The summit of Orthanc had fallen into utter stillness. Kaen Eowenríel and Saruman stood facing one another, their eyes locked, two powers unseen yet palpable filling the chamber like a gathering storm. Outside, the wind began to howl about the tower's heights, and clouds drew thick and black across the sky. Lightning flashed, thunder rumbled in the distance, and below, the folk of Isengard looked upward in fear, thinking only that rain was coming. They could not know that within the tower two forces of near-divine might were silently contending.

In spirit, they were equals — Saruman's ancient wisdom and Kaen's iron will clashing unseen, like the meeting of wind and stone. Yet Kaen knew the truth: if it came to battle, the White Wizard would not stand a chance. His magic might be vast, his knowledge profound, but his craft was not of war. Kaen, forged by endless conflict, had risen from mortal hero to mythic power through the tempering of battle and the will to protect.

In Middle-earth, even the divine were not alike. Some were made for war, some for healing, others for knowledge and craft. The Dark Lord Sauron had been both warrior and scholar among the Maiar, his might second only to the Valar themselves. But the five Istari — the Wizards sent into the world — had not been so shaped. Gandalf was of guidance and aid; Saruman of knowledge and reason. None among them were made for combat.

Kaen, however, was made by it. He had fought his way to glory, and now bore within him the strength to slay even gods. A mythic hero could strike down a Balrog or a fallen Maia, history had shown it in ages past. And Kaen, who had studied the Elven sorceries of old from Elrond himself, could match wisdom with might. If Saruman had truly fallen, Kaen would not hesitate to end him here and now.

Saruman's calm voice broke the silence at last. "You have grown stronger," he said softly.

Kaen smiled faintly. "A man must grow, Master of Wisdom. Else he is not truly alive."

"Yes… men do grow," murmured Saruman, and his gaze turned distant, heavy with something between envy and sorrow. "But we are not as they are. We were born complete — fixed as the Music made us. What we are, we remain. Once, now, forever."

Kaen understood. He was speaking of the fate of the Ainur — the divine beings shaped before the making of the world. The Valar and Maiar had been sung into being by Eru Ilúvatar himself, their powers bound by His design. They could not surpass the measure given them, nor change the song of their nature.

Men and Elves, though frail, were free, able to grow, to fail, to rise again. In that sense, they might even surpass the immortals. It was the difference between the Creator's children and His instruments.

Kaen saw then what Saruman's turmoil truly was not pride as of old, but despair. A yearning to be more than he was fated to be. In the past, that yearning had led him astray into Sauron's deceit; now it merely gnawed at him like a wound unhealed.

Kaen's voice came gentle, yet firm as the edge of a sword. "You must not weigh your weaknesses against the gifts of others. Even Eru himself is not flawless in His designs — for all that He creates bears both light and shadow.

"Men live but a handful of years, and though their potential is vast, their time is fleeting. The Elves endure beyond ages, yet with every century their hearts grow heavier with sorrow until they fade or choose to leave this world. The Dwarves are long-lived but bound by greed and stubbornness, often buried by the gold they hoard.

"You of the divine are eternal, untouched by pain, by joy, by death. But what you feel now, anger, envy, compassion, these are not chains, Saruman. They are gifts. You wear flesh so that you might understand. Do not mistake feeling for corruption."

Kaen's gaze sharpened, his hand resting upon the hilt of his blade, Brilliance and Valor, the sword that bore the light of his spirit. "But if you give in to envy, if you let it poison your wisdom, then you are already lost. I will not permit another to fall. Middle-earth has one Dark Lord already; it shall have no second."

The faint ring of steel whispered as Kaen's fingers brushed the blade. The tension in the chamber grew like the coiling of thunder.

Saruman stood unmoving, his eyes shadowed. He understood well, this was the moment upon which his fate turned. Before him stood the man who had once been a youth in awe of him, now a king among men, whose sword could strike down a Maia if need be. If he chose darkness now, Kaen's mercy would not save him.

The silence deepened. Kaen's aura brightened, a golden radiance that filled the room. The storm outside roared louder, lightning flickered and then, a single sigh broke through the stillness.

Saruman bowed his head. "Ah… how far you have come."

The winds fell silent. The storm clouds began to part. Kaen's light dimmed softly, fading into calm.

Saruman lifted his gaze once more, his eyes weary but clear as dawn. "Thank you, Kaen," he said quietly.

Kaen smiled, the kind of smile that held neither triumph nor pride, only peace. "It was goodness that guided you, not I."

He released the sword's hilt. Through the high windows, sunlight pierced the last of the clouds, spilling into the chamber in golden beams. Dust motes danced in the light like drifting stars.

"Time moves swiftly," murmured Saruman. "It seems only yesterday you were but a man among men and now you stand as one who might walk beside the gods."

Kaen turned his gaze toward the horizon. "The life of a Man is ever fading," he said. "But while it burns, it must shine. Strength brings responsibility and true strength, Saruman, is to guard the freedom of those who cannot guard themselves."

At those words, Saruman bowed deeply. "Perhaps that," he said, "is the true purpose of our coming into this world. Long I thought it my right to rule by knowledge; only now do I see it is a burden to bear in humility."

And thus, with firm grace and quiet compassion, Kaen Eowenríel turned aside a doom that might have stained the world once more.

…

He remained in Isengard for a time thereafter. Under his counsel, Saruman called the Shaloth together and declared before them that henceforth Kaen would be the High Lord of Isengard, while he himself would govern as its steward. None protested. The Shaloth, who revered both their Wise One and the Northern King, accepted the decree with reverence.

Kaen understood Saruman's intent, to lend his name so that the realms of Men might acknowledge the Shaloth as free and rightful people. And so he acted. Envoys were sent from Isengard to both Rohan and Gondor.

In the end, for Kaen's sake and his honor, both kingdoms agreed. The Shaloth were granted recognition as lawful folk, and their home was established as an autonomous province, the Isengard Dominion of Eowenría.

In solemn ceremony, Kaen bestowed upon Saruman the title of Grand Scholar of Eowenría, granting him authority to govern Isengard in peace and learning. To the Shaloth he gave a sacred charge, to stand as wardens of the Westfold, to guard the borders of Rohan and Gondor against the wild tribes of the hills.

Before his departure, Kaen ascended once more to the pinnacle of Orthanc. There he set within the tower a jewel of his own making, a crystal filled with the light of his spirit. Its radiance would bless the valley for all time, ensuring fair seasons, fertile harvests, and the peace of untroubled hearts.

And so it was that when Kaen Eowenríel departed southward once more, the winds over Isengard were warm, the fields golden, and for the first time in many ages, the tower of Orthanc stood not as a fortress of war — but as a beacon of light.

…

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