Saruman’s schemes continued in secret.

Yes, in secret…

“Why didn’t you knock?”

At the top of Orthanc, looking at his unwelcome visitor, he silently gathered his research materials and shielded them behind his back.

“Relax, I’m not here to quarrel with you.”

Garrett settled naturally into a nearby chair and glanced at the papers behind Saruman. “What’s that? May I have a look at…”

“No.”

“Alright.”

“If you have something to say, speak quickly. As you can see, I’m occupied.” Saruman’s tone carried a note of impatience.

Day after day, he had to supervise the orc breeding pits, conduct countless analyses and experiments, and still monitor his subordinates. It was exhausting.

“Some orcs escaped from your custody.”

Garrett opened with a bombshell.

Saruman’s face was habitually expressionless, so the reaction was difficult to discern.

“Where? I haven’t received such reports.”

“North of Dunland. They nearly crossed into my territory.”

Saruman replied, “Ah, those orcs. I’m aware of them. My subordinates informed me of the matter. Did I not already dispatch men to deal with them?”

Clearly, tone alone could not conceal everything.

At the very least, he had to preserve what results he had achieved thus far…

“Indeed. Timely enough, at least. Your allies in Dunland acted quickly.”

Garrett’s tone was casual, as though he were merely making conversation. Or perhaps… he truly was simply conversing.

Whoosh.

He suddenly stood, the heat radiating from his armor washing over Saruman and leaving his mouth uncomfortably dry.

He walked to the window and gazed out over all of Isengard.

“The view here remains as beautiful as ever. I hope it stays that way. Look, the clear sky, the gardens woven with living green, the groves bearing fruit, the clean waters mirroring that sky, and the distant, towering mountains…”

“Strolling through such scenery must be quite a pleasant experience.”

“Indeed,” Saruman answered without looking up, his hands still busy organizing his papers.

“It’s merely unfortunate that some folk fail to appreciate it, treating all of this as worthless.”

Shing.

Garrett suddenly drew Bane, a sword he hadn’t employed in a long time.

The abrupt motion startled Saruman visibly.

“What are you doing?!”

“Nothing.”

Garrett examined the blade, it wasn’t glowing. Then he gave it a few swings before sheathing it again.

The surroundings appeared clean, for the present.

“Discourteous,” Saruman snapped. “I warn you, keep well away from my archives and research materials. Whether you strike something with that blade or your armor accidentally sets my work ablaze, I shall not forgive such carelessness easily.”

“Be at ease. I always respect the fruits of wisdom and labor.”

Garrett patted the table beside him. “Whether it’s my sword or my armor, I maintain control over them. They are mine, after all.”

At that, he fixed his gaze directly on Saruman for a long moment before continuing, “I trust you can do the same. Keep your creations under control.”

Saruman let out a dry laugh.

“Naturally. Of course I can keep my own possessions in proper order, whatever they may be.”

“By the way,” Garrett said suddenly, “how progresses your research on the beacon system? After all these years, any advancement?”

The question came abruptly, but Saruman welcomed the change of subject. He held up his hand, showing a narrow gap between his fingers.

“A little.”

“A little?”

“Yes, a very modest amount of progress.”

Hearing that, Garrett couldn’t help but tilt his head, glancing meaningfully at the desk, then back at Saruman. Disbelief was written plainly across his features.

“Believe it or not as you will,” Saruman said curtly. “It’s my private research. You should be grateful I’m telling you anything at all.”

That response actually made Garrett laugh.

“Very well, your private business. If you don’t want to say, I won’t ask.”

Their exchange didn’t last much longer.

As he had stated, he hadn’t come seeking confrontation, merely happened to stop by on his way elsewhere.

And his destination?

Rohan.

At the summit of Orthanc, watching Garrett’s figure disappear into the distance, Saruman exhaled a long, relieved breath.

“Gandalf… Garrett… both of them are such headaches.”

He slowly turned and walked back into his tower.

The former enjoyed wandering everywhere, but at least his movements could be traced, and even should he stumble upon something compromising, Saruman believed he could manage the situation.

The latter, though, was unreasonable and unpredictable. Like those accursed wraiths, he might suddenly materialize behind you without warning and strike terror into your heart.

And the worst aspect was that Saruman could do nothing to prevent such visits.

As an ally, Garrett was reliable, but still…

He suddenly stopped walking.

He fell into thought.

Yes, why had Garrett not been counted among his allies from the beginning?

The reasons were complex. For one, when he first encountered Garrett, the man had been standing beside Gandalf. Clearly, the two were aligned.

The outcome they had now was, in truth, decided from that very first meeting.

Shaking his head to dispel such pointless reflections, Saruman returned to his work.

“Soon… it’s nearly ready…”

As for his claimed “modest progress” with the beacon research, the truth was far more substantial than he had let on.

“How have you been lately?”

In the Golden Hall atop Edoras, the royal capital of Rohan, Garrett met with the current King, Théoden.

“I am well. Very well indeed.”

Théoden greeted Garrett warmly and embraced him briefly.

“Good. Seeing you in such health sets my mind at ease.”

That meant Saruman hadn’t yet made any moves against him.

After greeting Théoden, Garrett’s gaze wandered past the king, sweeping deliberately across the great hall. He looked to the left, then to the right, and his calm, measuring stare made many of the assembled nobles visibly uncomfortable.

Some met his eyes and nodded with strained politeness; others simply kept their heads lowered; a few, unnerved by his scrutiny, couldn’t help glancing nervously away.

Observing this, Théoden asked quietly, “Are you looking for someone?”

“Something like that,” Garrett replied vaguely.

“Perhaps I might assist?” Théoden offered tentatively.

“No need. I’m merely… looking around.”

“Looking around?”

“To see whether any treacherous tongues lurk here that might harm Rohan.”

Garrett spoke the words plainly, right at the entrance of the hall, in a voice neither overly loud nor particularly soft.

Yet to those within, it rang piercingly clear.

Thump.

Many hearts skipped a beat at those words.

None could help their reaction. If he wished it, this man could cut down everyone present with ease.

And that “everyone” could readily include the guards stationed outside and even the nearby garrison forces.

“Have you received some secret intelligence?” Théoden asked.

Unlike the anxious nobles surrounding him, he remained composed, the result of years of trust and familiarity with Garrett since his youth.

“Not exactly,” Garrett said. “Just a feeling.”

His eyes continued their sweep of the hall. “For the present, there’s nothing particularly dangerous here.”

He was, naturally, referring to that venomous counselor. It seemed that serpent had not yet slithered into Rohan’s Golden Hall.

“Sometimes,” he added thoughtfully, “you would do well to trust those closest to you rather than blindly heeding the advice of outsiders, no matter how wise they may appear.”

“I understand,” Théoden said with nod.

Garrett smiled approvingly. “I can see it clearly. These years have brought peace and prosperity to Rohan. As both warrior and king, you have performed excellently.”

The figure before him seemed to overlap with a cherished memory from long ago.

He fell silent for a moment, then added softly, “…You carry your father’s bearing.”

Théoden blinked, clearly taken aback.

“That’s… quite the compliment,” he said at last, smiling faintly.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep