As I awoke in the chamber to the sound of steel scraping upon stone, a memory that I thought had long since passed returned to me. I remembered waking to a similar sound fourteen years ago when I was a prisoner of war in Ithillian. The band of Easterlings that captured us were vicious and cruel, the cruellest of them all being Mordevin, a man who still to this day haunts my dreams. I remembered the day that he found me again many years later, seeking to use my past fear to his advantage. Having failed, he took it upon himself to inflict one last act of cruelty towards me by destroying Sparrow, his final deed before she put a dagger through his chest. It surprises me therefore that Sparrow still remains loyal to me. She was a common thief when I found her, full of ignorance and greed. Over time she began to show her true potential in which I confess I did not expect. Yet she has suffered much by walking my path, and as result it has brought us here to Isengard, a land which will surely break her.
When we were dragged into the great circle of Orthanc I remember catching a glimpse of one of the pits below, being astonished by what I had seen. Such machinery and devastation, I felt small beneath the shadow of the great tower as I came to realise that there was a power here that the rest of the world had never seen. Sparrow often spoke of the White Hand as we passed through Enedwaith, as did the Wildlings that held us for a while. I could not help but admire this man and all he had accomplished.
Large beasts surrounded us, snarling and growling as we were forced to replace our clothes for poorly stitched work garments bearing the white hand. Another captive who could not have been more than fifteen years of age suffered a strike from one of the creature’s whips for delaying, only to suffer another for crying. Sparrow having been devastated by the news of the missing child seemed numb to the situation, I almost pitied her. The gatekeeper had told her that the child was most likely dead, thrown to the Wargs for sport. How much of this tale was true I do not know, though her reaction seemed to please the guards well enough.
When we were escorted across the circle we paused upon a wooden bridge to be shown a line of hanging corpses as a warning to those who would choose to defy their new masters. Foolishly, Sparrow decided to show a spark of courage towards the leading Uruk-Hai, receiving a deep cut to the face for her trouble. I could only stand and watch as blood spread across her pale face, dripping onto the wooden boards beneath our feet. She did not weep however, or show any sign of weakness, she was past tears now.
Eventually we were brought before two large steel doors built into the side of the mountain behind Orthanc. There we stood, savouring our last moment upon the surface before we were plunged into the pits beneath the world. After a swift inspection, the doors opened with a sickening screech releasing a strong smell of ash along with a wave of heat that washed over us. As I passed through the threshold any plans of escape seemed impossible, the sight and sound of the thousand upon thousand of creatures below removed any hope I had.
The depths of Isengard could only be described as a giant ants’ nest. We were forced to walk down countless tunnels, passing creatures of all shapes and sizes, some even mounted upon giant wargs which snapped aggressively at some of the captives. Soon we reached the centre of the pit in which we were inspected by an Uruk almost twice the size of any man. They called him Fásh, though we were to call him Master. He assigned us all to tasks that best suited or abilities, Sparrow was to stitch and work leather as well as clean the food halls while I was put to work in the forges. As I began to turn blades beneath the embers of the forge I already began to hatch plans in my mind, beating the molten steel as calmly as I could as I plotted and schemed foolishly…
