The Powers That Be by CrackinAndProudOfIt

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            “What if we have gotten it wrong?” Irmo crossed his arms and continued pacing across the sward if Lórellin’s island.




            “Wrong?” Estë questioned softly, “We have debated and debated; this is the only way. He must be there. You know what will happen if he is not.”




            “I know, I know. But what if it goes wrong?  And why to his brother first? Is that not a bit of a...waste of effort?” replied her spouse earnestly.


      "Of course not! There is such a thing as awareness...credibility of the dream...heroism, by taking the quest off the shoulders of another..." was Estë's vague response.


       "I will grant you that, I suppose, though I see not why any of these factors but credibility truly matters. But what shall I send, anyhow?" queried Irmo.






             “A summons, a call. Send him there.”


            “But how?”


“Have him in a world of darkness, spreading from the East, but put a pale spot of light far to the West. Send a trumpet blast and a call, far-off but clear saying something…something…rhyming!” suggested Estë, a sparkle appearing in her pale blue eyes.




“Like this? ‘Seek for the sword that was broken, in Imladris it dwells, there shall be counsels taken…” his voice faltered. The summons left something to be desired.




“Stronger than Morgul-spells, “ Estë took up the verse, “There shall be shown a token that doom is near at hand, for Isildur’s Bane shall waken and…and…”




“The Halfling forth shall stand!” Estë ended triumphantly.




“I think that will suffice,” Irmo said decisively, and with that he began to weave his way into the paths of the man of Gondor’s dreams.





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