Fic: Happiness is a Broken Wand [Part 14]
Title: Happiness is a Broken Wand
Chapter: 14/?
Author: Embracing Madness
Summary: Severus Snape just wants a new, peaceful life in Middle Earth, but with a vicious war arising and a new Dark Lord gunning for him, he'll have to fight to get that wish. Magic and battles, familiars and friends. Slytherinesque cunning shall always prevail.
Word Count: 2450 for this part [total so far: 27, 153]
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings belong to J.K Rowling and J.R.R Tolkien, all the copyrights associated with HP and LOTR belongs to them. Only the ideas contained within this story are the property of the author. No profit is being earned by the writer of this story.
"Truly, Gandalf, I see no reason to ally with a man, even if he be Isildur's Heir...Pah! Do not speak to me of instincts. Logic tells me that the Enemy will be defeated by wizard powers rather than mortal warmongering...no. No, Gandalf! This, this Aragorn already benefits from your help, which, I should add, could be put to better use helping me research more about Sauron's weaknesses..." Saruman forcibly cut off his burgeoning tirade with an irritated sigh.
"This is going nowhere. Why don't you...why don't you...do you remember my library? Perhaps you may like to visit it? I have acquired many new scrolls which may interest you... I will heal soon. You have my full gratitude, but you should resume your quest as quickly as possible..."
By the Vala, I'd forgotten how annoyingly pigheaded Gandalf can be! Saruman's relief was palpable when Gandalf finally, finally deigned to leave his bedroom and headed to the little library at theother end of the tower - in which Saruman had made sure to keep only his most harmless scrolls, of course. With any luck, Gandalf would stay in that library and leave Saruman in peace for the rest of the day.
Truly, it had been far too long since Saruman had seen Gandalf in person. After their last explosive argument at the White Council, well-nigh thirty-five years ago, Saruman had not thought to see his old friend again visiting his domain. And now that Gandalf had visited Isengard with the express purpose of saving Saruman and tending to his injuries? Saruman found himself wishing that Gandalf had continued to stay away. Any gratitude he had felt towards Gandalf was now firmly buried underneath an incredible irritation. Gandalf was just too hot-tempered, just too impatient, just too disrespectful, just too...just too undignified for Saruman to endure.
And that, clearly, is the price of his hobnobbing with lesser beings, Saruman thought with mournful disdain. And truly, he could sympathize with Gandalf. What Maia wouldn't lose their patience, their temper and their dignity when doomed to deal daily with the common idiotic rabble of humans and hobbits? Saruman could only conclude that whatever secret Gandalf hid from him must be powerful indeed, to render him so willing to suffer a life among uncouth, powerblind mortals. Unfortunately, though he'd spied on his old friend assiduously over the past few decades, even going so far as to scrutinize his peculiar habit of pipe-smoking, he was no closer to discovering Gandalf's secrets than he'd been at the start of his investigation. Curse him and his cunning!
However, despite his irritation, Saruman couldn't deny that Gandalf was trying his best to take care of him. Though they'd nearly come to blows more than once when Gandalf's brashness had clashed horribly with Saruman's arrogance - and yes, Saruman knew that he was arrogant, and saw no problem with it, thank you very much, for did he not have the intelligence and power to back up that arrogance? - though Gandalf clearly longed to resume the mysterious quest that he'd previously aborted in order to come to Saruman's aid, Gandalf never left, and never gave up in tending to Saruman's injuries. And Saruman...could acknowledge his debt to Gandalf, and knew that he'd have to repay him in time. Curiously, that did not rankle as much as Saruman thought it would.
But then again, after the attack, Saruman found that he was less easily irritated, and his head was clearer than it had been in a long time. Looking back, he could feel only mortification at some of the idiocies he'd committed in the past few years. Proposing treaties of alliance with the ignorant, uncultured Dunlendings? Honestly, consorting with them was by far more appalling than consorting with hobbits, who at least appeared to have some modicum of manners. Felling the trees around Isengard to make his dwellings look more imposing? He truly hadn't needed Gandalf's disapproving gaze and censuring remarks to know that it'd been a supremely ridiculous decision. He was only glad that none of the nosy Ents had caught wind of that debacle yet.
Indeed, Saruman regretted it all now. The more he thought about it, the odder his past behavior looked to himself. He could only conclude that somehow, somehow, Sauron had corrupted his thoughts. It was disturbing, for he could not imagine how Sauron could possibly have slipped through his nets.
Well, he would just have to investigate the wardings around Isengard as soon as possible. And, as much as he hated the idea, he would have to find a way to reverse all his ridiculous decisions - in secret, of course. Let it never be known that Saruman the White stumbled and fell prey to the Enemy's machinations. He would have to end the alliances, recreate his gardens, stop the Orc experiments that he'd been conducting under his tower...
Or perhaps he could keep the experiments? Not all his actions were without benefit, and having an army of superior Orcs would go a long way in fighting Sauron. Yes. Yes, he would keep the Orc experiments. And the new Black scrolls which detailed the fall of Sauron from the eyes of the Enemy - he would keep those too. Perhaps they could give him a clue to Sauron's weaknesses! Andthe palantir - that was such a fascinating Dark artifact, he couldn't bear to part with it - and with a little more time, Saruman was sure that he could manipulate its powers to his own benefit, rather than to Sauron's! Not to mention, the Dark spells he planned to test out...wait. The palantir.
Saruman's burgeoning eagerness to resume his beloved research ground to an abrupt halt.
The palantir.
The palantir.
Before the vicious attack, he'd been viewing memories of Gandalf.
He'd been viewing memories of Gandalf within his Scrying Hall.
The Scrying Hall was where all his memories of Gandalf, all his Dark Artifacts and the palantir were located.
He'd left the Scrying Hall in a rage, without bothering to ward it...or even close its doors.
And Gandalf, power-sensitive Gandalf, ever-curious Gandalf, Gandalf was now wending his way through Saruman's dwelling, and Saruman knew, just knew, that Gandalf would sense the Darkness, that Gandalf's curiosity would be roused by the odd room that he'd never seen before...and that he would enter.
Saruman was out of his bed and down the hallway before he'd finished that thought.
The doors to the Scrying Hall were shut.
Saruman stared at them, chest still heaving from his mad dash through Isengard.
The doors to the Scrying Hall were shut.
Sauron's attack had taken a heavier toll upon Saruman that he'd wished to admit to Gandalf. And if Gandalf was inside...if Gandalf saw his artifacts, and misunderstood Saruman's good intentions in collecting and analyzing them...it was highly likely that Gandalf would confront Saruman with violence.
And with his current debilitating injuries, Saruman would be hard pressed to win that encounter.
Lips pressed tightly together, Saruman walked up to the doors. Stared at them some more. With a light push of his magic, sent them flying wide open. And walked in, both hands holding firmly onto his staff. His eyes swept through the Hall, cataloging the objects within.
His memories of Gandalf, frozen into little raindrops hanging from the lights. They were untouched. Good.
His dark artifacts, placed carefully within warded jars and spelled to look like furniture. Also untouched. Good.
But the palantir was uncovered. Not good.
And Gandalf was staring right into it, lost in its depths.
Words could not fully describe what Saruman felt at that moment. With an indignant roar, Saruman charged to the center of the Hall and grabbed his nosy interfering busybody friend away. "What do you think you're doing, Gandalf the Grey? Do you think this a mere toy..."
His words faltered as he took in Gandalf's pallid, sweat-streaked face. His hands involuntarily loosened their death grip on Gandalf's shoulders, which proved to be a mistake; they were all that was holding Gandalf upright and on his feet. Slowly, Gandalf sank down, his bloodshot eyes gaining a dazed cast.
"Saruman..." He wheezed dizzily.
"By the Vala, what happened, Gandalf?" Saruman cried out. Whirling around, he looked cautiously into the palantir, and felt pure dismay to see only murkiness in its depths. "Did you break it?"
"No...no...I looked...I think...we talked...years passed...he said...an eternity..."
Preoccupied with breaking past the murkiness, Saruman paid scant attention to Gandalf's ramblings. Straining to see something, anything, in his treasured tool, he was unprepared for the murkiness to suddenly dissolve into nothingness...and the bleeding, injured, blinded Eye of Sauron to appear in a flash of dark fire. Gasping, Saruman reeled back instinctively, only to catch the last, few, damning words of Gandalf,
"We talked...he said...he said...that you served him, and that I'd be better off...serving him too..."
Saruman tensed, but looking back at Gandalf, he could see only dazedness and incomprehension.
"And then?" he prodded carefully. Memories of his own encounter with Sauron rose. He'd been as unprepared as Gandalf, as unable to fight the Dark Lord using the corrupted palantir, and so, to survive the encounter, he'd been forced to enter the Dark Lord's service. He'd thought that he'd managed to trick the Dark Lord - but now he was forced to conclude that this was how the Dark Lord had slipped through his warding. He knew now, that he was the one tricked.
Saruman grimaced at the bitter taste of defeat, and chanced a second look into the palantir. But no. Sauron's blindness appeared to be only temporary; already, the Eye was glaring vengefully around for its attacker. Saruman withdrew hastily again - with his own injuries, he was no match for the Dark Lord's power. Glancing back at Gandalf, he asked again, "Well?"
Gandalf barked out a hoarse laugh. "What choice...did I have? I said no...we fought...oh how we fought..." His laughter trailed off into a heaving gulp, as Gandalf fought to keep from vomiting onto the stone floor. But Saruman did not heed his consideration; he felt eaten out by exasperated bitterness at Gandalf's words. Noble Gandalf. Valiant Gandalf. Of course. Of course Gandalf never considered lying. Of course Gandalf charged right in to fight Sauron. Of course Gandalf was willing to die to uphold his ideals. In that instant, hate and admiration warred within Saruman's breast, and he felt ready to finish off the job that Sauron had started.
"Saruman?" Gandalf's voice was lost. Turning around, ready to throttle Gandalf for being so horribly, terribly noble, Saruman blinked to see Gandalf staring at him sorrowfully. "It's true...you've turned traitor..."
In the years to come, Saruman would swear that his next reaction was pure instinct. The word 'traitor' swept away all feelings of hate and admiration, and replaced them with sheer panic. Sweeping out his staff, Saruman attacked.
The sickening crack of Gandalf's body slamming into the unyielding stone wall echoed around the Scrying Hall.
For a long moment, Saruman froze. Staring at the limp, unconscious body of his old friend, he couldn't stop a deep, sick feeling from rising in his throat.
Kinslayer.
Traitor.
Dark.
Gandalf was honest; too honest. Nothing would stop him from ousting Saruman to the world.
Gandalf was his friend and equal; his only friend and equal. The other wizards had not Gandalf's quick wit or keen intelligence. Saruman could not, would not kill him.
He wasn't prepared for this. He couldn't allow Gandalf to brand him as a traitor. And yet, he wasn't callous enough to silence his old friend for good.
Time slowed, and spun around him. For a long moment, Saruman closed his eyes, and banished the lingering echoes of Sauron's power upon his mind. For a long moment, he gazed upon all the roads that he could take, all the decisions that he could make, to continuechangereverse his act of attacking Gandalf.
When he opened his eyes, Saruman the White was cold and focused. Rising to his feet, Saruman the White steadily approached his old friend. Slowly, but unhesitatingly, Saruman the White placed a gentle hand upon his old friend's brow, and used the mind powers that he learnt from his last attacker, to make his old friend...forget.
This never happened. Saruman the White linked his mind to Gandalf's thoughts.
This is not real. Gandalf was injured and unconscious; Saruman the White found it easy to work past his mental shields.
You walked straight to the little library. You stayed there all day. You slept. Saruman the White weaved his Voice into thoughts and cast its power out upon his old friend. Ignoring his injuries, ignoring his fatigue, Saruman the White, Head of the White Council, worked patiently to create a new memory that overlaid Gandalf's old ones. Heedless of his aching throat, heedless of his cracking Voice, Saruman the White healed all detectable wounds upon Gandalf's mind and body. Disregarding his growing anger, disregarding his self-loathing, Saruman the White brought Gandalf to the library and carefully set the scene.
He thought of everything. He omitted nothing.
And then, Saruman the White calmly returned back to the Scrying Hall, closed and warded the doors, and screamed.
Fury coursed through his veins at what he'd done. Fury at himself, fury at Gandalf, and most of all, fury at Sauron.
He ensnared me. He attacked me. He ousted me to Gandalf as a traitor!
Saruman screamed until his throat burned with agony. And then, with a swirl of his robes, he stalked to stand in front of the palantir. His voice was raw and harsh, but every word he spoke then was tinged with a terrible, imposing menace.
"You may have believed that you had me in your loathsome grasp, Sauron. You may have thought that you could manipulate me to do your ridiculous bidding. But you overestimate yourself, and underestimate me, if you believe that I will meekly swallow this insult to my power. For that, and that alone, I swear an oath upon my name. I will rip from you all that you own, and I will destroy every bit of the power that you so crave. And when you are wallowing in your own filth and begging for my mercy, I will show you, and the world, that Saruman the White will not be trifled with. I will show that I will not be made a fool of, and that it is, in fact, you who were the fool, when you dared to include me within your machinations. And so do I swear to repay you for the humiliation that you have visited upon me. Eye for an eye, Dark Lord Sauron," a hand was placed upon the palantir with a deadly smile, "Eye for an eye.
Chapter: 14/?
Author: Embracing Madness
Summary: Severus Snape just wants a new, peaceful life in Middle Earth, but with a vicious war arising and a new Dark Lord gunning for him, he'll have to fight to get that wish. Magic and battles, familiars and friends. Slytherinesque cunning shall always prevail.
Word Count: 2450 for this part [total so far: 27, 153]
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings belong to J.K Rowling and J.R.R Tolkien, all the copyrights associated with HP and LOTR belongs to them. Only the ideas contained within this story are the property of the author. No profit is being earned by the writer of this story.
"Truly, Gandalf, I see no reason to ally with a man, even if he be Isildur's Heir...Pah! Do not speak to me of instincts. Logic tells me that the Enemy will be defeated by wizard powers rather than mortal warmongering...no. No, Gandalf! This, this Aragorn already benefits from your help, which, I should add, could be put to better use helping me research more about Sauron's weaknesses..." Saruman forcibly cut off his burgeoning tirade with an irritated sigh.
"This is going nowhere. Why don't you...why don't you...do you remember my library? Perhaps you may like to visit it? I have acquired many new scrolls which may interest you... I will heal soon. You have my full gratitude, but you should resume your quest as quickly as possible..."
By the Vala, I'd forgotten how annoyingly pigheaded Gandalf can be! Saruman's relief was palpable when Gandalf finally, finally deigned to leave his bedroom and headed to the little library at theother end of the tower - in which Saruman had made sure to keep only his most harmless scrolls, of course. With any luck, Gandalf would stay in that library and leave Saruman in peace for the rest of the day.
Truly, it had been far too long since Saruman had seen Gandalf in person. After their last explosive argument at the White Council, well-nigh thirty-five years ago, Saruman had not thought to see his old friend again visiting his domain. And now that Gandalf had visited Isengard with the express purpose of saving Saruman and tending to his injuries? Saruman found himself wishing that Gandalf had continued to stay away. Any gratitude he had felt towards Gandalf was now firmly buried underneath an incredible irritation. Gandalf was just too hot-tempered, just too impatient, just too disrespectful, just too...just too undignified for Saruman to endure.
And that, clearly, is the price of his hobnobbing with lesser beings, Saruman thought with mournful disdain. And truly, he could sympathize with Gandalf. What Maia wouldn't lose their patience, their temper and their dignity when doomed to deal daily with the common idiotic rabble of humans and hobbits? Saruman could only conclude that whatever secret Gandalf hid from him must be powerful indeed, to render him so willing to suffer a life among uncouth, powerblind mortals. Unfortunately, though he'd spied on his old friend assiduously over the past few decades, even going so far as to scrutinize his peculiar habit of pipe-smoking, he was no closer to discovering Gandalf's secrets than he'd been at the start of his investigation. Curse him and his cunning!
However, despite his irritation, Saruman couldn't deny that Gandalf was trying his best to take care of him. Though they'd nearly come to blows more than once when Gandalf's brashness had clashed horribly with Saruman's arrogance - and yes, Saruman knew that he was arrogant, and saw no problem with it, thank you very much, for did he not have the intelligence and power to back up that arrogance? - though Gandalf clearly longed to resume the mysterious quest that he'd previously aborted in order to come to Saruman's aid, Gandalf never left, and never gave up in tending to Saruman's injuries. And Saruman...could acknowledge his debt to Gandalf, and knew that he'd have to repay him in time. Curiously, that did not rankle as much as Saruman thought it would.
But then again, after the attack, Saruman found that he was less easily irritated, and his head was clearer than it had been in a long time. Looking back, he could feel only mortification at some of the idiocies he'd committed in the past few years. Proposing treaties of alliance with the ignorant, uncultured Dunlendings? Honestly, consorting with them was by far more appalling than consorting with hobbits, who at least appeared to have some modicum of manners. Felling the trees around Isengard to make his dwellings look more imposing? He truly hadn't needed Gandalf's disapproving gaze and censuring remarks to know that it'd been a supremely ridiculous decision. He was only glad that none of the nosy Ents had caught wind of that debacle yet.
Indeed, Saruman regretted it all now. The more he thought about it, the odder his past behavior looked to himself. He could only conclude that somehow, somehow, Sauron had corrupted his thoughts. It was disturbing, for he could not imagine how Sauron could possibly have slipped through his nets.
Well, he would just have to investigate the wardings around Isengard as soon as possible. And, as much as he hated the idea, he would have to find a way to reverse all his ridiculous decisions - in secret, of course. Let it never be known that Saruman the White stumbled and fell prey to the Enemy's machinations. He would have to end the alliances, recreate his gardens, stop the Orc experiments that he'd been conducting under his tower...
Or perhaps he could keep the experiments? Not all his actions were without benefit, and having an army of superior Orcs would go a long way in fighting Sauron. Yes. Yes, he would keep the Orc experiments. And the new Black scrolls which detailed the fall of Sauron from the eyes of the Enemy - he would keep those too. Perhaps they could give him a clue to Sauron's weaknesses! Andthe palantir - that was such a fascinating Dark artifact, he couldn't bear to part with it - and with a little more time, Saruman was sure that he could manipulate its powers to his own benefit, rather than to Sauron's! Not to mention, the Dark spells he planned to test out...wait. The palantir.
Saruman's burgeoning eagerness to resume his beloved research ground to an abrupt halt.
The palantir.
The palantir.
Before the vicious attack, he'd been viewing memories of Gandalf.
He'd been viewing memories of Gandalf within his Scrying Hall.
The Scrying Hall was where all his memories of Gandalf, all his Dark Artifacts and the palantir were located.
He'd left the Scrying Hall in a rage, without bothering to ward it...or even close its doors.
And Gandalf, power-sensitive Gandalf, ever-curious Gandalf, Gandalf was now wending his way through Saruman's dwelling, and Saruman knew, just knew, that Gandalf would sense the Darkness, that Gandalf's curiosity would be roused by the odd room that he'd never seen before...and that he would enter.
Saruman was out of his bed and down the hallway before he'd finished that thought.
The doors to the Scrying Hall were shut.
Saruman stared at them, chest still heaving from his mad dash through Isengard.
The doors to the Scrying Hall were shut.
Sauron's attack had taken a heavier toll upon Saruman that he'd wished to admit to Gandalf. And if Gandalf was inside...if Gandalf saw his artifacts, and misunderstood Saruman's good intentions in collecting and analyzing them...it was highly likely that Gandalf would confront Saruman with violence.
And with his current debilitating injuries, Saruman would be hard pressed to win that encounter.
Lips pressed tightly together, Saruman walked up to the doors. Stared at them some more. With a light push of his magic, sent them flying wide open. And walked in, both hands holding firmly onto his staff. His eyes swept through the Hall, cataloging the objects within.
His memories of Gandalf, frozen into little raindrops hanging from the lights. They were untouched. Good.
His dark artifacts, placed carefully within warded jars and spelled to look like furniture. Also untouched. Good.
But the palantir was uncovered. Not good.
And Gandalf was staring right into it, lost in its depths.
Words could not fully describe what Saruman felt at that moment. With an indignant roar, Saruman charged to the center of the Hall and grabbed his nosy interfering busybody friend away. "What do you think you're doing, Gandalf the Grey? Do you think this a mere toy..."
His words faltered as he took in Gandalf's pallid, sweat-streaked face. His hands involuntarily loosened their death grip on Gandalf's shoulders, which proved to be a mistake; they were all that was holding Gandalf upright and on his feet. Slowly, Gandalf sank down, his bloodshot eyes gaining a dazed cast.
"Saruman..." He wheezed dizzily.
"By the Vala, what happened, Gandalf?" Saruman cried out. Whirling around, he looked cautiously into the palantir, and felt pure dismay to see only murkiness in its depths. "Did you break it?"
"No...no...I looked...I think...we talked...years passed...he said...an eternity..."
Preoccupied with breaking past the murkiness, Saruman paid scant attention to Gandalf's ramblings. Straining to see something, anything, in his treasured tool, he was unprepared for the murkiness to suddenly dissolve into nothingness...and the bleeding, injured, blinded Eye of Sauron to appear in a flash of dark fire. Gasping, Saruman reeled back instinctively, only to catch the last, few, damning words of Gandalf,
"We talked...he said...he said...that you served him, and that I'd be better off...serving him too..."
Saruman tensed, but looking back at Gandalf, he could see only dazedness and incomprehension.
"And then?" he prodded carefully. Memories of his own encounter with Sauron rose. He'd been as unprepared as Gandalf, as unable to fight the Dark Lord using the corrupted palantir, and so, to survive the encounter, he'd been forced to enter the Dark Lord's service. He'd thought that he'd managed to trick the Dark Lord - but now he was forced to conclude that this was how the Dark Lord had slipped through his warding. He knew now, that he was the one tricked.
Saruman grimaced at the bitter taste of defeat, and chanced a second look into the palantir. But no. Sauron's blindness appeared to be only temporary; already, the Eye was glaring vengefully around for its attacker. Saruman withdrew hastily again - with his own injuries, he was no match for the Dark Lord's power. Glancing back at Gandalf, he asked again, "Well?"
Gandalf barked out a hoarse laugh. "What choice...did I have? I said no...we fought...oh how we fought..." His laughter trailed off into a heaving gulp, as Gandalf fought to keep from vomiting onto the stone floor. But Saruman did not heed his consideration; he felt eaten out by exasperated bitterness at Gandalf's words. Noble Gandalf. Valiant Gandalf. Of course. Of course Gandalf never considered lying. Of course Gandalf charged right in to fight Sauron. Of course Gandalf was willing to die to uphold his ideals. In that instant, hate and admiration warred within Saruman's breast, and he felt ready to finish off the job that Sauron had started.
"Saruman?" Gandalf's voice was lost. Turning around, ready to throttle Gandalf for being so horribly, terribly noble, Saruman blinked to see Gandalf staring at him sorrowfully. "It's true...you've turned traitor..."
In the years to come, Saruman would swear that his next reaction was pure instinct. The word 'traitor' swept away all feelings of hate and admiration, and replaced them with sheer panic. Sweeping out his staff, Saruman attacked.
The sickening crack of Gandalf's body slamming into the unyielding stone wall echoed around the Scrying Hall.
For a long moment, Saruman froze. Staring at the limp, unconscious body of his old friend, he couldn't stop a deep, sick feeling from rising in his throat.
Kinslayer.
Traitor.
Dark.
Gandalf was honest; too honest. Nothing would stop him from ousting Saruman to the world.
Gandalf was his friend and equal; his only friend and equal. The other wizards had not Gandalf's quick wit or keen intelligence. Saruman could not, would not kill him.
He wasn't prepared for this. He couldn't allow Gandalf to brand him as a traitor. And yet, he wasn't callous enough to silence his old friend for good.
Time slowed, and spun around him. For a long moment, Saruman closed his eyes, and banished the lingering echoes of Sauron's power upon his mind. For a long moment, he gazed upon all the roads that he could take, all the decisions that he could make, to continuechangereverse his act of attacking Gandalf.
When he opened his eyes, Saruman the White was cold and focused. Rising to his feet, Saruman the White steadily approached his old friend. Slowly, but unhesitatingly, Saruman the White placed a gentle hand upon his old friend's brow, and used the mind powers that he learnt from his last attacker, to make his old friend...forget.
This never happened. Saruman the White linked his mind to Gandalf's thoughts.
This is not real. Gandalf was injured and unconscious; Saruman the White found it easy to work past his mental shields.
You walked straight to the little library. You stayed there all day. You slept. Saruman the White weaved his Voice into thoughts and cast its power out upon his old friend. Ignoring his injuries, ignoring his fatigue, Saruman the White, Head of the White Council, worked patiently to create a new memory that overlaid Gandalf's old ones. Heedless of his aching throat, heedless of his cracking Voice, Saruman the White healed all detectable wounds upon Gandalf's mind and body. Disregarding his growing anger, disregarding his self-loathing, Saruman the White brought Gandalf to the library and carefully set the scene.
He thought of everything. He omitted nothing.
And then, Saruman the White calmly returned back to the Scrying Hall, closed and warded the doors, and screamed.
Fury coursed through his veins at what he'd done. Fury at himself, fury at Gandalf, and most of all, fury at Sauron.
He ensnared me. He attacked me. He ousted me to Gandalf as a traitor!
Saruman screamed until his throat burned with agony. And then, with a swirl of his robes, he stalked to stand in front of the palantir. His voice was raw and harsh, but every word he spoke then was tinged with a terrible, imposing menace.
"You may have believed that you had me in your loathsome grasp, Sauron. You may have thought that you could manipulate me to do your ridiculous bidding. But you overestimate yourself, and underestimate me, if you believe that I will meekly swallow this insult to my power. For that, and that alone, I swear an oath upon my name. I will rip from you all that you own, and I will destroy every bit of the power that you so crave. And when you are wallowing in your own filth and begging for my mercy, I will show you, and the world, that Saruman the White will not be trifled with. I will show that I will not be made a fool of, and that it is, in fact, you who were the fool, when you dared to include me within your machinations. And so do I swear to repay you for the humiliation that you have visited upon me. Eye for an eye, Dark Lord Sauron," a hand was placed upon the palantir with a deadly smile, "Eye for an eye.