"How can such a perfect thing exist in this world..."
Saruman could no longer sit still. He rose from his chair, lifting the golden apple toward the window. Sunlight spilled across its surface, and his eyes devoured every glimmer. He looked as if he would never willingly part with the sight.
"What is this?"
The awe in his voice was quickly masked. He forced himself back into his chair, adopting a measured tone, though his gaze lingered on the apple.
"A golden apple," Eric explained. "Forged from pure gold. Whoever eats it can heal from almost any wound. It also grants a measure of resistance against weapons. But it is rare. Each one consumed means one less in the world. I hope you use it wisely."
Gandalf shot Eric a sidelong glance but said nothing.
"Excellent. Truly excellent."
Saruman slipped the apple into his robe with the careful reverence of a miser tucking away treasure. His tone was smooth with satisfaction. "My honored guest has brought me a splendid gift indeed. In return, during your stay here, the wisdom of this tower shall be open to you. If there is anything you do not understand, you may seek me in the upper levels. If I have time, I will answer."
[Reputation with Isengard +30]
[Current Standing: 30 (Guest)]
Eric nearly rolled his eyes. Most folk offered friendship at thirty points of goodwill. Saruman offered "guest." Stingy old crow. Fitting, though.
"Then I shall make use of that offer," Eric said politely.
The three of them might have left it at that, but Eric suddenly turned toward a nearby chamber and spoke casually.
"And that room there... unless I am mistaken, that contains a Palantír, does it not?"
"You are well informed," Saruman replied with a tone of careful flattery. "Yes, that is one of the seeing-stones. The Orthanc-stone. This tower's very foundations were built to guard it."
"May I see it?"
"No!"
Two voices snapped the word at once. Saruman and Gandalf, for once, were united in alarm.
"For reasons of safety," Saruman added quickly, his staff tapping once against the floor, "I strongly advise my guest to put aside such thoughts."
"Eric, that stone is perilous," Gandalf urged. "Its users are few, and one of them is Sauron. The moment you touch it, he will know."
"That is exactly what I want," Eric said, standing. "If he can see me, then I can see him. And I am curious what he has been plotting lately."
"Too reckless," Gandalf muttered, shaking his head.
"What is it you fear, Gandalf?" Eric asked lightly. "That I will fall under his spell? Do you forget? Back in Dol Guldur, when I faced Sauron directly, I struck him a blow he did not forget. If he could not sway me face to face, why should he succeed from leagues away?"
The truth was that Sauron's strength had not yet returned to its full terrible height. The power he would later wield through the Palantíri was not his to command just yet. If there was a time to spy on him safely, it was now.
"You are generous of heart, Eric, but you carry a fatal rashness," Saruman observed, rising with staff in hand. His white robes shimmered faintly in the torchlight, though his black staff looked eager to strike.
Gandalf also stood. "Eric, let it rest. This is unnecessary."
"You are both here," Eric countered, arms folded. "Has anyone in this room not faced Sauron before?"
Silence answered him.
"Then here is my offer," Eric said with a grin. "If there is even the slightest hint that I have fallen under his sway, you may knock me flat with those fine staffs of yours, and I will have no complaint."
Gandalf frowned deeply. "Must you truly insist on this?"
"Yes."
To Gandalf's surprise, Saruman agreed at once. "Very well," he said smoothly, tightening his grip on the iron-spiked head of his staff. His eyes gleamed with an eagerness that did not look entirely like concern for Eric's safety.
"You are impossible," Gandalf sighed, shaking his head. Yet he too raised his staff, murmuring something about folly beneath his breath.
The three of them entered the side chamber.
Eric stood before the stone, still shrouded in a heavy black cloth. Gandalf and Saruman flanked him, both clutching their staffs like wardens.
"I feel a chill at my back," Eric muttered.
"Do not worry, my guest," Saruman said, his voice unusually gentle. "I will watch you closely."
"As will I," Gandalf added gravely.
"That," Eric sighed, "is exactly why I feel chilled."
Still, he set his hands forward and pulled away the cloth.
The Palantír emerged from shadow. Firelight gleamed over its perfect, rounded surface, black as night yet polished to an obsidian sheen. Within, faint lights flickered and shifted like stars caught in rain, an endless depth that whispered of secrets and silence.
It was a work of art even without its magic.
Eric reached toward it, and at once the stone blazed alive, latching onto his mind as though eager for contact. The sensation was strange, like guiding a device directly with thought.
"I see it..." Eric breathed.
Images unfurled within. Gandalf and Saruman leaned closer, eyes fixed upon the visions.
First came a land of ash and ruin. A lifeless waste of charred earth where no plant grew, save for the occasional thorn or poisonous bloom.
"Mordor," Gandalf named it softly. "Most of that land is just so. Dead, hopeless, and empty."
The vision shifted to a stretch of farmland, tilled by weary slaves. Gaunt men and women toiled beneath the lash of orc overseers, their rags clinging to skeletal frames.
"That is the fertile plain beside the Sea of Núrnen," Gandalf said grimly. "Sauron's slaves work the fields there. Mordor's breadbasket, tended by captives dragged from every corner of the East. The scale of their suffering is beyond counting."
"They should be freed," Eric said quietly, committing the place to memory.
The image shifted once more.
An army poured forth from the northern Ash Mountains, streaming eastward. Among them strode hulking Olog-hai in full steel armor, monstrous brutes whose strength rivaled even iron golems. Their war-hammers were wider than a man's chest.
"They march toward Rhûn," Eric noted with surprise. "But why strike their own allies? The Easterlings have long served Sauron."
"Indeed," Gandalf murmured. "They broke Rhovanion in ages past and nearly destroyed both Gondor and Rohan. One of the Ringwraiths himself, Khamûl, was an Easterling."
"Then why?" Eric pressed.
Saruman frowned, eyes narrowing. Perhaps he guessed, though he said nothing.
Before Eric could search further, the stone suddenly darkened. The images fled. A single great eye of fire burst forth, filling the Palantír and spilling into the chamber. Its gaze pierced space itself, locking upon Eric with a dreadful intimacy.
A whisper crawled into his thoughts, oily and insistent.
[Corruption: 0.001%]
The progress bar, long dormant, ticked upward.
"Sauron," Gandalf breathed, staff held high, the fire-ring upon his hand blazing against the darkness.
Saruman's grip on his staff tightened as his eyes darted between the stone and Eric, as though weighing an opportunity.
But Eric only smiled at the burning eye.
"Well met again, loser."
The chamber shook with tension as the fiery gaze narrowed.