Elrond knitted his brows in worry as he placed another cool cloth to Frodo’s brow. Not a day had passed after they set sail when the hobbit fell ill from seasickness, his stomach promptly emptying what little contents it held, and he had been bedriddened for the duration of the voyage.

And tomorrow would perhaps be the most difficult for him as it would be the anniversary of his wounding by the Witch-king on Amon Súl. Elrond had hopes that they were close enough to the influence of the Blessed Realm that it would ease Frodo’s annual illness, and perhaps it was so as thus far the hobbit had shown no signs of it.

A knock at the cabin’s door brought Elrond out of his ruminations, and he turned to that direction just as the door cracked open to reveal the Lady Galadriel. Her voice was quiet as she spoke, “The ship draws near.” Elrond nodded, rose from his chair, his long robes making the only sound as he passed Galadriel, knowing she’d watch over Frodo until his return.

He went up to the ship’s deck, and walked to the port side of the bow, gazing out over the darkened water to the sight he had not beheld in over six millennia. Before him, a piece of white rock jutted out of the sea, climbing nearly seventy feet into the starry skies. Even in the inkiness of night, his keen sight could make places in the rock where storms on the great sea had weathered it, chipping away at it until only jagged edges remained.

Though Elrond would have wished to have remained alone at he gazed at the lone rocks before him, he was soon startled by someone clearing their throat. “Pardon me, Master Elrond, but may I join you?”

The Elf Lord turned, nodding to the hobbit, noting that he was in a dressing robe, “Certainly, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo walked up to the railing beside him, inhaling the night sea air, “It is strange that I do not find the sea to be disagreeable with my stomach but I find I rather enjoy the movement of the ship. It’s quite soothing when you’re trying to fall asleep at night amidst Elven voices raised in song.”

“Our singing disturbs your rest?” Elrond asked.

“No more so than it did when I lived in Rivendell,” Bilbo replied, “Please do not misunderstand me, my friend, I count it a blessing to hear such voices raised in song.” Bilbo sighed, gazing at the rocks before saying, “How is Frodo?”

“He is resting comfortably at the moment,” Elrond answered, “The Lady Galadriel is keeping watch over him so that I may look upon this sight.” He pointed to the rocks that they were just beginning to pass.

“Humph, forgive me, but my eyes are not what they used to be. I see a form against the moon’s light but I can make out very little else,” Bilbo said, straining his eyes to make out more of the rocks’ details.

Elrond smiled, “I ask your pardon, Bilbo, for they are some distance aways from us, and it is a strain even to my eyes to see them.”

“Is there a special significance to the rocks?”

“Indeed there is,” Elrond said, his mind drifting back to memories that were two Ages old, “The formation you see before is all that remains of the greatest kingdom ever known to the race of Men, before you is Meneltarma, the Pillar of Heaven, that was once the very heart of Númenór.”

“Númenór?” Bilbo gasped, “Oh I never dreamed that even an inch of it survive the Fall!”

“It did indeed,” Elrond said, “Behold, the only momument permitted in the West to the fallen realm of Númenór, my brother’s realm!” At the moment he spoke these words, the light of Eärendil’s star seemed to meet the crown of the jagged rocks, causing both Elf and hobbit to gasp anew with awe.

FIN

Author’s Note: I did not intend to have a second chapter to this story but low and behold one came to me last night while I was in bed.

///
The hobbit’s breathing was steady, deep for several moments after Elrond left and Galadriel continued to do what the healer had been doing. Galadriel knew her son-in-law was concerned about Frodo yet again experiencing the effects of his wound from the Witch-king’s blade. He had reported that usually for Frodo this day of the year meant fever, pain, and tormenting dreams, both waking and sleeping.

And although Nenya no longer contained the power it once held in the Third Age, Galadriel was still to catch pertinent glimpses into the minds of those around her. So she now caught glimpses of Frodo’s dreams, discovering that the hobbit dreamt of his homeland, and the loved ones he had left behind. She smiled as for the most part they were pleasant memories contained in those dreams, and perhaps as they neared her homeland, the Witch-king’s power was finally losing its hold over this dear one at last/

Frodo stirred and opened his eyes, turning his head to look at her, “My Lady, I saw you in my dreams. Were you guarding my sleep?”

Momentarily, Galadriel was puzzled as she was sure she had kept her presence from being known to Frodo’s mind while he slept. But she already knew he was a perceptive creature, even before he had carried the One Ring. Still he should not have sensed her presence during his sleep, but she already knew from experience that carrying a Ring of Power changed the bearer. The Elven Rings had enhanced natural abilities of the wearer as well as give them new abilities, how much more so with the Ring that had been Sauron’s alone?

Finally the daughter of Finarfin nodded, “Yes, Frodo, I was. Lord Elrond is concerned that the Shadow will not surrender its hold on you until we reach the Blessed Realm.”

Frodo shifted, and sat up in bed, his hand briefly touching his shoulder, “Tomorrow is October 6th isn’t?”

“Yes, it is,” Galadriel confirmed, “Are you in any pain?”

“No, I am not,” Frodo said, “Tomorrow will be the real test, and I hope Lord Elrond is right, for I am wounded to the depths of my soul, and if I do not find rest soon, I shall leave this world in despair.”

“You shall find your rest in the Blessed Realm,” Galadriel said touching his hand, “This I swear to you, Frodo.”

The hobbit, for the first time in a long time, felt at peace at her promise. He knew he would find the rest he sought, and nodding a thanks he changed the subject by inquiring, “Where is Lord Elrond?”

“He has gone to the deck to cast his gaze out on the sea, for at this very moment, the ship is passing near the Remnants of Númenór,” Galadriel answered.

“‘The Remnant of Númenór’?” Frodo said, wonder filling in his voice. “I did not think one grain of sand remained in existence any longer!”

“Only the highest peak at Númenór’s center, Melneltarma, the Pillar of Heaven, has been left in remembrance of the greatest kingdom of the Secondborn.”

And although Galadriel did not say it Frodo thought, A monument to what, the Folly of Men? For he indeed knew the story of the Downfall of Númenór, of how the greed and lust of the Númenóreans for the immortality ultimately brought about that kingdom’s Downfall after Sauron tricked King Ar-Pharazôn into thinking they could take both the Blessed Realm and the immortality that belonged alone to both the Valar and Eldar, by force.

Frodo visibly shuddered as he remembered the Dark Lord’s name, of how Sauron had ruined so many lives, taken them, and how Sauron’s Ring had forever scarred his soul, so much so that Frodo had despaired of ever finding peace again.

“Never again will Sauron take from another what he robbed from you, Frodo,” Galadriel’s voice broke into his thoughts, “For his domain in this world has forever been cast down by your actions, Ringbearer.”

At these words, Frodo’s face fell, and he looked away from Galadriel’s eyes, shame filling his voice, “I wish you would not say such things, my Lady.”

“And why would you have me not speak such things?” Galadriel asked, “Is it because you believe you failed in the Quest?”

“I did fail, for I did not keep my promise to the Council! If it were not for Gollum, he would have recovered the Ring, and Middle-earth would have been thrown into eternal darkness!”

“Yet I say you, Frodo son of Drogo, you did not fail in what you set out to do,” Galadriel replied, “For when you set out from the House of Elrond, you swore to carry the Ring to Orodruin, and you fulfilled your oath. However, Frodo, you did not take an oath to destroy the very thing you carried. You were only appointed the carrying of the Ring by the Council and by the Powers, and it seems by Ilúvatar Himself, for He provided the means of its destruction.”

“If your words are the truth, Lady, then why do I still feel the guilt of my failure?” Frodo asked, still unwilling to look at her, fiddling with the blankets.

“Perhaps because you have not opened yourself up to forgiveness because you feel unworthy,” Galadriel replied, “Forgive yourself, Frodo, for you are already forgiven if you but seek to be.”

Frodo nodded but was unwilling to contemplate or discuss this subject any longer, so he pushed off the blankets, and set his feet on the floor. “I should like to see the Remnants of Númenór,” he declared, standing up. He wobbled on his legs so much so that Galadriel had to steadied him with her hands.

“You are still weakened, Frodo, and if it would not wound your pride nor dignity I would carry you to the deck above,” the former Lady of Lothlórien offered.

The hobbit’s flushed with embarrassment and frustration but he saw no other alternative to reach the deck above for now he was feeling a bit dizzy, “Very well, my Lady, I am honored to accept your assistance.”

Galadriel smiled, bending to take the hobbit in her arms, “The honor is mine, Ringbearer.” The hobbit was no heavier than a very young Elf child, and so they reached the deck soon.

“Please, my Lady, put me down here,” Frodo insisted as soon as he spotted Elrond and Bilbo’s forms.

“Are you certain, Frodo?”

Frodo nodded, “Yes, please put me down. I’ll be fine, thank you.”

The Elf queen nodded, and gently deposited him onto the deck. She watched as he made slow, tentative steps towards Elrond and his uncle, his face aglow with the light of Eärendil.

Author's Note: It appears inspiration has struck again for me!

For Frodo and Bilbo on their birthdays...

///
The Elves occupied their nights during the voyage Westward with feasting, singing and dancing as they celebrated their imminent homecoming to Valinor. Normally, if one were looking for the wizard Gandalf, then you’d do well to seek him among the Elves on most nights, for he too had much cause to celebrate. After all he too was going home, victorious in his mission, after an extended absence for more than two thousand years!

On the same night the ship was to pass the Remnants of Númenór, a singer of Lothlórien was in the middle of a hymn praising Elbereth when in his mind he experienced a sudden flash of a long forgotten memory. In his mind he saw the face of a young woman, smiling as gloriously as the rays of Anor herself!

It was the sound of applause that finally brought Gandalf out of his memory, and back to the present. He briefly added his own applause before rising to make is way out of the galley, and stepping out into the starry night he walked towards the ship’s bow. He only halted when he made other two forms, one an Elf and the other clearly a hobbit, illuminated by the light of Eärendil.

He was too far away to make out their words, but Gandalf recognized the voices as belonging to Elrond and Bilbo. Pulling out his pipe from his belt, he decided to walk to the stern of the ship, and enjoy a smoke there as he did not want to disturb the friends’ conversation. The wizard was very aware that once his supply of pipeweed ran out, that as they say would be that. So he now only indulged in only a small way, adding only a pinch or two of precious Old Toby into the bowl before lighting it.

Bathed in Ithil’s light, Gandalf puffed on his pipe, sending various shapes and colors into the night sky. His mind began to wonder again, turning towards their destination, and suddenly the face of the young woman was in his mind again.

And this time he experience more than a flash of memory...

The Eve of the Departure of the Istari

In a secluded cove on the shores of Valinor, a ship laid anchored, preparing for departure to Middle-earth ere Anor’s rays touched the Eastern horizon. Bathing the white beaches in its pail light, working in concert with Varda’s stars, casting the beach in rich hues of deep royal blue, indigo, and black. The stars twinkled like diamonds in the heavens above reflected off the Sea, as dolphins leapt playfully from the water.

Nearby on the white sands of the beach, her feet unshod, her gaze locked on Eärendil as he entered the final phase of his eternal nocturnal journey. She savored the sensation having recently taken on physical form, releasing a squeal of surprise when the waves splashed her feet after she ventured a little too close. As the waves splashed her feet again, she quickly covered her mouth with her hand in an attempt to stifle the giggle that had half escaped her deep red lips already.

“Aearhyalma?” a deep, beloved voice called from a little ways up the beach.

“I’m here,” the woman called with an add squeal the water splash again.

“Limidhren, are you all right?” her husband asked, sitting up on the blanket where he slept until just a few moments ago.

“Aye, Olórin, I am,” she replied, rejoining him on the blanket, “It’s just I’ve never experienced the touch of water in such a way.”

Her spouse released a riotous bark of laughter, for which he found himself at his wife’s mercy as she pinned him down with her legs and began to relentlessly seek her revenge against him. She had learned, with some great amusement, had learned since he took physical form that several areas on it were what the mortals and Elves referred to as ticklish.

After a few moments she asked, “Do you yield, my lord?” She paused in her assault momentarily, and with a breathless nod, her spouse half whispered, “Yessss!”

“Yes what?” Limidhren asked playfully, threatening to continue the tickling.

Drawing in a huge breath, he added, “Yes, my lady!”

With one final tickle, Limidhren settled again onto the blanket beside him, smiling still as her husband huffed and puffed before at last he caught his breath. It had been quite an experience for them both, adjusting to physical bodies, especially for Olórin, who had started out with a mortal’s youthful body but was now slowly aging as those journeying to the lands of the Eldar and Secondborn would be seen as old men.

Olórin had started out with the ever youthful appearance of an Elven lord with long golden locks and eyes as blue as the mid-morning skies. Now his eyes had darkened to a sea grey while a beard had begun to grow, covering the new wrinkles that now marred that was once as smooth as any Elf’s. It was a sight Limidhren found disconcerting, and she could not allow herself to adjust enough to grow accustom to it. Even now as she caressed her husband’s face, and kissed him, she longed to see his youthful features returned to him even as she knew it was impossible until his work in the Eastern lands was completed.

Olórin had laid down again, opening his arms to his wife, “Come, we have but a little time left before Anor’s rising. Let us enjoy the quiet while we may.” Wordlessly, Limidhren snuggled into his arms, “I am sorry that I fell asleep, aearhyalma, but I feel after such exquisite meal, I could no longer keep my eyes opened.” He caressed her silver hair, seeking to look into the sea grey eyes, but she kept them closed. “What is it, Limidhren? Why will you not look at me?”

“I want to hear the sound of your voice over that of the ocean,” she replied, “I want to hear it over gazing at a face I no longer truly recognize as that belonging to my husband. Please, melethnîn, let us just speak for a little while.”

Olórin nodded, “Very well.”

They did nothing else but talk for the next hour, enjoying the pleasure their physical bodies afforded them when they were moved beyond mere words to loving touches and caresses. They remained this way until Olórin heard soft footsteps approaching them further up the beach, which stopped several feet just short of them, a deep voice calling out, “Olórin, Lord Manwë bids you to prepare for departure.”

Eönwë, Herald of the Lord of the Breathe of Arda, did not immediately receive the response he had anticipated but instead heard muffled giggles, “Olórin?” The Herald swung his lantern in the direction of the giggles to see the two Maia, who suddenly remembered their dignity, were rising from a blanket, both bowing to the Maia before them.

Olórin grasped his wife’s hand, saying, “Very well, my lord, I shall be along shortly.”

Eönwë eyes them suspiciously but said only, “See that you are, Olórin, as Anor will grace the heavens in a short time from now and your ship must be cast off before then.” Casting them one last look, the Herald turned and began his walk back towards the waiting ship.

A few moments later, Limidhren was held tightly by her sister, as they watched their husbands board the ship that would take them East along with the other three members of their order. Olórin and Curunír assumed a place by the bow of the ship, watching their wives as orders where given for the moorings to be loosen. Then as the ship slowly began to move forward they both raised their hands in farewell, and did so until the pier where their wives stood disappeared.

Saelinucalad turned to leave, grasping her sister’s hand, she wiped away a tear from Limidhren’s face, “Lord Ulmo will give them a safe journey to the Eastern Lands, and we must trust Ilúvatar to return them to us when their work is accomplished.”

Limidhren whispered, “Yes.”

“They will return to us,” Saelinucalad repeated, “Have faith.”

Gandalf was so caught up in the memory that he did sense or hear the approach of hobbit feet slowly padding along the deck, and he visibly jumped when he heard an exclamation of “Bless my soul, is that Old Toby I smell?”

Gandalf looked down sharply at the hobbit, “Why, Bilbo-dear, I see that hobbits are as stealthy as ever! You have positively given me a fright!”

“I gave you a fright?” Bilbo echoed, “Why, my dear Gandalf, I believe in all the time since we’ve known one another I’ve managed to sneak up on you, and I was not even trying to!”

Gandalf smiled, “I am sorry, Bilbo, but my mind was elsewhere just now with my memories, my dreams of home.”

“Dreams of home, eh?” Bilbo asked, stepping up to the rail beside him, “I never thought about it but you...the wizards were sent to Middle-earth by the Valar weren’t you?”

Gandalf nodded, taking a puff on his pipe only to discover it had burned out, “Sticklebacks!” He pulled out his pouch, first offering some of the weed to Bilbo who politely refused, and then refilled his pipe, lighting it before saying, “Yes, indeed, those of my Order were sent to Middle-earth by order of the Valar and by Ilúvatar’s will.”

Bilbo watched the various colors and shapes in smoke rings his friend blew before saying, “You were sent to help all the Free Folk fight Sauron, weren’t you?”

“Indeed,” the wizard replied.

“Gandalf,” Bilbo began, “What are the Undying Lands like?”

“More beautiful and peaceful than you can imagine, my friend,” Gandalf lowered his pipe, “You’re worried that Frodo won’t find healing there, aren’t you?”

Bilbo nodded, “I am.”

Placing a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder, “I promise you, Bilbo Baggins, Frodo will be healed and that you will share many happy years there with him.”

“Many years, eh?”

“Yes, my friend, many years,” Gandalf confirmed.

Bilbo laughed, “What a ridiculous thing to promise a hobbit my age!”

“Ai, but can you not already feel the effects of the Blessed Realm, my friend?”

Bilbo thought for a moment, “If by effects you mean feeling almost like a tweenager instead of my one hundred and thirty years?” Gandalf nodded. “Well then I suppose I am feeling the effects of the Blessed Realm and if it can help an old bachelor like me feel ninety-seven years younger, then I have hope it can help Frodo find healing.”

“Speaking of Frodo, how is he?”

“Frodo is faring somewhat better,” Elrond said, joining them, “Forgive the intrusion but I thought you would wish to know that Frodo had returned to bed.”

“Is he all right?”

The Elf lord nodded, “I think he is just overtired. There is no need to be overly concerned for him.”

“None the less, I think I shall sit with Frodo a little while before seeking my own bed.”

Tamping out the bowl of his pipe, Gandalf raised a hand to halt Bilbo, “You should go on to bed, old friend. I will stay with Frodo for a few hours.”

“If you are certain?”

Gandalf nodded, “I am. Go to bed.”

“Very well,” Bilbo said, “Goodnight, Gandalf, Master Elrond.”

“Goodnight.”

///
Please note, the character of Limidhren is an originally created character I introduced in my story entitled “From the Sea”in which I introduced the idea that when Gandalf journeyed to Middle-earth he left behind a wife in the West.

Please do not use Limidhren in a story without my prior knowledge or consent...

Also the word aearhyalma is the closest I could get to “sea turtle” but it is not an exact translation as more accurately translated it means ”sea, shell or conch”...