Gandalf had seen many things during his years on Middle Earth. Many terrible and wondrous things that could be considered out of the ordinary, but he was sure that a naked woman - a growling and snarling naked woman - being born from the sky was a little more unusual than most.

He was truly and thoroughly unsure as to what to do in this situation. A quick glance to his left showed that the slack-jawed Rómestámo was much the same. So he stayed where he was. Body still half buried in sand and sweating once again from the sun beating down upon his back and hatless head.

Gandalf watched with trepidation as she vocalized her noises louder, shivers racking her slight frame. His skin crawled and prickled when he heard other voices layered within hers. What is this devilry? He could see the sharp edges of her shoulder blades peeking through her smooth hair as she crouched even lower upon the ground.

But then she stopped, suddenly frozen and her mouth closed with a click as her teeth came together quickly. She reminded him of an animal, wild and on edge. The woman cocked her head to the side, almost bird like, black eyes switching position between he and the blue wizard. It looked like she had made some sort of decision when she nodded to herself before standing.

Modesty was apparently something this creature either didn't understand or didn't care about. She was unabashed as she stood there, straight and unyielding on the red sand and under the burning yellow sun. Her hair was long and straight, shining an unorthodox gold so light it seemed white as it lay over her shoulders and arms. Her skin was pale, almost more-so than that of an elf. It was pearlescent, translucent in places, the tiny blue veins of blood visible and stark under her flesh. The woman was slight of build though slim lines of lean muscle cut across her shoulders and thighs.

She stuck out a hand, palm up, and stilled.

"What is happening?" The Grey Wizard's chapped lips cracked and pulled with pain as he whispered to his partner but he ignored it.

"How should I know?" Gandalf looked incredulously at the other man upon hearing his hushed reply.

"You're the one that had a vision of her coming. You sent for me!"

"Yes, well - I've done my part!"

"You're part?! You've barely done anything you old fool, except drag me into this hot forsaken wasteland of dust!" A short high pitched giggle interrupted their whisper battle and both men froze, almost nose to nose due to their exchanging of words.

"She's right next to us isn't she?" Gandalf merely nodded his head and they turned their necks slowly back to the front and both had to resist the urge to scoot back.

The woman knelt on the ground, face stooped low, almost even with theirs. A wide smile graced her full pinks lips and he noticed with a small amount of surprise that her eyes were back to green. Her silken hair fell in front of her body, resting on the sand as she sat in front of them, too close for any sort of respect toward personal space.

The mysterious woman giggled again and spoke, waving her hand between the three of them.

"Any sort of idea as to what she's saying?" The grey wizard shot the man a dark look.

"Yes, of course, but I'm choosing not to reply because I want to be rude." She tried speaking again but it didn't sound the same. This was harsh, short pronunciations whereas the first time she spoke it was fluid and some of the words rolled together. Her forehead puckered, the woman's slim brows drawing together and she began speaking faster, none of the strange words stayed the same after a few seconds. He assumed she was trying to speak to them but had no idea what language so she kept switching from one to another. How peculiar.

"Do you speak Westron, my lady?" She stopped abruptly at the interruption and merely stared at him.

"Sindarin?" Her head tilted, eyes still locked unblinking to his.

"Khuzdul?" Her heavily lashed eyes narrowed and Gandalf watched anxiously as she reached a slender hand to his face. She hovered for a brief moment, forefinger extended in front of his forehead before finally touching.

Memories flew across his mind in a torrent and he felt the world slipping away. Neither painful nor pleasant, it was uncomfortable. Invasive. He was helpless to stop the rush of images as he was assaulted with sights, smells, feelings, all over again. His deepest and darkest moments bared to him and this woman. She was a presence within him, all encompassing and never ending. It was cold and vast, this part of her. She cared not for his own emotions as she pulled, plucked, and plundered through his life. Secrets that no one but he were privy to were now siphoned out, copied and transferred to her. His joys, sorrows, regrets, strengths, weaknesses, pains, and pleasures were hers now as well.

Then as quickly as it begun, it was over.

His head fell to the ground, limp, uncaring that his sweat drenched face would now be coated with sand.

"What have you done?" He was vaguely aware of Rómestámo's raised voice beside him, shaking with anger.

"Calm yourself, Darkness-Slayer. Your friend is fine. He will need but a moment more to recover." Shocked and forgetting the mental ordeal he just went through, Gandalf snapped his head up, granules falling into his eyes and down his face and he messily swiped away what he could before setting his still dazed gaze on the woman. Her voice was light and smooth with the exception of a slight lilt to the 'r's. Though she looked young and fairly small, there was power in her. Deep and ageless. He felt it in his mind and he could hear the echo of memories and death that lived in the tightly controlled pitches of her voice.

"You're speaking. You're speaking the Common Speech." The blue wizard's question trembled slightly, betraying his unease. She nodded, her long hair gently swaying with the movement. Her eyes moved to Gandalf and he dared not believe what he saw.

Blue. Her eyes are blue.

"I apologize, Pilgrim for your discomfort. I've been told the Meld is not always pleasant." Gandalf continued to stare, he had no words at the moment for he was still a bit disoriented and tried to clear away the fog that now made residence among his thoughts.

"The Meld?" She turned back to Rómestámo, understanding that he would be the one speaking for them both. "And you know our names? How is this possible? Who are you?" Gandalf's body was quaking as his friend carried on conversation with the woman.

That woman, his mind whispered. He was positive he was still in shock and that was why he was not filled with rage at her duplicating his memories and all that he knew. Stolen. In merely a blink with almost no effort.

"Often times when we are placed within a new world or time, we are not partial to the knowledge of where and when we are. The Meld is a way for my people to assimilate. One touch and we are able to copy, as it were, languages, customs, courtesies," a slight nod to Gandalf, "personal memories and experiences are an unfortunate addition. But do not worry Pilgrim, all that is solely yours has been cast aside. It is not a direct part of me, your secrets are safe - unless they apply directly to my duty." She stood then, craning her slender neck to the sky and to the land around her. Rómestámo used this opportunity to get up out of the sand and pulled Gandalf with him. The two men were hunched together, both staves still lying on the ground as their attention remained fixed on the lone female.

"I know about this world, Arda, as you do. Oh! Speaking of, I want to sincerely apologize for my entrance, I'm not usually Called anymore and I was a bit disoriented." She smiled then and her gleaming white teeth were bright against her face in the light of the afternoon. Gandalf was sure she was trying to be genuine but the effect was slightly disturbing, as if a cat was smiling at a mouse. "I don't normally have such an off-putting disposition at first."

"Who are you?" Gandalf was surprised at his own voice, shaky and raspy, tinged with a kind of fear he had long forgotten.

"Ah, yes. Well, like you, Olórin, I have many names and titles," her hand flitted about her face as if to wave away her statement, "but I believe in this world, you may call me Authwen."

"You said were called? By what?" She giggled at the blue wizard's question, the delicate tinkling sound echoed softly and reminded Gandalf of falling glass.

"Not by a what, Darkness-Slayer. By a whom." She caught Gandalf's gaze, terrifyingly familiar eyes twinkling.

"I believe you know him as Thorin Oakenshield."