At Saruman's sudden stumble, the mountain and Barad-dûr's sudden rocking, and his little brother's sudden agonized screams, Olórin had a good guess of what had just happened. Seeing that Barad-dûr was about to fall, and having just witnessed the love and loyalty that lay between Sauron and those who had served him, he reached out to those inside the Dark Tower, pulling them all to safety, nearly disincarnating at the sudden pull of power it took.

He pulled his attention back to his immediate surroundings just as Saruman was beginning to recover. Cursing the delay, Olórin grabbed him, and thought them both to the West, almost right on top of Eönwë.

"What—?" the startled Herald began, but Olórin cut him off.

"Here!" he snapped, shoving Saruman at him, before thinking himself back to Mordor. Oh, Ilúvatar, let him not be too late…

When he returned, Orodruin was erupting violently, but more ominously to Olórin, there were no other sounds. He worked to try to enter the Sammath Naur, choking on the fumes, even Maia though he was.

"Mairon!" he finally screamed desperately. "Mairon!"

Then he saw him. Laying dangerously close to a river of lava, the younger Maia was completely limp…and on fire. Desperation lent Olórin strength, and with a quick bit of Song, dumped water over the whole surrounding area, putting the flames out, and sending up thick plumes of steam. But he knew where his brother was now, and quickly grabbed the younger Maia, and with the last of his strength he thought them both back to Minas Tirith, arriving in the courtyard where the White Tree once blossomed.

"Elrond!" Olórin screamed, bringing plenty of people running as he sank to the ground, exhausted. But he couldn't faint, he still had to care for Mairon…

"Hold on, Mairon," he whispered, his voice beginning to fade. "Please, just hold on…"

Elrond privately thought he had never seen a Maia look so desperate or bedraggled. Olórin was clearly exhausted, and covered in ash. But it was nothing to the badly burned creature in his arms, barely recognizable as Sauron. Elrond swore harshly under his breath, making Aragorn at his side to look at him in surprise, having never heard his foster-father use such language.

"Aragorn, I'm going to need your help," the Elf-lord said, just loud enough for the Man to hear him. "Glorfindel, take care of Olórin."

The Balrog-slayer nodded, as their run finally brought them next two the two figures. Elrond practically fell to his knees, skinning them as his momentum continued, reaching out to lay careful fingers on the less damaged side of Sauron's throat. They encountered thick scar tissue, and he swore again, switching to the Maia's left wrist, as the right was burned down into the deep muscle tissue. He found a faint pulse and sighed in relief. The younger Maia was not yet dead, as he had first feared. He quickly reached out with Vilya, seeking Sauron's air passages. Burned as well, they were the gravest threat, as they could stop the Maia's breathing completely.

With that concern eased, Elrond pulled himself back from his intense focus to try to get Sauron away from his older brother.

"Let me take him, Olórin," he said softly. Olórin barely responded, just the smallest shake of his head, as his desperate, exhausted eyes never left Sauron's face.

"Olórin!" Elrond ordered, calling his experience in leading armies into play. "Let me take him!" Glorfindel added his aid.

"Let Elrond take him, he can help," he said, gently pulling at Olórin's arms.

"I can't, I can't," the older Maia said desperately, his voice breaking on a sob. "I can't leave him!"

"Olórin, you are clearly exhausted," Elrond said sternly, but compassionately. "You cannot help him. Let me!" Finally, the Maia released his grip on his little brother, as Glorfindel gently tugged him back. Once Sauron was completely free from Olórin's grasp, the older Maia collapsed into sobs, and Glorfindel pulled him swiftly into his embrace.

Knowing Olórin would have as much help as anyone could give him, Elrond turned his attention back to Sauron, as Aragorn knelt at his side.

"I've ordered a litter, so we can take him to the Houses of Healing as soon as he is stable enough to move," the Man informed him. "They have much of the equipment we will need." Elrond gave a distracted nod.

"I was able to use Vilya to partially heal the damage to his airways," the Peredhel said. "That was the gravest danger. As long as we can keep him breathing and his heart beating, he should live: though there may be permanent damage." Aragorn nodded, then looked up as the litter he had ordered arrived, carried by running men. He stood up, and began issuing orders in a way that would have impressed Gil-galad himself. Elrond spared one moment of pride for the King it was obvious his foster son had become, before beginning to issue his own orders.

Quickly and carefully, Sauron was shifted onto the litter, and more slowly than they had brought it, but still as quickly as they dared, the carriers set off back towards the houses of healing. Elrond stayed at Sauron's side the whole time, using Vilya to make sure his fána did not begin to shut down.

But they got him into the Houses of Healing, and into one of the rooms that was kept as sterile as possible for those who had been burned without that occurring. Elrond spared himself one brief sigh of relief, as attendants came in to allow the Man and the Elf to cleanse themselves as was needed in this case. Then Elrond and Aragorn met in agreement across the damaged Maia's chest.

"Some of this will need to be debrided now," Elrond said. "But much of it will have to wait until he is stronger." Aragorn nodded, their eyes locking across the table like two warriors about to enter battle. And battle it was…

It was hours later when Elrond finally persuaded Aragorn to go to his rest, having done as much as Sauron could endure at the time. Elrond himself sat in a chair at the side of the bed they had moved Sauron to, hoping desperately that Sauron would not suddenly descend into a crisis. He did not know if he had enough strength, even with Vilya, to save him if that were to occur.

But it seemed as if at least for the moment, the Maia was stable, which left Elrond time to think. He wondered what had happened. For obviously, something had. Orodruin was erupting, and Sauron and Olórin had been right of the thick of it. Had Sauron succeeded with his plans, or had they failed, and Sauron's horrible state a result of it?

Elrond's musings were cut off when Glorfindel entered the room.

"I drugged Olórin," he admitted in answer to Elrond's questioning look. "And Elrohir is with him. But I got the story out of him before that, and I thought you might like to know it."

"I would indeed," Elrond replied.

"Well, for a start, they were successful. The Ring is destroyed, and as the last Olórin saw of it, it was alone with Sauron in the Sammath Naur…it would appear as if Sauron destroyed it himself."

"Did he, now?" Elrond murmured in amazement, an eyebrow raising as he looked at the Maia again. Glorfindel nodded.

"We won't know the full story of what happened there until he wakes, of course. Olórin was rather busy with Curumo."

"And what became of Saruman?" Elrond asked. That was the other pressing concern he had…

"Olórin took him to Valinor," Glorfindel answered. "That's part of the reason he's so exhausted. That, and apparently he saved everyone in Barad-dûr when the tower started to fall. Then pulled Sauron out of the Sammath Naur and brought him here." Elrond shook his head in amazement, not disbelief.

"It seems to be quite a tale," he said. "But I fear telling it in full will have to wait, or I will not properly understand it. I am exhausted, Glorfindel, more so than I have been…since I tried to heal Celebrían." Glorfindel looked at him with concern.

"Then you need to rest," he declared. "I will go relieve Elrohir, and he can take your place."

"If Sauron's fána begins to fail, Elrohir will not be able to—" Elrond began to protest. Glorfindel stopped him with a look.

"If Sauron is not strong enough to endure this damage on his own, you will not be able to do anything either, not with how exhausted you are! All the better to sleep now, then, while he is stable, so you can handle any future potential crises." Elrond saw the logic in this, and when Elrohir arrived, went to his own rest.

When he awoke, he found that someone had laid out clean clothing and some food that would keep well, so he could eat whenever he awoke. Once he had changed and eaten, he returned to Sauron's room. There he found, instead of his son, that Olórin had taken the post by his little brother's bed. The older Maia looked much better, though still worried. He looked up with a half-smile when Elrond entered.

"I sent Elrohir to his own rest about a half-mark ago," he said quietly. "He said Mairon passed the night quietly, though he did say there were complications in his breathing he wished you to look into when you came."

With a sigh, Elrond complied, reaching out with Vilya. There was still significant damage to Sauron's throat and lungs, and he did what he could to heal it. But there was so much damage that Vilya's strength was sucked off to a multitude of different places, as well as a large part seeming to simply disappear.

"He's still breathing, and that is reason to hope," Elrond murmured as he ended the flow of power and brought himself back to his surroundings. "As long as he continues to breath and his heart continues to beat, he should heal."

"Completely?" Olórin asked quietly. Elrond hesitated for a moment.

"No," he finally said softly. "I do not think even the combined strength of the Three would be enough to do that. But you are planning to take him West, are you not?" Olórin sighed.

"Yes, I am, though he will not be happy with that decision," the Maia admitted. "But I do not fear the Valar as he does, and do not believe after all he has done to help Middle-earth that they would sentence him to the Void. And they are the only ones that can help him…"

"Then they should be able to repair the damage I cannot," Elrond replied. "If I could get Vilya's power to stay where I put it, it would be far simpler, and I could probably do a far better job. But there is so much damage that it is simply pulled elsewhere—and a large part of it seems to simply disappear. I do not understand it." Olórin ran his hand over his face.

"Core damage," he said quietly. Elrond gave him an inquiring look.

"Mairon's core—the center of his fëa—is badly damaged, due to the destruction of the Ring, as well as what Saruman did to him. Even one of the Aratar can pour all the strength they can into a Maia with core damage without noticeable results. It is simply not something that can be healed by strength alone," Olórin explained. "Though there are things that help it heal—rest is one, as well as feeling safe and loved. Námo and Irmo became skilled at dealing with it—while Estë focused on how to work around it without the core pulling all of the strength she puts into healing to itself."

Elrond nodded, fascinated by these glimpses of stories that had been woven long before the Elves first awoke. He had often wondered about the Maiar and their stories. It was only natural, he supposed, as one of his foremothers had been one. He wondered if when he sailed, if he would be able to meet Melian…

"Well then, if we can get him strong enough to make the journey, we can count on him being healed," Elrond said, pulling himself back to the task at hand. "But that will take time, I fear. We will do what we can, but much of this fight rests on him, I fear."

Olórin nodded in weary acceptance, as he settled down to keep watch over his little brother until he awoke…however long that should be.

As it turned out, it was on what had been Bilbo and Frodo's birthday that Sauron reopened his eye. Only the left—his right had been more badly burned, and remained closed. But that brief flicker of gold reassured the healers still working on the Maia. Elrond had taught Olórin and Galadriel what he knew about using the Rings to heal, and all three would use what strength they could to aid in his healing.

But even with all that, Sauron's progress remained agonizingly slow. It wasn't until Midwinter that Elrond felt secure enough in his recovery to return to the North. When he returned with Arwen and his household, arriving in time for Aragorn's birthday on March first, Sauron was able to sit up, but it had become obvious just how limited his healing would be without the aid of the Powers. His right thigh was the worst, and it was clear he would not be able to walk unaided.

But it was his hand that seemed to pain him the most. Sauron often sat for hours, hunched in on himself, his left hand curled around his right, both pulled to his chest. Elrond could understand, having seen Sauron at his happiest in a forge. But seeing him like this, it drew his mind back half a century, to when it was his wife who had sat in just such a pose, her pain so obviously written in her face and form.

"It is time to sail," Elrond said quietly to Galadriel, as she stood, watching Sauron with pity on her face, as she stood where he couldn't see her.

"Yes," she said simply. "The Rings…" she paused, and looked at Nenya.

"The lessons of the past should be enough to know they cannot stay here," she finally finished quietly. "It is time for the Dominion of Men, and I am ready to go…to go home." Elrond looked on her with compassion.

"As well, whatever Olórin says, Sauron will face trial in the West," Galadriel said in a stronger tone. "I would not have him do so alone."

"Nor would I," Elrond admitted with a half-smile. "Despite what he has done in his past…If he can be redeemed and reclaimed, I would see it so."

"And I find myself in agreement," Galadriel said. She gave a mischievous smile that suddenly made her look very young. "I suppose that means I have finally grown wise." Elrond choked trying to hold back a laugh.

"I would have always called you wise," Elrond said diplomatically.

"Flatterer," Galadriel accused him. "But then, I always knew you were intelligent. That is why I let you marry my daughter."

"Celebrían," Elrond breathed. "Oh, Galadriel, I have no idea how to tell her…" Galadriel placed her hand on Elrond's shoulder.

"She knew it was a possibility, and chose you anyway," she said gently but firmly. "I, too, had a hand in bringing Aragorn and Arwen together. You made the right choice."

"I hope she sees it that way as well," Elrond murmured.

"She will," Galadriel assured him.

Aragorn and Arwen wedded on the first day of May, and the whole city celebrated. Sauron was able to attend, seated in a secluded corner at his own request, Olórin by his side. He didn't stay long after the ceremony itself, but he smiled truly at the newlyweds' happiness—the first smile he had given since the destruction of the Ring.

The whole company stayed in the White City until Midsummer. Then the Elves took their leave, returning to the North and their homes. Olórin and Sauron travelled with them: the first steps on their journey to the West.