"No."
Gandalf shook his head slowly and replied, "I wasn't taken to Mordor. Someone else was taken. This is urgent, Garrett. Saruman's situation is dangerous right now."
They hadn't even entered the gate yet before he hurriedly related everything that had happened to him.
"You didn't stop any of that?" Garrett scratched his head.
"Didn't you see where Saruman went?"
Gandalf wiped his face and straightened his robe as he answered, "No. After I left the tower I don't know what happened inside. The only thing I can be certain of is that he's still alive, perhaps imprisoned."
"How do you know he's still alive?"
"Instinct."
"That's a convenient explanation."
"Oh no, no. A wizard doesn't have instincts for no reason. You have to believe me on that."
"Who knows. I've never had any instincts myself."
"That's your business."
"Could it be that I'm wrong?"
"Keep talking. I'm listening."
Garrett sighed and decided to drop the subject. He opened the castle gate and said, "Let's go inside and rest first. Leave what comes next to me."
Gandalf refused at once.
"No. I'll go with you. I'll be needed somewhere."
"By the way," the old wizard suddenly remembered something and asked, "what about Frodo? Has he arrived?"
"No."
Gandalf frowned. "Why is he so slow?"
"Maybe he's still on the road."
Garrett lightly patted the head of Shadowfax and looked at the animal, which didn't seem as unruly as it had first appeared.
"You should know, when you left you were riding the fastest horse in Bree, and you returned riding something even faster, the King of Horses. Count the time. The span from when you left to when you returned was less than a month. Do you expect a Hobbit to outrun those two steeds? With a Hobbit's pace, seven meals a day, and their utter devotion to good food, even if the road was clear he'd be lucky to reach Bree quickly."
"You have a point." Gandalf had no retort. He couldn't argue with that.
"Don't worry. I told Aragorn to meet them near Bree. Besides, looking at the Ranger density from the Shire to Bree, even if all nine Nazgûl came sneaking through together they'd be beaten back and sent running. They should be busy dealing with Saruman right now. They won't have time to come over here."
"Saruman..." Garrett muttered as he listened to Gandalf's account.
"His actions surprise me. After all these years, has this paranoid fellow finally made some progress?"
He stood up as he spoke.
"What are you doing?" Gandalf called after him.
"Rally the army, attack Isengard, and rescue Saruman."
"That's reckless, Garrett. We don't know the situation at Isengard yet. Gathering an army rashly could lead to unforeseen trouble. The commotion would be enormous. It would be hard to be discreet."
Garrett's steps suddenly stopped.
"You're right, Gandalf."
He looked up at the top of the unnamed tower and murmured, "But I could... no, I can't. He'd see my side, and if he sees Frodo that wouldn't be good."
"What are you talking about?" Gandalf asked, puzzled.
"Never mind. All right, I'll send a scouting party first to take a look and try to find Saruman's location, then... forget it, that's too much trouble. I'll just go myself."
One person, no matter how flashy, would never be more conspicuous than an entire army.
Probably.
"This..." Gandalf instinctively wanted to say something to stop him, but after a moment's thought, he decided there wasn't really a problem.
"Be careful. Things there might not be as peaceful as they once were."
"I will."
Once he'd made his decision, Garrett acted immediately. He mounted his horse and rode straight down the southern road.
On the way, when passing through the City of Waters, he gathered the city's military commander and administrative heads for an impromptu meeting. When he left, subtle changes began to ripple through the city. On the surface, it remained calm and serene, but beneath that calm it had entered the highest state of military readiness.
It was like a dragon feigning sleep. Any probing touch carrying malice would meet with a fierce counterattack that would make the intruder bitterly regret it.
Out in the wilderness, a lone rider galloped south, crossing rivers and swamps, heading toward the shadowed valley of Isengard beneath the gathering clouds.
Meanwhile, after Garrett's departure, Gandalf, now with nothing much to do, washed his face in the castle, went to the market to find the quickest tailor to mend his robe, and then sought out a skilled craftsman to repair his pipe.
Only after restoring himself to proper shape did he go to the meadow to find Shadowfax.
At that moment, Shadowfax was locked in a silent staring contest with Weymir, each blink for blink.
It had to be said, this king of horses truly was extraordinary. As a descendant of the mythic creatures of Valinor, its bloodline was noble, its intelligence remarkable, able to understand human speech, its body far stronger than ordinary horses, and its lifespan several times longer, nearly as long as a Man's.
Its courage was also unmatched, unshaken by the terror of the Nazgûl or the oppressive majesty of dragons.
Had the last king of Gondor ridden such a steed back then, he wouldn't have fallen from his saddle before the battle even began.
Watching the proud standoff between dragon and horse, Gandalf chuckled and went over to greet them.
"Weymir, how have you been lately?"
Weymir looked at Gandalf and nodded.
Gandalf nodded back.
This one was different from all dragons of the past, kind, gentle, and steady.
If it had been another evil dragon, like Smaug, and a horse challenged it, no matter how noble the horse's lineage, it would have roasted the poor creature on the spot.
"All right, that's enough staring. Let's go."
Gandalf patted Shadowfax on the head, mounted, and in an instant the two became a blur streaking across the plains.
---
A few days later, Bree.
At The Prancing Pony, Frodo, Sam, Pippin, and Merry were happily singing songs and chatting with the Men they rarely met back in the Shire.
Following Gandalf's instructions, Frodo did his best to conceal his identity, introducing himself as "Mr. Underhill," a name taken from one of Bilbo's stories about Thorin, the King Under the Mountain.
Though his disguise was clumsy and anyone could tell "Mr. Underhill" was a false name, it at least served its purpose somewhat.
Beside him, Sam dutifully addressed him as "Mr. Underhill," faithfully guarding his master's secret.
The other two, however, were far less discreet.
"Baggins? Sure, I know one! He's right over there, yes, that's him, Frodo, Frodo Baggins! From the famous Baggins family of the Shire. In fact, we're kind of related. He's my second cousin on my mother's side. His mother was from the Took family..."
"Pippin!"
Frodo finally understood how Gandalf must have felt.
At that moment, he really wanted to shout "Fool of a Took!" like Gandalf had, but his good manners wouldn't allow it. So instead, he rushed over to stop him.