Chapter Thirty-One – A Wizard’s Charms

“Lord Saruman. Gondor is grateful for your kind regard and your patience. Yesterday, much happened. My nephew had just returned from an extended fishing trip. The affairs of the Steward had to be discussed. Even though Faramir is but a boy, still, I deem it only right to apprise him of the doings of his land. I do so hope you forgive me.”

The daily tribunal for Gondor’s people was scheduled for this day and the line of supplicants, thankfully, had been long. The audience with the wizard had come hours after nuncheon. He appeared perturbed, to say the least.

“Of course, dear lady,” the honeyed tones chilled her to the bone. She steeled herself, trying not to clench the arm of the Chair, nor look to her right for support from Listöwel, nor to her left for support from Húrin. She knew Éomund and Ragnhild stood to the far left of the Chair and the dais, just out of clear sight, yet close enough to hear all that transpired. She also knew the wizard was keenly aware of the Rohirrims’ presence. Another chill ran through her. Rohan. Too close to the wizard. She rued the day that Isengard was allowed to fall into his clutches.

“I come on a grave matter. Not for myself, but for Gondor. Théoden King sent a missive to me, asking for my advice. And for my help. You know of what he wrote. He deems there is a spell upon your nephew. In his great love for Gondor, he asked a boon of me. That I come to Minas Tirith and examine the boy myself. Though I try not to interfere in the doings of my neighbors, I considered it only right that I should agree to this request. For Gondor is ever in my heart, dear lady. I have come to offer my services.”

He bowed low. Indis held her breath; something in the words boded ill for Faramir. Yet, the tone was soft and gentle, as if the wizard spoke to a child. She leaned back in the Chair, felt the cold marble upon her back and breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, this one could not be trusted.

Éomund stepped forward. “My Lady Indis. I beg you to listen to the words of the friend of both Gondor and the Mark. Saruman has been a help and a counselor of Théoden King’s for many a year. He guards our lands as if they were his own. I know many of our people who live within the shadow of Isengard have pledged fealty to him, second only, of course, to their fealty to Théoden King.”

The Rohir bowed to the wizard, who graced him with such a sickly sweet smile that, once again, chills ran through Indis.

Ragnhild stepped forward also. “As I have said before, my Lady, all trust the great Lord Saruman.”

Indis again steeled herself. She had never known Ragnhild to step forward, as she just did, and offer an opinion at an audience. ‘Something is very wrong here,’ she thought to herself.

“I do not ask you to listen to those not of Gondor, dear lady,” the wizard spoke softly, quietly, bemusedly, “however, I think in this instance, it would be wise to consider their words. I have seen the Steward, Faramir, with my own eyes. I saw a cloudiness in his eyes, a slackening of his jaw, a shortness of step, all while I stood next to Éomund when first you arrived at the Citadel. My heart lurched for the boy. I believe there is an evil spell of some sort upon him. Exactly what spell it is, I cannot say without further examination. Therefore, dear lady, I would take the boy with me to Isengard.” He held up his hand in sympathy, “It would only be for a short time. Perhaps a month at most. I deem it vital to Gondor’s weal – and to Faramir’s.”

A visible shiver now passed over Indis and she stood. “Your words will be weighed, Lord Saruman. Your suggestion will be considered. I know you offer a great boon to Gondor, but I must spend some time in thought ere I make a decision. Faramir has been under great duress these past months. My first thoughts are to keep him here in Minas Tirith for a while longer, to continue his healing.”

“My lady,” the wizard’s voice turned a shade colder. “If you keep him in Minas Tirith any longer, you risk the spell becoming more potent – mayhap, even more deadly. I counsel you to allow him to return with me to my tower today.”

“I will consider your offer, Lord Saruman.” She stood, turned to her left, and exited the Great Hall by the Steward’s private door. She did not look back. She was afraid to look back. Húrin and Listöwel followed her. As soon as the door closed behind them, she staggered. Húrin caught her.

“He is thoroughly evil,” she whispered. “Did you not feel it?”

“I did,” Húrin whispered back. Though the door was made of solid oak and at least four inches thick, he felt the need for secrecy. “Did you hear Éomund and Ragnhild? What could they have been thinking?”

Listöwel hurried them away and up the back stairs to Indis’ rooms. “I would not speak at all till we are as far from him as Ithil is from Anor.” She collapsed upon a chair in Indis’ study and breathed a loud sigh of relief.

“How do we extricate Éomund and Ragnhild from his clutches?”

“We do nothing,” Húrin poured three glasses of brandy. “You handled him expertly, Indis. But we can do nothing to help our friends. At least at the moment. Our main concern is Faramir. Somehow, we must spirit the boy away from here. Perhaps to Dol Amroth.”

“Yes!” Indis jumped up. She pulled the bell and Balan entered. “Take Faramir to Listöwel’s room immediately. Tell no one and let no one see you. It is extremely urgent, Balan. The wizard especially cannot see you. Use the back stairs. Please, take the utmost care, Balan.”

“I will, my Regent.” He turned and ran from the room.

“Listöwel. Go to your chambers now and wait for Faramir. We will pack nothing for him; we must do nothing that will give away our intent. I am sore-pressed to have you leave Minas Tirith now, but we must do this. Fear courses through me for Faramir. I would have Balan travel with you. My first choice would be Borondir also, but I am afraid word would return to Ragnhild and the wizard would discover what we have done.”

“Borondir is loyal. He will not tell Ragnhild.” Listöwel stood to leave, but stopped at Húrin’s next question.

“What will you tell the wizard, Indis, when he asks to see Faramir?”

“I will speak with Siriondil. I believe Faramir has contracted some rash during his recent trip as has Borondir and Targon. Targon will go with them to Dol Amroth. Siriondil will say they are confined to the Houses until the contagion period is over.” She shivered and then wept quietly. “I cannot believe we must be parted again.” Her weeping turned to sobs and Listöwel knelt and held her.

“I will take care of him. Do not worry, Indis. I promise.”

“I know you will, Listöwel. It is just too soon. Please, go now. Night is almost upon us. I would have you leave as soon as it is dark.”

~*~

A/N - Regarding the voice of Saruman: "The window closed. They waited. Suddenly another voice spoke, low and melodious, its very sound an enchantment. Those who listened unwarily to that voice could seldom report the words that they heard; and if they did, they wondered, for little power remained in them. Mostly they remembered only that it was a delight to hear the voice speaking, all that it said seemed wise and reasonable, and desire awoke in them by swift agreement to seem wise themselves. When others spoke they seemed harsh and uncouth by contrast; and if they gainsaid the voice, anger was kindled in the hearts of those under the spell. For some the spell lasted only while the voice spoke to them, and when it spake to another they smiled, as men do who see through a juggler's trick while others gape at it. For many the sound of the voice alone was enough to hold them enthralled; but for those whom it conquered the spell endured when they were far away, and ever they heard that soft voice whispering and urging them. But none were unmoved; none rejected its pleas and its commands without an effort of mind and will, so long as its master had control of it." TTT: Book 3: Ch. 9 - Flotsam and Jetsam.