Middle-Earth, Rivendell: T.A. 3018, October 22nd

It wasn't that the elves of Rivendell had never seen a man before, indeed men of the Rangers were forever in and out of the homely halls of Rivendell. Why, their lord's own foster-son was of the race of Man, so that wasn't why they stared at the three strangers. No, it was because they had never beheld men quite like these.

The oldest of the three had skin the colour of copper and was bent and blind, limping forward supported heavily by one of his companion's arms. He had power in him, even the weakest among them could sense that. So much in fact that surely this was no man at all… but a wizard. True, he was not any wizard the elves knew of, yet with that kind of power how could he be anything else? Yet as truly exciting as was the prospect of a new wizard here amongst them, it paled in comparison to the bafflement they felt on sight of the Wizard's companions.

They were younger, much younger, barely older than children really. The boy was closest to the wizard, so it was to him that most eyes drifted to. His body, trapped as it was under the arm of the old man, was stocky and rounded, and the eyes which gazed out at them, from under furrowed brows were the same dull grey of the sky above them. Yet it was neither his body nor his eyes that caused them to stare. The face that gazed around Rivendell like it had somehow leaped off the pages of a story book, was, for all intents and purposes… blue. His cheeks, his nose, and the hair on his head were all a deep shade of brilliant blue.

It was quite a sight, so one might be forgiven for overlooking the final person that walked through their gates, that cold October morning.

The Girl had long ringlets of red-matted hair, that half hid her face from view, but not enough so that the keen eyes of elves couldn't see the strange green and gold markings splattered across her pretty face. Her garments were plain, almost sack like in nature – as if they had specifically been chosen to hide the shape of her body, but even then the curve of her belly was so prominent that a half-blind dwarf could have spotted it.

***

Elrond was a healer first among all things. He could spot a soul that needed his help from miles away, farther with the old man, for he could barely walk through the gate. He should have been sat upon Glorfindel's horse, but where that beast had wandered off to nobody knew. The twice born elf and his steed had still not reconciled after the creature had kicked him off to go and look for the hobbits.

He'd barely had time to spare for his new visitors, the Ringbearer was still asleep and much work had to be done for the coming Council. But his feelings told him this was important; something was being set in motion, and he didn't need precognition to know that he wasn't going to enjoy it.

'So, you are the lord of this house then?' The old man croaked when Elrond met them at the bottom of the main staircase. Elrond replied in the affirmative and the old creature let out a great sigh, though whether from relief or exhaustion Elrond knew not.
'Well that is fair news, for I have a wish to speak with a high-ranking Elf this day. Terribly things are happening in the world, and like always your people are at the root of them. So, you see we have…'cough'… much to speak of but first, you must bring me to Gandalf, yes Gandalf the Grey.'

Glorfindel and the blue faced child lowered the stranger to sit on the step beside the mighty Elf Lord. 'Tell me, for I think you might know, where is Gandalf the Grey? For I have much cause to speak with him, and it would sooth these withered old bones of mine to feel another of my kind near."

'Another of your kind?' Said Elrond, as he finally began to comprehend exactly who he was speaking to.

'Yes, another, for I, am the Wizard of blue known as Pallando. Now take me to Gandalf, for I do not believe I have much time left.'

***
It had been such a wonderful thing at first, to be out, to be free of that cage…even Aine, though she had complained enough at the time, had laughed at the feeling of the wild wind ripping through her hair. But it hadn't lasted, nothing truly good ever really did.

Calgacus Aon-adharcach had felt eyes on him since the moment he had stepped through the gates of this strange place. It was not a particularly peculiar sensation these days, ever since they'd left their own land, people of all sorts were forever staring at them. Staring at him, at Aine, at the baby in her belly as if…as if they were a peculiar oddity in one of their road-side freak shows. The Wizard had waved it off as nothing, people were just startled at seeing a Dunlander out of Dunland. Calgacus, who didn't particularly care for that identification of his people or his homeland, had told the Wizard exactly where he could shove that sentiment. Then the old man had hit him, hit him good and hard round the back of his head with the butt of his Wizard's staff.

There'd been a lot of fights that ended like that on their journey, Calgacus was even beginning to suspect that he now boasted a permanent bump at the base of his skull.

The stranger, their guide had introduced as Elrond, whisked the old blither away as soon as the word "wizard" had left his mouth, and Glorfindel and the two Dunlanders were left alone. Elves had always been a mystery to the young man of the Leomhann Clan, they were as far off to him as the very stars themselves. A strange tall people with flawless faces, beautiful eyes and an all-knowing spirit. Perhaps in another life, a life where he was not the son of the Leomhann or born of Mab, a life where the dead had the decency to stay in their graves once they'd been buried, Calgacus might have grown to trust them, maybe even love them. But that was not this life, and Calgacus knew too much of the dirty little secrets these strange, beautiful creatures tried to hide from the rest of the world; knew too much of where their dead crawled from when they fled those beautiful bodies, to ever be comfortable in their presence. After all, they spoke their tongue.

He guessed his wife felt quite the same, for she would cling to his arm tightly whenever Glorfindel cared to walk too close.

The Elf seemed to sense this, yet whether it bothered him or not Calgacus found it very hard to care either way. Especially not when the elf gave that smug little bow, as if he were humouring Calgacus and Aine with the show of respect, as if…as if they were nothing more than up-start children in the presence of their physical and moral superiors. The boy knew that it was his own anger, and his own bitterness at the cruelty and faithfulness of the Gods that drove the elf to abandon them there, alone in that strange and beautiful place.

This was indeed a strange place, beautiful and calm, like the first frost on one of the deeper lakes back home. Back home...had his mother realised they'd gone yet, yes. Yes of course she had…he could feel her fury even from behind the walls of such beauty. But she had to understand, didn't she, had to understand that they didn't have a choice…they'd had to leave for the baby's sake. There was no other option for him, how could he let his child, a child beared by his wife, be born into such a land. Many said it was better to let it die in the womb, before it ever had to witness the raising of the dead. Such collective reasoning was why there'd been so few infants born to his people since the occasion of his own birth, better for the child in the long run.

They should have done the same, should never have been so cruel, so unconditionally selfish as to…as to inflict a land of the rotting, a land of the stinking flesh which rose from the grave if you were fool enough not to burn the body. Yet, he'd wanted, no they both had wanted that baby so badly. Wanted to meet that person that was part of the person they loved.

That was why he was here, that small person growing within his wife's stomach. That small person who yet knew nothing of the hardships, or the terrors of this world. Who yet had never seen the cruel light of the moon held back from them by his mother's magic, on the night that the dead walked in their hundreds across the breath of the land, all desperately wandering, searching for a leader? A leader who his own father had taken with him to the grave. A child who, if he was successful in his vow to it, would never have to see such sights at all.

The Elves had started the dead rising, or so his mother and elders said when the old wizard had begun to speak of them – but maybe that meant they could stop them.
He needed to speak with the lord of this house and he needed to speak with him now.

Rivendell, Lord Elrond's Council Chamber

Gandalf had not seen Pallando in more than a century. It would be redundant to say his friend had changed a great deal in that time, because of course he had. But to be frank, the old Wizard hadn't thought he would change this much, and certainly not in this way of all things.

They had all taken the guises of old men when they had first set foot on this mortal soil of course, but there was something truly wizened about Pallando now; as if even his most inner core had been drained of life.

'Olorin? Is that you?' Pallando raised his shaking hand to Gandalf's face. 'My gods, you got so old.' Despite his shock, and not a small amount of horror at his old friend's appearance, Gandalf couldn't help but laugh.

'Time takes a toll on us all, even those who do not age as mortal men, my dear friend.'

Pallando squeezed Gandalf's hands. 'That it does, that it does, which is why I have come here now, why I have sought you out.' Said the old man before him, and his blind eyes stared into the distance with such intensity that even Gandalf felt quite shaken.
'All these years on Middle-Earth soil Olorin, and you never wondered? Never even questioned why after all these thousands of years you and I have dwelt on these shores…nothing has changed?' Gandalf contorted his face and frowned at the blue wizard in utter confusion.

'Oh, I know that look in your eyes my friend, even if I can no longer see it for myself, you're thinking the hot sun of the East has finally leached into my brain and robbed me of my senses. Well maybe it has at that, but I can't put these thoughts aside just yet even if they are simply the product of madness.

'So, tell me, for you would know better than I, has there been any change of significance in the lands of the West and their cousins to the North? And take care when you answer, for I do not speak of change as a changing name on a throne. I instead speak of ideas that would-be alien to those in ages come before us. Is there any difference in the way Men, Elves or Dwarves fight, dress, eat, or think? Anything to suggest that the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth have not fallen into stagnation?'
Gandalf said nothing, for he was beginning to suspect Pallando needed no answer.

'Aye it is as I thought, you have no answer. Peace has not inspired growth in them, war has not inspired growth in them… I'm afraid nothing short of the light of a Silmaril will inspire such change as is needed now. And those are rare on the ground these days, wouldn't you say?'

Gandalf said nothing, which was clearly not the response that Pallando had wanted.

Pallando trembled as Lord Elrond's healers eased him back onto the bed, his mouth twisted in a grotesque visage of rage. 'Mayhap it is not I but Gandalf who's succumbed under the weight of our task. Your love of this place and its people have blinded you to the realities of their situation. And when a blind man tells you that, you had better sit up and listen.

'Oh, you think I blame them for it, I don't. In all honesty it's not their fault they've failed as a culture to produce anything of value since the first age...it's ours. We were sent to lead them, to guide them, but what have we done instead? The head of our order locks himself away for years at a time, only coming out to tempt good people to do wicked things. Oh, aye I know of that too, I've been in many lands, not all of them in the east: where do you think my young blue faced companion came from? After everything that's happened in that land lately Saruman will have a task just getting into it, let alone turning its people to his wicked cause. Oh Gandalf, this did not shock me as I'm sure deep down it did not shock you, for Curffino was ever the wayward son of greater houses.

'Our brother Radagast plays with his birds and rabbits in the forest, Alatar is a monster and I am weak, we have failed. The people of the East deserved better than what we could do. You at least have tried your uttermost to help, but even you the mightiest of my kin did not see it as your duty to help these people grow. Help them make a world actually worth defending.'

For a second Pallando paused and swept his still shaking arm in front of him as if he were addressing the whole room – which constituted of the two apprentice healers Elrond had set to watch Pallando, while he himself was called away to more important matters.

'So, I hope all present are quite happy with the way your world runs and operates, because you're going to be living with it for a very long time.'

Gandalf sat back in his chair; his eyebrows lowered in a menacing manner. 'I do hope there was a point to that whole speech, nice as it was, because right now I'm failing to see it.'

Pallando snorted indignity as he let the young healers ply him with a sleeping draught.

'My point, if you would care to listen to it, is to tell you I have found an answer… that I've found a Silmaril.'

Gandalf choked back something that sounded vaguely like a laugh.

'And how did you do that? Reach into the sky and pluck it from Erendil's grasp? Dive into the deepest oceans of this earth? Or did you perhaps become fireproof at last and fish it out of the fires from whence it was dropped?'

'None of them, I suppose in all truthfulness it was not I but Alatar who fished it from the fires of this world. He never told me how he accomplished it, and I never asked but he did have it Gandalf, I saw it with my own two eyes. Such a brilliant light it was; till this day I can still feel the warmth on my face.'

Gandalf's brows furrowed until they practically hid his eyes from view entirely.

'If this is true my friend, and you sound so earnest I have trouble believing it is otherwise, then our worries have increased tenfold this day. A Silmaril on earth, this can only mean one thing for the world, war. This is hardly an ideal time for another war, we've barely started the first.'

Then he smiled, his eyes crinkling up at the corners, as the sleeping draught began to take full effect on Pallando's mind.

'Rest now though, we will talk of this deeper when we next see each other, now I have much to discuss with Lord Elrond and your young blue-faced companion. Sweet Dreams Pallando the Blue, we shall meet again, I swear on it.'

As Gandalf left the healing chamber, Pallando tried desperately to call out to him again, franticly fighting off sleep. But no matter how hard he tried to yell, it always came out as a whisper, barely audible to his own ears.

'Gandalf, Gandalf, please don't leave. There's more…Alatar mad…couldn't…couldn't leave it in his…in his hands. Had to hide it, …so I…s…sent it to you. Keep it safe, don't let him find it, or we're all…we're all finished.'

And Pallando the blue closed his eyes for the very last time.

Gandalf had been in this world, in this Middle-Earth, for longer than most men could count; and in all that time, in all those many, many years within this land, he'd encountered many kinds of men. Many cultures, many races, and yet this one that sat in one of Elrond's most uncomfortable chairs, truly puzzled him.

He was young, far younger than his eyes or his bearing told the wizard he ought to be. Gandalf had seen many such young men, hardened and aged too quickly by the brutality of war, or indeed just daily life.

Elrond and the child – for the young man was a child far more than he was ever a man – looked up from their discussion when the grey wizard, in all his cloaked glory, swept in to the small parlour where Elrond had stuffed the boy while he saw to more important visitors.. The elf-lord in question scowled at Gandalf as if he were nothing more than a nuisance. Well, that he may well be, but he was nuisance who needed the information that this strange blue-faced child, seemed to possess.

'Boy, I have need to speak with you at once.'

'Gandalf, this is quite…'

'Not now Peredel! Tell me boy, is it true, has Pallando found a Silmaril?'

The boy blinked up at him, suddenly seeming every inch of his painfully young self.

'I wouldna ken sir, having nae clue what it is ye even speak of.'

'A Silmaril boy, a Silmaril.'

'It doesn't matter how often ye say it, it willna make a difference to me, I still nay ken fit yer going on aboot.'

'Yes indeed. Gandalf if you are to stay please sit down and be as silent as it as possible for you to be. Master Calgacus and I were deep in the middle of a conversation when you…'

'When I what?'

'Interrupted us.'

'A discussion about what exactly?'

'The troubles o ma homeland, Master Wizard, it s wye ah cam here in the first placie.'

'I thought your purpose for coming here was to escort Pallando the blue?'

'Nae, we met him on the road an we jis sae happened tae be gyan the same way.'

'So Pallando has never been to Dunland.'

'Nae to my knowledge.'

Gandalf's brows furrowed – the way he had spoken…it was as if…as if he had known that strange place, that caged place well.

'Bit ah hiv met Alatar the blae in ma homeland, if aat's of ony consequence tae ye?'

Dunland

In a cold little hole, deep within the cracks of this once beloved land – there sits a gem. You've seen this gem before, many times in fact, for it was once a great gem – the masterpiece of its maker.

Not so anymore, no one has even clapped eyes on it in too many mortal years for the gem to count. Now all it does is sit here, in the cold water of the sea-pool, and wait, though wait for what even the gem cannot say for sure.

All the gem knew was that so long as it sat here, in this cold place, floating in the water, it would be found again. Whether this took a year, or three hundred mattered not at all to the jewel, for jewels are eternal and hence feel not the passage of time as we do.

All it knew was that a shadow would pass over the thin light of the moon up above, and a man – or something in the shape of a man would take hold of it and bring it up to the light at last. Now whether that was happening one thousand years in the past, or right now hardly bothered the gem. It knew it would happen eventually. And so, when a hand bent to grasp it, the jewel did not care at all that it smoked from the contact – because it was proven right, and that was almost worth it.

'Hello, my beautiful creation.'

Said the son of Finwë as he held the jewel of his hand, up to the thin sliver of moonlight that leaked through from the world beyond.

'It's so good to see you again.'