The staff was heavy in his hand at first, but grew lighter over the years of journey and hardship. His muscles became strong and stringy, his feet calloused and broad, his beard long. The robes wore out and were replaced, always in grey. The hats came and went, but they were always blue. Galadriel gave him a silver scarf, at the first meeting of the White Council, and that never wore out or was lost. Silver for Nenya, her instrument and weapon and burden. Grey for the peace of Este's island in Lorien, where they knew his name, blue for the eyes of Manwe All-Seeing, sending him like an Eagle on this great flight against the Enemy.
He resisted the temptation of power, to inculcate rather than to teach, to force rather than to persuade. He found solace and grief in friends, some immortal and lasting, so many mortal, and ephemeral as flowers.
"That is the nature of flowers," said Radagast, Yavanna's servant, ruthless as his Mistress in matters of life and death.
He grieved nonetheless, and spent his fire to sustain them so far as he could. The Red Ring burned on his hand and in his heart.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.