Galadriel watched Gandalf, her gaze as clear as a mountain lake—yet sharper still. She needed no words to decipher what the old wizard was trying to hide: fear. Not panic, no, but a carefully matured apprehension, patiently distilled by visions, signs… and a certainty far too old to ignore.
"It is Smaug that troubles you," she said softly, as if granting him permission to say it aloud.
Gandalf slowly nodded. He suddenly looked weary, his eyes lost in the beams of light crossing the hall.
"Yes… Lady Galadriel. He has slept for long, but the fire in him is not extinguished. If someone finds a way to rekindle that flame, kingdoms will fall before they even know what struck them."
Saruman, seated in the grandest chair, folded his fingers before him.
"An unfounded fear. You preach doom as others preach the world's end. Morgoth has fallen. Sauron is but a disembodied shadow. The One Ring is lost. Without it, he is nothing."
Gandalf replied, more sharply:
"Sauron doesn't need the Ring to spread fear, Saruman! He needs a refuge, allies… and an instrument of destruction. And Smaug… is that instrument."
Elrond, who had remained silent until now, spoke in a calm tone:
"You visited Dol Guldur. Did you see Sauron? Did you feel him, in your flesh?"
Gandalf pressed his lips together, then answered:
"No. Precisely. There was nothing. No orcs. No bones. Only silence. And that is what troubles me. The darkness hasn't vanished… it has gone to ground. It waits."
Galadriel murmured then:
"And this silence—you believe it heralds the return of the Nazgûl?"
A shudder passed through the assembly.
Saruman dismissed the remark with an irritated gesture.
"The Nazgûl are tied to the Ring. Without it, they are lost, weakened. Even if they wander somewhere, they are without master, without purpose."
Then, with a burning stare, he added:
"This Council was not convened to discuss long-forgotten dragons. Let us speak of what matters: the testimony of this… stranger."
He nodded toward Edward, his contempt barely hidden.
Edward felt every gaze fall upon him. The silence was as heavy as stone.
He stood slowly, wiping his clammy hands on his tunic.
"Lords… ladies… I am Edward Highland. I… crossed paths with the darkness in Mirkwood. I felt… a presence. I saw the shadow of the Nine…"
He stopped, the memories flooding back: the icy whispers, the black shapes moving in the mist, the cries of beasts thought extinct for a thousand years.
Saruman, smiling like a wolf before a lamb, spoke:
"And yet, here you are, unharmed. What a coincidence. Unless you struck a bargain with those shadows?"
Edward clenched his fists. Galadriel stiffened. Elrond's brow furrowed.
"I will not allow you to accuse me unjustly."
"You are a mystery. Where do you come from? Who trained you? What magic do you carry within you?"
Saruman stood slowly, his aura spreading through the room, sinister and cold. He raised his staff—not to strike, but to threaten. To assert dominance.
But Edward, driven by a force he himself didn't yet understand, activated his psychokinesis. The air trembled. A chair floated behind him. The stones beneath his feet began to quake.
Saruman's frown deepened. This was not Elven magic. Nor Dwarven. Nor human. It was something else. A power from… elsewhere.
The duel erupted.
Saruman unleashed a wave of invisible force. Edward absorbed it, redirected it, then countered with a telekinetic shockwave that cracked the tiles beneath them. The air thickened with electricity.
Gandalf stood, alarmed. Elrond stepped forward, ready to wield his own power. But Galadriel stopped them with a gesture. She was watching Edward… fascinated.
Then she too stood. And this time, her voice rang out like thunder in a cathedral.
"ENOUGH."
The light of Laurelin, contained within her, blossomed in the hall. A soft yet irresistible radiance. Saruman recoiled, dazzled. Edward dropped to one knee—but held his ground.
The two forces were separated.
Galadriel stepped forward, regal.
"This Council is not here to feed your egos. Nor to compare your strength. But to face one truth: the Shadow is returning. Whether you wish to see it or not."
Saruman, humiliated, sat down without a word.
Edward, panting, slowly rose. Galadriel gave him a slight nod.
"Continue."
So Edward spoke of what he had seen: the corrupted ruins, the necromantic chants, the veiled figures in the dark, and the voices… those of the Nine.
At the end of his account, even Elrond remained silent, his features tense.
Saruman broke the silence.
"Rumors. Illusions. Nothing tangible. This is no proof. It is—"
"It is not an excuse," Gandalf cut in.
He stood, for the first time truly solemn.
"You want proof? I will bring it to you. But by then it may be too late. You believe the Ring is lost? Perhaps. Or perhaps it is close to being found. And when that happens—what will you do?"
Saruman gripped his staff.
"What I deem necessary."
Then, rising, he declared:
"As for this absurd plan to send a band of dwarves to awaken a dragon—I oppose it completely. It would be suicide."
And with that, he left the hall.
A long silence followed.
Gandalf, Galadriel, Elrond, and Edward remained, alone in the ruins of a divided Council.
Elrond murmured:
"We have little time left. And fewer allies."
Galadriel turned to Edward, graver than ever.
"You no longer have a place among the spectators, Edward. It is time to choose your role…"
I nodded. Slowly, but with resolve.
The world was heading to war.
And I was ready to fight.