The valley of Isengard opened before them like a hidden jewel cupped by the hands of the mountains. Three sides were hemmed in by steep, grey slopes, and only to the south did the land part, revealing a green passage through which the River Isen flowed swift and pure, born of the snows that melted high upon the peaks of the Misty Mountains.

Across those plains the Shaloth people had made their home. Neat fields stretched to the horizon, their furrows drawn with a craftsman's care. Wheat swayed in golden ripples beneath the wind, and the scent of earth and fruit filled the air. Rows of apple trees lined the road, mingling their branches with oak and beech, forming archways of cool shadow. Windmills turned lazily upon the breeze, and waterwheels creaked by the rushing river.

The homes of the Shaloth stood by streams and fields — simple houses of stone and timber, roofed with thatch or slate. Here a farmer guided his plough; there a woman tended baskets of green herbs; children played by the shallows, laughing as they cast their nets. To Kaen Eowenríel it seemed a land blessed beyond the touch of war.

Far in the distance, rising like a black fang amidst the green, stood Orthanc, its ancient stone walls harmonized with the valley itself, built from the same grey granite as the mountains that sheltered it. Moss and ivy draped its lower flanks, softening the fortress's stern countenance. It seemed no longer a citadel of war, but a guardian of peace.

Kaen and his company followed Barlas through the valley for a full day, resting a night among one of the Shaloth settlements before continuing on. Birds sang above them all along the road,as though heralding their passage.

By midday of the second day, they reached the foot of the great tower. Before its gates stood a gathering of children, their faces bright with wonder. As Kaen approached, they lifted their voices in song — an elven melody, sung in Sindarin:

"From the North the King has come,

Bearing the light of the sun,

His sword shines pure, his heart is flame,

He judges shadows by their name.

O who shall stand before his might?

The just shall live, the dark take flight."

As their song faded, the deep gates of Isengard groaned open.

From within stepped a tall old man in white — long-haired and white-bearded, his staff in hand, his face calm and bright as moonlight. Saruman the White bowed gracefully and said with a gentle smile,

"Kaen….welcome to Isengard. Your coming is both unexpected and gladdening."

Kaen dismounted, inclining his head in return. "With the wisdom of the White Wizard, I doubt my arrival has gone unnoticed for long."

Saruman chuckled softly. "Perhaps. But tell me, how did the journey treat you?"

Kaen's gaze swept across the flourishing valley. "It was fair," he said. "You have turned this land into something men might dream of, a haven where peace takes root."

Saruman's eyes glimmered with quiet amusement. "Ah, yet compared to your radiant Eowenría, this is but a pale reflection. I have not your light to bless the soil."

Kaen shook his head. "Do not measure this place by another's beauty. The joy I saw upon the faces of your people. that is its light. You have given the Shaloth something the world denied them: a home."

"Perhaps so," murmured Saruman, sighing. "Come, let us walk within."

…

They passed through the gates into the inner circle of Isengard. Beneath the shade of great trees, children played beside ponds and grassy courts, some laughing, others reading from small tablets or tinkering with wooden toys. Grown men and women in scholar's robes sat beneath the boughs, teaching letters and numbers, or the lore of plants and stars.

"These are the Shaloth," Saruman said as they walked. "Centuries ago, I met their ancestors, wanderers without home. I allowed them to dwell here in peace, so long as they brought no strife to the valley. In those days they were few, and Gondor and Rohan took no heed.

"But the years turned, and more came, those cast out for their mixed blood, the unwanted of all realms. When Gondor and Rohan saw their numbers grow, they sent envoys demanding I drive them away."

Saruman's tone softened, touched by memory. "At first I obeyed. I believed it wisdom to maintain peace with the kingdoms of Men. Yet afterward I saw what folly it was — for in us, Kaen, even the Maiar, there dwells both spirit and heart. We are not unfeeling stone, nor should we pretend to be.

"After the Battle of the Five Armies, I met the Shaloth again upon my journey home. In that hour I understood — Dunedain, Rohirrim, or hillfolk — there is no true division between them. Thus I broke my old oaths, and brought them here once more. I used what wisdom I possessed to help them build their homes, and I taught them the Anglican tongue, the gift you once gave to Men."

They walked past a pond where young Shaloth studied beneath the trees, their laughter mingling with the soft splash of water. Saruman's gaze grew distant.

"Gandalf once told me that wizardry alone cannot stand against the darkness. He was right. Power cannot heal the hearts of Men, but knowledge can. So I teach these children. Someday, when the shadow stirs again, they will stand against it .not with spells, but with understanding."

…

By the time they reached the base of Orthanc, the sun had begun to set. The black tower loomed vast above them, its surface glinting like glass. Saruman placed a silver key into the iron door. With a deep rumble and the sound of turning gears, the gates swung inward.

Kaen, followed by his King's Guards and Caladhîn Sentinels, stepped inside. Saruman said, "This tower is large, thirty-three levels in all. I have prepared the first three for your company. Above them lie the libraries, and the scholars' halls. I dwell upon the highest floor."

An enchanted lift, a marvel of runes and mechanism, carried them upward. Magic here had replaced the craft of machines, and the tower seemed both ancient and strangely ahead of its age.

Once Kaen's men were settled, Saruman led him alone to the top chamber. The circular hall was lined with shelves heavy with tomes. In the center stood a stone dais inscribed with glowing runes — a place of meditation and power. Upon a desk of dark wood rested a crystal sphere, clear as frozen starlight.

Kaen's eyes narrowed slightly. "A Palantír," he murmured.

Saruman inclined his head. "Indeed. You know its lineage, then?"

Kaen nodded.

"This one," said Saruman, approaching the orb, "I found deep within the tower when I first made my dwelling here. Through it I have seen much…far more than I ever wished. Even… the shadow of Sauron himself."

At that, Kaen's expression hardened, and his gaze fixed upon the old wizard.

"Then," he said quietly, "you already know why I have come."

The light from the crystal seemed to dim, as though it too awaited the answer.

…