Arda, Rhûn; 2979, third age of Middle Earth
Pallando had walked the eastern lands of Middle Earth for many an age now – he'd seen generations of the people of this land born, grow, and pass away before his eyes. He'd seen their civilizations fall and rise, he'd seen the horrors of Morgoth and later Sauron, and the corrupted kings of old. Most of all though he'd seen that throughout all the lies, the deceit, and the terrors that were brought down upon his people (for they were his, much more so than any of the other Maiar or Istari) marched on. With each new hurdle, the world threw at them, they would simply pick themselves up, and continue. Men truly were, in his perhaps not so humble opinion, the most marvellous of creatures.
However, that was not to say they were without their frustrating elements, every race had at least one. The man in front of him, currently barring his way, was a sparkling example of one such element.
'Hear me now son of Rhûn, unbar my path or you will come to rue it; for I am Pallando called Rómestámo and I bring no evil here, lest you not remove yourself from my way.'
Pallando could feel every hair in his beard bristle as this man, nay this boy, flashed his teeth at the wizard in a patronizing grimace.
'I mean no offence, old man,' the boy replied in his own people's tongue, though judging by his reply he had clearly understood Pallando's meaning. 'But my lord Morinehtar has commanded me and my kinsmen to guard the entrances to his keep, letting none but those who are known to us pass its boundaries… and you are the strangest of strangers.'
The youth folded his arms over his chest and cocked his chin up at Pallando, a smug grin grown wide on his lips. The wizard's rage was enough that he very nearly smote the youngster where he stood, that was until the name the boy had spouted as his sovereign lord, clicked within the folds of the Maiar's memory.
'Go to him then and he will tell you…he will tell you my lad who Pallando called East Saviour is. For there is none who is his equal more then I boy, of that he will tell you I have no doubt.' The mocking smile of the child did not falter as he bared his long spear in Pallando's direction.
'I have humoured you enough for a year, Old Man, now be off with you before I'm forced to use this spear on your belly.' The boy may even have tried to do it, if the large, weather-beaten hand had not landed on his shoulder.
'Be at peace with you, cousin, Pallando is welcome and trustworthy, or as trustworthy as one may come to in these days,' said the older guard. Pallando thought that a very strange way to phrase such a thing, and by the looks of it, the young guardsman seemed to agree. But he gave way nether the less, though he did throw one last untrusting look at the blue wizard as the old man disappeared down the long and twisting tunnel behind him.
Ah Alatar, loveliest and most cunning of all Mandos' Maiar - how Pallando had missed him in the years they'd been separated by their duties. Pallando could not quite recall when he'd seen his fellow wizard last, but he remembered well his image. Who could forget the bent hawk-like figure he had followed into the East, the proud brows drawn together in a look of consternation and his green-blue eyes sparkling with mirth despite themselves. This was not the image that greeted the travel worn Istari when he, and his rather bulky guide, reached the end of the tunnel. The wizard – who now called himself Morinehtar – was bent double, crouched to the ground staring at something just out of Pallando's sight. His bald head shining in the dim light of the lamps hung low on the wall.
'Alatar?' The name had escaped Pallando's lips before he'd gathered enough of his wits to halt its progress. The old man's head snapped up and swivelled in the direction of the sound, only then did the blue Istari see the extent of his old friend's face. Gone were the sparkling blue-green orbs of yester-year, replaced now with empty pitiless sockets that still seemed to stare at Pallando with a look of very poorly concealed irritation. Perhaps he had not changed so very much then…within, at least.
'So, he has come at last, he who now calls himself Rómestámo.'
Pallando moved, or rather was pushed, closer until he was standing a mere breath away from the kneeling, eyeless Istari.
'A mighty name for someone who had to be dragged kicking and screaming to this land, tell me what news have you brought me that it was worth my time to meet with you?' Said this strange person, that could not possibly be his Alatar.
And yet Pallando could feel the familiar feeling of mad annoyance deep within his belly, a sure sign that he truly was in the presence of Alatar.
'If your mind has slipped sufficiently enough for you to forget, then I shall remind you that it was you who summoned me.'
The half mad cackle was unlike any laugh he had ever heard, but there was still a glimmer to it, something of the joyful laugh of Alatar left in its unearthly tones.
'Well that I did, and for good reason kin of mine, come hither and gaze upon what I and those who follow me have reclaimed. I knew that you would not believe it thus possible, unless you were to see it with your own eyes.'
Alatar lifted the sphere he had been cradling in his old and withered hands; it was covered with a rag of poor cloth which his aged friend lifted with no small amount of flourish. But this Pallando hardly noticed, for the moment the rag was gone he was blinded by a white light unlike any mortal kind had ever beheld. Not since the destruction of the two trees of Valinor had such a brilliance been alive in any land he could name.
'By all the Valar in Valinor and Eru Ilúvatar himself, it cannot be…it…it is impossible!'
He could not see for certain his friend's answering grin, but Pallando knew the tone in Alatar's voice well enough to guess at it.
'But you have seen it Rómestámo, you have now seen with your own eyes what you would not have believed with your ears. Here in my lands it lay undisturbed for untold generations, and it was here in my lands that it was reclaimed. Aye, you can say its name my old friend, do not be afraid to, for it is not a cursed name.' When nothing but Pallando's silence answered him, Alatar puffed himself up and raised the glowing orb above his head, proclaiming with a voice as clear as the sea is vast.
'Beholden are all who stand here, for in my hands I holdeth joy, I holdeth beauty and light beyond all measure. I holdeth in my hands that which was flung into the fiery depths of the abyss. None but I could have reclaimed such a work of beauty from such a pit. So, rejoice all who hear my fair voice, for cradled in my hands is the very last of the mighty Silmarils!'