A fortnight later, the dwarves were holding a bonfire celebration, feasting on roasted meats and vegetables they had brought from Garrett's stronghold, making a noisy ruckus.
In such a quiet and secluded valley, having even this small patch of liveliness was rare, a touch of warmth and life added to the hidden glen.
Meanwhile, in the guest chambers arranged by the elves, Garrett had just planned to rest when Gandalf summoned him for a walk.
He hadn't yet fallen asleep and accompanied him into the courtyard.
Naturally, the wizard wouldn't visit without purpose.
Soon, Elrond joined them, and the three strolled together through the moonlit paths. As they walked, he brought up the matter of the dragon and reproached Gandalf for concealing things from him.
"Actually, the reason I sought you out tonight was precisely to discuss that," Gandalf said earnestly. "You must trust me, I know what I'm doing."
But clearly, Elrond held a different perspective on the matter.
Though both possessed a measure of foresight, they weren't necessarily perceiving the same possibilities. After all, the future always held both hope and danger.
"You truly know what you're doing? That dragon has slumbered for sixty years. What if your plan fails? What if you rouse it?"
"What if it succeeds?" Gandalf countered. "If the dwarves can reclaim Erebor..."
He once again voiced his strategic concerns about the Lonely Mountain and the potential benefits of aiding the dwarves in retaking it.
"This is a dangerous gambit, Gandalf."
"Inaction is equally dangerous," Gandalf retorted.
"And we have contingencies. When the situation grows most dire, Garrett and I will find a solution."
He suddenly halted, and together with Elrond, turned to regard Garrett.
"He's right," Garrett chose to agree, seeing no point in disputing the old wizard. Still, he had to maintain appearances.
"I have no objections to the plan."
"Garrett... is indeed formidable," Elrond acknowledged. "I can sense it, even in the glory days of the Elder Days, he would have been a formidable warrior. But against that dragon, none can guarantee certainty."
He shook his head gravely. The Eldar had been in decline for too long. If something went awry and the dragon were unleashed, they might be able to fight it, but the cost would be grievous. It could push the already diminishing elven peoples to the brink of ruin.
"Come now," Gandalf said sharply. "Reclaiming Erebor is Thorin's birthright. What precisely do you fear?"
Still, Elrond remained unconvinced.
"Have you forgotten?" he said. "There is madness woven into their bloodline. Once they behold the treasure within the Mountain, that madness will awaken. His grandfather was consumed by it. His father succumbed as well. Can you guarantee he won't follow their path? Your decision will affect far more than ourselves. The fate of Middle-earth isn't something you and I alone can determine."
Gandalf dismissed that with a wave, ending the topic. He changed direction.
"Regardless of our words, those dwarves are bound for the Lonely Mountain. They've set their course, none can dissuade them. And Thorin believes he owes nothing to anyone. Honestly, neither do I."
Elrond sighed somewhat helplessly. "The one you owe answers to isn't me, but another."
The three suddenly paused at a flight of steps.
Atop the platform stood an elf radiating gentle luminescence. She turned and gazed down upon them.
Garrett met her eyes for an instant and felt momentarily dazed.
Beautiful, noble, graceful.
These words suited this lady perfectly.
She was none other than the Lady of Lothlórien, one of the mightiest among the Eldar in Middle-earth.
"Lady Galadriel."
"Mithrandir."
Gandalf offered a respectful bow. "Time may have altered me, but it has not touched the Lady of the Golden Wood."
"I wasn't even aware Lord Elrond had extended you an invitation."
Gandalf glanced at Elrond with a knowing smile, as if to say, Why didn't you inform me?
"He did not," came a crisp voice from behind.
"I was the one who summoned her."
The moment he heard that voice, Gandalf's smile vanished entirely. He took a deep breath, turned, and offered a grudging bow.
"Saruman."
"You've been remarkably active of late, Gandalf," Saruman said, studying him briefly before shifting his gaze to Garrett.
"Why is there a mortal present? It's getting late. If it's not necessary, he should return to rest. Our council is not for the ears of Men."
Clearly, he intended to dismiss Garrett before proceeding with their discussion.
"No, absolutely not, Garrett is no ordinary mortal."
Gandalf immediately objected. "A crucial part of our strategy may depend on him for success. His strength far exceeds what you or I might imagine, he may even alter the entire course of events."
"Is that so? I find that hard to believe."
Of course, truthfully, the moment Saruman first saw Garrett, he sensed something, this human was certainly not common. But he still chose to challenge Gandalf, not for any real reason, but simply to needle him.
"This is Garrett, the Bane of the Orcs of the Misty Mountains."
At the crucial moment, it was Elrond who spoke in Garrett's defense.
[Bane of the Orcs]
This was the evolved form of "Orc-slayer." Ever since the orcs of the Misty Mountains began withdrawing and fortifying their positions due to Garrett's relentless campaign, this new title had replaced the former and remained in his collection.
Everyone present, if they wished, could easily perceive his past deeds through their enhanced sight.
Now that it had been stated plainly, continuing to argue would only make Saruman appear unreasonable.
"Very well, then I shall permit him to remain," Saruman said reluctantly.
Lady Galadriel also favored Garrett with a gentle nod and an inviting smile.
Garrett followed Gandalf's example and bowed respectfully.
Thus, the Lady of Lothlórien, the Lord of Rivendell, the White Wizard of Isengard, the Grey Wizard who wandered Middle-earth, and Garrett, the five of them convened an impromptu session of the White Council.
"The dragon belongs to no realm," Gandalf began. "But should it ally with the Enemy, it would spell disaster for Middle-earth."
"The Enemy? What Enemy?" Saruman immediately challenged. "The Enemy was long ago defeated. The Ring was cast into the Sea. Your fears are groundless."
Leaning against a nearby pillar, Garrett observed Saruman with a half-smile. But after a moment's consideration, he chose to remain silent. At this point in time, Saruman was merely proud, envious, and dismissive of Gandalf. He still stood with the Free Peoples, still an ally, for now.
"Gandalf," Elrond, typically the cautious one, spoke in agreement with Saruman, "we have enjoyed four hundred years of peace. There's no need to court unnecessary risks."
"Peace? Is it truly peace?" Gandalf countered. "Trolls have descended from the mountains to raid farms and settlements. Orcs waylay travelers on the high roads. Simply ask Garrett how many orcs he slays with each journey, then you'll comprehend how chaotic things have become."
"But that doesn't necessarily herald approaching war," Elrond offered his perspective.
Saruman quickly added his own barb, "You're always seeking trouble where none exists."
"No," Gandalf said firmly, "it's not merely Smaug. There is something darker influencing the state of Middle-earth. We may choose to ignore it, but it will not ignore us..."
As Gandalf voiced his concerns, Garrett noticed that Lady Galadriel and Elrond had somehow moved to stand beside him, directly behind Gandalf.
This signified they were, like Garrett, in support of Gandalf's position.
Four figures stood on one side of the discussion. Only Saruman remained isolated on the other. His expression grew rigid as he saw that all save him had taken Gandalf's part.
"There is a Necromancer dwelling in Dol Guldur," Gandalf continued. "He possesses the power to summon the dead..."
He began describing what Radagast had reported, attempting to persuade the others to launch an assault on the fortress.
"This Necromancer is at most a mortal dabbling in forbidden arts," Saruman remained dismissive. "He is not worth our concern..."
He continued at length, refusing to yield. Gandalf, after a moment, seemed to drift away mentally, no longer responding.
"Are you even listening to me?" Saruman snapped. "Look at him, acting as if I'm merely speaking to empty air..."
Of course Gandalf wasn't listening to him.
Garrett shifted his position and leaned more comfortably against the stone pillar.
The three bearers of the Elven Rings could commune through thought. Lady Galadriel had likely just sensed the Morgul-knife Gandalf carried and was now confirming its nature with him.
And indeed, moments later, Gandalf took out the weapon and placed it upon the stone table.
This type of blade was standard armament for the Nazgûl.
[Morgul-knife: Attack Power +7]
[Special Property: Wither]
Those wounded by a Morgul-knife would be slowly drawn into shadow. Their life force would gradually drain away, and conventional healing could not mend the wound, only powerful magic or ancient lore could mitigate it.
This weapon was essentially crafted for use against the Free Peoples, far less effective against creatures of darkness.
"Impossible, utterly impossible. It's merely coincidence," Saruman insisted, even with irrefutable evidence before him.
"Let us examine this matter once more..."
He launched into another lengthy discourse.
While he spoke, the dwarves had already departed. Clearly, this was Gandalf's plan, to keep Saruman occupied here, granting the dwarves time to begin their journey, and forcing Saruman into an untenable position.
True enough, shortly thereafter, Lindir arrived to report.
"Lord Elrond, the dwarves have taken their leave."
Even as he spoke, he could barely contain his relief.
Praise the Valar, they were finally gone.
With the dwarves' departure, the meeting came to an end.
The final decision: Support the dwarves, and launch an assault on Dol Guldur to gather intelligence.
However, just as all was settled and the council was about to disperse, Lady Galadriel suddenly called out to Garrett, and began walking toward him.