| Two days. Two days he had been chained to the same wall. No food, no water, no company. He expected every moment for Saruman to waltz in and feed him, talk to him, yell at him, hurt him, something�but nothing at all for two days. He repeatedly tried to call on his magic but only weakened with every attempt. Something in the room�and anti-magic spell, maybe even the manacles around his wrists could be draining him� His tongue swelled in his mouth, and his vision was rapidly turning gray and hazy. Then, on the dawn of the third day, Saruman came in. He had a bowl of soup and a glass of water in his hands. He knelt in front of Gandalf and greeted him politely. "I thought you would be hungry." Gandalfs throat was too dry to form a response. "I hope you like this, I make it myself." Saruman lifted a spoonful and held it to Gandalfs lips. The wizards gray eyes stared back in hatred but the inside of him was rejoicing as the hot liquid slid down his throat, followed by a sip of icy cold water. His stomach cramped instantly, rejecting the little bit of food and he vomited it back up. Right in Sarumans face. If he had the strength, he would have burst out laughing. The acid from the bile had stung badly, and instead of laughing his throat almost seemed to scream at him for some relief. Saruman jumped back in surprise and disgust, the soup clattering to the floor and pooling around his captives feet. He wiped a bit of the pinkish-gray, chunky liquid off his face and started at it for a moment in shock. It was as if an honorary guest had just thrown up all over him, not his defiant prisoner who had been starved for the past two days. "Look what you made me do," he said, gesturing at the floor. He sounded like a parent scolding a 5 year old child. "Now I�ll have to get someone to clean this up. I made this especially for you, and this is the thanks I get??" He turned and walked out, muttering of Common Decency and Courtesy. Twenty minutes later or so, a servant came in to clean up. When he finished, he told the prisoner that Saruman would be back in soon after his bath. So, the wizard sighed and slumped against the wall to wait. ************ When Saruman came back three hours later, he had a fresh bowl, a new glass, and a sharpened knife in his belt. His captive was nearly unconscious. "Let�s try this again, shall we?" Gandalf grudgingly nodded, looking away. Being spoon fed by the enemy did nothing for his pride; he felt like a helpless babe. "If you do not keep it down this time, my friend, I will not give you another chance." �he needs you.,� the logic inside Gandalfs mind whispered softly. �he wont kill you.� �not now at least�� Nevertheless, this time when his stomach cramped, he swallowed desperately and forced the bile back down. "Good boy." Saruman said and patted Gandalf on the head like a dog. "Enjoy your victory while it lasts," his voice was hoarse and it hurt to talk but he forced the words out anyway, "All castles made of sand must be swept away by the rising tide." "Oh?" Saruman chuckled sarcastically. "And who might this �rising tide� be hmmm? And where might it come from? We are miles from the sea my friend." He fed Gandalf another spoonful of soup. "The tide will not come from the sea, but from the one you worship most, the one who will shape your future wherever you go and whatever you do, because you let him. He will rise up and slam down your dreams and delusions, and leave you only in a hollow shell. Saruman, that tide will be Sauron." The soup almost slipped out of the wizards hands as his whole body flinch as if injured. He stared at the floor for a long stretch of time in silence, then calmly set the bowl down. He unsheathed the knife from his side and held it in a while knuckled grip. When Saruman finally looked up, his eyes were nothing but sudden, ferocious storms. "NO!!" he screamed, and brought the knife down and across Gandalfs chest, cutting deeply. The wizard flung his head against the wall and gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. That became harder and harder as Saruman kept slicing blindly at his chest and arms and shoulders, screaming all the time. "NO!! THAT CAN�T BE!! YOU DO NOT KNOW!!! HOW CAN YOU EVEN BEGIN TO COMPREHEND WHAT WE HAVE???!!! WEAKLING! YOU KNOW NOTHING!! YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A BAG OF HOT AIR!! I COULD KILL YOU FOR SAYING THAT!! I�LL KILL YOU I SWEAR!!!" Finally, his hand dropped to the floor and he knelt there panting. Gandalf, in spite of his pride, was almost in tears. The gray robes that Elrond had given him only a month ago were torn and soaked through with his own blood. The pain was almost unbearable, and it was all he could do to stay awake. Painless, soothing oblivion was tempting but he would rather die awake and messing with his captors mind than asleep and totally helpless. For comfort he thought of Elrond, conjured up a picture of him in his mind. The midnight black hair�. With that thin circle of silver at the top. The only other hint of gray in his face resided in his eyes, and they both shone like stars, like the otherworldly power of some God lived in him. Gandalf was forever loosing himself in those eyes, and he tried to now. He tried to relive the warm, comforting nights when they were both still young, when they would lie together, holding each other. With out meaning to, he fell asleep to those memories, with ghostly elven arms around him, and an exhausted psychotic wizard on top of him. |
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| CHAPTER 2 |
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