An old man leaned over the Palantir, looking into the Eye that had since fallen. the eye showed an image to him that would shape the lives of many, the old man caught in the middle.
He saw the world ended, mountains flattened, valleys filled. Rivers, once carving great canyons, were dried up, and all for the glory of one. This had happened before, the old man knew, and all because of that which even the Elves didn't know the real name of. Melkor, the ancient Dark Lord, more powerful than Sauron ever could have been. The elves knew him as Morgoth, and the old man knew his name because though he was old, older than any Elf, he was no man.
The Palantir always showed the truth, albeit in bits and pieces that suited its master, whoever that may be now. Melkor, or maybe another corrupted Maiar. Even how thoroughly the servants of Eru Iluvatar searched for Melkor's corrupted, well, Sauron had slipped through, hadn't he? So, he had to tell the others, be it something happening now or in millions of years. The palantir is a dangerous sorce of information, but still useful. Could the Valar themselves decide to start over? The old Maia, Ignaceus, whose real name was not known to any of Middle Earth, decided it unlikely. Ignaceus, normally a giddy old coot, was caught in a trance of thought, searching his mind for the truth. Who was its master? Why was it talking? What does the unwinding of all this Earth really mean? Ignaceus couldn't come to an answer, only more questions. He needed to talk to the High Council.