[Child of the 7th Age]

Aiwendil glanced briefly at the stranger and then over at Rôg with a slight shrug of his shoulders, as if to indicate he had no idea who this fellow was but he seemed perfectly harmless. He was still remembering his recent conversation with Ayar and feeling correspondingly peevish. His first instinct was to pretend he hadn't heard anything from the stranger and continue trudging on. The woman was clearly failing; only her unwavering will had kept her alive this long. Once Ráma returned and Ayar had a chance to speak with her daughter, she would surely depart Arda. And, to be truthful, he would miss her.

Pulling back from these gloomy thoughts, he focused on the problem at hand by looking the stranger up and down, but still could not remember who he was. It had been some time since anyone had addressed him as "Radagast". After the war had ended and Olorin had given him the grim news that he would not be returning on Cirdan's ship, he had determined never to use that name again. Stubbornly clinging to whatever cloudy vestiges of the West he could dredge up from the back of his mind, he had sternly pronounced that his name was, and had always been Aiwendil, and none should call him otherwise.

"Perhaps you are mistaken, friend, for I have no memory of you, although once I did go by the name of Radagast. But it has been countless years since I journeyed through the vale of Anduin...... More years than you have walked on this earth, I believe."

The old man hobbled over to Rôg, leaning against his comrade's shoulder as the two turned about and began trekking towards the tent. But before Aiwendil had gone more than half a dozen paces, he suddenly halted and stared back at the stranger, " I do remember you. How could I forget? You and the Star....and your wife Piosenniel. In fact, I saw your wife in Minas Tirith just before I left the city. She mentioned that the Star had sailed to Umbar. But I have not seen you in endless years. And to be truthful, seeing you here is not exactly what I would deem a good omen."

The istar turned towards Rôg with only the slightest hint of a smile, "This gentleman and his wife are people of honor, but wherever they go, trouble follows. Once I was called down to the Anduin where they had sailed in with several shiploads of friends, whom I was persuaded into helping. For almost fifty years, I had a running argument with one of these, a particularly clever and persistent woman named Cami who was continually beseeching me for one thing or another in her efforts to provide for her people. Since her kin made their home along the western borders of what was later called Mirkwood, it was difficult to avoid them."

In truth, these early days in Middle-earth and the Hobbits who had lived there were among Aiwendil's best memories. But once Cami had moved on, he had lost all touch with her people, and had not spoken with any of them in the succeeding years, despite the role they had later played in the wars.

"I shall be all right, Rôg," he reassured his friend. "Give me just a moment to catch up on some old news, and I'll be along."

Once Rôg had retreated, he approached the stranger and spoke, "Mithadan? That is your name? How do you come to be in the middle of this desert? Your wife mentioned you had travelled to Umbar to represent Gondor's trading interests. But Umbar is a long way from the Eagle encampment."

"And may I offer a little advice? For the sake of your lovely wife, you may wish to consider returning to the Star and sailing homeward. The head of the Eagle clan lies close to death. There are persistent rumors throughout the camp that her injury was no accident but the result of foul play, a poison somehow injected into her body. As soon as the Elders discover who is to blame, they will demand that someone pay." He sighed and repeated the exact words that Ayar had spoken to him to emphasize how bady Ráma would need his help. "I fear that you and your friend have come upon a boiling cauldron that is about to explode."