Prologue

Interfering

It was a testament to the modern age that when a tall old man in a grey robe with a beard that trailed proudly over his chest walked hesitantly into A&E, no one so much as batted an eyelid. Still, he was trying to be incognito. The hat, after all, was nowhere to be seen and the staff he made a genuine point of using as a walking stick. But, as he had discovered on the bus, humans did have a strange habit of making assumptions whatever.

Some even called him by name.

But he would not be remaining long and those few that looked twice were free to think what they would. They were not the reason he was here. Still, they stared as he walked the halls, searching ward after ward. He was reminded uncomfortably of the reason he wasn't entirely sure of what he was looking for and couldn't help himself but peer back every now and again, half expecting a long fingered hand to land heavily on his shoulder.

The thought almost brought a chuckle. Had he been younger, he might have said the sly thrill by itself was worth it. But no: he was a fully grown wizard and quite capable of a more respectable level of maturity. This was not for the cheap excitement of acting outside council orders.

"Can I help you?"

"Oh I, ah…I'm visiting a friend, I seem to have lost my way." He smiled genially. The man at the desk hummed, not taking his eyes off the staff.

Gandalf huffed. Young people. Never happy; always needing to stick their noses into everything. He turned down another white corridor dotted here and there with sterile blue. What was he looking for? He'd know it as soon as he saw it – and his nose had never been wrong; it was in the hospital somewhere. The fulcrum to turn the world around. For it obvious what was coming even if what to do about it was less so and the grey wizard had had just about enough of sitting idly by and waiting for 'more information'.

Would it be lore? A long forgotten artefact of Power? Radagast had suggested he'd seen a particularly enthusiastic hedgehog, though that one he had to admit was a little less likely. But, for all he knew, he would encounter a talking squirrel sprouting riddles for passers-by. He just didn't know. He didn't know in what capacity it might change their fate either, which was a slight problem, all things considered. Indeed, his indiscretion might prove their ruin rather than their salvation (something he wanted to avoid if at all possible).

Yet, as afore stated, sitting indolently in a comfortable wicker chair whilst knowing what was to come and doing presently nothing was not an option.

He poked his head round the corner of another white wall. Would it be medicine? Perhaps he had fallen for that penchant of man and failed to see the wood for the trees.

He sighed heavily. In fact, he was about to turn about and search instead for a cup of tea (terrible as it was rumoured to be in this place) when he saw him. He was so obvious to the wizard and so very out of place, both in expression and setting, yet for a single second he thought he was seeing things. A dwarf? Here?

Oh, but this had just become far more complicated.

An artefact or even a singing hedgehog was less of a bother than a living, breathingindividual. A warrior, or healer, or even an ordinary soul – it didn't matter – but someone…someone could change the course of the future in such strange ways. They might be the hero that throws down the dark tower or the whisper that sets off the avalanche in the mountains. The right words in the right place at the right time…

But despite all this, they were still someone. Not a piece on a chessboard.

'Complicated' was a monumental understatement.

He approached cautiously, trying to get a read of the middle-aged dwarf before engaging him. A forger (the hands gave that away instantly) and also most definitely a pure-blooded khazad judging by the nose, the ears, the height and, most especially, the beard. But he seemed not perturbed by the locale, indicating that he had been here for a long time. Which did fit with Gandalf's somewhat fuzzy knowledge of when the last travels through the Gate were. Still that didn't explain meeting one of Mahal's children here, now, just when the wizard was about to give up looking for the saviour of Middle Earth.

Coincidences like that simply didn't happen.

He made to move forward on the pretext of curiosity, but a deep growl stopped him in his tracks.

"Don' thin' I don' recognise a wizard when I see one."

"Ah. Well then, forgive my intrusion as you must, but this cannot wait."

"No?" The dwarf raised his green eyes in surprise. "No' an hour? Nor a night's sleep?"

His voice was bitter and Gandalf sighed softly, looking for the first time at the slender figure dozing in the hospital sheets. There were cables and tubes connecting her to various machines and apparatus with swathes of bandages running up both wrists. Yet she seemed peaceful for the moment, breathing evenly. She was definitely not pure dwarf, but the more he looked, the more subtle hints stood out. Her height was one; the structure of her collar and shoulders was another (too broad for a human girl). Still, without the beard, he doubted anyone else would've noticed.

The dwarf at the foot of her bed had her hand held in his as though it was a jewel as precious as those beneath the earth.

"You're so obsessed wi' the timin' o' things. You an' your friends. Everythin' has its place an' its job an' the whole world spins accordin' to wha' you've seen."

"Fate is simply what it is. For that, I cannot apologise."

"Fate." He spat the word as if it left a bad taste. "So it was her Fate to suffer this?"

His face contorted in a glare to send armies tail about, but so too upon it were tears that shone in the artificial light. They fell freely, and Gandalf felt his heart soften. Oh for the passion of dwarves. Left to the elves, they might all forget that life was not simply the objective whole; the world turning and history passing in pages of reference. No, it was this. Pain and love driving turns of time that are entirely unexpected.

He bowed his head, not knowing what to say.

"If you've come to discuss Fate of all things, you can leave no'. I'm no mood to talk abou' your fuckin' problems no', an' if you so much as suggest I consider the 'big picture' or the 'save-the-word' bullshi', I will deck you. Wizard or no'."

Gandalf sighed again, raising a placating hand as he sought and found a seat.

"Actually, I came to find you."

"Me." The dwarf nodded, mouth a dangerously thin line beneath his hair. "Righ'. Me. Why? After all this time? Why no'?"

"Because we appear to be fast approaching a turning point. A cross-ways, if you like."

"An' this has to do wi' me an' mine how?"

"Well," the wizard levelled him a pointed look. "You are aware, I presume, of what has happened. And, more to the point –"

"Aye. I've read it. Very long-winded if you ask me."

"Ah, but, what if it was possible to…change that future."

The dwarf considered him with knife-like eyes.

"Why shoul' I care abou' your future, wizard? My home is here. Erebor fell."

"But it is your world!" Gandalf counted, all but affronted at this apathy. "Surely you could not truly abandon it to such a destiny if it was in your power to prevent it?"

"Sauron was defeated in the end, no?"

"After terrible war."

"Again: why shoul' I care abou' your war?"

The wizard closed his eyes, trying to see clearly what it was the dwarf was objecting to. Did he truly have no connection left to Middle Earth? It was possible. More than possible if he was born away from his ancestral stone. Gandalf cursed internally at his lack of anticipation – he ought to have come across this! He ought to know and to have been prepared. Perhaps it was grave error he had made coming on his own recognisance; truly, this time. He could not sit by, but if he had just at this moment prevented the return –

Why does one go away if not to return home? A long journey made to come back to where one started…Durin's skies…something about a frog?

But that was an old legend. An ancient one. Made by a seer in days long past and steeped in a longstanding and ever-evolving tradition. It couldn't be right.

But…oh yes it could.

His eyes turned again to the girl, this time with unrestrained wonder. Oh. Oh but what else was powerful enough to shatter the very course of history? Still, he could not be absolutely sure. And besides, such a thing was so very erratic, it was near impossible to predict, much less protect. She would need watching, that was for sure. The dwarf raised an eyebrow at his sudden change in countenance, and he quite had to restrain himself, meeting the look clearly.

"Are you aware of the tale of Durin's Day?"

The dwarf rolled his eyes derisively.

"Which one? Oh no' –" comprehension dawned. "– no' the one wi' the lassie bein' the moon shinin' together wi' Durin as the sun? Tha' ridiculous tale? Oh you've go' to be joking. The poets were worse than this Shakespeare all the humans go on abou' an' I'm no' abou' to belive a load of crap like tha'. You go' anythin' else? Wizard?"

Gandalf patiently waited for him to finish. And then more, looking him keenly in the heart where he spotted easily the attempt to shield his fear.

"You really do not believe? When you yourself possess the moon?"

Because, yes, it had to be. There were no other dwarves, and, oh yes, Gandalf knew of the blessing of their line. It had been quite a thing at the time. A very great honour indeed, though Thror likely only considered the anecdote allegory at the time. Not the quite serious foretelling it was.

The dwarf broke, almost laughing through fresh tears. He drew a perfectly ordinary looking sliver of white gemstone out of a hidden pocket near his collar.

"I've carried this two hundred years. An' in all tha' time it's never given me cause to believe a damn thing. It's ever been as dull as you see it no'."

"It was not meant to be separated from its counterpart." He smiled softly. The dwarf hunched as if trying to protect it, anguish flowing from him in great rivers. After a long time he looked back at the girl, free hand coming to rest on her leg as if she were made of glass.

"It was a gift." He muttered thickly. "Tha' we would always be sons and daughters o' the stone, tha' was the promise. Tha' those born here would be protected by the stone we made ours.

"An' we failed." He let the last of his pride recede as he crumpled completely. "We failed."

"Not failed," Gandalf tried, raising a gentle hand to his shoulder. "Leastways, not yet. There is still much she might become –"

"You'll no' take her!"

Several of the ward's other occupants whipped about in alarm at the shout, staring between the two as the wizard made a cautious retreat.

"That was not my intent –"

"No? Good! Because when they're finished here, I'm takin' her home." He said it with such a finality, it stilled the thought that they might yet be persuaded to make the crossing now. The dwarf looked him in the eye and clutched her hand.

"If we can no' be her family no', we nay deserve to have her. An' we'll make this righ'! I'll figh' every las' one o' you, istari or no', who thinks we won'!"

"I did not mean to imply such a thing." The istari in question was quiet. "And in any case, I would not say there must be things decided yet. You have…autonomy here, I am not denying that. And she is still too young, quite obviously."

"Aye."

There were more tears, but he stood firmly as only a dwarf could.

"Just…keep it in mind." He stood, a little awkwardly in the cramped space, and prepared to take his leave. Good gracious...Saruman was going to have a field day after this. The dwarf nodded in acknowledgement, clearly having little thought to spare for it at present, and Gandalf accepted the gesture. With any luck, they might just be able to pull it off. Or, rather, she would.

Yet…it was so uncertain. So it was with these things, but was it rightly possible?

They could only hope.

He stood in silence for a long time, listening to the sounds of the hospital echoing beyond the ward door. They muffled through the many people and…things. He didn't often come here, but when he did he always felt disturbed by the cold machines that were the humans' magic.

Not enough character; too few surprises.

The humans made their own, of course, but the cogs and wires and invisible sparks were utterly detached in themselves. Predictable to a T – until they weren't (which was where the whole system broke down of course).

"What is her name?" He murmured suddenly, turning back with an odd feeling. "If I might ask?"

The dwarf drew up slightly.

"Her name's Senga."


A.N: I'm back everybody! I honestly couldn't resist writing this little bit just because Pete got to do it with the film and because I wanted to try and sort through things a bit. That and writing for Gandalf is unequivokably awesome :) Still, I did re-wite this from the original. What I had in mind was a lot more angsty and a lot less clear - instead what I've done is explore Gandalf's character and set this up in a way that's slightly less bog-standard and more open to be played around with. Hopefully I've wrangled it in a satisfactory manner.

The title just fits perfectly and naturally comes from Mithrandir's own little penchent for it :P

Just a note: Gandalf's thought 'young people' actually comes from Ian McKellen's line in the first X-men film when Rogue and Logan are on the train. A quirk to the fact that I can actually hear him saying the line. Aaaand inspiration for this stems as much from listening to the Wee Free Men being read by Tony Robinson as The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy radio series.

The cover picture is, again, one of my own and actually a result of my mostly failed attempts to photograph the moon with a camera that is simply not suited for low light photography. Nevertheless, through persistance, i got an approximation of what I wanted. The trees at the bottom are New Zealand tree ferns and the streaks of light are not a result of me touching it up: that is genuinely what the light exposure did to the image :P

Will be hopefully prompt with the first chaper for which there is already some written. So, my lovelies, once more into the breech! Onwards!