"Lord Aragorn!"

Aragorn looked down from the stone balcony. Near the gates was an elf who should have been with the others riding back to Lothlorien. "What is-"

The elf cut him off urgently, "Lord Haldir would have come, but his injury prevents him from giving immediate word."

Aragorn ran down the steps, shouting, "What has happened?" His hand automatically went to the hilt of his sword.

"Lord Daurion..." the elf trailed off, his face still in shock.

"He was seen only an hour ago. Is he in trouble?"

"He has been slain!"

Aragorn froze. Horror speared him in a way that the war did not. He recalled that the last time Lord Daurion was seen, he was following Estelwen. Aragorn found it difficult to speak. "Was...was there anyone else, any bodies found near his?"

­*****

Everything was blurry. Estelwen's eyes slowly adjusted, as did her sense of smell. There was a strong stench of something burnt. Hair. Estelwen stared in shock at the contrast of her fried black ends against the grey stone floor. Half her hair length was gone. Other details became clearer: stone walls, dark, grimy atmosphere. A cell. Oddly enough, there was no door to block her way out. Whoever put me here is not foolish enough to trust a guard. Perhaps they want me to leave this room. She sucked in her breath and let out a moan. How could lifting her head be this painful? She could barely move.

A cold voice broke through the chill in the air. "Go back to sleep."

Captor. Estelwen felt the spite lace her voice. "And why should I listen to you?"

He yanked her up by the arm, having no trouble lifting her petite frame. Estelwen cried out. It was the blistering burns on her left side, countless bruises from the battle, and her freshly scalded back.

"You are both naïve and young for an earthborn," her captor said.

She was about to say how he could not have been much older than she, but something clicked. The ball of fire, the burns, and her capture – it could only be whom she was preparing to face one day, once she was fully trained and prepared. Her heart suddenly clenched. She could see the murderous flames before her eyes as well as the countless deaths at Helm's Deep – deaths that could've been prevented if the Ring was never forged. "Anorath."

Her hard voice surprised him. It was as if he had done something personal to her. Something that summoned a brewing vengeance. "Surprising that the elves told you that much." He dragged her up the stairs and through a door at the top.

Seated next to his desk, Saruman looked up in surprise. "You brought her..."

"As you suggested."

Saruman tilted his head. "Since when do you start listening to a wizard?"

"When I became, more or less, a bit curious of your abilities myself."

Saruman did not miss the dare in Anorath's words. "Leave us."

Anorath left without protest.

Saruman grimaced at Estelwen's pitiful condition. He gestured towards the chair in front of him. "Sit."

Estelwen had already fallen onto it. "If you are going to persuade me to fight against everything I hold dear, then-"

"You think that is my purpose for bringing you here? Come now, you should know better, I..."

She glared at him, causing an involuntary pause in his charade. He continued, "To skip pleasantries, you probably wouldn't, even if I told you to. In fact, you would probably do whatever it takes to protect them, even until your death."

Estelwen swallowed. So this is what it comes to.

"I wish to help you in your task." He internally smirked at her silence. She is listening.

Estelwen did not believe him for a second, but she forced herself to listen. The air in the room was heavy with grave secrets. If I am silent, if I appear compliant, he may reveal some of them.

"You are special, Estelwen. And unfortunately for Sauron, your power contradicts the fires of his creation and pride: those of Mount Doom."

"What do you think I am going to do? Flood Mordor?" Estelwen could not contain the sarcasm. Do they really think I am that powerful?

Saruman shook his head. "Not Mordor, but the surface of Mount Doom." With my magic, we could put it to sleep for a significant amount of time, perhaps even a few decades."

He actually believes what he is saying! "Why would you turn against your most powerful ally?" She gasped as she took a breath. "Why should I ever lift a finger to help you?"

"Is it treachery to save the lives of your hobbit friends? Mount Doom is about to erupt!" The room trembled from his booming voice. "And I assume that the hobbits are traveling there as we speak. If they are anywhere near that mountain in the coming months, it will be their demise."

Estelwen looked at him in horror. Frodo and Sam...

"You must stop them. Stop them, and help me quench the fires."

They would die if she didn't. Their lives were in her hands.

You are not alone.

Estelwen looked up at the ceiling. Galadriel's voice surfaced in her memory. But how am I not alone if I am the only one who can make this choice? I cannot stop Anorath if I join Saruman's forces! But if I don't, then Sam and Frodo will die! She was caught on a massive fence. If she turned to either side, she would fall. She would fail.

Another voice rose in her memory. "Are we ever to join in your path?"

Legolas! Her eyes watered at the thought of him. She was in too much pain to care whether it was childish. She craved his presence, his calming voice, his determination and persistence. He was there when she was weak.

Saruman's mouth twitch impatiently. "Do not let it be your fault that they perished. Not when you have the power to save them."

Estelwen slowly shook her head. "I do not."

Saruman leaned forward. "Stop denying your power!"

"I am fully aware of my element. What you are not aware of is that joining your forces was never a choice. If not for the courage of the Ring-Bearer, I myself would have taken the Ring to Mount Doom. I would be worse than a coward, worse than a traitor, to ally myself with the very forces the Ring-Bearer seeks to destroy."

Saruman raised his eyebrow loftily. "Do you really see it as cowardice not to join the winning side?"

"You may have won many battles, but you have lost the war from the beginning."

"Your stubbornness blinds you." Saruman got up and grabbed his staff. This was getting too personal. It was only reasonable to join the side of power. It was the only way to win. He had chosen Mordor. Saruman turned to the door. It opened, and he barked an order to the orc standing there. "Send word to Mordor. We have not the faintest trace of the Hobbits' whereabouts. The Ring has passed to Gondor." The orc left immediately.

Estelwen stared at him with wide eyes. "This was never about saving or finding the Hobbits, was it? You know where they are! You just want the Ring for your-"

"Enough!" Saruman struck the ground with his staff. Estelwen and her chair flew across the room. Her body was a broken boat floating through shockwaves of pain.

Saruman glowered at the small figure. "I hope you are aware of the price you will pay." He had everything planned out: what he'd say, how she might react, and what he would do to make her help him. But no! Her trust in her friends was too deep. So deep, that it became an option Saruman never knew Estelwen could take. After two orcs came and dragged her away, Saruman peered through the door, searching for any sign that Anorath might have been eavesdropping. He muttered a spell. After finding no evidence, he shut the door. If Anorath even suspected that he would betray the Dark Lord in favor of the Ring, Saruman would be doomed. Alas, I must find another way to get to the hobbits. Perhaps Anorath can be misled, redirected. Unfortunately, it is hard to tell what goes on in his mind. No, I shall find another way!

In the cell below, the orcs dropped Estelwen a foot from the wall. They grabbed her wrists and shackled them above her head. The chains weren't long enough for her to kneel. She could not stand, so she hung. When the world stopped spinning, she sensed a presence that turned her blood cold. And it was not the two orcs behind her.

Anorath stepped into the room, a torch in hand. "Why do you think you will win?" he demanded.

Estelwen stared at her chains. "Hope," she answered immediately. "There will always be hope. And where there is hope, people will fight. They will lose, and they will win, but they will never stop." There was a rustling of steel behind her, and she flinched. A whip, or a chain. Her instincts screamed at her to look, but she was unable to.

"How is that winning if they die themselves?" He scorned the idea.

"Because they believe in something more than themselves. Courage, freedom, families..." She closed her eyes, summoning her most cherished memories. She saw Arwen's face as she smiled, greeting her for the first time. She saw Aragorn's face every time Arwen's name was mentioned. She saw Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn as they walked, hand in hand, down one of the great Lothlorien trees. Lastly, she saw Legolas as he gazed into her eyes, doing so much more than just accepting both her faults and her strengths. "...and love."

"Love does not exist."

"Like you would know," she said, her voice hoarse.

"Oh?" Anorath motioned to the orcs.

Whatever retort she was about to make was cut off by her own screams. The distorted whip – both metal and cord – bit into her flesh like a rabid dog. Anorath stood to the side so he could watch Estelwen's face. After the second lash, she was silent, and Anorath relished the fact that she was too prideful to cry out in front of him. He appeared detached from the whole process, but he was counting each time the whip fell. Her bravery did not make up for her stature – she would not survive long. At the tenth lash, her head jerked back and her eyes flashed a deeper sapphire than they ever did before. Then, her whole body fell limp. She dangled from the chains with her ankles brushing the ground, clearly knocked out. Anorath raised his hand and the orcs lowered their whips.

After the beasts of burden left, Anorath stood right behind Estelwen. He took a small flame from the torch, allowing it to hover slightly above his palm. He began to chant in a language not many were familiar with. To man, the words would've sounded like a darker version of elven magic. To the elves, it sounded like the warped cries of a medicine man, desperate for others to believe in his spiritual connection. The truth is that the words did not belong to either race. Anorath waited impatiently as the orange flame flickered, then slowly morphed into an unnaturally dark red color. Using his elemental power, he allowed the flame to rest on Estelwen's back, spreading through the deepest of the lashes. The bleeding slowed to a stop. The morphed flame disappeared into the air. Anorath stood up, half satisfied. She need not die yet. He admitted to himself that he wanted to watch her fight. She was confused and stupid, but different. Although she was afraid of his flames, she was not afraid of him, especially not in the way Saruman was. The only other who did not fear Anorath was the Dark Lord himself.

Is there a power she has not tapped into? Did she ever have a chance at becoming a worthy ally? Anorath glanced once more at Estelwen's dangling form before leaving the room. Broken and pitiful. She and Dark Lord could not have been more different. Perhaps I was wrong. Maybe she really is afraid.

Anorath visibly flinched as the Dark Lord's voice struck his mind like a storm.

Leave now!

Anorath stared straight ahead, hesitating. What is happening?

The Riders have returned. One of Saruman's spies has loosed his tongue. He tells me of the treachery of Saruman as well as his intention to possess the Ring.

Anorath glared and summoned the fire from a nearby torch into his hand. It flared into a massive ball as he started to Saruman's study.

You die if you kill him.

Anorath grunted and let the fire die away. You wish not to punish him?

He has killed many of the Elders of the forest. Their ancient fury stirs now. He is too blind to see that they will retaliate at any moment.

The corner of Anorath's mouth tilted up ever so slightly. Too bad he needed to leave. It would have been a great pleasure to watch the pompous wizard be defeated by trees. He pulled down his hood, becoming as invisible as a shadow at night. He grabbed his horse and kicked its side, but suddenly stopped it. He looked back at the tower and frowned, not favoring that the female earth-born would die like Saruman would. He regretted healing her. She should have died in her attempts at bravery. Shaking the strange feeling of pity from his mind, he spurred his horse forward. It was time to return to his station.

*****

The blackness became alive with hazy shades of red and grey. Every once in a while, there was a flash of white. Colors and people's faces were close one moment and gone the next. It had been this way for a few torturous minutes before fading and repeating for hours. Estelwen was hovering between life and death. Insanity was the mental bridge. In her mind, she saw herself in the black cell all hazed over in red. The only blue was her tears before they hit the ground and sizzled into steam. She would die, and no one would be there to see her, weep over her, or even mock her. No one.

When her eyes opened, she wasn't sure whether it was all a vision or real. Her head lolled to the side as the world kept blurring and changing. Next to her, a red-haired elf hung in chains. Her body dripped with blood. She looked up and her sapphire eyes met Estelwen's. They reflected immense pain, but underneath it all was a certain stubbornness that some would call courage. Then she was gone. Estelwen's sight began to darken. Amariel is gone. As her mind swung back into unconsciousness, the darkness strained to remove one last word, one last feeling from her: hope.

*****

Gríma peeked over Saruman's shoulder. "I thought the whips would've given fatal wounds. She should've been dead by now, after several hours."

Saruman eyes examined Estelwen's bloodied back. "Now it will be a few days."

"Days, sire?"

"Anorath cauterized the wounds," Saruman said with a slight growl. "The traitor. I told him to make her suffer and die!"

Gríma slowly pulled out a dagger behind an unsuspecting Saruman. "Perhaps he wanted her to suffer longer. That would be like him."

"Either way..." Saruman suddenly stopped. Gríma quickly slipped the dagger into his coat.

Saruman turned around with wide eyes. "Did you hear that?"

"The wind, my lord?"

"No, you fool! The trees!"

*****

Five riders and four horses traveled in haste from Rohan to Isengard: Legolas and Gimli atop Arod, Aragorn on Hasufel, Gandalf on Shadowfax, and the King of Rohan himself on his own horse. Théoden did not hesitate to join them after hearing of Estelwen's capture. When his advisors objected that he also risk his life for one person, he responded that he was going to face the enemy that had attacked Helm's Deep.

They arrived to see Isengard in ruins. They stopped in shock and surveyed the land. The dam to the lake had been broken. Water flooded the grounds and the pits. Broken pieces of machinery floated everywhere. Not a single living soul was in sight.

Gandalf spoke. "The work of the Ents."

"The trees?" Théoden asked.

"Yes. We have no reason to fear them. Their anger is against Saruman alone."

Aragorn glanced at Legolas, whose eyes were still fixed on the tower. "She is alive, Legolas. Lord Daurion was slain with much skill and secrecy. They did not come for her blood. Saruman wants her alive."

Legolas' gaze did not sway. "And if she does not give him whatever he wants?"

Aragorn looked to Gandalf, and they all started towards the black tower.

*****

Saruman pulled himself up with his staff. The Ents had broken down the dam and flooded Isengard. They bombarded the tower with boulders, rendering it useless. Saruman brought himself to the balcony and glared. Isengard was meant to bring destruction and fear to kingdoms. Now, kingdoms would forever look upon it as a symbol of what destruction looks like. This was far beyond repair.

Gríma slowly approached Saruman. "My lord, our spies say that the white wizard is coming."

"Gandalf?" Saruman was shaking with fury. "Bring the earthborn! Anorath's treachery can still be used to our advantage."

Gríma raced down the stairs. Before entering Estelwen's jail cell, he reached into his outer shirt, feeling the handle of the dagger. Gandalf would be at the doorstep soon. Saruman would have to face him again. But this time, Gríma would not be invisible. Oh no. Unlike in the Rohan, he would be much more than a stand-by in the shadows.

And I must solemnly announce that this is when Estelwen is thrown from the tower, Legolas uses his super-elf powers to jump and save her, they profess their love, Aragorn accidently loosens an arrow that kills one of them, then a magic stone-power rises from their love in the ground that brings one back to life and they-live-happily-ever-after. 

Or not. 

Maybe that was just a fanfic I read years ago. 

Maybe I'll just be a copy-cat.

Or not.