"Surrender?" Saruman sneered, his deep, shadowed eyes brimming with mockery as he looked at Galadriel, Elrond, Gandalf, and Sylas.
"You cannot make me surrender!"
A wave of bewitching power rolled out from him, his very voice becoming a weapon. His words were laced with the ancient strength of a Maia, each syllable threaded with compulsion.
"Lay down your hostility, my friends! I am no enemy of yours. This is a misunderstanding. I only seek to bring order, to make this world better…"
At once Sylas felt his will falter. Saruman's presence swelled before him, towering and commanding. His hostility ebbed away, his thoughts clouded, and the honeyed cadence of Saruman's voice coiled through his mind, urging obedience.
Clenching his teeth, Sylas fought against it, even sealing his ears with magic, but the voice did not need ears to enter. It pressed directly into his thoughts, an invisible force gnawing at his will.
He was not the only one. Gandalf, Galadriel, and Elrond all stiffened, their brows furrowing as the sound itself became an enchantment, an attack of words that struck at the spirit.
"Do not heed him!" Gandalf thundered, his voice echoing inside Sylas's skull. "His tongue drips with lies, hear only the poison in his words!"
"He is weaving shadows into our minds," Elrond warned grimly. "We must shatter this sorcery of sound!"
Though their wills were uncorrupted, the incessant drone of Saruman's voice dulled their focus. Worse, the spell sank its claws into weaker hearts: Smaug and Thorondor suddenly turned, eyes glazed, striking at their own allies.
Sylas narrowly avoided a swiping talon. Only the bond of their contract spared him from Smaug's fury, but Gandalf and Elrond were forced onto the defensive, unwilling to harm the beasts they knew belonged to Sylas. Galadriel could only raise a barrier, holding back both Saruman's voice and the thrashing might of dragon and eagle.
Head pounding, Sylas remembered Tom Bombadil's odd lessons. He raised his wand and wove sound into song. Bright, cheerful music spilled forth, clashing against Saruman's magic like sunlight breaking shadow.
The melody faltered under Saruman's power, until Gandalf placed a hand to Sylas's shoulder.
"Take my strength!"
Narya blazed. A surge of fire and spirit poured into Sylas.
Galadriel and Elrond followed, their own Rings answering, lending the clarity of water and the freedom of air.
The music swelled, growing from a lone tune into a golden symphony. Notes shimmered like sunlight, weaving through the land. The oppressive drone of Saruman's voice faltered, then broke apart.
Smaug and Thorondor shuddered, blinked, and their minds cleared. They wheeled back, abandoning their attacks.
But to Saruman, the music was agony. He clutched his ears and roared in fury. "ENOUGH! Cease this accursed noise!"
Humiliated and enraged, he spat a dark incantation over the carcass of his fallen Warg. Flesh warped, bone twisted, and the beast rose again, hideous, stinking of corruption, its body animated by shadow.
Vaulting onto the abomination's back, Saruman whipped his staff and turned eastward. With Isengard lost, there was no return. Only Mordor, or perhaps the far Eastern lands, remained to him.
"After him!" Gandalf shouted, vaulting astride his broomstick and giving chase.
Elrond leapt onto Thorondor's back, Galadriel onto Smaug's scarred shoulders. Sylas blinked through the air itself, Apparating ahead of Saruman, peppering him with spells to slow his escape.
From the skies, Gandalf and Elrond pressed down; from the ground, Sylas harried him; Galadriel shielded them all from Saruman's retaliatory fireballs and lightning.
The chase tore across the plains of Rohan. Saruman summoned storms, calling wind and rain to strip away the advantage of flight. Lightning lashed the air; fireballs burst in thunderous blooms. Gandalf's staff clashed with his magic, while Elrond's Elven blade struck sparks against Saruman's wards.
Sylas darted and flickered, never lingering, needling Saruman's defenses with sudden strikes.
At last, they drove him to the banks of the Entwash River.
There Elrond raised his hand, and the Ring of Air blazed. The waters upriver swelled and roared, cresting into a vast wall. With a voice of command, Elrond unleashed the flood.
The river became an army, a torrent charging down, cutting off Saruman's path of escape.
"Saruman, you have nowhere to run!" Gandalf's voice cracked like thunder, his staff unleashing a bolt of lightning towards Saruman.
Saruman snarled and answered in kind, his own lightning lancing forward.
The two strikes collided mid-air, erupting in a blinding storm of sparks and thunderclaps that made the battlefield tremble.
"Expelliarmus!"
Sylas Apparated behind him, wand flashing. A surge of force tore through Saruman's hand, wrenching his staff away.
The White Wizard gasped in fury, but before he could recover, Sylas flickered again, caught the falling staff mid-air, and vanished to safety.
Without his staff, Saruman's presence diminished sharply.
Gandalf seized the opening, hurling a shockwave that blasted Saruman off his feet and into the rushing Entwash.
"Bind him!" Gandalf commanded.
Elrond raised his hand, the Ring of Air glowing with azure fire. The river answered his call, twisting into a massive whirlpool. Water roared like an army, seizing Saruman's body and dragging him into its spiral. He spun helplessly, sputtering and thrashing, unable to rise.
"Saruman, you are beaten," Gandalf declared, voice heavy with both sorrow and authority. "Surrender, and for the sake of what we once shared, we will not destroy you. You shall be imprisoned, and if true repentance comes, perhaps in time the West will grant forgiveness."
Saruman's laughter, raw and bitter, echoed across the river.
"Forgiveness? I have nothing to repent!" His eyes burned with madness as the waters churned around him. "What crime is there in seeking power? Why should I crawl back to Valinor, to live again as a servant, a chained hound? The Valar rule only because they were born higher than we Maiar. Why should I bow to them for eternity?"
"I will not return to the West. I will remain here, and I will rule!"
Gandalf's face shadowed. His grip on the staff trembled, not with fear, but with grief. Once he had believed Saruman misguided, twisted by Sauron's lies. But these words carried an older venom, resentment not born yesterday but festering for ages.
Galadriel's expression hardened, sorrow in her eyes. Elrond's jaw tightened, for such defiance was perilously close to Morgoth's old rebellion.
Sylas, though, regarded Saruman with a colder gaze. He knew the truth behind such words. Morgoth had raised his fist against Ilúvatar, Sauron after him, and now Saruman followed the same path. They cloaked themselves in grand speeches of freedom, but at their core was not justice, nor mercy, nor any vision for the good of Arda, only envy, only hunger for dominion.
Sylas raised his wand, eyes sharp as steel. "Enough," he said flatly. "He's already chosen his path. If we waste more words, he'll find a way to slip free. Better we end him here and now, before his poison spreads any further."
Sylas lifted his staff, ready to strike Saruman down if the others gave the word.
But the White Wizard, half-submerged in the raging Entwash, showed no fear. Instead, his lips twisted into a cruel, mocking smile. His voice slithered like a curse:
"I see it in you,the hunger for strength, the taste of darker magics upon your lips. I await the day when you fall, boy. When you, too, turn your staff against these so-called companions, just as I have."
The words hung in the air like venom. Gandalf, Elrond, and Galadriel all turned their eyes upon Sylas, a flicker of unease crossing their faces. Was Saruman's malice planting a seed?
But Sylas's gaze was steady, his tone cold and unshaken.
"I do seek power," he admitted plainly, "but not for dominion, and not for chains of pride. I seek it so I may stand, so I may guard myself and those I care for. Ruling this world, bending free peoples beneath my will, that is your obsession, not mine.
To me, light and darkness are like day and night, both belong to Arda, both necessary. But I will never let darkness rule me."
Saruman faltered. For an instant, his sneer wavered. He could not comprehend such words. To him, power existed only to dominate; what use was strength if not to rule? The concept was alien, almost absurd, like a man who buried treasure and never spent it.
Galadriel's eyes softened with quiet admiration. Elrond inclined his head, respect in his gaze. Even Gandalf's heart, heavy with the grief of this betrayal, stirred with renewed faith in the young wizard at his side.
Sylas, however, wasted no further breath. His wand snapped up, and his voice rang out, sharp as steel:
"Expelliarmus!"
The disarming charm struck true.
Saruman gasped, his expression twisting into shock and horror as the golden Ring of Power tore itself free from his finger.
"No! Mine! Give it back to me!" he screamed, thrashing against the whirlpool, his voice ragged with desperation.
The Ring spun through the air, gleaming with a terrible light, before falling harmlessly onto the riverbank.
Ignoring Saruman's cries, Sylas extended his wand, carefully levitating the Ring of Power into his grasp. Its weight was immense, not of gold, but of will. He studied the perfect golden band, whose terrible radiance rivaled even the Three Elven Rings.