Co-authored by Raksha

Chapter 8

History

Faramir tensed in his chair, behind the table at the back of the large Steward's Chamber, where he held audience and kept most of his important documents.  He had finished his preparations for today's session of the Great Council, and sent the summaries of his reports to the King by messenger late last night.  Eowyn continued to feel well, though restive at her continued confinement. 

The day was off to an auspicious start.  Still, it would not hurt to read the reports again.  If Maethor and Aradan exchanged more crossfire in Council, Faramir wanted to quickly end it.  And he hoped he could advance his plans for the repairs to the sewers with the cooperation of the City Fathers who would be in attendance today. The progress of the continued clearing of Minas Morgul would probably be raised as well.

And most important of all were the words that Faramir would have with the King after Council.  He could hardly wait to tell Aragorn of what he had found in the Library; the possibility that Saruman's green stone could actually be Celebrimbor's Sarn e-Dín, the lost Stone of Silence.

"My lord" said Gildor, Faramir's secretary, from the doorway; "There is a...personage...to see you.  He will not give his name; and says you invited him to attend you here."

"Hmm?"  Faramir started to wrest his eyes from the papers he was attempting to organize. 

"Hullo, good morrow!" boomed out an unfortunately familiar voice as the old blue-cloaked busybody who had accosted him in the Library the day before pushed past the surprised secretary and strode into the Chamber.

"Peace, Gildor," said Faramir.  Hisindignant secretary looked like he was about to call the Guards.  "He is indeed invited; and you may leave us alone."

"Very well,” huffed Gildor, a good man, but occasionally too concerned with protocol.

The old man sprawled lazily in one of the least comfortable wooden chairs in the Chamber. 

"What a wondrous view," Faramir's visitor began to prattle. "Sitting here atop the Hill of Guard like a falcon in a mountaintop nest..." 

Faramir had no desire to exchange more small talk from a mysterious man who knew Saruman's Quenya name.  He sat back in his chair and levelled a mildly searching gaze on the stranger.  "Forgive me, stranger; but I have scarce time for pleasantries.  My King and Council await me; and I still have work to do. Tell me why you are here, and what you seek.  You may begin by giving me your name."   It was not a request.

The old fellow smiled pleasantly and said:  "Very well, Lord Faramir. I am called Pallando the Blue."

Faramir raised his eyebrows to veil his surprise.  He should have guessed!  Aloud, he countered "Of the Ithryn Luin, the Blue Wizards, late of the Istari?  You are a long way from the East."

"I am not originally of the East.  And yes, my friend Alatar and I have been called the Ithryn Luin.  You, my young lord, have indeed learned well from Mithrandir.  You are in truth a wizard's pupil!"

"Waste not my time with flattery," Faramir replied.  "If you are truly Pallando the Blue, then I would gladly learn more from you.  But I see no great evidence as yet.  Can you prove your claim?  I have no trust in any wizard other than Mithrandir."

Pallando grinned.  "And you are certainly discerning, a worthwhile trait in a leader of men and Counsellor to the King.  Tell me; do you know from where your friend Mithrandir came?"

Faramir saw no reason to reveal his old teacher's secrets.  "A place very far from here; where he was far more than a man.  Whence come you?"

"Make yourself comfortable, Faramir of Gondor" replied the stranger who called himself Pallando.  For once, he was not grinning or smiling.  His face was grave, his blue eyes far away.   

“I would have your word, Steward, that all I say to you will remain a secret to be shared only with your King.  For the ways of the Istari are not for the ears of mortal men.”

"Agreed“.

Pallando nodded before he continued.  His voice fell as it intoned, “After the Fall of Númenor, and the remaking of Arda, the Council of the Valar, was resolved to send out emissaries to Middle-earth.  Some two thousand years ago, five such emissaries landed at the Grey Havens.  These five were neither of the race of Men nor of the Eldar, but were the servants of Valar themselves, called the Maiar.  We came to Middle-earth as the order of Wizards, the Istari: Saruman, Mithrandir, Radagast, Alatar and I.  Though we were not blood-kin, we formed a brotherhood of purpose and power.”

“The Valar had sent us to help the folk of the West withstand Sauron, and eventually unite to defeat him.  We were forbidden to set the powers of the Maiar directly against Sauron, or to dominate the peoples of Middle-earth.  But we were allowed to use the light of the Maiar against Sauron's lesser emissaries and others of greater than mortal essence, as well you know, Faramir."  Pallando leaned forward slightly and turned a piercing gaze on the Steward of Gondor.

The Steward, who had withstood the sharpest gaze possible, that of his predecessor, began to hope that Pallando might be telling the truth.  Faramir knew that Mithrandir had been a servant to the Valar themselves in the Blessed Realm; and that the light that Mithrandir had used to save him and his men from the Nazgul's onslaught had been the very fire of the Maiar.  Mithrandir had revealed that truth, and a few others, to him before their final parting. Faramir would cherish those words forever as the greatest of treasures; for no other Man but Aragorn had been so privy to Mithrandir's secrets

Pallando continued his story:  "Aulë, the Smith, sent his servant Curumo, who was held to be the most powerful of the Istari, and the chief of the order.  You knew him as Saruman, and his Sindarin name was Curunir; both names meaning Man of Skill, for he was indeed most wise and cunning in craft.  You probably know that the Istari revealed their true names to few, but used the many names that were given to them."  Pallando smiled briefly.  "I will use the names by which they are best known to you, though it matters not to Mithrandir or Saruman anymore."

Faramir felt as if he were a youth again, walking with Mithrandir.  Mithrandir had told him something of what this other wizard now spoke.  Pallando’s words made him miss his old teacher all the more.

"Saruman was later made the head of the White Council, meant to lead Elves and Men against the rising darkness brought by Sauron to Mirkwood.  One of your ancestors gave him the keys of Orthanc, the mighty guard tower of Isengard.

“That was Beren, the nineteenth Steward”, the present Steward cut in, remembering his own land’s history.

Pallando nodded.  "Second to Saruman in power and yet his superior in wisdom was our old friend Olórinwho was later called Gandalf and Mithrandir, and other names as well.  Mithrandir was selected as an envoy by his master, Manwe Sulimo; Lord of the Air, whom he had served along with Nienna the Sorrowful.  Mithrandir was a dreamer; and he often gave visions to the Eldar in Valinor when he walked unseen among them.”

"Mithrandir was wiser than Saruman even at the beginning?" Faramir wondered.  "Or did he grow in wisdom during his wanderings?"

Pallando smiled wistfully.  "I remember the two of them, during our journey from the West to these shores.  It was a strange and yet wondrous time for us.  We had never known such limited forms before, to be more than mortal, but still bound to bodies that could know pain and hurt, even death.  To feel chill from the rain, or unease from the fog, that was new to us all.  Poor Radagast was sick most of the time, yet took great delight at the new animals he saw in the skies and the seas.  Mithrandir stayed close to Saruman; I think he admired him greatly, and took heed of his counsel.  They played games of skill, not unlike Chess or Hawks and Magpies.  It must have greatly saddened Mithrandir when Saruman finally broke faith with our masters.  To answer your question, Mithrandir was always as wise, if not wiser than Saruman. Yet your Grey Pilgrim did not even hold himself to be Saruman‘s equal until the War of the Ring proved otherwise."

"Did not the Elves gift him, rather than Saruman, with the Ring of Fire in token of his great wisdom, when first the Istari arrived?"  Faramir pressed, fascinated by this glimpse of a younger Mithrandir. 

The wistful smile stretched to a grin that broadened the wizard's face.  "You should have seen Saruman's expression when Cirdan took Mithrandir aside after we'd disembarked at the Havens!  Saruman's long face dropped until I thought it would hit the ground!  Cirdan was as full of himself as all of us put together.  And he left Saruman high and dry to go tug at Mithrandir's elbow!  We could not know exactly what passed between them, for they revealed nothing.  But a high-Elf had given Mithrandir special attention over Saruman, and the Man of Skill was most sorely vexed.  Saruman never forgot that moment.  His disdain for our Grey brother began from that time.  He often taunted Mithrandir in later years.  Especially after Galadriel stuck that pretty chin of hers out at Saruman and called for Mithrandir to head the White Council, bless the dear girl.  Mithrandir refused, and Saruman became head of the Council for many generations of Men.  Yet Mithrandir was always most beloved by the Elves, beginning with Cirdan at the Havens.  The Shipwright saw instantly that Mithrandir had kindness of heart as well as the wisdom to best handle one of the three great Rings. So it was to Mithrandir that Cirdan gave Narya.”

Reluctantly, Faramir pulled his attention back from Pallando's story.  He had not the luxury of hearing as much as he wished, no longer being the lonely boy who had so thrilled to Mithrandir's tales.  Yet part of the boy still remained within him, and craved more knowledge.   He cleared his throat, then queried:  "And how did you arrive in the brotherhood of the Istari?"

"By chance, rather than any great skill or wisdom of my own." Pallando replied ruefully.  "Orome the Huntsman sent his servant Alatar as his envoy in our mission.  I also served Orome, and was Alatar's closest friend.  Alatar refused to go unless I were allowed to join the order.  And so I went on the ship, well pleased to be part of such a great adventure. Alatar and I both took the colour and title of Blue Wizards, the Ithryn Luin, in token of our friendship."

"What were your names of old?" Faramir inquired, noticing what Pallando had not said of himself and his so-called brother.

"I was known as Rómestámo" recalled the Blue Wizard; "Which means East-Helper, a most ironic translation, as it turned out.  As for Alatar, I will not reveal his earlier name; or that of Radagast the Brown, for they still inhabit these shores and have not given me leave to tell all their secrets.  Hmm, I grow thirsty after all this talk.  May I have something to drink, Steward?"

Gildor had left a pitcher of water on Faramir's table; it was still quite cool.  Faramir filled a glass and handed it to the wizard. 

Pallando drained the glass in two long gulps, then smacked his lips. That is better.  You are a good listener, Steward,” he said.

Faramir smiled.  “It is easy to listen to such a story but I still do not understand why you tell me it.  Nor how you fit in; and what this all has to do with that green object I found in Mordor.  And if you were such a close friend to Alatar, then where is he now?"

Pallando sighed.  Faramir saw the cheer fade from the wizard's bright eyes.

"It is a rather sad tale." He replied soberly.  "Saruman sent Alatar and I to the East not long after our arrival in Middle-earth.  His strategy was that we should establish ourselves among the Easterlings, whose tribes included many of the deluded folk who were prey to Sauron's blandishments.  He ordered us to persuade the chiefs of the Easterling tribes trust and heed us, so that we could weaken them over the course of many generations.  Our task was to sow discord and corruption among the tribes, and thus diminish their efforts to conquer the lands of the West for Sauron."

"You are an honourable man, Lord Steward.  You resisted the temptation to seize the Ring from the halflings.  Can you understand what it is like to live among people for hundreds of years and lie to them, trick them, all for a purpose that grew harder and harder to remember?  To see them go forth and spend their sons' lives in battles that we were ordered to encourage, as long as we could assure that they would eventually lose the wars?  And did you know that some of the Tribes often sacrificed their firstborn sons to Sauron, not even full-grown men, but babies?  Especially if times were hard. Which they often were. Yet we obeyed Saruman's orders, and allowed the sacrifices to continue."

He paused to snort like an angry mule.  "We did our work well.  The Easterlings' attacks on Gondor in times before the War of the Ring never brought the tribes' full strength into play, thanks to our influence.  Without our manipulations, the Easterlings' attacks would have been far more deadly and might well have conquered your entire realm."

"Though there were many Easterlings who rejoiced in the opportunity to slaughter in Sauron's name, there were also many who tried to lead good lives, to raise their families with some measure of honour and peace.  And we encouraged them to spend their sons in Sauron's cause as well.  While Saruman and especially Mithrandir worked to unite the people of the West in common cause against Sauron, we continued to keep the tribes isolated, suspicious of each other, killing each other in petty disputes."

"The Easterlings have long been a deadly thorn in Gondor's side." Faramir interjected softly.  He thought of the prince for whom he had been named. The first Faramir and his brother and father had fallen in battle with the Easterling Wainriders after nearly a hundred years of war.  " And many brave sons of Gondor and Rohan fell to the Easterlings during the War of the Ring. What part did you and Alatar play in that tale?  And you said that it mattered no more to Saruman what you called him?  Is he really dead?  I must know the truth of it, Pallando, one way or the other."

The wizard nodded.  "I had grown weary of our deceit before the War began.  Alatar and I reported our progress to the White Council shortly after Sauron quit his fortress of Dol Guldur and headed for the barren plains of Mordor.  I said that I could no longer bear to curtail whatever progress the Men of the East made towards becoming more than insular savages.  Alatar told the Council that it was not fair to treat the Easterlings in this way for so many years.  But it availed us nothing in the end.  The White Council decreed that we must continue as we had begun."

Pallando sighed again, his eyes far away.  "I did not exactly respond with courage or dignity to the Council’s order," he mused.  "I seem to recall several months drinking myself into a stupor in Rhosgobel with poor Radagast twittering about, trying to hearten me.  He can drink like a fish, that Radagast.  Mithrandir visited as well; and exhorted me to remain true to our mission.  He said I could help the Easterlings best by working towards Sauron's destruction; that it would not be long now.  Anyway, Alatar had returned to the East, continuing to do his duty to the Council, and encouraging the tribesmen to kill each other. I rejoined him eventually."

"What happened next?" asked Faramir, fascinated despite his urgent need to learn of Saruman's final fate.  He had learned years ago that one does not easily interrupt a wizard's discourse.

Pallando snorted derisively.  "We played our parts, and helped the Seven Tribes kill each other in petty squabbles.  Then we watched their warriors march off to Mordor with our blessing.  The Ring-bearer finally triumphed, as you well know, since we are both still alive.  And Sauron fell, wafting away as a cloud of smelly smoke, I am told."

“Bit by bit, the few tribesmen and warlords who survived the triumph of the West trickled home to Rhun and the Steppes.  The Tribes were devastated.  Alatar and I despaired of finding a new purpose.  We could not return to our home in the Undying Lands. We knew that we would be denied return; for I had become too fond of the ways of Men, and Alatar had become too bitter.”

“I wanted to help the tribesmen begin anew, try to build better lives for themselves without destroying their sons or pillaging Gondor to do so.  And then who should appear on the doorstep of Alatar's tower, some four years after Sauron's fall but our erstwhile brother, Saruman.  Without his staff or most of his powers but unfortunately with his poisonous tongue in good working order."

"Can you guess the rest of the story, Faramir?” Pallando’s eyes gazed fiercely at the Steward.  “Saruman set himself to work on us.  He said that we had been right all along; that it was cruel to have so poorly used the Easterlings.  The more Saruman spoke, the more it seemed to Alatar that it was the Men of the West who were at fault, and the Elves, and Mithrandir, and the Valar themselves. Never mind that the strategy to continue the Easterlings' corruption had been of Saruman's making!"

Pallando paused briefly to take more water, then continued, his voice tightening.  "Alatar grew more and more angry as he listened to Saruman.  I personally found Saruman's voice more annoying than aching bones on a wet day, but my poor friend heeded his honeyed words.  Saruman had brought some interesting toys from his hoard in Orthanc; including that green trinket you carry.  Soon, Saruman and Alatar were putting their heads together in some grand design to assassinate the King of Gondor and so ripen the West for an Easterling invasion.  Saruman then left to supposedly spy out the lay of the land in Gondor.  He returned with the tale of how he used the Stone of Silence to master your mind and make you his personal weapon of choice against King Elessar; only somehow the whole scheme came crashing down about his ears. Saruman had obviously underestimated the strength of Men once more.   I thought that Alatar held the same opinion.  What I did not know is that they continued to work together.  Alatar gave Saruman help and materials to build himself a tower in Mordor, from which they could eventually launch new devilry.  I only learned of their plans last year.  Alatar revealed all to me after your last adventure with Saruman.  Alatar had apparently been lurking in those tunnels 'neath Saruman's tower, commanding the orcs; while Saruman entertained you and the King's son."

"Alatar told me that we would soon see all our dreams for the Easterlings come true; that he would lead them to a final victory over Gondor.  I asked him what he had been drinking; then realized he was sober.  We quarrelled.  Then Alatar ordered me, his oldest friend, out of his sight.  Knowing what utter havoc his so-called 'dreams' could wreak on the folk of East and West alike, I left to come here.  I will not stand by and watch another cycle of destruction begin, with my friend deluding himself into becoming a lesser Sauron.  Even if it means standing against him."

The wizard fell silent, gazing towards the clear glass window.  Faramir took the opportunity to ask again:  "A most illuminating story, Pallando.  But I must still ask you, what of Saruman?  Is he dead?"

Pallando looked closely at Faramir, beginning to smile again.  "I still see some doubt in your eyes.  Yes, my young friend.  Curumo, called Saruman the White, is unquestionably dead.  Probably the minute he hit the ground after you and Master Greenleaf contrived his fall.  The Elf's arrow hit him in the lower back."

Faramir could not help a small sigh of great relief.  It seemed almost certain that Pallando told the truth, at least in the matter of Saruman's fate.

"I am...most glad to hear this news, Pallando," Faramir replied.  "Saruman has caused us much grief."

"Don't celebrate just yet," the wizard said grimly.  "It is true that Saruman is dead.  But his legacy lives, and will cause much more grief if it is not ended now." 

"What mean you?"  Faramir snapped impatiently.

"You will hear it all, young friend.  But the King should hear it as well, for it concerns both his realm and his son.  Can you take me to him now?"

Faramir nodded.  “You have told me much, and for that I thank you.  The King must hear your tidings even before he hears mine."

The Steward stood and moved away from the table.  But he had forgotten about his stiff leg.  As he stepped forward with his right leg and his full weight descended onto the other, excruciating pain rushed up his left thigh.  Faramir’s leg buckled beneath him; and he fell to the ground.

Faramir found himself sitting awkwardly on the floor. Pallando knelt beside him, concern written across his coarse features.

“My Lord Steward,” he said.  “Are you well?”

Ignoring the helping hand that was offered, Faramir pulled himself back to his feet, annoyed with himself for such a display before a powerful wizard.

“I am fine,” he muttered impatiently.

Pallando regarded him. “An old wound?” he asked.  “My true art is not as a wizard but a healer.  Let me tend the injury.”

Faramir sighed.  “Not such an old wound,” he finally conceded when he saw the sympathy in the wizard's eyes.   “I received it but six months ago in Saruman’s tower.  The Healers inform me that this is as much as the injury will mend.  Ordinarily it hardly troubles me. The leg just stiffens when I sit too long.” 

Pallando nodded.  “I still may be able to lessen the discomfort,” he said.

“Perhaps later,” Faramir said.  “But not now.  There are more important matters at hand.  Let us go to the King.”

TBC

Next Chapter:  As if restless Easterlings were not trouble enough, our favourite wizard's pupil will face the perils of politics in the White Tower.  Be there!