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Disclaimer: Not mine, obviously. Notes: This came while watching FotR again. There's that scene, where Saruman is sitting in his study, all wrapped in his robes. There's something terribly fragile about him...
A World in White The evil of the Darklord seemed so wonderful, so distant and fragile. It called to something in me, and I slowly responded. Over the years, regret became intrigue, jealousy a quiet rage. Insidious, like a creeping poison through the veins of my mind, Sauron conquered. Slowly, so slowly. And I let him. I welcomed his touch, his counsel, his power. Dreams came to me, of shining towers and darkness. He was there, ruling all, I at his side. A game, it seemed. A way to pass the time, a thing to become. Until now. His power is far greater than I had thought, his mind so totally evil. So vastly different than mine. And yet we are alike, vanity and caprice and avarice driving us. He scourges through my mind like so much wind upon a desert. It aches now. With need. What have I done? Have I become what I once should have destroyed? The palantir is cold under my hand, the swirling winds inside dissolving to his Eye. He orders, I receive. But the feeling of ravagement abates little as I glide slowly back to my throne. The throne which is now a mockery of my once great power. If he wins, I have destroyed all of Middle Earth, all the hopes and dreams of this world. Part of me rejoices, more joins it. Yet there is a tiny portion that sits and weeps, craving the days when Gandalf was my pupil and I constantly amused by the vagaries of man. Entertained by the wisdom of the elves, and sought by the dwarves and Ents. Now, I am his. This is the folly of Saruman.
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