[ He turns his gaze away from the sky to look at her first, to see if she means for him to stop or if he should speak to fill in the silence. This is a happy memory, far removed from the small figure sacrificing himself that the rest may live another day. ]

His name is Gandalf. He has many other names, greater ones, but that is how he is known to us. A bent grey figure, smoking his pipe with his creaking carriage piled with fireworks.