Title :  Life Everlasting – The Secret of the Istari
Author:  Milly of Isengard (madmadammillie@aol.com)
Rating : R
The Cast :  Gandalf / Saruman / The Valar
Semi-Canon
Disclaimer:  no $$$ made, needless to say – all Characters belong to 
Tolkien ( except Saruman, he’s MINE!!  Just kidding )
Angst/Sexual Situations/Slash/Trauma/Drama/ Hurt/Comfort


“Nothing’s changed, I still love you, oh I
still love you - only slightly 
less than I used to, my love…” 



- Morrissey





Life Everlasting



Chapter One: Incarnation!

I open groggy, unfocused eyes, and try to get a view of what is around me. 
Ah, a voice! Distant, but sweet, enticing. Closer now. I hear words in the 
familiar Quenya : “It will take you some time to get acclimated, don’t 
worry… ” So familiar! I know the owner of that rich, deep voice. But I 
cannot recall. I see his face through a fog, and a warm rush of recognition 
flows through me.

I blink again, and strain to see clearly; he is gazing at me with a strange, 
bemused expression- and something else- what?
The tall figure, bearded- his long beard is black, framed with edges of 
white- his hair is jet black, with ivory just beginning to touch the temples. 
He wears it long, cascading down over his broad shoulders, and I see he is 
wearing a shimmering white robe- he seems nearly to be made of white 
light.

I blink again : Curumo, I think. Beleg ar yaara, Aratar! Mighty and 
ancient, Holy, Exalted One! My heart trembles to be in his presence.

He smiles at me slightly, and speaks again: : “ Yeeta sinome, 
vorima laito! Marl-yaa sinya!” ( Look here, everlasting youth! Your new 
home! )- and I struggle once more to gain vision in my new body, and the 
Lord Curumo once more passes lingering eyes over my newly created 
form.

He reaches out to me, and I feel his touch; long, elegant Istar fingernails 
graze my face lightly, and he mutters something I cannot quite understand, 
low under his breath. His eyes peer into me with an intensity that is almost 
unendurable. I feel intensely aware of my naked newly-created state, 
suddenly, and I make a tremendous effort to sit up. It is a valiant effort, 
but I cannot manage it, and I only earn a scold from my noble mentor: 
“Orna, orna, ascar ore !” ( Hasty, hasty, impetuous heart! ); he comes 
closer, and I can smell the scent of him, musky-sweet, intensely masculine 
and unique.


He lifts me up to a sitting position, and I can finally take in my 
surroundings and situation. I seem to be in a semi-dark room, or perhaps it 
is only dark to my new eyes; I am having so much difficulty seeing! 
Curumo has a radiance around him so powerful he actually gives off light, 
and this seems to be the only source, save for one small candle I see in the 
dimly perceived room. 

My great teacher and protector has been watching me silently all this time, 
as I slowly try to adjust to the body. Now he sighs deeply, and says: “You 
must get used to speaking in the tongues of men, now. No more of our 
mother-tongue, for a while. I will teach you everything you need to know -
everything.” He repeats “everything”, I do not know why. He continues to 
look me over, and again, I am acutely aware of the body, and its 
nakedness, and his eyes upon me like dark living swords penetrating my 
very soul; I shiver as I contemplate his steady gaze.

I try to speak: I succeed in making a very strange noise, and I try again, as 
he regards me, silently. “Lo-rd, Lord Cur-a-mo. Curu-mo. My lord.” I 
finish, exhausted but triumphant. He frowns, and instead of the praise I 
foolishly hoped for, almost like a child, I only receive another 
chastisement: “ No, no, Olórin - do not address me as Lord. Or ‘Curumo’. 
Remember! Get used to the tongues of men! Saru-mahn. Say it! Here on 
Middle Earth I am Sa-ru-man! ” And so I begin again, “ Saru-mahnn - ?”
He smiles at me, and seems placated : “ Yes, that is correct! Good, then. 
Now- put this on your self!” He throws a grey cloak at me, and I look at it 
in confusion; “Put it on! Your- appearance- is distracting to me!” I do not 
understand yet what “distracting” means, exactly, so I take it to mean he 
does not like to see this new body of mine.

I struggle to make my hands and arms work well enough to put on the 
grey garment, and finally I am clothed, and covered. Curu- no, no, 
Saruman- does not assist me, but he does watch me, and I feel as if his 
eyes are devouring me, somehow. This “distraction” must be a very 
compelling thing, indeed. 

He steps close to me: “ Arise, GANDALF, for that is your name here! 
Arise, and take your place in the Heren Istarion!” 





Chapter Two: The Awakening of An Istar


Strange: is that me? I wonder, disorientated, looking into the looking-
glass. I see an rather elderly face- what did I expect to see?- and I study its 
features. This is the face I will wear for a very long time, until our mission 
here is done. I have been left alone by Saruman- as he wishes, that is what 
I shall call him-  and I have been engaged in becoming familiar with this 
body. 

Very curious: my new fleshly abode is built very powerfully, and seems to 
be youthful, and strong- yet, my appearance is of a much older man, and I 
wear a long beard, and it is already grey! My hair is also long ( and grey ) 
in the back and sides, though not nearly as long as Saruman’s, which is far 
past his shoulders.

I am surprised out of my mirror-gazing by Saruman, who I am still not at 
ease around. He is fond of slipping up behind me and- just- watching me. I 
am alternately repelled, and then curious about this. And now he is staring 
at me again, unabashedly, uncaring that I have caught him doing so. I turn 
around slowly, unsure what to say; instead, it is he who speaks:
“We are sent down here as guides and guardians, as you already know. 
Therefore we are forced to take on the appearances of ancient wisdom. It 
was not of my doing, I assure you, belethil!” Saruman, I have discovered, 
does a great many things that he has forbidden me to do. He still speaks 
the Eldar/Valar tongue Quenya frequently, and I have heard many of his 
spell-castings using Quenyan speech. And just now, he has called me a 
Divine radiance in Quenyan- a compliment to be sure, but I do not 
understand his rules; however, I will try to abide by them. 

The compliments, in fact, multiply and continue :
elerrina lind (star-crowned song),sinda-silme(grey starlight), alcarin 
ancalima(glorious light giver)- and they are delivered at moments in time 
when there is no real opening for such a thing to be said: however, 
Saruman says them anyway. His glances are more severe, and intense, 
every day now, and I am aware of his – shall we say- affection towards 
me. I am flattered and shocked and fearful, all at once. Flattered because 
he is the Great Maia, the Head of my Istari Order, and I respect him in a 
way that is beyond words. Shocked because he has always behaved in 
such a cold and distant fashion, and never seemed to exude any warmth in 
my direction ( or any other ); and finally, fearful because at times, he acts 
in ways that- well- do not seem quite right. 

In the very short time I have been in this body of mine, I have seen and 
heard much that is irrational, and arrogant from him, but far more 
troubling is the unstable nature of his personality. Once, he very nearly 
cursed the Valar themselves, and it seemed to be only with great effort, 
that he restrained himself. I fear my beloved mentor is not quite what he is 
thought to be.

But as my caution and concern grow, so also grows my affection, and 
devotion, and respect. I find he is on my mind ever and always throughout 
the day, no matter where I am sent to here and there, on various missions. 
By the end of a year, I cannot imagine life without him. By the end of two 
years, I refuse to even contemplate the idea. And at the end of five years 
and a day, my well-loved teacher and guide summons me to him, for what 
will turn out to be an extraordinary meeting.

 


Chapter Three: Revelation 


I ride to him at the break of dawn, and leave my business with the Elves of 
Loth Lorien; only the small matter of a suspicion of the Dark Lord Sauron 
re-appearing, possibly, in Middle Earth. I am fairly certain, in fact, that 
this is exactly what Saruman wishes to discuss with me. I am disturbed by 
the mention of Sauron, for several reasons: first of all, he is one of our 
kind- the Maiar – and his fall at Morgoth’s instigation was a great tragedy.

I think of his story as very sad, and tragic indeed; also, if he has returned 
to Middle Earth to wreck havoc in some power play, what will that entail? 
The Necromancer – that is the name of the suspicious being that is thought 
to quite possibly be Sauron. The Elves are nearly certain it is him, and 
they have given me grave tidings of what may be coming. Dol Guldar is 
perhaps giving sanctuary to a great wickedness. It is with a heavy heart I 
ride to Isengard this day. 

My lord Saruman has told me of his own arrival here at Isengard in 2759,  
settling at the great obsidian tower of Orthanc : “ I returned from the East, 
alcarin-silme ( glorious starlight), and eventually came here. Many 
wanderings have I made, and I have learned much- and all the words of 
men and speech of Ents! Now you are here, and I no longer am alone in 
my wisdom.”

I make my way to his inner sanctum- his jumbled and chaotic study- and 
he greets me with a radiant smile- so rare!- and tells me “ Ah, Olórin! You 
have come! I have news, wonderful news, melda-nya! We are about to 
play host to the first convening of the White Council!” “ The White 
Council-? And what is that, Aratar ( holy one )?” I ask him. He smiles 
still, and I wonder at it, but I am pleased he is in such a good mood. “Ah-” 
he says softly,” Well, it is to be comprised of Elves- and Istari! And since 
we are the only Istari- I believe we are in very good standing, Gandalf! At 
least from a point of view of positioning, and the like!” I smile back at 
him, but I do not understand why he is concerned with “positioning”, if we 
are among allies.

“What about Radagast?” I remember, suddenly, and this does not get a 
good reaction: “Radagast!” Saruman spits the name out with venomous 
dislike- “I forgot about him! Not difficult to do- ah, what a tedious and 
wearisome companion he was on my first journey here to Middle Earth!” 
He walks close to me, and we are standing only inches apart; “I have high 
hopes for you, my Gandalf, yes, high hopes indeed! So far, you have not 
bored me, or wearied me with your presence- no, far from it!” 

He inclines his magnificent head slightly, and leans in towards me- I do 
not know why, but I close my eyes, and I feel what must be his mouth 
upon mine, hot and wet. I experience a searing rush of excitement, and as 
he lifts his lips off mine, his fingers trace along my lips, dragging long 
nails gently across, and then he place his lips on mine again, and this time 
pushes his tongue inside my mouth, as he holds my face in his hands. 
“Wha- what are you doing, Aratar?”, I ask him breathlessly, and he puts a 
finger to his lips to signal my silence, and then again our tongues resume 
their unusual union.

After what seems like an Age, he breaks away from me again; I stare into 
his eyes, caught in the endless black ocean, and I am pulled under the 
merciless tides. Finally, he speaks, in a voice that is both loving and strict: 
“ We must prepare, for the Council meeting is this eve! There is time 
enough for this!” I ache, and seethe, in a thousand different ways at this 
moment, but I nod mutely, and try to gather my confused thoughts.



Chapter Four: Confrontation


And so, the newly formed White Council gathers in the Garden of 
Isengard; and Saruman and I sit next to one another ( “We need to present 
a united front!” he tells me, with a grave expression on his face, and again, 
I do not understand ); Radagast arrives, late, unfortunately, and he greets 
Saruman very politely:
“ Hail, Curumo, my dearest friend, it is wonderful to see you aga-” “Yes, 
yes, of course!” Saruman cuts him off sharply, and turns away. Radagast 
looks at him curiously, and then greets me courteously. I return the 
salutation. Saruman glares at me angrily.

After many greetings are exchanged among the many Elven dignitaries, it 
is decided that a Leader ought to be chosen- Saruman gives me a knowing 
glance, as Elrond first takes the speakers circle: “ My friends! We must 
have a leader who can take us through the good and the bad, and all that 
may come! Wise, yet tempered with mercy. May we have a nomination?” 
There is mumbling all around, and then I speak up : “ I , Gandalf the Grey, 
of the Istar, I nominate Saruman the White!” There is more whispering, 
and hushed voices.

And then Galadriel, the Lady of the Wood, with whom I have just spent a 
very pleasant few days, stands up, a slight frown upon her face. She begins 
speaking: “ My friends, I am sure we are all aware of the great reputation 
of our friend Saruman, truly, his reputation precedes him- ” I steal a 
glance at Saruman next to me, and he is openly glaring at Galadriel – I am 
concerned- if I can see it, does he not realize others can as well? Galadriel 
is certainly aware of it, she is looking at Saruman straight in the eye, and 
he returns her gaze fiercely. She goes on to nominate- ah no, no! She has 
just nominated me! Saruman turns slowly in his seat, and gives me the 
blackest look I have ever seen- it is a look of warning- and I stand up, 
knowing I must say something:

“My dear friends! I am honored that the Lady Galadriel has such 
confidence in my abilities- but- I must respectfully decline- and again I 
ask you to strongly consider my great mentor, who is far better qualified 
than I!” A pretty speech, and I hope it will do the trick. Saruman nods at 
me slightly, approvingly, the anger leaving his face.

He gets the Office, and it is well.

The Council now truly convenes, and the first order of business is, as I am 
not too surprised, this business with Dol Guldar- and the mysterious 
“Necromancer”. Galadriel and Celeborn present several evidences that this 
is indeed Sauron himself; others come and go, some assenting, and others 
dissenting. Now Saruman takes the Circle, and regards the assembled 
Council gravely- finally, he sighs deeply, as if in great regret, and speaks: 

“My comrades and allies! I have heard you all, and it is my very measured 
opinion that we must not be too hasty in moving against Dol Guldar! If it 
is indeed Sauron, then the time for action will come soon enough. 
However, if it is not him, but another, we risk war with an unknown 
opponent- who, I might add, has done nothing against us directly at this 
point!”

There is a hush that falls over the assembly, and I realize, as I look into 
their faces, that they are spellbound, and that Saruman is, in ever so 
insidiously a fashion, casting some sort of charm over them with his voice; 
and he speaks again, the booming power of his deep voice rolling among 
the Council like a living thing, caressing and enchanting, convincing and 
seducing.

He convinces them, and we take no action that day against the 
Necromancer.



Chapter Five: Secrets


The meeting is over, and I walk among the Council members, talking 
briefly and listening as well, trying to gauge if anyone knows anything of 
Dol Guldar- and then something happens which causes me great alarm: 
Saruman, who had left the Meeting after his speech, and retired to the 
upper rooms, now returns, and he is walking towards Galadriel, with a 
very set and irritated expression. I do not know why this should alarm me, 
but it does, and I head in that direction myself.

Galadriel watches his approach, with some consternation herself, as well, 
it appears. Something wrong here, but what? Saruman smiles at her thinly, 
and I can hear him speak with gritted teeth: “ Ah, the exalted Lady! It was 
very good of you to recommend my Gandalf, here, for the Head of the 
Council! What a charming notion, and so very- so very kind!” He looks 
into her eyes and continues : “But as you can see, he is not interested in 
that position. Too bad, alas, now you must deal with me as the Head of the 
White Council. I shall endeavor to not disappoint you- in - anything you 
are expecting of me!”- Galadriel returns his intense gaze with equal 
fortitude, and there is only gentleness in her voice as she replies: “ Nay, 
Saruman, I, as ever, expect and have confidence in only your best 
intentions.” She edges closer to him, and his expression changes, to a faint 
look of – what- I cannot tell, and I keep my silence. She speaks again: 
“But is there something more, perhaps, dear Saruman- something you 
would like to confide? For I will never betray your trust!”

Saruman laughs then, harshly, and ill-disguised sarcasm drips from his 
next words: “Yes, indeed! All in confidence, and in the Spirit of Trust, 
yes, my Lady?” He leers at her from behind his thick beard, and leans in 
very close to her face, and says softly: “Perhaps, yes, I can think of 
something I have knowledge of, that you might be interested in, at that-  if 
I may have but an hour of your time, in my private chamber in the Tower 
here, perhaps I can – enlighten you- on things you have never experienced 
or heard of. Yes, I can show a very great secret, my Lady, a very large 
secret! I am confident you will enjoy every moment of what I can reveal to 
you. What do you say to that, my beautiful star, my Elen?” His meaning is 
bluntly obvious, and even stoic Galadriel looks shocked. 

She looks at Saruman with a mixture of horror and sadness, and then turns 
and walks away. Saruman turns to me, smirking, and whispers in a 
serpent’s voice: “I would have shown it to her too, she who is so eager for 
a secret, and hidden things. Oh yes, I would have given her something to 
think on, something to relate to her Lord, and see perhaps he does not 
quite measure up anymore!” He laughs again, cruelty in the sound, and 
retires again to his chamber. I stand there for a long time, stunned into 
paralysis by his maliciousness.

Night has fallen, and it is only he and I in the Tower now. Saruman prefers 
it that way: “Fewer witnesses!” he says, laughing in one of his rare bursts 
of levity. I am still gravely troubled by his strange words to Lady 
Galadriel, but I say nothing of it, and I retire to my bedchamber. Oh, to be 
sure, I understood what he was getting at, it was crystal clear. When I was 
very new here, I knew nothing of such sexual matters, and needs. I learned 
quickly what Saruman was referring to when he would make coarse, yet 
oddly refined, comments about such things. Though I myself had never 
had any of these experiences, I always listened in great interest as 
Saruman related his; usually in great and painstaking detail. Then he 
would watch my face to see my reaction. I usually would sit back and 
simply be silent, and he would invariably frown, as if my reaction was 
found wanting.

As he told it, this activity could be had with a male or female, and it was 
best “ -if it was mutual and consensual, but that was not a prerequisite.” 
That perplexed me- I do not like anything to be done to another that is 
forced, and this did not sound right to me. But I, in my swollen respect of 
him, did not question, although I knew I would never do such a thing as 
force someone.

And now, this night, as my mind spins with his strange, aggressive 
behavior to Galadriel, I slowly undress and slip under the cover. I have 
nearly found sleep, when I hear my door open, and a faint light shines in 
from a candle.


Saruman.


Chapter Six: Answers



I wonder what he could be thinking, stealing into my room in this way, as 
it is very late, and I presumed he was as weary as I am. Perhaps, I have 
presumed wrongly. The light of the candle drifts towards me silently, and I 
can feel my heart beginning to pound very fast- I have a great sense of 
anticipation, somehow, and I think I may know what my nocturnal visitor 
is seeking. But does he not realize, I know nothing of such things? Has he 
failed to understand this? I can offer him no pleasure, or arousal in this 
fashion. I understood, albeit it in distress, when he made his “proposal” to 
Galadriel- at least it was sensible!

The candle is extinguished, and I hear the soft sound of disrobing, and 
garments falling on the floor. Still soundlessly, I feel him slip into the bed 
next to me. My heart is fairly well thundering now, and I am torn by 
conflicting feelings; then, finally, he speaks: “Gandalf, are you asleep?” 
“Not yet, my Aratar.” “Then pray, turn towards me for a moment or two- I 
would have the delight of your company, if you will allow it.” He speaks 
so elegantly, and so powerfully measured, I am sure he could seduce the 
very stones of Orthanc to play some sweet music for him, if he so desired.

I turn towards him, and with great subtlety, he moves closer to me, and I 
can feel his warmth, so near, so very near. I am becoming quite excited, 
myself, in some unfathomable way. Ah, I believe I understand it, alright, 
but it is still a very new thing, to actually experience it! I feel his heated 
breath now, and his breathing is very different than normal, very labored, 
very fast. “Olórin.” He touches me suddenly, long fingers on my arm, and 
I catch my breath sharply. He moves closer to me, again, and is very 
nearly against me, as we lie facing side to side. I am vividly aware of his 
totally disrobed form, and my blood is heating violently. 

He reaches for me more aggressively now, and pulls me to him- and 
grasping my face, kisses me deep, with his tongue seeking mine, and our 
mingled breath joining together. As our mouths explore one another, he 
places one hand behind my head, and the other around my back, and 
presses tightly against me, body to body. After a moment more, he seeks 
and finds my hand, which I have had around his neck, and guides me 
downward, saying “ Here, let me show you, there, right there, do you 
understand?” and I do understand ,and I place my fingers around his- what 
did he call it, in his tales of conquest?- his cock, that’s right- and I grasp it, 
and it swells ever larger in my grip, and I can feel it throbbing and 
pulsating; “Now: hold tightly, and pull upwards- ”, he whispers to me in a 
very urgent voice, and I do so, and Saruman fairly purrs approval “ Ahhh-  
yesss- oh, that’s very good, ahhh -so very nice -you learn very fast!”, and I 
do as he bids me, “ Now down again. That’s right, my silme, oh- ah-you 
must slow down now- just a bit -”

My own need has come alive, now, as well, and I yearn for his touch upon 
me, but it does not come yet.

Ah, my sweet Aratar, will you not return my caresses?

I still have ahold of him, and he is gasping, panting almost, and he 
whispers, in a very strange, strained voice:  “I think you had best stop all 
together, or this will conclude too early!”



Chapter Seven: Mystery Unveiled



So this is passion, this is lovemaking, I think, as my senses rise and flow, 
and I relinquish my hold on Saruman, at his request- I do not understand 
his asking me to cease and desist, but he seems very adamant about it, so I 
will do so. My heartbeat has taken on the qualities of a raging 
thunderstorm, and I can scarcely hear for the pounding of it in my ears-

Curumo- Saruman- lies close against me for another long moment, 
wordlessly, and then he moves on top of me, and I am exhilarated with 
anticipation, and he lies above me, urging me onto my back; I do not resist 
but move as he bids me, and we lie together, face to face, for several more 
painfully long moments. Finally, I can bear it no more, and I whisper in 
his ear “My lord, my Aratar, I need – I need more!”  Exactly what I need, I 
do not know. But the urgency I feel is overwhelming.

I am acutely aware of the feel of his beard on my face, and the scent of his 
breath, so hot, and smelling strongly of dark wine. “Ah, my Gandalf, fear 
not, the time is nearly at hand! Wrap yourself around me, my melda, my 
beloved! Arms and legs both, let us merge into one another!” he murmurs 
to me, and then whispers to me strange words I have never heard before, 
not Quenya, or Sindarin, or any of the tongues of Men, but something 
much stranger, and the words are blackly exciting, though I understand 
them not.

I am now, as he asked of me, utterly wrapped around him, and he moves 
me up even higher at the hips, and places one of the pillows under me 
there. “ Yes, now- yes, it is time, indeed.” He says dreamily, breathlessly, 
and covers me with his radiant presence, and I feel a growing and urgent 
pressure, just beginning, and then it becomes a sharp piercing, and I 
instinctively flinch, and try to move away, but he holds me very firmly, 
and I suddenly feel trapped. ”No, no, my silme -” he purrs in that silky 
voice- “Trust me, you have only to trust me- you must relax- “ and then 
suddenly he is thrust all the way inside, entirely, and I feel as if I am filled 
to the core of my being. I gasp loudly, in shock at the pain / pleasure of it, 
and he moves inside me, and I am pinned under him, and he has suddenly 
taken on a very different aspect, much more aggressive, 
and I unhappily recall his ever more violent changes of mood and attitude. 
“Valina nu i beleg makil!” ( rejoice under the mighty sword! ) he snarls 
at me fiercely, and the bed is shaking precariously with our passionate 
movement, and I can hear it creaking woefully. “ Lisse, lisse lind -”( 
sweet, sweet song ), he mutters quietly, and I cannot even make a sound in 
reply. I am far beyond speech at this point, and the pain has finally ceased, 
there is only ecstasy now, and my mind is bereft of reason, and all clarity. 
I only can perceive his moving inside me, his magickal voice, and our 
sweating, straining bodies locked together in love.

“Ai! Rato sii rato!” ( Alas! Soon, now, soon!) he groans in a throaty 
voice, and slows his movements suddenly, saying “Laa – kara ta  ando -
” ( No- make it for a long time )- I finally find my voice, myself : 
“Ullume, ullume!” ( Forever, forever! ), and he drowns me in an 
impossibly wet kiss. I do wish it would last forever, I could ask nothing 
more of the Valar, than to allow us to remain joined like this, for all time. 
Of course, as I would find many long ages after, that was not to be.


Chapter Eight 


And so we lie still again, for what seems like an eternity in itself, and I can 
feel him inside me throbbing and hot, and then he moves again, more 
slowly, but harder, and deeper; I grasp his long hair as it falls into my face, 
and stroke its silky dark strands. I feel his strong hands under my hips, 
pulling me up higher against him, and then he pushes harder again, and the 
bed groans in disapproval.

I am clinging to him, somehow desperate to keep him close to me like this, 
as if I feel, in some vague and mysterious way, that he may slip away, and 
be lost to me. He mutters something in my ear, what, I cannot understand, 
and his breathing has become quite rapid; suddenly I can hear him 
whispering to me, as if in a dream, “ Now, yes, now- !” and his entire 
body shivers violently, and I am flooded inside with some great warmth, 
and the effect of it is overwhelming, causing me to give in at last to the 
very height of pleasure.

It is, I find, the most soul shattering experience: this pinnacle of feeling, 
and it roars through me, body and spirit, and I hear myself gasping, as if 
from very far away. I am aware, in a very dream-like way, of my lover 
laying atop me, slowly moving even now, but all the great urgency is 
gone. And then, wordlessly, he moves off of me, slipping out of me easily; 
I feel the loss of his weight upon me, and I already begin to long for it 
again.

He does not speak for several moments, and then finally says softly: 
“Sleep now, silme, sleep in the welcoming arms of love!” And yet, even as 
he murmurs to me so tenderly, he does not embrace me again, but if 
anything, moves away a bit farther, and closes his eyes, saying no more. I 
lie there in utter amazement, and wonder, and confusion, all at once. I 
know – in some unfathomable way- that this is the beginning of a strange 
game between us. Power plays and mind bending- and all enshrouded in 
this mysterious love, which embraces and then just as quickly pushes you 
away, and denies utterly.

I turn carefully to look at him, to see him in the moonlight coming in 
through the window, and his eyes open again, and he looks at me, eyes 
blacker than any midnight; those eyes! They pierce and overwhelm, and 
yet there is love in them, but it is a love that is undercut with fierce 
arrogance, and some nameless, alien savagery that lives in him now.

I yearn to move close to him, and wrap my arms and my whole being 
around him, and yet I can hear a warning from him in my mind:

It is enough, Olórin, no more. 

Ask no more of me this night. Sleep.

My exhausted and rejoicing body overtakes my troubled and lonely heart, 
and sleep does indeed find me.
     Gandalf respects and loves Saruman 



Chapter Nine



Morning comes, and as I gradually awaken, I am aware that Saruman is 
not in the bed with me anymore; I already had felt he would not be, 
somehow. Most likely, he is down in the chaotic study, pouring over 
endless books and scrolls. He is searching for something, his quest is 
obvious, although he never speaks of it. I can see him being driven in 
some nameless and formless fashion, looking ever more exhausted and 
drained, yet unable to get control again.

In the back of my mind, I know that it has something to do with the 
mystery of Dol Guldur, and the equally mysterious Necromancer. Is he 
seeking the Ruling Ring? And if so, to what end? 

I drowsily ponder my own thoughts and feelings, as the morning sun 
grows more brilliant, streaming in through the beautiful ironwork window 
of the Tower. I am, I understand utterly now, falling – or have already 
fallen- in love with him. My mentor, my friend, my patron in this Middle 
Earth- and yet I feel something is terribly wrong. Not with my feelings, or 
his feelings for me, but something else.

He does not speak to me of it, ever, and I cannot bring myself to ask him. 
Long years later, I will live to deeply regret this. If what was to come later 
had been, perhaps, headed off, then I would not have shared in the blame 
for all that was to happen, to myself, to Middle Earth, to friends I have not 
even imagined yet, and worst of all, to Curumo himself. He would 
ultimately suffer the worst of it; I would look back in heartbreak one day, 
and wish I had been brave enough to make him speak the truth to me. 
Perhaps I could have reached him, and saved him, and all others that I will 
come to love as well.

But of course, nothing has come to pass this day, and I am merely having 
very bad daydreams. I force aside the evil, pervading images and ideas 
that have suddenly come into my mind, filled with nightmares, and the 
visions of Saruman in some horrific situation, immersed totally in 
madness, and at the brink of death. Unreachable, insane, and beyond all 
effort to save him. 

Why am I getting this? I wonder, feeling very sad and ill, all at once. I 
realize with some alarm that I am on the verge of tears. I try again to 
maintain- or regain- my composure. I rise slowly, and I am trembling 
slightly: I am badly shook up, from my intruding visions. And the visions 
were not silent- they were accompanied by blood chilling screams and 
angry warlike shouts, sounds of war and dying. Sounds of a madman.

I hastily put on my robe and cloak, and make my way down to the main 
rooms, on ominously weak legs. It will not do for Saruman to see me like 
this, he will know something is wrong. I feel an odd sense of shame, and 
sadness, almost as if I have let him down in some way. But nothing is 
wrong, not today, not in the present. I take a deep breath and knock lightly 
upon the huge door of his study.

“Enter, Olórin.” I hear his voice say softly, and I do so, and I see him 
sitting, as I knew he would be, amidst a gigantic collection of materials he 
is reading, and I see he has simply thrown many of them on the floor, as 
he goes on to the next. He is wearing a blindingly white robe, and it is 
open; as we are the only ones here, he has not bothered to secure it. As I 
move towards him, I can see his strongly muscled chest and belly inside 
the glimmering robe. I feel a powerful memory of the previous night’s 
passion, and I have to struggle for composure, again.

“Ahhh- lisse silme- “ he purrs in my ear, as he rises and embraces me 
gracefully, “ Did you sleep well, my melda? In the throes of satisfaction, I 
hope?” I hold him tightly, again feeling that nameless dread of losing him, 
and the even greater terror of him suffering in some way, and I whisper 
back, “ I slept like the tides at sunrise, my Aratar.” He nuzzles me gently 
in my hair, with gentle kisses, and this will be the closest he will ever 
come to displaying affection, throughout all the many countless years to 
come. I will look back on this moment many, many times, and yearn with 
all my soul to feel his embrace, and these rare, precious kisses again.






Chapter Ten


***Centuries later:

( the time is one year before Frodo Baggins sets off with the Ruling Ring. 
Gandalf has wandered far and wide, but maintains a stormy and intense 
discreet relationship with Saruman )


I look over at my troubled, enigmatic lover, as he sleeps a strange, 
unpeaceful sleep; my time of living at Orthanc with him has long since 
come to an end: I could no longer bear his violent, dangerous rages, and 
worse still, the knowledge of what was happening at Isengard, under my 
very nose. I cannot betray him, I will not betray him, but for me to live 
here, and allow it, was unthinkable. We have had many confrontations, far 
too many, and his temper is too unstable; I do not wish to ever harm him, 
and nor do I wish to allow him to harm me. And we had been approaching 
that latter point very swiftly, or so I feared.

The very last day of my living here with him had come to a nerve-
shattering end five years ago, when I had come back from a journey to the 
Shire ( he loathed the Hobbits, and grew increasingly angry when I would 
visit them )- I had walked upstairs, travel-weary and bone tired, and 
seeking the comfort of his bed, and received the shock of my existence, 
when I opened the heavy door of his quarters, and beheld an appalling 
sight: 

There, bound and beaten, was a young wood elf, his frightened face 
streaked with sweat and tears, and standing over him was Saruman, 
clutching his Staff with a talon-like, desperate grip; the look on his angry 
face was pure, undiluted madness. He turned, hearing me come in, and as 
if we were about to sit down to a carafe of wine, said conversationally: 
“Ah, Stormcrow- good to see you. It has been far too long!” Stormcrow 
was the name he had coined for me- I had not particularly liked it, but he 
had grown fond of the many crows and ravens he now kept as messengers 
around the Tower. He had told me I was like a “crow caught in a raging 
storm, plummeting ever downward”. 

I had merely gaped at him, speechless; finally I found my tongue and said: 
“ Saruman- what are you doing-??” He smiled at me then, a curious 
expression of great warmth, and waved aside my question, replying : “Ah, 
it is nothing. Do not concern yourself with it. Go to my chamber and await 
me!” – and then he turned to the elf again and struck him with great force 
across the face; the elf moaned softly but did not cry out. He looked up at 
me then, silently asking for my help, and I could not simply stand by and 
watch this.

“Saruman- Aratar – I do not mean any disrespect, but you must not do 
this, what has he done to deserve - ” I could not finish my words, because 
a great bolt of energy from the Staff silenced me, striking me with a 
painful jolt. Saruman was frowning at me with great rage, and as he 
moved towards me, I backed away from him, alarmed. The Staff still 
crackled with dangerous life in his hand, and I found my back against the 
wall- cornered, I tried to think what to do next, how to calm him.

He moved in on me, and I saw the fevered storm of madness in his dark 
eyes. He leaned in towards me, and with one hand stroked my hair- 
“Gandalf – lisse Gandalf- I fear I must remind you- do not oppose or 
question me, ever. Not under any circumstances. Do you understand me, 
elen?” his voice was soft and loving, but in the depths of those black eyes 
was a warning, and great threat. I nodded slowly, and he glared at me for 
some time, staring deep within my soul. Finally, he backed away, and 
allowed me to leave the corner.

As I watched the nightmare unfold before me, he turned again to the elf, 
and wordlessly, and without any warning whatsoever, struck the elf with 
the side of the Staff with great force, and the elf crumpled limply in a 
heap. Saruman looked over at me, and smiled again, and I saw nothing but 
insanity.

I fled his terrifying, murderous presence, and did not return for six 
months.

Saruman spared no effort and no expense in searching for me, and I often 
saw his crows flying overhead, looking for me. And as much as my heart 
ached for him, I could not bear to return to him yet. I finally did return, 
after I could bear it no longer to be without him. We never spoke of the 
killing of the elf again, but I knew the evil was upon us both now.

h the murder of the wd elf, Saruman has passed the point of  
   no returnWith the murder of the wood elf, man has passed the point 
of  


Chapter Eleven



“Why must you go among those filthy halflings? You reek of their 
stench!”  Saruman thus awakens me one morning, and I open my eyes to 
find him staring at me angrily; I fight to gain full lucidity, in order to deal 
with this new problem.  We have just spent a harried, and unpleasant 
evening in the Council, and at the conclusion Saruman had become livid 
and stormed off. There had been a general consensus that the threat of 
Sauron must be now be met and dealt with immediately, and this had not 
set well with him.

Of course, by now I was fully well aware he was seeking the Ruling Ring- 
though he never admitted it, and never spoke of it. But in his blind lust for 
it he grew very careless; he often collapsed in exhausted sleep over his 
manuscripts, and one night, motivated by my deep fear for him, I carefully 
moved his hand draped over the page he was reading, and hastily looked at 
it. It was a treatise on the Rings and their history, and how they had 
corrupted the kings who had accepted them, but before I could read 
anymore he began to stir, and I quickly replaced the book.

I had eventually been able to look at a great many of the books he was 
studying, and the ones that did not speak of the Rings, dealt with Melkor 
and Sauron, and the long ago battles for Middle Earth. And then there 
were the books of Forbidden Magick, of the blackest varieties. All my 
fears were true, and I was at a loss as to what to do next. I had decided to 
simply try to buy as much time as possible.

And so, this dark and rain filled morning, Saruman the White glowered 
down at me, and muttered curses against the halflings, and Galadriel, and 
anyone else he could think of. So changed you are, proud and exalted one! 
I thought to myself sadly, recalling the great Istar who had taught me all 
his art, and so many wonderful things, all steeped in the Light, with no 
evil in his soul. But of course, these days, at least it is no mystery what is 
ailing him: I know very well what is wrong, but I do not know how to cure 
it. And I do not speak of it to anyone else, and I will not, unless I am given 
no choice.

I will not betray him to the Council, or to the Valar, although it is 
ridiculous to believe they do not know. My fear is that he will insist on 
betraying himself, and everyone else as well.

What would they do to him, the Valar?

I fear for him terribly, and yet I do not believe the Valar would do him any 
injustice or cruelty. But he is already risking censure of some grave sort, 
as he is pursuing some very negative paths at this point. Banishment, 
perhaps, or -? I do not know. I trust in the great goodness of the ones who 
sent us here, and in their mercy and wisdom. 

Saruman gives up on me, and with a derisive snort turns away; I decide to 
make an attempt to soothe the ruffled feathers, and I move up close to him, 
and touch his hair gently, trailing my fingers down the long white strands. 
All the black is gone, or nearly so: there are traces of it, here and there, at 
the temples, and in the long beard, but for the most part the long centuries 
have turned his hair a pure white, with a shimmering of silver.

He closes his eyes as I stroke his hair, and his nostrils flare ever so 
slightly, which I have come to understand is a sign of agitation- there is 
something of an ancient dragon about him, all white fire and flames, and 
deadly intent. I lean in close, and kiss him on the lips softly; he opens his 
dark, piercing eyes and looks up at me, saying nothing.

He has taught me so much, over the long years, and much of it has been 
sexual in nature. He has taught me how to bring both of us to climax after 
climax, nearly to the point of unconsciousness, and shown me the way to 
make an orgasm last for minutes instead of seconds. There is not one part 
of him I do not know intimately, or any part of me, that he has not 
explored in totality.

He is so wise in these things, and yet so unwise in other things. Other, 
more dangerous things.

I know him so well, so very well; I know the soft sound of his breath 
catching, the moment before the explosion comes for him, when we are in 
bed; I know the exact way he will dig his long nails into me at that 
moment, and the scent of him, musky and rich, potent and immensely 
masculine, and how it will fill my senses as we move together. I know, 
with vivid accuracy, the thunderous sound of his heartbeat after we make 
love, as I lie my head upon his broad chest.

And yet, I will find, I am in love with a stranger.








Chapter Twelve



( Gandalf has just left the Shire to seek Saruman’s advice on the One Ring 
)

I have ridden for a good distance, without stopping, having just found the 
Ruling Ring in the possession of a small halfling named Frodo Baggins, of 
the Shire. It is a blessing, and a curse, all at once. And so I now ride with 
all haste to Isengard, to seek the advice of Saruman the White, and I force 
away my great sense of foreboding in doing so.

I convince myself that he will only be concerned with our obtaining and 
restraining the Ring- and nothing else. I must believe this. As the head of 
our Order, I must obtain his counsel, his wisdom. And I must not allow 
myself to dread his reaction to my news of finding the Ring.

Yes, I know he desires it, as a man desires a long-awaited lover. But I 
must believe- I do believe-  he will come to his senses when he is given 
the awesome responsibility of giving guidance on what we must now do. 
Certainly, he will come out of his strange haze of lust for it, and see the 
Light again. Yes, I believe that. I have to believe it.

I arrive at Isengard, and ride under the great gateway; the whole circular 
courtyard is blooming with life, huge trees, vivid flowers. I see some sort 
of activity, something is being worked on across the way. I do not have 
time to examine it, I have no time at all, it seems. I hear coarse voices and 
loud cursing, and sounds of clanging. There is smoke rising from what 
appears to be a pit of some kind. And look: there is another, and another. 
But I simply must put aside my wonder, and I tie my grey steed to the 
front of Orthanc.

Orthanc itself, feels different- I have been away for many days, and I have 
ceased informing Saruman whenever I am going to the Shire, as his hatred 
for the hobbits has grown into a kind of sickness. The very last time I 
mentioned a halfling- I made a slight remark about Bilbo- and Saruman’s 
face took on a very dark scowl, though he said nothing. But the look was 
one of pure hatred.

The Tower seems cold and icy, somehow, in a way it never has before. I 
shiver, involuntarily, and make my way slowly up the long staircase. I 
wearily wonder if I should use a little magic to ease my climb, and then 
decide against it. As I near the top quarters, I can hear very strange 
sounds, and what sounds alarmingly like a strangled sobbing. I cannot tell 
from whence it comes, it seems to surround me.

Has Saruman taken yet more hapless prisoners? I wonder uneasily. My 
concern takes a strange twist, when I realize the muffled voice sounds 
eerily like Saruman himself, but not in any normal sense, not in any way I 
have ever heard him before. I feel a sudden wave of great fear, and I rush 
to his room and knock lightly- I am almost in a panic- there is no answer, 
and my intense concern motivates me to gently and carefully open the 
door.

The room is nearly dark, even though the sun is shining outside. 
Again, I hear the soft, sorrowful sound. As my eyes adjust to the semi-
darkness, I can see Saruman sitting at a table, all his attention apparently 
focused on something on the table. He moves his hand over it, and I can 
see swirling colorful rainbows of mist in the object. He is muttering, in an 
unknown tongue, and breathing heavily, swaying slightly back and forth. 
And then his words degenerate into the strange near-sobbing that I had 
heard earlier. “ No, no, I cannot- “ I hear him whisper, oblivious to my 
presence, “The consequences will be terrible - ” - and then a second voice, 
rich and booming, undercut with malice: “If you do not do it, the 
consequences will be beyond your imagination!”
Saruman again, sounding very strained and unlike himself: “Yes, yes, I 
know where he has been- yes- I know- no, no, I will not do that to him -” - 
and then suddenly a crimson flare shoots out from the mystery object and 
lights up the room.

Saruman sat back with a gasp, as the malevolent red light envelopes him 
for an instant. And then he collapses forward, his face hitting the table full 
on. I run to him, horrified and shocked – gently I raise him up from the 
table, and he looks at me in confusion. Then, as if he suddenly 
remembered something, he grasps at a black cloth on the table and covers 
up a large orb- so that was the mystery object!- oddly familiar. Something 
in the back of my mind screams at me, with a frantic voice of warning.

A PALANTIR!

No doubt about it- a far sighted seeing stone, of great notoriety and 
renown. I stare at the covered orb silently, my thoughts racing.  But I say 
nothing- I must tend to my mentor, who is looking very ill and pale. No 
words pass between us as I help him to his feet, and he walks unsteadily to 
the huge bed; I sit down beside him, and tentatively, I put my arms around 
him. I still say nothing, nor does he- perhaps we both realize there is 
nothing to be said at this moment.

We lie back together on the huge soft pillows- even in the half-light, I 
notice he has added many refinements- he drowns me in a long, sweet 
kiss, and nearly suffocates me with a powerful embrace. 

“My grey wanderer- my Gandalf.”, he murmurs in my hair, “I want you to 
swear something to me, my love.” “Yes, of course, of course I will.” I 
whisper back, kissing his throat under the long beard- “Swear to me- you 
will never- forsake me. No matter what.” he says softly, with what nearly 
sounds like fear in his voice. “Need you even ask?”, I reply, “Of course I 
swear it.” He grips me fiercely, desperately, saying: “ No matter what- no 
matter what happens, no matter what I may ever do, or say. Swear you 
will never forsake me, or – cease to love me.” I hold him close, and I can 
feel his great stress and fear, and I say again, choking back my rising 
apprehension: “I will never forsake you, Aratar, and I will always love 
you. No matter what. I swear it and you must believe it. Trust me- I truly 
mean no matter what.”

He relaxes against me then, with a deep sigh.

I say no more, as I have spoken the truth to him. But what have I bought 
with my oath?



Chapter Thirteen


The midnight moon gleams through our open window, and a cool sweet 
breeze drifts in; I am drifting, myself, drifting half- asleep-  Curumo lies 
beside me, and I wonder if he is awake. I feel a stirring in my heart and 
soul, that familiar need and desire; I turn towards him, and I am met by his 
dark eyes in the moonlight. I reach out to him, and lightly touch his hair, 
as it frames his face- how I love to touch it, his tangled mane of silver 
snow!

I begin my slow journey downward, as he lies back, allowing it; I kiss his 
chest, and then his stomach, so powerfully muscular and tightly etched. 
His hand is upon my head, alternately stroking my hair and pushing me 
gently down farther, farther. I have a warm, exciting memory of the first 
time I did this:

I had been young to Middle Earth, so new! 

After Curumo had shown me the delight of passion under him, I had felt 
the desire for different ways to accomplish this – this lovemaking. He, of 
course, knew a thousand ways of love and lust, but he let me believe I was 
discovering on my own. And so, one spring day in the beautiful garden of 
Isengard, we walked in our solitude- this was before the days of his 
servant Grima- and I had listened to his many instructions and remarks, 
and we had finally stopped under the shade of a great ancient Oak.

Without really knowing what I was about to do, I had dropped slowly to 
my knees before him, in abject love and unspeakable devotion; he watched 
me with his usual impassive expression, only a slight movement of his jaw 
betraying his feelings. I unbuckled his sash and opened his overtunic, and 
then the inner white robe. He backed up against the Oak tree, and leaned 
against it, as I took hold of him with great desire and yearning. I had been 
powerfully drawn to take him in my mouth, and I realized later he must 
have willed me to do it: I knew nothing of such things as that, myself.

My much-loved mentor had placed one hand on my head, and pushed into 
my mouth passionately, as he gripped the ever present metal staff in the 
other. I had done it the best I could, and he seemed pleased, groaning 
softly and thrusting against my tongue hotly. I had been amazed at the 
warm, gushing flood that had suddenly filled my mouth, but I knew it was 
from him, and so I devoured it gladly. The salty-sweet eruption had 
burned my throat slightly, but I took it all down. And he had been very 
pleased with me.

I tremble slightly, as I recall this cherished memory of so long ago. How 
innocent I had been, so unaware. A hundred lifetimes ago, it seems now.

His hair had been black then- or for the most part, anyway. He had 
watched it change over the centuries, first partially, and then in totality, 
and he had told me once how angry he was at losing his youth. I had told 
him it did not matter- we were born old anyway, and he had favored me 
with a rare laugh.

I shake off the old memories, so I may concentrate on the present: my 
searching hands and mouth have found their quarry, and I anxiously wrap 
my lips around the tip, and my fingers around the enormous shaft; I feel it 
stiffen even further with my ministrations, and the veins pulse with 
ancient, virile life under my tongue and fingertips. I take him in deeper, 
and he whispers in an urgent voice: “Ah- my Stormcrow, ah, that’s very 
good, yes, my love, my greyhame, ahhh- ”; I trace my fingers over his 
tensed belly, and caress the sinewy muscles with great love.

Saruman pushes my head down on him, grasping my hair painfully, trying 
to make me take him in all the way, but I cannot. I have only perhaps half 
in my mouth, and I cannot take any more. He is simply too huge, too 
massively endowed. “Gandalf- swallow me all in- ah- you must- you 
must- ahhh- !” he tells me, between gasps, and instead,I take my mouth off 
him nearly all the way, and then come back down, raking my teeth along 
the sides with the greatest of delicacy. He thrusts up into my mouth 
deeply, and I feel him spasm slightly, with a very soft deep groan. I am 
drenched with the hot burst of my lover’s orgasm, and I swallow it all, as 
the sacred ambrosia of love.

Oh, by the Valar, I think to myself, as I find sleep near dawn, may this 
love never be poisoned.



Chapter Fourteen


With the new day, comes the pressing and inescapable need to address the 
situation that brought me back here in such a dire need:

“Saruman- I must tell you something: there is news of the Ring, and of 
Sauron!” I inform him, as we walk in the garden; he says nothing, and I 
take this to mean he is simply thinking about what I have just told him, so 
I continue: “ The Ring is in the possession of someone I know.” He stops 
then, and looks at me with great interest; “ Oh? And who is that? Where 
are they?” he says softly. There is a look in his eyes that makes me feel as 
if I am being searched to the very core of my soul.

I hesitate- and then I tell him the truth- and immediately recognize my 
mistake. The light in his eyes as I tell him of Frodo, and the Ring, is a dark 
light, born in some nameless abyss, a vivid living void. And then he smiles 
at me, with great kindness and affection, and embraces me suddenly. I in 
turn place my arms around his broad shoulders, and then he abruptly 
breaks our closeness, and pulls away from me. “ I must go now.” he says 
quietly, and turns towards the Tower; “Come with me back inside, and 
wait for me in my study. It will not take long.” “What will not take long?” 
I question him, and he turns and gives me a chilling look.
  
“I have something I must do. It will not take long.” He repeats again, and 
walks towards the Tower, walking in long, fast strides. I struggle to keep 
up with him, and my feeling of dread is overwhelming now. His long 
magnificent robes wrap around him as we enter the doorway, and he 
speaks again, in a very strained voice, “Do not follow me – go to my 
study. I will be back very soon, my love.” 

“Saruman- wait a moment.” I put my hand on his arm firmly, and he looks 
at me in mild wonder. ”Yes, Gandalf?” he says, and I try to find the 
words. I have never openly defied him before, and have always shown 
only abject and total obedience. He has been an easy and loving mentor, 
and except for coming to grips with his unusual moods and comments, I 
have never found it difficult to obey him or trust him. Until now.

“What are you going to do, my Aratar?” I ask him, the words choking in 
my throat, “can you not let me know? For it seems you keep so much – 
hidden – from me, these days.” My heart is pounding painfully, thudding 
against my ribs; in the two thousand years of our time here, I have never 
questioned him like this. He looks at me carefully, with a mixture of rising 
anger, stress, and amusement. “Gandalf – I find it rather charming that you 
are so courageous in your curiosity today- but I cannot indulge you, I am 
afraid. You could not have chosen a worse subject, or a more 
inappropriate time!”

“Wait”, I press further, my hand still on him firmly, “You must talk to me, 
Curumo. We have avoided this too long. I – I am becoming afraid for you. 
I know something is -  not right.” I try to speak in what I hope is the most 
respectful and gentle good time. Now- please move aside. Now.”

Without even realizing it, I have blocked his path, almost by instinct. And 
I cannot bring myself to let him pass, I am genuinely fearful for him, and 
it seems as if I must keep him from whatever he is about to do, at all cost. 
He glares at me in what is rapidly becoming fury, and I wonder, myself, at 
what I am doing. It is unthinkable, my insubordinance!

Saruman’s eyes flash dangerous lightning, and he pushes me aside 
roughly, silently, and strides past purposefully. Then at the staircase he 
turns to me again: “ Do you want to see? Do you want to know, my lover? 
Are you so determined? Then follow me!”
I follow him upstairs, with a sick fear filling my heart. I cannot even feel 
the steps under my feet, for the terror in my soul. We reach the chamber, 
and he stands back and motions me inside, and then shuts the heavy door 
with a thud behind us. 

I have never mistrusted him before- I have not always understood him, or 
his ways, but nothing like this. But as I stand here in his room, I am 
gripped with foreboding. There is a palpable air of actual danger. “So you 
would know everything, would you, my love? Cannot quiet that 
inquisitive mind of yours, eh?” he says in a distinctly unfriendly voice, “ 
Very well! All shall be revealed, and nothing held back! After today, you 
shall have no more questions on this matter, and your heart shall be at 
ease!”
My heart is far from at ease at this point, and the tone of voice he is using 
is not helping. I understand he is angry that I am defying him, but this 
reaction is only increasing the strain.

“Come here!” he commands, as if I am a house-servant,and I obey him, 
and he gestures to the table, with the Palantir. “Look into the Orb!” he 
says in a rough tone, “Look deeply, and there will be no more questions in 
your mind!” I move close to the Orb, and he comes up behind me, and 
grasps me around the waist, pressing into me sensually. “There- see- just 
relax- and look within the globe.” His voice is becoming The Voice now, 
coaxing and sweet-sounding, infinitely smooth and deeply intoxicating. 
His whole demeanor has changed, and he is using the magic on me, 
perhaps actually against me?

“I wanted to tell you, Stormcrow”, he purrs in my ear, licking it, as the 
Palantir shimmers to colorful life in front of me; “I wanted to share this 
with you, but I could not- but I will now- as I see you are ready- ” - he 
pushes against me harder, and I can feel the hardness of him, and I stare 
into the Palantir, and from out of its depths comes a roaring voice, and an 
agony in my being upon hearing the sound of it. I hear myself gasp, and I 
try to step back, but Curumo does not let me move away, and whispers to 
me : “No, do not give in to weakness. You must remain, and allow it to 
happen -”

The vision in the orb rises up, and there is something there, I cannot make 
it out clearly, but I feel pain at the perception of it, somehow. The voice in 
the Palatir roars at me, with a sound that is haunting and familiar, and yet 
excruciating to hear. It rapidly becomes unbearable, and I make a 
tremendous effort to escape the pain, wrenching away from Saruman’s 
now iron grip on me. 

“No!” he snarls, and reaches for me, but I am too quick for him and back 
away to the door- if I can only open it in time! – I manage it and make my 
way down the staircase as if I am in flight. At the bottom of the steps, I 
turn and face Saruman, who has followed me and is nearly upon me. 
“Saruman! Cease! What is the matter with you?” I try to sound stern, and 
in control- I must not give in to the horror of the moment.
 
But Curumo is far from being in control- he looks at me with a wild rage, 
and I do not even recognize him at this moment. He looks utterly mad, 
beyond all reason. He raises his Staff at me, and the power of it knocks me 
against the wall, and he advances on me, still with that strange, cold 
expression. I hit the wall hard, and sink down slowly, hurt both in body 
and heart. He used the Staff- against me, to harm me! My shock and grief 
are devastating, but there is no time for that now.

He is almost upon me, and I raise my own Staff in pure self-defense, and 
aim a non-lethal repelling blast at him. He staggers backwards slightly, but 
then raises his own Staff again and hurls a deadly – and very lethal- bolt of 
energy at me. I feel the impact as it hits me, and then I am being lifted up, 
and spun around violently. Dizzy and ill, I can barely hear his voice, 
raging at me : “I gave you a chance, Gandalf! For love of you, a chance! I 
had hoped you would be wise enough to take it! But you have chosen the 
way of pain!”

I am hurtled towards the ceiling, and I know no more.




Chapter Fifteen


How long I have sat up here in the rain and cold, I do not know. I have had 
many long hours to contemplate the horror that has happened, the chaos 
that my world has become. No one will ever know, I will never share it 
with anyone, the agony of the betrayal, and the shattering of all I held 
close to my heart.
My tears have mingled with those of the sky, which seems to be weeping 
with me. I am a prisoner on the pinnacle of Orthanc Tower, a victim of the 
one I had loved and trusted the most.

I fall asleep again, there is nothing to remain awake for.

And then I am awakened by approaching footfalls near me, and I open my 
eyes to see that it is morning again- how things have changed in a day and 
a night! Silhouetted against the blue of the sky, I see Curumo standing 
over me. He looks down at me with an expression that I cannot read.

“Gandalf-  stand up.” I do so, and we regard each other warily. He has 
taken my Staff, I am defenseless. Or is that entirely true? Slowly, my hand 
goes to my hip, and I feel it still there: Glamdring- the Elven Blade. But 
my surprise and elation at finding it are meaningless- I could never use it 
against him. I would never be able to bring myself to sink a killing blade 
into the body of the one I have loved for so many years.

Saruman notices Glamdring finally now, as well, and he moves back 
quickly, as if bitten; he frowns darkly, and mutters, “ Ah, what of it, 
Gandalf, do you wish to kill me?” I look back at him in deep sorrow, and I 
answer him truthfully: “How can you even ask such a thing of me as that. I 
would never harm you.”  He does not look convinced, and puts even more 
distance between us. He has never been a sword fighter, and if we were 
matched in a battle, the outcome would be a foregone conclusion, and he 
knows it well.

I try to reach him, to mentally slash with a sword of reason through the 
tangle of his disjointed mind: “ Saruman – Curumo- whatever is in the 
Palantir- can we not sit down and discuss this, rationally? I will not try to 
flee, and I would certainly never try to harm you or kill you, as you ought 
to know.” Saruman looks at me and says nothing, his face impassive 
again. 
“Give me the sword you carry. As a token of your good faith.” he finally 
says quietly; I carefully consider my reply before speaking : “I cannot 
disarm myself in a situation like this, Saruman. Was it not you, yourself, 
who taught me that? But I have no desire to do you any harm, far from it. 
Nay, was it I who attacked you? You have a short memory, my old 
friend!”
 
He looks angry at this, but it is no less than the absolute truth, and he 
knows it. I risk another attempt: 

“And I do not even know why you attacked me! Can you give me a 
reason? All these many ages I have trusted you utterly, and now, over a 
disagreement, you turn your magic and your power against me! How 
could you do that, Saruman?”  I fight mightily against the emotion 
strangling my voice as I say the painful words, “Do you no longer- love 
me?” He suddenly looks hurt, and shocked, and whispers harshly, “No 
longer love you! Do not be a fool! Nay, it is because I do love you, that I 
must bring you to understanding! I must make you realize the true nature 
of your situation, and mine!”

He leans in closer to me again, and I make a point of keeping my hands to 
my sides, so as to not give any indication of reaching for the sword. 
“Listen to me, my star, my heart’s desire, and hear me. The voice in the 
Palantir was that of the Dark Lord. There is no denying him, no way to 
win against him. And I ought to know: I have studied this matter for 
hundreds upon hundreds of years!” Saruman looks carefully at me for a 
reaction, but I have none to give, I am too stunned, too numb. He sighs 
deeply, and then continues: 

“The only hope we have- that anyone has- is to give way for now, and 
then try to regain some measure of power again, when we can. It is in the 
best interests of Middle Earth- and ours- to not stand against Sauron right 
now-  he is far more powerful than any of you know. None can resist 
him!”

He falls silent, and slowly reaches out to touch my face; “I love you, 
Stormcrow.”,  he murmurs in a barely audible voice, as if he is afraid of 
being overheard, “I love you, but I must be cruel to be kind. If I fail to do 
so- we are all dead already.” I say nothing, and look away over the valley 
of Nan Curunir, the Wizard’s Vale. He looks at me with sudden sternness, 
and says in a sharp tone: “There will be no more disobedience! I am over 
you, in case you had forgotten that! That does not merely apply to my 
chamber! Now: you will do as I say, and this is the last we shall speak of 
this – disagreement.’ 

Saruman wraps himself around me, embracing me in his powerful grasp, 
and whispers very quietly : “Now, enough of this foolishness. Come, let us 
enjoy this beautiful morning from our bed!” Ah, how inviting!, I think to 
myself, but I dare not, my love. I cannot trust you. “Do you love me still?” 
he is asking me, “Or has your heart turned to ice now?”

Oh, by the Valar, of course I love you, you fool!, I think darkly, But you 
are going mad, or betraying Middle Earth. Or most likely, both. I look him 
in the eyes, and forcing myself to remain steadfast, I speak slowly and 
calmly: “You know that I love you well, Curunir,” I say, using his 
Sindarin name, “And there is nowhere I would rather be, than in your 
arms. But this- madness- or folly- whatever it is- of relenting to Sauron -I 
cannot agree to it, at least not on my part. Certainly, you must know you 
are in error.” He looks at me with great sorrow, and disappointment, and 
shakes his silver maned head sadly; “I cannot allow you to refuse this, 
Gandalf. I am sorry. You are not at liberty to refuse what I command of 
you.”

He backs away from me, and then speaks in a louder, different tone: “For 
the last time, Mithrandir, will you obey me, your superior, and do as I bid 
you in this matter?”

I dread what is coming, but there is no real point in a lie, as I will no doubt 
be called upon to prove nonexistent obedience to this insanity; 

“I cannot, Curumo. It is against all you have taught me, and all that I know 
to be true and right. It is against our mission here, our sacred duty!”

And that is when the Staff came down against me, and I again fell into 
blackness.






Chapter Sixteen



How many more days and nights I spent on the top of Orthanc, I am not 
really sure. I would awaken in the morning to find food brought for me, 
and wine, but I never saw Saruman, or anyone else, although I heard much 
commotion far below me in the courtyards of Isengard.

I hurt from head to toe, and I was very badly bruised from the apparent 
beating Curunir had given me the last time I had seen him. I was 
beginning to realize I was fortunate he had not actually beaten me to 
death, after knocking me unconscious. His fury and rage at me had been 
beyond anything I had ever seen from him, and the pain in my back and 
head told me how severely he had beaten me.

In one of my delirious, desperate moments, I had held a large brown moth- 
it had somehow made me think of Radagast, and I watched it fly away, 
and as it went it seemed to whisper “Gwahir- Gwahir will come!”. I 
watched it drift away, and my head was spinning with weariness.

And then, one night when the moon was huge and full above me, Saruman 
returns.

He walks up to me silently, and the look in his eyes is that of a stranger. I 
see nothing in them of the Istar I know- and love. 

“Olórin!” His voice, harsh and commanding, billows over the high places 
like a macabre echo; “Olórin, get up!” - he has, by now, taken Glamdring 
from me- not that I would have ever used it on him, but it was better to 
have some threat of self-defense, however false. No Staff, and no blade. 
Saruman towers above me, and I painfully try to get to my feet, only to 
find that I cannot – my legs are too weak, and perhaps even broken. The 
pain is horrific.

He looks down at me with a stern expression, and yet there is, perhaps, a 
hint of some concern on his set face. “What is wrong with you? What are 
you doing up here?” he asks me, incredibly, as if he has no idea. And from 
the irrationality of his behaviour, it may be that he truly does not 
understand. I force myself to find my voice, and attempt to reply to his 
amazing question: “Curumo, it appears you have forgotten some details of 
when we last spoke- do you truly not remember- what happened?” 

He looks at me in wonder and confusion, and then looks away, over the 
expanse of his domain. His expression goes blank, and empty. 
“Saruman?” I try to regain his attention, but he is drifting somehow, 
dreamily surveying the landscape far below us.
“Curumo!” I shout at him weakly, and he turns to me finally, with a vacant 
look in his eyes. “ Mmmm- yes , Gandalf, I am listening to you. 
Something about Rohan, hmm? Pray, continue.”
My initial disbelief at his strange mental state has become shock, as I 
realize he is not doing this for my benefit, to deceive me.

“Do you think the army will be prepared in time?” he asks me gravely, 
and I have no time to muse on this enigmatic question, as he turns back to 
the edge,and leans over, looking down the hundreds of feet below. He is 
very close, too close, to the edge. “Saruman! Listen to me- come back 
from there- please.” I try again to get to my feet,and this time, motivated 
by alarm, I succeed, although in great pain. I move over to him with a 
sheer force of will, and ignoring the fire in my legs, carefully lay a hand 
on his shoulder.

He pulls back from the edge swiftly, and looks as if I have startled him. 
His dark eyes are wide and wild, and I say the only thing I can think of, 
that may help: “Come, let us go back inside, and I will pour you some 
wine. Would you like that, my melda?” I speak in the most gentle and 
loving voice I can find, not just out of compassion, but out of a genuine 
desire to get both of us away from the dangerous top of Orthanc. One slip, 
or moment of madness, and there would be no surviving such a fall.

“Yes- yes. I would like that.” he says quietly, “ But- what has happened? I 
feel – I have missed something. Or a great deal. The army, he needs it- 
wants it ready. Now. But it is not ready.” I can almost hear the chaos in his 
mind, and I understand, finally, the severity of his condition. But what has 
brought his fine mind to such a state? It can only be that demented orb- the 
Palantir. He had said it was Sauron himself, speaking through it.

Saruman now looks at me as if he is trying to remember who I am, and 
suddenly turns on me again, but this time, before he can raise the Staff he 
clutches with a death grip, I spin and turn out of his way. With an angry 
sound, he wheels around and tries to aim the Staff at me. I can see my 
death in his eyes- he will kill me this time, and perhaps not even recall it 
in the morning. Of this, I am absolutely certain.

And then, like a miracle, I see out of the corner of my eye a large dark 
shape, flying towards me, and I understand : it is the Eagle Lord Gwahir, 
my last hope! Saruman takes no notice of it, he is too intent on trying to 
get a good shot at me. Fire roars out of the Staff and barely misses me. 
With the very last of my strength, I leap off the edge and onto the huge 
feathery back of the Eagle.

Saruman looks at me in disbelief and fury, and screams a vile curse at me 
in the Black Speech, and as his voice dies in the distance, I hear him 
shouting to me that I could have had it all, we could have had it all 
together, but I had thrown all my hope away now. He watches me from the 
edge of the Tower, and I think perhaps he is going to lose his balance and 
fall, and I close my eyes, not wanting to see, and unable to prevent it.

And perhaps, it would have been the better and kinder fate, for all 
concerned.

But he does not fall, and I ride Gwahir on the stormy winds of my fortune, 
back to freedom.



  

Chapter Seventeen 
 
 
CONCLUSION: Gandalf and Saruman face each other at Isengard. 
 
 
 
It has come full circle, now, for both of us; he stands atop Orthanc, eyes 
blazing with such fury and madness that even from all the way down here, 
I can feel their rage. I now confront him, I must confront him, there is no 
choice, no choice at all. To show weakness now, will be fatal for all of us. 
 
When I finally told the Council of his treason, I knew that we had crossed 
the line, both of us. I had no choice. How I loathe having no choice. 
 
How many things have happened now, good and terrible alike, and I have 
come back from the abyss of Death itself, and found myself now wearing 
the vestments of the White Wizard. I have had to roughly cast my dearest 
friend and ally from the body of a King that he had possessed and 
obsessed, and seen so much death and violence all around me, that I will 
never be the same. 
 
Something is ruined in me now, somehow, just as Curumo is ruined from 
Sauron's deadly attentions through the many years. 
 
I ride forward, and brutally force down my emotions- my love- for my 
fallen friend and lover. 

No time for weakness. 
 
He waits for me, as a cornered and rabid wolf faces the hunter, and I see 
him raise the Staff, preparing to attack. 
 
"Saruman!" I shout up to him, feeling a strange, total sense of 
despair, "Come down, and your life will be spared!" – he seems to glow 
with anger at my words, and perhaps I could have chosen them better. 
Making him feel threatened was not my intention, but I must try to get him 
to surrender. There are those with me, who may let fly an arrow, out of 
pure fury at what he has done. He needs to relent. 
 
"So! Have you come to kill me, or to spare me, Gandalf the White? Save 
your pity and your mercy, I have no use for it!"

I hear his snarling reply on the wind, and before I can answer him that, no, 
I do not want to hurt him, I am trying to protect him, I am terrified for 
him, the Staff is raised high- and then a huge flame cascades down at me. 
It reaches me in a matter of seconds, but I do not even feel it, save for a 
rush of heated air. 
 
I cannot allow this to go on- if he is determined to launch such 
attacks, I know my companions are going to kill him. 
 
I ride forward again, and I raise my own Staff in reply: "Saruman- you 
leave me no choice- I must break your Staff, and remove your rank!" And 
without giving him a chance to attack again, I send forth the spell, and his 
Staff cracks apart in his hand, the black and metallic Staff of the former 
servant of Aule the Smith falls apart. Saruman curses me in Quenyan, and 
then in the Black Speech, for good measure. 
 
"Now: Curumo- listen to me: you are no fool. You know you must yield. 
You must refrain from what you are doing- and you will be safe! No harm 
will come to you, but you must yield!" 

Saruman falls silent, and I find hope that he may be actually listening. I try 
to think past the thunder of my heartbeat, and I continue: 
 
"Trust me, Saruman. Do you not understand, you can trust me? I will not 
have you harmed, or even imprisoned. But please- please! – listen to me!" 
 
Curumo listens in silence, and then a change seems to come over him, like 
a half-hearted miracle: 
 
I see his expression slowly begin to lose the madness, and the anger. 
Behind him, for the first time, I can see Grima crouching, his face a mask 
of terror. Finally, after what seems like forever, Saruman replies: 
 
"Even if I believe you, Olórin, what of – that other-? Do you think we 
would be safe from- him?? Do you know what he will do to me - to you? 
So much, that you do not understand! He will torture you to death, and for 
me, even worse, no doubt!" 
 
I do not try to figure out what would be worse than being tortured to death, 
and answer him again: 
 
"Come down, Curumo, Aratar! Come down, and at least we can face our 
fate side by side! Come down, and stand at my shoulder, and let us begin 
again!" 
 
I hold my breath, afraid to even move, in anticipation and dread of his 
response. And then he disappears from the top of the Tower, and I wonder 
grimly what may be coming. Far behind me, Theoden, Gimli, Legolas, and 
Aragorn as well, wait with me, wait to see what will happen. Legolas has 
an arrow at the ready, even though I had asked him to not do so. They are 
too tense, too eager for "justice". I prefer, by far, mercy, and redemption.

This situation is exceedingly dangerous, for all concerned. 
 
And if my old mentor would only fight alongside us- we just might have a 
chance against the Dark Lord. 
 
Like a ghost of the past, Saruman very suddenly appears out of the 
doorway of Orthanc, and steps forward carefully, and cautiously, onto the 
muddy steps. Behind him, looking tormented and afraid – but relieved as 
well- slinks a very nervous Grima. Curumo regards us all with a sweeping 
glance, and then looks at me. I see something different, somehow, but 
what, I am not sure. 
 
His eyes have lost the insane glaze that I have come to regard as normal 
for him in the past years; I can see something of the Istar I know, and 
remember. "Put down all your weapons!", I hastily shout to my 
companions- I am still greatly worried that if there is a wrong move made, 
they will let fly a fatal arrow at Saruman or Grima. "Mithrandir- do you 
think that's wise -" I hear Legolas say softly. But he takes the arrow and 
puts it back in the quiver. The others shift nervously on their steeds. 
 
I look again to the dark eyes, and still he simply watches me, 
silent. The tension is too much for Gimli, who clears his throat 
loudly. Saruman does not even look his way, but he does finally 
speak: 
 
"Olórin- I – I will trust you, then." It is a monumental 
statement, and there are audible gasps behind us. I feel a powerful surge of 
emotion, and I force it back, but only barely. I know Saruman can see the 
tears in my eyes, and he frowns slightly, but says no more. He holds out a 
large ring of ancient keys, and I take them, nodding.

The Keys of Orthanc. 
 
Aragorn speaks up now: 
 
"Saruman- it is good you have found reason! We will take you back with 
us, as a prisoner of war now. You will be safe from both your own folly, 
and Sauron's evil."

"No!", I say quickly, and there are gasps, again. "No- he will ride with me- 
but not as a prisoner! And Grima as well." 
 
Saruman looks at me with what might be gratitude- or perhaps merely 
amusement- and my companions regard me with looks of wonder and 
anger? As if I have taken the prey from the jaws of a ravening lion! 
 
No, there will be no revenge, this day. 
 
I will not see Saruman be humiliated, or disgraced, in any way. I will 
never allow it. 
 
He is, and always will be, my Aratar- and I love him well- too well. 
 
 
 
 
FIN