"You two little Hobbits!"
Gimli shouted from behind Gandalf, "We've been chasing all this way, only to find you sitting here feasting!"
"And smoking!"
"We're just enjoying the fruits of victory. It's well-deserved compensation," Pippin said, taking a puff of his pipe. "Look here, ale from the Riddermark, and salted pork from the Shire."
"Salted pork..." he muttered the words, staring at the delicious meat in their hands, unable to stop himself from swallowing hard.
He was hungry.
"Ah... Hobbits," Gandalf sighed softly in resignation.
They were always like this, fond of immediate pleasures, always leaving others at a loss for words.
"Welcome, young Garrett, and Lord Gandalf."
At that moment, Treebeard, who had been tidying up the battlefield, walked over.
Garrett muttered under his breath, "Haven't heard anyone call me young in quite some time."
Gandalf leaned in and replied, "Me neither."
"You are old," Garrett said mercilessly.
"Oh, old, sure, sure. But look over there. There's someone even older than me."
Gandalf pointed with his staff.
At the main gate of Orthanc stood a disheveled figure, none other than Saruman.
"Long time no see, Saruman. You look a bit worn out."
From afar, Garrett waved at him cheerfully.
"Yes, worn out indeed. Anyone who's gone through what I have would be. But you, you look quite lively."
"Livelier than you," Garrett replied, taking off the Ring of Stars from his hand and tossing it toward Saruman from a distance.
As the power ebbed away like a retreating tide, a wave of loss washed over him, as though he had just parted with something dear to his heart.
Saruman's hand shot out quickly, catching the ring with a sharp snap. When he saw what it was, an expression of surprise crossed his face.
"You truly are unexpected. I never thought anyone, after experiencing the beauty of a Ring of Power, would willingly give it up."
"Not everyone is like you, Saruman."
Garrett dismounted and walked closer. "Long ago, I said something, and I still believe it now."
"What's that?"
"There are many things in this world more important than power."
Saruman silently slipped the Ring of Stars onto his finger, saying nothing for a while. The ring's power seemed to restore some of his vigor and confidence, easing his weariness.
"However..." Garrett's tone shifted. "Can you still forge more rings like this one? I can provide you with more beacons or nether stars."
"You think Rings of Power are like hams in a Hobbit's pantry, something you can just make in batches?"
Saruman shook his head.
"You underestimate the craft behind it. The Ring of Stars is the product of decades of research. Just this one took immense effort. Even if I could forge another, there wouldn't be time. By the time a second ring set with a nether star is born, darkness will already have swallowed the world."
"All right then, forget it," Garrett said with a shrug.
"But regarding the rings, Garrett, there's something I must warn you about."
"What is it?"
Saruman stepped closer and said in a low voice, "During my time confronting the Nazgûl, I glimpsed some things through them... and came to understand others."
"About the One Ring... You must understand, the One Ring wasn't made by following any existing design. It was an innovation, something entirely new to this world. To this day, no one can claim to fully comprehend it. What's more, it carries Sauron's own will. It cannot be measured merely by the word 'power.' It serves many other purposes. Never underestimate it."
"Oh?"
Garrett looked at Saruman's grave expression, feeling a flicker of surprise.
Rare indeed. Rare for this man to actually offer something useful. It seemed that he truly had changed, at least a little, during this time.
"I understand."
When Garrett finished speaking, Gandalf stepped forward, standing atop the steps, and declared, "I have reclaimed Isengard. There is no longer any evil here. This battle is a victory for the Free Peoples."
"Yeah!"
A cheer rose from below, with Gimli and the two Hobbits acting as the enthusiastic chorus to support Gandalf's proclamation.
As for the others, they all stood there, serious-faced.
They were either silent, reserved types or slow-speaking Ents.
Gandalf shrugged. He didn't mind.
So be it.
But Théoden clearly didn't intend to let things end so simply.
Riding forward on his horse, he said, "Saruman, you must bear some of the responsibility for this affair."
Looking down from his high perch, Saruman asked coldly, "And what do you propose?"
Théoden fixed his gaze on him. "Through this event, you have proven yourself untrustworthy. As of this moment, your title as Royal Wizard and adviser to Rohan is revoked. You shall no longer hold any privilege."
"Who cares? I never wanted them anyway."
Saruman's words were defiant, his pride still refusing to yield.
Gandalf looked at his old friend and shook his head.
"All this began with you, Saruman. You broke the taboos and strayed from the right path. Yet even now, redemption is not beyond your reach. Stay here. Remain in Isengard. Help Treebeard and the others restore the green lands. Perhaps then your judgment will be lighter."
Saruman fell silent. He gave no answer, but his posture seemed to bend, his proud figure slightly hunched.
When the others departed, he remained there wordless, with only the Ents staying by his side.
---
After every great victory comes a celebration.
Because the defenders of Helm's Deep were still numerous, and reinforcements from the City of Waters had arrived in good time, Rohan's losses were far smaller than expected.
That night was destined to be a lively one.
The people of Rohan celebrated their triumph and mourned those who had shed their blood to defend the land.
The soldiers from the City of Waters joined them in the feast.
But it was clear that no hall in Rohan could possibly hold so many people, so after brief speeches from Théoden and Garrett, the crowds moved outside to build their own banquet grounds.
There were too many participants. Even the city itself could not contain them. Groups gathered outside the walls, and for a time the brilliance of lights and festivity stretched endlessly within and without the city, a magnificent sight.
This scene was later recorded by the chroniclers of Rohan as a classic moment in their history.
That day, everyone raised their cups together, and their cheers echoed across the plains.
"Fortunately," Théoden said in the great hall, raising his mug toward Garrett, "Rohan has long maintained frequent trade with the Free Cities. We have enough supplies for tens of thousands to celebrate as they please."
Garrett smiled, clinking his cup lightly against Théoden's, and drained his ale in one go.