Chapter 3 - The white hand closes

Dark eyes followed the nine figures as they struggled through the blizzard. A faint smile played on his lips as he carefully studied each of the nine. He had overestimated the grey fool's intelligence. To walk openly bearing the weapon of the enemy was a mistake even he had not foreseen Gandalf the Grey making. He had thought the Wizard had more intelligence than that.

He looked with derision at each of the travellers who followed blindly in the old man's wake. He narrowed his eyes and gazed deeper into the palantir, willing his mind to draw closer that he might see the faces of the men. With a weak smile, he recognised the self-styled King of Gondor, ragged and covered by a thin grey cloak, shouting over the wind.

He sneered when he saw four of the creatures Gandalf valued so much, toiling in the waist-deep snow. For the life of him, he could not understand what the grey Wizard saw in worthless Halflings.

His smile broadened as he watched the tall, golden haired Elf walk lightly over the snow leaving not so much as a footprint, and the stout dwarf beside him using so much of his energy to get through the snow drifts. He knew them both and their names. He had watched Gimli and his father's journey to Rivendell from the Lonely Mountainand he had watched with interest as Thranduil and his son tried to control the wild forest of Mirkwoodand keep their realm free from danger.

He looked away from the stone for a moment, regaining some of the energy he had expended. Gathering his white robes around him, he stood for a moment in quiet thought. He knew much of the minds and men but unless he was gravely mistaken, these lone wanderers held the fate of Middle Earth in their hands. One of them carried it. He knew that the bearer was most likely a Halfling as Gandalf would not have trusted the men, nor himself for that matter, to be able to resist the temptation. The Dwarf and the Elf would not suffer each other to carry it so that left only the Halflings. These nine were all that stood between himself and absolute power. He would have had it by now had Gandalf had been wise enough to accept his offer. But when he did receive it they would all suffer for the trouble they had caused him, and Gandalf would be made to watch and see what he had done.

He looked closer into the stone and his mind wavered for a second as he looked at the last man. It was not who he had expected to find and his vision blurred with shock. What did this mean for his own plans? If Gondor supported the alliance, would not have Denethor sent his eldest on a quest that so much depended on? Was this a sign that Denethor had decided against war? That he had thought of his people, those who would die and those who would be left behind? Perhaps Denethor was content to make peace between Gondor and Mordor. If so . . . What did that mean for himself?

He had found out much of the son's of Denethor from his spies, being next in line to the Stewardship. Boromir, the eldest would be a great leader like his father. Resolute and valiant in battle, the strongly built man would command and be obeyed. As for Faramir . . . He looked down on the young man, and was startled when Faramir seemed to know he was being watched and his own dark gaze was met by determined grey eyes. The physical resemblance between the brothers was not strong save dark hair and grey eyes. From the information he had gained, he had found that although Faramir was a skilled warrior, he disliked conflict and preferred to spend his time furthering his knowledge of lore and music.

He wondered whether it was more likely the youngest son of Denethor had taken it upon himself to seek out answers and that Denethor had made no plans regarding war.

"If this is so," Saruman said aloud, "I must re-think my position."

Gimli cursed the Elf for the hundredth time as he pressed himself further against the cliff wall. Why did Elves have all the luck? They could walk over the snow as if it were a road, and if that was not enough, Legolas had just told him he did not feel the cold! Blasted Elf! He drew his cloak further around him and tried to stop shivering. Hours they had been here, long freezing hours that dragged on and on.

Beside him, Frodo and the two younger Hobbits sat huddled against the rough stone wall, blue in the face and shivering. On his right, Sam stood with Bill the pony, refusing to rest while the animal could not. Faramir stood and talked in a low voice with Sam who was nodding agreement to what the man was saying.

Gimli was surprised at Faramir. He had gradually gained the trust of everyone by occasional quiet comments and simply taking notice of their needs. Gimli did not need to do this to make friends, he was well aware that by being as loud and argumentative as possible, he could take everyone's minds away from the arduous journey. Although they did not say it, Gimli knew that everyone appreciated the distraction.

Gandalf, Aragorn and Legolas stood in the edge of the snowy path, looking up at the heights above. Although shrouded in mist, Gimli could just make out the jagged white peaks of Caradhras. Hard and sharp like knives glinting in the sun.

The snow still whirled around them, making it impossible to go on or back. Gimli was sure they would be stuck here till they froze to death. Could not Gandalf do something? Was he not a wizard? Did he not have powers? Gimli sighed and watched as Faramir passed him, and wrapped Frodo in his own cloak and got up to ask whether Merry and Pippin would like to share his own.

"We are alright thank you Gimli," Merry replied, "Legolas has already lent us his cloak. He says elves do not feel extreme cold." Gimli let out a low growl, the Elf had outdone him again!

Faramir walked over to Gimli, his arms wrapped around his chest. "Gimli, I could do with some help. Will you come and help me explore something I saw earlier?" Glad to be of service, Gimli followed Faramir back along the path until they came to place where the snow was so high they could not tell where the path led.

"What now?" Gimli growled in frustration.

Saruman knew it was there, winding its way through the whole of the mountain, and it was there he could lay his trap. He knew he had to talk to the wizard, alone. He would make Gandalf tell him their plans, what they were doing with the weapon of the enemy. Then he could plan what to do next. But how could he bring the grey wizard here?

Ah . . . He remembered now, he had touched it when Gandalf came to Orthanc, he had taken it from him. But somehow Gandalf had it now, he had regained it. But Saruman had touched it, and with great strength he could complete his plan.