Quite simple. Too simple for a learned lore-master in these suspicious days.
All our hopes now lie with two little hobbits somewhere in the wilderness.
They were brought to Fangorn, and their coming was like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains.
— Radagast? Do not speak to me of Radagast the Brown. He's a foolish fellow.
— Well, he's odd, I grant you. He lives a solitary life.
— It's not that. It's his excessive consumption of mushrooms. They've addled his brain and yellowed his teeth. I've warned him. It is unbefitting one of the lstari to be wandering the woods...
— What proof do we have this weapon came from Angmar's grave?
— I have none.
— Because there is none. Let us examine what we know. A single Orc pack... has dared to cross the Bruinen. A dagger from a bygone age has been found. And a human sorcerer who calls himself "The Necromancer"... has taken up residence in a ruined fortress. It's not so very much after all. The question of this Dwarvish company, however, troubles me deeply. I'm not convinced, Gandalf. I do not feel I can condone such a quest. If they'd come to me, I might have spared them this disappointment. I do not pretend to understand your reason for raising their hopes.
The Balrog reached the bridge. Gandalf stood in the middle of the span, leaning on the staff in his left hand, but in his other hand Glamdring gleamed, cold and white. His enemy halted again, facing him, and the shadow about it reached out like two vast wings. It raised the whip, and the thongs whined and cracked. Fire came from its nostrils. But Gandalf stood firm.
`You cannot pass,' he said. The orcs stood still, and a dead silence fell. `I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn. Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass.'
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