Who holds the most sway in Middle-earth?” Saruman countered. “Sauron does. And it is Sauron’s power that will triumph.”
“With you as what – an underlord of sorts?”
“Therein you are mistaken. I plan to wrest the power that Sauron has created from him. And unless you wish for Sauron’s victory, you will tell me where the Ring is.”
There it was again – a certain melodic intonation that cast a strange charm over their minds, a charm of power that compelled them to obey. But it wasn’t nearly as strong as the Imperius Curse; Ron ignored it easily enough.
“NO!” he shouted. “We don’t know where it is!”
He looked wildly at Merry and Pippin; they blinked rapidly and shook off the effects of Saruman’s voice.
The same bravado that had taken hold of Ron now flamed forth in the Hobbits. “We haven’t got it,” Pippin said defiantly.
“You might as well kill us now,” Merry added. “We won’t tell you anything. We wouldn’t, even if we knew where it was.”
Saruman looked at each of them in turn, taking in the determined light in their eyes. “Fools,” he said softly. “You have chosen poorly indeed. You have your final chance: obey my command, and you will live.”
The three prisoners stared back with stony silence.
“You will not accept my offer willingly?” he asked in a dangerous tone.
“Never!” Pippin half-shouted. Ron and Merry nodded, glaring at Saruman.
“Very well.” He returned to his seat and called for the guards. Three of the Uruks strode in.
“Take these three and lock them below. But leave them alive and unspoiled; their information is of great value to me. I wish to wrest the words from them myself.”
The Uruks bared their teeth in horrible grins. The bravado draining from him, Ron began to feel despair once more. His spirit flagging, he let himself be led away.
Saruman called out one last time, “The next time we meet, you will feel pain. You will watch each other suffer, wishing for death – a death that shall only come if you tell me what I must hear.”
