Year 2989 of the Third Age, the Lonely Mountain.

“Don’t go. It isn’t safe there.”

When Balin proposed leading an expedition to reclaim Khazad-dûm, Gandalf, who happened to be visiting, warned him against it.

“Remember the tragedy of a thousand years past, Balin.”

Lighting his pipe, Gandalf said, “You cannot expect the Balrog to sleep forever. Consider the fate of Durin VI, and then of Náin I. Durin’s son believed the demon of flame had fallen into eternal slumber and would not suddenly reappear. But what befell him? The moment he was crowned King of Durin’s Folk, he was slain by that very creature.”

“But I’ve heard that you, and Garrett, and many other expeditions have all passed through those halls without incident. Isn’t it true that there’s nothing threatening within?”

Balin was still reluctant to abandon the idea.

Gandalf patiently explained, “Perhaps it is safe enough to pass through occasionally, but as a place to dwell and rebuild? Khazad-dûm is unsafe.”

“Extremely unsafe. Dangerous beyond measure.”

Under Gandalf’s emphasis, Balin let out a deep sigh, his shoulders drooping with disappointment.

“Very well, I shall heed your counsel, Gandalf. But… if we must abandon reclaiming Khazad-dûm simply because the Balrog still lurks there, when shall we ever be able to return to our ancestral home?”

“That ‘Bane of Durin’…”

The Balrog was like Garrett in this regard. Even if it lay dormant and unseen, as long as its presence remained certain, no sensible soul would risk dwelling there for long.

It was deeply frustrating.

“This truly is a vexing problem,” Gandalf admitted. “Both Garrett and I have ventured within more than once, yet we still cannot locate the creature.”

He blew out a perfect smoke ring, which drifted farther and farther away until it faded completely into the air.

The two sat at a stone table in silence for a long while.

“I still wish to make the attempt…”

“No. Do not go.”

Gandalf’s answer was uncompromising.

“Balin, remain here in Erebor. Perhaps you might even live to witness the end of this age.”

“You may think me overly cautious or even craven, but truthfully, I do not wish to lose a dwarven friend.”

Among dwarves, the long-lived could reach over three hundred years. Balin, now 231 years of age, was in excellent health, perhaps thanks to the prosperity of recent decades. Strong and vigorous, he could still swing his axe and cleave two orc skulls.

Clearly, he was not among the short-lived of his kind.

Thorin, too, was similar in constitution.

“By the by, Garrett also believes it unwise to make any moves toward Khazad-dûm at present.”

Seeing Balin still wavering, Gandalf added this observation as if in passing.

“Ah.”

That single piece of information extinguished the last spark of impulse in Balin’s heart.

“Though it’s not entirely impossible.”

Unexpectedly, when Garrett heard of this matter, those were his first words.

Balin’s eyes widened with renewed hope.

Gandalf frowned deeply.

I just finished dissuading him from this folly. What’s this about reconsidering?

But soon, Garrett’s next words put the wizard at ease.

“Indeed, you could first come to the City of Waters and enter through the West-gate. The West-gate of Moria and the whole of Eregion are under our constant surveillance. Nothing escapes our notice in those lands. If anything threatens anyone there, they need only emerge and call for aid.”

Those words rekindled a faint glimmer of hope in Balin’s heart.

“Then perhaps…”

“However.”

Garrett interrupted him gently.

“Although our folk keep watch over that region, this security only extends to what can be observed on the surface. To a certain degree, it is safe to pass through those halls. Well, to be more precise, relatively safe for travelers. But if you intend to establish a colony within Khazad-dûm, to build a lasting settlement there, then should anything sudden occur, even I would not know immediately. If something attacked you in your sleep and you had no time to escape… that would be catastrophic.”

He had confidence that even in his absence, the City of Waters could withstand an assault from the Balrog.

But the dwarves could not. They had been unable to in the height of their power, much less as a single colonizing expedition.

“You understand my meaning. I’m not speaking of orcs or trolls here.”

“Ah, yes.”

Balin shook his head, deflating once more.

“I understand completely.”

“I shall return and inform the others. Óin and Ori are both quite interested in this venture, so I’ll need to invest some effort in persuading them to remain patient for now.”

“I’m glad you grasp the situation.”

Garrett nodded approvingly.

Balin sighed deeply and took his leave.

“Gandalf.”

After concluding the discussion about Balin’s proposed expedition, Garrett raised another matter.

“The Rangers near the Shire and Eregion report they’ve observed a figure in a grey cloak wandering those regions. Have you been traveling in those parts recently?”

“Myself?”

Gandalf frowned thoughtfully.

“I have indeed been spending considerable time in the Shire of late, mostly because I’ve been keeping watch over Bilbo. I’m certain you’ve noticed it as well: for a hobbit of his years, he’s far too energetic. He appears somewhat aged, yes, but if you observe closely, you’ll see he has scarcely any white hairs upon his head.”

“I’ve known many hobbits, befriended the longest-lived among them. I’ve mentioned him before: my old friend the Old Took. He lived to a hundred and thirty years.”

“But that was exceptional. Most hobbits pass peacefully into their rest around eighty or ninety summers. They’re not a particularly long-lived folk.”

“I’m aware,” Garrett nodded.

“And you also know, it’s likely due to that ring he carries. So long as he keeps it, he’ll probably outlive every hobbit who came before him. He may even set a new record for their kind.”

“But that’s not what I wished to discuss. Hmm… let’s assume the figure they observed in the Shire was indeed you. What about Eregion?”

“Eregion?”

Gandalf looked puzzled.

“The last time I passed through those lands was many years past, that occasion when I ventured into Moria for investigation. But I merely passed through; I did not linger.”

“That’s really strange.”

Garrett frowned in thought.

“I trust my people. They insist there truly was a mysterious grey-robed old man wandering those regions, and that this same figure had also appeared in the Shire.”

“‘Mysterious’?”

Gandalf caught the particular emphasis on that word.

Garrett explained, “Yes, mysterious in the sense of being observed only at night when visibility is poor, or glimpsed moving through hidden groves and shadowed paths. But no matter how well concealed, it’s difficult to escape the keen eyes of Rangers and the Dúnedain.”

“No, no, no.” Gandalf immediately shook his head.

“When I wish to go somewhere, I travel there openly and without subterfuge. Why would I be skulking about in such a manner? That person most certainly was not me. I typically travel by day and keep to the main roads.”

“That is indeed strange.”

This time, it was Garrett’s turn to be perplexed.

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