January 25, 3019 of the Third Age of Middle Earth
…Yet, proudly the Istari stood! Mithrandir, he named himself, and Olórin he now appeared, the secret fire of Anor, forged by Cerebrimbor, untainted by Annatar, avatar of the Enemy himself, tightly wound around the fourth finger of his left hand - Narya, it named itself and fiercely it fought against the darkness. But the being of evil, servant of the first Enemy, cast out yet never forgotten, fought fire with fire to strike fear into the heart of all mortals and brought down his sword, wretched with malice. And still, the Istari stood, for no mortal was he and with both staff and blade, deflected the might blow into the living rock of Zirakzigil.
Durin's Bane pushed forward thrice more and, thrice, he was repelled by the Grey, until Glamdring of Turgon's make and hand was cast into the void of Khazad-dûm and the servant of the Enemy advanced once more, flaming whip carving desolation into the Endless Stairs, and, as still none but Mithrandir could move, both his hands fell onto his staff and, from deep within, he summoned one last burst of hope alike the great Manwë, King of the Valar, Greatest of the Aratar, and imbued with such strength, he cried out;
"You cannot pass!" And, as the servant of the Enemy stepped forth again, the Bridge of Khazad-dûm crumbled beneath it, and the last of the great Balrogs fell into the void.
And yet, as evil is never fully defeated, neither was Durin's Bane, and its whip lashed out with the viciousness of Ancalagon the Black, wrapping around Mithrandir's leg. Weary as he was, he could only grasp vainly at the collapsed bridge.
"Fly, you fools! Like the West Winds on the Plains of the Rohirrim - I bid you, fly!" And then, he was gone.
King Aragorn II Elessar on Durin's Bane
