Fate. What could be more cruel than fate? How could a creature which he loved so much become the victim of it's own dark fate. Long after The Dark Lord's reign was over, how could such evil still spring up?Such questions, useless now. It is here and it does not intend to leave soon. Flesh and blood spawned from deep within Mordor, creep back into the world, into her. None know what's happening, nor what do to. But I know... I know how the Dark Lord's brood had survived the fall of Minas Mordor. How the two half elvish children found in it's ruined walls were taken into Rivendell and raised... how the older one,the boy ran away and could not be found. How he grew into what now threatens Middle Earth. Aricael. Curse us for believing that good could come from what evil had birthed. He rebuilt Baradur, and Orthanc, and Minas Mordor ... and ... he rebuilt Mordor. 'Twas his legacy to do so, and yet we did not see. And now the other one is to join him. So little time left to act. He draws her to him every moment. But she is strong... strong like The Dark One, like the Shadow from whence she came. Nay. 'Tis hard to believe. Yet it is true. Curse it all. What should we do? What CAN we do when there is no time nor strength left?
Gandalf smoked his pipe silently in front of the fireplace. The room was silent, excepting the violent crackles of the burning wood. But his mind... his mind was racing, trying to find a solution. His heart filled with pain everytime he reminded himself of what The Council wishes to do. By Elbereth, he raised Adariel like his own child. He loved her as a daughter. He wouldn't let them do this. Neither him, nor the rest. No.