Pallando dismounted from Erurainon. Evening was drawing closer, but that was not the only reason. He had reached his goal, albeit one he had not originally planned on. The Peak of Rhun, a rock formation similar to the Carrock of the Beornings, loomed above him like a great tree. Weaving its way up the sheer, smooth side of the structure was a narrow, dangerous staircase.
Tying his steed to a nearby sapling, the wizard firmly planted his stave into the slippery moss of the lowest step, and heaved his way up. This he repeated, for a long while, until he reached a small enclave in the wall, purposefully designed to accommodate weary climbers. There he rested for some time, until the rim of the Sun was just touching the horizon. Then, sighing with age, he resumed his slow climb.
The moon had long since risen when he finally reached the summit. Resting again for a while, he finally sat down onto the ground and cast aside his blue cloak, so that is rested on his shoulders. Then, slipping his hands into a pouch in his tunic, he fumbled with something that seemed large and heavy. Finally, he withdrew it, revealing a perfect, dark orb. It seemed only dark green at first, but as Pallando gazed into the sphere, a change came over it. A bright light shone in its heart, and it cast long shadows behind the wizard. Images and visions passed across the glaze - for this was his secret, the Palantir of Osgiliath, thought lost long ago.
The Order of Istari had given it too him. Or maybe, not all. For although Alatar, Olorin and Aiwendil had offered it up to him, Curumo had wished to withhold it for himself. It was not until much later that the blue wizard had looked into the seeing-stone, and beheld the former leader of the White Council revealed as a spy and a traitor. The name of Pallando was not wrong-given, for he had the strength of will to see what he needed to see, and not be deceived. This Curumo did not, nay, had not had.
Exerting his will upon the Stone, he turned its gaze westward, towards the mountains. A vision flickered across his eyes, a tall eyrie, with great eagles upon its peak. His thought he bent thither, calling their names. He stood upright, a silhouette against the stars. A sudden splendour flashed from his staff like lightning, and its radiance could be seen from the northern marches of Ithilien.
At once an eagle swooped down upon him, and clutching him in his talons, bore him away towards the White City of Minas Tirith. A second bird followed, carrying the rope which had secured Erurainon to the rock. For now the horse was free for a time, but followed swiftly in his master's wake. His was a bond that could not be easily broken, and Pallando sent another two eagles to defend him on his journey.