Not Quite a Maia

The White Wizard galloped across the narrow bridge which spanned the River Bruinen and through the archway at its northernmost end onto the courtyard of the Last Homely House. Already men and elves were gathering, dressed in the raiment of war, to meet their enemy. A collective gasp rose from the crowd when they realised he was closer than they originally thought.

"Halt, traitor Wizard! You may proceed no further without the consent of Imladris' Lord!" cried one of the men.

He spared the incensed man - a Ranger of the North - a cursory glance as he brought his horse to a stop and sprang from its bare back.

"Traitor Wizard?" snapped the enigmatic visitor. "Never before has Man or Elf addressed me as such, and now that they do, I find I do not take to it kindly. Yet, for the sake of friendship, I will do your bidding ... for the present. But see to it that you bring your lord to me this instant. Then we shall discover if his welcome is to be more or less cutting than yours!"

He pulled his ragged grey cloak further around his white robes and scowled at the ranger from under his hood.

"Friendship? What knows Saruman, fallen Istar of Isengard, of friendship? He is no more than a serpent! A Wizard who offers the cup of kindness with one hand and stabs his allies in the back with the other! Imladris needs no such friendship! Be gone!"

"Saruman may indeed be all that you claim and more. But it would bode you well to master your tongue, lest your words reach his ears and inflame his wrath! And I tell you this now, Halbarad of the North: before this hour is out, you will regret your words to me! You will fall at my feet and beg forgiveness for the harshness of your greeting!"

The ranger, startled to be addressed by name, took a step back in surprise. But then he, and every other man and elf in the courtyard, stepped boldly forward and collectively raised their weapons against the unwelcome visitor.

"You dare to threaten a guest of Lord Elrond's?" demanded a tall, blond, sword-wielding elf angrily. "You, who was once called friend by us, who have now turned your back upon us and thrown in your lot with the Dark Lord Sauron, dare to enter Imladris and threaten our noble guests?"

Manwë's shining halls! He did not have time for this! Where in all the magic of Arda (which, these days, seemed to be rather a lot) was the master of the lands? If Elrond did not appear soon, he would have no choice but to seek him out himself (after he laid waste to all the flushed, angry people swing their blades at him).

"Lower your weapon, Lindir," commanded a familiar voice. "There will be no blood spilled on my courtyard this day."

The wizard tore his gaze from the furious minstrel-cum-warrior and let it flit to the back of the parting crowd. His eyes fell upon the tall, dark form of Elrond and he watched with some relief as the stately elf descended the staircase onto the courtyard, flanked by his twin sons and daughter.

At last!

The elf strode gracefully through the crowd and came to a stop a few feet away. His ancient grey eyes swept over the wizard's cloak, lingered on the hem of the robe protruding at his feet, then travelled back up to land on his hood.

"You hide your form from us, Saruman. Is it because you fear to look into the eyes of those you have betrayed?" enquired Elrond coldly. "Or is there perhaps another reason? Mayhap you are ashamed of your affliction?"

Affliction? What on Arda was he talking about?

"You seem surprised that I know of this, White Wizard - though perhaps I should now address you as Wizard of Many Colours. 'Twould be more fitting!"

A rumble of derisive laughter swept the crowd at the intruder's expense, and it angered him. Straightening up, he gripped the folds of his grey cloak and with one smooth (and rather dramatic) sweep, cast it from his back. Dazzling light burst from his white robes and stunned the onlookers enough to still their chuckles. Swords and bows clattered to the ground as all lifted their hands to shield their eyes.

"No Wizard of Many Colours am I, old friend," he boomed over the shying company. Elrond was the first to recover when the light dimmed. "There is no Wizard who bears more than one on these shores - at least none that I am aware of. I am but one colour, and that is White. I am Saruman, one might almost say; Saruman as he should have been."

By now, his light had dimmed sufficiently enough for all to see him properly and a gasp of awe rose in the courtyard.

"Mithrandir!" exclaimed Elrond (looking shocked).

"Gandalf!" cried Halbarad (looking mortified). The man flung himself on the ground at his feet and (predictably) begged forgiveness for his harsh conduct.

"Nay, Halbarad. Your apology is not accepted because it is not required. Well do I know the stoutness of your heart, and its defence of Imladris' integrity was, at the time, a blessing to my ears ..."

A lie. He had been ready to send the entire crowd into the depths of unconsciousness, just so he could get to Elrond that bit faster. But they did not need to know that.

"... as is the joy I see burning in you gaze now. Rise, my friend."

The ranger stood and offered a gracious bow before stepping back to the forefront of the crowd, allowing Arwen to move forward and envelop him in a hug.

"My heart sings with joy to see you once more, Mithrandir," said the beautiful elleth. She kissed his brow and beamed at him happily before rejoining her (still stunned) brothers.

But it was not long before the twins recovered their senses and, like everyone else in the crowd, began to fire questions at him ...

"We thought you fallen, Mithrandir! How is it that you are come back to us?"

"Gandalf! Where have you been?"

"Did you not perish in Moria after slaying the unnameable terror? For that is what we have heard!"

"Praise the Valar for delivering you back to us! Will you remain long in Imladris?"

"Peace, my friends! So many questions, yet I have but two lips to answer them all and little time to spare in the doing of such! Is it not enough for you to know that I live and am come back to fight the power of Mordor? Now, I must beg your leave, for - above all else - I must speak privately with the Lord Elrond ere I do anything else."

Their faces fell in disappointment, but none were impolitic enough to continue with their barrage of questions. Elrond lifted a hand and the crowd followed his children's lead and began to disperse at his unspoken command.

"Come, Mithrandir," said Elrond, indicating the stairwell. "Give Falion the care of your noble steed and let us retire to the comfort of my study, where we may talk at leisure of your errand."

A dark-haired elf robed in blue and silver stepped forward to take his horse, but Gandalf declined.

"I thank you, Elrond, but I may not remain long enough to enjoy such leisure, welcome though it would surely be. I mean to establish only one fact of vital importance before I ride south. Forgive my haste, but I must ask: does a lady Witch enjoy the hospitality of your fair home?"

Gandalf's heart sank before Elrond could so much as verbalise his answer. The elf's face had already betrayed it.

"Nay. The Lady Augusta left yester-eve with Glorfindel to travel to Minas Tirith," replied Elrond, dismissing Falion with a nod. "My sons told me already of your interest in her, though at the time I thought you to be Saruman come to wreak vengeance upon her."

The wizard lifted a curious eyebrow and cast his gaze at the retreating forms of Elrond's children before returning it to his host.

"Fleet of foot indeed are the border guards if they reached your sons with news of my quest before I crossed the bridge. Yet, you speak of vengeance. What vengeance is this? Has it aught to do with your curious comment about a Wizard of 'many colours'?"

The elf smiled. "I will tell you more of that only after you tell me more of your own tale, Mithrandir. Come: let us at least walk in the gardens if you will not join me in my study."

Gandalf resisted the temptation to shake an answer from his friend. He would not get a word out of the infuriating lord until he first explained his presence.

Grumbling in annoyance, he followed his host over the courtyard to the gardens, indicating that Shadowfax remain until he returned. The horse was reluctant to do so, turning instead to follow behind them onto the grassy lawn. Elrond watched curiously as the beautiful creature trotted sedately for a few seconds (and then watched in wide-eyed horror as it paused to sniff at, then much on, his lovely begonias).

"'Tis a Meara, is it not?" he asked, with a slight note of irritation (the begonias were quickly becoming a mere memory).

"Indeed. Shadowfax is the lord of all Mearas and has been my friend through many dangers," answered the old wizard (trying not to chuckle as the stately steed moved on to the patch of elanor three feet away. Elrond was practically scowling - a look that did not sit well on his fair elven face). "Yet we do not walk to speak of his noble kind, beauteous though they are. You asked of my tale, so let me tell it now that you may, in turn, give me news of she whom I seek."

They paused at the grassy bank of the river and took their seat on a bench (while Elrond kept one eye on his ever-dwindling displays of blooms). The old wizard drew a pipe from inside his robes and stuffed it with Old Toby before lighting it. He inhaled deeply and (much to his host's disgust) blew a fragrant cloud into the late Winter's morning.

"One would think you had learned to be cautious of fire, if the tale of your deeds in Moria are true," muttered the elf, waving a hand before his face to dispel the cloud of smoke.

"Not all fires bring unpleasantness, Eärendillion," retorted Gandalf in amusement. "And the tales you heard from others may or may not be true, depending on how much they have been embellished. Let me tell you it from my own lips, that you may know the truth once and for all."

And so he related the tale of his death.

"When the Fellowship and I left Imladris, we travelled for many weeks, intending to take the Redhorn Gate over the Misty Mountains. But Saruman guessed at our path and sent blizzard and ice to make our passage untenable. Though my heart was heavy with the decision, we took the path through Moria instead. I knew that evil awaited me in Durin's halls, but I did not guess at its nature! It found us there, fleeing from Orcs through the Second Hall of the First Deep, and it pursued us until, finally, I fought it. It was Morgoth's spawn - I shall not name it otherwise - and we battled each other on the bridge of Khazad-Dûm. But in our struggle, I fell from there to the uttermost foundations of stone and he fell with me. His fire was quenched in the fetid pools that cover the deepest pits of that accursed place and he was little more than a thing of slime. Yet still he fought me, ever he clutched at me. And ever did I counter his blows until, eventually, he fled from my onslaught. Through the dark tunnels I followed him, up the Endless Stair until we reached Durin's Tower at the very mountain-top. There upon Celebdil was a space before a window where the sun shone fiercely and into that leapt my foe until his foul form burned once again with the fires of wrath. Yet, fortune favoured me even as the heat of his fire melted all the snows of the world and belched steam around us: I threw down my enemy and he smote the mountain-side as he fell to his ruin."

"And what of you, Mithrandir?"

Resisting the temptation to simply say, 'I died, came back and now find myself here,' (for he had already explained this to Galadriel, and would no doubt have to explain it again to the Fellowship - it was quickly becoming tiresome), he elaborated on that thought for the sake of his friend (silently promising to condense it for any other who asked, lest he curse them into the afterlife with the frustration of it all).

"Weary I was, with the struggles of so many days. My body was weakened by its labours and I fell into darkness. Long I travelled through the Void of Time and Space. I had no reason to believe I would be called back and therefore I wandered far on roads that I will not tell of. Not yet, at least."

"You perished and are reborn," stated Elrond, only a little surprised. "The Valar's beneficence is truly boundless."

"Beneficence indeed," remarked Gandalf with a curve of his lips. "Though perhaps 're-made' is a better word than 'reborn'. I remain still the Gandalf of old, with one exception. Manwë saw fit to grace me White, instead of Grey. He also informed me of the happenings in my absence, then bid me return to Middle Earth to finish my task - after a few words of rebuke for my lengthy journey in the Void, of course."

Although, in all honesty, it had been more than a 'few' words. Manwë was not a happy Vala, to say the least. In fact, the deity had been so annoyed with the errant wizard, that it was all his lovely wife could do to stop him returning Gandalf to the Void for all eternity (through an act of violence which would have stemmed from the tip of Manwë's pretty blue staff).

Not that he would tell Elrond that.

"Why was it that your journey was so lengthy?"

"Ah. That I cannot tell you. Nay, it is no use asking me more on the subject," Gandalf stated firmly, as Elrond moved to protest. "Time is already short and I have urgent errands abroad. Suffice to say that I met a ... a new friend ... and was so entertained by his excellent company that I did not realise I was required to retake the mantle of life. Alas, for my Fellowship! Would that I had known that death was not the end of my life, I would not have tarried so! Yet, in my prolonged absence, they have not been without aid, or so I am told."

"Indeed they have not. The young Wizard, Neville Longbottom, lends them the aid of his staff, or so I suspect," revealed his companion.

Gandalf arched an eyebrow. "You know of him? Ah, of course - from his grandmother. Indeed, Elrond; you are correct. When I returned to my form, I awoke to find myself lying naked upon the mountain-top; the Tower behind was crumbled and the stair was choked with burned and broken stone. There Landroval, kin of the Windlord, found me and bore me to Lothlórien where I spent many days healing - and many days learning of my successor and his Guardian while I awaited the arrival of Shadowfax."

Elrond blinked. "Guardian? Of whom do you speak, Mithrandir?"

Ah. It would appear his learned friend was unaware of the Lady Molly.

Which pleased him. It was always pleasant to catch the stately elf off guard (though it was, regrettably, an infrequent occurrence).

"I speak of the Witch who has been appointed as his protectress: the Lady Molly Weasley."

"Another Witch!" muttered Elrond in something strangely akin to despair. "I hope for the sake of the Fellowship that she is not fond of tea."

Tea? What on Arda was he talking about?

"Nevertheless, it is a hope unlooked-for to see you once more, mellon nin," continued the elf without elaborating any further on his odd remark. "Great indeed was our grief when we thought you lost to the bowels of Moria. Imladris wept for many days."

Gandalf grunted. "Only days? That wounds me, Elrond. I would have thought an acquaintance as long as ours would have merited a few weeks of mourning, at least!"

To his amusement, Elrond rolled his eyes in disgust. "'Tis a pity you did not leave your poor humour to languish in the Void alongside your new 'friend'. I believe he may have welcomed it more than I!"

The White Wizard chuckled. "Perhaps he would have. But let us not speculate on that now. As I was saying, I arrived in Galadriel's haven where I found healing. As I did so, she told me much of this Neville Longbottom. From what I gather, he is a young man of skill and resolve, if a little clumsy on occasion. Which reminds me, the next time you visit your mother-in-love, you may wish to ask after her favourite Mallorn."

"Mithrandir, Lothlórien is populated with Mellyrn and the Lady graces each with her favour equally."

"Ah, but not any more. There is now a rather ... intriguing ... one on the border of the archery field. And, believe me when I tell you, it is a sight not to be missed. Although I suspect Haldir and his brethren would claim otherwise."

He drew on his pipe again while Elrond stared at him in mystification, no doubt wondering what the younger wizard had done to Galadriel's prized Mallorn.

After he exhaled, Gandalf continued his tale.

"It was the day before yesterday when we became aware that there was another Witch in Middle Earth. Gwaihir himself arrived that afternoon with the news that he had delivered a powerful Witch to your haven. At first, we thought he meant the Lady Molly, but he said nay. It was another - though he could not pronounce her name. He called her the Green Witch and said only that she sought her grandson. You can imagine our surprise, of course. I had known from Manwë that another was sucked through the Void, but he thought that person to be the spouse of Lady Molly, not the kin of young Neville. We flew to the Mirror to seek clues of her whereabouts, but the visions it gave were ever-changing. Yet one vision remained constant ..."

Gandalf trailed off, recalling the disturbing scene from the silver basin.

Elrond sensed his trepidation. "What did you see, Mithrandir? What is it that caused you to delay your return to the Fellowship and ride north to Imladris instead?"

The old wizard gazed at his companion in worry. "I saw the ruin of the quest. If Augusta Longbottom discovers her kin before Sauron is vanquished, Middle Earth may well fall under the Dark Lord's complete dominion!"

Silence reigned for several long seconds and Elrond paled significantly.

"What does it mean? How is that possible?"

"I wish I could say with more certainty that it was not possible, old friend, but I cannot. And, as of this moment, I am not entirely sure of how this would benefit our foes. For now, I can only say that the presence of the Lady Augusta will bring danger to her kin, and perhaps to us all."

His companion rose from the bench and began to pace with his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

"It grieves me to hear this, Mithrandir," said Elrond in dismay. " But Lady Augusta left yester-eve with Glorfindel and even now makes for Minas Tirith! I have already advised her not to seek out her grandson until the quest is ended, and she has agreed to this - albeit with reluctance. However, she was insistent on awaiting his presence in the White City. Aragorn will surely return there at some point, but the question is: when? Before or after the Ring is destroyed? If Aragorn journeys to Gondor before the Ring is destroyed - accompanied by Neville Longbottom - they cannot fail but to hear of her. In which case, all may be lost. Alas, that we do not know where he or any of the Fellowship are at this moment! Yet how is it possible that this, of all things, may lead to our ruin? Tell me more of this vision!"

"The vision was brief. All I can say is that they must remain sundered until Mordor lies in ruin. If they do not ... events will spiral out of all control. The Enemy will use their moment of reunion to his own advantage - and with evil swiftness, too, I fear! I left Lothlórien as soon as I could to travel here and bid her remain in Imladris. Yet you now say they left yester-eve?"

His companion nodded.

"That news is not good. Still, it could be worse. On Shadowfax I may yet reach her before they pass the Misty Mountains ..."

"Nay, mellon nin. You will not. Her powers are not like your own. She has the ability to move from one place to another in the blink of an eye. Indeed, I have been witness to this very phenomenon myself! She bore Glorfindel and I both from Imladris to the pinnacle of Orthanc in less than one second!"

A sensation of dread crawled down the old wizard's back.

"Are you telling me she is already in Gondor?" he demanded urgently, springing from the bench to face Elrond.

"Nay. She is only able to use this ability if she has already dwelled for a time in her intended destination. The Lady Augusta, like yourself, was a prisoner of Saruman's. Gwaihir rescued her from there as he had done with you before."

Gandalf almost choked. The Green Witch had been captured by his former leader? In the name of Arda - how had she managed to get herself into such danger? And by the Valar! Saruman was a fool indeed to send her - another Istar (of sorts) - to the top of his tower a few short months after he had escaped it.

This thought he voiced aloud to Elrond.

"He had little choice in the matter. Although deprived of her staff, she was still able to enchant her voice to cast itself many hundreds of yards over his ill-gotten lands. I believe he - as well as his servants - were so distraught by her continued admonishments on his 'lack of hospitality', that he flung her upon the pinnacle before a rainstorm hit."

"And she, being exposed to the elements, would have quickly grown ill enough to lose her voice," guessed Gandalf correctly. "So, she knows Isengard, and possibly its surrounding areas. If she magicked herself and Glorfindel there and travels through the Gap of Rohan - presumably with horses ...?"

Elrond nodded. "Believe me when I tell you; you do not wish to know how she accomplished that. The repairs to my roof are still ongoing."

Startled for a second by the extraordinary comment, the wizard quickly regained his train of thought. "... then it will take less than a week on your Elven steeds to deliver them to Minas Tirith."

"Perhaps a day or two more, if they encounter the army of Orcs Saruman is shortly to unleash on the horse-lords. Glorfindel estimates they number in their thousands and is most keen to unleash his wrath on them. As is the lady herself."

"Thousands of Orcs? That will bode ill for Théoden's people, for their King is already under the enchantments of Orthanc, of that I am certain! Alas, that I tarried so long in the Void! Yet what does Glorfindel imagine that he and one mortal Witch can do to stop such a large army? One Elf and an old woman will not be enough to stay their relentless march."

"You say that only because you have not met the lady in question," said the elf firmly. "Magic or nay, she is the most formidable mortal I have ever encountered! The Rangers of the North quake in their boots when they see her. Admittedly, that may have more to do with the fact that she insisted they wash before breakfast. And possibly because she has enchanted all the ale jugs to fill with naught but Earl Grey - again, do not ask. Merely count yourself fortunate that you know not of what I speak."

Gandalf was temporarily lost for words (again), giving his friend a chance to continue extolling the lady's (rather alarming) virtues.

"Are you aware that when Gwaihir rescued her, she insisted on returning to the hall of Orthanc itself to recover her staff before she fled? Or that, once there, the self-proclaimed Saruman of 'Many Colours' surprised her? But she wrestled her staff from his hand and bested him in battle. He is now many colours, indeed. Green, yellow and red, if memory serves me right. And, of course, there are the bosoms."

"Bosoms?" exclaimed Gandalf in shock (automatically clutching at his own, flat, chest).

Elrond nodded. "It would appear that the Lady Augusta does not take kindly to slights against the fairer sex. Something which Saruman was unaware of before he scorned her as too weak to wield a staff of power. I think it may be safe to assume that he has since come to bitterly regret those words."

The sound of astonished laughter filled the garden as Gandalf chuckled heartily.

"I see I shall have to approach her cautiously, lest I become the White Witch," he wheezed, knocking out the contents of his pipe (much to the elf's relief) and pocketing the empty receptacle. "And approach her I shall. I must leave immediately if I have any hope of intercepting her."

His host was understandably upset. "Mithrandir, you have only just arrived! You cannot mean to leave before you or your steed have at least refreshed yourselves?"

"I must, Eärendillion. My errand is now more urgent than ever. There shall be time enough for refreshment if Frodo completes his task - and if I find the Green Witch ere she finds her grandson," said the wizard as he turned and walked swiftly to the rosebush that Shadowfax was massacring.

Elrond moved swiftly behind him (then almost collapsed when he saw what was left of his beautiful flower displays - the Meara had been extremely busy whilst the two immortals were talking).

"Shadowfax!" barked Gandalf. "I beg your forgiveness old friend, but we must leave this blissful place and ride with all speed towards Gondor."

The lordly horse swivelled its head towards its rider and regarded him solemnly - or as solemnly as it could with a red blossom hanging from its mouth. Lover of all creatures that he was, Elrond hoped the beast choked on it. His prize rosebush! His begonias! The elanor patch was completely wiped out. And the lilies - his wife's favourite flower! - now no more than a dozen rows of mutilated stalks!

"I was not aware that Mearas had such peculiar eating habits," the elf commented sourly.

Gandalf decided to ignore the complaint (for diplomacy's sake). He sprang upon the stately steed's back and gazed down warmly at his old friend.

"As dismayed as I am to leave without the knowledge that Lady Longbottom resides yet in your halls, it has done my heart good to see you again, old friend."

"And mine also, Mithrandir - though, if you return again, I would beg you do my gardens the courtesy of leaving Shadowfax in the stables. Or the field behind them, at the very least."

The old wizard laughed.

"Yet, Meara or nay, if you wish to intercept the Lady Augusta before she reaches Minas Tirith, you must go with the very swiftness of the wind at your heels. Nothing less will catch her now."

"Do not fear. Shadowfax once bore me from Rohan to the Shire in six short days. If any may now bear me to Gondor in that time or less, it is he. But before I leave, you may wish to bid the Dúnedain to follow in my wake. I suspect their Chieftain will have need of their aid in a very short time."

"Aragorn? Is he sundered from Frodo? Is the Fellowship broken?"

"I cannot say with certainty. You have also the gift of foresight, as do your children. Use that gift now to guide your actions. Though, I would counsel you: instruct any who leave that if they come upon Aragorn, and the young Wizard is in his company, they will not tell him of his grandmother's presence here. It may otherwise affect all his actions in our struggle against Sauron."

"Yet it will also make his shock greater if he is inadvertently reunited with her before Sauron falls," said Elrond sombrely. "What if that is the very thing which gives our Enemy the advantage?"

It was a valid point - one which Gandalf had already given much thought to. But he shook his head in dismissal of it.

"We cannot allow ourselves to second-guess the vision. It may be that you are right, or it may be that informing him of her presence will lead him to Gondor all the quicker. As it is, I have an ill feeling that his own presence here is not as secret as we would hope. Already word has reached Lothlórien that one of Sauron's servants has been felled - most likely by his hand. If that is so - and I suspect it is - then make no mistake: there will be a high price on his head. The Dark Lord's agents will be crawling through every city of the West for any sign of the Wizard that slew his Nazgûl."

"What?! He slew one of the Nine?" exclaimed Elrond in shock. "Are you certain?"

"As certain as I can be, under the circumstances. I do not know how young Master Neville has accomplished this, but I am keen to learn. Mayhap his magic is of a kind that is fatal to the Nazgûl, or he brought with him a weapon of such terrible power that none are immune to its wrath - not even they. But one thing is certain: Sauron will know of this - and if he does ..."

"... then so, too, will Saruman. And neither will rest until they have the son of Longbottom - and his weapon, if it exists - in their grasp. But, wait!" said Elrond as realisation struck him. "Lady Augusta spoke of a 'valuable artefact' that he has brought with him. That may be the very thing which destroyed the Black Rider."

"It may. Such an artefact would be a prize for Saruman if he schemes to overthrow his unwholesome ally - and I have no doubt that he does - and a bane to Sauron if the boy wields it against any of his other servants. For this reason alone, it would bode well to keep the youth from any city of Men."

"Yet whatever this artefact is, it brings hope to my war-weary heart. It seems that our young friend is indeed every bit as competent as his formidable grandmother. Thank the Valar for their choice of him!"

Slightly miffed that (in the eyes of his old friend, at least) he was being outshone by a seventeen year old boy (and his very alarming grandmother), Gandalf discreetly nudged Shadowfax's head back in the direction of the remaining rosebush. The Meara happily tore another bloom from the bush and swallowed it, which had the equally happy effect of bringing an end to Elrond's gushing praise and making him frown instead.

"Your steed should exercise more caution," the elf offered (somewhat stiffly). "The bushes have thorns."

"How fortunate for him that he tears only at their petals," replied Gandalf (a little smugly).

Elrond scowled.

"And now, I bid you farewell, my friend," Gandalf said, nudging the horse towards the courtyard. Elrond followed beside him (frowning in disapproval at the hoof prints on his lawn). "With good fortune and fleet foot, Shadowfax will bear me to Minas Tirith before the Green Witch reaches it. If I find her in time, I shall bid Glorfindel bring her back to the Last Homely House until the conclusion of Frodo's quest."

"Then I wish you all the luck of the Valar, for you will need it if you are to persuade her to do as you wish. It may also interest you to know that she appears to be fully unaware of her true location and the gravity of her situation, though this would not be unusual if her kin and his Guardian were called to Middle Earth by the Valar and she followed by mere chance. Nevertheless, prepare yourself to meet a stubborn, scathing, strong-willed ... yet completely fascinating lady. If she has not charmed her way into your affections in less than two minutes, I shall be astonished."

"I have not the time to be charmed."

The elf scoffed. "You will have no choice on the matter. She is exceptionally endearing - though if you tell her I said that, I shall name you as a liar."

Now Gandalf laughed. "Is the mighty Lord of Imladris perhaps a little intimidated by the lady?"

The mighty Lord of Imladris scowled again (but this time at his friend - and not the lawn, or the flower-loving Meara).

"I see death and resurrection both have addled your brain. It had the same effect on Glorfindel. Do you know, the brazen ellon has taken a full barrel of my best Dorwinion wine a-journeying with him, to celebrate his 'no doubt astounding success at slaying a thousand Orcs under the invisible enchantments of his Aunt'? Yes, I said 'Aunt'. Nay, do not ask why. I, too, may have my secrets. As it is, I now have but three barrels of wine left until Thranduil sends more."

"A full barrel of your best Dorwinion?" mumbled Gandalf thoughtfully as they reached the courtyard proper.

Elrond nodded.

Hmm. He had not known his fellow Balrog-slayer was such a lover of cups. Was it a result of his ordeal with Morgoth's flaming servant? Hopefully not: it did not bode well for Gandalf the White if it was. Middle Earth had no need of a drunken wizard at present (though he would not refuse one glass if Glorfindel offered).

"If you see him, tell the thief of Imladris I want it back. All of it."

"If I am not too occupied with trying to keep my chest from sprouting a mountain range of its own when I ask the Lady Augusta to return to Imladris - and if I remember that piece of information - I shall pass it on."

His host eyed him suspiciously. "Why am I under the impression that you would sooner help him drink the barrel dry than ask him to return it?"

"I have no idea," Gandalf replied, casually brushing at his white robe. "I shall be far too busy fighting the minions of Mordor to be concerned with the drinking of wine."

Most of the time, anyway.

"Then I bid you farewell, mellon nin, and wish you good speed. May the winds of favour bring you swiftly to the Green Witch, then just as swiftly return you to the Fellowship. I do not doubt they will be as overjoyed to see you as I am."

"You cannot be that overjoyed to see me, Eärendillion; you are still scowling!" teased the wizard. "I hope that they are at least happier to see me than you appear to be, or I may have to fight your much-missed friend for the privilege of drinking the entire barrel of wine by myself in order to forget my sorrow! Farewell!"

With that, Gandalf the White nudged his magnificent steed into a gallop and raced across the courtyard, through the archway and over the bridge.

Leaving a highly irritated elven lord (still) scowling after him.