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Istari Love
Disclaimer: this installment is for the sole purpose of entertainment both the author and the readers.
I do not intent to make money of it, so please don't sue me.
All characters unless noted otherwise are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien.
Pairing: Gandalf/Saruman, Glorfindel/Erestor, Glorfindel-Gandalf-friendship
Beta-read by Cara, all remaining mistakes are intended and for the amusement of the valued reader.
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Fall 1113, Isengard
When Gandalf finally passed the gate of the mighty stone-wall that circled Isengard, he sighed. "Finally at home!"
He came from Lond Daer, on the coast in Enedwaith, west of Orthanc. Before that he had been searching Forlindon and Harlindon for clues of the One Ring’s whereabouts – to no avail. The thing seemed truly vanished, be it for better or worse.
Gandalf frowned. Usually Saruman would come down the stairs to greet him upon his arrival – the White Wizard had means to know such things in advance. //Ah, probably caught up in the study of some old tome, or asleep after he’d stayed up for days on end.// Good! So he could surprise his beloved for once. A smile played around the Istar’s lips.
The high double-doors of Orthanc opened to an eerie silence and Gandalf could not shake a feeling of foreboding. It was too quiet for his taste! He searched floor after floor, cursing whoever had invented towers with their endless stairs: not only was it hard to climb flight after flight in any case, but with his long robes he needed both hands to keep them gathered up around his calves.
"Why has a observatory have to be at the topmost level? And why, oh why does he love to be there?" the Gray Wizard muttered under his laboured breath as he climbed upwards. "Saruman?" Gandalf called out, losing his patience more and more while he searched every level without finding a fresh trace of his superior, his mate for longer than time itself existed. //And why is the bedroom three floors further down, to begin with?//
The stairs seemed indeed countless and for a flicker of his quick temper he considered burning down this cursed dwelling. But luckily the stairs exhausted his body and with that his mood cooled.
The observatory-doors opened with a creaking noise – the hinges had not been oiled in a while, that much was clear. The large airy windows were uncovered and the winds had blown the first dry leaves into the room where they now gathered in small heaps, filling nooks and corners. The whole place was in a state of obvious neglect.
Where was Saruman?
When had he been here for the last time, Gandalf asked himself. At Summer-Solstice three years ago. Aye, that was correct. So, how long has this place then been abandoned? He would have to read Saruman’s notes. All of them! And the head of his order was known to make notes in abundance.
"Not now." He said firmly. Now he wanted a bath, a bed and food. Not necessarily in that order, but all the three of them. So he gathered all the books he could carry and brought them down to the bedroom level. After unceremoniously dropping the books onto the large bed, Gandalf walked into the bathroom where a tub was mounted and a large kettle hung on a chain so that it could be moved over the hearth.
The water was replenished by an elaborate set of tubes that directed rain-water gathered on top of Orthanc through all levels of the tower, thus providing the dwelling with seemingly endless amounts of running water.
Cold water.
Icy, to be exact.
Nothing else could have been the matter with Saruman gone for months if not years, could it? Well, he could light a fire, nothing easier than that!
Gandalf turned to the hearth, mouth already open for a fire-kindling spell, but it never made it. The Wizard needed something to work on.
Wood would have been a good idea to begin with.
There was none.
In fact there was none on the whole floor.
Oh, Gandalf knew where the wood was stocked. Usually there was a servant or two who would run the house, keeping wood on all levels and see to that their master ate from time to time. Obviously they had deserted the place quite a while ago as well.
A wild dwarvish curse escaped Gandalf’s lips and echoed through the abandoned tower. He would have to go all the way back down to get the wood up!
Silly towers!
This could impossibly have been a design invented by Aule!
Certainly some Elvish idea – only a mind that did not care about the passing of time, the simple needs or comforts of an aging body could have come up with such an idea.
Soon Gandalf had gathered as much wood as he could carry in a large piece of canvas. A hot bath was only a question of time now and his mood lighted up a bit. Slowly he made it back to the entrance of Orthanc.
Where he stopped and stared.
"Now, how do I get up again with my hands carrying the wood? I will trip and break this body’s neck – Manwë will ridicule me for eternity then. Nay, I must…." He sighed heavily. Although his body was made to endure great hardship, it did get bothered by rain and cold, unlike the Elves. And right now all he could do was to strip off his cloak and robes in order to prevent a really stupid accident.
By the time Gandalf was back up on the bedroom-level he was in the foulest mood and it was good that the tower was abandoned: whoever would have crossed his path in that moment might have ended as a cinder.
Moments later an immense fire burnt under the large kettle and while the Wizard waited for it to get hot, he ate some of his provisions.
Tomorrow he would try to learn about Saruman’s whereabouts. He wasn’t worried as of now. Likely the other Maia had travelled to Gondor’s capital where he often studied the vast collection of old scriptures.
++++
Same day at Imladris
"Has anybody seen Erestor this eve?" Elrond asked as the house ended dinner in the common hall. Most people did not even bother to answer, they had no dealings with the sharp-tongued Counsellor anyway. Those few who had – mostly only because their tasks forced them to – silently shook their heads and left for the Hall of Fire or some other places.
"Legolas?" Lord Elrond addressed his foster-son, who was just about to run off with some other young elflings to plot more mischievous deeds, as was their habit.
"My Lord?" Legolas stopped dead in his tracks.
"About Erestor?" Elrond arched his eyebrow.
"Oh. Well, I have not seen him after I had finished my lessons around noon, but then there had been no need to. I thought he was in his office." The youngster shrugged, impatient to leave. Erestor often holed up in his study and forgot about the time then. There was nothing special about that.
Glorfindel watched Elrond’s dismissive nod, releasing the elfling to pursue his own interests. "My Lord, I shall go and seek out Erestor, if you allow me so?" already the blond Balrog Slayer stood, crumbs sliding off his tunic and leggings.
"If you have nothing urgent to do. I presume that Legolas is correct and he has once again lost track of time in his study."
Glorfindel left with a slight, gracious bow. On his way through the halls of the mansion he turned down several offers from other elves to join them for some nightly merriment.
The Guard’s Captain had slowly befriended the quiet Noldo and although their banter would never cease he had gained Erestor’s respect – and vice versa. He was aware that the ancient Noldo often dwelled in the sweet memories of ages past, losing himself in the lectures of crumbling tomes, forgetting everything around him – food and drink included. Not that such was dangerous for an elf – at least not when done on an occasional basis. Yet Erestor sometimes did so for days on end and sometimes Glorfindel wondered if that was not the earliest sign of the Elvish Disease. He was afraid Erestor might start to fade.
TBC...
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