Without breaking his rhythm at the counter, Igris continued kneading the dough as he spoke in a relaxed tone.
"My goal? To have a home."
Gandalf narrowed his eyes, as if weighing the deeper meaning behind this simple answer. Leaning lightly on his staff, he asked in a calm voice:
"Is that so? Rather than establishing a home with so many people, wouldn't it be better to just buy a house in some city?"
Igris snickered sarcastically at the wizard's practical yet soul-lacking solution.
"There's an example of why you won't understand me, Gandalf. You and I don't share the same beliefs or culture."
At these words, the old wizard raised one of his bushy eyebrows and asked:
"What do you mean, Igris?"
Igris rested his flour-dusted hands against the counter, raised his head, and looked directly into Gandalf's eyes.
"Where I come from, the state is almost sacred to us, Gandalf. Why do you think that is?"
Unable to fully make sense of this political and cultural concept, Gandalf knit his brows slightly, while Igris chuckled softly and answered his own question.
"Let me put it this way: what did the dwarves of Erebor endure when they lost their homeland? How did Thorin spend his life? He refused to go to the other dwarven kingdoms out of pride—both to avoid disrupting their order and to keep from turning himself into a parasite reliant on charity. What do you think those dwarves scattered across Middle-earth experienced as they tried to make a living and survive?"
Faced with the weight of this historical reality, Gandalf chose to remain silent. Seeing the wizard's quietude, Igris continued:
"Let me give you a few examples. Whenever they wanted to practice a dwarven tradition, people looked at them strange. Whenever they wanted to celebrate a dwarven festival, they were either stopped or stared at as if they were oddities. When they wanted to drink through the night, sing songs, and make merry, people came to shut them up simply because they were making noise. But in a dwarven kingdom or colony, that is entirely normal—fun, even, for them."
As Igris kept kneading the dough before him with firmer, rhythmic movements, Gandalf maintained his silence. Igris gave a light chuckle at his deeply thoughtful demeanor.
"You look at everything from the perspective of Middle-earth as a whole because your duty is to protect Middle-earth, bring order, and guide. You treat everything as a single whole; you're wise, and you're more experienced than anyone else. But there's one thing you lack."
Gandalf narrowed his eyes and asked intently:
"What is that?"
This time, with a bitter smile, Igris chuckled softly.
"You aren't selfish. That's why you choose to pretend not to understand certain things."
Though Gandalf remained silent for a moment, his shoulders sagged slightly as he let out a sigh and spoke:
"I am more selfish than you think, Igris."
Rolling his eyes, Igris brushed aside this defense.
"Sure, but you know what I mean, Gandalf. Your selfishness is for the good of Middle-earth. It's not for money or fame. I'm talking about more personal selfishness. To me and my people, the state matters for this very reason: we can only truly live out our culture, our thoughts, and our freedom within that state. Just like why Erebor matters to the dwarves. Do you think they just want the gold? That's shallow thinking, Gandalf. Thorin says every time that the gold is his people's right, and that's true, but what comes after? Do you think he wants that gold just to live in luxury? Or to build a fully realized kingdom in the Blue Mountains?"
Leaning in a bit further, a firm expression settling over his face, Igris went on:
"Why I want to make a home by building a city or a state is something only Thorin and the dwarves of Erebor can truly understand. If you're so curious, ask them. I cannot live in a place outside of my own order and justice, inside a system set up by someone else. That would be an oppression to both myself and those around me, because I will still act according to my own rules and those of my people. No one can change that."
Taking a deep breath, he shrugged his shoulders and said:
"You can't really understand this, Gandalf. A person never truly realizes the value of what they have until they lose it."
Gandalf stood motionless in the middle of the kitchen for a moment. On his face was a contemplative weight brought on by centuries of existence. He released a deep sigh and replied in his old, weary voice:
"You are mistaken, Igris... As a Maia, I understand what you mean all too well... Suddenly coming from among immortal beings to live among mortals, from a place where every word you spoke held weight, to living in a place where no matter how simply I explain something from every angle, my words don't seem to be valued..."
After rubbing his tired eyes with his fingertips, Gandalf looked back at Igris, seemingly eager to change the subject.
"Anyway, that's not our topic. Where is your army?"
Igris stared quietly at the expression on the old wizard's face for a moment. Then, turning around to pour a large earthenware cup of green tea gently brewing on the stove, he answered with his back turned:
"They are camped to the east of Mount Erebor, waiting for me to arrive."
Then, slowly placing the steaming hot cup before Gandalf, he returned to his dough and added with the same composure:
"Thorin and I are planning to kill the dragon."
Gandalf's hand, reaching out to take the cup, froze mid-air. After a brief pause, he picked up the tea, soothed his throat with a long swig, and looked at Igris with serious eyes.
"Knowing how dangerous Melkor's dragons are, are you really willing to risk that?"
Gandalf had by now realized that the man standing before him was privy to many ancient secrets. Consequently, he assumed Igris was well aware of Smaug's power and peril. Igris gave a gentle nod and set about explaining his reasons.
"Before this, I had a simple plan. The last leader of Dale knocked off the scales on the left side of the dragon's chest with black arrows, so there's only a soft layer of flesh between me and Smaug's heart. Besides, I was thinking of getting a few potent gaseous poisons from Rivendell—preferably Hydra poison."
Hearing this fresh, tactical piece of information, Gandalf narrowed his eyes and began weighing Igris's plan in his mind.
"Fire dragons have high body temperatures, so poison doesn't affect them much, but Hydra poison would be a game-changer... Moreover, if Smaug's scales were stripped away, there might be a chance, but it's still dangerous."
Igris gave a confident nod and smirked.
"However, someone I summoned today is a hunter with three hundred years of experience in monster hunting, and he belongs to a race unlike anything this world has ever seen."
Gandalf slowly stroked his white beard and looked at Igris, silently awaiting an explanation. Igris let out a deep sigh and began outlining the Witchers and their world in broad strokes. As Gandalf listened carefully to the details of this alien, dark realm, the lines on his face deepened; he looked profoundly unhappy.
"Is there no one keeping order in that world? How could the races bring each other to such a state? Why are the elves like that over there?"
As Gandalf rattled off one question after another, Igris felt a slight headache coming on and raised a hand as if to stop him.
"See, there your curiosity goes, getting the better of you again. I suggest you talk about these matters with Vesemir, not me."
Gandalf paused for a moment. He had already grown curious about this Witcher master Igris kept praising; nevertheless, the very nature of how Witchers were created and the suffering they endured pained the wise Maia deeply.
"...It is heartbreaking that young children fall victim to such a system..."
Sighing, Igris focused back on his dough and thought to himself:
'You should see the other worlds; then the Witcher world would look like paradise to you...'
Shaking off his thoughts, he gave a subtle nod and focused back on the matter at hand.
"Since we've laid all our cards on the table, let me add a few more explanations."
As Gandalf looked intently into Igris's face with curiosity, Igris uttered the awaited word almost in a whisper.
"I mentioned him to you before... Sauron."
Gandalf heaved a deep sigh under the sheer weight of that name.
"So... he is truly in Dol Guldur, then?"
Igris gave a solemn nod.
"Yes, but he is weak, in a spectral form... though not altogether powerless. Besides..."
Dreading what he was about to hear, Gandalf raised a single brow.
"Besides?"
Sighing softly, Igris brought the truth to light.
"As I mentioned before, Thorin's father is there too... What are the chances of you retrieving him from that place?"
Gandalf sank into thought, weighing the possibilities in his mind.
"I cannot say... It depends on how powerful Sauron is... How many orcs do you reckon are hiding there?"
Igris paused briefly. Trying to recall the details of the Battle of the Five Armies, he ventured a guess.
"At least two or three full-strength legions."
Hearing this, Gandalf rubbed his eyes; the number was somewhat larger than he had anticipated.
"That means at least fifteen thousand enemies..."
Shrugging, Igris spoke in a thoroughly mocking and casual tone.
"How many do you think there are in Mordor?"
Slowly lowering his hand from his face, Gandalf stared at Igris in shock. Igris, meanwhile, pressed on with that same nonchalance.
"One to two hundred thousand. And that's just the number in Mordor."
At that moment, Gandalf's eyes went wide as saucers, unable to conceal his utter shock.
"How many?!"
Igris gave a careless shrug.
"Like I said, that's just the count of the orcs. Add to that those outside Mordor, round it up a bit... You'd best assume Sauron has five hundred thousand men under his command... Plus monsters and beasts like the war elephants."
Hearing these astronomical numbers, Gandalf's mind began racing, countless possibilities flooding his thoughts. Without mercy, Igris dealt another blow to the old wizard who had barely recovered.
"Hey~ that's just Sauron's army. Add the dark forces in the north, the south, and beyond the continent."
Overwhelmed by the flood of realizations stemming from these figures, Gandalf felt his head spin for a moment, as though the ground beneath his feet were giving way.
"I need to sit down."
Pulling the elegant handmade wooden stool from the corner of the counter toward himself, he sat down with heavy movements. He took a long swig from the cup in front of him, trying to soothe his frayed nerves. Staring at the shaken state of the centuries-old wizard before him, Igris shook his head helplessly.
"You look a couple of decades older already."
Rubbing his throbbing temples with his fingertips, Gandalf answered in a weary voice:
"What did you expect in the face of such news? That I'd grow younger?"
After a moment of silence, Igris decided not to dwell on the gravity of the subject.
"Ah, whatever~ You and your kind are the guardians of Middle-earth. You'll figure something out."
Witnessing Igris's flippant attitude in the face of catastrophe, Gandalf was at a loss for words and snapped at him with a harsh glare:
"The fate of all Middle-earth and the lives of countless beings are at stake here! You're far too relaxed, Igris!"
Igris didn't take the outburst too seriously.
"Can you see the future, Gandalf?"
Gandalf started at the abrupt question, failing at first to see how it pertained to the matter at hand.
"No..."
As Igris gathered the dough from the counter and placed it in a wide bowl, he continued calmly:
"And can you change the past?"
Gandalf remained silent, but the look on his face gave Igris the answer he was looking for.
"That's what I'm talking about, Gandalf. Tomorrow is a mystery; you can never know what will happen. And the past is gone; you can do nothing but feel regret, so you simply learn your lessons and act more carefully. That leaves you with only a single moment."
Covering the bowl of dough with a clean cloth, Igris pointed a finger at the table and spoke firmly:
"The present."
Leaning forward slightly and resting his flour-dusted hands on the counter, he looked straight into the wizard's eyes.
"Anyway, you get what I mean. Besides, your enemy is now known for certain, their numbers are roughly estimated, and their locations and parts of their plans are clear. Most importantly of all..."
As Gandalf leaned forward slightly, looking at Igris with keen interest, Igris completed his thought:
"...the element of surprise has shifted hands."
A bright gleam suddenly kindled in Gandalf's tired eyes; his mind began operating at high speed, a thoughtful expression taking hold of his features.
"I see..."
Igris nodded in agreement. Originally, Sauron had ambushed the Grey Wizard due to his ignorance, subsequently luring the members of the White Council into a trap. Had Galadriel—a Light Elf blessed by the two sacred trees of Valinor—not repelled the weakened Sauron through the intervention of a Valar, the senior members of the White Council would have been captured or destroyed there. But now, the picture was different. Gandalf had learned the enemy's true identity and strength in advance; he wouldn't enter that dark fortress unprepared. The element of surprise was now on the Grey Wizard's side. Realizing this, Gandalf's mind began whirling with brand-new plans. Taking the final sip of his tea, he slowly stood up. Looking at the man before him, he nodded in gratitude.
"Our conversation has been immensely informative, Igris. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must digest what I have learned."
Igris shook his head with a smirk and teased him.
"Sure, sure~ Go running to Lady Galadriel to report everything we talked about. Now you two have something to gossip about."
Gandalf recoiled at these tactless words, nearly losing his balance as if his staff were about to slip from his hand. Clearing his throat, he spoke in a formal tone:
"Ahem! As I mentioned before, it is impossible for me to keep anything hidden from Lady Galadriel; she can read my mind."
Igris raised a single eyebrow, looking at him dubiously, and replied in a dry voice:
"An elf reading the mind of a Maia? Oh yeah, totally believable~"
Gandalf sighed, speaking with a bitter acceptance of his helpless plight.
"My Maia powers are sealed, Igris. You know so much, yet you were unaware of this?"
Igris looked at him with genuine curiosity at this revelation.
"See, I was actually wondering about that. You were supposed to only be able to use your powers to a limited degree, yet you cast magic so effortlessly. How does that work?"
Gandalf chuckled softly and calmly shared his secret.
"I manage it thanks to a power that shouldn't exist in this realm."
Realization struck Igris in that instant, and he muttered the name of the energy type non-existent in Tolkien's world:
"Mana."
Gandalf smiled and nodded.
"Yes. A fascinating power—especially the source of this power... You should have seen the World Tree, Igris. Aside from the Two Trees of Valinor, I had never seen a tree so magnificent. It was so immense you could behold it even from across continents. Visible blue particles of mana floated around it, and countless creatures lived in peace in its vicinity..."
Reminiscing about the good old days, the wizard heaved a gentle sigh.
"Its destruction was truly tragic; many Valar and Maiar were plunged into sorrow by its demise. It was a deeply loving and wise tree..."
Shaking off his thoughts, he stroked his beard while looking at Igris.
"We Maiar had our powers constrained by the Valar; we can only wield a tiny fraction of our true strength—you might picture it as a single drop of water trickling from a massive dam. Unlike mana, what we do is command the elements, whereas mana is a power that allows for the direct creation of elements."
To make the point clearer, he offered a concrete example:
"Just as I cast lightning from my hand during our clash with the red lady."
As Igris processed what he heard, he looked thoughtful for a moment.
"Then how could mana and the World Tree exist in this world, Gandalf? You said it yourself: it was something that shouldn't be here."
Gandalf gave a mysterious chuckle.
"That is a long story... I will tell you later. Right now, we both have different priorities. You prepare breakfast, and I shall attend to my own troubles... And Igris..."
As Igris looked at him attentively, Gandalf added in a sincere tone:
"Thank you for warning me."
Igris offered a pleased smirk and nodded.
"Don't mention it."
As Gandalf nodded and turned to leave, Igris hesitated for a moment before he couldn't help but speak up.
"Gandalf..."
Having already headed for the door, Gandalf paused and looked back with curiosity.
"Yes?"
Igris's tone instantly shed its mocking air, replaced by a heavy, serious timbre.
"One last piece of advice... Keep an eye on Saruman."
Taken aback by this unexpected name, Gandalf listened as Igris pressed on with his warning.
"Don't ignore the changes in him, or dismiss them out of respect, thinking he knows what he's doing. Analyze Saruman carefully from past to present, and observe him closely. I'm not entirely certain of the information I have, but I suspect Saruman harbors a certain degree of admiration for Sauron."
Startled by these heavy accusations, Gandalf narrowed his eyes and asked suspiciously:
"Are you certain?"
Igris let out a troubled sigh.
"I'm not... That's why you need to be careful, Gandalf. Maybe it's just my paranoia, or maybe it's real, but while you're fighting Sauron, you don't want another Dark Lord rising right beside you. Saruman craves power, and he envies you because he feels everyone respects and loves you more than him."
Gandalf weighed these words in his mind, then gave a thoughtful nod.
"I believe you are mistaken on this matter, Igris. Saruman is the most noble and devoted to righteousness among us. In fact, he is far better than I am in that regard."
Knowing the blindness people—or wizards—have toward the darkness within themselves, Igris chuckled softly.
"Jealousy and pride corrupt even the most noble, Gandalf."
Standing at the doorway for another moment in deep thought, Gandalf gave a gentle nod.
"Thank you for the warning, but I have faith in Saruman... Still, it never hurts to be cautious."
Then, bearing all those fresh burdens upon his shoulders, he turned and walked out through the kitchen door. Igris, heaving a deep sigh behind him, refocused on his work at the counter preparing breakfast.