"I truly cannot fathom what makes that small and timid race so worthy of interest."
In the high tower of Orthanc, Saruman removed his grey hood, marking the end of another covert reconnaissance trip.
"Why does Gandalf constantly visit there?"
He settled back into his chair, lost in thought.
To be certain, the White Wizard always displayed disdain toward Gandalf the Grey, as though he looked down upon him whenever they met.
But only Saruman himself knew that this contempt was not entirely genuine. Behind it lay jealousy and vigilance in equal measure.
Though he appeared indifferent, he secretly pondered every word Gandalf ever spoke, studying them meticulously, attempting to glean some hidden meaning or purpose.
"There's a Grey Wizard who often visits the Shire."
That was what Saruman's spies in Bree frequently reported when they gathered intelligence.
The words stirred something within him.
Not trusting his subordinates completely, mainly because he deemed their eyes and wits inferior to his own, he even departed his tower and traveled to the Shire himself on several occasions.
But the results proved disappointing.
There was nothing of consequence there, nothing worthy of such devoted attention.
Well, except for the pipe-weed, which was as excellent as ever.
He lit his pipe and smoked. Before long, he was wreathed in thick, curling smoke.
When he was content, he waved his hand to disperse the haze.
Then he returned to his desk to continue his research.
"Orcs."
"Small, grotesque, feeble, indolent, impatient, and utterly disloyal."
In most wars where orcs had emerged victorious, it was only by vastly outnumbering their foes. Their average quality was abysmal. A few courageous human youths could dispatch two if they were cautious and clever.
"Yet... they do possess certain merits."
War.
This race was forged for warfare, born from it, and they possessed a strange, instinctive aptitude for battle.
And because orcs were so unstable as a species, they were also highly malleable.
Even on a fundamental level.
He narrowed his eyes and could not resist lighting his pipe once more.
The orcs active in Dunland, the ruins of Eregion, and Enedwaith had already been driven by Garrett's campaigns to seek his protection, trading loyalty for shelter.
But still, they remained too weak. The entire race was fundamentally inadequate, useless for achieving anything of true significance.
"Uruk-hai..."
He suddenly recalled the new, more formidable breed that Sauron had once cultivated, using orcs as the base stock.
To be certain, even the Uruk-hai were not particularly mighty. On average, they were still inferior to Men in stature and somewhat weaker in strength.
But their advantage lay in their rapid maturation. Born at the same time as human children, they would already be marauding across battlefields while their human counterparts remained gangly and frail.
That held considerable promise.
"If Sauron could breed them, then so can I."
He lifted his head.
"I shall cultivate a superior race, larger and mightier Uruks, and let Sauron witness which of us truly commands greater mastery."
"When Mordor crumbles, all shall look to me with awe. Gandalf, that brutish warrior, all of them..."
"I shall prove that I surpass you all."
"I require power... Power..."
In the year 2990 of the Third Age, under Saruman's orders, a secret underground breeding facility was established beneath Isengard. Within it were not only orcs, but also goblins captured from the Misty Mountains.
Saruman, bearing a sharp black staff, paced through the dark tunnels of the breeding pits, subjecting the orcs to all manner of cruel experiments.
Neither orc nor goblin could offer any resistance to his will.
Even setting aside his hypnotic Voice of Command, his sheer power alone sufficed to subdue an entire group simultaneously.
As for the orcs' attitude toward these experiments, for a race that would not hesitate to devour their own kind when hungry, what objections could they possibly raise? As long as they themselves were not selected for experimentation, it was no concern of theirs.
Sometimes, when an experiment failed, they even profited from a bit of extra meat.
Even so, some orcs, terrified of becoming the next test subjects, attempted to flee the pits.
Saruman merely sneered at such attempts and ordered his servants to retrieve them.
"If you are so fond of running, then I shall grant you your wish in full measure."
His robes became stained with blood.
Yet, after an extended period of study, the wise White Wizard soon detected something amiss.
"Mere breeding and cross-mating are insufficient to produce a truly formidable race."
So he raised his staff and began to interfere directly in the process with sorcery, accelerating and reshaping it through arcane means.
In the dim breeding pits, Saruman stood half in light and half in shadow as the cultivation of a new generation of orcs continued.
But the White Wizard turned and departed, returning to his tower with a faint frown creasing his brow.
After employing magic to hasten the breeding, a troubling realization had struck him.
The fundamental nature of orcs was, and would always remain, chaos itself.
Even should he succeed in creating a more powerful new breed, that breed would not necessarily prove loyal to him merely because he was their creator. On the contrary, if his power ever faltered, they might well trample him beneath their feet without hesitation.
Everything returned to the same immutable truth.
Power. That was the one thing he could never afford to neglect.
Soon, his desk grew laden with ancient manuscripts, remnants of the long-vanished realm of Eregion, left behind by the Noldorin Elves. Many passages held significant value for intensive study.
Especially those concerning the forging of the Rings of Power.
None knew how he had acquired these forbidden records.
---
At Wayfort, a year later, Gandalf once again met with Garrett, and the two conversed casually for a time.
"During my recent visit to the Shire," Gandalf said, "I made a special journey to call upon the descendants of Old Took. To my delight, the Took family welcomed a new infant this year. If I recall correctly, he's Old Took's great-great-grandson. Let me think, what was his name again..."
"Ah, yes, Peregrin Took. Though 'Pippin' suits him far better; his parents call him that as well."
"That is wonderful news indeed," Garrett said with a smile. Then he asked, "And what did you think of the newborn?"
At that question, Gandalf immediately pursed his lips.
"I would rather not speak ill of an infant," he grumbled, "but the child's hands were decidedly ill-mannered. When I leaned in close to observe him, he seized my beard and pulled quite forcefully! I cannot fathom how such a tiny newborn could possess so much strength..."
"I wager he'll prove a mischievous one when he reaches his youth."
The old wizard shook his head with a mixture of bemusement and resignation.
Garrett could not help but smile more broadly.
"Yes... mischievous. Quite mischievous indeed. Forgive him, Gandalf. Do not harbor a grudge against a child who knows nothing of the world."
"Of course I bear no anger toward him," Gandalf replied, taking a contemplative sip of tea. After a brief pause, he continued, "In truth, I believe a measure of mischief is an encouraging sign. I do not think I ever mentioned this, but when Bilbo was but a child, he once struck me soundly on the backside with a wooden sword. I never held it against him."
"Indeed," Garrett nodded, maintaining his composure.
Never held it against him, yet you've remembered it for nearly a century.
"From that very moment, I knew Bilbo was a special Hobbit," Gandalf went on. "He left quite a remarkable impression upon me."
"And that is precisely why, when the Quest for Erebor commenced, I thought of him at once and chose him for the company. Looking back now, I would venture that my instincts served me well."
"On that point, I certainly agree with you," Garrett said with a nod.
Their conversation did not extend much longer, and Gandalf did not tarry for an extended stay.
After seeing the wizard off, Garrett stretched and retrieved a new report from his desk.
One glance, and his expression sharpened with immediate concern.
The Rangers had discovered a band of orcs in the region south of Dunland and north of Eregion.
Given the current extent of the City of Waters' reach and the strength of its surrounding patrols, that was dangerously close to their borders.
However...
"They were eliminated by a band of Dunlendings?"
If his memory served correctly, the Dunlendings were currently allied with Saruman. In fact, there had even been recent reports that their chieftain had sworn fealty to the White Wizard.
For them to venture forth and destroy a company of orcs on his behalf?
Now that was strange indeed.