"I only took the mission of coming here to leave Lindon once more, before the situation prevents me," Círdan explained calmly. "I wished to see some friends and travel a little, but it will be Glorfindel who completes the task of informing all the Elven realms."
"It will be a long journey," Glorfindel interjected, "but once it is done, I shall return here or to Lindon to join the armies. I suppose you have already noticed the growing presence of orcs in these lands. Vast numbers, far too organized. This is not something a small band of warriors can contain. We Elves must once more take up arms and command troops as in the past Ages." His eyes sought those of Elrond and Gandalf, with the certainty of one who speaks of the inevitable.
"Yes…" Gandalf nodded, recalling the recent ambush. "We were attacked by orcs and wargs on our way. At first, I thought they were pursuing Thorin, but… the numbers were excessive; a simple hunt for dwarves would not move so many forces without cause..."
"Lórien has also suffered more incursions," added Galadriel, her voice now cold and stern, stripped of its usual serenity.
"Rivendell has had to double its defenses," Elrond continued, interlacing his hands upon the table. "We suspected something was afoot, but we did not imagine it to be of such magnitude. If you return here, Glorfindel, I will place you in command of the troops."
The hero of Gondolin inclined his head, accepting without a word.
"It seems everything has already been decided…" Saruman grumbled, uneasy at seeing the balance tip beyond his control. At last, he added: "Isengard will provide what is needed. I shall inform Rohan to be alert to any enemy. I may require your aid, Gandalf. Thus, you could set aside that futile enterprise with the dwarves and dedicate yourself to something truly beneficial for Middle-earth."
The Grey Wizard opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated. He had given his word to Thorin, and yet… the magnitude of what he was hearing made him doubt, reconsidering his priorities.
"In fact," Glorfindel intervened, his voice firm, "I believe Gandalf's mission should continue."
Saruman arched a brow.
"Oh, indeed? Perhaps you are not aware. His 'mission' consists of accompanying a dozen dwarves on a desperate venture: to reclaim Erebor from the claws of a dragon." He let out a scornful laugh, not bothering to hide his disdain.
"I know," Glorfindel replied with a faint smile. "Even in seclusion, rumors travel— even those meant to be concealed." His gaze flicked briefly toward the chambers where the dwarves rested, and then toward Miquella.
The demigod kept his composure, showing no shame for having let slip a few words in his flirtation with the Elven ladies. It was not that he was loose-tongued; he simply never considered it a great secret. After all, the important parties already knew, and concealing it was pointless.
"Reclaiming Erebor will be difficult, but not impossible, and I believe Gandalf could succeed with the right aid," he assured, casting a veiled glance toward the Eldens. "Thus we would weaken certain threats and strengthen key points in Middle-earth, should our enemies have designs on those lands."
The Grey Wizard's eyes shone; he nearly leapt from his chair in excitement.
"That is precisely what I have thought all along!" he exclaimed, delighted that someone understood and supported him.
"Moreover," Glorfindel continued calmly, "the dwarves are part of Middle-earth, and they will not remain on the sidelines. Involving them now is securing a strong ally for the future." He nodded firmly, and Círdan immediately backed him with a grave gesture. Galadriel and Elrond, though pensive, also seemed to concede his point.
"I too support that idea," affirmed Círdan. "Lindon will need the Blue Mountains, and trade with the dwarves would ease the supply of materials for forging."
"By the way, Gandalf," added Glorfindel, drawing a small sealed parchment from the leather pouch he had earlier received from Círdan, "you could do me one more favor on your journey. Your path will lead you near Greenwood. Inform Thranduil of what is happening. All the Elven realms must learn of the situation."
Gandalf took the parchment with both hands. He was relieved to have support, yet the thought of passing through Thranduil's realm in the company of Thorin and his dwarves gave him an immediate headache. He knew all too well the old rift between their peoples, and that visit could become more than uncomfortable. Still, he inclined his head in acceptance.
"I shall do it," he answered solemnly.
The talks went on for a long time. No longer were they great revelations, but shared opinions: the rising activity of orcs and dark creatures, rumors of strange beasts from the Outer Lands, the measures of each Elven realm, and the preparations needed for the future. All agreed that the most urgent task was to discover what they truly faced.
Miquella joined in calmly, answering questions about forces that might have come from his homeland… though revealing only what he deemed prudent. Yet the conversation stretched from dusk until after midnight, and eventually the young prince ceased speaking. He had fallen sound asleep upon Leda's lap, breathing peacefully, as if that council of ancient powers concerned him not at all.
No one objected. To wake a child and force him to endure such long discussions seemed cruel, even if they knew that, deep down, Miquella might be as old as some of them. Besides, his guardians Leda and Ansbach fulfilled their roles well in standing in for him, and for the moment the Eldens still lacked the weight for his absence to alter decisions.
When the first light of dawn filtered through the stone arches, Lindir appeared once more, bowing deeply before speaking:
"Forgive me…" his voice carried the strain of interrupting such a gathering. "My lord Elrond, the dwarves have departed."
Elrond nodded, and soon the assembly rose from their seats. Leda carefully lifted Miquella into her arms.
"It seems the time has come to depart," said Glorfindel, taking his leave with a light bow. "I shall set out on my journey. Fortune be with you."
"I too must prepare to return… though I shall remain a few more days in Rivendell, if you do not mind, lord Elrond," Círdan announced.
"You shall never be a burden here, old friend," Elrond replied with a faint smile. "Stay as long as you need." Then he turned to Gandalf. "I shall send a squadron of riders to escort the dwarves to the foot of the Misty Mountains. I will also provide them with additional supplies."
"You have my thanks, Elrond… and Thorin will thank you as well," the wizard replied, though he himself did not sound wholly convinced of those words.
One by one, the council members withdrew, each with their own thoughts about what was to come. Only Leda and Miquella remained a few moments longer, at Galadriel's request.
Leda was uneasy that this lady, majestic and glorified though she was, would insist on waking her lord merely to speak with him. Yet when the sunlight touched his face, Miquella stirred softly, opening his eyes little by little as he heard his name upon the Elf's lips.
"Is it morning already?" he asked, still drowsy.
Galadriel waited patiently for him to rouse. At last, when the demigod sat upright in curiosity, she spoke with her gaze fixed on the dawn.
"Miquella… may I ask you something?"
"Of course," he replied, intrigued.
"What are your plans… in the long term?" Her voice was serene, yet heavy with a deeper undertone.
"I am not sure I understand… Broadly speaking, I only wish to settle, gather my family… live in peace. I desire little more than that." Miquella blinked, surprised by the question.
Galadriel watched him in silence for a few seconds before turning her eyes back to the horizon.
"But peace may not be reached without first passing through the ravages of war…" she murmured, as though speaking to herself, recalling the visions of her mirror. Then she slowly turned toward him, her eyes alight with the dawn. "When that time comes… will the Elves be your allies, or your enemies?"
Miquella frowned at such a question. He knew something lay hidden behind those words, yet he could not recall ever showing signs of opposing the Elves. In his mind, it was not even possible: the Elves were reserved beings, too distant to cross paths with his own designs.
"I do not think there is any need to be enemies. Our paths would hardly come into conflict," he answered, striving to keep a neutral tone.
"I hope so…" sighed Galadriel, eyes closed as though bearing an invisible weight. "I hope to count on your aid in what is to come, and that it spares us needless losses. But remember… the day may come when you must raise your hand against us. If that moment arrives, do not hesitate. For the sake of the Elves, sacrificing a few may save many."
With that, the Lady of Lórien vanished without a trace, as though dissolving in an act of magic. Yet Miquella showed no astonishment, only concentration. Those words were no mere counsel: they sounded like a warning, a foreshadowing.
What sacrifice did she mean? Which Elves must fall? When? No answer revealed itself, and only Leda's voice pulled him from his contemplation. He chose to set those doubts aside: there were more immediate matters. They had to catch up with the dwarves. He already had troubles enough without losing himself in enigmas whose time—in Elven reckoning—might never come.
…
In the stables, Torrent awaited, ready to depart. With Leda and Ansbach mounted on horses gifted by the Elves, Miquella followed Gandalf and the Elven cavalry Rivendell had provided as escort.
The rest of the Eldens had already departed with the dwarves, as ordered, but what was unexpected was that—unlike the tale they knew—now they had the guidance of Elven riders and additional resources for their journey.
Riding swiftly, they soon caught up with Thorin's company on the roads descending from Rivendell.
The dwarves were startled at the sight of the cavalry: for an instant they thought the Elves had discovered their departure and had come to hunt them. The tension only eased when they recognized Gandalf and Miquella among them.
The wizard spoke, explaining that this was no ambush, but an offer of escort. The Elves had brought with them the remaining ponies and more provisions, so that the company could move more swiftly and safely.
Confusion was immediate, especially for Thorin. The prince distrusted such intentions; he deeply disliked the idea of owing the Elves anything, and could not shake the suspicion that perhaps they sought to watch them, even meddle in their mission.
Gandalf pressed the matter gravely. He told them there were weighty concerns he must speak of with Thorin in private, but for now the wisest course was to accept the help. Time was short, and this escort would not only hasten their march but also protect them should more orc attacks come upon the road.
Thorin kept silent, wrestling with his mistrust. At last, he yielded. It was not the words that convinced him, but the gravity in Gandalf's gaze. If the wizard was willing to intercede in such a manner, it was because the danger was greater than he imagined.
With a trace of bitterness, he accepted the Elven aid… though inwardly he swore to remain ever watchful.