It's midnight. Anything within and near the ring of Isengard stands solitary under the pale moon of Middle-earth. The master of the ancient stronghold is no idle wizard; busy with his own pondering and elaborate schemes, he's consulting one of the oldest text that is kept in the fortress. No one knows how and when the chief of the Istari managed to gather such impressive a collection of forbidden books. Treasures, the wise would say, for many are the secrets there stored and told in the manners of the past. Unreadable riddles, the common folk would deem that arcane knowledge, and much hazardous for any pious soul interested in delving into the darker hours of our story. Contemplating any possible hint or information that he might have missed in erstwhile reads, Saruman was again longing to perfect his understanding of the lost Rings of Power. His thirst had not been placated by all that he had been collecting until that moment, with the most haunting avarice that a supposedly noble character could be affected by. Centuries, spent in the hopeless wish to unveil the key of the issue, had not been enough. How many winters and summers? How many nights had he passed in the eerie company of his obsessions? No, that was not enough and could never have been so nonetheless, for the veil he was seeking to pierce resembled more a thick mist, neither physical to be concretely touched nor able to be dispersed through the craft known in later times. Frustration grew ever-deep and was consuming the last traces of sanity which remained still in the wizard's heart. He's now a sole dangerous fire, ready to be augmented via profound grudge and resentment, ill-combined with the evil ambition that too often succeeds in dragging even the pure to the dirt. The White Wizard's robes were slowly changing, as that stainless white was more and more turning into an uncanny variety of different shades; different and wavering as his voluble longings.
But time was about to unfold in the way that fate had commanded, bringing to a fair end a long period of watchful silence. Inertia and concealed intentions. Now, events will offer the proper case and reason for a turn of the tide. Firstly, it was signalled by the hasty breaking in of the sentinels of Orthanc, his most trusted messengers, disturbing the vain studies of the wizard and bearing a message of the utmost contingency for our tale.
GUARD: "My lord, I bear tidings of the most compelling necessity for your cause."
SARUMAN: "Speak, and be brief. I have no time to waste with other reports of the kind you've been messaging me so far. A wizard must not indulge in the empty bickering of common folks; not in the silly and frivolous world of whom cares about the finger and ignores the Moon which is pointed at. Tell me, what befalls in our neighbouring counties of our shires? Other quarrels among witless squires? Other monarchs who seek my help in the management of their own affairs? Other knights in search of news from the ends of the earth, demanding assistance whilst abandoning themselves to the raw pleasures of their own country?"
GUARD: "No, my liege. I bear news from lands lying north of your venerable domain. The Gladden Fields I speak of."
SARUMAN: "Well, what is it that I do not know yet of such place? My spies are ever endeavouring to patrol those forsaken borders and report everything that happens within those woods and shores. Verily, though, you ought to know that it's not just men-at-arms that I speak of, minion of mine. Do you really believe that my own mind could ever be played or miss details of the most crucial note for my enterprise? I do know what we're looking for along those silvan territories. Forsaken, as I said, by law and power, because a foolish queen did not dare extend her hand out of the fable in which she and her secretive people dwell. Are you really of the opinion that something might go unnoticed without me knowing? We have been long conducting inspections there, about the river and its related streams. Nothing has been found that could aid my goal or provide answers that I don't dispose of. If you're keen on returning to me the same tedious errands, spare me the trouble and leave me to my occupations."
GUARD: "My lord, I dare insist. Newer reports from your employed agents indicate that..."
SARUMAN: "Stay your tongue, fool. I need no message from such miserable a lot! I well told you how not just mere men are in my thrall. Whom do you think you're talking to? A sham mage, of the sort of those who fancy village feasts and the company of inferior gentry? My eye is keener than the sight of the finest Elf. My ear may hear the inaudible. My thought goes through stone and whatever peak and obstacle might separate me from the reason of my quest. My attention is ever stuck to those forests; know this, ungrateful serf! Other spies of mine have recently brought to my ears that naught seems to be in motion around there. The incessant labour of my servants may go forward with ease. None menaces our doing or even dare watch us from a distance. We are the only actor in this play. If there were clouds and wrathful storms approaching, I would immediately realise the pending danger. The sane and wise need not lose confidence or be wary of his own propositions, if no ill is to bode or mar his deeds."
GUARD: "Your skilled spies have failed the mission, my liege, if the thicket of the wood proved too intricate even for the keenest gaze. The new reports inform us of a real threat from the other side of the river. The envoy was immediately sent here and rushed to tell how packs of Orcs from Dol Guldur have taken station on the opposite shore. There, clouded by the shadows of the night, are too inspecting those fields, yearning to retrieve what was once lost in the waters of the broad river. They must know, my lord. Their master must know indeed."
SARUMAN: "Tell you the truth? Never has a tiding been as foreboding and ominous as the words you just uttered. We do truly face a great peril. The senses of my crows were no match for the tricks of the Enemy, it seems. My power may enhance and grant an already fine eye a finer vision, though the rules governing nature cannot just be defied so lightly. The unworthy warrior shall always remain so, in the end, whether he wield stick or blade. Fate has made it so that events will take a new course. The wise notices the changing tide in advance and, according to its waves, shall mould his actions on the new fashion before his very eyes. I will do so as well. Soon will every pawn of the chessboard realign itself; I foresaw it. We must stay true to the plan, whatever it takes and happens in the meantime. Anything hindering our path will be met with the appropriate means. No reckless foe shall dare to jeopardise my long-conceived endeavour. I will not permit it. My speech has served me well for the keeping at bay of the ardent, as well as odious, spirit of justice which still animates some of my fellows in the council. Some suspect, it's true, yet no opposing voice has hitherto pushed itself to a direct questioning of my authority. This is a totally different impediment, however. The Dark Lord knows. He knows what was the grievous doom he had ordered for the cursed Isildur. He knows that his precious artefact has sunk into the river and there he's still waiting for the coming of his rightful master..."
GUARD: "What shall we do, my liege? We do not have the proper force to secure us the control of the entire land. Moreover, legions of Orcs are everyday seen swarm and assemble in the whereabouts of the ghoulish fortress. It is presumable to infer that their numbers have by now grown enough to form an army."
SARUMAN: "Hunters, beasts, Orc-commanders and fiends...
Don't you understand, little wit? Seldom does the Dark Lord act in vain. I do not for a moment regard the assembling of an army as an intention to seize the passage to the Gladden Fields. He wouldn't require the assistance of a host. He has other schemes in mind. He's moving his pawns to different objectives at once. Only the foolish might think that Sauron rests lonely inside the dungeons of his lair, still and motionless. He's gathering his strength again, summoning his one-time loyal allies from the ends of Middle-earth. Nay, you can't view the whole portrait, sentinel. Such black ranks were conjured for the purpose of conquest, breaking the long peace which has clouded our minds and lessened our effort. The true dilemma therefore arises and does it plainly: where will the hammer hit? Which realm shall be the woeful target of Men's Bane? He's not apt yet to wage war against the kingdom of Men; a kingdom struggling amidst internal strife and woken enemies of the past, although the decaying marble has not crumbled yet. Nay, he must aim at another barrier of the Good to tear apart...
And, coincidentally, fell winds begin to blow and rage, as a company of Dwarves was reported to have embarked on suspicious journeys across the wilderness of Eriador, led by a disinherited lord. The same lord whom my eyes and ears spotted not so long ago, conversing gleefully with the Grey Pilgrim."
GUARD: "I cannot follow you, master. What shall we do, then?"
SARUMAN: "You need not understand all, lesser man. Your only duty is to serve me. Go, now, spread my words: our expedition to the Gladden Fields must be momentarily withdrawn; furthermore, every movement of the aforementioned dwarf-fellowship will be hereafter monitored and controlled. I will not ask you to chase the moves of my fellow wizard, for that would be beyond your very capabilities. I want and will have daily reports of our Dwarves' doing. Every single day. When the right time comes, I shall summon the White Council anew. Be gone, now! Should your mouth betray my cause, I shall know."
Saruman to himself.
SARUMAN: "So be it, great rival of mine. In the depth of your wicked shelter shall we find the just contest. May the greatest and most audacious rule and prevail, advancing a new age of might to command."