Stories of Arda - Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Archive

Bilbo is asleep at last. I doubt an earthquake could awaken him now. And it's not as if I had to shout into this glass to make you hear me! Yes, I'm certain you can hear me. Normally the glass glows a bright silvery white, but when I talk to you, it takes on a pale warm amber, like candle-light, and such a sweet comfort; I feel as if you were very close at hand. So I thought I would write down these words and read them to you just as I would write you a letter.

It can get very tiresome lying in bed, even though they wait on me hand and foot and I can lie outdoors on the terrace as much as I please. The library is next to our room, and I've barely made a dent in it. But I'm getting quite an education, learning of birds and beasts and plant life and people and customs and lands I didn't even know existed. They won't let me read for long, but someone will come in and read to me when I've exceeded the time allowed to me to do my own reading. I have to admit, that when it's Lady Elwing reading to me, I find it very hard to concentrate on what she's saying for listening to the sound of her voice!

I don't think I've described this room, have I? The floor is made of white, ivory, rose-colored, dark-grey, silver-grey, and bluish stone, along with some that are white with a black veining, arranged into large starry patterns. And they are polished to a high gloss and when the candles are lit in the evening, it looks as if the floor is full of stars. There is a small fountain in the middle of the room, made of white marble interspersed with jasper and lapis and moonstones. Bilbo and I both enjoy dangling our feet in the water. But if we keep too still, there are little gold fishes in it that come and nibble on our toes. Bilbo got a shock from this at the first also, and he wondered if gold-fishes were good eating! They are much too beautiful to eat, however, and I told him so emphatically, and he laughed at me.

The walls are made of a white stone with a silver sparkle, upon which hang several candle-sconces of filigreed bronze with a crystal shade, and from the ceiling hangs a large round chandelier also of bronze, with prisms hanging down that catch the light. On the back wall are six very high windows peaked at the top, through which you can see colored lights in the northern sky at night that take the breath away: green, gold, dark blue, turquoise-blue, scarlet, rose, orange, and silver-white. Some are as clouds and some are as light-beams radiating downward or upward; others are as streaks or swirls or giant flowers, moving and shifting and drifting about with entrancing slowness.

And I forget about the splendours of the house for a while; no Elven architect can even come close to the Divine one. I am going to love my new home.....

[A lengthy description of the garden follows, along with a good bit of rhapsodizing over the beauty of the Ladies, during which Bilbo awakens a full five minutes before Frodo realizes. Thereafter he resolves to confine his outpourings to the Garden.]

They threw a huge party in our (mine and Bilbo's) honor on the beach last night! At last I got to see the beach. The Elves carried us out there in a wide chair with a fringed shade atop, supported on long poles which are born along on the shoulders of four Elves. I was horribly embarrassed about so much fuss being made over me in public, but Bilbo enjoyed every minute of it!

Now we sit on big cushions piled on the sand for us, and Elf-children argue over who get to serve us. The one who serves me is a little Elf-lass called Lyrien, who is the niece of our maid-servant, Tilwen. Lyrien is younger than the other children, but she has no qualms about telling them that SHE will serve me and that's an end of it! But she does generously allow her cousin and playmate Marílen to help.

"This is SQUID," Lyrien announces to me, waving the huge plate with the strange-looking whitish matter on it under my nose. "You will pos—posit—positively not BELIEVE how good it is! Taste it!"

I remember seeing a drawing of a squid in one of Lord Elrond's books. Remember that monster with all the arms in the lake at Moria? This creature appears to be a distant relative of it—and it is eaten as a delicacy here?? Repressing shudders with every ounce of determination I have, I take a bite, which I have no choice but to do with the sweet child's lovely eyes watching me so intently—perhaps I can send her off for some fruits and hide the squid in the sand when her back is turned—but it isn't nearly as bad as it looks! And the fried clams and shrimp and buttery crab-legs that go with it are incredibly delicious. I had been fretting on the ship about whether Bilbo and I would like sea-food. Well, I doubt I shall ever fancy oysters, which the intrepid Elves eat raw here, but I must say they look—ahem--entirely unappetizing. And there are some fishes called "anchovies"—when I first bit into one, I spewed it right out again before I could even think, mortified at my horrible breach of manners afterward. But leave it to Bilbo—he tried one and found it entirely delicious!

I had not known Elves could make so merry, or that they were so fond of dancing, and that their dances had so much variety and intricacy, or that they ever danced for the entertainment of others. There is one, danced by three couples, in which the ladies wear a black silk gown with a skirt that is full and a bit short (above the ankles! Have mercy on a poor old sick hobbit!), richly embroidered all over, and flowers and feathers in their hair. The waist leaves the arms mostly bare and the ladies wear many bracelets on both wrists and ankles, which jingle when they dance. The males wear dark tight leggings and a white tunic also, with black and gold embroidery. The music starts out slowly. At the first, the male-Elves stand still while the ladies move about them with a surprisingly sinuous strut, clutching at their skirts and shaking them a bit, showing colored ruffles underneath. Then the male-Elves suddenly turn and catch them at the waist and lift them high into the air and twirl them about, while the music gets faster and faster, growing in fire and intensity. It has a dark and foreign sound to it, and the dancers move faster and faster with it, the ladies whirling until I think they must grow dizzy, then they leave the men and dance with each other, their hands lifted high in the middle and touching, as they skip in a circle with the males watching until they decide they've had enough and go after the ladies, seize them and begin dancing with an ardor that is almost frightening. Surely this sort of dancing might be considered a bit improper in Middle-earth, but no one here seems to take any exception to it!

Then comes a dance for children, and Lyrien and Marílen partake in this. They line up with the smallest elflings on one end and the largest on the other, girls in front and boys in back, and the dance is lively and intricate. The music, played on flutes and harps and zither and tabor, is most delightful and joyous. It sounds the way sunshine on running water looks, and the girls all wear short white silk dresses and their hair is curled, and they wave colored streamers about, and I have tears in my eyes at the end of it all and so does Bilbo.

Lyrien, after being hugged and congratulated by her parents, dashes up and throws herself almost into my lap, enquiring breathlessly, "Was I good?" I tell her, "You were the best one of all." She giggles saying, "That's just what my daddy said! But I think it isn't true." She takes my injured hand as the next set of dancers comes along, caressing it and beaming. She has hair of the loveliest copper color, very unusual for an Elf. Her aunt and mother and grandmother all have it, in varying shades, Tilwen's being much lighter, while Niniel's is considerably darker. But her grandmother Donnoviel's is the most striking of all, a blazing fiery color. I wonder if perhaps they are descended from the ginger-haired Maedhros. I must remember to ask sometime.

Later there is boat-racing, in which I am allowed to participate. Galendur, who was recently wedded to Tilwen, insists I ride with him in his boat, saying he is sick and tired of watching me sit on my backside being petted by Elflings. I tell him I would very much like to do so but don't like to leave Bilbo sitting alone. Gandalf, or Olórin as he is called here, comes to my rescue, together with Ríannor saying they will sit with Bilbo, who tells me yes, I must run along and have some fun before I get too old. Galendur scoops me up and slings me over his shoulder like a feed-sack, ignoring my threats to let the boom smack him overboard if he doesn't put me down, and plops me into his dinghy, and sails us over to the formation where other Elves wave and shout greetings. Galendur's is a pretty little craft, with a silver star-burst on her mainsail and a striking pattern of gold crescents painted around her hull. She's called the Lady Vana after his mother.

And we narrowly avoid a jagged rock that we missed seeing when a wave covered it, but he skillfully maneuvers around it. We come in third, with Lord Elrond coming in first. Well, his father was a mariner, after all! Lady Celebrían rode with him. The boat was hers originally, but she gave it to him when he returned. She beams with pride as he helps her out of the boat.

The second-place winner is named Haldor. He seems miffed at Elrond having beaten him for all he pretends otherwise. He and Elrond reluctantly shake hands, then with us—or rather, Haldor shakes hands with Galendur; he scarcely looks at me. But Galendur keeps his arm across my shoulders saying what a fine jolly crew I would make if he could just get me to stop singing bawdy ballads while racing. How can anyone expect to win with such a distraction? I am well accustomed to his sense of humor, but it doesn't sit well with Haldor, who appears in a bit of a huff as he and his missus take their leave.

"The Lady Vana is still the prettiest boat," Lyrien reassures us. "None of the others have stars on their sails. But Lord Elrond's should have a jewel on the prow, what do you think?"

I agree that would be a nice touch, although I privately think a jeweled sailboat a bit of a stretch. She whispers into my ear that she doesn't like Haldor, and I giggle. And Galendur says, "Well, we came in third, that's not so bad, what?" That is good of him, for he very much likes to win. And he is a much younger and far less experienced sailor than the others; before coming here he had never even seen the sea. So, really, it's as if he did come in first. "We did ourselves proud, old chap!"

"'We'?" I say. "You did it all. Yours is a single-handed dinghy. I don't even weigh enough for ballast yet, despite the way your adorable niece stuffed me like a pillow all afternoon."

"Ah, no," he says, looking deadly serious, which for him is positively phenomenal. "YOU did it all, Ringbearer. But for you, we wouldn't be here now. You're the founder of this feast, and don't you forget it, or I'll keelhaul and hang you out to dry until the crows laugh in your face."

Well. What can I say? Can hardly even retort that his boat doesn't have a keel, only a centreboard—let alone a yardarm for hanging!

(And I was NOT singing bawdy ballads--I was praying that we wouldn't be dashed to death on the rocks!)

You may have been wondering if I've met any famous personages yet. Well, I have! And I am studying with one of them now!

At first I wasn't allowed to have visitors; now I am, but I am consulted first to see if I want to meet them. Lord Elrond told me one day that the great poet Rûdharanion wanted to meet me. I nearly fell over flat, at the thought of such a great honor! Well, you probably have not read his poetry; it isn't of your sort, and I've not read it all myself. But when I heard he had requested to meet me, I dove into the library and found a volume of his epic poems and read well into the night. I was quite fascinated, although admittedly some of it is rather dry stuff, and I might not have kept at it so hard if he were not coming to meet us the next day. But I ploughed through as much as I could, hoping I could keep an intelligent discussion going, and he would be impressed with me.

In the city is something called a "college" which is a school for big folks, which I may attend someday. Rûdharanion teaches there. And of course Lord Elrond told him that Bilbo and I both write poetry, and he might consider taking us both on as students. Tilwen was as excited as I—for she writes some verse too, and Lady Celebrían told her she was welcome to stay and meet the great poet as well. We had to get all spruced up, and took an inordinate amount of time about it, but in the end we looked quite dashing, and Tilwen looked lovelier than ever in pale rose.

Our guest of honor arrived a bit early for dinner. He was, as you might expect, tall, imposing in a robe of brown velvet embroidered with gold, his tunic and leggings of a lighter shade, his ebony locks smoothly combed down and braided. When introduced he looked most startled to see me. I imagine he was expecting me to be small, but not this small, surely! But he got his bearings quickly enough, looking at the Ladies with admiring eyes—very admiring, I must say—then remembered himself and wrenched his attention back to me and my uncle.

I had prepared a little speech of greeting, and had practiced it on my good-natured uncle several times, and he'd told me it was very fine and touching and poetic too…but now I could not remember a word of it.

"This is such a great honor for me," I could only stammer out. He bestowed a kindly, and it seemed, amused, smile upon me.

"I have heard a great deal about you from my old friend," he said with a glance toward Lord Elrond. I was puzzled; Elrond said he had only met him before once, and that was a very long time ago. I looked to him, and his mouth twitched a little, and I thought I saw his eyes twinkle. "And not only did he tell me of your magnificent deeds on behalf of Middle-earth, but he says also that you are a poet of no mean abilities. Has your work been published in Middle-Earth, or do you write under an assumed name?"

"I have only written since coming here, really," I admitted, ducking my head in embarrassment. "I only wrote a few little things before then. In fact I think I only wrote one poem of any real merit at all. But I was ill when I first arrived and was confined to my bed, so I wrote a good deal to pass the time, and I think I am starting to show a bit of improvement…perhaps."

I hoped and prayed he would not ask me to show him my work—at least, not in front of all.

"You are modest," he beamed, as Tilwen filled his glass...and, I don't know, but I am reasonably certain Galendur would not have liked the way he looked at her just then. It seemed to me his eyes strayed just a little too far below her collar-bone, and lingered a bit long on her form when she moved away from him to serve Gandalf. "Shy and unassuming. I find that charming, particularly in relation to your accomplishments. Such courage, such selflessness, such daring, such unflinching sacrifice in the cause of all helpless humanity! You've no idea how inspiring it all is to me, how, how humbled I am in the presence of it all. As a matter of fact, I am seriously thinking of writing an epic, based on your deeds. So I was wondering if you could be of assistance to me. I'm sure I know very little of the actual tale, and if you could supply me with the details? In return I would be greatly honored to tutor you in your own writing. Perhaps you could even join my class? Yes, I can see you've been ill, but when you've fully recovered your health...what say you to this?"

I glanced at Lord Elrond and could see he had not been informed of any such plan for an epic about me. Yes, in Middle-earth I'd had a ballad written of me, which was embarrassing enough, but an epic poem? Couldn't they just wait until I was dead?

And even if I had liked this fellow better than I did, there was much I was still loath to disclose.

But I could see Bilbo preening. What a great delight it would be for him, an epic about his favorite nephew, written by one of the great poets of all times? Perhaps if I were as selfless as Rûdharanion claimed, I should do it for the sake of Bilbo if nothing else?

Tilwen came and sat down on the settee beside me, smiling shyly. Rûdharanion looked surprised to see that the serving-maid would take such a liberty, and he looked equally astonished to see me not only allowing but welcoming such presumption. I tried not to smirk at the emotions I could see wrestling behind his eyes: at first distaste, then puzzlement, then a vague amusement, as though he had mulled it over and decided the matter was rather charming after all. Or at least, he had better think so, if he wanted my assistance and cooperation with his epic.

"Tilwen writes some poetry also," Lady Celebrían spoke up with obvious pride and fondness, at which Tilwen blushed delightfully. "She wrote a very lovely piece that she recited at her wedding recently—you may have heard about that, and everyone loved it. Even I was surprised; it brought tears to my eyes. I think she has a great deal of potential. Perhaps she could sit in on the lessons too?"

I smiled a little, reached over and took Tilwen's hand and pressed it. Rûdharanion looked taken aback.

"So you were wedded recently?" he said, looking at her, then at me, then at her again. Surely not…?

"Oh yes," she said radiantly—even her gown glowed, it seemed. "About two and a half weeks ago. I wish my groom were here to meet you, but he gives sparring-lessons to young lads, and has two of them today. Perhaps he will drop by later this evening if he gets finished in time."

I grinned to myself. I could just imagine what Galendur thought of the idea of meeting a great epic poet.

"Ah," Rûdharanion looked relieved to know that someone else was the lucky groom, yet a little disappointed that there was one, "let me offer my congratulations, then, my dear. It may surprise you that I have never known wedded bliss, myself, although I came close a time or two. But as for poetry…well, yes, I have heard a bit of verse written by ladies here and there, and very pretty stuff some of it. However, quite frankly, I truly do not believe that members of the fair sex are capable of turning out works of any real consequence, and would do much better to devote themselves to the work they were originally fashioned for. Not that there is any harm in turning out occasional trifles as a pleasant diversion, but—"

Can you believe the nerve of him?! I could feel my face literally burning. I glanced at Tilwen and saw her sitting stunned, her cheeks flushing, then tears starting in her eyes...and that did it for me.

"Sir," I stood up, my fists clenched beside me, "how dare you speak so insultingly to a young lady? If I were lord of the manor, I would ask you to leave—and if I were big enough, I would toss you out myself!"

Everyone gasped. Rûdharanion flushed and then paled. Ai...he had done it now, I could almost hear him thinking. So much for his epic.

"But...but I meant no offense," he stammered. "Truly. I am most fond of ladies and have the utmost respect for them, and have gone to battle in their honor many a time. I would never dream of deliberately insulting even the most lowly of them, and I greatly apologize if I have inadvertently done so. If you would please allow me to make it up to her..."

"I?" I actually laughed. "Why do you speak of her as if she isn't here? She is a guest in this house and my friend. If you have things to say to her, then say them to her. But I think you would do better to leave right now. I assure you, if her bridegroom were here now, he would take his sword and slice the fine garments off your body, exposing you before all!"

"And if I had my blade with me now, I would do likewise," he spoke up, jumping up to stand beside me. "Now see here, my friend, if you've as much regard for the fair sex as you claim, you'll take yourself off this minute, and NOT steal any more such glances toward any of the ladies of this house as I've seen you dealing out. I may be old, but I'm neither blind nor stupid, my fine fellow, and I've seen more respect for ladies out of a drunken hyena!"

In spite of my outrage I had to smile. Bilbo was wound up now. This was his chance to make a Speech, and leave it to him to make it a good rousing one—even if the only place he had ever seen a hyena was in Lord Elrond's books. Poor Rûdharanion could only stand there, taking it. It scarcely needed a blade to bring him low now. I could see Gandalf trying hard to suppress loud laughter as he came forward to our guest of honor.

"Come, I think I had better show you to the door," he said, "while there's still anything left of you. I've a feeling if I don't get you away from here, Sauron will not be the only one almost literally embarrassed to death by hobbits."

"So…this means you will not help me with the epic?" Rûdharanion looked pleadingly at me.

I was rather relieved to see Gandalf escorting him out the front door, even as he looked back and stammered out another apology to me and Tilwen, who looked more composed now. Lord Elrond apologized to us both also, and I told him there was no need. Tilwen smiled gratefully at me and Bilbo.

"But please tell Galendur nothing of this," she pleaded. "He'll just go out and make a big scene, and stir up a lot of unpleasantness, or end up making a fool of himself. I'd rather he just didn't know anything about it. And he's right, you know—Rûdharanion, I mean. My poetry isn't very good. And it's certainly no great calling for me; it IS just a pleasant diversion, and of no consequence."

"So it is with me," I said. "If I had a great calling, it has been fulfilled, and nothing is left to me now but pleasant diversions. At least, as far as I can see."

A couple of days later, Elrond told me another great poet wished to meet me. The one known as Dûndeloth. I had not even been aware that he was still living. And he was a far greater poet than Rûdharanion had ever even dreamt of being.

I have a confession to make. I did not say “When balrogs go ice-skating” or whatever I told you I said. That’s just what I wished I’d said. What I actually said was “I’m afraid not” in my most icy withering tones. Whether or not he stayed withered, I don’t know, for he seems to have disappeared.

Lady Galadriel threw a fit when she found out what happened. She wasn’t there that night; she was in the City on some official business—did I tell you she is to be crowned Queen? And it turns out she has met the great one before on more than one occasion and was, ahem, slightly less than enchanted with him. Lady Galadriel in a fit is truly something to see. I almost expected her to bring down thunder and lightning all around her! Truly she is every inch a queen. Dûndeloth told us Rûdharanion would never have dared take such a patronising attitude toward us if she had been there, for he is terrified of her. When Dûndeloth told us about that I positively could not stop laughing! Even Bilbo looked slightly alarmed then.

“Why’s he terrified of her?” he asked, when I finally showed signs of calming down. “Did he ogle her daughter once too often and so she put ass’s ears and a pig’s tail on him? I'd have given half my fortune to see that.”

“I don’t know precisely,” Dûndeloth chuckled. “Perhaps he heard some wild stories and supposed them true. Then again, maybe it’s her very presence. That gaze of hers can be quite intimidating if one has dark corners that fear the brightness.”

Yes, I remember that well. Yet somehow, for all my own dark corners, I have never found her intimidating. On the contrary, the greater my darkness becomes, the more I seek her light. And why should Rûdharanion fear it? He is flawed, certainly, but evil?

“Well, for someone who delights to sing the praises of heroes and their brave deeds and so on, he’s not the bravest of souls himself, is he?” Bilbo sniffed. “I should have delivered a good swift kick to his shins. Or some other part of his anatomy. I think I would have, if Gandalf hadn’t whisked him out.”

“You would probably have broken a few toes, uncle,” I said smiling, giving him a little nudge with my elbow. “I think that’s why Gandalf saw fit to usher him out so quickly. He feared you’d end up doing far more damage to yourself than to him.”

When Lord Elrond informed me that Dûndeloth wished to meet me, you may imagine I was feeling some trepidation. Dûndeloth had told Lord Elrond that Rûdharanion had spoken of his meeting with me to some colleagues, claiming that I was “impertinent” and had let my “success” go to my head. Sam, if you could only have seen the look on Bilbo’s face! “Priceless” doesn’t even begin to describe it. Dûndeloth said that was when he decided he must meet me.

“Does he wish to write an epic about me also?” I asked Lord Elrond. “I sincerely hope not. The last thing I wish to be is a bone of contention between two rival poets!”

“He did not say,” Elrond said, “but I think not, or he would have told me immediately. When he wrote his great work of the battle with Sauron’s forces, he did not ask me for my side of it. Yet somehow I found myself telling him of my struggle with Isildur at Mt. Doom. I told him all, of my failure to make the King yield up the Ring, and asked if he would put that in his epic. He said not unless I insisted upon it, and I asked him not to change the facts. If you’ve ever read Rûdharanion’s version of the story, you may remember he had Isildur fall nobly in battle rather than ignominiously slain by orcs—among other discrepancies. There was even some romance about an Elf-maiden who supposedly was betrothed to Sauron but fell in love with Isildur, and died protecting him on the battle-field. And he left out the part about Mt. Doom completely.”

“Yes, I noted that when I was reading it,” I said, “and found it disturbing. But I supposed that whoever commissioned him to write it insisted upon it, or something.”

“That may well be, but he prided himself on writing a version of the story that, as he put it, ‘would not offend the gentler sensibilities of the more civilized folk of the present age.’ Dûndeloth was never one to tamper with the truth, and he took great exception to Rûdharanion’s version, even while praising the lyricism of his verse, and Rûdharanion accused him of lacking ‘sensitivity’ or some such nonsense. I think Dûndeloth would have declined the commission rather than change the facts to suit someone else. Therefore, I believe he has absolutely no designs and truly wishes to meet you for your sake, and not for his own selfish glorification.”

“Please tell him,” I said smiling, “that I would be delighted to meet him, and so would Bilbo.”

Dûndeloth is not so tall as Rûdharanion, but every bit as imposing, and he uses his imposingness in a far less intrusive way. His eyes are dark and remote until they focus on you, and then they are seemingly not far above you at all, but on your level without being so, as the stars, distant and yet somehow inviting you into their glory. His attitude toward the Ladies—of all classes—would fairly bring tears to your eyes. Only a dolt like Rûdharanion would ever accuse him of lacking sensitivity!

But Dûndeloth says very little more of him to us, and nothing disparaging. Within an hour we feel as though we had known him a long time.

“So tell me,” he says to Bilbo at one point, with twinkling eyes, “has this nephew of yours no faults at all?”

For Bilbo has been blathering on about me at length—sometimes I think he just loves to watch me squirm—and perhaps Dûndeloth is beginning to have doubts…or perhaps he just thoroughly enjoys our connection and wishes to be part of it.

“Well,” Bilbo wrinkles his forehead, seeming not at all surprised by the question, “apart from stubbornness, which is a Baggins trait and therefore is not entirely his fault, and I might say it even worked to his advantage on the Quest…well…” he wrinkles his brow even more, until I think his face will disappear entirely— “…sometimes he falls asleep in the sun, and must be moved into the shade. I can’t seem to break him of that, and he burns so easily. But apart from that, no—he has no faults.”

Dûndeloth laughs heartily, as do the others, and I chuckle almost gratefully. Then Dûndeloth looks to me and says, “And what of your uncle, Iorhael? Is he nearly faultless, as well?”

“Well, apart from stubbornness…” I refrain from looking straight at Bilbo, who looks abashed at the moment, “…which is a Baggins trait and so on, well, often when he has finished looking at a map, he does not fold it the same way that he unfolded it. It’s hard to describe exactly, but it can be a bit…distracting. Apart from that, no, he has no faults either.”

More laughter, save from Bilbo, who looks at me in puzzlement. There is more conversation, some recitation, some tasty delights that Tilwen brings on a tray, until Gandalf notes that Bilbo seems to be getting sleepy. So Dûndeloth takes his leave, saying how honored he is to have met us, and when he comes to Tilwen he tells her that her wedding poem touched him deeply.

Much later, as we are getting ready to retire for the night, Bilbo asks me, “Do I really do that?”

“Do what, uncle mine?” I am feeling light-headed and a bit silly, as though I’d had too much to drink, although I have had only one glass. I loosen my cravat and fling it toward the back of a chair with a dramatic motion, and end up hurling it into the fountain instead.

“That with the maps,” Bilbo says with a glance toward my desk, on which lies one of the parchments in question.

“No, uncle, you don’t,” I say. “I was having you on. I assure you, that you have never folded a map incorrectly in your whole life. And even if you did do so, I would live with it somehow.”

“Now you surely don’t think you can pull your old uncle’s leg?” He shakes a bony finger at me. Yes, I’m in for it now. “If something I do bothers you, my lad, then out with it! Don’t humor me along like some old mother hen.”

I sigh as I unbutton my shirt. I think the really irksome thing to me is Bilbo’s whole preoccupation with maps. Where could he possibly go from here? Except…perhaps, deep down there is the feeling that he is unconsciously getting ready to leave this world, and what will I do then?

“I just didn’t want to tell your real faults in front of him,” I say. “Even though I suppose you wouldn’t have hesitated to tell mine, if he had pressed you hard enough.”

“Hah! What real faults?” he says, drawing his white eyebrows almost together over his nose.

“Well…for instance…you’re hot-headed,” I say, sitting down hard on a chair, knocking a few papers to the floor as I gesture toward my desk with one hand. “You, you fly into rages. You snore. You slip off without telling anyone. You do things other people don’t do…just because others don’t do them. You…you exaggerate, when you tell your stories, you embroider, you, you listen in on things that aren’t your business, you eavesdrop….”

“Well, you—“ he points a finger at me—“you’re vain, that’s what you are. You’ve always got your nose to that dratted mirror these days. ‘Modest and unassuming,’ hah! You’re about as, as modest and unassuming as that blasted rackety pea-fowl out there, you are. He’s going to end up in the middle of somebody’s dinner-table one of these fine days!”

I glance at the floor. It’s true I’ve been looking into the mirror a good deal lately, but I don’t think it’s vanity. I think it’s more an attempt to become reacquainted with myself. To try and reconcile the being I was when I first came here with the image that looks back at me now, to search for any signs of accusations, for the being trapped deep inside, for the light I’m told illuminates me but which I never can see myself, for the door to open to allow that light to escape until the reflection and I change places and my own light and the Great Light are one.

“Well,” I say, “at least, I’ll never allow myself to become a preening fop like you. You may not have whole rooms full of clothes any more, but deep down, you’re still the dandy you always were, and always will be.” I turn and stare at my uncle in mock derision, which fazes him not in the slightest.

“Piffle,” he says. “Let me tell you something, my charming lad, I wasn’t so bad to look at in my younger days, either. Never so pretty as you, perhaps, but I turned a few heads in my day. You needn’t think you got all the looks in the family.”

“Well, even if I did, they wouldn’t do me much good here,” I say. Ah, I shouldn’t have said that, but it’s out now. “I wouldn’t call myself vain. I’m not amiss for a hobbit, I suppose, but by Elf standards, I can’t be so much to look at.”

“Hah! You can hold your own with any of ’em,” my uncle says warmly. “Your head just doesn’t come so high up as theirs, is all.”

“True. It doesn’t.” I hope I don’t sound sad. Strange, how much depends on height.

“But you stand taller than all of ’em put together,” he says taking my incomplete hand.

“If someone would just tell that to the Ladies,” I say softly. Yes, I’ve had more than one glass. My tongue would not be so loose otherwise.

Bilbo caresses my hand, saying nothing. Sometimes I think he knows more than he’s letting on. Sometimes I think he didn’t marry for the very same reason I didn’t. He told me it was because of a broken heart, but I think there’s more to it.

“But do you know what?” I say with a bit of a smile after a moment. “Little Lyrien offered to marry me the other day. She said she didn’t care if she was taller than I when she grew up, she’d rather marry me than anybody else on the Island. She said she’d do it right now if her mummy would let her. I hadn’t the heart to tell her that by the time she was old enough to marry, I wouldn’t be around any more.”

“She’ll have to knock ’em off her with a stick one of these days,” Bilbo chuckles softly. “That one’s got a pair of eyes that could melt diamonds.”

I nod, then bend down to pick something off the floor. It’s one of Bilbo’s maps, that I knocked off the desk. He takes it and looks at it, then holds it out to me.

“Do me a favor and chuck it into the fireplace, my lad,” he says a little sadly. “What in blazes do I need with a map now? I’m quite content right here with you, and even if I weren’t, where could I possibly go? Except…”

“Now Bilbo dear,” I say, “you should know by now that I’m no good at chucking things into the fire. Here, let me fold it for you…just watch and I’ll show you the right way.”

I fold it carefully, almost tenderly, and lay it in the drawer where his other papers are kept. Then I kiss him on the head and lay my cheek against his white curls for a moment.

"I've another fault," I confess as I help him into his nightshirt. "Sometimes I tell people I said things I really didn't. I embroider, too. But I guess that's your fault; I get it from you."

"We don't tamper with the truth though, do we?" I say. "Not deep down. We don't destroy the true, fundamental essence of it."

I was talking with Lyrien yesterday, after dinner—Bilbo, Gandalf and I went to dinner over at her parents'. It's a rather small house, so it was just nine of us—me, Bilbo, Gandalf, Tilwen, Galendur, Tilwen's and Niniel's mother Donnoviel (of the flaming locks), and of course Seragon and Niniel, with Lyrien.

After dinner, Seragon's cousin Lalaith, her husband Leandros and their two children dropped over to visit. After Lalaith finally took Marílen and Dínlad home, Lyrien plopped down beside me and Bilbo and offered to teach us a game she liked, played with a tiny rubber ball and a handful of pebbles. You toss the pebbles onto the floor, bounce the ball and try to pick up a certain number of the pebbles and then catch the ball before it can bounce again. But if you move one of the other pebbles, your opponent gets a turn. Bilbo declined, saying he hadn't either the agility or the brains any more to catch on, and said with a wink that he'd watch to make sure nobody pulled a fast one.

Seragon teaches at the college also, something called Logic, which is the art of reasoning, and also something called Ethics, which is about Right and Wrong. Sam, you never studied either, and yet I think you know all you ever needed to know about both! Seragon is a solemn and serious fellow—sometimes a little too serious, and Galendur and I are known to laugh behind his back about it. Which is very bad of us, and I really like and respect Seragon, but sometimes it's just impossible not to have a little fun at his expense. And if they laugh about me behind my back, well, it's as much as I deserve!

Niniel is quite different from her husband, very given to laughter, unlike her namesake of old, which does the heart good to hear, and I have seen her get down on the floor with Lyrien and tickle and cuddle with her on the rug like a child playing with a puppy, both squealing with laughter. Still, she and Seragon make an endearing couple, the closest to hobbits as I've seen here yet. You might expect them to talk of commonplace matters when they are with their friends or relations of an evening—the children's doings, the price of potatoes, who's getting married or who got jilted, how is so-and-so's mother coming along after her bout with pneumonia, and so forth. But naught of the sort. They all discuss the mysteries of the Universe, of Illuvatar, of Right and Wrong, of The True Meaning of Existence, of things so cosmic in their scope, with such great earnestness, I can scarcely understand half of it. It's quite interesting, but sooner or later it gets a little too deep, and as the subject tonight seemed to be The Nature of Evil, I decided I would rather be playing jack-stones on the floor with Lyrien.

"Did you know," she said, as she surrendered the ball to me, "that when Dínlad plays with his friends, he always plays an orc?"

Marílen is older than Lyrien—she's a bit taller than I—and Dínlad is about that much older than his sister. I remember well my first meeting with him. He'd taken a wide-legged stance with his hands on his hips, looking me over with a narrow-eyed stare.

"Why don't you shave your feet?" was one of the questions he fired at me, along with "Did Gollum eat your finger? I wouldn't have let him eat mine. I'd have socked him on the nose." At the last he said with his head cocked back officiously, "If I were you, I'd ask Lord Elrond to make you taller. You're going to feel awfully funny running around here, being shorter than babies all the time."

"He thinks he knows everything," Lyrien whispered to me afterward, "but he doesn't really."

And Marílen said, "I'm going to tell Daddy he was rude. And I don't think you need to shave your feet."

"He calls himself 'Bâztakh the Pillager'," Lyrien told me as I tried to figure how to pick up three pebbles at a time with a four-fingered hand. "You should see the orc mask he made. It's horrible. If I was his mummy, I wouldn't let him."

"Nor would I," I said gravely. "What do you like to play? Besides jack-stones." I really didn't want to dwell on the subject of orcs.

"Lúthien. She's my favorite," Lyrien said with an excited little wriggle. "Do you know of her?"

"Yes. I always loved that story too," I said smiling. "You do know that Lady Elwing is her granddaughter?"

"It is indeed. I still can't take it in that I live in the same house with her now. If anyone had ever told me that would happen someday, I would have said they were completely daft."

"But do you know what?" she said, moving a little closer to me and lowering her voice as though about to tell me a secret. "Yesterday, we played you."

"Me?" I jumped a little inside, and missed the ball, which thumped me on the nose. But Lyrien said I could keep my turn, because it was her fault for startling me. Instinctively I looked up at Bilbo in the chair in front of us to see what he thought of all this, but he had dropped off to sleep.

"His daddy was burning some trash in the yard, and we pretended that was Mt. Doom," she said. "Well, it was just a big pile of ashes, of course. They wouldn't have let us play on it if it was still on fire. But there was smoke coming from it, and it was on something like a little hill. Dínlad didn't bite my finger though, 'cause we changed the story a little. Instead of biting your finger off, Gollum grabs the Ring from you and jumps in the fire with it."

"Good heavens!" I slapped my forehead—I don't know why, I never do that. "Why in Arda did you have it like that?"

"Well, because," she took the ball as I missed it once more, and handed it to her, and her petal-soft fingers lingered on mine for a moment, "because Olórin told us that you showed mercy on Gollum when you could have killed him and nobody would blame you for it. And so, and so I thought if you showed him mercy, then he would have loved you. Dínlad wouldn't play it like that though, 'cause that way he wouldn't get to bite me, so we made Tashi [the dog] play Gollum. Auntie Lalaith gave us a piece of gold braid to make the Ring with. I had to throw it to Tashi, 'cause of course he wouldn't just come and grab it, and I think he ate it. Uncle Galendur said we should have rubbed some gravy on it, then I wouldn't have had to throw it to him. But he did jump in the pile of ashes and roll around. He made an awful mess."

"Marílen yelled at me when she was taking me on her back," Lyrien continued, giggling. I wished I could have taken her with me to the House of Healing. That giggle alone would have done the wounded a world of good. "That's because I pulled her hair, but I couldn't help it, her hair is so long. I guess Sam never yelled at you, did he?"

"Sam would not have complained if I had pulled his hair out by the roots, I'm sure," I said softly. "It's well that she played Sam though, because I doubt you could have lifted her."

"Marílen loves Sam," Lyrien said as she pushed the pebbles back to me for my turn. "So do I, but I'd rather play you. Do you mind that we changed the story?"

"Not at all, so long as you did not change the truth of it. And I think you did not."

"No...but...well, it's hard to explain. I would not have wanted you to change it so that I threw the Ring in, or that Sam got it from me and threw it in, or...or something like that. Those would have been bad changes. To have Gollum grab it and jump in...well, that's not such a bad change. At least, not if it's just a game. You didn't destroy the fundamental truth of the story, the way...some people would have, if they had made bad changes. They would have made it a lie. I don't know if you understand that now, but maybe you will someday."

Perhaps she would understand sooner, I thought, living with Seragon and Niniel, and the rest. Perhaps some evening she would lead a discussion on The Nature of Truth.

"I would make a Sam-doll to go with him," she said. "I'm going to make one for Marílen too. I guess Sam's hair isn't the color of Marílen's, is it?"

"Not even close. It's like...like Tashi's. Only I don't suppose Tashi would like you clipping his fur," I chuckled. "But I would love to have a Sam-doll, and I know Frodo-doll would too."

"Tashi let me and Marílen make him some braids once," she giggled. "But Sam's hair is squiggly like yours, isn't it? I don't know if we could squiggle Tashi's. But maybe my mummy could. Does Sam have blue eyes like yours?"

"Does she?" Leave it to a woman, I thought with a grin. "I always thought they were a lovely ambery brown, like dark cider when the sun shines through. But I guess your mum knows better than I do."

So now I've a Sam-doll. Tashi didn't have to give up any of his fur for the hair; Niniel, being a most clever seamstress, had some lamb's wool which she dyed with something called henna, so that the color is very similar to yours. I must admit Frodo-doll looks much happier with Sam-doll sitting by his side on the bed-table!

I kept something from you again. And I think it’s getting to the point where you know if I am keeping something from you. And Sam-doll is looking at me a bit reproachfully, or so it seems, and Frodo-doll looks guilty.

After we finished playing jack-stones that night, and Niniel started to hint that it was getting on for someone’s bed-time, Lyrien looked at me with a great and lovely earnestness—truly, elf-children are beautiful enough to pierce the heart, and I’m sure their parents are thankful to be living in a place where evil cannot intrude itself—and suddenly, out of nowhere, she asked me, “Iorhael--if you could go back to the Shire now, would you?”

Well! I was rendered speechless, and Niniel gave her a look of great dismay, but she couldn’t very well say, “You were not supposed to ask him that!” because obviously it had never occurred to her to tell her not to. Surely she had never sat down with her child saying, “Now you must not ask him this, or that, or that or that....” although she had, at one time or another, said, “It seems your question-box has turned over, little one!”

“Would you?” the sweet one persisted. And Niniel said, “That’s enough, Lyrien. Come to bed now.” And Lyrien said pleadingly, “Would you leave here if you could never come back?”

“I would go back on a long visit,” I said when I could get my bearings. “A very long visit. For a year, maybe more. But I would come back here.”

“Lyrien, that’s enough,” her mum insisted. “Now come on and let’s get ready for bed. Iorhael will come and bid you good-night when you are ready.”

I looked around at the others. Bilbo had awakened—I shouldn’t wonder if he had been only pretending to sleep, and had been chuckling to himself over our conversation the whole time…not that it was necessary for him to eavesdrop. Galendur and Tilwen were nowhere in sight. I’ve a feeling Galendur had gotten bored early on with the weighty conversation and had slipped out with his bride for...ahem...a breath of fresh night air, and would probably be back sooner or later. Donnoviel was still there; she really gets into these discussions, and she and Seragon get on very well most of the time, although their views differ in some ways. It quite tickles me sometimes to see how he and his mother-in-law get into these profound debates on the Purpose of Being or Artistic Integrity, or some such. His own mother doesn’t like Donnoviel very much, says she’s “temperamental” and “opinionated” and much too fond of “worrying a subject to pieces like a dog with a ham-bone.” I must admit I wouldn’t like to have Donnoviel angry with me, and I certainly wouldn’t want to get into an argument with her. I’m sure she would lay me out flat, at least, if Tilwen weren’t there to take my part. Galendur says she's starting to take to him, but I've a feeling he's just the slightest bit afraid of her, which I find hilarious.

Seragon, looking apologetic, said I need not answer his daughter’s question if I didn’t want to. I smiled a little and said I did not mind at all.

But I still didn’t know how to answer. After about a quarter of an hour Niniel emerged saying that Lyrien was in bed and I could go say good-night, but she also said I didn’t have to answer her question and she had told her not to press me about it. I went into the bedroom where she was tucked in...and saw what I didn’t know before: that she, too, has a Frodo-doll—of her own making also, as I can tell by the work.

Her room is tidy and dainty, with a white lace curtain at the window, which is large and arched, and honeysuckles grow all over the lattice. Her white coverlet and pillow-sham are embroidered with blue morning-glories and butterflies and trimmed with a lace edging, the head and foot-boards carved with exquisite care into the shape of a large white butterfly. A rug worked in blue and yellow and pink lies beside the bed. What a world of love and delight has gone into the fashioning of this little bower!

I bent and kissed her lightly on the lips, brushing back a lock of her hair saying, “Good-night, sweet one and thank you for a lovely time tonight. And I would never leave here if there were no chance of ever seeing my Lyrien again.” And she smiled and threw her arms around my neck and squeezed me tightly.

“You hugged me so hard,” I said smiling through the tears, “that it made the water come out.”

“Squeeze as hard as you like,” I said pinching her chin. “It doesn’t hurt for the water to come out. And that way, I won’t have to visit the privy so often.”

She giggled uproariously, and hugged me again, and I was immensely relieved and gladdened. But I thought about what she had asked me all the way home. Would I come back to the Shire if it were allowed me? For yes, I love this place, and I have not even seen it all yet. I’m told there is a house being prepared for me—a friend of Dûndeloth’s is donating a cottage to me and Bilbo, which he says will be ours for as long as we live here, and promises us that we will simply love the setting. He says it’s the most beautiful spot on the Island and will take us to see it soon if we like.

Yes, Sam, I love it here. I love it and love it. There is something about this place that works its way into your bones and will not let go. It’s as when I was so sick as a boy and had a glimpse of the Other Side, with my parents looking right at me, and I so did not want to go back...yes, it’s a little like that. More than a little. Sam, I do miss you so, and wish every day and every minute that you were here, along with Rosie and the little ones...and yet, it would shatter my heart to leave here. I don’t remember if I ever told you this or not, but I started dreaming of this place before the Quest was even begun. I don’t know why. I suppose it was my destiny. And after it was begun, dreams of it sustained me through some of the worst parts. There is no denying it: this is my true home, and somehow, it always has been.

Why hear I this ceaseless singing
Vast music fair and terrible as the sun
Ending my feeble life before it has begun
Joy and woe in equal measure bringing
Treasures at my feet the waves are flinging
The westering sky with the finest banners ever spun....

And now I am wondering if I should even be saying all this to you, if I should be talking to you like this at all. I wonder if I am not disrupting your life, keeping you from being one and whole as I wished. I think it was a comfort for you at the first, to know I would be all right and well and happy, but now I wonder if I am making you sad, or too backward-looking when you should be looking forward always…or something. If you do not wish me to do this, please give me some sign. I would give up our connection for you, even if it means losing the comfort and joy these nightly sessions give me. Your happiness and well-being are my only care. I will take my comfort in my friends here and in the beauty of the Island, in my new-found faith, in my memories of the Shire, and most of all in the hope of meeting you again someday, if not here, then on the Other Side. I will be forward-looking as well. I can do as much for your sake. I know not what lies in store for me here; I only know that I want to embrace it all, whatever it may be.....

It was about 3 weeks ago or more. But this morning Tilwen burst in seeming quite upset as she brought me and Bilbo our breakfast on the terrace.

“I did something really stupid yesterday,” she sighed. “Have either of you seen Galendur today?”

“Well…I was at Lalaith’s yesterday, with Niniel—she brought Lyrien over to play with Marilen and Dínlad. Mother didn’t come with us, she was visiting some friends in town. Well, Niniel and Lalaith were telling some funny stories on their children, and I don’t have any yet, of course, so I was feeling just a tiny bit left out? And so—and so I told them what happened that night, with that Rûdharanion fellow. I thought they might find it amusing. Really, it’s just not so upsetting to me any more. I look back on it and laugh, especially when I remember his face when the two of you pitched into him! And when I think how kind and helpful Dûndeloth has been to me and everything. And Niniel did find it amusing. Lalaith liked it too, well, she didn’t laugh out loud, but you know how she is?”

Yes, I know well enough. Lalaith, although her name means “laughter” is not given much to it—she is a solemn sort, not gloomy exactly, just, well, solemn. Runs in her family, I suppose. She always gives me the impression she is about to pray, or make some profound philosophical utterance, when what comes out is “Supper is almost ready, go and wash up now” or “Dínlad, don’t let that dog in, I just mopped the floor!” Leandros, her husband, is of a cheerier nature. He likes to sing and fish and build furniture—for that’s what he is, a carpenter. And a very fine carpenter, too.

“Well,” Tilwen said, “I told them I didn’t want Galendur to know about it because he’d just make a horrid big to-do and go out and do something dreadfully foolish, and they agreed that it would not be a good idea to tell him. And Niniel said we’d better not let Mother know either—oh, she would turn him upside down and inside out…”

“Now THAT I would like to see!” Bilbo popped his palm with his fist. “She’d have made pudding out of him. You should have told her right away, my lass. A girl’s best friend is her mother, after all.”

“Bilbo,” I chided him, then laughed a little. “And Galendur heard about it?”

“That little stinker of a Dínlad heard everything!” exclaimed Tilwen, sitting down hard on a chair. “We were sitting out on the back porch watching the children and chatting and drinking tea…unaware that the little monster was hiding in the bushes nearby, listening! I suppose he was angry because his father and uncle went fishing yesterday and didn’t take him like they promised, because he’d been very naughty the day before and was being punished. The girls wouldn’t play with him either, because he ‘tried to boss them,’ they said. And he wasn’t allowed to go play with his friends. So there we were with an angry little boy with nothing better to do than skulk about spying on his elders. Galendur came over later in the evening to bring me home and Dínlad got to him first and told him all before we even knew he was here. Of course he had to be the first to relay the news—doesn’t he always? I hope Leandros takes a switch to that little monkey! Well, of course Galendur was furious, and I had to explain why I hadn’t told him and all that…and he demanded to know where Rûdharanion lived and I said I didn’t know, which is the truth, and he said he’d find out. And now he’s gone off looking for him, and NOW what am I going to do?”

“Why do anything?” Bilbo said. “Galendur will let him have it, and so he’ll get what’s coming to him and we’ll all live happily ever after. What’s the problem there? That fellow needs a good lesson or two, and Galendur is just the one to instruct him. I only wish I could be there to see it.”

“Oh but you don’t know his temper,” Tilwen sighed. “What if…what if he …you know? I mean—this isn’t Middle-earth, you know. There’s never been a murder on the Island. The consequences could be unthinkable. Iorhael, couldn’t you talk some sense into him? He really respects your opinion.”

“I don’t know where he is either,” Tilwen said, lowering her voice. “But I expect him to show up here sooner or later. I’d better go back into the house. He may be lurking about, waiting for me to go inside so he can try to get it out of you where Rûdharanion lives and all.”

“He won’t get much, for I haven’t the slightest idea myself,” I said. “But if he turns up, I’ll do the best I can.”

“I KNEW you’d come through for me—again,” she cried, springing to her feet and giving me and Bilbo both a peck on top of the head. “You have my eternal gratitude.”

I wondered if my expression looked as silly as Bilbo’s when we looked at each other as she skipped into the house.

“So he’s disappeared, has he?” Bilbo said. “Brave soul, what? Wonder where in blazes he could have got off to? Not very far, I should think.”

“I heard from Dûndeloth some time ago that he had disappeared,” I said thoughtfully. “But I would have thought he’d supposed himself out of danger by now and gone home. To be truthful, and I know how daft this must sound, I’m a little worried about him. He must think the whole Island has heard about the incident by now and hates him heartily. I hope he hasn’t done anything really…desperate.”

“Uncle, you don’t really mean that,” I was shocked, I must admit. He shrugged without looking at me. We finished our breakfast and I gathered up the dishes and loaded them onto the tray and took it to the kitchen to save Tilwen a trip. Then I went into the library to do some studying for a while and wait for Dûndeloth.

He comes three times a week to give Tilwen and me our lessons. Sometimes Bilbo sits in on them, and seems very flattered when Dûndeloth asks for his opinion on something. We have them in the library mostly, but sometimes he takes us for a little walk or ride instead, pointing out ordinary objects and instructing us to write a verse about them. Or sometimes he will give us a word and have us write a short poem about it. Recently the word was “thirst” and as I thought of it, I suddenly broke into tears, much to my embarrassment. Til put her arms about me, which was very nice, but it was several minutes before I could stop. Dûndeloth asked if he should give a different word instead, but I murmured that I could use this one. Here is some of what I wrote—not one of my best, but I thought you might like to see it:

You gave the water to me
And within you grew a tree
Upon it no rain fell
And yet it blossomed still
And cradled me as a nest
Of sparrows that forgot the taste
Of hope, but of love never
That fruit your tree bore ever….

Dûndeloth approved highly of my use of water as a metaphor for hope. Tilwen’s went more like this:

I thirst for your love
let it fall
as rain from above
until I am all
as drenched as flowers
after a storm
of summer showers
gracious and warm…

Dûndeloth wishes to give a reading soon, but to my vast relief, he does not expect us to read our poetry in front of the audience—he will do that. He has a wonderful speaking-voice, and I can hardly tell you how thrilling it is to think of him reading my work. He read the ones he chose to all in the house of Elrond the other night, as a trial. He read three of mine, with my approval—one of them being “The Sea-bell”, to my surprise. I was also surprised when he chose one of Tilwen’s that I didn’t even know she had written—she usually shows her poems to me first, asking for my opinion or suggestions. Hers are mostly about love, and her bridegroom figures in nearly all of them, but this particular one was a story in verse about how Lady Celebrian saved her mother’s life after a boating accident long ago, which was how Tilwen came to be her maid-servant. I already knew she had saved Donnoviel’s life, through her healing knowledge, courage, and quick thinking, but I was greatly surprised and touched that Til had written a poem about it. She said she didn’t show me because she wanted to save it as a surprise. She has come a long way in a short time—and I’d hardly call her work of no consequence!

Sam, this glass is glowing more brightly than usual—do I get a feeling you are proud of your Frodo just now?

After Dûndeloth came and gave us our lesson, during which Bilbo fell asleep, I laid a silky throw over my uncle and went back to the terrace with a book. Dûndeloth has us read a great deal of poetry, telling us to read both the authors we admire most and some of those we don’t. I started on some of the sort I don’t—guess whose among them?—and after a while dozed off only to be awakened by a raucous screech.

“Oh—bollocks!” I heard a voice say, and I chuckled to myself. Only one Elf I know uses that word. I jumped from my chair, retrieved my fallen book, and peered around the hedge to see said Elf on his backside in the garden trying to face down the peacock, who had hopped into a low tree and continued shrieking murderously at him.

“I say, Baggins, how about calling off your dog before he pecks my eyes out,” he called to me as he picked himself up gingerly from a flowering vine and brushed a leaf or two from his fair locks.

I laughed and ran into the garden and spoke soothing words to the bird, who affected an offended stance but ceased his clamoring. Galendur and I quickly repaired to the terrace, he glancing about in a manner that indicated he was trying not to be seen.

“He never did take to me, did he,” he said as we ducked behind a tall hedge.

“Well, if you’d come in through the front like a civilized person, instead of climbing the garden wall like a thief, he’d be far more cordial, I’m sure,” I said dryly. “If you’re trying to hide from Tilwen, I suggest we go elsewhere. She’ll be out with our luncheon sooner or later, judging from the sun’s position.”

“I just saw her go out front, and I think she’s going to market,” Galendur said. “She had a basket on her arm. So we’re all right. I suppose she’s told you about our little row last night?”

“She has,” I said, “and I can tell you right away, I have no idea where the fellow lives, and if I did know, I think I wouldn’t tell. You can ask Dûndeloth if you like, but I doubt he’d be any more forthcoming.”

“If you think I’m going to go roaring out there with my sword and hack him into giblets, that’s where you’re wrong, old chap,” said Galendur, settling himself in my long chair and stretching out his legs. “Tempting as it may be, he’s not worth the consequences, and I’m not as daft as you may think, my friend. There are other ways of dealing with the likes of him, that don’t all involve sharp pointy objects. Although even if he hadn’t insulted Til, I’d feel like taking a blade to him in payment for having had his stuff forced down my throat when I was a small, defenseless schoolboy. Bloody boring rot.”

I chuckled. “He is rather fond of certain metaphors, I must admit. Like ‘the Black Hand of Death.’ He uses that a great deal.”

“That’s the only part I liked,” Galendur said. “So you’d tell me nothing? You’ve no fear of me at all, not that I want you to, understand.”

“Ha! I have more fear of a bunny rabbit,” I laughed out loud. “You may swagger and bluster all you like, but deep down you’re a big softy, and we all know it. No, I promised Tilwen, and I intend to keep that promise.”

“Well, no matter, I can find him on my own, I’m sure. Then we’ll see who’s a bunny rabbit. Will you at least tell me where this Dûndeloth lives? You know that, don’t you?”

I gave him the directions to Dûndeloth’s house. “He’d be greatly pleased at a visit from you, I’m sure,” I said laughing, “after the way you've figured so prominently in Til's poems. But don’t expect him to be too cooperative.”

“I know where Rûdharanion is,” said a soft voice, and we both nearly jumped out of our clothes to see Lady Elwing standing in the library doorway.

I told you, didn’t I, that Lady Elwing is my spiritual counselor? I’m aware that some may smile over my devoutness. Who could not have faith, with so divine a priestess? While others might wonder how I could focus on Ilúvatar when I would far rather be thinking of her. All I can say is, it can be done, from the depths of a patient and thankful heart, and when one has another person to think of and wish to guide into the Light besides oneself.

Still, when Lady Elwing told us Rûdharanion’s whereabouts, my soul balked and shuddered. I was worried about him, true, but when it came to going out to…well. Even if I had liked him, it would still be no trifling matter!

Dûndeloth came in on our conversation—I had thought he’d gone home long before, but he had stayed to talk with Lord Elrond for a while, then come back to the library to retrieve a book he had forgotten and needed for a class he was giving in the afternoon. And a few moments later, who should appear but Tilwen! The basket was a ruse, as it turned out. She was only waiting for Galendur to climb that wall; then she’d doubled back quickly to the house on hearing the peacock's cry, slipped into the library and heard all.

I really wish I could describe Galendur’s expression when she made her sudden appearance!

“It will take the better part of the day to get there,” Lady Elwing said when everyone had settled down sufficiently. Bilbo had awakened and joined us on the terrace, as had Gandalf. “And we shall have to camp out.”

“No need of that,” Dûndeloth said. “There is a village not far from our destination, and my son lives there. He and his wife will be happy to put us up for the night, I am certain.”

“Very well then,” said Lady Elwing happily, “we can start out tomorrow morning then, if no one has any engagements in the next two days. Who will go then?”

I was silent. I felt I should go. But where we were going…well, surely Lady Elwing could do more good than I. She loves everyone, whereas I can’t even bear Rûdharanion; what good could I possibly do him? It wasn’t even necessary for me to go along to keep Galendur out of mischief; he had Elwing and Dûndeloth and Tilwen for that. And I knew from long experience that someone else was much more likely to get you into mischief than you were to keep him out of it!

Sam, you will laugh when I tell you why I decided to go, and even now, I blush to tell you. But, it was the way Lady Elwing and Dûndeloth looked at each other that decided me. They happened to be standing next to each other, a bit of noon-day sunlight peeping down through the vines at them, red and yellow and white rose-trees behind them, and he looked at her—not the way Rûdharanion had, but much as I must have looked at her myself. As if all the dreams of a poet's heart had melded together in the shape of a woman standing suddenly before him. I had been certain her heart was at the bottom of the sea with her lost husband—the legend of his ship and the Evening Star being just that, a legend; no one truly knew what became of him. And Dûndeloth’s heart was in the grave with his lost wife, who had been massacred by orcs along with their newborn child, many years ago. And Elves very rarely re-marry, I know. Then again, buried hearts can be resurrected…can they not? And they looked so beautiful together—Aragorn and Arwen had scarcely looked fairer on their wedding-day than these two Elves, who did not know each other well yet, but had until the end of days to learn.

Yes, I am ridiculous; I know perfectly well she will never care for me that way, and I can live with that, believe it or not. I am as an infatuated school-boy, content to be in the mere presence of his adored one. It is enough just to be able to gaze on her, and have her smile at me even if it is only the smile of a mother or a doting sister, and to be able to do anything in my power to please and help her, and to write odes in secret to her beauty and wisdom and goodness and whisper them only to the colors of the aurora over the garden in the night. Such is the virtue of this place.

And I would begrudge neither her nor Dûndeloth; I wish them joy for all time, these two who have been so undeserving of the pain and loss they have endured, and who should not have to go through all the ages with buried hearts, with only memories of bliss to see them through. But to have that joy flaunted right in front of me, who can never know it in full…well, if only they would wait until I am gone….Yes, Sam, I am selfish as well as absurd. What difference does it make, when I know perfectly well she will never be mine? And how could I possibly prevent them from falling in love merely by going along on this little pilgrimage? It is as with Gandalf and Ríannor, only even more so. I wouldn't have prevented them even if I could have, so why am I so set on going to keep an eye on Elwing and Dûndeloth?

But I resolve to go, nevertheless. Even though the very thought of going there fills me with soul-numbing dread and horror. I just hope and pray that I do not dream of that other place tonight!

Dear Sam, I don't mind telling you that I've put Sam-doll and Frodo-doll between our pillows tonight, and lie on my side looking at them and Bilbo as I dim the light...I think they will keep the evil dreams away! I wrote a new poem a while ago, which I will quote in part--I will not read the entire piece to you, for it may be very upsetting--only this:

and now your winged heart
will bear me aloft
above the foul clouds
of poison and loss
the shadows unspeakable
now are dissolved
such love astounding
I have not deserved
yet still you give it...
but can you replant
what they laid waste
in a matter of minutes?
for your sweet sake
I would renew it
and set down your story
so all might know
but is it beyond
even your skill?
my friend, have you found me
have you truly found me
or is it my doom
to be lost
ever lost
never truly
to go home?*

I apologize for the lack of rhyme but I scribbled it down rather hastily; maybe I can improve it later on....

“Are you sure you want to do this, Baggins?” Galendur asked me next morning as we made ready to set out on our journey. He had assured me he carried no blade, and offered to let me pat him down to make sure. I told him, with mock disgust, that I would take his word for it. “You look a bit…well, peaky, if you know what I mean. You sure you’re up to this?”

Lord Elrond had said I could go, of course. I was half hoping he wouldn’t. But he said I could, as long as I did nothing to exert myself. And no climbing those steps! Of course, I have been allowed to climb the stairs to the second floor for a long time now, so long as I don’t run up them or any such nonsense….

How she knew he was there, I have no clue. Certainly he had not asked her permission to hide out there. I must assume that she just knew, in the way she knows such things.

When she first offered to take me there some weeks ago, I had politely declined. Even in her presence, I did not think I could bring myself to go near it. I must avert my eyes at the sight of the Tower of Avellonë in the City when we go there, and even the bell-towers of the Temple of Ilúvatar make me dizzy if I look too long at them. I have never told her why I have such a horror of towers; I merely let her think I fear heights. But the truth is, I can hardly bear to stand outside of a tower and look at it, even if I do not go inside.

Well, but I have scaled rock formations with Galendur a time or two—not very large ones, it’s true, as I am not allowed so much exertion yet, and he does a good job of looking after me when we go on a jaunt. And I’ve climbed the willow-tree in Lyrien’s back yard in order to help build her a flet. So he knows, surely, that I do not have a terror of heights, although I don’t truly love them, either!

I’m not sure why or how I ended up telling him about the Tower of Cirith Ungol…ah, there, I’ve said the name. Yet I found myself doing so. Tilwen was talking with Lady Elwing, Dûndeloth with Gandalf, who would stay behind with Bilbo to keep him company, as usual. I can swear Galendur turned a little green, saying “Oh, sh--!” You wouldn’t suppose it, but he’s really quite sensitive.

After a few stricken moments, he asked me, “So why are you going? Why put yourself through it? Can you be so worried about the blighter as all that? Come now, even you can’t be that disgusting. Saving the world is one thing, but a twit like Rûdharanion is a nag of a whole different tint.”

“Well, I am worried about him,” I admitted. And it was the truth. “I mean, it’s because of me that he’s there. I’ve ruined his standing at the college, and…”

“Bollocks. I’m sure they all know at the college that he’s full of horse manure…and I doubt they even know what happened, unless young Dínlad hopped on his pony and galloped all over the Island proclaiming it, which somehow I seriously doubt.”

“Still, I’ve ruined him in some way, I’m sure,” I said. “And so it’s up to me to put it right.”

“So. You’re just going to go climbing up there after him, and shake his hand and tell him all is forgiven, and coax him down into the land of the living? Is that what you’re going to do? Really, my friend, you’ll have to pardon me if I somehow don’t see it.”

“Of course not. I’m not that disgusting, thank you very much! Besides, Lord Elrond has forbidden me to climb those stairs. I don’t know what I’m going to do, honestly. I suppose it will come to me when we get there. I just feel I should go, is all. And if I am disgusting, it has worked in my favor in the past...and if I may remind you, my dear friend, in yours also.”

“In that case,” said Dûndeloth, who had walked in on the last of our conversation, “shall we be on our way? With whom do you wish to ride, Iorhael?”

The horses had been brought out, saddled and loaded with some food supplies and a change of clothing for each of us. Lady Elwing had lost her steed a year or so ago and had yet to replace it, so Lady Galadriel lent her Maegfán, her white palfrey. Dûndeloth had a fine chestnut gelding, Tilwen a pretty grey and white pony. And of course, Galendur had his magnificent black stallion, Nightwind. I wished I had brought my pony Strider with me, but I had not been sure he could withstand the journey over the sea.

Judging from the air between them, it was my guess that Galendur and Tilwen had, er, made up rather nicely the previous night! Not that it was preventing her from tagging along to keep an eye on him, or anything….But it would have been rather uncomfortable to have them at daggers drawn with each other the entire trip.

“He’s riding with me,” Galendur said. I smiled gratefully at him. As heavenly as it would have been to ride with Lady Elwing, her body pressed against mine in such a way as it would never be again, I don’t know if I could have kept her from guessing the true nature of my dread, in such proximity. And if she had guessed it, she would have turned right around and taken me back home. But since Galendur knew, there was no need of my keeping anything from him.

And then he swung me up on Nightwind, and it was too late to change my mind about going.

Our journey was uneventful, yet wonderful and terrible too. It was lovely to get to see so much more of the Island. We stopped but a few times, and I wished we could have stopped more.

There is much loveliness along the way: meadows full of poppies, daisies, buttercups, cornflowers, niphredil, anemones, wild lilies, and other flowers whose names I don’t know. And deep fragrant forests in which we see a mother deer with twin fawns, and hear much echoing bird-song, birds of which I’ve never seen the like before, of amazing colors and size. And high mountain paths with breath-taking valleys dotted with cottages and farm-houses and flocks of sheep and silver streams and cataracts. And rock formations of breath-taking variety and loftiness, inhabited by great eagles, which I point out in childish delight. I think there must be a nest atop one of those cliffs. I forget my dread for a while and feel quite merry, and soon Galendur and I begin exchanging stories of devilment we had gotten into as lads, which provoke much laughter, although at one point Tilwen says, “You’d better not ever let Mother hear that one!” I express the opinion that Galendur deserved to have Rûdharanion’s poetry inflicted on him as a boy. He retorts that perhaps we should make Dínlad listen to a few hours’ worth as punishment for snooping and tattling. Then he and I speculate on what should be done with Rûdharanion. Til is talking with Lady Elwing once more, probably telling her that she suspects, wrongly, that there is more in our leather bottles than just plain water.

“I suggest we get you drunk and lock the two of you in a room for a day or two,” I say. I am being completely silly, but the thing is, I feel that if I can keep Galendur in a jolly mood, perhaps he’ll be less hard on Rûdharanion. “See which of you lasts the longest.”

Only recently, I had gone into a tavern with him, where, after a few truly hearty mugs of ale, he started expostulating on his mother-in-law and her fiery locks and sharp tongue, and he actually asked the maid what color hair she preferred for a mate! I'm sure my face was redder than Donnoviel's hair. Then he said (much more loudly than necessary) that women who were too easy were atrociously boring, and that kind used to be all over him like bees to a hive, he couldn’t shake them off no matter how outrageous he became—give him a feisty redhead any day. Then he told another maid that I was a notorious lady-killer and she had better have a care. I was uncertain whether to bounce my tankard off his head or order another drink. He’s a dear when he’s sober, but when he’s had one too many, I swear, I could just string him up!

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be myself,” he says, in response to my suggestion, “unless, perhaps we gagged and bound him. There’s an idea. I say we take turn and about. We lock you up with him afterward and let you disgust him to death.”

The sun is getting more and more westerly, and Dûndeloth says we should be there in another hour or so. We pass a beautiful and very high waterfall, and cross a wide river, and I feel the dread returning, and I grow quiet. I would like to ask if we might stop for a while. And as if he heard what I am thinking, Dûndeloth suggests we stop for a bite to eat before continuing! But I am unable to eat much, and I hope the others don’t notice. I hope I’m not about to be sick. We stretch out for a little nap—we are in a lovely glade, peaceful and shady. I can hear Dûndeloth talking to Lady Elwing—about his son, I think. Galendur and Tilwen have gone off “for a little walk”, being tired of riding.

I light my pipe and think of Dûndeloth’s wife and baby daughter, murdered by orcs in some nearly-forgotten small war, and I wonder. His son might have had a little sister now.

“I pity the orcs,” he told me recently, greatly to my astonishment, when I timidly brought up the matter to him as we were discussing one of his epics in our lesson. “They were made to be evil, damaged beyond recall.”

“But the Dark Lord,” I said, “did he take those Elves by force? They were drawn to him, yes?”

“They were,” he said, “but I believe there is something in all of us that is drawn to the darkness. And I believe many of them were deceived. They were discontent, wanting more power than they possessed or had a right to, and it was promised them.”

I thought of Boromir, drawn to the darkness, seduced, deceived, fallen. He had the chance to redeem himself in battle, however. Had the orcs no chance of redemption? And if they did, would any take it? Not likely, I thought, trying to picture an orc trying to insinuate himself into the good graces of Men or Elves, and meeting only with revulsion and distrust.

“I am sure,” I said, “that if any of them truly longed for goodness, and redemption, and to recover their lost beauty and glory, it would have somehow been offered them. I think, somehow, they fell in love with evil.”

“Perhaps,” he said, looking thoughtfully at me, “it is much harder, nearly impossible, when one has fallen from a very great height, to ascend to it once more. One has broken too many vital parts, and may be too crushed in spirit, and so one may even come to love that which enslaves one. One becomes enamoured and addicted to the unthinkable and exquisite pleasures of evil, of which the unfallen can have very little concept.”

I asked no more on the subject; I knew much more about that than I wished. How could I tell him of the ecstasy that had loomed before me, as I stood at the Crack of Doom? But how could he possibly pity orcs? It was one thing to pity the likes of Gollum, or a shriveled and corrupted Man, but that which had once been an Elf, which cannot fall through weakness, but from an utter wish to turn from the Light and seek his true home and kingdom in the abyss?

When I’ve finished my pipe I lie on my back and gaze up at the sky, trying to think only of the present moment, and soon my eyelids grow heavy. And I am lying in a boat with Sting held to my heart. The boat drifts down a stream of whispering, and I think the voices are saying I am dead, but I cannot open my mouth to protest. He is Mad Baggins’ boy, the one as went into the West, he had cancer and none wanted to know, says one. Another says, He ruint the Shire, let’s chop him up. Changed things, he did. Another says, Leave him be. He disgusts me. Let the river straighten him out. And the river bears me out to the sea, but Sting begins to glow, and I am met by orcs who lift my boat and take me to, to…I reach for Sting but they have taken it…their eyes and teeth are oozing black blood…their fingers half rotted…one has a whip, which is growing from his stomach…a tower looms ahead, it has eyes and teeth, it laughs and growls, it moves, it has no shadow….

how they swarm around me
with their vulture faces
they have taken all
my clothing, my armor
and all that I was
dear friend, where are you
will you come find me
before they do their worst?*

Then a voice is softly calling my name, and I am lying in the arms of Dûndeloth, with Lady Elwing bending anxiously over me, smoothing back my hair, they speak words of softness as parents whose child has awakened in the night, and ask me if I wish to turn back. I say no. I wonder if they know more than they’re telling. Dûndeloth knows something of the Tower, but not the details. I am wondering now if I should ask him to write my story in verse. Perhaps I should ask him, if only to distract him from Lady Elwing for a while…but no, that is a selfish reason, a horrid reason, I shan’t do it. Can’t believe I even thought of that. How is it that luminous eyes, full lips, perfect cheekbones, and cascading hair can put wicked thoughts into a fellow’s head, where once they were pure, just because a third party has hove into sight?

Galendur and Tilwen return, hand in hand, asking if I am all right, and I say cheekily that I’m fine, and even chuckle a bit, and accuse Galendur of slipping something into my pipe-weed to give me nightmares. Not to be outdone, he says it was Tilwen who did so, in order to get the chance to cuddle me, and she stares at him open-mouthed for a second and then hits him, and he laughs. The others laugh also, giving each other a “young folks these days” look. Til is holding a small bunch of wild flowers and she gives me one, kissing my forehead. I kiss her hand and smile. The flower is an anemone, of a lavender-blue color. She gives Lady Elwing a white lily, then we go to round up the horses and set off on the last leg of our journey.

The horses are a beautiful sight, their coats gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight as they crop the grass. They stand about, in proximity to one another in the glade. Tilwen’s grey pony stands next to Maegfán while Nightwind and Dûndeloth’s chestnut gelding stand side by side also, face to face with the females. The males seem to stand as equals, the coal-black stallion in an attitude of affection and respect toward the brown horse, thinking naught the less of him for his smaller size and less impressive speed and power. The pony seems to look up to the white palfrey as she might a mother. And is it my imagination, but does the chestnut gelding look at the snowy mare with a wistful and longing admiration, while she regards him with the sort of affection and tenderness she might bestow on a colt of her own or a younger brother, but no more than that?

At last we are in sight of the Tower. It is late in the day, but still bright. The days last long here.

And there it is before us, the sight I had anticipated all day and all the previous night and day with such loathing and clutching icy dread. Higher than I supposed, built of a plain white stone, overgrown with moss and ivy and a vine with a deep purple flower over which a white butterfly flutters, even so late in the day. There are several windows, pointed at the top, and in one of them I can see a pair of white doves. And far beyond the blue waves roll gently upon the snowy sand and dash passionately against the looming white and grey cliffs, a bank of silvery and pale gold and rosy clouds above.

And I see not a reminder of the day when I had come face to face with pure undiluted evil and learned what it was to be utterly alone and helpless, but simply what is before me: a light-house, alive with wings and history and growth, into which a lost soul has ascended, alone and faltering, seeking the Light.

I hope you don’t mind it if sometimes my poems are a bit grim. They are a far cry from Bilbo’s, I’ll admit! But they are an outlet, and I feel much better after writing them. Dûndeloth himself recommended that I try depicting my worst experiences in verse, and Lord Elrond has approved also. So please don’t be alarmed! I shall write cheerier ones by and by, I know….

To continue: Dûndeloth tells me, Galendur, and Tilwen to stand out of Rûdharanion’s sight until summoned. We dismount and go to stand in a grove of trees on a slope about a hundred feet or so from the tower, while Dûndeloth and Lady Elwing stand outside of the building on opposite sides. I shade my eyes with my hand, since we are facing into the sinking sun, and look up at a window near the top of the tower. I can see Rûdharanion’s head, which appears to be bent over something. I think he is aware that someone has come, but supposes it to be mere passers-by.

“Are you all right now, dear?” Tilwen asks me after a moment, caressing my shoulder. I nod, although I feel a catch in my throat, her tone sounds so like my mother’s. Galendur had told her about the Tower during my nap.

“Hope you don’t mind it awfully,” he said to me as we resumed our journey. “Something came over me, I don’t know what, and it just came out. You’re not angry?”

“Not at all,” I said in some surprise. “I wanted her to know, but didn’t want to have to tell it more than I must. This saves me the trouble.”

“You should have seen her,” he said and I could hear the proud smile in his voice. “I’d hate to be the orc that gets in her way now. Pity she came to the Island when she was only a lass; she’d have made quite the warrioress.”

“Éowyn—she was a princess of Rohan,” I said, surprised. “She slew the Witch-King of Angmar. You’ve not heard tell of her?”

“Nay—she disguised herself as a man and rode into battle in the Field of Pelennor with the Rohirrim. My cousin Meriadoc was with her. The Witch-King it was who dealt me the wound that brought me here. I can scarcely believe you didn’t hear of all that!”

“Old chap, you’ve simply got to have someone write down your entire story someday. It sounds positively corking!”

“Well—yes, it is rather…corking. I wrote it down myself, but left the manuscript behind. But I don’t think I could ever bring myself to write it again.”

“Then have Dûndeloth write it. It’s much too good to miss, and I don’t think anyone else on the Island knows even the half of it. It could well be the best tale that ever came out of Middle-earth. And I’m sure that Dûndeloth chap could at least halfway do it justice, what say?”

Perhaps he is right, I think now as I watch Rûdharanion in the window. Maybe I am being selfish in keeping it to myself, telling only my close friends, and not disclosing all even to them. And Dûndeloth is the only one who could do it justice.

I nod, at Tilwen’s question, although a couple of tears escape my eyes, and I lay my hand over hers. Lady Elwing and Dûndeloth are still standing there, looking upward.

“What is she doing?” Galendur whispers. “Aren’t they going in? Or is she going to do that bird thing and fly up to the window?”

“I don’t think they’re going in,” I say without answering his last question. “She’s saying something to him.”

“She speaks with her mind,” I say, surprised. Galendur is not yet old or wise or attuned with the Divine enough to be able to communicate with his mind, and neither is Tilwen, but it is amazing that they do not know of this faculty.

“It was so good to get the chance to really talk to her,” Tilwen says. “There’s something so…so knowing and so tranquil, about her presence. I can’t talk with my mother that way, she’s so critical and impatient, and so inclined to go off on all these, these tangents. I mean, sometimes she’ll just start going on about the Ultimate Meaning, or The Grand Scheme of Things, when I just want to talk of my problems, or my father, or something, and I end up feeling so trivial. But Lady Elwing, she’ll talk of anything I want to discuss, and stay with the subject and work through it, and she never makes me feel small and silly. She really understands me.”

“What problems could you possibly have here?” her bridegroom asks. “You surely don’t mean…me?”

“Of course not, you fool,” she giggles at him. “Come to think of it, my problems nearly all have to do with my mother. Small wonder I can’t talk of them with her.”

“How’d she know he was up there, anyway?” Galendur asks after a moment. "A little bird told her, I suppose?" Tilwen slaps his arm and then giggles.

“She just knows things,” I say smiling. “She lived in that tower before Lady Celebrían came to the Island, and left it to help her daughter-in-law heal from her wounds and give her counsel. She became a priestess in order to help her all the more.”

“I see,” Galendur says in some wonder. “What happened to Lady Celebrían, anyway? I never heard much of that, either.”

“She was captured by orcs, and was dealt a Morgul-wound like mine,” I say very softly, shuddering. “They did horrible things to her, before she was rescued by her sons. I’d rather not speak of it.”

“Of course," he says gently. "So…what in blazes did she do up there, all that time? Lady Elwing, I mean.”

“I don’t know," I say, grateful to him for dropping the subject so quickly. Sometimes the thought of what happened to Lady Celebrían tears at me more than the memory of what happened to me. The thought of anything so hideous befalling one so gentle and loving is a shaft in my heart that may never go away completely, and threatens to interfere with my own quest for faith and healing. "I imagine she did not stay up there every minute, but went about doing what she could for those who needed it. She loves tending wounded creatures. She has done much for those who came here for healing, who had been hurt in body or spirit, and there were a great many. She helped Lady Ríannor to find the Door.”

“That’s what she calls it. The Door that leads out of the Shadow and into the path of the Great Light.”

“Pay him no mind,” Til says poking me a little. “Stop being such a flibbertygibbet,” she tells her husband.

I laugh: “Nay, she cannot do it at will. The Lord of the Seas must grant her the boon, and she must invoke him. I don’t know how that all works, but I seriously doubt it will happen this time.”

“Bugger. I really wanted to see that,” Galendur says like a disappointed little boy. I chuckle.

“What is that round thing at the top?” Til asks. I look up. There is a transparent globe atop the tower, which I had not noticed before. It glitters in the evening sunlight like a great gem-stone, taking on glints of gold and rose and silver-blue.

“The tower was a light-house once,” I say. “That must be where the light comes out.”

“Really?” Galendur says. “I had to wonder if she really hauled a load of firewood or oil or whatever up there every night to burn. So it all comes out that glass ball?”

“You forget, it’s an Elven light-house,” I chide him smiling. “But after she left the tower, the light ceased to glow, it is said. It’s just a tower now, and the globe is merely a pretty ornament.”

And now I can see Rûdharanion’s face. At last he has come to the window and is looking out. He holds a sheaf of papers in one arm; yes indeed, he has been writing. And now, I know what.

“He’s writing my story,” I say. “That’s what he’s been doing up there. His version of it, that is.”

“Is he?” Tilwen asks, sounding more than a little outraged. “How do you know?”

“Nay, I can hear thoughts when they are spoken to me, but only if they are for me. But I am sure that’s what he is doing, although it’s possible I am wrong.”

“I cannot believe he would so desecrate your wonderful deeds,” Tilwen exclaims. “Is there naught we can do to stop him?”

“Naught apart from killing him,” I say, glancing sidelong at Galendur, “and I will not have that. I suppose it does not really matter; I doubt he will ever show it to anyone.”

I look up at the face in the tower window. There is something pitiful about the way he clutches the sheaf of parchment, like a mother who fears her child will be taken from her. Why should I worry over him? He is a fool, an egotist, a snob, a coward and a liar, and why should I care what becomes of him? I am as mad as he, if I think I can turn him toward the Light.

I have to smile, however, as I look at Til. She is beautifully flushed, her eyes full of furious sparkles, and I can see now why Galendur is so enchanted with her when she is in a fit of temper. She actually bends down and picks up a stone, straightens and makes ready to hurl it at the figure in the window. I reach out and clutch her wrist, unsure whether to laugh or cry in the moment.

“I wasn’t going to hit him with it,” she explains, and I release her wrist. “I only wanted to shake him up a little.”

Galendur is in a fit of suppressed laughter, one hand over his face. I notice that the sky has darkened above us, the western clouds aflame. Then the face withdraws from the window.

“I think he’s coming down,” I say, my heart racing. We all hold our breath. Yes, I really think he’s coming….

“Look!” gasps Til, dropping the stone and pointing upward. And behold, the glass orb atop of the tower is starting to glow, a mere glimmer at first, then brighter, and brighter still until it is as radiant as the moon, then it glows more until it looks like a much larger version of my star-glass, casting its beams far out into the twilight….

Once more, I have a confession to make. Lady Elwing did tell me about the light turning sea-green and the air full of tears. But I just threw in the part about all the birds weeping together.

Well, anyway, the light-house: It is nearly as bright as the sun. As Rûdharanion stands in the doorway of the tower, I can see him clearly although he is nearly 100 feet away. He is a sight to see, his hair looking as though it hasn’t been combed in days, his clothes as though he hasn’t changed them in a week, and he is still clutching that bundle of papers on which he is composing a travesty of our great adventure. I will never know what brought him down; I think Lady Elwing entranced him somehow. We await with bated breath (I always wanted to use that expression!) But trust Galendur to break the silence.

“Silly bugger. Looks like he’s about to walk into a pit of bears. He’ll piss himself when he gets an eyeful of us.”

“No,” I say absently, once more looking up in wonder at the beacon, “he knows we are here. She would not lead him into a trap, and spring us on him unknowing. She isn’t like that.”

“No, she is not,” Tilwen emphatically agrees, looking up dreamily at the light.

“So what made that come on?” Galendur asks, looking at me as though he expects me to be all-knowing.

“I think it’s a sign,” I say. “But of what, I don’t know. I will ask Lady Elwing.”

“Well…is he just going to stand there all night like a constipated troll waiting for the gate to open?” Galendur whispers impatiently after a moment. I shush him and giggle. Dûndeloth steps forward, walks purposefully toward the wretched poet standing in the doorway, then extends a hand to him.

“It’s shadowy where you are,” I hear him say softly. “Come into the light, brother.”

“I cannot, not yet,” Rûdharanion replies, barely audibly. “I am not worthy.”

“You most certainly are not,” Tilwen whispers between clenched teeth. I put a finger to my lips.

“I may be wrong,” I whisper to her. “Perhaps he’s writing something else.”

“Dangle the Lady in front of him,” Galendur mutters to Dûndeloth. “The blighter’ll find his self-worth in a gnat's eye-blink.”

“You have come this far, why not come the rest of the way?” Dûndeloth says. “Why not take what is offered?”

“Why have you come?” Rûdharanion says in return, suddenly clutching his manuscript closer. “Have you come to crow over me, rejoice in my downfall, jeer at my efforts, then offer a hand to pull me up when you have kicked me as far into the dust as you may, and expect me to grovel my thanks? Is that why you are here?”

“Why would I do so?” Dûndeloth says in surprisingly cheerful tones. “In fact, I came out this way to visit my son, and thought I would drop by to say hullo to a fellow poet. Long have I wished to visit this famous tower, which was once inhabited by this lovely Lady who accompanies us, as you surely know. But if you do not wish to offer me your hospitality, then I must continue on my way along with my companions, and content myself with having come in time to witness the lighting of the tower, which according to legend, has stood darkened for five centuries. The Ring-bearer is here also, along with two of his friends. Pity that you must shun them, for we have found them delightful company. You are most welcome to come with us. But if you would not, then I must bid you good-night. I’m certain you have comfortable quarters here.”

Rûdharanion looks pitiably confused. I wonder if I should come forward, but perhaps I should wait until I am summoned, as directed.

Lady Elwing comes to stand by Dûndeloth’s side. Rûdharanion gasps, no doubt at her beauty, seeing it so magnified in the silvery light that casts glints of bronze and umber in the rippling masses of her dark hair.

“Rûdharanion,” she says gently, “what brought you thither? Knew you that this was my tower?”

“Aye, I did,” he says with sudden humility, “and I beg your pardon. I thought you would not mind. I have found peace here, as I have found in no other abode. If I seemed gruff, it was at having that peace disrupted, and I do beg your pardon, my Lady.”

“What a bloody liar,” whispers Galendur. I lay a quick finger to my lips. We are sitting on the ground now, he in the middle. I hear an owl call out, and a soft cry from a distant night-bird in answer. And not so far away, I can see the great white wings of an ibis as it rises from the cove, and I am reminded of the night we arrived on the Island. Fireflies gather in the trees behind us. The clouds linger westward, tinged with scarlet and purple and gold, like fiery foam and lace, and stars are pricking out in the cobalt sky above in pulsing radiance.

“If indeed you have found peace,” Lady Elwing says in her caressing voice, “although I do admit to doubting your words, then I wish you to abide here for as long as is needful. You have been invited, as you can see, to step into the Light and be free and turn from error and falseness and dark strivings. If you refuse, the light will go out once more and the darkness will be twice as deep. But it is your choice.”

“She must have invoked the Star-Kindler,” I say in delight. “How wonderful!”

“Let’s see him eat humble-pie now,” Galendur says. “I liked him better as an arrogant bastard.”

“I do not understand you, my Lady,” Rûdharanion stammers. “I admit, perhaps I have blundered, and have made some bad choices recently. Yet I have ever striven toward the Light, and shunned the paths of destruction. I have only ever wished to enlighten, to bring beauty and virtue into a world that showed every sign of falling into decay. I ever wanted to sing the glory of the heroes of all time, to inspire and instruct and uplift, and celebrate the downfall of evil and ignorance and decadence everywhere. I have often been misunderstood and reviled for this, yet never did I turn from my chosen path. And now…it seems it has all been for nothing. Yet I have come here and have striven to redeem myself the only way I know how.”

“Pardon me while I lose my supper,” Galendur says under his breath. Tilwen giggles. But I sit up a little straighter.

“Galendur,” I say, “you were right about something. My story must be told. And yes, there is but one who can do it.”

And then I jump up to my feet, and walk straight out toward Rûdharanion before the others can say a word to stop me or ask me what in Arda I think I am doing.

I was not summoned, of course. I am not following orders. But something has jerked me up and propelled me out here, of that I am certain.

“Good evening, Rûdharanion,” I say with grave politeness as I pause to stand before him. "A star shines upon our meeting." I glance up at the beacon.

The odd thing is, he does not look startled at my appearance. Guilty, yes. Guilty and defensive, hugging the manuscript to him as though fearing I will leap forward and tear it from him, even though I make not the slightest move to do so.

“Iorhael,” he says after a long moment, when he has ascertained that I am not going to try to rob him of his precious bundle. Guiltily, I do not look at Dûndeloth, or Lady Elwing either. “I…I was not expecting you.”

“You are writing my story?” I decide it best to get right to the point. He blanches a little in the effulgent light.

“I guessed,” I say, “and correctly, as I can see. And yet you do not know it, and have not my approval. So, you will write your own version of it and try to pass it off as truth?”

Just then his eyes grow wider, and I hear a footstep right behind me. It isn’t heavy enough to be Galendur’s. I smile a little without turning.

“I have but one thing to say to you,” Tilwen says, coming to stand beside me, but looking only at Rûdharanion, “and that is, if you are writing Iorhael’s story, you had better get it right. If you dare to make a mockery of what he went through to overthrow the Shadow and bring peace and beauty and order and, and majesty to the land again, you will have me to reckon with, as well as my mother, and the Lady Galadriel too. You will never know a moment’s peace in your precious tower, I can promise you that!”

“You heard what the lady said,” Galendur says, and I start this time. “And I wouldn’t take her lightly, my friend. She’ll end up feeding you to the sharks if you put a bee in her hat. I’m married to her, after all, and I should bloody well know she’s not one you want to trifle with.” He winks, whether at me or at Til, I’m not sure.

But Rûdharanion’s reaction is not at all what I would expect. He stares wide-eyed at Galendur.

“Do you now?” Galendur folds his arms, cocking one eyebrow in that way he has, which I imagine can be rather intimidating to an unwary opponent.

“Well...I don’t know you exactly, but, well, I’ve watched you spar many a time at the Sporting Center,” Rûdharanion says in positive delight. “I did a good bit of it myself, long ago—very long ago. And you are the finest I have seen, here or in Middle-earth. You’ve a style and energy and passion of which I’ve yet to see the equal anywhere. I had no idea you and Iorhael knew each other?”

I look to Tilwen, who looks considerably taken aback, then to Dûndeloth, who is smiling enigmatically, and Lady Elwing, whose expression I cannot read, then to Galendur, who seems not to know what to make of this turn of events. As for Rûdharanion, I might take his words for fulsome flattery and trickery had I not so thoroughly agreed with them. But, Rûdharanion a lover of sport?

“Why shouldn’t we know each other?” Galendur says a moment later. “Am I such a reprobate that the Savior of Middle-earth wouldn’t dirty his hands with the likes of me? Tut tut. We’re quite a team, he and I. I keep him from floating too high up into the rafters, and in turn he pulls me up out of the muck from time to time. Quite an arrangement really. He’s the mainsail and I’m the yacht.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me, who am trying hard to keep from bursting into loud laughter. But Rûdharanion does not even notice.

“I see,” he says, although I doubt he sees at all. “Yes, I can understand how that could benefit the two of you. Of course.”

“And Til, my lady here, is the captain,” Galendur finishes, reaching to take Tilwen’s hand. Rûdharanion makes a little chuckle, although it sounds slightly forced. Tilwen does not look amused. “So. Used to spar, did you?”

“I did, once,” Rûdharanion admits. “Long ago. But somewhere along the way, I suppose I acquired the notion that it was something I had risen above, and gone on to higher and nobler pursuits. But I still greatly enjoy watching. Sometimes I think it a metaphor for life itself…in some strange way. The, the striving, you know. Grace under pressure, that sort of thing. You seemed somehow the embodiment of all that, in the arena and all.”

“I see,” Galendur says. “Well then. I tell you what, old chap. You have insulted my lady, and although she is well able to take care of herself in some respects, I can scarcely in all conscience let it pass, now can I? Therefore, I would challenge you to a match, to be executed in the arena, before any who care to watch. I will give you the time you need to prepare, and even see to it that you have the proper instruction, if need be. How does this sound?”

Tilwen and I look at each other in wonder. Dûndeloth looks thoroughly delighted. Rûdharanion looks dismayed. I wonder if he has been lying once more, and has never sparred in his life. But more likely, he is merely taken aback by being challenged to a match rather than a duel to the death.

“I want you prepared, and I want you to play to win,” Galendur tells him, when no answer seems forthcoming. “No nonsense with letting me kick your arse all over the entire Island, in order to keep everyone happy. If you’ve any backbone, you’ll give it your all, do you hear me?”

“I’ll still trounce you, you know. But I don’t want you making it easy for me,” Galendur says. “As for the matter of the story, I will butt out, and leave all that between you and Baggins here. It’s his affair and none of mine. But my better half may not see it that way, and I won’t be held responsible for any damage she inflicts on your new-found peace, if you don’t arrange it to her satisfaction.”

He takes Tilwen's hand and they withdraw into the shadows. Rûdharanion looks down at me, a plea in his eyes. I look at the bundle in his arm, which he seems nearly to have forgotten, then I look up at him steadily. I can hear a nightingale singing not far away, and the insistent susurration of the tide, and the sighing of doves within the tower as they put their families to rest. He waits for a word from me, for my forgiveness and consent, for my promise of help to him, and I must admit, the thought of offering it has occurred to me. I have thought it a way of drawing him into the Light, of ensuring his salvation, of leading him to the Door. But now…now I know it is not the way. Someone must write it, yes. But if I allow him to do so, it will be for the wrong reason. Even if he agrees to tell the truth. No. He is not the one to do it. At least, not now.

And so I look up at him, a little sorrowfully, willing my thoughts to reach him. And he looks down at me just as sorrowfully, and I know they have. His eyes are closets of infinite sadness.

And he takes the sheaf of parchment and holds it out to me, his eyes bidding me do with it what I will, and I take it, and cradle it gently to myself whispering, “Thank you.”

It affords me plenty of luxuries, to be sure, but seems in a conspiracy to deprive me of that particular one. Every time I feel myself getting in the doldrums, just when I'm starting to enjoy it, someone comes around to haul me out of it.

Naturally I was overjoyed when Dûndeloth agreed to write my story. Was any hobbit ever so honored? He said he'd wanted to from the beginning, but he would not ask, he would wait until I asked him. I was still recovering, and might not want to dredge up a lot of memories that might still be painful, and so on, he said. And if I did not ask him, then he would simply not offer. Of course, I've been telling him bits and pieces of it, ever since I showed him the poem I wrote of that dream I had in Minas Tirith (if it was a dream) in which Boromir's ghost appeared to me to ask my pardon.* I had to do a good deal of explaining first, of course. Then I showed him the poem, thinking he might like my use of imagery, which I considered rather vivid, and he actually had to blink back tears. Then he got that look that reminds me of the one Seragon gets sometimes, when little Lyrien says something even more than usually sweet or funny or wise, and he said, ahem, yes, the, ah, imagery was excellent. That was when I first thought I ought to ask Dûndeloth to write the story. But even so, I did not feel ready yet.

But now he is writing it! And yes, in spite of my brave words to him, it IS hard to wade back through this sea of memories. I try to keep up a good front, lest Lord Elrond put an end to it. Recently I was going through the part about the Ringwraiths and my wounding, and it put me out of sorts after he left, and I started having dark thoughts about him. Bilbo had fallen asleep, Gandalf was off who-knows-where with Ríannor, and the others were busy, and I was left to my own devices. I didn't feel like doing any writing of my own, or reading either; I couldn't go anywhere by myself, and I wasn't sleepy. I took a walk around the garden, sat and dangled my feet in the fountain trying to catch fishes and pick up pebbles with my toes, climbed up on the gate and looked out, poked around the library for a while, but I couldn't shake this feeling. Finally I went back to the terrace and sat down to treat myself to a good mope. That was when I noticed something on the table.

It was a large clam-shell, lined with fresh berries, and a very large golden mushroom with the word LOVE pricked on it, several tiny flowers stuck into it here and there. Along with this a note that read: Dearist Iorhael, a Fairy toled me to give you this, your Lyrien.

Oh yes...you're wondering about the manuscript, and the sparring-match, and the rest of it. Well…Rûdharanion declined to come with us to Firnhil’s—Dûndeloth’s son. He said he would abide in the tower. I didn’t like to leave him alone there, but I couldn’t very well stay with him either, so I told him perhaps we would see him again soon before the match, and we went on our way, I still clutching his stillborn child as we rode off in the dusk.

Firnhil and his wife Maianna were delighted to meet us, and had prepared a wonderful dinner. Firnhil is very like his father, save that his hair and eyes are not so dark, and Maianna is fair-haired and of course, very lovely and girlish, looking little older than Tilwen, for all she has three grandchildren, and a great-grandchild on the way. Her enormous eyes grew even wider as I was introduced to her.

“I have seen you before, but from a distance,” she said in a slightly breathy voice. “You are even fairer close up, if I may be so bold.”

No, Sam, she wasn’t flirting! She is just one of those people who say whatever pops into their heads, without a forethought of the effect. I got my bearings fairly quickly, however, and was strongly tempted to quote some poetry at her, as with Goldberry (of whom she strangely reminded me)…and--I succumbed! But this poetry, at least, was my own....

A white-gold lily she
with eyes as dewdrops gleaming
and petals from a tree
or pearls cast from the sea
when with blue stars ’tis teeming
and clouds of mithril fair
through which the sky-lights gleaming
dance gentle in her hair
and float in purpling air
as sails in moonlight beaming....

You could have heard a fly clear its throat. Everyone ceased chattering, looking first to Firnhil, then Dûndeloth, then me. And finally, I found my voice, which said, almost independently of my brain, “I would be greatly honored, more than words could tell.”

Lady Elwing waxed prophetic, and told Tilwen, Galendur, and me that in the space of two years we would each have our heart’s desire. In the case of Galendur and Tilwen I could guess what that could be, Tilwen having intimated to me more than once that she could scarcely wait to have a child. And I was overjoyed to think it would be soon. Dear sweet Til, she will make a wonderful mother! And that child will never know a dull moment with Galendur.

But as for myself, what could it possibly be? No…surely not. Not this soon! Yes, of course I want more than anything for you to come here, Sam, but in two years? But there’s only one other thing I can think of, and surely that can never be…

“It is not what you are thinking,” Lady Elwing told me with a wistful smile. “You do not know what your heart’s desire is yet, my dear friend. But in time, with patience and prayer and work and waiting, it will come. Your reward has been only fulfilled in part.”

But for the wine at dinner, I doubt I could have gone to sleep. Dûndeloth was put up in the guest-room, Tilwen and Lady Elwing in their daughters’ room (their younger daughter having married over a year ago). They offered to move the two long cushioned chairs from the garden into the guest-room for Galendur and me, but when I said I would like to sleep outside under the stars, Galendur said he would do likewise—for which I was glad, since I really didn’t want to be alone.

In the garden, I could see the light from the tower in the distance, and long after Galendur dropped off to sleep, I thought of the manuscript, and of Rûdharanion all alone in his tower, and I worried about him once more, and said a prayer that he would be all right. I wished to read some of the manuscript, but there was not enough light for it, for I had forgotten my star-glass—of all the times to forget it! But I was soothed by the thought of Lady Elwing’s promise, and by the light of the beacon, which gleamed like a low-hanging star in the drifting silvery clouds, and I hoped it would be a comfort to Rûdharanion as well.

It wasn’t until we had gone back home that I took the manuscript out. His description of me should give you some idea of the overall content:

A hero fine and true
Though he stood but five feet two
Raven locks abounding
And eyes of piercing blue.
He left his love behind
His destiny to find
Altho’ he gave his heart
For aye with hers to bind….

Five feet two!? Since when are there brown ravens?? I dare say, had he gotten far enough, he would have had us storming Sauron’s Tower with our swords after I dramatically flung the Ring into the fire!

And yet, believe it or not, along with all this nonsense there was much beautiful poetry, and I was moved. Reading it was like looking at the corpse of a grotesque child that was not meant to be, yet had beauties along with the deformities. I laid it in the bottom drawer of my desk and closed it softly as if reluctant to disturb its rest.

The sparring-match has not happened yet. Rûdharanion needed more time to prepare than we supposed. Galendur himself is giving him some coaching, and somehow, this idea doesn’t sit well with me. He invited me to watch a time or two, and I went, for I always enjoy watching him, even if I won’t pick up a blade myself.

But after I went the second time, I got quite a shock. Rûdharanion wore dark red leggings and a white shirt deeply cut at the throat, tall black boots, and a colorful sash, and his black locks were neatly trimmed to shoulder length, bound with a bit of crimson silk. Galendur was similarly attired, only in blue leggings, and they went at the practice with great energy and zest and style, and I could see Rûdharanion had come a long way. It was a delight to watch, at first. Yet after a while, I had the feeling something wasn’t right. They seemed to enjoy themselves far too much. When one took a hit, the other laughed and pulled his opponent to his feet. When they paused to rest, they talked as though they had known each other a very long time, about sparring techniques, comparing the old with the new, speaking of past bouts, debating the merits of other sparrers, one laughing heartily at a witticism the other made, then talking more and more, seeming to forget my presence.

Sam……they are…FRIENDS!! Did you ever hear anything more preposterous?? I can’t believe it!!!

First Ríannor came between me and Gandalf. Then Dûndeloth came between me and Lady Elwing. And now, Rûdharanion dares to come between me and Galendur…and WHAT can I do about it?

Oh, I know why. This is his way of getting me back for refusing to give him my story. I would not give in, and now he is doing this thing. And Galendur is too big of a ninny to see it! And I cannot tell him because I will sound a jealous fool. Which, of course, I am. This is just NOT what I wanted!

Tell me you’re not laughing at me, Sam. Yes, I know. Rosie came between us, too, and I got over it eventually, and learned to be happy for both of you. So maybe I can learn to live with this latest outrage. The healing virtue of the Island will take care of it in time, surely. The only thing is, one must be receptive to it; it does not come unbidden. And I am not feeling very receptive at the moment. Will someone come between me and Bilbo next?

When the day of the match came, I didn’t want to go. Bilbo, of course, could hardly wait, and couldn’t understand why I was in such a murky mood. Of course, he’s not so keen on Galendur yet, but he’s far less keen on Rûdharanion, and could hardly wait to see him get a thrashing even at the hands of his nephew's disreputable friend. He nattered on and on about it, while I just sat brooding, hardly listening. There was no one, really, who would understand my absurd predicament. Finally Bilbo said he’d catch a nap before the match so he wouldn’t be too tired when the time came. I went and sat out in the garden, watching the fountain and thinking about how unfair it all was, until I, too, drifted into sleep.

Oh, and about the mushroom and berries: I didn’t eat them right away. Lyrien and her fairy had obviously gone to so much trouble with it, I would just keep it to look at for a while. I sent a note by Tilwen asking Lyrien to be sure and thank the fairy for such a lovely gift, which did much to lift my spirits. I wished I could go and thank her myself in person, but it was too far out there and I didn’t have a ride, so I would go next day. I decided I’d save the treat until tea-time, but the mushroom smelled so nice, I finally gave in and took a nibble. It had a sweet, delicate, creamy and most delightful flavor, like no other mushroom I had ever tasted before, and so I ate it all, devoutly hoping Lyrien’s fairy knew where more of these grew. Then I sampled some of the berries, which were delectable also, and found myself unable to stop eating them…until I found among them…a pearl.

It was quite a large pearl, and would have been extremely valuable in Middle-earth. I sat staring at it for the longest. Perhaps, I thought, Lyrien didn’t know it was a pearl when she found it, and thought it just a pretty round stone. Surely her mother would never have allowed her to give it to me? But probably Niniel knew nothing about it. I showed it to no one except Tilwen, who gasped, and stared, much as I’d done, and when I said I must return it, she agreed, and the next day we went over there. I didn’t show the pearl to Seragon or Niniel, asking if I could speak with Lyrien privately, and we went out into the yard, where I showed it to her.

And she looked at it with huge round eyes, saying, “The fairy gave you a pearl??”

I narrowed my eyes. Imagination is a lovely thing, but this was going a bit far. Then again, I told myself she just didn’t know how valuable pearls were.

“I didn’t,” she said, her beautiful hazel eyes looking straight into mine, and there was not the slightest sign of a lie in them. “I didn’t know it was in there. I didn’t look. I did put the flowers in it, and I put the word LOVE on the mushed-room by myself, but I didn’t put the pearl in, I promise.”

“This fairy,” I said after a moment, “she must have been pretty strong to carry all this to you, being so tiny and all?”

“Oh no. She was as big as me,” Lyrien said. “But she had a body like a lady. She had bosoms. And she was all shining. So I knew she was a fairy and not a little girl like me.”

“Did she have wings?” I had a funny feeling. Lyrien is extraordinary even for an elf-child, but still—bosoms? That was hardly the sort of thing I would have expected even her to say!

“No, I think not,” she replied, the picture of perfect innocence. “She just came in the garden and handed me the shell and asked me to give it to you. Then she was gone. Are you angry with me?”

“I could never be angry with you,” I said gently. “But…perhaps I should give you back this pearl.”

“No. It’s for you. The fairy gave it to you,” she insisted. “You keep it.”

I keep the pearl in the shell on my desk, and look at it in bafflement from time to time. I will never know what to make of it, I’m sure!

Now I wake up to someone shaking me by the ankle and calling me Baggins, and of course there’s only one person on the Island who calls me that, and I look up, blinking, half forgetting where I am.

And Galendur says, “Come on, the match is in one hour. You are riding with us, aren’t you, old chap?”

And I look up at him and he extends a hand to help me up and he smiles, in a special way he has smiled at me just once or twice before, a smile he gives to no one else except perhaps Lyrien, whom he adores as much as I do (he has a very different smile for Tilwen)…and I know right then he will never, ever give that smile to Rûdharanion, friend or no friend. And I smile back, wondering how I could ever have been such an idiot, and let him help me up, and the match is the most thrilling I’ve ever watched. Rûdharanion gives him a rough time, indeed, and for a while we are wondering if maybe he won't just surprise us all...surely not...as Galendur takes quite a hard hit, lying still for a long moment, but then he springs up, does a most startling back flip and dances at his opponent, and Rûdharanion makes an equally startling riposte, and they are everywhere at once, and in the end it is Galendur who wins...but just barely. Rûdharanion shakes hands with him, sweaty and grinning, Galendur thanks him for a fine fight, and everyone is cheering at the top of their voices, and I am standing on my seat and Lyrien climbs up into it beside me, one arm around me, and we nearly fall off, and Gandalf catches us and laughs and holds each of us in one arm tightly while Tilwen weeps for joy and Niniel hugs her and laughs and cries all at once.

And much later we go and celebrate in the city, after Lyrien’s parents take her home early. We sing and drink wine and laugh and shout, well into the night, until we’ve had more than enough, then Rûdharanion turns for home, telling us he has resigned his position at the college and will stay in the tower for a while. I invite him to temple, and he says he will come, and he does, from time to time. And sometimes I can see the beacon from Lord Elrond’s house, when I climb up to the praying-room, which faces to northward. It’s quite faint from there, but I go up every night before retiring to make sure it is still shining. I keep thinking, as long as it is there, perhaps Rûdharanion is at peace. And I think he is.

I truly don’t know what comes over me sometimes. Forget what I said about Rosie, please. She never came between us, never!! I’m an ass.

I think Galendur guessed what was bothering me the day of the match, for he was extra kind to me all week—he is always kind to me, but even more so then. And he said, as he took me home afterward, that Rûdharanion parried like a lass, and had to be taught to hold his weapon in such a way that it didn’t look as though he had a broken wrist, and I was wicked enough to laugh.

“But you taught him well,” I said. “For a while there, it seemed a near thing. Toward the end, I really thought he had you.”

“So did I,” Galendur admitted. “I thought he was going to make a raging fool of me, and I’d never be able to look anyone in the eye again. It was worse than in battle when an orc had his cleaver right at my throat. I don’t know if I could ever have lived it down.”

“Ha! That’s the sort of thing you thrive on,” I said grinning. “Anyone who likes to juggle burning sticks while dancing on a rolling barrel can’t be so averse to taking risks. That’s what I told Bilbo when he suggested you might teach him wrongly so as to make him look a complete fool. I said if he thought that, then he didn’t know you at all.”

“Someday, if he keeps at it, he may be able to best me at least once in a while,” Galendur said, “but I think I won’t mind it so much then. Maybe then he’ll give up poetry and take up something he doesn’t smell like half-putrefied orc at doing. Although I must admit, I was a trifle disappointed when he handed over his manuscript to you so meekly. The thought of three she-Elves harassing him day and night, while he huddles in his tower-room clutching his papers with birds mucking on his head, has a certain appeal, wouldn’t you say?”

Well! As we parted at the door, I suddenly threw my arms around him, and he dropped to one knee and hugged me tightly, something he has not done since the wedding, and told me I was “quite a piece of work” even if I was disgusting. Has anyone ever had such friends as I have, who’ll put up with all the worst of my nonsense, accept me as I am and stand by me no matter what?

What Rûdharanion is doing in the tower now, is anyone’s guess. Dûndeloth warned me from the beginning, saying he might try a trick used by some unscrupulous writers to pick one’s brain of memories.

“It’s been used to the good,” he explained, “sometimes by Elven-healers with people who have lost their memories due to illness or some traumatic event. However, there are others who would use it for their own gain. It extracts one’s memories and draws them out, causing acute discomfort and fear and a feeling of violation, or so I’ve heard, and so I should imagine. I do not know if Rûdharanion has ever used this technique, or if he even knows how. I tell you this only so you may be on your guard against it. But do not let it worry you—he cannot do it if you know of it. If you should ever feel the beginnings of an intrusion, simply resist it, and it will stop.”

I did feel it just once, some time after he told me about it, a feeling as though someone were trying to invade my soul and dig for something buried there. I clutched at my Evenstar and shut my mind to it, whispering the words Lady Elwing taught me to keep evil things at bay, and then it went away like a thief when a light is flashed in his face, and was forgotten quickly. I don’t know if it were Rûdharanion or not, and I shall not ask him. And of course, I’ve never mentioned it to Galendur. I shudder to think what he’d do to Rûdharanion if I ever did! But I shall not tell. I really think he is turning toward the Light, and there is no sense in undoing it, and quenching the Beacon once and for all. It would darken the entire Island, I should think, if that light were to go out now.

But enough about him! Dûndeloth’s epic is coming along--slowly, but it is coming. Of course he’s aware that it’s hard for me, but is trying to keep it from being so. I tell him not to worry about me, even if it’s hard, I will survive. I am tougher than I look, I told him, and he smiled sadly. Perhaps I can make him believe it soon.

Still, I dread thinking of what I will have to go through in the latter parts, particularly Mordor and the tower and the rest of it. I manage to keep from thinking of it most of the time; we have much to do between now and then, no sense in borrowing trouble. But just this morning I found myself dwelling on it, and I tried writing a poem, as Dûndeloth recommends I do when I have these moods, but this time I could not, somehow. Yet I did write a prose piece. I’ve been uncertain of whether or not I should read it to you, Sam, and I don’t know if I will let Dûndeloth see it either. Or anyone else, Bilbo least of all….

The red lamp, hanging monster fruit no maggot would touch, take it away. I shut my eyes, but then all is darkness, unbearable. Black pit with one glowing coal, and I am the roast….

Huddle, then pace, then huddle again. Still, still. Death all around. The smells. Their voices, knives, claws, whips, words. I hurt so badly, so badly. My throat, parched and sore. Sam, where are you now? Please come, please come back, now….

I clutch the fabric of the cloak, which is all I have to cover me. What if there’s one left alive out there, and it springs and kills him?

But now I hear his voice: Elbereth, Elbereth. No orc would say that. I lower the ladder, shakily. And there he is, arms full. Rags, clothing, helmets, stink. Yes, I’m supposed to put these on. But how can I? I sink and huddle once more, while Sam’s voice urges me.

Mister Frodo, we have to do it. Nothing for it. We have to get out of here. There may be some left alive out there.

Why can’t I move? For he is right, of course. Yet all I can do is crouch pitifully in the cloak. Sam, come and hold me for a minute. Just a minute. Then perhaps I can go on…but no, but no. Only Elves can escape. Away, away out of Middle-earth, far away over the Sea….

But what is he doing now? Laying down the orc-clothes and taking things from his knap-sack?

“Mister Frodo, I just remembered this,” he says taking out a small earthen jar. “First I go and forget about the rope, then I forget about this. I took it out of Strider’s things when I was gettin’ my stuff at the river-bank. I figured we need it more than he did. It’s the same stuff he used on us when we were hurt in the mines. Remember this?”

He takes out the stopper, which is made of cork, and yes, I remember that smell. Balm. Yes. I remember it well.

“Let me put some on you,” he says. “I remember Strider sayin’ that it won’t work unless somebody else puts it on you, if you put it on yourself it don’t have no more effect than any other medicine. Fancy what my old Gaffer would say to that! He’d of rushed out and bought up a whole cartload.”

And he holds it close to my nose so the scent can waft its way into my senses and I grow calmer. And I allow him to dab a bit of the cool creamy salve on my face, which is scratched and bruised, in my hair, which is matted with blood, then on the back of my neck which is throbbing and burning from the bite of that spider-creature. Then I let the cloak down around my hips so he can annoint the whip-marks and scratches on my body and arms. I hear him sniffle and turn my head to see tears seeping over his cheeks at the sight of my wounds, yet a wonderful change comes over me. The pain abates almost instantly, after a moment of stinging. I can remember that feeling, yes. Pleasanter, actually, than when I wasn’t hurt. Yes, it is sweet and I am floating, floating, my insides are singing, I am home, my wounds are sleeping, you are with me, rain on the roof, the Shadow flees….

“Let me put some on you now,” I say after he is done. “Look at you, your hands and face are scraped raw.”

“No no, master, I’m all right,” he insists, still snuffling. “We better save it for when we really need it. This is just scratches, is all.”

But I take the jar from him, and I dip my fingers in and I put a bit on him, nonetheless. And he agrees that yes, it feels better than when he isn’t hurt, and he certainly hopes there is more where this stuff came from, Elvish it is without a doubt. And he puts the cloak over my shoulders again and then puts his arms around me for one full minute, and I am ready to put on the vile garments, and leave this unthinkable place never to return….

Days later, nights later, so sick, so weary, but for the balm I could not continue; night is falling and we sit beneath a thorny-bush, its maggoty buds just beginning to open; what possible flowers could it bear? Misbegotten blossoms of starvation and venom, orc flowers, monster fruit teeming with seeds of anger…is this from whence orc-children spring?

As we sit, Sam whispers to me of Gollum’s treachery and his battle with the spider-monster, and all the rest of it, and I sit close, my head drooping on his shoulder, and he has put some more of the balm on me. I have no words, I take his hand, there are no words. He strokes my hair and it feels wonderful. Strange he should want to touch it, the way it must look, feel and smell now, but he says no, it feels just a little damp, and smells like it’s just been washed, with the balm in it and all. Now we know what Legolas uses on his hair, I say, and he laughs, and I laugh, and the sound is as rain on parched earth. Sam, if we ever survive this, I shall write such a song for you as was never written in all the world…but who could write such a song? Only Eru Himself, surely…if He is there….

“Sam,” I remember saying, “if I should ever say anything terrible to you again, take no heed. It is the Ring speaking, not myself, you know.”

“How can you love me this much,” I murmur after a long while without looking at him. “I do not deserve it.”

“Why Mister Frodo, if you don't, who does?” he says with a shocked stunned simplicity. Innocence sits on him like a butterfly after a storm.

“I’m wrecked, Sam,” I hear a voice whisper far into the night. “I will never be the same, even if we survive.”

That is, I am certain I heard someone say this, someone with my voice and dressed in my clothes…who wears what was once my face, who even bears my name, but is not myself, someone who shed pieces of himself all through that stifled land under a star-starved sky.

I am wrecked, the voice says. Be still, I tell it. It has no right to say such things. Not to the being who is trying with all his small might to keep more pieces from falling, to keep what is left moving along, tearing pieces from himself to patch it. That beautiful being should not have to hear the voice of wreckage. All we need is two wrecked hobbits. One is more than enough.

I know, Mister Frodo, the being says. You need rest, lots of it. But there’s no place or time for it here. You tell me, I’ll carry you if I have to. Maybe you need some more of this here balm, it might help.

And I let him put it on me, though reluctant to uncover myself once more to this staring land and his tender eyes. And he puts it on my neck where the heavy mill-stone of a Ring is dragging on it, rubbing it raw, and the Ring grows heavier, as if in mockery.

You cannot escape Me, it says. You cannot destroy Me. You are a fool if you think any balm will erase the marks I will put on you. I will enter you as a devouring worm and live inside of you for all your days. You will have no rest, no rest. You are mine. In My image I have made you. You cannot escape Me. I am the hands of the orcs when they touched you, tore the patches from you and tossed them to the wind, they are My slaves and so you shall be. I have only begun to take you apart, and no adoring wretch of a servant can put you together again. You are Mine. And I have only begun to show you. You will scream to die before I am done with you. Did you really think you could destroy Me? I was born before your kind walked the earth. I will be when your kind are no more. And you will love Me and call Me your own even as I violate and kick you into the dust, you pathetic little heap of ugliness. Defy Me if you will, I own you, and you cannot escape, cannot escape...there is no life in the Void....

And still my feet move, my eyes fixed on the mountain that bleeds fire many miles ahead. And then I rest, in the arms of my Sam, who rubs the balm on my wounds until they are healed, and my head is on his shoulder and I sleep without hearing the taunting words of the obscene golden curl, sleeping in the faint hopeful perfume of the balm as a star glimmers through a grey curtain behind the jutting ruin of rock and ash…..

I look back at what I’ve written, blinking and shivering. Balm? Perhaps I need Rûdharanion’s mind-probe after all. Can I use it on myself? Was there any balm? Or did I just add that in? I know such stuff exists, for Lady Celebrían used it on me some time ago when I spilled boiling oil on myself in the kitchen, and I clearly recall how it soothed the searing pain almost instantly, and soon felt better than if I weren’t hurt, and now there is no scar, and she said someone else had to put it on you for it to take full effect. So yes, it exists, certainly. But did we really have any with us on that excruciating trek? For the life of me, I cannot remember. Tell me, Sam, I wish to know. I would have written of it in the Red Book surely…but I do recall, I wrote so little between the ordeal with Shelob and our time in the House of Healing. And I made mention of no balm. That much I know.

But one other thing I do know: perhaps there was no balm at all and I simply added that because I wanted it so. Perhaps it is something I rubbed onto the scars of memory. Yet, I know, that even if so, if there was no balm, there was Sam. And nothing can change that.

I’m sorry if I’ve seemed stingy with recipes, but so many of them call for things that can’t be gotten in the Shire. I’m still discovering foods I’ve never even heard of before, not liking some of them, and positively loving others, and I can only hope and pray you’ll someday discover first-hand what I’ve been raving about.

And now there’s one you may be able to manage—still you don’t have all the ingredients, but you do have some.

We were at a loss as to what to do with ourselves this morning, Bilbo and I. Tilwen and I had our lesson with Dûndeloth, then he went back to the college to give his classes, and Lord Elrond and Gandalf went into town on some business, Ladies Celebrían and Elwing went to the orphanage where Lady E. teaches classes and Lady C. does volunteer work. Lady Galadriel, I think I’ve mentioned, has moved into the royal palace, and Lady Ríannor will be staying there with her for a while. So, this morning Bilbo and I were pretty much alone, along with Tilwen, who stayed to serve us our meals. She fixed us a delicious meat-pie contrived by Lady C., stuffed with beef, cheese, potatoes, green peppers, okra, peas, herbs and mushrooms, and Bilbo was unusually hungry today, which I was very glad to see. As Til went to bring us another course, I noticed Bilbo studying the crust of his pie intently. It is a particularly light and doughy kind of flat-bread with tiny flakes of cheese baked into it.

“What are you doing, uncle mine?” I asked him absently. He didn’t answer for a moment. Tilwen came back with a bowl full of chunks of a kind of melon that grows here, to which Bilbo and I have lost our hearts. She gathered up our used dishes to take back to the kitchen. It was really good of her to stay and serve us, since it’s hard for me to deal with the kitchen, which isn’t hobbit-sized and so I am hopelessly clumsy in it, although I like to help out when I can. I even served as kitchen-maid in her stead for a couple of weeks after her wedding, when Lady C. told her she was not to do a stroke of work save in her own house, and to enjoy her wedded bliss and come here only as a guest. But when I expressed my appreciation, Til replied that it was always a pleasure to serve us, and Bilbo, who quite dotes on her, beamed at that.

“My dear,” Bilbo said to her, “is there any dough left of this crust in the kitchen?”

“Why, yes, I believe there is,” she said as she set out the bowl of melon. “The Lady and I made enough for supper, I’m sure.”

“And what of that sauce from that delicious meat dish for last night’s supper?” he asked.

“There’s a bit left,” she said, “perhaps a ladle-full, but I can always make more. It’s not so difficult.”

“That’s my lass,” he said as I looked away with a grin. “And how are we fixed for cheese?”

“There are three kinds, the mild white goat-cheese, that sharp yellow kind, and that really smelly stuff—enough for tonight and tomorrow, I’m sure. Have you something in mind, Mister Bilbo?”

“Well, I’ve a little idea I should like to try, if you think the Ladies wouldn’t mind? We could surprise them. Are you with us, Frodo-lad?”

I must admit, my curiosity was aroused. So we three beat a retreat into the kitchen, where Tilwen pulled up high stools to the table for us. Bilbo asked for the long flat wide pan on which rolls are usually baked, and a large lump of the dough and the rolling-pin. Til buttered the pan and I took the rolling-pin and rolled the dough out flat in the pan as Bilbo directed. Then he asked for the sauce, for which I don’t know the full recipe yet—I do know it has tomatoes and herbs and red wine in it. He asked her to pour it into the middle of the flattened dough, and instructed me to spread it thinly while Tilwen retrieved the cheeses, which we all chopped into thin slices and laid all over the spread sauce. Then Bilbo suggested some dried herbs be sprinkled onto the cheese slices, and asked if there were still any mushrooms in the cellar. Tilwen went down and fetched them, her eyes full of giggles, as I think my own were, and we stemmed those and laid them around the mixture in a way that would look pretty.

“What vegetables have we?” Bilbo asked, as he surveyed what we had done so far.

“We’ve tomatoes, peppers, onions, cabbage, potatoes, radishes, beets, leeks, garlic, and olives, I’m sure,” she said. “Shall I bring it all up?”

“Bilbo, why don’t you tell her all that you want at once, instead of making her run her legs off?” I suggested.

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” Tilwen laughed. “I’m getting excited about this new dish. It already looks delicious, and it’s not even cooked.”

“I think onions certainly,” Bilbo said, “and well, maybe the peppers too. I suppose I oughtn’t to be eating too much spice at my age, but I’m rather sick to death of bland food, begging your pardon, dear one, and I’ll take my chances. The garlic too…and the olives, well, I think they might do as well.”

I don’t know how to define “olives” exactly—they grow on trees, are not sweet enough for fruit and not hard enough for nuts, but who ever heard of a vegetable that grows on trees? And there is an oil that can be extracted from them for cooking. It is especially delicious drizzled all over a baked potato with salt and butter.

Tilwen and I both went down cellar and gathered a basket of the specified vegetables.

“Let’s go lightly on the peppers, Bilbo,” I said. I allowed him only one green one and half a yellow and half a red one, and a small one at that. Then he called for an onion.

“Must I cut this up?” I pleaded. “My eyes run like two drain-pipes during a storm when I cut up onions.”

“Here, let me have it,” Bilbo said, taking the onion from me with a little eye-roll at Til, which of course I saw, and began slicing it thinly while I chopped up the garlic cloves. “A pity Lady Galadriel isn’t living here any more. This will be a dish befitting a queen, surely.”

“Perhaps we should invite her over,” Tilwen said. “But who can we send to the Palace?”

“I think Gandalf and Lord Elrond will be back sooner or later,” I said. “I’d go myself, if I were allowed, but you know how that is.”

“And Galendur has gone deep-sea fishing with Seragon and Leandros, or I could send him,” Tilwen said. “And I imagine they’ll be at it all day. Perhaps I could go myself. For you’re right, the Queen really should taste this.”

By the way, Sam, I must tell you I’ve been made a Prince? No one asked me if I wanted to be one, they just made me one, and I might have declined the conferral but for little Lyrien, who skipped with delight when she heard of it. “I KNOW A PRINCE!” she squealed to everyone she knew, and so I resigned myself, so long as I was allowed to dress in the fashion to which I was accustomed, and was not required to live in the Palace. So I may continue to dress as a hobbit, wearing princely robes only for state occasions. You should see what they made me—you would laugh, I think—a robe of deep blue velvet embroidered with silver and pearls! And a cloak of crimson cloth lined with gold silk and trimmed with white fur, and a silver circlet with the pearl from Lyrien’s fairy set in the middle—she asked that it be so. And yes, I had boots made. I decided I would feel even more ridiculous sitting in on a council with my fuzzy feet sticking out, and so I gave in. Surprisingly, Bilbo didn’t laugh about it, but actually expressed his approval and pride!

“Deep-sea fishing, eh?” Bilbo said. “Speaking of which, have we any of those delightful little fishes—anchovies I believe they’re called?” He looked very innocently at Tilwen, at me not at all.

“Bilbo, you’re not going to suggest putting THOSE horrible things on our dish?” I said, appalled. “The Lady Galadriel is the only other one in the household who can tolerate them.”

“It’s her I was thinking of,” Bilbo said, his tone meek enough, but his eyes twinkling wickedly. Of course he was just trying to get a rise out of me, and I fell for it. “Well, never mind them, then, my lad. It was just an idea. But say, what about that sausage we had at breakfast?”

“Haven’t we enough spice already?” I protested. “Your stomach is going to rebel as it’s never done before, uncle dear. I don’t want you getting sick on us.”

“I have an idea,” Tilwen spoke up. “There’s some bacon in the larder; why don’t I fry some of that, and lay out little pieces of it all over? That would be delightful, I should think.”

“Brilliant!” Bilbo said. “Yes, do that, my dear. Yes, the sausage is a very bad idea. Much too heavy. Should we use the ripe or the unripe olives?”

“What about both?” I said, and Bilbo considered this for a moment, then nodded.

“That may work,” he said. Tilwen helped me chop the olives in half and sprinkle them around. It was then we decided that was enough. Til covered the dish and laid it in the cold-storage until it should be ready to bake, came up and grinned at us all.

“Now I shall send word to the royal palace,” she said. “You two might wish to put on your princely vestments tonight. I only hope Galendur won’t come in smelling of fish! If so, I shall make him bathe, if I have to knock him unconscious and push him into the tub. Do you suppose there will be enough for all?”

“If we don’t all get too greedy,” Bilbo said. “If we each take but one piece, there should be enough to go around. Oh, and of course we must have red wine, have we plenty of that?”

“A whole cellar-full. Oh, I can hardly wait to taste it—I know it will be wonderful!” Til said, then said if she were going to the Royal Palace, she had better go home now and change clothes. She could hardly go mincing out there tricked out as a kitchen-maid!

“Go ahead,” I said. “I will prepare some side-dishes and desserts, and Bilbo can help me. Are there plenty of potatoes?”

When the time came, we baked it until the cheese was melted and the crust was plump and soft—it took but about a quarter of an hour, I think. Everyone was ecstatic over it, the Queen most of all. She called for the recipe, and gave it a name: “Bilbo’s Delight.” I dearly hope you will be here in time to taste it, Sam. I don’t know what foods they have on the Other Side, but I can scarcely imagine that they have one to equal this one!

By the way, Lady G. was charmed by Bilbo’s suggestion of the anchovies, and I’ve no doubt Galendur will keep her well supplied. And she is more than welcome to them.

“But for you,” he beamed, “I would be up there in that tower still, writing drivel and staring gloomily out to sea and who knows what else. Certainly I would never have met my Aredhel, had you not forgiven me and pointed me the way to true enlightenment and purity and noble striving. I shall be forever in your debt. I trust you have long consigned that piece of rubbish to the flames?”

“Well…at first I was going to,” I said, a bit abashed, wondering where this Aredhel was keeping herself. Then I saw Rûdharanion gazing dreamily at a dark-haired lady in white who was talking with another elleth who appeared to be her sister. I don’t think he even heard my reply. “But then I…is that she?”

“Aye,” he said with a deep, deep soulful sigh, without taking his eyes off the object of his adoration. “Have you ever seen anything so breathtaking? I write but for her now. I have composed reams of poems and songs in her praise, until I think she must laugh about them. I’ve scarcely looked at a lady since my last love spurned me for another so long ago, claiming that I loved my art more than I loved her. Which was absurd, for everything I wrote was for her, and her alone. Yet somehow I could never make her believe it. But now I must be grateful, for had she accepted me, I would never have met my Aredhel and never known bliss so complete, so utter, so all-encompassing....That is her great-grandmother with her.”

“She’s very lovely,” I said lamely. He looked vaguely disappointed, as though he expected me to say something much more poetic, but recovered quickly as he turned his gaze back to his lady-love. I suppose I should have been glad that he was happy now and gratified that I was in part responsible for it, but the truth was, I could not suppress a twinge of envy and dismay at the irony of it all--that because of me, he would have what I could not.

But then I glimpsed Lady Elwing talking with someone in the congregation, and I remembered what she had said about having my heart’s desire within two years’ time. I still can't imagine what that could be, and two years seems a long time just now. But I suppose I should wait and pray and trust, as she said, and it will come to me unbidden. Why should I not believe her?

“I am very glad for you,” I said stiffly to Rûdharanion, and hoped that by and by it would come to be true. I had a feeling he would not be writing his version of my story, at least not for a good long while now. Perhaps never. Maybe that is just as well. But…well, Sam, you will laugh at me, but I couldn’t help but feel a trifle disappointed!

But enough about him. I am getting more and more anxious to move into my new home! I feel at times that I am little more than a lap-dog for Elves, and would love to have my own home and work my own land, and be my own master once more. And I have visited the cottage, and fallen completely in love with the surroundings. And I think the house is livable now, but I must wait until I am completely cured before we can move in. Which is frustrating, because I feel fine now, most of the time. Yes, I do still tire rather easily, but I think I could manage well enough on my own.

Dûndeloth has completed the first part of the epic—he told me perhaps it was best to write the story in three parts, it being so long and complicated, and he wishes to leave out nothing. Even though I suggested he might omit the part about the barrow-wight and Tom Bombadill, which was something that merely happened along our way and has no real bearing on the story. He did so, most reluctantly, in the final revision, conceding that I was right, after all. He decided to call Part One “The Fellowship,” and to publish it before continuing the next part. And Rûdharanion has asked to be one of the copyists! I gave my consent on condition that he copy it exactly as written. When I thought of it later, I was touched that he wished to do it at all, when he now has his Aredhel to think and dream of and all. Why would he wish to be involved with this epic now? Perhaps he is taking it on in his eagerness to make himself worthy of his lady; who knows?

At least now I can stop worrying about him. Meanwhile I have managed to make two sweet children happy.

I was at Lyrien’s one day and she and Marílen hauled me by the hand into her backyard, saying she wanted to show me something. She practically shoved me to my knees under the willow-tree, saying “LOOK!” And I looked, and saw what was, indeed, a hobbit-hole in a little mound at the foot of the tree, with a round green door and tiny round windows.

“Daddy and Uncle Galendur and Uncle Leandros made it for us,” Lyrien told me radiantly. “It’s Bag End, do you see?”

“We haven’t much furniture yet,” she said, “but Uncle Leandros will make us more. It’s for my Frodo-doll and Marílen’s Sam-doll, you know. We don’t play you so much any more ourselves, since we have a house for the dolls. Look inside!”

She opened the round door for me and I crouched down and peeked in. I could see there really was a room dug in there, and a tiny table and two chairs and a scrap of colorful cloth to serve as a rug. And even a little fireplace with a reed coming up as a chimney through the earth. A large wooden bowl had been sawed in half and tucked up under to keep the mound from caving in, and a part of a stone tile had been put down for the floor.

“I know it’s not as big as Bag End,” Lyrien said modestly, “but it’s hard to make rooms down in the dirt. And we can’t really make a fire in the fire-place, Mummy won’t let us, and I don’t know how anyway. But it’s soooo jolly to have a hobbit-house!”

I had to smile. “It’s perfectly wonderful. But there should be a garden in front, and a fence. Perhaps I can make one.”

And I begged a few scraps of wood from Leandros, borrowed some tools, and using what carpentry skills I had, contrived a tiny fence, painted it white, and set it up before the miniature Bag End, and made a little gate as well. Then Lyrien and I transplanted tiny flowers inside the fence, moss-roses and little daisies and bluets, setting pretty pebbles and wee shells here and there, and making a little path to the door. Then I set a twig atop the mound for a tree, tying scraps of green cloth to it as leaves.

“It’s the most beautiful thing I ever saw in my whole life,” Lyrien sighed as we viewed the completed project, her eyes misting up. “I don’t know how to thank you for it!”

I put an arm about her and kissed her cheek, and she threw both arms around me and hugged me hard. What other thanks did I need?

She and Marílen were here one morning, and I came up with a new word-game to amuse them. You might want to try it with your children when they get old enough, Sam. It’s easy and perhaps a way to teach them their parts of speech in a fun way. You take a little story or poem that is familiar to them, underline certain words and ask for a list of new ones (without telling them what poem or story you're going to use), then put the words they come up with in place of the underlined ones. For starters, I chose Bilbo’s old walking-song, which I had taught them long ago:

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began
Now far ahead the Road has gone
And I must follow, if I can
Pursuing it with eager feet
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

The Pearl squeaks brightly on and on
Down from the bunny where it tiptoed
Now far ahead the Pearl has baked
And I must wink, if I can
Kissing it with cosy squiggles
Until it wiggles some easier fiddle
Where many sisters and fire-flies bow.
And whither then? I cannot swim.

She and Marílen giggled long and hard when I read it to them, then said, “But it doesn’t exactly rhyme, does it, except for 'squiggles' and 'wiggles'? And it makes no sense either.”

“Even so, it sounds like poetry somehow,” I said solemnly, glancing up at Bilbo to see what he was making of all this. He had been shaking with silent laughter the whole time, I could see by the redness of his face. But he agreed that it sounded like poetry, and said with a wink that perhaps its meaning was hidden.

Here is Marílen’s version. She is an odd little soul, quiet and shy, with the most expressive dark eyes, limpid as a doe’s, and with the expression of one who knows what roses are thinking and can read the dreams of butterflies.

The Bracelet dives squirtingly on and on
Down from the earthquake where it swallowed
Now far ahead the Bracelet has fainted
And I must twinkle, if I can
Pinching it with snowy elbows
Until it chews some happier fire
Where many dreams and kittens itch.
And whither then? I cannot slide.

“That’s better than mine,” Lyrien giggled, “even though it doesn’t make any sense either.”

Marílen’s cheeks pinked very prettily. She and Lyrien were sitting on the terrace floor facing each other, matching the soles of their bare feet. Remember when we used to do that, and you said you couldn't wait until your feet were as big as mine?

“Well,” Marílen cast down her long eyelashes demurely, “what made me think of it is, my mum’s friend came over yesterday, and she has a baby-boy, and she had to change its nappy, and…”

Bilbo had to get in on it too. The girls heartily agreed, seeing as how he had written the song to begin with!

The Pigsty confusticates tartly on and on
Down from the oxcart where it haggled
Now far ahead the Pigsty has hiccuped
And I must parley, if I can
Repelling it with persnickety ear-lobes
Until it twitters some tricksier balrog
Where many blockheads and onions muddle.
And whither then? I cannot diversify.

“We should get Tilwen over,” he said, after I had to explain most of the new words to the girls, after which they laughed crazily and declared that his version was best of all. “She’s the one who knows all the best words, I should think.”

Now occasionally we play this game, among others, when we go over to Lyrien’s of an evening, and it’s my opinion that they enjoy playing games more than those profound discussions. Even Seragon gave in and made a version, although I'm guessing he hated himself for it in the morning. Donnoviel still turns up her nose at our silliness, but not quite so high as at the first, and I think one of these days we'll have her...I really do!

Strange to say, I am beginning to like Rûdharanion. I’ve been trying to make myself like him, because 1) I’ve found myself working in close proximity with him, in connection with the copying of the Epic, and when I’m working with someone I much prefer not to dislike them; 2) Lyrien said to me once, “I want to be like you, because you love everyone, don’t you?” 3) I can’t very well lead him into the Light if I can’t bear him, can I? and 4) reading that aborted manuscript revealed that there is some beauty deep inside him, if it can just be coaxed to the surface.

The other day he showed me what he had completed of his copy. I think he wanted to show me that he was copying it exactly as it was, as I had stipulated. I didn’t read all the way through it, for I was sure that he had done so, and had been willing to trust him. Besides, all those swirls and curlicues and what not were giving me a headache.

“It looks…nice,” I said. “But why don’t you write a bit more plainly? It may be hard for some people to read with all these…flourishes. Are those really necessary?”

“But—but I thought it worthy of the flourishes,” he stammered. “I was certain that such a monumental tale deserved a great deal of embellishment. Do you not think so?”

I couldn’t help but grin. Trust him to embellish a story any way he possibly can!

“I tell you what,” I said. “Why don’t you use the flourishes only for the titles…and for the first word of each canto? I like the way you’ve made little pictures in those; very clever. But all those curlicues and squiggly things could distract from the story. If you would just use them sparingly, I think the manuscript would look splendid. I wish I had your gift for calligraphy.”

He looked happier then, and do you know, he went and threw out what he had written, and copied it out all over again? I wouldn’t have asked that of him. And when he showed me the new copy, I was moved. I told him it looked very beautiful, and so it did. That seemed to make him very happy, and he said he could scarcely wait to get to the next part. I’m still not sure why he is doing this, but perhaps it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he is doing it, and I can give him my advice and encouragement.

“Do you think my Aredhel will like it?” he asked me. She is never far from our conversation, of course. I have met her finally, and have found her a charming and elegant lady, well-mannered and intelligent. And quite young--not much over 500 years old, I'm sure. “Will she be impressed, do you suppose?”

“Perhaps you should not try so hard to impress her,” I said, a bit surprised at myself.

“You think so?” He looked startled. “But…how can I…I mean, how can I…I don’t wish to make the same mistakes as I did with…how can…”

“You’re asking me?” I suppressed a grin. “I am hardly an expert on ladies. Believe it or not, I’ve had very little experience in that wise.”

“Yes, I thought as much,” he said, and I winced inwardly. Was it that obvious? “Although you are a very comely fellow—please don’t mistake my meaning—there’s a sort of, of untouched quality about you. But at the same time you seem to possess an innate wisdom that flows from a deep place, like spring water from within the earth, so to speak. So I thought you could advise me. But perhaps it’s a bit much to expect?”

“Perhaps, instead of trying to impress her, you should give her what she really wants,” I said, hoping that sounded like innate wisdom.

“But I thought I was,” he said. “If she doesn’t want the true outpourings of my innermost soul, what does she want? I know she’s not the sort who cares for jewels, and silks, and such things. I could see from the very beginning that she was not of the grasping sort, or I would not have looked at her twice.”

“You’ll have to find out for yourself what she wants,” I said, thinking, I just bet you wouldn't have looked at her twice. Her gown, while certainly not indecent, did little to disguise her obvious physical charms. “But not by asking her directly. I cannot tell you how—you must find the way. But, try to discover the things she loves and cares most for, and give them to her, without thinking of yourself and worrying what she’s going to think of you. Then she will find that you treasure her for those things that are part of her being. And even if she is not, as you say, of the grasping sort, and I believe you there, I am sure she would appreciate a small material token from time to time. Even the most spiritual of ladies have a liking for such trinkets at least once in a while.”

“Only if it truly comes from within, and isn’t just a bunch of fancy words strung together with a lot of flourishes,” I said. “Aredhel strikes me as being a lady who would not care for such, and you must learn to think of her in that wise instead of as some empty-headed creature who would fall for any pretty lines you dangled at her. I have seen what you are capable of doing with words, and I think you can create lovely things for her, when you forget about the impression you wish to make and show her what is truly within you. Instead of bringing her bouquets, give her a garden.”

I half expected him, from the look on his face, to get out a pencil and write down that last statement. If he’d had one on his person, he probably would have.

“Thank you,” he said at last. “I will remember. 'Give her a garden.' Yes. Very poetic, that is. I see what you mean. Thank you so much, my friend. I was certain I could count on you to set me aright.”

Well. I do hope I said the right thing and that he takes it to heart. Time will tell, I suppose!

Meanwhile, I got a shock last week. I was helping Lyrien and Marílen to repair the little Bag End—someone or something having done some nasty damage to it. Fortunately it was much easier to put back to rights than the big Bag End after the Scouring. It was then I heard a frightful screech, and saw what appeared to be an orc jump at me from a nearby bush!

It nearly gave me a heart attack! The girls screamed, although I think they knew well enough who it was. Dínlad started to laugh; then his sister marched right up to him, ripped his mask off and stomped hard on it…hardly the sort of thing one expects of gentle, doe-eyed Marílen; it was something to see.

“Daddy TOLD you not to wear that horrible thing around Iorhael!” she said. “You are going to catch it now, you—you—chamber-pot!” She was nearly in tears, and I reach over and caught her hand, whereupon Lyrien took my free one.

“And you’re the one that messed up our hobbit-house,” she accused him. “Aren’t you?”

“I did not,” he said picking up his orc-mask and attempting to straighten it out. “It was Tashi who did that.” He glared in the direction of the dog, who was standing behind us, waving his tail and looking innocent as spring flowers. Come to think of it, I remembered seeing grooves in the little Bag End that did look to be the markings canine claws might make when digging, and I could see telltale flecks of dirt clinging to Tashi’s handsome tawny coat.

“Bad dog,” I told him, and he actually ducked his head in shame. He’s a beautiful animal and sweet-tempered, barely out of puppyhood, adorable really, and I’m ludicrously fond of him. Still, dogs will be dogs, and they will dig!

“Liar,” Marílen accused her brother. “You never own up to anything. You always try to blame everybody else.”

Tilwen came out to see what the clamoring was about, and when informed about the orc-mask she was livid, and she went and caught Dínlad by the ear before he could flee. He looked quite terrified, and tried to back away, but she got a good grip on him. It was then I stepped forward.

“Please don’t fight about me,” I said. Perhaps I should have just stood aside and let him catch it, as he deserved. He had been disobedient, and not entirely innocent in the matter of the hobbit-hole--obviously he hadn't tried to stop Tashi from demolishing it. Yet I was remembering something Lady Elwing said, how she thought I was sent into the earth to be a peace-maker, and coming from her, the concept rang sweetly in my ears. And in order to have peace, one must make peace. “I’m all right, truly. I knew it was he, for Lyrien told me of the orc-mask long ago. And I know perfectly well there are no orcs on this Island.”

I decided I wouldn’t tell just what a turn he had given me. It was rather embarrassing. I hoped he would catch it, but not too hard. I really don’t want to be the cause of any dissension here, and that is the truth.

Then Lalaith came out with Niniel, and they received a rather mixed-up and emotionally charged account of what happened, consisting of loud accusations from the girls, louder denials from Dínlad, barking from Tashi, demands from Tilwen and Lalaith for an apology to me, which Dínlad made sullenly, after which he immediately informed his mum that his sister had called him a chamber-pot.

“I’d have called you something far less polite,” Tilwen told him between clenched teeth. Dear, lovely Til!

Lalaith drew a long-suffering sigh. “Come on,” she said finally. “I think I’d better take the two of you home, if you can’t behave. I declare, I just cannot have a peaceful visit any more, the way you children carry on. I don't know what comes over you sometimes.”

“But I didn’t do anything, Mummy,” Marílen protested tearfully. “I want to play with Lyrien. It’s not fair.”

“She did not,” Lyrien stoutly defended her, taking her hand. “And it was your fault. You just think you know everything, but you don’t.”

“Please let her stay, Lalaith,” Tilwen pleaded. “She really was not at fault. I’ll bring her home later.”

Lalaith finally conceded, and took her son with her, as he pulled woeful faces at how persecuted and misunderstood he was, and Tashi got a forgiving hug and kiss from Lyrien, and a grudging pat from me. I was informed later that Leandros made Dínlad burn the orc-mask, and he did get a licking.

“Boys will be boys, but this is going a bit far,” he’d said. “One thing this Island doesn’t need is orcs, and I should think you could find a better game than that, my lad.”

Shortly after that I was out with Gandalf in a meadow where mushrooms grew in abundance. It’s been a long time since I did anything with him, and when I said I wanted to get out for a bit and look for mushrooms, he jumped to go with me.

“I’ve missed your company,” he said as we took our baskets and set out. “I apologize if I’ve seemed neglectful, but…”

“Ah, well,” I said repressing a grin, “Ríannor is rather distracting, I should imagine. She’s far better looking than I, and certainly taller…and curvier…and more fascinating and mysterious, I should think.” I gave him a wink. Just the same, I was truly glad to be with him once more.

“Still, one should not forget one’s friends,” he said soberly. “I’m glad and thankful you’ve had Galendur to show you about; I’m sure he’s much more fun than an old poke like me, and I think he’s been good for you, as you’ve been for him, albeit in a different way. I never would have supposed he’d turn out as well as he did. Even that Rûdharanion fellow is coming along, although I held out far less hope for him. Seems to me you are getting to be an influence in this land already, and you’ve scarcely been here a year yet.”

“Rûdharanion wasn’t all my doing,” I said as I glanced around for the best mushrooms, hoping to see the golden sort that Lyrien’s fairy had given me some time ago, which I had not seen since. “Dûndeloth and Elwing and Galendur and Tilwen had a good deal to do with that, maybe more than I did.”

“So. Sometimes one needs a fellowship, yes?” Gandalf raised his bushy black eyebrows to me, and I grinned sheepishly.

“Well, you’ve been very good about keeping Bilbo company while I went off with Galendur,” I said. Lady Celebrían and Tilwen had offered to do the sitting this time. Somehow, I don’t think Bilbo had any overwhelming objection to that!

Strange thing about those golden mushrooms: I asked Lyrien if she knew where any more might be found and with a solemnity worthy of her father, she shook her head no. She said she would look about for more. Fearing she might get lost—knowing her, she would go far and wide to find them if she knew I wanted them—I told her not to look beyond her yard or Marílen’s unless an adult was with her; I didn’t want them so badly as that. She said maybe the fairy would bring some more, and I said maybe so, but if she didn’t, that was all right. (I still have to wonder about that fairy. Lyrien is imaginative, but it’s very unlike her to send a gift pretending it’s from someone else. It’s much more typical of her to deliver it in person so she can see the look on your face when you get it!)

Something in the grass caught my eye and I ran to pick it up, momentarily forgetting about the fairy and the mushrooms. It was a cattle-horn, encrusted with dirt, which I rubbed off with my handkerchief, then ran to show Gandalf.

“Well, I’ll be. An ox-horn…wonder how it got out here? I’ve never seen any oxen on this Island,” he said, taking it from me to peer at it. “Have you?”

“I saw a fellow with an ox-cart driving through the City once,” I said, “with a load of vegetables and fruits.”

“Really?” Gandalf said handing the horn back to me. “Perhaps we should find him and ask if his ox is missing a horn?”

I laughed, then looked at the horn, turning it over and over. And then I got an idea.

“Why are you giving me this?” Dínlad said as we sat on his back-porch, puzzlement pulsing in his grey eyes as he turned the horn over and over, examining the fine silver trimmings and the ornately tooled leather strap, the polished ivory of the horn. The silversmith had done a wonderful job.

“Well, you had to get rid of your orc-mask,” I said in mock solemnity, “and so I thought you might like something nice in its place for your games. I knew a Man once, who had a horn very like it. Only, I think this one is even nicer. It’s Elven work, after all. And it’s better than a mask because it makes a noise.”

It occurred to me that Lalaith might not be too pleased with me for giving her son a gift that could make noise, but I hadn’t thought of that until now.

“Only, you’d better not blow it in the house,” I said with a wink. “Better to take it into the meadow, where it will echo beautifully off the mountainside. Or to the sea-shore, where you can call to the whales and seals.”

He started to put the mouth-piece to his lips. “May I try it?” he asked—very uncharacteristically, indeed!

“Of course,” I said. He blew into it, which only made a sound like…well, perhaps I’d better not say! It made us both giggle. Then I took it saying, “Let me try.”

I blew a blast on it that made him jump. A fine rich sound it was, and I felt proud of it. He laughed a little, saying, “How did you do that?”

“It takes practice,” I explained, glad I had been paying close attention when Boromir showed us how to blow his horn. “You have to blow from here…” I patted my belly. “You stretch out your lips, then you sort of spit the air through them. Try it for a while, I think you’ll get the hang of it.”

He spent the next half-hour or so trying to sound the horn, and when he finally succeeded, he fairly glowed all over. By now, he had attracted quite a small crowd, which included Marílen and Lyrien. Not wanting the girls to feel left out, I’d had little silver bracelets made for them, hitting on the idea of making them as dainty chains with little objects carved of ivory or pretty stones to hang from them--tiny birds, flowers, stars, fishes, and so forth, pierced through with bits of silver that were welded over links in the chains--and more could be added on later. They were ecstatic over them when I clasped them on. But from the looks on their faces now, I would almost think they would have preferred a horn. Well, maybe I’ll find two more horns somewhere, who knows?

Then Dínlad whispered to me, “I’m really sorry about the mask,” and he sounded as though he meant it this time. “I’m glad it’s burnt. It was kind of ugly.”

I grinned and told him to be careful with the horn, saying he’d better not make his sister angry or she might break it over his head, and he laughed.

And…what do you think? I found golden mushrooms when I got home that day, growing all around the bathhouse in a wide circle!

The house is nearly ready. As soon as the furniture is all moved in and the house is fixed up, Bilbo and I will leave the House of Elrond, which will go to Gandalf, and take up residence in the cottage. Now I found myself feeling a great many qualms about leaving the house in which I’ve lived for one full year and known joy and delight, made friends and helped to keep up when I was allowed…and….Well, I think I already told you about the lovely dreams I’ve had, about the little fish-maiden in the bath-house and everything…but I don’t think I ever told you of the fish in the fountain in our room.

It would be hard for me to say just when the dreams started. I’m thinking it was a couple of days after Lyrien sent me the shell with the berries and the mushroom and the pearl …well, they do seem to have coincided with the receiving of that little gift. I kept the pearl on my desk, but it proved so distracting that I finally put it in the fountain, floating in the shell. And that night as Bilbo and I sat beside it smoking our pipes and watching the little goldfishes, I suddenly saw a fish I hadn’t seen before. It was silvery-white like a star and larger than the others, and I can swear it was luminous, and I could hear a faint music issuing from the water.

“Bilbo, look!” I said pointing, and he leaned forward, and I could tell from his look that he had seen it too. And that night I had the dream for the first time. But the next day I watched for the fish, but it did not show.

A week later, I saw it again, and that night I had the dream. Now every time I see the fish I have that dream, so now I call it the Dream-fish…and now that I was about to move…well, of course we can’t take the fountain with us, so would I lose my little fish-girl? I fretted about it, although I’ve told no one of the dreams but you, and the others probably assumed I was merely apprehensive about leaving the place that has been home to me for a year. Lady E. had said I would have my heart’s desire within two years, and I know what it is now. I shall compose a hymn to Irmo Lord of Dreams. But within two years? Now I see I’m going to really have to train myself to patience!

Today we were at the sea-shore, Lord E. and Lady C., Lady E., Dûndeloth, Gandalf, Ríannor, Bilbo, Galendur, Tilwen, Lyrien, Seragon, Niniel, Marilen, and I, spending the day picnicking and boating and in general just enjoying the summer day. It was particularly heartwarming to watch Lord E. with his lady, the two of them seeming in a world of their own…I think he’s fallen in love with her all over again. We had finished our luncheon and were sitting around looking out to sea, the little girls paddling out in the surf, when I heard a soft voice of singing. I seemed to be the only one who heard it. Bilbo had fallen asleep in a canvas chair that had been brought for him, in the shade of a kindly tree that bore large flowers of scarlet and gold. I picked one and put it in his hand and kissed his head, and that was when I heard the singing. I slipped off in the direction where the voice was issuing, forgetting about the others. There was hardly anyone else about, a fisher or two, a couple of boys, and many sand-pipers, and none of them seemed to be hearing the singing. I don’t know how far I ventured out, but I walked along the snowy sand with the water teasing at my ankles, and at times I thought I heard soft laughter. I wandered along until I saw a strange sight, high on a white cliff that jutted out over the waves. I stood there gazing I knew not how long, when suddenly a voice behind me startled me out of my reverie.

“Shh,” I said, too intent even to be angry with Galendur for following me. “Look,” I pointed up at the cliffs. “Do you see her?”

“Well, I’ll be a balrog’s auntie,” he said. I felt relieved to know I had not merely imagined her. “How in the name of all the Valar did she get up on that ledge? There’s scarcely a good foot-hold or hand-hold that I can see.”

“I don’t know,” I said, having been wondering the same thing. “She’s but a child, from the size of her. Perhaps we should help her.”

“How? We haven’t a prayer of climbing up there. We could go the long way and approach her from above, but we’d need a rope to let down, and we didn’t bring any. I don’t think there’s one in the boat long enough.”

I think she had become aware of our presence, for she had stopped singing and appeared to be looking in our direction. My heart leaped. Galendur laid a hand on my shoulder.

“She’s too small for an Elf,” I said, my insides feeling as if a flock of butterflies had taken up residence there. “She can’t be as big as I.”

“Hmmm….” Galendur put a hand to his chin. Then I saw her wave at us, and it seemed she smiled. She wore a short gown of pale sea-green that barely came over her knees, and her feet and arms were bare. Then she stood up on her ledge, while I hoped she could swim, for she was in certain danger of falling into the water. I almost hoped she would, so I could run out and rescue her. Her hair was long and wavy and dark gold in color. Then to my consternation, she began climbing the cliff-side until she was on the very top, the sun illuminating her so that her hair looked a bright golden bronze, like the wings of a butterfly in the light, then waving to us once more, she bent her slender legs (which I could see had a very pretty shape) and did a most spectacular dive, incredibly far out over the water, which she entered with scarcely a ripple.

I stood there with my mouth wide open, probably looking very silly indeed. There was no way that tiny girl could have dove out so far! It was as if she had flown, like a bird, but she did not have wings. I watched for her to resurface, but she did not, and I felt a twinge of terror. Then I saw something, but it was only a dolphin, and I nearly wept with disappointment.

“Let’s get the boat,” Galendur finally said. “Maybe we can spot her out there.”

Hoping against hope, I helped Galendur to untie the Lady Vana, while the children came running up, saying, “May we go too?”

“Not this time, darlings,” Galendur told them. “When we come back we’ll take Lord Elrond’s boat and all go for a sail. But Baggins and I need to go look for someone.”

He explained to them hastily about the girl. I got into the boat and Galendur followed. I asked if I could steer and he let me, and out we went, but we saw no sign of the girl. And yet, strange to tell, the water seemed somehow brighter in the place where she had dived!

You may think I would have been overcome with disappointment, but instead, at seeing that luminous water, I felt like singing and dancing and skipping through meadows like a newborn lamb and climbing trees like a squirrel and running up and down the beach like a wild horse. She is REAL!!! My joy must have showed, for Galendur looked at me in some astonishment, then told me I looked as though I’d swallowed the beacon on Lady Elwing’s light-house.

We did not see my girl again, but all the rest of the day, I was so light of heart, everyone must have wondered if I had started taking leave of my senses, for I tried walking on my hands—I used to be able to do that when I was a lad, and could still manage it, although not nearly as well. I climbed a tree and swung crazily back and forth, making bird-calls for the girls, which amused them very much, and poured a handful of sand down the seat of Galendur’s trousers and underdrawers while he was squatting in the sand helping the little ones build a sand-castle, and showing a bit more of his rear than was seemly. Bilbo awoke and asked what I had been drinking and could he have some too.

Later on, I drew Lady C. aside and asked her, “Pardon me…if this doesn’t sound utterly stupid, can you tell me…are there water-sprites on the Island?”

She looked at me the way one would expect, and said, “Why, I don’t know. I have heard a few tales of sea-folk, but have seen none, to my knowledge. Why do you ask?”

I told her of the girl, though not of my dreams. “Galendur saw her too, so I know she was not a figment of my imagination. And Lyrien told me of a fairy she saw—I thought she was making stories at first, but it’s really not like her…”

I told of the golden mushroom and the pearl—she knew of the pearl, it having been set in my circlet. And then there was the circle of golden mushrooms about the bath-house, which back in the Shire would have been called a fairy-ring…strange it should have just sprouted up overnight around the bath-house, and others had noticed it as well.

“You’d think I would have had done with golden rings forever,” I laughed a little crazily, “but this…well--I’ve heard a legend that one of my Took ancestors took a fairy-bride,” I found myself saying. “And once when I was a little lad, I saw a fairy dancing on our lawn. I had gotten up to visit the privy in the night, and heard a strange music coming from outside. So I ventured out and there she was…well, I supposed that fairies were tiny, like butterflies, and had wings but this one was my own size—I think I was about nine or ten at the time—and if she had wings I don’t remember, but she was all alight. And when she noticed me looking at her, she disappeared. I didn’t see her again, and I decided I had dreamt her after all.”

Lady C. looked thoughtful and she took my hand as we walked along. Lord E. was talking with Gandalf and Dûndeloth.

“This is a land of miracles,” she said, “where beautiful things happen when we least expect them, and dreams can come true. I know that you were brought here so that you might experience all the peace and joy that you deserve, and so I see no reason to doubt you, and that your heart’s desire may come about sooner than you may know.”

Before we left the beach, I picked another of the beautiful scarlet flowers from Bilbo’s tree, kissed its petals and flung it out as far into the waves as I could. The sun was sinking over the mountains and I could see the light-house beacon beginning to glimmer among them.

Well…whatever apprehensions I have had about moving are nearly gone now, Sam! But...two years??

Well, just when I thought I could stop worrying about Rûdharanion…Yes, Galendur is right, I am disgusting. But I can’t help it! I’m a worrier and that’s an end of it.

Yes, I was impressed with his Aredhel at our first meeting. But after our second and third meeting I’ve come to find that she’s not what I thought she was…far from it, and I’m wondering how to tell him. Oh, she can be charming enough, when it suits her purpose. I was fooled too. But at our second meeting, I began getting a far different impression. There was something about her that rang distinctly false. Something was missing.

Rûdharanion was beaming, as he announced to me just before Temple that morning that Aredhel had agreed to become his wife. And at that moment she swept in and took his arm, glowing up at him, all in white as always….

And she took me in, saying, “Congratulate us, Iorhael. Have I not the look of the happiest lady alive?” And as she looked back up at her betrothed, I could swear there was something…gloating…in her expression. And that she kept glancing about to see if everyone else were seeing her good fortune.

What I didn’t see was True Love. What I saw was a little girl who had won a prize and couldn’t wait to flaunt it. She had snagged herself a Great Poet, and was dazzlingly pleased with herself.

“Allow me to congratulate the two of you,” I said in a tone that positively limped on crutches. “This must be the happiest of happy days.” The things we say to keep up appearances!

I told myself later I was wrong, and put it all down to jealousy on my part. But I couldn’t convince myself. I just didn’t FEEL jealous. Instead, I felt a twinge of pity, and worry. But it was our third meeting, later the same day, that clinched my suspicions about the bride-to-be. She had her great-grandmother with her, the one I had taken for her sister. There is a resemblance. And yet they could hardly be any different if they lived on opposite sides of the planet.

“This is Salmë,” Rûdharanion said as he presented the great-grandmother. “Aredhel was orphaned in her infancy, and Salmë raised her to the shining maiden she is today. And for that I must thank her from the utmost depths of my being.”

Salmë smiled shyly. She was thinner than Aredhel, less, erm, statuesque, her hair a shade lighter, her grey eyes much darker, her color not so high. She was more somberly clad in brown, her hair in a long braid down her back, her only ornament a tiny topaz pendant on a delicate gold chain about her neck. Aredhel’s hair, on the other hand, cascaded in luxuriant ripples, intricately braided in front with a jeweled silver net lying upon it. She wore a silver bracelet with glittering white stones, and a matching necklace and a woven silver belt with a large white stone in the front. There was nothing wrong with her outfit, certainly; it was becoming and decent as befitting a Temple-goer. Yet somehow, next to her great-grandmother, she did come across as being a trifle excessive and showy.

I could see her as she was much more clearly. Vain, shallow and calculating, excruciatingly careful about the impression she made, and intolerant of any competition for attention. And Rûdharanion was too love-struck to see it.

“I am so happy to meet you,” Salmë said with a shyly gracious smile. “I have wished to meet you ever since I saw that wonderful mosaic by the White Tree. I’ll never forget how that portrait took my breath away the first time—I was rendered completely speechless, as was everyone else at first sight of it. It is the most wondrous work of art I have seen anywhere. It is not merely beautiful to the eyes, it somehow engages all the other senses as well, in a way I cannot explain. You must indeed be a lovely soul to have inspired such a masterpiece, Iorhael.”

Well! What could I say? I could feel myself blushing and smiling a little, glancing toward the floor, then at Aredhel, and…well, did I just imagine it, or did she look distinctly annoyed? No, I wasn’t imagining anything. She was looking at her great-grandmother with distaste. Until she caught my eye and forced a brilliant smile, taking Salmë’s arm with daughterly devotion.

“Thank you, my lady,” I said after a moment. “I am afraid Lady Ríannor made me look far better than I do, but I can scarcely complain of that. ‘Salmë’ is a lovely name--it means ‘harpist,’ yes?” I was about to ask if she played on the harp, then told myself that everyone to whom she was introduced probably asked her that question and she must surely find it tiresome.

“Yes, but I do not play,” she answered with a gentle, sad smile. “I did a very long time ago, but due to certain events, I am not able any more. But you may continue to use the name. It is a nickname I was given in my youth. My real name is Eruwaedhiel-Alassëa, but no one ever uses it, and if you were to call me by it, it might take a moment or two for me to realize you’re speaking to me.”

Rûdharanion chuckled, but Aredhel was seized for a moment with an expression of terror or horror. What could there possibly be in what her great-grandmother said that was terrifying? But the look passed, and Aredhel lowered her eyes and professed to admire the bracelet on her wrist.

I turned my eyes back to Salmë saying, “Thank you, my lady. I will call you by it then, and with great honor. It’s lovely to meet you…and congratulations on your great-granddaughter’s betrothal. I’m sure you are pleased about it.”

Aredhel perked up a little then, seeing as how some of the attention had shifted back to her. She bestowed a loving smile upon Salmë, then beamed up at her groom-to-be, and I was hard put to keep my expression polite, so I kept my eyes fixed on Salmë instead. There was something fragile about her, something damaged. It lay mainly in her eyes, which had a boundless depth to them, a knowledge she should never have acquired, and something that held others off even as they invited. I had a feeling she had been through some terrible ordeal, probably very long ago, but it had stayed with her and continued to haunt her even after an age. Why couldn’t she play the harp now? She had all her fingers, and the use of her hands. Had something entered her soul, and lodged there like a large ugly bird in a window, prohibiting expressions of beauty and joy, scowling and threatening her serenity and her inmost balance? I was a little afraid to find out. At the same time I already liked her very much and wanted to take a bow and arrow to that noisome bird…but how could I, if I didn’t even know what it was?

After a while the two ladies took their leave, Salmë telling me once more how pleased and delighted she was to meet me, and I assured her the honor was mine. She told me to come over to dinner tonight--Rûdharanion was coming, and she would love to have me as her guest. Rûdharanion said that was a wonderful idea, and he would come pick me up.

I almost declined the invitation, but decided I would not give Aredhel the satisfaction. Besides, I was a Prince now; it would be rude to refuse. I sincerely hoped the conferral would not oblige me too often to be courteous to people I could hardly bear!

I bid a polite farewell to Aredhel, more out of consideration for Salmë than anything else, as the ladies left, arm in arm. She gave me a cool nod and swept away.

“Is she not a vision?” he sighed. “A true snow-maiden, chaste as a dew-drop, fair as the misty moon on a tender night in earliest spring, refined as a crystal vase fashioned by the most skilled craftsman, fresh as, as…”

He bent his brows together to come up with a simile, then looked to me his fellow-poet for assistance.

“Rain-washed clover,” I suggested. I wanted to say, “Newly gathered pipe-weed,” but thought it unlikely he would appreciate my wit.

“Yes, exactly!” he said as though he had thought of it himself. “I can scarcely take it in that she has fallen in love with the likes of me! I have you to thank for it, of course—yes, you are probably tired of hearing me say it, but still, if not for you, your kindness, your understanding, your advice, your insight, your unfailing generosity…”

“Salmë is a very lovely lady,” I said after a very awkward moment. “So sweet and charming…and yet, I feel there’s something amiss with her. She seems a little, well, haunted. I feel that something terrible must have happened to her once. Do you get that impression?”

He looked at me in distinct astonishment. “You are a most perceptive fellow,” he observed.

“Yes…but, come away. It would not be seemly for me to tell you here in the Temple.”

Gandalf and Bilbo showed up just then, and I told them they had missed meeting a lovely lady and that I had been invited to dinner with her. They looked at each other and grinned, and Gandalf said I had not lost my touch, and Bilbo chuckled and agreed. I forced a little smile, and told them they could go on without me, I wanted to talk with Rûdharanion, and he would see me home.

“Our Prince is gaining a gaggle of adoring subjects,” Gandalf said, making us a small bow as he and Bilbo took their leave.

“Pity we don’t live in one of those countries where the princes have wives by the dozens,” Bilbo said with a wink. “Our Frodo would be up to his neck in swooning beauties. Like a kingly ram surrounded by flocks of fawning ewes and lambs he’d be. They’d be coming out of the wood-work.”

“Oh, go on with you,” I said, flipping a hand at him. He laughed, and they went off together, no doubt having a great deal of enjoyment at my expense.

Personally I thought that whatever had happened to Salmë, no matter how terrible, could bear telling in sight of the Temple. What would it do, crumble? But if Rûdharanion was so intent on getting away from it, I would just have to go along. We ambled over toward the City park, in sight of the White Tree, and found a wrought-iron bench beside the fountain in the midst of the resplendent garden. There were many people about, but they let us take our privacy in the shade of a tree with fragrant white blossoms, some pulling their children away reprovingly as the little ones pointed us out to them.

“Now please don’t let this get about,” he said. “Aredhel told me of it, and she’d have a fit if I were to tell just anyone. But…her great-grandmother…well, the truth is, she has never been married. You see, when she was barely a maiden…she was ravished by marauding soldiers from the East, and left for dead. The result was Aredhel’s grandfather, whose only daughter was her mother, and she…are you all right, my friend?”

I felt sick. I put both hands to my temples, overcome with dizziness, my breath coming in gasps.

“I’m…all right…I think,” I murmured, staring at the cascading waters of the fountain. “I…”

“It’s very hard for our poor Aredhel,” Rûdharanion sighed. “She’s had to live with the disgrace of it all her life. Her father was killed when she was little more than a babe, her grandfather too, and her mother died from the grief of losing husband and father in one battle. Then she had to go live with her great-grandmother. She tries to make a good show, but it can’t be easy for her. She…”

“Can’t be easy for her?” I exclaimed. “What of Salmë? First she was raped, very brutally I haven't a doubt, then she lost her son, then her granddaughter too. And she plainly adores Aredhel, but I can’t see as she returns the feeling in any enormous degree, scarcely even seems to respect her. Poor Salmë, I should say!”

Ulp. It was out. I was on dangerous ground now…again. Rûdharanion stared at me as though I had delivered a punch to his gut.

“What are you saying?” he exclaimed after a moment. “Did you just hear yourself?”

“I’m sorry,” I gasped. “I didn’t mean it the way it came out. Possibly I misunderstood what I saw, but…”

Rûdharanion stood up slowly, looking down at me and backing off as though he thought I would blow up in his face.

“You have certainly misunderstood, all right,” he said. “I’ll have you know my Aredhel worships the very ground her great-grandmother walks upon. Yes, she’s very young, and sometimes she…but how dare you suggest that she does not revere and adulate her with all her maidenly heart and soul?”

“Because she doesn’t, that’s why,” I said and stood up also and looked him in the eye. “She barely tolerates her. She’s embarrassed by her, even though what happened to her was scarcely her fault. The disgrace, indeed! She treats her as some poor relation who's a little cracked in the head but must be tolerated because she's 'family.' And Aredhel is not so young as all that. Even if she were, her attitude would still be deplorable. As it is, it’s positively inexcusable. She should be grateful that someone cared enough about her to take her in after her parents died. But I see precious little gratitude about her. I’m sorry to have to point this out to you so bluntly, but…well, you’d know if I were lying, wouldn’t you?”

Rûdharanion backed up another step, nearly tripping backwards over a paving-stone. He collected himself quickly, however, folding his arms defiantly.

“Why, may I ask, are you doing this?” he spoke barely above a whisper. “I know you disliked me on our first meeting, and I have acknowledged that I was at fault and have tried to make amends the only way I knew how. But I thought you had forgiven me and extended the cordial hand of friendship. Was it all falseness? Were you just, just biding your time, waiting for the right moment to, to lay me out senseless, so you could exact your revenge? Is that what you were doing?”

“You should know me better than that,” I said more gently. “If I felt that way, I’d have said nothing, and let you find out for yourself. But I like Salmë very much, and…”

“You have designs on my lady’s great-grandmother?” He drew his eyebrows together, and I suddenly felt like dashing water from the fountain into his face.

“Of course not!” I raged, and he quickly looked around to see if anyone else was listening, and I thought perhaps I’d better lower my voice, at that. It would hardly do to have the Prince of Tol Eressëa throwing a fit right next to his portrait! “She is a friend, a friend, you fool! Is that concept so inconceivable to you? Why must you be dragging it through the mire? Have you so little belief in the meeting of minds without the meeting of bodies? Have you?”

I was surprised at how theatrical I was being, and so, obviously, was Rûdharanion. He looked pale, his stance less defiant. I had a feeling I was getting to him, that he knew, deep down, that I was right about Aredhel, and he was beginning to see it. He couldn't be seriously in love with her, she being what she was.

“Please get hold of yourself,” he said in a trembling voice, glancing around once more. “We are in a public place. This behavior is hardly—well, I don’t say but that Aredhel hasn't her faults. In very truth, she rather shocked me the other day when she referred to you as ‘your little friend with the feet’ and said you ought to wear shoes. I pointed out to her that it was the custom for your kind to go unshod, and she said perhaps so, but you were now dwelling amongst kind that did not go unshod, and ought to adapt to our ways instead of going about like a beast with bare feet. And Salmë told her--and she had yet to meet you, at that--that after all you had done, she wouldn’t care if you took the notion to run about in a loincloth, and Aredhel flew in her face, saying that was NOT a seemly remark, and stalking off in a huff. But I supposed she was just in a bad mood. She has had a hard life, although one wouldn’t guess it to look at her, and she has her moods, poor lass. She has her faults, but haven’t we all? I certainly have mine, you will agree.”

“But you admit to yours, and try to amend them,” I said, thinking I liked Salmë more and Aredhel less by the minute. “Whereas Aredhel will acknowledge only the faults of others. And I dare say she sees faults in others that are not even there.”

“You can do much better than Aredhel,” I said more kindly, thinking, I'll just bet she's had a hard life. More likely Salmë had spoiled her to death, and was paying for it now. “And you deserve far better. Perhaps it’s Salmë you should be looking to.”

“Salmë? Why, she--she’s old enough to be my mother,” he said in baffled perplexity. “And then…well, she’s…you know. Yes, not her fault, and I sympathize, truly I do. It must have been horrendous for her. I am not utterly without imagination, you know. But still, a fellow wants a mate who is, well, unsullied. You know?”

I shrugged, thinking Salmë deserved better than him also. “She’s unsullied in her mind,” I pointed out, “while Aredhel is anything but. You said she wasn’t the grasping sort; well, she had us both fooled. I’ve seen lobsters that were less grasping.”

“Do you mean to say you think she does not care for me at all?” His voice was trembling, and I was truly sorry for him.

“I think she considers you a prize,” I said, wincing to have to point out the cruel truth to him. But it was the truth, and the sooner he realized it, the better. “She wants an ornament, something for show. And you are famous and renowned, and cultured, and gifted, and all that…and so she wants to flaunt you the way one might flaunt a prize steed. And she’s afraid her great-grandmother’s secret will come out, and that you can somehow deflect it. It’s my guess that those white dresses are her way of making a show of purity, so that people will not consider her besmirched by association with Salmë.”

I thought to myself that it didn’t help matters that Salmë looked little older than her great-granddaughter. If she had appeared an elderly woman, it might have been different. That people often took the two of them for sisters must have rankled with Aredhel’s soul…such as it was.

“What utter nonsense,” Rûdharanion said, but the words were as dead leaves before the wind. “You…you have no understanding of the situation whatsoever. You’re simply making groundless accusations that have absolutely no…no bearing on reality. Yes, yes, you can sit there, with those big puppy eyes, and look up at me with such…simple sincerity and, and earnestness, and humility, and all the rest of it, and hope to get to me…but I’m having none of it, understand? I simply refuse to listen to any more of this rubbish. Yes, I’m not beloved like you, and people don’t hang on my every word as they do to yours. But you’ll see. The subject is closed, and I will hear no more.”

I stood up once more and turned away. “I’m sorry,” I said once more, and meant it. “Please give the ladies my regrets.” I started to walk away, my throat tightening a little.

My plan was simple enough; it was putting it into execution that was the tricky part. I would tell Lady C. of Salmë, since the Lady has been through a similar experience, perhaps she could give her council and understanding and become her friend. Then perhaps, seeing as how her great-grandmother now knew the Right People, Aredhel would be nicer to her, and the niceness would perhaps become habitual, until it became incorporated into her being. Yes, it was a shot in the dark. But if Aredhel did straighten herself out, she might either graciously break it off with Rûdharanion so he could be free to find someone worthy, or else she might come to sincerely care for him for his own sake.

I had never spoken to her of what happened to her, although Lord E. had urged me to do so. But the mere thought of it fairly turned me inside out, and I never could bring myself. I have told Lord E. he might tell her what I had told him regarding what happened to me in the Tower, if he thought it would help her in any way, but if he did so, I do not know of it. I suppose I could ask him. But I just didn’t want to dwell on the subject.

But it was not what happened to me that was holding me back. I could have dealt with that for Salmë’s sake. It was what happened to the Lady. I love her dearly, as you know, and would not for anything in the world dredge up any horrible memories for her.

I discussed the matter with Bilbo, and he said why not ask Lord Elrond instead. And I said, yes, of course…well, I think I would have thought of it myself, eventually. But yes, I did ask Lord E. and he said he would discuss the matter with Lady C.

Oh, I suppose you are wondering how I got home after my falling-out with Rûdharanion. Well, I had walked a block or two when I heard quick footsteps behind me. I looked over my shoulder and there he was.

“There is no need,” I told him curtly. “I know the way, and it is not so far. And I seriously doubt there are any dangers that may beset me.”

“Just the same, I will not have them think I do not accept responsibility. I will see you home.”

“Very well then.” I supposed I should let him take me home, at that. The hobbit-prince walking alone through the City was sure to attract plenty of attention, which I didn’t want. We returned to the Temple where he had stabled his horse, onto which he lifted me without handling me roughly, then he climbed up behind me.

“I am sure you meant well,” he said stiffly after a minute or two as we rode along.

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” I said, deciding the best course was to humor him along, although I knew I wasn’t fooling him any. He isn’t quite the dolt I took him for once.

“You see only the worst that’s in her,” he said. “So often we look only for the blemishes, and fail to see what is utterly breathtaking, beautiful beyond words.”

I decided it was useless to point out that when you see a large blood-stain on the snow, it is unlikely you will be much moved by the pristine beauty of the untouched panorama beyond the blotch.

“I suppose you’re right,” I said. And decided maybe I was on the right track, after all, by mindlessly agreeing.

“She is only an innocent young thing, and will outgrow her rough edges with time,” he insisted, and I was glad he could not see me smile. I thought, She’s had 500 and some-odd years to outgrow her rough edges, so it’s unlikely she’s going to do so anytime soon, and he might have to wait an age for her to grow up. If he has that much patience, I don’t know whether to commend him or knock him upside of the head.

“I’m sure she will,” is what I said. Privately I thought she needed a little suffering to smooth the edges down, but how much suffering was she likely to do? Probably the most pain she would ever endure here would be the ruin of her best gown by a wine spill. “I was much too hard on her.”

I thought of all the elflings I knew who had been born on the Island, and those who would be born, and had to wonder how it would be for them, never to have known the suffering of those who had lived in Middle-earth. Would they grow up having the same greatness of character as their elders? Surely their parents must be grateful to have them here where they would know no greater pain than the loss of a pet or the breaking of a bone. All good parents, I’m sure, wish for their children to have things better than they did, and do their best to make sure the passage of their offspring is as smooth as possible. And I imagine Salmë may have tried a little too hard to ensure that Aredhel had a much easier maidenhood than she’d had. Who would want a young girl to go through what Salmë had, after all? Yet, as a result, Aredhel was now Aredhel, and Salmë was Salmë.

“Perhaps you think Aredhel has had it too easy,” Rûdharanion said. I started at his evident reading of my thoughts. “But she told me herself that she once had a great love, and a maiden she had considered to be her bosom friend stole him away from her, not six weeks away from her wedding. Imagine the humiliation, the betrayal, losing both lover and friend at one swoop! It has been nearly one hundred years before she could bring herself to open her heart once more. That I am the one who should have healed it…well, it is beyond my comprehension.”

“Well, I wish you both the best,” I said, thankful that we were in sight of the house.

“Somehow I don’t feel I have convinced you,” he said as he helped me down from the horse. “But perhaps you will see. What shall I tell the ladies? Are you still not coming to dinner?”

Bilbo was delighted with the whole situation, and spruced himself up as best as he could. And yes, Sam, we did NOT wear shoes. And when we were seated in the front parlor of their simple but elegant small home, we did not tuck our feet up discreetly, as Aredhel seemed to expect or wish us to, although we were not so crass as to wave them about either; we merely sat as we would anywhere else, with our feet dangling freely in front us.

Aredhel, probably aware that she had made a less than dazzling impression on me that morning, had evidently decided to play the Charming Hostess to the highest degree, so that I might have been taken in once more had I not witnessed her exhibition that morning. I saw an enormous bouquet in the middle of the dining table. We had brought a basket of golden mushrooms, explaining that they were not for cooking, but must be eaten raw in order to enjoy the full flavor. Aredhel sampled one, cooed with delight, and asked me where in the world these could be found. I told her of the fairy-ring, and she raised her eyebrows, and said, “How adorable!” Salmë laughed and looked at her warmly, and Rûdharanion glowed all over, then he remembered himself and cast a “There, you see?” look in my direction. I offered to send more if they wished, and Aredhel said, “Oh, you are sooo SWEET!” and to Bilbo’s enormous amusement she planted a big smacking kiss on top of my head, picked up the basket and swept dramatically into the kitchen and came out bearing a tray with five glasses of wine. Ugh, I had just washed my hair! Salmë offered to serve the wine, but Aredhel said, “Oh, I wouldn’t HEAR of it, dearest. You simply MUST let me have the honors this time. You do FAR too much as it is for your spoiled darling, you know.”

Then she sang for us, accompanying herself on the lute, a roundelay all about sweet spring-time and singing birds and tender blossoms and Young Love, and Rûdharanion was entranced, and Salmë listened with wistful affection. Nothing was wrong with Aredhel’s voice or her playing, yet I thought her performance had all the warmth of an icicle on a January night, and I hoped and prayed that my plan would work.

The food was delicious. The ladies plied us with questions about how much we liked living on the Island, and so forth. I told some stories about my exploits with Galendur on the beach, about how I met him and how we became friends, of playing games with the children, of the Epic and of Bilbo’s Delight, and then…yes, I invited them to the Royal Palace for dinner, hoping hard that Lady G. wouldn’t swat me for asking them without permission, then reminding myself that I was a Prince and of course she wouldn’t mind, and would see to it that Bilbo’s Delight was served in abundance and Gandalf/Olórin would treat us to a regal fireworks display. I thought Aredhel looked a little worried then.

Rûdharanion looked surprised and flattered that I had extended this invitation, and Salmë looked touched, and I told her that the royal family very much wanted to meet her. I didn’t dare look at Bilbo, but I knew well enough he would back me up.

“But really we’ve naught to wear, that is fine enough to be presented in the Court,” Aredhel fretted. She was tricked out rather grandly, I thought, much more so than necessary for a dinner.

“This?” She glanced down at herself in dumbfounded astonishment. Bilbo smothered a grin.

“Of course, dear,” said her great-grandmother. “I should think anything you own would be suitable for the Palace.”

“Indeed it would,” Rûdharanion agreed. “In the meanest rags, you would still outshine every lady in sight.”

Aredhel looked sufficiently mollified. “Very well, I will come…if you truly think we would not be out of place,” she lowered her eyelashes with maidenly modesty in my direction.

“If I am not out of place there, you certainly would not be,” I said as gallantly as possible. I felt like telling her she might try wearing a little less jewelry, but decided it was not my place to do so. Conversely I would have liked to tell Salmë she might attire herself a little less somberly. How ravishing she would be if she would break out of those shadowy gowns and put on something of a rich color, with a gem or two that would enhance her as a dewdrop enhances a rose….But that was not for me to say either. Surely the Ladies would see to all that.

As Bilbo and I were getting ready to turn in for the night, I asked him what he thought, and he said he thought Rûdharanion and Aredhel deserved each other. Now there was a perfect match if ever there was one! he gloated. Didn’t I agree? I smiled a little sadly. Well, I might have thought the same thing once. And yes, he thought Salmë was very lovely and gracious, and a terrible shame that her great-granddaughter had turned out as she had.

“I’m glad I didn’t have that effect on you when I was raising you,” he said as he fumbled with the buttons of his night-shirt. “I’m so thankful that you turned out as you did, and did me so proud. I count it as my one big accomplishment. It’s not everyone who raises up a savior, now is it? Yes, when my time comes, I can go out proud and happy that I was able to bring that about, even though I’m still not sure how I did it. There, my lad, you needn’t look so. I’m not planning on going out any time soon. Certainly not before we’ve moved into that new home of ours and gotten settled. I intend to plague this Island with my presence for at least a year or so yet.”

Well, anyway, the upshot of my plan is, it worked, in part. I do not know what passed between Lady C. and Salmë, and it’s not my business, but I do know that they quickly became friends, and Lady E. and Lady G. took her to their hearts as well, and over the weeks, during which Bilbo and I made preparations for moving, and finally did move, there came a slow transformation. Salmë took on a glow such as I had hoped she would, and yet I was not quite prepared for the extent of it. She was presented at the Palace in a gown of deep gold velvet overlaid with a pale cream color, and a gold necklace set with dark gems, and Lady G. made her one of her ladies in waiting.

Aredhel was not so beloved of the staff, particularly Donnoviel (who had been made one of the housekeepers). She couldn’t bear Aredhel, labeling her “a little schemer,” and Tilwen agreed strongly for once with her mother, saying she could think of a far less polite word. She still detests Rûdharanion, says he’s “a fraud” and she can’t imagine what Galendur and I can possibly see in him, and concurs with Bilbo that he and Aredhel deserve each other. Yet she admitted that she felt a little sorry for him, and hoped he might come to see the “light of day”. It wasn’t always nice to see people get what was coming to them, after all.

Aredhel was rather nicer to her great-grandmother, and it did not seem an act. I don’t know if it was that she was moved by the transformation, or if she had decided that Salmë’s past was not a reflection on herself or a threat to her reputation or a shadow that would diminish her after all, or if the Ladies had been counseling her as well, or if they had done a sufficient job of petting her so that she did not feel left out, or if she felt she could let down her guard since she was now in the presence of Royalty, or if she was aware of how the “help” felt about her. Whatever it was, it was nice not to have to force myself to be civil to her!

But not long after we had moved out, did Rûdharanion ride over to the cottage, to my surprise—he had never come there alone before—and asked if he could have an “audience” with me.

“Curse me and my fickle heart,” he said as I escorted him out on the terrace, and Bilbo discreetly withdrew into the house…no doubt to eavesdrop on every word. “I cannot believe what I…well, I just cannot believe it! How could this have happened?”

“How could what have happened?” I said as I poured tea for us both and set out fruit and cakes.

“I just cannot believe it of myself,” he sighed. “I mean…here I thought I adored Aredhel with all my heart and soul. I owe you a tremendous apology, my friend. I think you were right. She is…or, she was then…well, when I see the change that has been wrought in her recently, however….Well, anyway, the thing is…ahem…you were right about Salmë, you were so, so right. I was not so impressed with her at first, admittedly. I thought her a bit wispy, lacking her great-granddaughter’s spirit, you know? But I’m sure you must have seen the way Salmë has come to life, taken on such a new rich luster, like a gem that had once appeared dim and faded but has been polished and raised to the light so that one sees new dimensions of glory that had not seemed possible. Those eyes!”

“Indeed I have,” I smiled to myself. So Rûdharanion had fallen in love with Salmë after all? Perhaps I should not be so surprised, however. I might have done as much myself but for the Lady Elwing, who is in between Lúthien and Arwen, and never will any elleth equal her. And now there is my dream-maiden, whose name I do not know yet; in my mind I call her Marilla, for “pearl”…although to be sure, there was another Pearl once, who--but never mind that. Rûdharanion is not the only fickle one, obviously!

“I can scarcely marry Aredhel now,” he fretted. “But how will I ever tell her? How can I jilt her as her former lover jilted her? The very thought of breaking her young heart fills me with absolute horror. I would rather face an army of orcs than to do this! What will I do now? For she, too, has changed, and I think she truly is coming to care for me. I can see it in her eyes. There is a new light in them, a new gentleness and beauty. It is a wondrous and tender thing to see, like the budding of a young tree after the chill of winter is past. But I can think of her now only as a lovely girl who touched my heart once, but was only a passing fancy, a flame that blazed up splendidly but now has diminished, while Salmë is an eternal fire that will never be quenched.”

“Then you had better make it known to her,” I said, “for you have competition. A friend of Dûndeloth’s seems much taken with her. I have no idea how she feels about him yet, but he seems a most worthy fellow.”

“I should have known,” Rûdharanion sighed. “Of course she would have other suitors, it only stands to reason! Yes, certainly, I should make my feelings known to her. But what would that do to Aredhel?”

“I think she would get over it quickly enough,” I said, thinking that one cannot break a heart that does not exist…and yet, perhaps he was right and maybe she did have one after all…But I still did not believe she seriously cared for Rûdharanion. She would find someone else quickly enough…after which I had a feeling she would revert to her former ways.

“Perhaps you could…” He looked at me with lifted eyebrows, and I shook my head.

“I’ll not act as go-between,” I said firmly. “This is your affair, and you must conduct it yourself as you see fit.”

“Of course, of course,” he said, after a moment when I thought he was going to be really miffed. “Forgive me, my friend, I should not have even suggested such a thing. I am truly trying not to be such a horse’s arse as I have been. But two-thousand-year-old habits die hard, you understand.”

I laughed heartily. I was sure I knew from whom he’d gotten that description of himself. It takes a horse’s arse to know one, after all!

I have been sitting beside the smallest waterfall—there is a wide flat rectangular stone beside it, with a huge fern growing over it, and it’s long enough to lie full length on. There are several different types of ferns springing along the walls and a vine that puts out large violet-blue flowers attractive to some truly amazing butterflies and humming-birds. And there are jasmines and honeysuckles, orchids and frangipani, large tall lilies in white and gold and dark pink and orange, hibiscus and lotus, abounding in incredible lushness all around. Sometimes I just slip off and sit on this stone taking it all in. The colors are so rich, the sounds so clear and musical, the fragrances so delicate and varied, really there is nothing I’d rather do than just sit here and be happy. And it’s all mine!

But finally I got up to start preparing supper, when I was jarred by the call of the peacock—for he has followed us to the cottage. He makes himself useful as well as ornamental by announcing visitors. We have no gate, but there is an archway wrought of metal over the road leading to the cove and it is understood that no one may pass through it without an invitation.

The visitor was a youth I recognized as Perion, who works about the place for Salmë, and frequently carries messages for her and Aredhel. This time the message was from Aredhel. I blinked at it, then remembered myself and asked Perion if he would like some refreshment. He looked happy and flattered and followed me to the cottage, where I brought out cold lemonade and slices of melon and bowls of mushrooms and orange sections and asked him how the ladies were doing.

“Well,” he said with his mouth half full, “Mistress Salmë seems very happy. She has three fellows following her about like pups. She went to the races with one of them, and an art exhibit with another. She attended a party last night and said she had a most wonderful time, she’d almost forgotten what it was to dress up and dance and flirt and be merry and carefree. But Mistress Aredhel, I’m not sure about her. She seems troubled in her mind of late. This morning she was quite snappish and nothing seemed to suit her, and she even took Mistress Salmë to task about ‘her wild and reckless behavior’ last night. It’s my guess that she is having trouble with that fellow she’s betrothed to. I heard her say he still can’t keep his eyes off the ladies and is making her look a fool. And do you know, my Lord…well, I see a lot, being about the place so much, and...I’m absolutely sure I’ve seen him cast longing glances at Mistress Salmë when he thought Mistress Aredhel wasn’t looking. But I think she must have seen. Now do you think that’s a proper thing for him to do? I wouldn’t say so. But you won’t tell them I told you all this, will you, my Lord? Mistress Aredhel would have my head, and other parts as well, although what use they’d be to her is more than I can guess.”

“Not a word,” I said grinning, without looking at Bilbo. Then I settled back in my chair to read the note.

“She requests ‘an audience’ with me,” I said after I finished, then handed it to Bilbo, who took it eagerly. “Sounds as though she’s picking up Rûdharanion’s turns of phrase, at least. She wants me to meet her at Gandalf’s—says it wouldn’t be ‘proper’ for her to come out here alone. Wonder what she could possibly want with me?”

“This should be interesting,” Bilbo said with twinkling eyes. “So, are you going to meet her?”

“I suppose so.” Turning to Perion, I said, “Please tell her I will meet her there in about an hour.”

“Yes, my Lord,” he said with a little bow. I sent the talkative youngster on his way with a bag of oranges. Bilbo and I washed and changed into clothing more suitable for visiting in the City, and set off in our pony cart, taking a bit of food with us to eat on the way and speculating about what Aredhel could possibly want to discuss with me.

“This should be very interesting indeed,” Bilbo said again as I took the reins. “Hmm. I’m guessing she and Rûdharanion had a falling-out and she wants you to straighten things out between them.”

“Well, you know well enough how he feels about Salmë,” I said. “You were listening in the whole time, after all. Weren’t you, now?”

“Pretty hard not to,” he said innocently. “That fellow always talks as though he’s on a stage. Paces and struts about, and gestures as though he’s trying to get his point across to a deaf person. You’d think he was a player at least.”

“He did try acting at one time or another,” I said, “but it didn’t go off so well. According to Seragon, he was one of the worst, and no one in the company could abide him, for he wouldn’t take a small part, saying it would put his reputation ‘on the line.’ So finally he was cast out. But I think he misses it, and ought to give it another try, now that he has changed a good bit since then.”

Bilbo chuckled. “Well, it’s good to hear that Mistress Salmë is enjoying herself. I’m not surprised she got so popular in such a short time. But I’m also not surprised that Mistress Aredhel has gotten her pretty little nose out of joint over it. That young lady has got some notions in her head, and no mistake. Do you suppose she’s going to ask you to talk some sense into her erring granny?”

“If she is,” I said grimly, “then the only sense I’m going to talk into her is to tell her to keep right on as she is. I’d say she is more than entitled to it, after all she’s been through.”

It was good to see the house again, although it seemed so much quieter now that all but Gandalf had moved out. I wondered if he weren’t just a bit lonely there now. He was very glad to see us, as he ushered us in to where Miss Aredhel was seated in the main salon. I noted she had taken care to sit in the sunniest window, where the light could do its most flattering work on the rich brown waves of her hair.

Gandalf and Bilbo said they would take themselves out to the garden to have a smoke and talk over old times. I chuckled at that, but Miss Aredhel did not look amused. “No eavesdropping,” I mouthed at Bilbo, who smiled sweetly and took his leave. I took a chair across from the young elleth, who sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“Let’s get one thing out of the way,” she said after the formalities were done. “I know you are not fond of me. I tell you this from the beginning so we needn’t hedge around on that score.” When no denial was forthcoming, she continued, “I suppose you are wondering why I’ve sent for you?”

“The thing is,” she said leaning forward a little, “have you spoken with Rûdharanion lately?”

“He has been behaving strangely, and so has Salmë. She has been making quite an exhibition of herself. You would think our positions were reversed, at least. She has been carrying on in a way that I simply don’t know how to describe. There are no words. I am rendered utterly speechless at her behavior! I mean, I scarcely know what to say—I am dumbstruck. I simply don’t know which way to look anymore, and…are you laughing at me?”

“No, my lady,” I said, hastily straightening my expression into meek sobriety. “Yes, I’ve heard that she has been making rather merry lately, and that she has become quite sought after. The last I heard, there were at least three suitors for her hand.”

“There, I KNEW it would get about!” she exclaimed in woe. “WHAT can she be THINKING? You would think she would have me to consider, at least!”

She actually wrung her hands. I have never seen anyone do that before. It fascinated me.

“But my lady, you are betrothed, are you not?” I said after a moment. “You will be wed soon, and she will not have to watch every step to see that she doesn’t make a bad reflection on you, yes?”

“I don’t know how they do things where you come from,” she pouted. “I have heard the customs are very different there. So maybe you don’t understand. But over here, it’s different. People think in a very different manner than you are accustomed, I’m sure. Perhaps it was a mistake to expect you to understand, but…well, Rûdharanion says you are wise and compassionate and understanding. He thinks the world of you. You see…you won’t tell anyone, will you? But he, too, cannot keep his eyes off Salmë either. Tell me they are not carrying on behind my back! And WHY do I get the feeling that you are behind it somehow? What have you been telling him about me?”

“Why would you think I am behind it?” I said without answering her last question. “I simply introduced her to Lady Celebrian and the Queen. Whatever transformation has been wrought in her was their doing, I’m sure. Not that I am at all displeased. I am overjoyed to see it. And if I helped in any way to bring it about, then I am doubly delighted. But I had naught to do with how Rûdharanion feels about her. And of course they are not carrying on behind your back! Salmë would never do that to you. I take it he has not broken it off with you?”

“Of course not,” she sounded insulted at the very idea. “You hardly expected that, did you?”

“I really know not what to expect, at this point,” I said, taking refuge in vagueness. “But I tell you what: why don’t you break it off with him? That way, you won’t have to risk the embarrassment of having him jilt you for a much older lady. You are not really so enamored of him, now are you?”

“Why…what makes you think I do not love him with all my heart and soul?” she gasped, but the words fell dead before her.

“Does it never occur to you,” I tried not to smile, “that if you marry him, you will be bound to him for all the ages? You are not mortal, like me. You could not leave him, he would not die, and you could not take a lover. There would be no one for you but him, now and forever. Is that what you truly want? When the thrill of being the wife of a famous poet wears off, what will be for you then? For it will wear off, you know.”

Then she spoke again, softly. “I do not think often of love any more. I had a great love once, and he betrayed me. I gave him my heart and my soul, and he tossed it away like, like bad food. He betrayed me…like…like a dog.”

I supposed it would have been unkind to point out that dogs are not noted for being betrayers, but rather the reverse.

“So you are done with love now?” I said more gently. “In that instance, you should either give yourself more time to get over him, or else be done with the idea of marriage as well. Better to wait an age for the right one, rather than marry the wrong one in haste, for fear of being passed over.”

“So let’s not, then.” I looked down at a rug. And then I smiled to myself, remembering the fountain in my former bedroom, and a certain bright fish.

“Meaning it’s none of my business, I suppose,” she said loftily. “Very well. But how will it look for Rûdharanion to be marrying my great-grandmother, of all people? How could I ever hope to hold my head up again? Can you not see? Yes, I know you don’t care for me, but…”

“Somehow I do not think she would wed him,” I said, massively tired of her all of a sudden. “But even if she did, it would hurt only your vanity, not your heart. Why do you begrudge your great-grandmother happiness? Has she not suffered enough in her lifetime?”

“What do you know about it?” She paled a little. I suppose it had not occurred to her that I knew Salmë’s “secret.” “What has she told you?”

“He promised he would tell no one!” she exclaimed in utter horror, standing dramatically upright, clenching both fists. I swallowed. Ulp—I was supposed to say nothing about it. Ah, I had done it now! She appeared about to clutch at her hair, then stopped short of demolishing its shining smooth perfection. “Oh—how could he! He will end up scandalizing us all!”

“My lady, please, calm yourself,” I said, standing also. “He told only me, and I have told no one else. I am fond of her, as you know, and I would never do anything to cause her pain. I introduced her to the Lady Celebrian because she has been through something similar, and I thought perhaps she could understand and help, at the very least be a friend to her. Perhaps if you could wrench your mind off yourself for a few moments, you just might see a few things you never would look at before!”

“The Lady Celebrian?” Aredhel stood stock still, then sat down again staring at me in shock. “But…but she seems…so pure, so untouched, so immaculate, so…”

“I hope you are not seriously disillusioned,” I said with heavy sarcasm. “The Lady has been through unthinkable horrors at the hands of orcs. That is why she came to the Island. Like myself, she could not be healed in Middle-earth. You didn’t know of this?”

“Yes, I mean to tell you,” I said. “I suppose your great-grandmother has not discussed it with you, wishing you to be happy, rather than have you know what she went through? That was a mistake, I think, serving only to make you selfish and cold, but I like to think she meant well. Have you truly never spared a thought for what she endured at the hands of those soldiers? Or have you only considered the shame of it, how it casts a shadow over you, how it could supposedly stain your own ‘purity’? Do you think of everything in terms of how it affects you, and you alone?”

“This is most unfair of you,” she said, her lips beginning to quiver again. “You have no right to say these, these things. You know naught of it. How can you possible slander me in this manner? Do you think you can get by with it because you are a Prince? You weren’t born one, after all. You were made one, and you have no right…oh…after all people have done for you here…”

I sat unmoved by the tears that began to brim her eyes. She searched her person for a handkerchief; when she failed to produce one, I coolly tossed her mine. She took it and dabbed daintily at her eyes. I said nothing, continuing to stare her down. She sniffled, then blew her nose as discreetly as possible.

“You are talking of things you know naught of,” she repeated, then seemed not to know what else to say.

“Perhaps I know more than you think,” I said, and went cold inside. “Why did you call me here? If you have summoned me here to accuse me of doing things that made your great-grandmother happy, and expect me to apologize for it, I’m afraid I shall have to disappoint you. The same if you expect me to tell Rûdharanion to stop gazing at Salmë. If you cannot tell him yourself, how could you expect me to? Why have you brought me here?”

“I’m not sure myself, any more,” she said softly. “What do you mean, you know more than I think? You cannot possibly know. What my great-grandmother has been through, and all. So you needn’t get all holy with me about it; you know naught of it, even less than I do.”

She folded her arms and looked at me in piteous defiance. I felt myself shrink up in my chair.

“I do know what it is,” I said, “to be taken captive, to be stripped naked and bound and beaten and touched…there…and be stared at, and mocked and threatened, and…and if it felt like that, when they did not go in, then I have an inkling of what she must have felt. I…I also know what it is to be invaded in the spirit, taken against my will, helpless to stop it…it is not the same thing, I suppose. But yes, I know something of it…”

I hated myself for the weakness I was displaying, trembling all over, near falling from my chair, tears brimming my eyes. I had never told anyone of what had happened to me in these terms except for Lord Elrond. Aredhel was the last one I would ever have wished to tell. What could possibly have come over me? I drew my knees up to my chest, curling myself up into a ball, in the way I had done long ago, when the hideous phantoms invaded me, and pressed my hands to my face, willing them to leave me. I heard Aredhel’s voice asking me what was happening, was I all right….

Then I heard swift footsteps, a small table falling as she knocked it over in her haste, a vase falling off it and shattering. I held my arms over my head and willed myself not to be sick. Then I remembered my pendant and clutched it, and some of the shaking subsided, as I felt arms wrapping around me, voices calling my name. Sam, I heard myself whisper, then Bilbo held me closer. I heard Gandalf urge me to tell the Dark Lord to let me be, and I did so, silently. Then I was lifted from the chair and carried to a couch where I was gently placed, and my uncle’s arms holding me tightly, rocking me, as I held onto him sniffling a little. Then Gandalf lifted me again and laid me down and covered me with a throw, and Bilbo took my hand and pressed it to his cheek.

“What in the name of all the Valar have you been saying to him?” Gandalf demanded of Aredhel. She shook her head, and actually raked one hand distractedly through her hair!

“I’m all right,” I whispered after a moment, seeing Bilbo looking so terrified. “I’m all right, Uncle, truly. I took a bad spell, but it has passed. Here, I can sit up now.”

“No no no no you don’t, my lad,” he said tremulously, pressing a hand to my chest. “We’ll have Lord Elrond up here and…where is he now?” He looked pleadingly up at Gandalf, who looked at Aredhel, who looked so guilty, I felt sorry for her.

“You know the way to the Palace?” he said to her. She nodded. “Run down and fetch Lord Elrond and tell him the Prince is ill, my lass. Go now!”

I expected her to protest, but she nodded once more, and flurried out without a word. Bilbo bent and kissed my forehead and cheek.

“I don’t need Lord Elrond,” I insisted after she had gone. “I’m all right, truly. And it wasn’t her fault, it was my own. I spoke of things that were better left alone; I don’t know what came over me.”

“Just the same,” Gandalf said, “it won’t do her a bit of harm to get her mind off herself and think of someone else for a change. To think she’s actually going to ride through the streets with her hair all messed up? Do her a world of good, I’m sure!”

“Well, she’s not coming back here,” Bilbo declared, “not if I have anything to do with it. That was one royal scare you put into us, my dear lad. I just aged fifty years in one minute. Meaning at the moment, I'm pushing two hundred.”

I took his hand and kissed it. “I’m sorry, uncle dearest. I’ll never do it again. May I take my pipe now?”

Lord E. got there sooner than I expected, and I thought he might be annoyed to see me sitting up smiling, getting him here on a wild-goose chase, so I tried to droop a little, which of course didn't fool him for a minute, but he looked vastly relieved to see that I was not in such a bad way. He did make me a tea and it made me feel better, then I looked around to see if Aredhel had returned. She had, and Salmë with her. Aredhel had been crying, and her arm was around her great-grandmother’s waist.

It is amazing how fast word gets around here. Within an hour or so we had a houseful. The Ladies all came, even the Queen, and Tilwen and Galendur and Donnoviel after them, then Niniel and Seragon with little Lyrien, and Leandros and Lalaith with Marílen and Dínlad. Then Dûndeloth, with a couple of his friends, and one of Salmë’s admirers, and young Perion, along with his two sisters and a friend or two, the Priest from the Temple, Galendur’s father, and many others I had met or had yet to meet.

And Rûdharanion straggled in eventually, and after making sure I was all right, he slipped off to another part of the house with Aredhel, and I had a feeling they were not going there for any serious spooning. I will not soon forget the way she looked with her hair disheveled, her eyes and nose reddened, and her white gown torn at one sleeve and a patch or two of dirt on the skirt. As I looked at her thus, a word went through my mind, and that word was: Beautiful.

Lyrien and Marílen expressed disappointment that the fairy-ring was gone from around the bath-house, but I told them it had reappeared in a glade near the cottage, and I told them to come down and see it sometime. They had brought me bouquets of flowers, since they’d had no time to make anything for me.

“I’ve a new kitten,” Lyrien informed me as we snuggled down in a long chair on the terrace. “But my mum wouldn’t let me bring her. She has eyes of the purest gold. Her name is Beauty.”

“I’m glad you have a kitten, sweetheart, and I would love to see her,” I said. Then I told the girls I was still trying to come up with a name for the cottage, and asked them if they had any ideas. Marílen suggested shyly, “How about…umm...The House of Joy and Delight?” Lyrien bounced up and down, squealing, “Yes, yes, oh YES!!!” Marílen, looking perfectly happy, promised to ask her daddy to make me a sign for it. When Galendur heard of the name, he said to me with a wicked grin, “Ahhh, I could say something very, very naughty, but I’ll be polite and refrain this time.” I was mystified, and Bilbo had to explain to me later that the name sounded like that of a House of Ill Repute, and I thought I’d burst a blood-vessel from laughing. Really I don’t know why Bilbo doesn’t like Galendur more than he does, they think so similarly at times!

And even so, he is much pleased with the name, and so it stands. Leave it to Bilbo!

Salmë apologized to me for anything her great-granddaughter might have said to upset me, then introduced to me to Alcandor, one of her favorite dance-partners, she said. He looked quite a dashing fellow, even a bit of a dandy, but obviously smitten with Salmë. She had told me she was greatly fond of dancing in her youth before all the terrible things started happening, and I got the impression, from other things she told me, that she must have been very gay and fun-loving then, and liked to keep fellows on a string, and be admired and fancied…rather like Aredhel, save that she also had a heart of gold and was very generous and sympathetic and loyal, so that she had a circle of female friends in spite of her popularity. Now it seemed that butterfly-girl had been reborn. I teased her that she must be a hobbitess born into an elleth’s body, and she laughed and said she’d heard that I was an Elf in a hobbit’s body, and yes, I’ve heard that one, too.

I really think she will play the harp again. Lady C. plays for her sometimes, and I see her listen with glittering eyes, and it seems she almost stops breathing. The Lady taught me back when I was convalescing, but I play mostly just for myself, out by the falls where the notes mingle with the song of the waters and the calling of the birds.

I was glad no one seemed put-out that I wasn’t so ill as they’d heard. Only Galendur pretended to be, telling me I was “a little faker” and had staged this whole show just for attention, and everyone had fallen for it like the pack of suckers they were. I said, “Well, you fell for it too, yes?” and, ever quick with a riposte, he replied, “Not a bit of it. I only came to watch everyone else make fools of themselves. And for the eats and drinks, of course.” Lyrien and Marílen, who had glued themselves to my sides, giggled uproariously, and Tilwen said to me, “Pay no mind to him. He thinks he’s funny,” then she laughed too. He tickled Lyrien under the chin and lightly pinched Marílen’s cheek, and she bit his hand and then laughed, and we all followed suit, and he said, “You must admit, for a chap who isn’t funny, I’ve quite a talent for fooling the others into thinking I am.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad That Creature took herself off,” Tilwen declared after Gandalf and Ríannor brought us more goodies. “And she’d better be glad of it too, for if she were still here, I’d give her a piece of my mind she wouldn’t forget in a hurry. It’s a pity, for I really like Salmë. She has the whole palace in an uproar. You wouldn’t guess it, but she’s really funny, and has a good many stories to tell. Even my mother adores her, and that’s saying a lot. And of course Little Miss Priss just can’t stand it. She goes about like so…”

And Til made such uncannily accurate imitations of Aredhel’s petulant attitudes that the rest of us nearly fell to the floor laughing. But before I could wonder much about Aredhel and Rûdharanion, Dínlad came out, saying he had something for me. As he presented a cloth bag, the girls shrank back as though expecting something icky to come out, like bugs or snakes, and I took it and felt something hard inside. After reassuring them there was nothing alive in it, I reached in and drew out a little wooden sailboat.

“You made this?” I said in astonishment. Dínlad nodded sheepishly. Even the girls looked wondering, although he had made them some furniture for their little Bag End. After I had presented him with the horn, he had confessed to me later that he had put a dead mouse inside the little hobbit-hole to scare the girls and that was why Tashi had dug into it. I suggested he make some furniture for it, and with some help from his dad he had made two little beds, a tiny book-case, a long table and two benches. He had helped Leandros to make the book-case for our cottage, as well, and obviously he had inherited his father’s skill in wood-working. But I hadn’t known he could carve so well. He’d even named the boat for his mother; I could see “Lalaith” nicely painted on the hull.

“Look,” Lyrien said in wonder, “she’s big enough for Frodo-doll and Sam-doll to fit in together. Do you see?”

Aredhel didn’t come back to the party, nor did Rûdharanion. I didn’t see either of them for several days afterward, but I had been informed that the betrothal was off. I went to Rûdharanion’s house, but he wasn’t in, and his housekeeper didn’t know where he had gone. She seemed very worried about him. I said maybe he’d gone back to the tower, and she said “Perhaps so,” looking sad that he would have gone off there without telling her. I think she fancies him. Sad for her if she does, since he likes them high-spirited, and that description does not fit her, I think. I didn’t go to the tower, for it's too far away, and if he is there, then surely he wants to be alone for a while. He’ll come down when he is ready.

Salmë came down to the cove the other day, and I took her to see my seat by the falls, and played my harp for her there, and sang one of my hymns, which goes thusly:

White are the stars that course the vast heavens
Purple the firmament that cradles their delight
Silver the fulling moon, gold the lamp of morning
Fair the Evenstar that illumines our twilight.

Fairer still the Children who grace this verdant islet
Gracious the Beings that heal us of our blight
Glorious the One who spreads it all before us
Blessing our path with peace and eternal Light.

When I had sung it through, she asked for it a second time, and I sang it again, and the water seemed to glimmer before us, and the falls seemed quieter somehow. And she took the small harp from me and began softly plucking the strings, and she sang the entire song through, her fingers seeming to move on their own. Her voice filled all the mist that lay on the water and silvered the leaves on the trees above, and her light pervaded the cove as though a piece of the moon had strayed into it and made its home there.

And the peacock spread his fan for her as we dreamily ambled back to the cottage in the twilight!

Lady Elwing informed me that she was going to try something very drastic, something she never supposed she would do, and she did not wish to do it, but she was certain it would work: she would give Aredhel one of her great-grandmother’s dreams. She had gone to the Pool of Dreams, invoked Irmo and brought back a phial of water which she would slip it into Aredhel’s drink tonight. It was a long shot, but she was certain it would work, and perhaps then Aredhel would know exactly what Salmë had gone through, and would come away with a new perspective. She asked me what I thought of this plan, and I said it did indeed sound very drastic, and I didn’t like it either, but I gave it my approval, wondering privately why she asked me for it. I asked her where the Pool of Dreams was, and she said it was in Aman. I wondered how she had gotten there.

I asked Ríannor for a bit of clay, and she gave me a generous lump, without asking what I wanted it for, and told me where I could find more if I needed it. I took it home and borrowed a wheel from a local potter, then I fashioned a large candle-holder and asked him to fire it for me. I hadn’t worked in clay since Ríannor showed me how, instructing me also in the art of making mosaics, but I thought I did a pretty good job. I inlaid chips of the cobalt-blue vase Aredhel had broken, and bits of mother-of-pearl, and some beautiful little polished iridescent stones from the stream that runs down from our spring-house, forming a silver-white star-burst design. I worked long at it, until I felt it was as beautiful as I could possibly make it, and Bilbo said it looked nearly as good as anything Ríannor had done (he being one of her most ardent admirers now), and asked me what I intended to do with it. I told him he would see.

When it was finished, I wrapped it in a cloth and took it to the Temple, and when I didn’t see Aredhel there, I gave it to Salmë asking her to deliver it to her. Later that same day, Aredhel, evidently without worrying about propriety, came down to the cottage, and didn’t even seem alarmed when the peacock called, to thank me.

“I did not expect a gift from you,” she said as I escorted her to the terrace. “It is truly beautiful. I didn’t know you could do such things.”

“I completely did not expect it,” she repeated, seeming at a loss for words. “You...you don't...fancy me, do you?”

I shook my head, looked sheepishly downward. “It's just that I was a bit harsh with you that day, so I wanted to make up for it.”

I think I blushed. I should have known she would get that idea, but the thought hadn't even crossed my mind when I was about it.

“I know,” I grinned, looking up. “That’s why I did not fit in back in the Shire, I suppose. Unexpectedness is not considered a virtue there. But I fear it runs in my family.” I winked at Bilbo, then went in to bring out some refreshment.

“This is a very lovely place,” she said looking out toward the cove, as I set down glasses of cold juice and a plate of small cakes and berries and cream before her and Bilbo on the table. “An air of peace and quiet joy pervades it all. I haven’t seen it before. It seems to suit you exactly.”

“I would live nowhere else,” I agreed as I watched a flamingo rise from the water and stretch its coral-colored wings in flight above the falls, over which a rainbow shimmered in the afternoon light. “Already I feel as though I’ve always lived here.”

“I took your advice,” she said, with a hint of a smile, “and broke it off with Rûdharanion. I haven’t heard from him since.”

“He seemed relieved. I know he wanted to break it off too, but didn’t wish to hurt me.”

“I am relieved also…but a little sad,” she sighed as she picked at one of the cakes. “I’m rather tired of my life as it is, and wish to be married. But not to him. I don’t know what I shall do now.”

“I had a really terrible dream the other night,” she said shuddering. “I...but no, I’ll not tell of it, it may upset you. I don't wish to think of it either, and I don't know why I brought it up at all. Well, I suppose I should stop fretting about Salmë. I still don’t know what to make of the way she is carrying on, but no one else seems to mind it, so I suppose I should just keep quiet and let things take their course. I’m sure she’ll decide on one of her suitors sooner or later, and settle down and act like an adult again.”

“I just hope it isn’t that Alcandor fellow,” she said wrinkling her nose. “He looks a total philanderer to me. I don’t like him at all, and I hope she has much better sense.”

Yet he will be your husband someday, and both of you will be very happy, I heard someone say inside my head.

All naughty joking aside, I think “The House of Joy and Delight” is an excellent name for our cottage. Certainly we get plenty of company, and so often the house and the cove about us are filled with light and laughter. Salmë is a frequent visitor, slipping away from the Palace from time to time to relax and enjoy herself with us. Not that she doesn’t like it there, but I don’t think she ever really wanted to move in, and only let Aredhel talk her into it. She loves to wade into the water and float on her back, her hair drifting like sea-weed, gazing upward at the endless blueness above.

Sometimes one of her admirers comes with her. Alcandor, she confided, has been pressing her to marry him, and she’s tried to tell him she is not ready yet, and he is not taking it well. Then there is Imlach, a fine sculptor but a little too sure of himself for my liking, and naughty Perion has done some amusing take-offs on him a time or two. Imlach has this disconcerting habit of moving his hands as he talks, as though molding invisible lumps of clay. There is Valandil, who loves both sports and dancing, is just as snappy a dresser as Alcandor, and is capable of carrying on an intelligent conversation. Oh yes, and Rûdharanion, who did finally come back after a couple of weeks or so, without any explanation of where he’s been or what he was about. Bilbo and I have been betting on which she’ll choose. I think it will be Valandil, while he’s certain Alcandor will be the lucky one, despite what Perion says. I tried to find out from the lad in a not too obvious way if Alcandor is showing any interest in Aredhel, but apparently not…yet.

Meanwhile Aredhel has confided to me that she is sick and tired of white, and Perion informed me that she has sold much of her old jewelry, and bought new. I nearly fell on my backside the other day when she and Salmë appeared in Temple together in identical golden gowns with crimson overlay and carnelian necklaces! One wore golden roses in her hair and the other wore red, and a breath-taking picture they made, indeed.

Perion has made friends with Dínlad, although Perion is a bit older, and they come out here swimming or boating or fishing, and Galendur and I took them to see the caverns behind the falls. Often the little girls come as well, and we end up with quite a crowd. A general atmosphere of love and hilarity and peace hovers over all as the day draws to an end and the sinking sun splashes the low-lying clouds with scarlet and gold, and the hues of the aurora stain the northern sky with beams and patches and ropes of gaudy brilliance. I can hardly begin to describe the feeling it imparts.

Especially when occasionally I will glance aside and see a pair of lovely eyes twinkling at me in the dusk...or see that silver-white dolphin leap luminously through the waves in the twilight, and I know I am in for some very delightful dreams....

But never mind that! I would tell of what happened today. Galendur and I were on the cove fishing for trout. Lady C. wrote me out an entire book of recipes before we moved into our cottage, and there are a couple for trout that simply must be tasted to be believed. I’ll read them to you later, Sam. Not that we caught anything, for neither of us could shut up long enough for any fish to get near. Gandalf and Bilbo sat out on the terrace, smoking their pipes and talking...about us, I’m sure. I looked to them and smiled sweetly in such a way as to tell them they’d better say nice things about us if they expected to get any trout, then suddenly I dropped my pole, being seized with a terrible pain in my left shoulder. I clutched at it and groaned while Galendur asked me what in the name of all the Valar was going on.

“Let’s go to Seragon’s,” I said after a moment when the spasm passed. “They need us.”

Galendur asked no more. He rowed us to the shore and picked me up and carried me up the path, while Gandalf and Bilbo stood asking what was happening. Galendur explained to them that we had to go to Seragon’s, and he’d take me on Nightwind. Gandalf and Bilbo could follow with the pony, but we had to get there quickly.

The pain subsided as we galloped down the road. I told Galendur it didn’t feel so much like a stab wound as if the arm had been suddenly yanked out of the socket. He didn’t ask me why we must go to Seragon’s, and I couldn’t have told him why.

As we dismounted, Marílen ran to us, crying, and threw herself into my arms, pleading with me not to be angry with her.

“What happened?” I said breathlessly. The pain, oddly enough, was gone from my shoulder now.

“Lyrien fell out of the tree,” she sobbed, pointing to the offending growth. “Tashi chased her kitty up into it, and she couldn’t get down again, so Lyrien climbed up to rescue her. But I tried to stop him. Truly. I didn’t even bring him here, he just followed me, and—“

“Is she hurt badly?” Galendur interrupted her. I wondered if I looked as pale as he did.

We brushed past her and stormed into the house without even knocking. And I saw something I devoutly hope never to see again.

I honestly do not see how people survive parenthood, if what they feel is worse than what I felt that moment when I saw Seragon in a big chair holding his little daughter in his arms, his dark head bent over her lovely coppery locks, murmuring to her while she cried, then looked up at us with the most poignant naked anguish as we charged in. I really felt so badly about the times Galendur and I had laughed about him behind his back, and I even had an absurd idea that I had helped bring about Lyrien's fall by doing so, I resolved never to do so again, never!

“She fell out of a tree,” Seragon said, although we knew it already. “My father has gone for the healer. I hope and pray that he is in. I think her arm is broken or dislocated. There, little sweet one, your mummy is making you some tea to ease the pain. You will be all right.”

We went to her and she looked at us with love and pain mingled, saying, “I hurted myself a LOT!” and cried more.

I swallowed hard, and said to Seragon, “Your healer is not in. He is attending to a boy with a broken foot. I will summon Lord Elrond, who is at Gan—Olórin’s house now.”

Seragon didn’t even ask me how I knew this. Galendur said, “I’ll go get him on the double,” and flurried out before I could tell him there was no need, I had already summoned him with my mind and he was coming. I went to Lyrien, kissed her forehead and stroked her hair, feeling as helpless as it was possible to feel. Very gently I suggested to Seragon that he lay her on her bed, it might be less painful for her that way. Evidently he trusted my word on that, for he stood up carefully and took her into her bedroom and tenderly laid her down after I pulled the coverlet away. Then he sat on one side of the bed while I sat on the other, holding her hand in mine and stroking it.

“No, precious, I’m all right,” I said. Yes, I know—“precious,” not such a good word, but it slipped out, and I see no reason to retract it.

“Because I can’t bear to see you hurt,” I said, wiping my face with my sleeve.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” I glanced out her window. I could see Marílen out in the yard, sitting on a garden bench, forlorn, dejected, evidently too afraid and guilty to come into the house. But just now I did not feel like going out and bringing her in. “I suppose she is. But I think she will be all right.”

“Here you are, darlingest,” she said as Seragon reluctantly rose to let her have his place. “Drink this all down now, and it will make you feel much better.”

Lyrien took the wooden cup by one handle while her mum held the other, took a tiny sip, then jerked away from it, nearly spilling it.

“It’s HOT!” she wailed, and burst out afresh. “I don’t like to drink hot stuff!”

“I remember this brew,” I spoke up. “Lord Elrond gave it to me on the ship when I was so sick. I know by the smell. And it made me feel much better when I drank it all.”

“But it’s hot,” Lyrien protested tearfully, and I pulled out my handkerchief and wiped her nose. “I don’t like to drink hot stuff.”

“Perhaps we should let it cool down a tiny bit,” I said to Niniel. “Look at that steam.”

“Sweetie,” Niniel said, tears brimming her eyes too, “would you like to sit on mummy’s lap and drink it?”

I sat down again and put an arm around her. “What if I drink a little bit first?” I said. “I know it works, because I had some when I was sick and my shoulder hurt so badly too.”

“Your shoulder hurted too?” Lyrien looked up at me, and I realized I had never told her about my shoulder, at least not in detail. It’s not the sort of thing you tell to children, after all.

“Yes. I got stabbed through the shoulder by somebody who wanted my Ring,” I said cautiously. “It hurt very, very badly, and never stopped hurting until I came here. And on the ship, it hurt the most. That was when Lord Elrond gave me this same tea to stop it, and it did, for a long while, until I could be healed. Couldn’t you please drink this for me, because I can’t bear to see you hurting the way I was hurting, Precious?” I felt tears brimming up again and I didn’t try to stop them from overflowing. Maybe if she saw them, then she would drink the tea.

“It’s hot,” she said but I could see she was weakening. I held the cup for her.

“Pretend you’re me,” I said. “You’ve done that before, yes? Now you could pretend you’re me again and drink it the way I drank it on the ship. I’ll be Sam and you can be me. Let me hold it for you like so, and you drink, all right?”

“Sam hated to see you hurted, didn’t he,” she said very softly. I think the steam from the tea was already starting to help her. I deliberately held the cup so she could breath it in.

“He did, very much,” I said. And then she took a sip, and then another. “Drink it all down for me, please.”

“But you’re me now, and I like to drink hot stuff,” I said. She drank the rest, with rather loud sips. “Does it feel better now?”

“Blow,” I said, and she blew. I wiped the tears off her cheeks. “It will feel a lot better in a bit.”

“Mummy,” Lyrien said, still sniffling, “can you see where Beauty is? Is she in the tree?”

“I can’t see her, Sweetie, but I’m sure she’ll be all right,” Niniel said. “No one has ever found a cat skeleton stuck in a tree yet. And put your knees down, darling, you’re showing your drawers.”

“But she’s only a baby kitten,” Lyrien said, putting her knees down. “She’ll be scared.”

I could hear a tiny sound of mewing coming from the tree, now that I was listening. It did sound scared. But Seragon’s father, Quellemel, came in just then.

“He’s not in,” he said. “His wife said he was attending to some youngster who has a bad habit of kicking things with his bare feet. So what now?”

I felt a chill run over me. “Lord Elrond is coming,” I said. “I’ve summoned him.”

“Lord Elrond?” Quellemel raised an eyebrow. He looks very like his son, but is far different in personality. Rather eccentric, but in a different way. I'm told he actually has a tree house. “Why…but he lives in the Palace now, does he not? It’s a rather long ride.”

“He’s not there now, he’s at Gan—Olórin’s house,” I said. Have I mentioned Dûndeloth lives at Gandalf’s house now? He occupies the second story. Most of Lord Elrond’s books are still in the library. I think he doesn’t really want to live at the Palace either, but Lady C. was afraid her mother would be lonely there, so they have moved in, along with Lady E. So I suggested that Dûndeloth move in with Gandalf, where he would have much more space than in that very small flat near the College. So Lord Elrond has plenty of excuse to spend much time there with his two old friends.

“Here he comes now,” Seragon said, at the sound of hooves outside. Two sets of them, in fact. Lord E. came first. Lyrien looked a bit frightened. But then Galendur came up behind him, holding something close to his chest.

“Here’s the pussy,” he said, depositing it into Lyrien’s lap. “How’s the arm now, Squinkles?”

“Better,” Lyrien said, hugging her kitten to her breast with one hand and smiling up at her uncle through tears. “Thank you soooo much! I hope you didn’t have to climb very high?”

“Only to the top,” he said. Lyrien gasped. It was a very high tree. “The closer I got to her, the higher she climbed. I turned up my charm until it smoked, sang her sweet love songs, recited poetry, told her she was the prettiest pussy I ever saw and I would buy her the softest cushion in all the world if she would only come to me, but she wouldn’t let me near her until I started doing mouse imitations. Then I had her.”

“Really?” Lyrien looked at him open-mouthed. I bent over double, my shoulders jerking.

“Truly. And it bloody nearly gave me a nose-bleed up there,” he continued. “I’m not one of your dratted tree-Elves, mind you. So don’t go telling your Auntie Tilwen, what? She’d paddle my bottom.”

“Oh but she would. So if I were you, I should train that kitty of yours not to climb so high. And I would stay out of trees that are higher than this house. Somebody should paddle your bottie for giving us all such a scare, Princess. We won’t be able to sleep again for weeks.”

“You are a very naughty cat,” Lyrien told Beauty, in the way she has, one finger pointed and one eye shut tight. I’ve seen her do that once before, when she was telling Dínlad off thus: “You think you know everything--but you don’t!” The kitten purred as though she had just been told she was the sweetest creature in the world, her gold eyes fixed warmly on her mistress’s face, completely oblivious to how much in my bad books she was at the moment.

Lord Elrond attended to Lyrien, telling us her shoulder was dislocated and he would have to put it back in place. He sent me and Galendur out of the house, for which I was profoundly grateful. String me up for a coward, but I do not think for one minute that I could have born to stay and watch him do what he must! I thought he might have sent Seragon and Quellemel out also, but he did not. Well, of course she needed her daddy and her grandpa there. And they would not have left her.

As I stood, my knees buckled and I would have fallen to the floor if I hadn’t sat down on the edge of the bed again. I felt so weak and dizzy, I had to put my head on my knees until the spinning went away. I heard Lyrien ask me what was the matter, then I felt someone lifting me. It was Galendur, of course. He took me to the stable and set me down on a couple of feedbags and said he’d be back in a shake. I lay back until the dizziness passed, then saw him leading Nightwind in.

“All right, old chap?” he asked me anxiously, brushing my hair off my forehead.

“Yes, I think so,” I said. “I used up a good bit of strength summoning Lord Elrond. When you’re mortal, it takes a great deal out of you. Seeing Lyrien hurt didn’t help matters either. But I’ll be all right after I rest a bit.”

“Well, you stay put, and don’t you dare get up until I say,” he said, “or I’ll have Nightwind kick you right through the wall.”

“Will you bite my head off if I light my pipe?” My nerves felt like overwound fiddle strings.

“So long as you don’t set the damned stable on fire. I don’t know what it is with you hobbits and that bloody weed. I tried it once, and it tastes like cow-flop to me.”

“I was in the army, was I not?” he said with a wink. Then he stood up and began grooming Nightwind. It was a beautiful sight, and it calmed me to watch him. It's always very lovely to watch anyone care for an animal of any sort.

But then I thought of Lyrien’s parents and shuddered. I thought of all the people I knew who had children, small or grown. Of Lord Elrond, who would never see his daughter again, separated from his sons for who knew how long. Of Lady G., what it must have done to her, what happened to her daughter. Lady E. losing one son to death and another in war, long ages before she would see him again. Salmë losing son and granddaughter in the same year, Dûndeloth his newborn daughter, in such a horrible manner. The list goes on forever. How did they bear it? How did they live with the memories? Did they ever regret having children, what with all they went through? This is something I will never know firsthand, of course. Should I be glad that I will never know the pain of losing a child, or seeing it suffer and not be able to help it, of watching it make the wrong choices, and being unable to set it right? Of being separated from it and having no hope of seeing it again in this life? I can still see Seragon’s face as he held his little daughter in his arms. Should I be grateful that I will never know that kind of anguish in its fullness, but only secondhand?

I tell myself I should be thankful that I have been spared that kind of misery, relegated as I am to the fringe of life. Of course, if all felt as I did then, there would be no little Lyriens, no Elanors, no anyone. I suppose we’ve little choice but to procreate, reproduce, perpetuate the human race, but would we, if we could know beforehand what it might cost us? And what would it be like here, without any little children? I remember watching Seragon at a sparring match, with Lyrien on his lap. You wouldn’t think of him as a lover of sport, but he is, as is she. He looked perfectly happy, with his little daughter in his lap, cheering, one arm around his neck, both putting out such a beautiful light, and I asked myself, does the sparring-match make him so happy? No. It’s Lyrien sitting in his lap that makes him happy. I know this, because it gives me that feeling when she snuggles up to me and kisses my cheek, sings to me, brings me some little gift made by her hands. It is beyond wonderful. But do I feel it to the same extent as her actual father does? And if it’s worse for him, seeing her hurt, than it is for me, then how can he bear it?

Galendur finished grooming his steed, patted his neck and spoke softly to him, then came and sat down beside me, saying, “All right now, Baggins?”

“Much better, thank you,” I said tipping the ashes out of my pipe and stomping on them to make sure they were all out.

“I’m all right,” I assured him truthfully. “I’m much sturdier than I look, or I would have been gone long ago.”

After a long moment, he asked me, “Have you sighted your little cliff-diver lately?”

I chuckled, then wondered if I should tell him of the dreams. And then I did so. I just couldn't hold back any more. “It is the same girl. I saw her face in the dream before I saw her on the cliff, and now I know she is real, and somehow I am destined to meet her someday.”

“Strange thing,” he said. “Who…or what…do you suppose she is? And why does she shy off?”

“I think she’s one of the sea-folk, that Lady Celebrían spoke of,” I said. “Umm…please do me one small favor? Never speak of her to Bilbo.”

“Because I think if he knew of her, he would leave,” I said seriously. “He would feel as though she were holding off because of him, and he would go…just to be out of the way. I think she would come if I called her to me. But I can’t do that, because if she did come, he would leave. And I don’t want that. I can wait.”

He gave me another long look, his steel-blue orbs, as Bilbo used to call them, warm and soft, then he reached out and patted my knee.

“Not a word,” he repeated. Then we both started up, at the sound of hooves and wheels.

“Bilbo and Gandalf are here,” I said smiling. We jumped to our feet and ran out to the cart. I told them what happened, and that they must not go in until Lord E. came out to tell us we could. And he came out just as I was telling them.

“She’s all right now,” he said. “I entranced her so she will not remember the pain of having her shoulder put back. And she has an internal injury that her healer is too young and inexperienced to have recognized, so you did right to call me, Frodo. But the injury will require her to rest a while. But, thanks to the two of you, she will pull through.”

“I’d say that was Baggins’s doing,” Galendur said laying a hand on my shoulder.

“She is,” Lord Elrond said, “but whether or not you may see her, depends on her parents.”

Galendur and I went in, Bilbo and Gandalf lingering outside talking with Lord E. I heard Marílen in the kitchen with Niniel.

“She’s a little caution, isn’t she,” Galendur whispered to me as we slipped through the front parlor. “She and that little pussycat of hers. She’s made pussycats out of us all, what?”

“Of course. Didn’t I say that?” he said. I laughed softly. Then I saw Seragon standing outside Lyrien’s bedroom door, and felt so badly for him, I wanted to put an arm about him, and so I did. He rubbed my shoulder absently. He seemed to have aged ten years since I saw him last.

But then we all pricked up our ears as we heard a soft voice from the other side of the door singing:

La la la la
You’re a bad pussycat
La la la la
You don’t wear a hat
La la la la
I should paddle your bottie
La la la la
’Cause you’ve been very naughty
La la la la
You’re a bad pussy cat
La la la la…..

I hope what I have been telling you has not been upsetting. It’s just that the thought of what I have missed has been weighing on my mind a little. But it does not drag me down.

I know you will have a large family, and I sincerely hope and pray that all will be well with them. I’ve missed the praying room in Lord Elrond’s house, and have decided I need one of my own. Yes, of course one can pray anywhere, but I like the idea of having a special place for it without distractions, and I’ve found one. It’s a lone spot out on the beach, facing west, obscured from view by a clump of trees and there is a large flat stone there that just seems to have been placed for me to kneel and lean my elbows on it. Every night after I tuck Bilbo into bed I steal out with my light and stay there for about half-hour or so. Tonight I pray that all will be well with you and your family, that they will have peace and joy often, that they will have good health and fortune, that they will learn from their mistakes and that their sorrows and struggles will strengthen and sweeten their souls, that they will find the right mates and teach their children well, that they will find all the fulfillment they deserve, and bring you all the happiness and comfort you have earned in your life. I would wish them, and you, no suffering at all, but I know that is impossible in this life, and so I will wish it to be minimal and nourishing as rain to a garden.

But, to continue: Marílen came into the hallway with her hands loosely cupped together, standing timidly in the doorway. Feeling badly that I had not gone to her earlier and assured her the accident was not her fault, I put my arms about her. She suffered me to do it, but seemed to want to go to Lyrien, so I released her and she went to the bed and kissed her cousin’s cheek, saying, “Look what I found for you!” We were all gathered round the bed, upon which Lyrien sat with one arm in a sling, looking curious, and Marílen opened her hands to display a large butterfly with wings that seemed made of crystal; they were transparent with a soft icy sheen! I had never seen such a butterfly before, and evidently, neither had anyone else.

Lyrien’s mouth and eyes dropped wide open. “WHERE did you find THAT!” she exclaimed, just above a whisper.

“It was in the garden,” Marílen said very importantly. “I never saw one made of glass before, did you?”

The butterfly rose and fluttered over the bed, as if presenting itself for our inspection and admiration. Beauty hopped up out of her mistress’s lap to investigate. The girls giggled as she raised first one paw to snatch at the butterfly and missed, then tried with the other, then with both, her round golden eyes full of flame, it seemed. I could scarcely take my eyes away from it, myself. It was so fragile, so unusual, so dreamlike, it seemed as though it would burst soon, like a soap-bubble, that hovers in the sunlight like a tiny fairy-globe of glistening pearly color for a few moments and then is gone, prettier than a gem because it is so short-lived. The butterfly seemed to me as a fragment of starlight that had somehow strayed into the room. Lyrien looked as fascinated as I, and I was distracted from it only by her face, her eyes full of golden light as two dark wet jewels, with a universe of butterflies trapped within. She didn’t try to catch it; she seemed content just to watch it as we did until it found her open window and settled on a white rose growing on a vine just outside.

“Well, I never,” Bilbo said softly, after a moment. “Did you?” He looked at me and I shook my head mutely. I felt as though the butterfly were my own soul, hovering in a mist of love and sanity, feasting on beauty, tenuous as a snow-flake, glittering in the light of divinity, rare as a perfect pearl, reveling in the warmth of ardent gazing.

The spell was broken as Lyrien tried to restrain Beauty from jumping off the bed to the window-sill in pursuit of the butterfly, and Marílen caught the kitten and held her saying, “No no no no no, you mustn’t!” then returning her to her mistress, who distracted her by sticking her hand underneath the coverlet and wiggling it, saying, “Look, a mouse!” I sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, Bilbo perched on one side of me, Galendur on the other, his hand resting warmly on my shoulder. Seragon sat on the chair beside the bed, Niniel standing beside him, Gandalf standing next to Bilbo. Lord Elrond remained in the doorway, looking on and smiling wistfully. Perhaps thinking he felt left out, Marílen skipped over to him and put her arms around him. Then Lyrien went to her daddy and climbed into his lap, as I told her with my mind to be careful and move slowly, and she did so, contrary to her usual impetuous manner. She put her good arm around his neck and whispered into his ear and hugged him tightly, and he whispered to her also and held her, his eyes tight shut against tears that filled them suddenly.

Yes, these things have lovely outcomes sometimes, but how they do hurt when they’re going on!

Later, as Niniel went to start supper and Seragon went out to feed the horses, Bilbo and Gandalf in the next room talking, and Galendur had gone home taking Marílen with him, I sat down beside Lyrien on her bed, took off my pendant and asked her if she’d like to wear it. I felt a little guilty being there, for some absurd reason, and thought Bilbo and I should go home, but Niniel insisted we stay for dinner, and could stay the night if we liked; they had an extra room. I was relieved to see that she meant it. I had a feeling in the back of my mind that she and Seragon were not altogether pleased about my attachment to their daughter; that they were afraid she would eventually be wounded by my mortality. Still, Gandalf assured me that after today, I could do no wrong in their eyes.

“No, you mustn’t give me this,” she whispered. “It’s your Evenstar, and you love it. I won’t take it from you.”

“I only meant for you to wear it for a while, Precious,” I said smiling a little, with a catch in my throat. She took it then, and gazed at it for a moment. I must admit I was glad I hadn’t offered to give it to her, for I keenly felt the loss of it even as she held it. Although I would surely have given it to her if I thought it was the only thing that would make her feel better.

“I’ll just wear it a few minutes,” she said, as though she sensed my feeling. “Lord Elrond’s daughter gave it to you, didn’t she?”

“Auntie Tilwen says she is the most beautiful lady in all the world,” Lyrien said. “Is she?”

“Well, I have heard that,” I said. “I have not seen all the ladies in the world, but she is the most beautiful one I have seen myself.”

“Oh myyyy,” Lyrien looked at me round-eyed. “Don’t you think Marílen looks a bit like her too? As if Lady Elwing could be her mummy? Marílen is very beautiful, isn’t she?”

“She is indeed,” I said smiling to myself. This is one of Lyrien’s most endearing qualities, her total lack of envy. “And so are you.” I put a strand of hair back from her forehead, hoping she wouldn’t ask me which of them I thought more so, but she didn’t.

“Why did she give it to you?” Lyrien asked. “The Evenstar, I mean. Because you saved the world?”

“No,” I chuckled a little. “She gave it to me because…well, because I had been through some very bad things, and she thought it would help me. That’s why I let you hold it, because I thought it might help you feel better.”

“No,” I said with a startled laugh. “She liked me very much, but she did not love me, not that way. She married a mortal man, the King of Gondor, and stayed in Middle-earth.”

I hoped I wasn’t blushing, but I’m afraid I was. “Well…I was, for a while. I thought I should never get over it. But then I came here, and things were different. I learned to accept what could not be changed, and…and to love others as well. So I care for her only as a friend now.”

“I’ll put it on,” she said, lifting the chain over her head, and I gave her a hand with it, “and you can pretend I’m her if you like. Then you can be in love with me too.” She giggled.

“I love you already,” I said, picking up a lock of her hair and kissing it, “as if you were my own child. Don’t you know it?”

“Truly. I’d like to be your dad, except your dad is your dad, so I wouldn’t want to be him. Because I can’t imagine how he’d feel without his treasure. So I’ll just continue to be your friend, because I imagine that is the next best thing to being your father.”

The next day we went into the City, Bilbo, Gandalf, Galendur, Tilwen, Niniel, Seragon, Lyrien, Marílen, Dínlad, Lalaith, Leandros, and I, all together, Lyrien sitting in the little wheeled chair I once used. She told me it was such an honor to get to sit in MY wheel-chair, imagine that!—and here I’d been feeling so badly for her that she would have to sit quiet for a week or so and not get up and run and play. But when I expressed my pity, she just looked at me and said seriously, “Well, you had to be still a very long time too, didn’t you? So I guess I can do it all right.”

We all of us wanted to be the ones to push her chair along, so she said we could take turns. It was amazing; I suppose she had never been out on the town so. She would gasp open-mouthed and point here and there, saying, “Look at THAT! Do you SEE? Oh myyyy!!!” Both girls were in their best dresses and their hair was curled.

“There are FOUR hobbits on the Island now,” Lyrien giggled. She said she and Marílen had suggested clipping bits of their hair and sticking them onto their feet, but their mothers drew the line there.

The City is amazing, full of surprises; every time I go into it, it seems I notice something I had missed before. There are artworks on walls—frescos and mosaics, bas-reliefs, sculptures, gates with fascinating ironworks, some made like dragons, some like trees, some like ships, others like strange sea-creatures. There are balls of crystal, stone, obsidian, ivory, gold, or marble atop many of the gateways and the fountains with which the City abounds. And the stones paving the walkways are large, square-cut and polished, with bits of gold or silver caught in them, glittering in the dazzling sunlight. Some walks have checkered patterns of black and white, some with star-bursts. The streets are paved in a tawny stone, and it boggles my mind to think how long it has been there. Balconies hang over the walk-ways made of wrought-iron in black or white, curved into intricate and curly patterns with pots of flowers and shrubs set out on them, and white lace curtains behind, fluttering in the breeze. The buildings are made mostly of a white stone, but every so often you will happen upon a façade of colored tiles, some arranged in beautiful patterns, and sometimes you will see windows made of colored glass, forming pictures also. And statues of people and animals will greet you at many turns. And there are quaint little shops and huge lofty buildings, and you wonder what could possibly be in them. And markets all over the place. And street-musicians and acrobats and dancers. Yes, I thought Minas Tirith was a beautiful city, but this one makes it look drab and trifling by comparison. And the silver-blue-green mountains in the distance behind make for a most majestic back-drop, and the Palace crowns the City with radiant glory.

Galendur, being the big show-off that he is, had to pause to watch some acrobats, and get in on what they were doing. He has been teaching Dínlad to juggle, and he stopped before a youth who was juggling some large painted sticks, and asked if he could have a try at them. There were six of the sticks, and I didn’t really think he could juggle all six. Four perhaps, but six? The juggler seemed to recognize Galendur, who is rather famous after all, both for his sparring prowess and his feats on horseback, which he often performs in the evenings for the entertainment of the Island's youth. He took just three sticks, and gave the other three to Dínlad, then asked me to sing a tune, one that he could dance to. I was reluctant, but the girls looked so pleadingly, I couldn’t hold out for long. So I sang the one I sang at the Prancing Pony that night, about the cat and the fiddle, and Galendur started to dance as he juggled, which took me by surprise, for I didn’t think he could do both at the same time—yes, I had teased him about it once, but I didn’t think he could really do it—and now here he was! Of course everyone was in total awe, and just to test him out, I started singing a little faster, slapping my hands against my knees in rhythm, and he began dancing faster, not missing a beat, and after the next verse I upped the tempo even more, pretending I was not aware that I was doing so, but I doubt he was fooled. Then Dínlad started to dance also, and came up beside him and they both juggled all six sticks together. Three verses more and I dared take it even faster, and the juggler watched open-mouthed, until I wondered if he were just a bit disgruntled about being shown up thus. Yet I felt proud of Galendur, even while I sang ever faster, and he began tossing the sticks one by one to the juggler, trying to get him in on the stunt. And just as I sang the last verse, they had gotten rid of all but two sticks, which they returned to their owner with a bow and a flourish as everyone applauded. There was a shower of coins, which Galendur and I tried to give to the juggler, but he insisted upon us keeping them. And so Galendur bought sweets for all, and gave the leftover coins to various performers here and there.

Then we found a coppery-haired doll at one of the stands, much to our surprise, since most dolls are either golden-haired or dark-haired, and the lady there (after being assured that yes, I was who I was) explained to us that one day she had seen a darling little girl with the loveliest coppery hair with what were presumably her parents, and she just had to make a doll with tresses of the same color. We grinned and summoned Lyrien forward, and Marílen pushed her wheelchair up to where the lady could see her, and she gasped and said, yes, yes, that was the very child, and whatever in the world had happened to her?? We explained, and asked her how much the doll cost, and she said not a thing, this doll was meant for this little lass, and she handed it to me to give to Lyrien, who thanked her with delightful graciousness.

“Lyrien makes dolls too,” Marílen informed the lady as she caressed her cousin’s curls. “When she’s a grown lady, I imagine she will make the prettiest dolls on the whole Island!”

“This one doesn’t have squiggles in her hair like mine,” Lyrien said cradling her new doll, “but that’s all right. I can make her some. I know how now.”

The adults all laughed. I found a doll with hair very close to the color of Marílen’s, and asked the price of it, and the lady said she would give it to me for all I had done, and I thanked her, and presented it to Marílen.

“I didn’t hurt myself,” she protested even while looking longingly at the doll.

“But you felt badly yesterday,” I said, remembering how she had gone to Lord Elrond, “so you should have it, Sweetheart.” She took it then, and held it tightly, then hugged me also.

Sam…she looks nothing remotely like you, it is true. But I think she is what your soul looks like!

We completed the second part about three months ago; I can’t remember if I told you that or not. Our title for it is “Beyond the Towers”--what do you think of that? But Rûdharanion has gone back to the light-house once more. Seems he has dropped out of the competition for the hand of Salmë. According to Perion, two more have joined her throng of admirers. I still think it will be Valandil, but it seems Bilbo has lost our bet, for she has declined Alcandor a second time. Bilbo is taking it rather to heart, saying will he really have to do all the cooking for a month?

Still, Alcandor has not stopped trying. I think Salmë can do better, and I like Valandil, who is the one I should choose if I were a lady, or if I were her father faced with the unenviable task of arranging a marriage for her. Bilbo, however, thinks he's too, too perfect.

“Which is all right now, but after he's married, he'll take up being a bore,” he told me. “Now that's not so bad for a mortal. His wife will only have to endure him all through her lifetime. But for an Elf, it's a whole different matter. The poor lady will have to go through all the ages being bored out of her mind by his relentless perfection. Think of that, now!”

I laughed and told him I could see his point, but I thought Alcandor was dense and wouldn't take no for an answer, and Bilbo said that was all to his favor. The chap was determined. Didn't give up easily. Like someone else he could name, he told me with a wink.

“She scarcely looks my way, and I cannot see how to please her,” Rûdharanion said to me the night before he left. “I have found my greatest peace in the Tower, and shall once more make it my home for a while. I do not expect you to come such a long way to visit me, my dear friend, but if you should happen to do so, know that you will always be welcome.”

“I can see the light from the Beacon from the place I go to pray on the beach,” I said, “very faintly, but visible on clear nights. I shall send up a prayer nightly for your happiness.”

I was sorry for him, but to be quite honest, I think he has something up his sleeve!

But anyway, the Epic. We have come to the part I’ve been dreading the most: the encounter with Shelob and the Tower and the trek through Mordor. I’m really afraid my bad dreams will start up again when I am forced to recall those horrors in detail.... But no, I’ll not turn back now. Nothing to do but face it, and know that it will be over…like the removal of a bad tooth, which hurts when going on, but feels much better when it’s out.

Still, that’s of little comfort when the tooth is throbbing and you are facing the ordeal of the extraction….

Dûndeloth told me he knew this part would be hard for me, and he said perhaps I should give him the details with my mind. But as I told Galendur, it is very taxing for a mortal. And so I told him all, scarcely aware of how I was trembling and sweating until I had finished, and he put his arm around me and held me tightly. And we climbed upstairs to the praying-room. I knelt at the northern window, Dûndeloth kneeling alongside of me.

“It’s very noble of you to do this, Iorhael,” he said, brushing the hair back from my forehead. “I would never have asked it of you if I had not thought how important it was for all to know the entire story. If it is forgotten, I think it could possibly mean the downfall of the Blessed Realm. In order for it to remain blessed, the Light of Truth must be kept burning. And that Light depends on what you have done, and the knowledge of it. For it was you who lit the Beacon, Iorhael. Did you never wonder why the light came back when you appeared at the Tower? And it is because of your story that it will continue to shine even after you have gone. For if it goes out, the Island will be plunged into eternal twilight once more. But if you can go along just a little more and finish the story, the Light will remain and the Island will be safe.”

I remembered a day when Galendur was acquainting me with the City, and we ended up at his favorite tavern, The Dancing Monkey. We had to pass another on our way, The Brazen Parrot, in front of which a couple of dandified Elves were lounging, obviously in their cups, and one of them called out to Galendur, “Who’s your friend?” and the other laughed as though he’d made some dazzling witticism.

“Pay them no mind,” Galendur told me, and I could hear him scowling as he slapped the reins on Nightwind. “Bloody twits.”

“I should hope to the Valar not,” he said. “That’s a place inhabited by a pack of milksops who never picked up so much as a pen-knife, let alone a sword, and spend most of their spare time sneering at those of us who soiled our lily-white hands on the battlefield. Better to have naught to do with them.”

“Most were, but not all. Some of them left Middle-earth to avoid going to war. Called it a ‘mindless morass of mediocrity’, but make no mistake. They came here so they wouldn’t have to fight, bloody cowards.”

I could hear some voices raised in song from within. What words I could make out, fell as freezing rain on my prudish ears. Yes, we hobbits have been known to sing some rather, ah, boisterous ballads when we've had a few, but one doesn't expect it of Elves.

“They shouldn't be allowed to sing like that where ladies and children can hear them,” I said. “Where do they learn such things anyway?”

“Probably from pirates,” Galendur snorted. “But if that were the worst they got up to, I shouldn't think so much of it. I did my share, back in my wild young bachelor days before I was compelled to settle down and become the shining exemplar of pristine elven virtue you see today. And we can't really hold it against the ones who were born here. I suppose it's not their fault if the sharpest thing they ever wielded was a stick for cleaning under their nails, and the worst they'll likely have to endure is having their favorite race-horse throw a shoe at the last minute. What burns me is the ones who came here to laugh up their sleeves at those of us who were fool enough to lay our lives on the line so they could sit on their bums combing their locks and cutting their eyes at the ladies and comparing one wine-bouquet with another and making idiotic jokes about what we went through. I'd like to pack them off to Mordor so they can clean up the place and get a little mud and ash between their dainty toes. Not that they're likely to be much of an improvement.”

I told Dûndeloth of our conversation. “What does that say for the future of the Blessed Realm?” I asked him.

“That's precisely why we must make your story known to all,” he said. “If it is forgotten, we give the Enemy the advantage, even here, and he always strikes at the softest places. And you saw where the softest places were that day. But knowledge will give us the armor we need.”

I try to keep that in mind. But the rest of the Epic is not much easier. I do not enjoy recalling my feelings of guilt, loss, failure, shame, betrayal, and longing for That which was destroyed, even though I know now that those feelings were the doing of the Enemy. I could see that Dûndeloth feels badly now about making me relive them, as Gandalf and Elrond feel badly because I had to undertake the Quest after they failed. And I feel badly for all of them, burdened with such feelings for all their days.

But later in the evening Lady E. and Lady C. came over with Ríannor and we had a lovely visit, which did much to chase my doldrums away. I sat apart with Lady E. and asked her if she knew aught of the sea-folk.

“All I really know is that they are the creation of Ulmo, even as the Dwarves were the creation of Aulë,” she said. “Although I was the bride of a mariner, I have never considered the Sea to be my true element, which I believe to be the air itself. But I have heard that the sea-folk have often taken the forms of fishes, dolphins, whales or seals, that according to some tales they could assume human form when on dry land, and have been known to mate with humans. Humans very rarely see them, for they are shy and secretive in their ways, and some people fear them, calling them dangerous, treacherous, seductive, and full of tricks. It is said that they can sing, and lure sea-farers to their deaths with their lovely, eerie voices, lying upon rocks sticking up from the waves. Some say they appear as beautiful women from the waist up, and as fishes from the waist down, and perch there combing their long hair with combs made of fish-bones.”

I chuckled nervously. She went on to say that others said that they were as horrible one-eyed monsters with serpents for hair, who could turn men to stone with a mere gaze. I shuddered. She smiled and said she thought these were mere inventions of fanciful minds that wished to provoke a shiver, or deter their adventuresome sons from going to sea.

She did not ask me why I had asked about the sea-folk. I do not know whether or not she knows aught of Marilla, as I call my dream-girl although I am certain it is not her name. Why Marilla should have taken a liking to me, I still have no clue, but I suppose I will find out someday.

If only the fulfillment of heart’s desire did not necessitate loss…but seems it always does, in some way or another!

The Epic is finished! Part Three is entitled “The War of the Ring.” How good it feels to have it all done!

I sent word to the light-house to Rûdharanion that it was finished, and invited him into the City for celebration, which was held at the Palace. And Rûdharanion smiled and shook Dûndeloth’s hand, congratulating him on having completed such a masterpiece, and I could see he was sincere. There were readings from all three parts, and music and dancing, and of course, plenty to eat and drink. I danced with both my sweet girls, and with some of their friends, one of whom told me, “See that girl over there, with the yellow hair and the blue dress? Do you know what she said about you? 'He looked at me with his eyes! I'm in LOVE!'” We all laughed uproariously, and I became quite boisterous as the drink lowered my inhibitions. I’m told I made quite a speech, standing on a chair and making expansive gestures, but I can’t remember a word of it, and I think some rakishly gorgeous fair-haired Elf was pulling my leg.

The Palace is truly a thing of wonders. The Grand Ballroom, in which most of the party was held, is hugely circular, with a floor of marble polished to a most high gloss, in a pattern of a sun-burst, and the largest chandelier I have ever seen hung in the middle of the high ceiling above. And plenty of candles in wall-sconces all around, between which there are full-length mirrors framed in intricate gold and moonstones and pearls, so that I feel as though I were inside of a star.

And I saw Aredhel, clad in a gown of a most luscious shade of pink, which became her magnificently, particularly with her white shoulders rising above it. I suppose she cannot help it if her figure is a bit, well, resplendant, but must she make the fact so obvious? She came arm in arm with Salmë, who was attired in cream and golden-brown embroidered in gold, pink and golden roses in their hair, which was arranged elaborately…yes, with curls. It was Lyrien who pointed them out, and Marílen gasped loudly.

“They have squiggles,” Lyrien whispered, dismayed that grown-up ladies would indulge in such frivolity. I was a bit shocked, myself, as though I had caught my mother and aunt playing at jack-stones.

But the feeling went away as I once more took in Aredhel’s roseate gown, and saw Alcandor fairly gawking at it. A chill ran over me. No, he was NOT looking at Salmë. He was definitely looking at Aredhel…and gawking. Aha!

NOW I know what Rûdharanion has been up to in that tower! And it is as I suspected, his version of my story…but with what a difference.

He took me aside at the party, when people started taking their children home, and told me all about it. I was much taken aback. He had been in that tower for only about four months, I think…he had finished it in so short a time? Yes, well, the first part anyway, and he had brought it with him, and would submit it to me for my approval before doing what he planned with it. And he would not do it if I did not wish it, he said.

It is a drama. In three parts. Based on Dûndeloth’s epic, and Dûndeloth had given his approval with the stipulation that I too must approve it before it could be performed.

“I’ve written a few dramas, long, long ago,” Rûdharanion said, looking a bit sheepish as I sat down thumbing through the pages. “Quite dreadful, most of them. But I think I’ve done rather decently with this one. Still, you are my only friend and very dear to me, and I have wronged you in so many ways. So if you do not wish for me to go through with this project, I will not. Please take it home with you, and take all the time you need about reading it and deciding. And then please let me know if it’s a go or not.”

I puckered my brow, thinking “a go” a peculiar expression coming from him, but I let it pass, studying the frontispiece.

Rûdharanion explained that the title “The Fellowship,” while not amiss for a book, for a drama was rather lacking in, well, drama, and so he had expanded it thusly. Did I mind? Not in the slightest. And I took it home, and read well into the day.

The hobbits will be played by children, of course. There are no child-actors in the company that will be staging the drama, so they are recruiting youngsters from the Island and choosing from among them.

Dínlad, it turns out, has quite a dramatic flair, memorizes quickly, and has a fine voice and impressive stage presence for one so young, and can even improvise lines when he forgets them. Perion is of a more comedic sort, and I had my misgivings since I didn't want his portrayal to be too broadly comic, but he seems to be doing very well, throwing himself into the part, and he and Dínlad are delightful to watch together. They are enthusiastic about the story, which they pronounce “smashing” and “jolly”--Galendur being their idol, and they have picked up some of his expressions. And Dínlad has very generously offered to allow the actor playing Boromir to borrow his horn!

I think Dínlad is in a fair way to get spoilt by the entire Company! They all make quite a fuss over him, and Perion too. And of course the boys relish it. They strut about, firing questions at the actors, examining the props, trying on costumes, sparring with wooden swords, reading lines, and in general just clowning about, and I think it's the most fun the Company has ever had!

And Lyrien and Marílen will be in it also, and it doesn’t bother them that they will not have lines. Lyrien said she’d probably forget hers anyway, and be embarrassed to death. And they get to dance and wear funny costumes…and this time their mothers will surely not object to their having foot hair!

There is a pair of twins, friends of Perion’s, Edrahil and Dairuin, who will play Merry and Pippin. Fortunately they are not identical, so there won’t be too much confusion over which is which…and that is a good thing, as I will be helping with the directing! And I shall also do a bit of acting. Can you guess whom I will portray?

Bilbo, of course, could not be more proud. He is slowing down, I can see that. His step is far less light now, and he does not get up and move about and putter in the garden as much as he used, preferring to stay in his chair and watch me, even taking quiet spells…which, coming from him, is very disturbing indeed. I doubt I would be doing this thing, except I have decided that if he is thinking of leaving, perhaps he will either change his mind for a while, or if not, he will go out happy and proud and smiling at seeing himself thus portrayed.

It’s a trifle embarrassing to me, since our lines must be sung, rather than spoken, in order to be heard in that huge theater. I am a fair enough singer for a hobbit, but by Elf standards I can’t be much. But, fortunately if I am playing a hobbit Bilbo’s age, perhaps the others will not have overly high expectations as to my vocal capacities! Fortunately there is a teacher who is instructing me in proper breathing techniques so that I will be able to "project" better. I hadn't known that breathing was so important to a singer. It involves some very strange exercises...such as standing with one's back flat against a wall, taking a very deep breath, then letting it out in a long slow hiss. Also singing on strange syllables in order to improve one's "resonance". I am also taking a few lessons in something called "diction" which has to do with pronouncing. It makes a great difference in the way one pronounces things on a stage...or "enunciate" as they call it. I'm paying close attention, since I can see how these things will be useful to a director. I am mainly in charge of directing the lads, since it is far less nerve-wracking to deal with people closer to my size, and who better than a hobbit to teach them to act like hobbits? I only hope their mothers won't come at me in a body if I teach them a drinking-song or two! But as yet Lalaith has not come to me telling me Dínlad is driving them all mad with the “Man in the Moon” song.

When Gandalf heard that, he was completely “kerflummoxed,” as he put it. Now there’s a word I never thought to hear from him!

I had mentioned to Rûdharanion that perhaps he ought to consider acting once more; perhaps he would do better this time around, if I put in a word for him. After being assured I was not making a joke, he shook his head, saying, “No no no, I was never any good at it, and should only end up making a fool of myself once more. Sometimes I wonder just what I was put on this earth for at all. To make others feel superior? To give the Valar something to chuckle over? Whatever it was, it’s getting damned tiresome, and I want no more of it.”

But after I approved the drama, telling him, truthfully, that it was wonderful, he changed his mind, saying he felt he’d finally gotten something right, and maybe he would give acting another go as well. And even Gandalf thinks he’s doing splendidly. As does Dûndeloth. I wish Dûndeloth might play Aragorn, but there’s a fellow from the company who has taken that part, and will not surrender it at any price. But I think Dûndeloth would be splendid in the part. He is quite a romantic figure at the College, and his female students, such as they are, are all in love with him. Not that he is so much better-looking than others; he just has a certain charm and sweetness and mystery about him that attracts the opposite sex as a flower attracts bees. And then there are the tragic events of his past, which make them want to take him in their arms and comfort him…yes, how can the poor creatures help but adore him?

Galendur will play Glorfindel, since it is a small part that none of the Company would want. I’m hoping he won’t end up stealing the one scene in which he appears completely!

The actress playing Galadriel is called Inzilbêth—not her real name, which I cannot remember now, so perhaps it’s just as well she changed it. A good many actors do so, I’ve found, if they don’t consider their right names impressive enough. Trust this one to choose a queen’s name! She does bear some resemblance to our Queen, but I find her rather haughty and difficult. The director tells me I am “too nice” and must “crack the whip” and let the others know who’s in charge, or they will run all over me like stampeding cattle over a tail-wagging pup. Perhaps so, but cracking the whip is so much easier when you don’t have to crane your head back to look others in the eye! Inzilbêth is none too happy about the fact that she appears so late in the drama, and so briefly, and will not appear at all in the second and third part. I suggested giving her a song. I wish I could remember the song the Lady sang in farewell to us. I remember it was poetic and lovely and a trifle poignant, just the thing for Inzilbêth, surely. Perhaps I can persuade the Queen to teach it to us…but in the meantime, I hit on the idea of having Inzilbêth declaim the prologue explaining the forging of the Rings at the beginning. And she is partially placated.

Lady C. is tickled to death that Inzilbêth is portraying her mother. “I simply adore her!” she said when she heard the news, sounding for all the world like the breathless adolescent she most certainly is not. “I’ll never forget her performance in The Fall of Gondolin. Such raw emotion as she was able to impart! There was scarcely a dry eye in the theater.”

“She’s got a way about her all right,” Galendur said for my ears alone. “A way that I imagine could be a royal pain in the arse for the director.”

I giggled, remembering what one of the actors said when I spoke of persuading Lady G. to teach us her song for Inzilbêth. Make sure it has plenty of high notes, he said. If she didn't get any, she was likely to throw a fit. I couldn't remember the song as having high notes, the Queen's voice being rather low pitched. But I suppose the song could be pitched higher. And there is no other actress in the Company so well suited to the part.

I confess, I got a lump in my throat as I watched them rehearse the scene in which the Lady gives Dínlad…me…the star-glass…which, of course, I lent for the occasion. Perhaps it was the light from the glass that did it, the way it illuminated their faces with a soft and gentle beauty like a lover’s smile. There was something holy in the way Inzilbêth sang May it be a Light unto your path/When about you all others go out/A peerless fragment of your own true Shining/Held blessedly in the palm of your hand…and I could hardly help but think of Dûndeloth’s words: “In order for the Realm to remain blessed, the Light of Truth must be kept burning. And that Light depends on what you have done, and the knowledge of it.”

Well. I can see already that there is far more to directing a play than meets the eye!

I suppose I had this idea that nothing bad could happen on the Island. I was so wrong!

The play is to be performed in three weeks. Rehearsals have been going well and I have been pleased with the performances overall…especially Dínlad’s. I’m told he even looks like me—or like me when I was a lad, although I rather doubt it! Yet I was worried as well. The boy had never experienced loss, so how would he do with the fall of Gandalf in the mines? How could he and the others convincingly convey grief they had never felt?

Dínlad and Marílen had a cousin, Amras, son of Leandros’s sister Mirimë. I don’t know how old he was, since Elves do not keep up with their birthdays as we do, but I would estimate that he was roughly the equivalent of a youth in his middle or late ’tweens. Probably between eighty and ninety. I met him just once at the celebration at the Palace, and his niece, Fëariel, was one of my dance-partners—she is a little older than Marílen. Amras’s father was slain in battle before the family came to the Island, so Amras has been here since he was small.

Amras was an adventuresome lad, reckless and impulsive, and I’m sure he must have caused his mother a great deal of worry. Mirimë doted on him immensely, he was so different from his older brother, who insisted on order and got upset if one of his children left a cupboard door open or came down with a crooked parting in their hair. He loved to swim and dive in the sea, climb mountains and cliffs, gallop on his horse at break-neck speed, spar and wrestle and tame animals when he could. Altogether an energetic, cheerful, and intrepid youth, and I would have liked to know him better.

It was when he was coming to visit us that he met his fate, for it seemed he wanted to know me better as well. I think he was getting bored in his village—he was apprenticed to a blacksmith, who was rather strict and exacting—and decided to come down and visit his cousins on his own. He left a note for his mother and went on his way without saying goodbye, no doubt fearing she would stop him from going, and took his horse at dawn and set out.

There is a river that runs almost halfway through the Island, swift and deep at all times, and especially so this time of year, after a hard rain. If Amras had taken the path through the valley through which the river runs, he would surely have been all right. For that matter, this road would have gotten him to Leandros’ sooner, but instead, he took one that winds over the mountainside, narrow, rocky, and treacherous. Perhaps he wanted to see the view from up there, which surely must be breath-taking. But more likely the reason was simply that he hated to do things the same way all the time, according to Leandros. A shepherdess saw what happened and told us about it. She said the horse must have lost his footing on some loose stones and slipped, falling down the steep mountainside, and he and his master both fell into the surging current, where the boy was dashed to death on the rapids, and no doubt the poor beast met with the same fate. She would never forget the sight, she told us, shuddering and weeping; she could only think of her own sons.

Needless to say, the entire Island was catapulted into mourning. It is hard to grasp the enormity of the grief. If it had happened in the Shire, of course, it would have been a great tragedy for those who knew the boy, but eventually things would have gone back to the way they were and life would go on. But this was an immortal in the Blessed Realm, and a young one at that; such a thing was not supposed to happen. And that wicked conscience of mine has risen to berate me again. I imagined folks talking amongst themselves, telling each other in hushed tones if that…Halfling…had not come here the lad would still be alive. What was he doing here anyway, he was no Elf. Savior indeed! This is what comes of allowing mortals into the Undying Lands. They bring death and destruction with them everywhere they go. Now what would become of the Island?

“What will happen now?” I said to Bilbo as I cleared the supper table. “No one can even remember the last time there was a death here. And surely this has thrown everything out of kilter. I doubt anyone will even wish to see the play now. What will become of the Island’s tranquillity? Things will never be the same. And I will never feel so welcome here now. I feel that I must stay here at the cove for the rest of my life and never venture out again….”

I sat down at the table, leaning my head on my hands. Bilbo stood and patted my back.

“There now, my lad, you are taking far too much to yourself,” he said, his voice shaking a little. “It sounds to me like you are blaming yourself for the lad’s death, which of course is nonsense. You had naught to do with it. He was not even on his way to see you, but to see Dínlad. We live far out of his way.”

“Even so, it was not your doing. He shouldn’t have taken that mountain path, that was sheer foolishness. ’Twasn’t your fault if he didn’t show half the sense he was born with.”

“I guess I’m thinking of what I was worrying about, of Dínlad not knowing enough of grief to convey it convincingly,” I sighed. “Just the other day I was thinking of it. And then this happened. It just seems…too coincidental.”

“And that’s exactly what it is—coincidence,” my uncle said putting an arm around my shoulders. “You had naught to do with it, and you know it. It was a sad, sad thing, but none of your doing. You didn’t even know the boy. Now come on and let’s go sit on the terrace and watch the sun go down and have a smoke, what say?”

We went out, leaving the dishes in the tub. We smoked our pipes in silence for a bit, and before long we heard the sound of hooves and the bell from the archway ringing, and the peacock awoke and gave a raucous cry. We looked around and saw Shadowfax faintly glowing in the dusk. Of course Gandalf needed no invitation to come through our gate, and he knew it well.

“I grew worried about you,” he said as he dismounted. I went to him and we embraced, all three of us. I stood holding him for a long moment, my face buried in his bosom. He patted my back and stroked my hair. Then we all went to the terrace and I offered him a drink and he said, “Just fresh water.” I drew him a full glass and sat down close to him and we talked well into the evening.

“Day after tomorrow. The funeral won’t be held in the Temple, but in the little church in his village. His mother doesn’t wish to be surrounded by a huge crowd, poor soul. And she would have him buried out back of it. For of course there are no graveyards here.”

I rose and went down the steps and poked around the garden in silence. Gandalf spoke my name in worried tones. I picked a flower or two and stood twirling them between my fingers, then returned to the terrace.

“So what will become of the Island now?” I asked. “It will never be the same again, surely.”

“I suppose things will be different for a while,” Gandalf said thoughtfully. “But as for anything ‘becoming’ of it…Elves have different ideas about death than mortals, certainly. It’s hard for mortals, of course, but your lives are so short, you are not faced with waiting all through the ages to rejoin those who go before you. Yet such is the virtue of the Island, it will know healing as well, although it will take a long time.”

“What can I do?” I said. “I feel I must do something. But what? I scarcely think Amras’s family would want aught to do with me now. Not that they would blame me exactly—it is as Bilbo said, the boy’s own doing that brought about his fate. But I cannot help but think that if I weren’t here, it wouldn’t have happened. Dínlad talked so much to him of the play, and they grew close....”

“It will come to you in time, what you can do,” Gandalf said gently. “I cannot tell you; you must listen and you will hear. But not if you persist in berating yourself. Only if you are still and receptive to the Music that is meant for you will you hear it. So I would advise you to do as you would in the Shire for those who suffer bereavement. Give what comfort you can and offer what you are able. Then you will be guided in due time.”

He stayed the night with us in the guest-room, but I could not sleep. Late in the night I rose, dressed, took my glass and went out on the beach. I wandered toward my praying-place, but could not make my knees bend for the longest, so I walked up and down the shore, listening to the rush and roar of the surf, and the faint calling of night-birds from the cove. I could see the light from the Beacon, but it seemed fainter than usual. What would happen to it?

I looked to the white cliffs jutting over the shore, and the tiny “island” just off them—no one lived on it, I had come to find; it was just rock and trees, its only inhabitants being birds and insects, I supposed. But I had sighted Marilla there, just once, sitting above the water in the late evening—she was glowing or I would have missed her. I wondered if she would be gone too. I could take no comfort even in the thought of her at the moment.

Sighing, I picked up a stick and began idly drawing in the sand with it, thinking of Gandalf’s words. I must listen, he said. I must be still and receptive to the music and it would come to me, what I must do. I looked down at what I had written in the sand, and found myself reading it aloud, wondering if I should copy it on paper before the surf could wash it away.

Still as an islet choked in tangled mists
I stand and breathe wet questions at the moon:
What now? Why must it be?
I have come such a great way;
must I turn back now?
When one falls
must we all?
Are all roads one?
I am dashed against harsh riddles
I have lost my skiff
I am adrift.
Do all rivers meet the sea?
What comes next? When will I know?
Please
do not let my Light die.
I fear the dim and shifty road
as I fear the upwardness
and the downwardness
and the staying and the listening
and the going out and coming in
the windows and the stairs
the burying and the caring
and crooked partings
and doing a thing
the same way twice.
I dread all paths and openings
and closings and beginnings.
I would sew all souls to the ground
but fear to lose my eyes
when my light is drowned
and would prick my finger surely
and no one would thank me
for bleeding on their skin
as I grope in vain
to stitch a straight seam.
What do I say?
Where is my bundle?
Why is the sand so cold?

And I found myself rising, and my feet moving toward the praying-place as the vast indifferent sea breathed outward once more, ever closer to the fragments of my soul that I had scratched on the snowy sand.

I was so silly last night, worrying over whether or not I would be welcome on the Island anymore. Just as Bilbo and I rose and washed and dressed, we heard the bell and the peacock, and there was Talmar, our dairy-Elf, with our weekly supply of milk, butter, cream and cheese, and he also had a basket of rolls, warm from the oven and smelling delicious, along with a roasted duck. His wife sent them over, he said. As always, I sent him on his way with a big basket of oranges and golden mushrooms, a jar of honey, and a couple bottles of wine. It was an even more than usually beautiful morning.

Then when we had just finished our breakfast, Galendur came over. I embraced him and he dropped to one knee and held me a long moment. I shed a couple of tears into his shirt and he let me get over them before releasing me. I invited him to have some rolls—there actually were a few left, and he took one, and exchanged a few remarks with Gandalf, much more somber than usual. Then he asked me if we were going to the funeral.

“I was going to take our pony-cart,” I said, “and Gan—Olórin will lead the way. I don’t think my pony should have to pull the three of us.”

“It’s a long way for your pony at all,” Galendur said, “so I thought I’d offer to take you on Nightwind. Bilbo can ride with Olórin on Shadowfax, and Til can load the supplies on her pony. That way we can take the shorter route. How’s that?”

I said I thought it a good plan, and we quickly packed a change or two of clothing and rode out toward Galendur’s house, which is about a mile from ours. The house is a little larger than ours, with vases of flowers and many candles, and some very colorful tapestries on the walls, brighter than one usually sees in Elven homes. I smelled something baking, something familiar. Tilwen embraced me and Bilbo and kissed us on the cheek, looking sad. Gandalf kissed her hand, and we went into the sitting-room which afforded a nice view of the garden, which boasted a small fountain and some statuary.

And then Galendur said, “I’m glad you are here, Baggins. It’s a comfort to have you.”

“Yes,” Tilwen agreed, coming in from the kitchen to where we all sat facing the windows. She patted my shoulder. “I feel so badly for them all, though. Especially his poor mother. First she lost her husband, now her youngest son. I think her daughter will have her move in with them, but I doubt she’d want to, with two children in the house already.”

“At least they’re girls,” Galendur said. “Less nerve-wracking than boys, I should think.”

“My mother may differ with you there,” Tilwen smiled. “Still, Mirimë shouldn’t have to be alone in that house. Amras was such a lovely boy. A pity he was so careless and reckless though.”

I felt that there was more in those words than met the ear. As though she were directing them at Galendur, who shared some of the same characteristics. I devoutly hoped he would take the hint.

“She went with Niniel,” she said. “But Niniel and Seragon and Lyrien are staying with Seragon’s parents. My mother and his mother don’t like each other much, so she’ll stay with us at Firnhil’s. Oh, oh, the bread is about to burn!”

She flurried off to the kitchen and took something out of the oven. And I knew why it smelled familiar. It has been a good long while since I tasted lembas bread.

We had a long way to go to get there--about 30 miles or so. The village is the same one near the light-house, where Dûndeloth’s son Firnhil lives, so we’d be staying overnight with them.

I didn’t speak of my guilty feelings to Galendur, because I had a good idea what he would say. And I really didn’t feel quite so guilty anymore. I watched him feed his horse for the journey, then he lifted me and put me up on the saddle, patting Nightwind’s neck with a fond smile.

“Is he a horse or isn’t he?” he said. “I should be endowed like he is. Shouldn’t I, old fellow?”

I laughed in relief to hear Galendur sounding so much like himself again, as he swung up into the saddle behind me with one deft motion and we were on our way.

It was nearly nightfall when we reached the village. It was good to see Firnhil and Maianna again. And Dûndeloth had gotten there ahead of us, and with him was Rûdharanion; they had come together. It does my heart such a world of good to see that they are now friends.

Maianna asked me if I could remember the little poem I had quoted to her at our first meeting. I regretted to say I had forgotten it, but I would write another much better one just for her, and she smiled sadly. I was not surprised to find that she and Mirimë were friends. The people in the village all knew each other, it seemed. Mirimë was a weaver by profession, who would go out of her way to help a neighbor in need.

“I’m worried about her,” Maianna said. “I feel so helpless. Did you ever feel that way? That no matter how much you care for someone, you just don’t have what she really needs? And I can’t help but feel angry with Amras. Whatever possessed him to go up that mountain? Well, I’m glad she still at least has Haleth and Mardil and their children…although Mardil is an awful stick in my opinion, but you needn’t quote me on that. Haleth is a lovely person. And Amras and our youngest granddaughter Laurewen were more than a little sweet on each other. They’ve known each other since they were small. I cannot see her caring for anyone else now.”

Once more Galendur and I slept on the terrace, and I watched for the Beacon light but it seemed dim and far away. And then I found myself walking through the Halls of Mandos, which were of black marble, and saw many Elves sitting on long benches lining the walls. I looked about for Amras, but could scarcely remember what he looked like, since it was some months ago when I had met him, and only briefly. I asked some of the Elves if they had seen him, but they shook their heads, their faces expressionless. Then one of them stood up and put the flat of his hand on my chest saying What are you doing here, you are no Elf. Be on your way, we do not want you here. There was a strange buzzing in the hall. I reached in my pocket for my glass, but it was not there. And I said, I have come such a long way. There is no going back. And I saw a lady standing in the doorway weeping so woefully, my heart broke. I said, She wants to come in. I must help her. The lady tore at her hair and cast herself on the floor. And the Elf grabbed me by the front of my shirt saying, You have something we want, Halfling. Give it to me now! You cannot have it, I said, wondering why I could not feel the floor beneath my feet. You are a failure, Hair-foot, said the Elf. Nothing you do is right. Now you want to take over. Everything falls because of you. Liar, I told him. Your words are poison. He laughed, sounding strangely like Saruman. The lady cried piteously for her son. Her tears flowed into me and out of my eyes and the Elf laughed. Pig. You are wetting yourself. I am tired of you. Go away before I call the guards. I turned to see the guards and they were orcs….

“Baggins? All right?” I felt Galendur’s hand take mine. I told him of my dream. snd then I could see the Beacon’s light as bright and true as I remembered it well over a year ago, and Galendur told me to do as the curmudgeonly Elf said and keep my arse out of those halls. I laughed a little, but couldn’t help but think of the mother weeping for her son.

After breakfast Firnhil’s two daughters and their husbands and some of their children, including the bereaved Laurewen, came by. She wept quietly much of the time we were there, and later we rode to the home of Seragon’s parents, where Lyrien ran out to meet us, throwing herself into my arms first.

“There was no need, darling,” I said. “Your uncle always takes good care of me.”

I grinned up at Galendur and she threw herself at him. He picked her up and gave her a smacking kiss. Seragon followed up, smiling gently, and behind him his father, Quellemel, and Aerin his mother. I could see that yes, indeed there was a tree house, but it was not as I thought. There was a cottage on the ground like any other, and the mallorn grew alongside of it, and from the roof was a ladder leading upward into the branches. The tree-house was hard to see, but it was there. Galendur had told me something of it. Quellemel mostly lives in the tree. No, he is not a native of Lothlorien, just a nutter who fancies trees, and he and his wife are not always on the best of terms, so he often retires to the shelter of the mallorn. He reminds me a little of Tom Bombadill, only much more cantankerous, grumbling a great deal about all the people Aerin brings into the house; how is a fellow supposed to have any peace with so many chatter-boxes day in and day out? But when Lyrien is there, he turns into a bowl of custard. And Aerin would never stand for having tubs of water-lilies about, tripping up her visitors and making a mess all over her clean floor. Their daughter Eilinel still lives at home. She is very unlike her brother, with an air of pert and merry mischief under normal circumstances. She and Tilwen have been close friends since childhood, before Donnoviel tired of provincial village life and moved into the more intellectually stimulating City so her daughters could have “the advantages.”

Lyrien wanted to show us something she made for Mirimë, and ran inside to fetch it. It was a baby-doll, to make her feel better, she said. I held it and looked at it in wonder. Although it must have been hastily made, the stitches were well put in, and it wore a long white gown trimmed with lace, and the eyes were closed, with long eyelashes embroidered carefully on the pink cheeks, the tiny mouth one little pink line. The hair was a very recognizable shade of copper, and I had a feeling she had clipped bits from her own doll to make it. It even wore a nappy and bootees. And it looked as though she were already attached to it, and would have a hard time parting with it.

“My mum and Auntie Tilwen helped,” she admitted, “because there wasn’t much time.”

“You are already the best doll-maker on the Island,” I said softly, “and certainly the sweetest.”

We went indoors for tea and Quellemel told us about what deaths he could remember on the Island. He could recall a ship that didn’t come back. Actually it happened before he came here; he had heard about it from others. And there was a fisher who had become a meal for sharks one day when he and his mates ventured much too far out to sea and were making a little too merry, so that he fell overboard. There was a ballad about it; mothers often sang it to their sons as a warning. He offered to sing it for us but Aerin gave him a sharp look and so he didn’t. Eilinel edged up close to Tilwen and me, whispering that she had heard from one of her mother's friends that Mirimë wished to die of grief. I felt my heart flop over.

“I don’t know what I’ll do if she does,” Eilinel whispered, with big round eyes. “I never heard of such a thing; did you?”

I dreaded going to Mirimë’s, but we eventually headed there, and Leandros, Lalaith, Dínlad and Marílen were all there, along with Leandros’ and Mirimë’s older brother and father and mother, Mirimë’s daughter Haleth and older son Mardil, with their spouses and children. Haleth’s daughter Fëariel waved to me, but was not her usual smiling self. I was surprised that Amras was not laid out in the church, but rather in a small cave behind a waterfall, with a large rock sealing the entrance to keep animals out. There he would remain until the burial later in the day. Mirimë had a white-faced unnatural calmness about her that made me uneasy. What if she did die of grief?

Everyone got to talking and I slipped away on the pretext of having to go where everyone must, which for that matter I did. After I emerged from the privy, however, I remained outside, where I could see the sea-shore, as well as a cliff from which I could hear what sounded like a waterfall. Was that where Amras was laid out? I went to investigate, without knowing why. Yes, there was a waterfall, and an opening beneath, with a large boulder blocking it. A chill ran over me, but I did not run back. I just stood still, looking toward it for I knew not how long until I heard a step behind me and started. It was Laurewen.

“They’re going to put him in the ground,” she said sniffling. “In the hard, cold earth. I’ll simply go mad.”

“He was my own beloved,” she said as her tears began to flow once more. I offered her my handkerchief.

“It’s just not fair,” she said in muffled tones behind the handkerchief. “How can I face all the ages of the world without him? It’s so unfair!”

That was when I was thankful for my mortality. My heart broke for this girl, bereft for all the ages. And I heard the roar of the surf along with the noise of the falls, and felt the sun on my back. And found myself a bit entranced, as the strangest feeling came over me.

“I don’t suppose you can move that stone?” I heard myself asking the weeping maiden. She shook her blonde head, looking down at me in puzzlement through her tears. “Of course not. It would take at least three big folk to do it, I’m sure. But…wait here. I know it sounds daft, but…I just have a feeling. I must see him, somehow.”

She stared at me for a long moment, then said, “I’ll go. You may stay.” And she turned and ran back.

There really are some advantages to being a prince. It’s so much easier to get people to do what you want.

I couldn’t have told anyone why I wanted so badly to see the boy. Just half an hour ago I was feeling that it would have been the last thing I wanted. But now I felt such an urgent need, that if they didn’t come and move the stone, I would find a way to move it myself.

Laurewen returned, along with her father, Firnhil and Dûndeloth and Rûdharanion, and Mardil and Leandros, Bilbo and Gandalf following behind. And some of the ladies, including Mirimë with Lyrien’s baby-doll cradled in one arm, after them. I wished they had stayed behind but didn’t think I could bring myself to ask them to go back. I requested to Firnhil and Dûndeloth to move the stone away. Laurewen said she wished them to do it as well; she hated the thought of him having to be sealed up before he must be laid way for all eternity. Dûndeloth, Firnhil, and Mardil all went over, and to the detriment of their clothing, waded into the water and began straining at the boulder. My heart pounded so that I could hardly hear anything else, as I prayed silently.

The Elves managed to budge the stone, and Gandalf went over with a large stick and worked it into the crack they made and pried the boulder away. I felt Laurewen’s cold hand clutching mine tightly. I broke away and ran to the opening, and without looking at anyone else I squeezed myself through the crack until I was inside the cave, then I took my glass from my pocket and lit it, bidding the others stay back.

The body lay on a large flat slab, covered with a white cloth. I felt a momentary dizziness, but finally found the courage to pull the cloth away. The body was dressed in white, the hands folded on the breast as expected, the face nearly as white as the clothing. There was a bandage around the head, and I remembered someone saying that a piece of the skull had pierced his brain, causing immediate death.

It has happened before, I reminded myself. I heard Bilbo speak my name, and Gandalf shushed him. The others were silent. And I went to the boy and took his icy hand in mine, shuddering at the clammy coldness, but I drew a deep breath, closed my eyes and began to speak. And soon I heard myself speaking words in a language I did not know. They came as music from water, as smoke from fire, as butterflies from a field, with no effort at all, as though another were merely using my voice to utter them. I heard myself say, “Come back,” and “Release him, send him back,” but those were the only words I understood.

How long I stood there with his hand in mine, speaking unintelligible words, I never knew. But by and by I felt compelled to open my eyes, and that was when I heard a soft groan. And felt the cold fingers stir ever so slightly. And saw the eyelids twitch and a faint tinge of color creep into the lips.

I woke in a bed, which was Amras’, as it turned out. I had the baby-doll tucked under one arm, and Lyrien lay beside me fast asleep, curled on her side facing me, her hand holding mine; Marílen lay on my other side sleeping with one arm thrown over me, and Bilbo was sitting up sleeping in a chair beside the bed, his head drooping to one side.

Then I remembered Amras, wondering if what had happened in the cave had been only a dream. I sat up, groggily, then slumped back down again as dizziness overcame me. How long had I been out? It was still daylight. Where was everyone? I tried to sit up once more. My head spun again, but this time I managed to stay sitting up. Then Lyrien awoke.

“Hullo, Poppet,” I said smiling and reaching for her hand once more. I was under the covers, but the girls lay on top of them. Lyrien reached over me and shook her cousin’s arm.

“Marílen! He’s awake!” she called. Marílen propped herself on one elbow. I hugged both girls at the same time, and knew by their giggles and squeals and hugs that I had not dreamt what happened after all. I bounced a little on the bed and so did they. Then Bilbo awoke. I invited him to join us, and he did. The girls hugged him also. Then Dínlad came into the room, his horn slung around his neck—he is as attached to it as I am to my glass, which sat on the bed-table. He came rather shyly and sat on the edge of the bed and reached his hand to me, and I took it and then I embraced him too, horn and all. Fëariel and her older sister Linwë came running in, their mother Haleth standing in the doorway smiling, all smiling, and Galendur and Tilwen and Eilinel and Donnoviel, Quellemel and Aerin and the rest. And soon enough there was Gandalf, squeezing past them and he came and sat down on the edge of the bed and admonished the children with mock sternness to stop bouncing before they made me sick, and they immediately stopped, for which I was glad because I was feeling a little giddy with all the rocking. I leaned against Bilbo with Lyrien almost in my lap, and I picked up the baby lest it get crushed and held it protectively to my stomach.

“How are you feeling?” Gandalf asked me as Marílen put an arm around his shoulders and leaned her dark head against him.

“A little weak, but aside from that…wonderful,” I said. “How long have I been here? How is Amras?”

“Less than an hour, I should say,” Gandalf said in answer to my first question, giving Marílen a little one-armed hug. “As for Amras, he’s in a good deal of pain, but he’s alive. He is being taken to the Palace until he can recover completely. As you may have heard, he had not only a fractured skull, but his left arm was shattered and several ribs broken, one hip dislocated, and one leg fractured in two places. Fortunately his neck was not broken, although it’s a wonder. Mirimë had to go with her son, otherwise she would be here to thank you. She asked me to convey her thanks, and will do so in person as soon as she can be spared.”

I shuddered. Yes, of course Amras would be in a lot of pain, and I somehow doubted his thoughts of me were complimentary just now. I remembered when I myself had been sent back, and I had been far from happy about it, to which Bilbo…and yes you, Sam…can well attest. I just hope Amras will be a little nicer to everyone than I was!

“Can you really raise the dead now?” Fëariel asked me. “Can you call back my grandfather?”

“I’m sorry, dear one,” I said, “but it is not something I can do at will. One can only do so at the calling of the Valar.”

“Oh,” Lyrien said in some disappointment, “one of Beauty’s little new baby kittens died the other day. I hoped you could call it back.”

I kissed her cheek. “Sorry, Sweetheart. I don’t think anyone could call kittens back, anyway. But you still love me, don’t you?”

“YES,” she said giving me a big squeeze. “EVERYbody does--everybody who isn’t stupid, that is.”

“You must be hungry, my lad,” Bilbo said. “It must be getting on for two o’clock. Is there aught left from luncheon, Mistress Haleth?”

“I’m afraid there isn’t much,” Haleth said, “but I can send someone to market.”

“I’ll go,” Linwë said. “I like to haggle. I’m getting really good at it.”

“I want to go too,” piped up Fëariel, jumping off the bed and smoothing down her dress. “As soon as I fix my hair a bit. I must look a fright!”

“Yes, you do,” said Dínlad giving one of her golden curls a tweak. She hit his hand.

Marílen stood up also. “I’ll come with you,” she offered shyly, “although I don’t know where the markets are. But I can carry stuff.”

“I would like to go too,” Lyrien said, “but I must stay with Iorhael to make sure he’s all right.” I laughed. So did the other adults.

“My tastes are plain enough,” I said. “Bread, meat, fruit, vegetables, mushrooms…and fish. If they have any of that green melon with the red insides, I would like that very much.”

“Get lots and lots of mushrooms,” Lyrien said. “The golden kind if they have them. And blueberries. And cream. And, and strawberries, and…crab legs….”

“I’m going too,” Dínlad said sticking his chest out with a strong hint of his former cockiness. “You girls need a male around to see to things.”

“Oh, by all means,” Linwë said rolling her eyes. “We’ll just let you carry the heavy stuff, since you’re sooo smart, Mister Perfect. But if you start blowing that horn of yours, I’ll smack you silly!”

The four cousins departed with baskets, chattering and giggling, after Fëariel had put her rippling locks back in order and was assured by her mum that her dress was fine, the color was not too dark for her, and her sister threatened to leave her behind if she didn’t stop primping and come along. Lyrien whispered to me, “Marílen says Fëariel has her hair squiggled EVERY SINGLE DAY. Not just for special.”

I chuckled. “Well, she’s at that age,” I said, wondering how long “that age” lasted for ellyth.

I was feeling much stronger by nightfall, but do you think I was allowed to get up? Not a bit of it. I had to stay in bed the rest of the day, and much of the next. But I was waited on hand and foot, and the elflings were delightful company. I heard bells ringing joyously from the town square in the late afternoon. Laurewen came in the evening, wearing a gown of pale blue instead of black, and yes, she was weeping, but for happiness this time. She told me Mirimë had said she and Amras could get married now. His mother had thought he was too young, and wanted him to wait another fifteen or twenty years, but now she had given her consent, and they would marry as soon as he had recovered sufficiently.

“I owe you an apology,” she confessed, sitting in the chair beside the bed and hanging her head a little. “I knew you weren’t really to blame for what happened to Amras, you had naught to do with it, and it was his own fault for being so rash and silly as to take that treacherous mountain path. But at the same time, I couldn’t help but feel that if you hadn’t come to the Island, it wouldn’t have happened. It was sooo wrong of me to think that way, and I must sincerely beg your pardon for it.”

“Well, I would never have known if you had not told me,” I said, even as I thought it was not exactly true. “But I do pardon it, and thank you for telling me.”

“Of course I can scarcely say that I’m so wonderful, myself,” she said, her eyes brimming once more. “I mean, there I was, my great-grandfather had written the Epic, and here I was all puffed up about that and everything, going around boring everyone to death about it, when I hadn’t done a thing to boast of. It was his doing and none of mine, why should I have thought I was so special? And then, and then that what’s-his-name goes and makes a play of it, and Dínlad stars in it, and Amras gets all excited and starts going to see him more often…and then he does something really stupid and gets himself killed, and I end up blaming you! And in the end it’s you who calls him back. I’m just so, so overwhelmed, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me and not think too badly of me, Iorhael. And I should very much like to have you perform the wedding ceremony, if you don’t mind.”

“I would be overjoyed to do so,” I said, thinking I would like to see her sometime when her eyes were not all red and puffy.

It was wonderful to see Mardil being kinder to his wife and children, and I hoped it would last. Also Quellemel and Aerin seemed much more cordial with each other. I dare say Quellemel hadn’t slept in the tree-house the previous night, judging from the little smirk he wore all morning! And he hummed a rather naughty little tavern song from time to time and his wife didn’t even look annoyed.

Even Donnoviel and Aerin managed to speak civilly to each other…and I was informed that Donnoviel even slept at their house instead of Firnhil’s, which was rather full. If one of them showed any signs of snarkiness to the other, all I had to do was pull a little distressed face and they straightened out quickly enough. I doubt they’ll ever exactly be bosom friends, but you never know!

I was allowed to see Amras a few days later. Lord Elrond had dosed him to relieve his pain, and he lay in a chamber in the Palace designated as a sick-room, heavily bandaged and splinted up. I came to find that yes, indeed, he had not been happy at being sent back, at the first, but since Laurewen had been coming to see him and his mother had given her consent to their marriage, he had gotten resigned rather quickly, and now, he said grinning, he felt he could forgive me. I told him I knew what it was to be sent back, and that if I had known at the time what I was being spared for, I would probably have put up even more of a fight than I had then, but it had been for the best after all, and so perhaps it could be for him. I hope I didn’t sound too preachy, but I probably did.

The play was postponed for six weeks, so that Amras could heal sufficiently to attend. Fortunately Elves heal much more quickly than mortals; otherwise we may have had to wait for nearly six months.

In the meantime I was able to take advantage of my princely status to get some things done. The Queen made me Inspector for the Orphans’ Home, which is on the edge of the City. It is a large enough building, yet still a bit crowded, and I mused over the idea of adding another wing to it. And the children were sufficiently fed, clothed, sheltered, and educated, and certainly not mistreated. But what did they lack? Individual attention, for one. They were all dressed the same, in grey uniforms; surely a little color wouldn’t hurt? And I told the Matron I wanted new uniforms for them, one in blue and one in red, to be worn on alternating days.

“I think you don’t quite understand,” she said condescendingly, “coming as you do from a different place. But there are so many of the children, it would never do to have them prancing about in gaudy colors. With such a large group, one must have order at all times, and the uniforms help to bring that about. We cannot have them thinking of their clothes at all times; one must keep their minds focused on Higher Things.”

“I am not suggesting gaudy colors,” I said looking up at her unwaveringly--I have been told far too often about the effect my steady gaze has to be unaware of it--and reminded myself, at the same time, to have patience. “I am suggesting soft shades of blue and red which I scarcely think likely to bring about disorder. Yes, I understand that a bit of regimentation is necessary for a large group. However, Middle-earth armies have traditionally incorporated color into their gear, and managed still to establish discipline among their ranks. And I am hardly suggesting a lot of flashy insignia, which would be an unnecessary expense. And I shall admonish the children to maintain proper order, so it will not be a hardship for you. Another thing: I have noticed that the girls all wear the same plain white dress for Temple. I shall have new frocks made for them, in colors of their choosing, trimmed with ribbons and lace. Nothing too fancy, but nice. Every girl should have at least one pretty dress. And is there someone who could curl their hair on Temple days?”

“Really, your Highness,” she said, “pardon me if I seem disrespectful, but I think you are taking this just a little far. How can young ladies possibly keep their minds attuned to the Divine if they are thinking of their clothing and their curly locks? Yes, I have noticed that curled hair seems to have become fashionable since you arrived, but it has never met with my approval. I cannot believe you are so intent on cultivating vanity and foolishness amongst the youth of this realm—and in Temple of all places? Young girls have enough notions in their heads without encouragement from outsiders. Whatever are you thinking?”

“All right, forget the curls,” I said. Of course I knew the idea of the hair was a stretch, but I thought perhaps if I overdid it a little, then backed down under the pretext of offering a compromise, she might be more amenable to the plan for the clothing. “It was just an idea. But I wish them to have the red and blue uniforms, with one pretty frock for Temple for the girls. I will see it done, and it will require no effort at all from you.”

“Very well then,” she said stiffly, “but if utter chaos is the result, it will be on your head, not mine!”

I am sure she glared at my back when it was turned to her, but I merely grinned. I told my plans at the Palace, and Lady C. and Lady E. were delighted, and said they would be pleased to take the girls to be measured for the dresses and pick out fabrics and the pattern. Then I remembered mine and Bilbo’s birthday was coming up, and I asked whether or not the children had toys. They did—old things that other elflings had outgrown and given away, some of them scarcely fit to be seen, although many seemed much attached to them. I decided they should have new toys made especially for them, and I called an assembly and asked them to write down their names and describe a toy they would like to have, and I would try to see to it that they got what they wanted, and I took the requests to various toy-makers. Three weeks later, I saw the orphan-girls coming to Temple and taking their designated place, all in lovely colorful dresses, smiling and giggling, all agog at how the Ladies had taken them to have the dresses made, and the Matron looked sourly in their direction and then at me, as if to say, Well, I hope you are happy now! I smiled as sweetly as I could at her.

I arranged trips to the Art Museum for the orphans as well, and to the Sporting Center, and the Library, and the Palace too. They had such trips already, but only once a year, and I thought they should go at least four times a year, and to the Sporting Center once a week. I was certain I could get up some volunteers who could chaperone them there (not to hint Galendur!), blithely shrugging off the Matron’s muttered grumble that I would have them visiting the Tavern before long. And yes, they will see the play, and they can hardly wait.

And as it happens, the first performance of the play is scheduled for our birthday!

Well, the first performance is over! I am so relieved! It went down wonderfully. Of course the Orphans attended it—I had ordered a special place for them to sit, near the stage, and many brought the toys they had received that morning, and they applauded the loudest of anyone. I could hardly believe how wonderful Dínlad’s performance was. And Perion was much better than I expected; he was amazingly convincing. He even had the Shire accent down perfectly, just as I had taught him. Lady C. said of Inzilbêth, “Why, she’s more like Mother than Mother herself,” in all seriousness, with wide and worshipful eyes. I would love to know what the Queen would have said to that, but I’m not telling her what her daughter said!

But I think Inzilbêth wants to adopt Dínlad and Perion. And Edrahil and Dairuin, who played Merry and Pippin. And me. Even the Matron came up afterward and told me, rather grudgingly, that it was “a fine affair.” Coming from her, that is very high praise!

In case you may be wondering, there was no Ring at all. I felt that even an imitation ring might not be a good idea, even here, and so merely suggested it by having the characters look down at a cupped hand and imagining what they saw there, and I was amazed at how convincingly they did so.

I was profoundly thankful that my part was so small, so that I didn’t have to do much singing, and that they managed Bilbo’s disappearing act so cleverly, sending up a puff of smoke as the trap-door underneath the box on which I stood fell too and I was deposited on a pile of pillows below. I was glad Bilbo’s song of departure was so short and simple:

I wish to see the Misty Mountains high and cold
To breathe sweet peace beneath the Elven light
To walk the beech-woods as in days of old
And with the wings of longing take my flight….

(Psst--I wrote this song myself, and Bilbo approved it. I thought Rûdharanion's version just didn't sound like my Uncle.) Bilbo said he couldn’t keep his eyes dry the whole time I was up there. Gandalf said he couldn’t either. To be truthful, I had rather a hard time of it myself!

And I was proud of the way everyone applauded Rûdharanion as he came up minus his bushy beard and grey wig and took a modest bow. And I was truly taken aback when Salmë and Aredhel both threw flowers to him! He made a little speech, at everyone’s urging.

“I can scarcely tell you all how pleased I am with my--our drama’s reception, and how honored I am to have been entrusted to the penning of it. I feel that my life’s striving has culminated in this work, and I am fairly overwhelmed by the immensity of its magnitude, the staggering significance of the tale itself and its ultimate meaning for us all. I am proud and honored to claim the friendship of its central figure, who saw fit to look beyond my manifold shortcomings and foresee what I was capable of accomplishing, and help to nurture it to its final culmination. I can scarcely express the extremity of the awe and wonder I feel at the enormity of his undertaking in order to cast down the Enemy at his pinnacle, the monumental devotion at the foundation of this unassuming small being, that he should have laid his humble life on the line for the well-being of such unworthy creatures as you and I. I am equally pleased to have the esteem of the Author of the great Work on which mine is based, and am equally grateful to him for allowing me to adapt his mighty Epic into the production you have witnessed tonight. I would also like to thank all the actors of the esteemed Company who…”

“As big of a windbag as ever,” Galendur whispered to me, “but really he’s a bit of all right, what say?” I giggled.

After the children were taken home…well, the boys were allowed to stay up a little longer than usual, and we were taking them to dinner with us, and they were in fine form…I saw something that fairly knocked me on my backside: Aredhel, wearing that pink dress, draping one hand over the arm of Alcandor--I had not noticed that it was he who sat beside her during the performance--and smiling right into his face, and after that…no, it couldn’t be, it just couldn’t…Salmë taking the arm of Rûdharanion and beaming up at him…and the radiance was unmistakable!

Sam…perhaps it’s too soon to say yet…but I do believe I’ve lost our bet!

Well! I suppose you are wondering how it got past me what was going on with Rûdharanion and Salmë, why their union came as such a surprise and shock. I am wondering myself. It certainly is not like Rûdharanion to keep such matters from me, and then there is Perion, who has faithfully kept us posted. Well, he is now a page for the Queen, I think I mentioned that before?

“It was the hardest thing I ever did, keeping it under my hat, so to speak,” Perion told us later. “But my first loyalty is to my ladies, and they wanted to see the looks on your faces when they sprang it on you. So Mistress Salmë asked me to keep it to myself. I hope you don’t mind it too much?”

“If that was the hardest thing you ever did, my lad,” Bilbo said, “count yourself lucky. But I admire your loyalty to your ladies. It’s a fine quality to have…and most true to your character. Right, Frodo?”

Rûdharanion was in a state of sheepishness. “I did mention to you that I had seen Salmë a couple of times, but you seemed preoccupied at the time, what with the play and all, to really pay attention. Then I decided that after all that business with Aredhel, I wanted to see if it was a go before speaking of Salmë again. I suppose I was afraid you would think me a fool, and wanted to be sure of her feelings before I made the business known once and for all, and so I told no one. But isn’t it wonderful? She truly cares for me now. I feel so unworthy. I only hope I can make her as happy as she is making me. It is my only wish now…save that you be the one to join us. For we both owe our joy to you, my dearest friend.”

Salmë told me they were going to adopt a little boy out of the Orphanage. He was the youngest of them, little out of babyhood, and a foundling. The officials of the Home had been reluctant to take him, for they suspected that his parents were still alive and they were a bit suspicious of his origins. I remembered him well enough, a tiny creature with coal-black hair, pale-gold skin, huge black eyes, and a slightly exotic appearance, and I didn’t wonder that Salmë wanted him. In fact, with that hair, he could indeed have passed for Rûdharanion’s child. Rûdharanion insisted he was not, however, and I believe him.

“He badly needs a mother…and father,” Salmë told me. “There are a couple of boys who look after him a bit, who seem to regard him as a baby brother, and I’m sure they will miss him. I don’t like to separate them, but I’d be willing to take them as well if Rûdharanion is agreeable to it. They must surely be fine lads to see to the little one as they have done.”

“I think he will be agreeable,” I said, and I sincerely hoped it. Three boys coming separately in the usual fashion would have been a handful, let alone getting them all at once. Still, I know what it is to be separated from those you’ve grown to love as brothers.

I still have to wonder about Aredhel and Alcandor. No denying they make a handsome couple. And no denying they look happy together. I have to grin, remembering that pink dress that had made a gawker out of the dapper Alcandor. But at the moment, I doubt that either of them are thinking much about clothes.

I performed the wedding of Amras and Laurewen a couple of weeks after the play, beside the light-tower. Amras still needs a crutch to lean on, but he is able to get around pretty well, and doesn’t want to wait until he is as he was before his fall to be joined with his long-time sweetheart. He still can’t use his right arm very well, and I do hope it heals completely, since a blacksmith needs both arms, and he loves the work and was good at it. They will live in his mother’s house, but she will stay with his sister Haleth for a few months so the young pair can enjoy their marital bliss in private for a while. Aredhel gave Laurewen a beautiful pearl necklace for the wedding, much to my surprise.

“Well, maybe it’s human after all,” Tilwen whispered to me and Galendur when she heard of the donation. I had to clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing aloud. Coming from Tilwen, that is progress!

The young couple wished to be married by the light of the Beacon, so they had to wait until dusk, impatient as it made them. But it was well worth the wait, for the light made Laurewen look so surpassingly beautiful, in her snowy gown, lily wreath and pearls, that I could see all the other maidens plotting to be wed by its light as well. And somehow I don’t think Amras is a bit sorry that I called him back!

But it seemed their wedding was a bit simple for Aredhel’s taste, according to Perion, since, as Bilbo once put it, that young lady had some notions in her head.

“She heard about that butterfly Marílen found in the garden, the one with the glass wings,” he told me and Bilbo one afternoon. “And she went and asked her if she could find any more, for she wanted to be wed with a whole flock of them fluttering all around. Marílen said that was the only one she ever saw, and that’s been a year ago, anyway. So now she thinks to be wedded by the waterfalls of your cove, standing on that nice bridge that arches over, and wishes to know if there be swans about, for she would like to have a pair close by to, you know, symbolize the purity of their union and all. I’ve not seen swans about the cove, have you, Master Iorhael?”

“No,” I said suppressing a chuckle, “but there is a mountain lake that has some very lovely ones, although it’s rather far out. If she must have swans about, that would be the place for her, I should think.”

“Yes, I know of that lake, and I suggested it to her,” Perion said as he bit into a chunk of melon, absently wiping the juice that ran down his chin with the back of his hand. “But she’s partial to waterfalls too, and would like to have both swans and falls if possible. You don’t suppose the swans would take it amiss if someone were to round up a couple and bring them about to the cove for the wedding, do you? Dínlad and I could do it, perhaps. Maybe. But I don’t know. Somehow I think the swans wouldn’t go for it.”

“If you or anyone can do so, then she is welcome to be wedded at the cove,” I said. “But I cannot guarantee that the swans would take it well, or behave themselves during the wedding. Could she not settle for ibises or flamingoes? There are plenty of those, and they are very beautiful.”

“I don’t know as she would go for that,” Perion mused. “She’d like to use the Queen’s swan boat—but since the Queen doesn’t still have it, and there’s not much time to build another, I suppose she’ll have to do without. One more thing, she wants music—from all sides, a little group of singers and musicians on one side of the cove and another on the other, and a third one from up at the top of the waterfall, for she fancies the idea of music from above, you know? How does that sound to you, Master?”

Bilbo nearly doubled over laughing, and I gave him time to settle down before answering.

“As you know,” I said, a bit breathless from laughing myself, “there are five falls, and one would have to play and sing very loudly to be heard above them. It would get rather noisy, I should think. And as for the one above the falls, it would be dangerous as well. I think we’ve had enough people fall to their deaths this year. If she would be wedded on that bridge, then she had better do without the music.”

So in the end, it was the light-house for Aredhel too. She was disappointed about the swans and falls and musicians and all the rest of it, but she took it surprisingly well. And Lady Celebrían played the harp up in the tower above, so that the bride got to have her music from on high after all, even if she had to do without her swans. Instead of white she wore a gown of pale gold, and a very simple star pendant, and the only fall was her dark hair cascading freely down her back from its traditional lily-wreath. But just as I pronounced them husband and wife, a nightingale began to sing from the forest close by, and everyone stood in perfect silence, just listening, and even the sea seemed to hush itself in the twilight so the little singer could bestow its modest blessing on the newlyweds.

And the Queen had a little swan-boat made for them; she’d have had it made sooner if she had known Aredhel was so keen on swans, but she found out a little too late. But they were delighted with their wedding-gift just the same, and once in a while they take it out to the cove, and Aredhel plays her lute and sings softly as they drift along.

It was Salmë and Rûdharanion who were wedded on my bridge, which had been entwined with garlands of flowers in preparation. And they were fine with the ibises and butterflies and hummingbirds, and the peacock who perched in a tree over the smallest fall, and the mysterious music of the mingling waters. But of the corner of my eye I saw Aredhel and Alcandor in the swan-boat with the little orphan-boy sitting with them. Aredhel played her lute very softly, and when I had joined the couple, she began to sing in a silvery voice that scarcely sounded like her own.

Go, blessed pair, and seek the realm of music
Dwell in the Light that beams upon your bliss
Climb the bright stairway among the stars of wonder
Long may you know the joy that springs from each kiss.

White are the stars that course the vast heavens
Purple the firmament that cradles their delight
Silver the fulling moon, gold the lamp of morning
Fair the Evenstar that illumines our twilight.

Fairer still the Children who grace this verdant islet
Gracious the Beings that heal us of our blight
Glorious the One who spreads it all before us
Blessing our pathway with peace and eternal Light.

And as the newly joined couple drifted down the bridge to the other side, leaving me standing alone, I felt something hit my shoulder, softly, like a flower…which, as it turned out, it was. I bent and picked it up, and saw it was one of the large blue flowers that grew on a vine up the cliff-side. And I looked up and saw a tiny girl who appeared as if one of the Island’s loveliest blooms had taken human form, sitting on the stone arch above the highest waterfall, and she didn’t look the slightest bit worried about falling as she smiled and kissed her fingers to me.

Well. The latest news, which I am pleased to relate: Salmë and Rûdharanion have taken the two older “brothers” of their little foundling to live with them. They are having a house built in a delightful spot not far from the light-tower. So I suppose I won’t get out to visit very often, but I am overjoyed to have them all together and to know I played a part in their happiness!

Also: Shadowfax has become a father to a filly. Maegfán, her dam, is kept in a pasture on the edge of the City—Lady Elwing sees to her now, and Lady E. and Ríannor were both there when the load of Elves, elflings and hobbits arrived to visit. The wee filly, named Silverdance, is silvery-white like a fluffy cloud in a perfectly blue sky. Of course the girls went mad over her, all squeals and giggles and “oh you darling!” She seemed to greatly enjoy the attention, skipping and leaping all about the enclosure, letting the children stroke and hug her, frisking back to her mum for a bit of refreshment, then back for more petting and baby-talk.

“Know what I used to think?” Lyrien confided to me as we watched the little one feed. “I used to think ALL animals laid eggs and little baby ones hatched out, like birdies. Then when Beauty had her kittens I got a huge surprise. Wasn’t I silly?”

Ríannor has thoroughly lost her heart to the lovely little filly, and it will be hers. I can hardly get over how beautiful she is. She has taken on the appearance of a maiden since her memory was erased. Her eyes have the luster of water by moonlight, her skin is creamy and flawless, her free-flowing hair black as polished ebony, her figure slender and graceful. She almost always wears dark colors, usually maroon or dark emerald green. I cannot understand why she and Gandalf do not seem any closer to marrying. I suppose I could ask, but I still cannot bring myself. I can’t help but wonder if they are holding off because of me, and if I should tell them not to, or offer to perform their wedding, or…something. Gandalf did confide to me that he had a bad conscience since he did so little to lead her to the light, but I thought I had talked him out of that. Perhaps I should try to make him feel guilty for not taking that step....

Bilbo is on the decline. I take him and his canvas sling chair to the beach almost every day, sit on the sand beside him watching the surf and talking about anything that comes up. Sometimes the children come down and play on the beach or the cove, and he takes great delight in watching them. They build sand-castles for him, bring him little things they have found, show off for him, ask him for stories, or just sit and chat with him. I can see the joy in his face shining as though a piece of sunlight has escaped and taken refuge there, as if he has a sight of the Other Side before him, and is slowly making his way to it, mapless and peaceful and unhurried.

But other times I think he wants to get there faster, yet keeps looking back over his shoulder at me, anxious, wondering how I will fare without him. Should I bid him do as he will, go ahead through that Gate and don’t worry about me, I will do all right? Or should I let him enjoy his remaining days, weeks, months…for I know he'll not be with me another year. But I think he is torn between wanting to go and wanting to stay with me. What will it be like, being the only mortal on the Island?

“What I think is,” Galendur told me one day on the beach, when we were out of earshot of Bilbo, who was napping in his chair but if we were going to talk about him we had to keep well out of earshot, “you should tell him of your little sea-lady. Do you really think he’d go if he knew of her? I should think he’d want to stick around and see you wedded and happy. Perhaps he’ll even stay longer than he would otherwise. Wouldn’t you think?”

“I’ve thought of that,” I said. “But something keeps holding me back, and I’ve learned to trust such feelings. They have never led me astray. It was when I didn’t listen to them that things went wrong. Like when I…”

“Yes?” Galendur raised his light eyebrows. I flushed a bit. I’ve told Galendur very little of my past life, for all we’ve been close friends for two years now. Certainly I’ve told him nothing of any old loves. Not that Bonny Hill can really be called a “love” as such. But just then I found myself thinking of her, for the first time in decades.

She was the daughter of our laundress, Tansy Hill. Bonny, who was older than I, used to come with her mother each week, in their little cart. Mistress Tansy was not native to Hobbiton; she came from a neighboring village, and claimed to be a widow, but she never spoke of her deceased husband, and although she was a common-looking hobbitess enough, there was an air of mystery about her. Her daughter was comely in the way many hobbit-lasses are, round in the figure, with gold-green eyes that looked straight into yours with no shyness or disregarding, like uncurtained windows.

Bilbo told me she had a bad reputation and was “fast”. I was barely 28, green as moss, and curious as any lad of that age. I was somewhat shy of lasses, having so little experience with any close to my age. Bilbo told me to keep clear of this one, for she was no better than she should be…there was no condemnation in his words, it was clear to me that he pitied her somewhat. But that didn’t mean that he wanted me involved with the likes of her....

“Well, I was sure she liked me,” I said. “She smiled at me every time. And then…one day as they were returning the wash, she whispered to me to look in the pocket of my jacket. I found a note there asking me to come and meet in secret with her that night. I sat staring at it for the longest. On the one hand, I didn’t want to go. I was scared. Very scared. On the other hand…”

“Yes, compared to your past, mine is pretty tame, I’m sure,” I said a little sheepishly. “I don’t even know why I bother telling you, it can’t be very interesting.”

“But I am interested. And believe it or not, my past isn’t so colorful as you might suppose. There haven’t really been so many as all that. But do me a huge favor, old chap, and don’t let it get about, what say?”

He laughed at my incredulous stare, and after a moment, I said, “By all means,” and he chuckled again.

“Yes,” I said, and blushed ridiculously. “I think I met with her about six times, over a period of six weeks or so. I never actually fell in love with her, but there was something about her that fascinated me. She was not stupid, as some supposed. She had no interest in the things I cared for, books and such. Yet she had this vitality that attracted me greatly. She spoke her mind without fear, and loved to dance and sing, and laugh and joke and tease. Her laugh was very hard to forget. She called me a ‘moonbeam’ and said I was destined for great things. One night she told me to show her the palm of my hand, and said she could read my future by the lines on it. I thought that absurd; how could one possibly predict one’s future thus? But she said I would go on a very long journey and come back again, only I would not really come back. She looked sad as she said this. I asked her what that meant and she said she did not know. I asked her if I would die early and she said no. I would walk with queens and dance with fairies. Then later she seemed to forget. When I spoke of it to her, she acted as though she knew not what I meant and seemed frightened. She said she’d had too much to drink, but I think that was not so.”

“I thought she did. I did not truly fancy her, but I think I was on the way to it. I think it might have happened…but one day, I was walking alone, on my way to return a book to someone, and I saw her, just across the road, with another lad, much older, and he kissed her on the cheek and patted her bottom right in front of everyone, and she laughed and called him a name young ladies aren’t even supposed to know, and he kissed her on the lips long and hard. I felt such a fool. And the next time I saw her, I told her what I had seen, and she laughed, although less heartily than usual. I called her a slut, and told her I didn’t want to see her again. Oh, I was the picture of jealous outrage. Tears came into her eyes, and I felt terrible, and I apologized hastily, and told her I was hurt because I thought she liked me, and so forth, and she said she did like me. She liked all lads. It was that simple. She liked all lads. There are some lasses who are like that, but it just seems so hard to believe. I asked her why she wouldn’t meet me in public, and she said she didn’t want to ‘ruin’ me. I was special, she said, and she wanted it to stay that way. She wanted to be with me because it made her feel as though she were a bit special as well. She wanted to have a bit of my ‘moon-shininess’…yes, that was the way she put it. When she was with me, she felt like a princess. But she wasn’t. She just needed that feeling sometimes, because she knew she was common as dirt and would never amount to anything. I didn’t know what to say to that. I wish I had told her she wasn't. Because…maybe I could have prevented her death. Because it happened just about a week after our last meeting.”

“She was found in the river,” I said gazing out toward the sea. “Whether she fell in, was pushed, or threw herself in, remains unknown. It’s quite possible it was an accident, and yet…she was with child, it turned out. I didn’t know that until a year or two later.”

“She was with child, the whole time she had been meeting me…I don’t know if she knew it or not.”

“Know what I think?” Galendur narrowed his eyes. “I think whoever knocked her up wouldn’t marry her and she was trying to rope you into doing it. ‘Have a bit of your moon-shininess’, in a pig's eye! She was looking for you to make an honest hobbitess of her. What do you think about that?”

“She never spoke of marriage to me. Yes, it’s possible, but somehow I just don’t think that was what she was after. Yet I blamed myself for her death for a long time, and saw no other girls until…until just before my uncle went away and left me the Ring. Sometimes I would see her in my dreams, and she would be there in the water, her arms reaching to me, her eyes pleading with me to save her, pull her out, and I could not go near. My hands would reach to her, but my feet were caught by I knew not what. And the river would carry her away, and her voice called my name, and died away…I have not thought of her in years. I don’t know what made me think of her just now.”

“You were saying that you went wrong when you didn’t listen to your feelings,” Galendur said. “What feelings didn’t you listen to then?”

“I felt I should not go see her,” I almost whispered. “Bilbo had told me to stay away, and I did not. Also, when she said she was ‘common’...I should have told her she was not. I wanted to. But I was too much injured.”

“There’s a difference between ‘feelings’ and ‘conscience’,” Galendur said, to my surprise. I had not known he ever gave a thought to such matters. “Perhaps one keeps you safe, and the other keeps you happy…or unhappy, if you should go against it. I dare say it was your conscience telling you to stay away, not your feelings.”

“No, I am aware of the difference, and was so even then. I had a feeling I should not go to her,” I said.

“I suppose not. But that’s why I didn’t marry when I had the chance. And later there was the Ring, and even when I had convinced myself I was not to blame for Bonny’s death, I would not marry then because I could not father a child, or if I could, my seed was somehow tainted by the Ring, and I might end up siring a monster. I don’t know if that were really true, but it was in the back of my mind, and it was a feeling I would listen to this time.”

I sighed. I hoped I would not regret telling him all this, although I didn’t know why I should. He would keep it to himself if I asked him to, I knew that. But sometimes when a secret is out of the box, it has a way of not behaving itself properly.

“What about her?” he said, meaning Marilla. “You don’t think she’ll care if you can’t give her a child?”

“Lord Elrond said my ability to father children could be restored,” I mused. I had thought of it, of course. “And if it means anything to her, I shall have it done, although the way he described it, it sounds very unpleasant indeed. But if not, I won’t. I just have this feeling it will not matter to her. Lady Elwing said I should have my heart’s desire, and so I’ve not worried over that matter.”

“If she said you should have it,” Galendur pointed out, “then I think you should tell Bilbo, what say?”

“I think maybe I will,” I said, “but not now. When he is just at the point of letting go, I’ll tell him. I will let him know that I will not be alone, and he will go out happy. But I’ll not have him think anyone is coming between us, and that he must step out of the way. But I thank you for your advice, which I know you mean kindly.”

Later, just before he turned home, I said to Galendur, “I feel I should write a ballad about her. Bonny, I mean. Not that any who knew her will ever hear it, except Bilbo. But I feel an urge to make some sort of tribute. She had such a short life, and she contained so much. She was alive and, and glowing, and not ordinary. She was like a sand-castle; one moment she was there, all put together in the sun, and the next minute she was swept away, gone. It just seems someone should acknowledge her in some way.”

But when I tried to write the ballad, it would not come somehow. Here is what came instead:

You beckoned, and my feet trailed yours
your blood informed me of untried paths
secret darks and hidden rainbows
fireworks in caverns over whose gates
my name was unwritten.
But you would borrow my lamp
and I loaned it, not knowing
I would not get it back.
Do you bear that shy star now?
Do your feet step to music
unknown to those who tread
above your mine? Will your eyes
hold flowers in their green
when next I see you
all despair drowned in the waters
that washed away your sweet flesh?
Forgive me that my hands missed yours
when my feet clung to the dull sky
and your cries could not reach my window.
Know only
that you were never common.
You and I
were not so different;
we both loved all
and if I am a moonbeam
then part of my light
came down from your smile
and I thank you for it
from the depths of my knowing.

I was remembering the way he had used his influence in the town to insist on Bonny's getting a decent burial, and how he put flowers on her grave once a week. It incited some rather nasty gossip. I was eavesdropping one day when dear Lobelia came over and started giving him the business: Just what did he think he was doing? Hadn't he done enough to set tongues wagging as it was? What would folks think? Now if he wished to, erm, consort with, erm, laundresses, it was his business, but couldn't he have the goodness to be a bit discreet about it? How much embarrassment was she expected to endure on his account? She went on and on. He sat there calmly, letting her have her say out, and what was going on in his mind I can only imagine. I was seething, and hoped Bilbo would tell her off good...and all the while another secret, shameful part of me was in sympathy with her, and hoping my uncle would listen to "reason."

Then I heard him say, "Of course I'm not 'consorting' with Mistress Tansy. Where in blazes do you hear such twaddle? I believe in looking out for my employees, that's all, and would strongly advise you to do likewise, for one never knows how it will pay off. She's worked for us a good long time, and now she's lost a daughter, and surely you, being a mother, should understand what that's like better than a fuddy-duddy old bachelor like me. But I know well enough how I'd feel if I were to lose my Frodo-lad, and if it's worse to lose a child of your own body, then I don't see how the poor creature will ever get through it. I imagine precious few in this benighted town will extend any sympathy toward her, so somebody ought to do it. So, I'm sorry if the truth isn't interesting enough for you and your friends, Cousin, but I'm afraid that's really all about it."

Lobelia said something too low for me to understand, as though it had occurred to her that I might be listening. Then I heard Bilbo say, "I AM thinking of Frodo, thank you very much for your concern for my sweet lad. I wasn't aware you thought so highly of him, my dear. Please accept my apologies for thinking wrongly of you. Now if you'll excuse me, I've important things to attend. Give my regards to your husband and your boy!"

Then evidently she forgot to lower her voice, for I heard her well enough. "Well!" she sniffed. "Very well then, Bilbo Baggins. Have it your own way. I suppose I've wasted my time, but no one can say I didn't try. If you will insist on making a spectacle of yourself and, and dragging our good name through the mud, then I cannot stop you. But if that, that lad of yours starts picking up your absurd notions and ends up embarrassing you before the town, don't say I didn't tell you so! Well, what can I say, every family has a black sheep, it seems. But when that boy ends up disgracing you before one and all, maybe then you'll think twice about the consequences of your actions. We'll just see!"

And with that she stormed out, unaware that I had slipped into the kitchen, scooped up a generous cupful of white flour and deposited it into her umbrella, which she had left standing by the front door.

As I handed it to her and sweetly bid her good-day, she grabbed it and said, pointing a very plump forefinger, "And as for you...you may tell that 'uncle' of yours this for me..." She drew a breath and looked as though she had forgotten exactly what sort of devastating parting-shot she wished to deliver, laying the tip of the finger to her lips for a moment. Then she hastily collected herself and pointed at me once more saying, "He's made his bed, now he may lie in it!"

"I will tell him," I said with my most charming boyish grin, noting with satisfaction that it had begun to rain considerably harder outside, and that would make an even more wonderful mess of the flour once it was nicely distributed over her head and shoulders.

I didn't tell him, however. But I did start going with Bilbo to put the flowers on Bonny's grave.

"Are you terribly disappointed in me, uncle?" I asked as we sat out on the terrace after lunch playing chess. It had been a while since we had played chess. We had played it frequently during my convalescence. We were pretty evenly matched. I could even beat Gandalf once in a while, although he may have been letting me win. Lord Elrond was a different matter; I never could beat him. I felt I had scored a great victory when one of our games ended in a stalemate. Galendur never will play chess with me, because, as he so elegantly put it, he knows I could kick the piss out of him and he can do without the embarrassment of losing to some little woolly-toed runt of a hobbit. (He didn't really say "runt," of course, but that was how I heard him, and was a bit put-out for a while.)

"How's that?" Bilbo looked blankly at me. Seems he had been studying his next move.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Bilbo, you'll leave your queen wide open," I said. I don't know why I told him that. Trying to make up for my bad behavior, I suppose.

"Yes, so I will," he murmured, removing his fingers from the pawn. At least, I refrained from pointing out a particularly good move to him. "Disappointed about what, my lad?"

"About...well, you know. That I slipped out to meet Bonny. After you told me to have naught to do with her, and everything. That."

"Yes. I mean...well, I shouldn't have done it. You took me in and everything...and I went against your wishes. I--well, I..."

"I never supposed you were perfect, Frodo-lad, nor expected you to be," Bilbo said, looking sharply up from the board at me. "And you did naught that I wouldn't have done myself had I been considerably younger and a lusty wench had thrown herself at me in such a fashion. Do you mean to tell me you've been eating your heart out about that all this time? Do not tell me that, my dear boy, or I may have to hurt you."

"No, I hadn't thought of her in years. I was discussing something with Galendur yesterday, and somehow or other she came up. And I remembered how you went out and put flowers on her grave and all. That was really very good of you, Uncle."

"Bah," he said as he neatly captured my knight. "I did it to spite Lobelia, is all. Goodness had naught to do with it."

"Sure you did," I chuckled. Then I said more seriously, "The thing is, I was rather embarrassed myself until Lobelia came and gave you such a dressing-down. But then after that...well, I was proud, and I started going with you to the grave. I wanted to be like you."

"Yes, I know. I didn't tell you what she said, did I? She said you made your bed, now you might lie in it. Just as she was leaving."

"I have to wonder about that saying. 'You've made your bed, now lie in it'--seems to me that when you make the bed, that's when you've had done with lying in it for a while. In order to lie in it, one usually un-makes the bed, yes?"

"There was another saying she was fond of, that I also never could quite work out. She'd look me straight in the eye, point that finger and say, 'The trouble with you, Bilbo Baggins, is that you've always wanted to have your cake and eat it too.' That always used to puzzle me. I wondered..."

"What was the use of having a cake if you couldn't eat it?" I grinned at him. "I've often wondered about that one too."

"Precisely. Ah. It wasn't for naught that we had the same birthday, eh, lad? Speaking of cakes."

"I should say not...considering that you were eavesdropping," he said winking back. I chuckled.

"So how should I punish you then?" he said as I captured his pawn. "Shall I have you do the cooking all next week? Seeing as how neither of us won that bet?"

"Not this time," I grinned as I captured his queen. He gasped in baffled indignation. "You're not on your toes, uncle dearest. And no, you can't castle your king now, he's under attack."

I won the game. And I made supper. We took it outside, as usual, while the peacock perched on the terrace rail, watching. I fed him bits of bread as we ate, grinning to myself at how horrified Lobelia would have been to observe such a spectacle.

"That's the first dog with feathers I've seen in all my life," Bilbo marveled. I laughed.

"Poor Bonny," Bilbo said after a while, thoughtfully poking at his heap of crab-salad. "She was a rare bird, herself. Did as she liked without caring what anyone thought. Now a lad could get by with that, perhaps. At least, if he had enough money to pull himself out of a scrape. But a lass? Doesn't work that way."

"Why do you suppose that is?" I said with my mouth half full. I would have been more than happy to drop the subject of Bonny altogether, and was sorry now that I had brought it up at all. But once Bilbo gets a topic lodged in his brain, there isn't much diverting him from it.

"Simple enough. Lasses are the ones that have the babes. So they must behave themselves if they expect to stay respectable, while a young fellow may sow a wild oat or two and folks would look the other way...so long as it wasn't their daughters he was sowing into, of course. No, it's hardly fair, but it's the way of things, and not likely to change. Still it's a sad thing, how she ended. It's like you said in your poem--you weren't so different. You're a rare bird yourself, though in a far different way. It's my guess that you were the first that showed a bit of tenderness to her, judging from the poem."

"I can't say as I showed her much while she was living," I said in a very low voice. "Not that I was rough exactly. But...well, I sometimes think if I hadn't confronted her with what I saw, maybe she wouldn't have ended up as she did."

"Tut! There you go again. Taking what others do upon yourself. You didn't exactly force yourself upon her, now did you?"

"Ha! It was closer to the other way around. She tempted me beyond my strength. Not that I blame her for that--I liked it well enough, while it was going on. More than well enough. It was afterwards that didn't feel so good. Rather like when you eat something that tastes delicious, but it doesn't sit well with you later on. Yet each time it's offered, you can't resist, and are willing to endure the sour stomach afterward. Maybe I blamed her a bit for that as well, and at the same time, loved her for the sweetness of the dish. Galendur said she was trying to rope me into wedding her and making a respectable hobbitess of her, or some such. Do you think that's what she was after, uncle?"

"I couldn't say," Bilbo said a little sadly. 'Who could blame her, if she was? Respectability is not so easy to come by for some folks, who are compelled to try anything they can to attain it, when they haven't the coin to buy it. But perhaps you shouldn't regret having known her so deeply, my dear boy. Maybe in some roundabout way she was good for you. She found her way into your poetry, after all, and opened a closet in you that maybe you didn't know was there. Perhaps everybody we know becomes a part of us, both their good and their bad. Even when they pass through our lives but briefly, they leave things behind in our souls that might do us a world of good if we choose to use them thus. Yes, of course it's all the better if we surround ourselves with good folks. But sometimes the not so good ones come barging in whether we invite them or not. Sometimes it's the good and respectable ones that strike us as dull as ditch-water, and the ones flaunting gay and gaudy colors who attract us more. We can shun them, of course, and in some instances it's best to do so. Some folks it would be far wiser to shut your door against them, and not let them tramp through and leave their mess where it can only do you harm. But sometimes we will be foolish and let them in, and then it's up to us to decide what to do with the clutter they leave, to throw out the bad and keep the good, and not the other way around. Wouldn't that be much better than berating ourselves for failing to shut them out? Or as Lobelia might have said, no use crying over spilt milk."

I grinned a little. "I should say so," I said. ....Yes, I would have missed out on so many wonderful things here on the Island if I had done the wise thing and shut some of them out. In fact, I dare say I would never have found peace and joy myself. What if I had done as you advised me and avoided Ríannor? Do you think she would have found the Door then? Or what if I had not gone to Galendur's that day after he and Tilwen fell out? Or if I had refused to go to the light-house when Rûdharanion boarded himself up there? Or had stayed home when Aredhel requested an 'audience' with me at Gandalf's? Or if I had killed Gollum when I had every reason to do so? Or, if you had? What if you had not looked after Mistress Tansy and set me the example of taking care of one's servants? You are absolutely right, Bilbo dear. One must keep and use the beautiful things people leave behind and throw the ugly ones in the trash and forget about them."

"The trick is knowing whom to shut out and whom to let in," Bilbo mused. "No easy matter. Sometimes we must just listen to our hearts instead of our heads. Perhaps that's where the Divine speaks to us."

"Well, in Bonny's case, I listened to neither, but only to a part that never should be listened to," I said sourly. "Unfortunately, like a barking dog, it cannot be ignored for long."

"A pity it's so much easier said than done to muzzle the pesky beast," he said. "But enough of that for now. Shall we have another game? I don't think I can let the evening go by without winning at least one."

"We may be up all night," I said. After I had cleared up the table and put the dishes in the tub to soak, I brought out the chessboard, along with our pipes, saying, "You can be white this time, Uncle."

"I'll stick with the black," he said. "When I've the white, I get all confused and forget what's mine and what's yours. Perhaps the black suits my darker temperament. White is in keeping with your purity and divine wisdom."

"Right," I laughed aloud, and began setting up the pieces. We played well into the dusk, and he won the game, since I could not concentrate for thinking of the things he had said. I told myself I had best treasure them, for he would not be around much longer to leave his articles of loveliness in my soul. They would be all I would have to remind me of how he had lived in my house and I in his.

As we finished the game and I was putting away the pieces, he yawned hugely and looked pensively about, at the stars gathering over the waves, the lingering colors of the aurora, the jasmines shyly opening and mingling their perfume with that of the roses and frangipani, the peacock perched sleeping in the cherry-tree beside the terrace steps...and the sign made by Leandros hanging over the front door: The House of Joy and Delight. Indeed!

"Wouldn't you say," Bilbo observed, yawning once more, "that this is a mighty fine and cosy bed we have made here for ourselves, my dear lad?"

It is a beautiful spring night. Bilbo doesn’t want to play chess any more. Instead he asks me to play my harp for him. I sing some songs we both know, songs he wrote and songs I wrote, and I sing a hymn or two. I can hear a nightingale in the distance, echoing in the forest and cliffs, and the waters seem to be singing and the stars tinkling like tiny bells in the sparkling heavens. I can smell the blossoms from the orange-trees and the honeysuckle twining around the railing as an incredibly gentle breeze wafts the fragrances toward us. I hear a frog going chur-rump from the pool made by the waterfalls.

We had many visitors earlier today. Several of the children came over, and Gandalf and Dûndeloth too, Lord Elrond and the Ladies, and Galendur and Tilwen later on. And Salmë and Rûdharanion and their lads. And to our surprise, Amras and Laurewen and Mirimë came as well. Amras taught the elflings a new game, in which you throw horse-shoes at a stake driven into the ground. He brought a goodly number of horse-shoes with him, that he had made himself, and left many with me so the children could play with them when they came to visit. Seems his arm has healed sufficiently now, although it still is not what it once was. But it is coming along nicely, he assured us. Mirimë was so happy, she sat for the longest with me and Bilbo talking with us, but unable to take her eyes off her son. We had a regular clam-bake, and the others brought the food so we didn't have to fix any. The children greatly enjoyed playing horse-shoes, even the girls, and so did I, for that matter. There was much laughter and singing and shouting and yelping and splashing, and the Ladies sang well into the afternoon. Yet as it came time for everyone to go home, Lyrien ran to Bilbo and embraced him hard, and I thought she was crying a little as she and Marílen kissed him good-bye....

“I wish you could see yourself now, lad,” Bilbo says after I finish the last song, one called “Waiting for the Morning.” “You’re the fairest thing I ever saw, you are. Like a white gem full of the star-light. Like that thing that hangs around your neck, only bigger and brighter and fairer.”

Finally I can play no more, so I lay the harp aside and sit down in the long chair with Bilbo. I lay my head on his shoulder and pull his throw over us both.

“Look,” I say pointing northward. “The Light is uncommonly bright tonight.”

“Perhaps. I don’t remember exactly the day it first lit, but it may have been this day. It hasn’t gone out since.”

“Do you remember when you first came to live at Bag End?” Bilbo sits up a little straighter. “It was in the spring, wasn’t it.”

“I don’t remember the exact day, but yes. I do remember it was in the spring.”

“That was the happiest day of my life. Don’t know if I ever told you that before, Frodo-lad. But it’s the day I most fondly remember. You lit all the lamps in Bag End, just as you lit that one.”

“I do remember lighting the lamps now. I asked you if I could do it, and you said yes.”

Bilbo takes my hand and holds it to his cheek. “You looked so happy. And you made up the fire and fixed tea and everything. You fairly took over the place that night. Do you know, little Samwise once asked me if you were a prince. The first time he ever saw you, after you’d gone, he asked me that.”

“And you told him I was, didn’t you, Uncle?” I feel tears starting in my eyes, even as I chuckle.

“I told him you were my prince, and that was plenty good enough. He fell in love with you at first sight, you know. You were his prince too.”

“You’ll see him someday,” Bilbo says very softly. “It will be a long time…but he will come. I wish it could be sooner, but wishing won’t make it so. I’ll content myself with knowing he will come when it’s his time.”

“As sure as I am that you’ll come to me,” he says kissing my hand, “when your time comes. What was it like, Frodo-lad? When you crossed over? Do you remember?”

“You mean…to the Other Side? I remember a great light…I could never forget that. It was like standing in the sun, only it didn’t hurt my eyes. I remember passing through a dark tunnel with that light at the end of it. It wasn’t just light, it had a personality, it had…humor. Yes. I passed through a splendid hall made of crystal or jasper, with very tall windows laid with gems, and the floor was all shiny gold. Then I saw my parents, standing in the most incredibly beautiful garden—more so than here, Uncle. And they looked so young and beautiful. I could see fountains, and streams and grass, trees and flowers, pools with lilies and swans and tall graceful grasses all around…and the Light, everywhere. And I was so happy…and then I was told I must go back. It was a little like if someone handed you a wonderful gift, just exactly what you wanted, then suddenly tore it away from you, telling you that you couldn’t have it. And I reached to my parents begging them not to send me away. But they said I had a very important mission to perform, and could not be spared yet, but they would wait for me. And then suddenly I found myself back in my bed at Bag End. Where I most definitely did not want to be, as you well know.”

“No, it was not. It was over 30 years ago, yet I can remember it as if it were last week. Often I’ve longed for that place, and wondered why it is we must abide for such a time on this earth. Yes, I know…it’s so that we might make ourselves worthy. If we lived there always and never here, I suppose we would never be…complete, or something. We would be just happy little animals. We would know nothing of love or hope or courage or forgiveness or sacrifice or making families or helping others…and in order to know of these things, there must also be suffering and evil and growing old and choices. Otherwise we would be just nothing. Happy little children playing in fields of flowers. Although admittedly, there have been times when I thought I’d like nothing better.”

Bilbo chuckles. “I know what you mean,” he says. “Well. It all sounds grand. I just hope it won’t get dull eventually. At the moment, I feel nothing could be better than just sitting with you like this, looking out on all we’ve got and what we've accomplished, thinking back on the good times, enjoying the beauty all around us and being with our friends. I can’t imagine what could surpass all that.”

“That’s because you’ve not seen the Other Side, Bilbo. Before I left the Shire, I couldn’t imagine any place I’d rather be. But now that I’m here, I’d never want to go back, unless for a brief visit…and I can just see myself there, longing to be here with all my being.”

Why did I say that? Why don’t I tell him, no, nothing could be better than here, so stay a while longer? But what should I do? His time is drawing near, and I can no more stop it than I can stop the tide from going out. There’s not a day goes by now but I don’t wonder: will this be his last? Will he see the morning? Will he go off without telling me goodbye?

“Yes. It will be…an adventure. Only it will not make you late for supper.” I manage to grin a little. “And the more good you do here, the happier you’ll be there. You won’t find it dull, Uncle, I promise you.”

“I’ve seen so many beautiful nights here,” he murmurs, settling back against me as he looks out toward the western sky once more. “So many. I wonder how it will be not to have any more nights. Not to see the stars, the moon, hear the nightingales, watch the jasmines open in the twilight, see the sun sink into the waves. There’s just one thing. Will we have memory there, or will that all be swept away?”

“I can’t tell you that, Uncle. I had only a glimpse, really. There are many memories I’d be more than glad to part with. But I didn’t let them go when I had the chance, because then I would have had to lose the wonderful ones as well. But maybe even our good memories won’t be of much consequence there. Perhaps it’s like falling in love...you don’t know how wonderful it is until you actually do it, then everything that came before seems of little account. When you’re in the arms of your bride on your wedding night, you’re not likely to be thinking back on all the good times you had with your friends.”

“Never had a wedding night. But I see what you mean.” He laughs, then yawns.

“Nor did I. But I think the bad memories will just fade away like scars and be forgotten, while the good ones will blossom into wonderful fruits. We won’t lose them, I’m certain, or what would have been the point of being here?”

I feel strangely calm now, although deep down I know this is to be his last night here and today's picnic was really a send-off party. It is almost a relief, in fact. During the reprieve that Galendur’s ill-fated horse-race provided for us both, I have been garnering strength inside, gradually finding the courage to let him go. Not that it will be any easier for me. But I believe this period of grace has been given me to learn to say good-bye, to make beautiful things of the days left to us and the memories that are ours, and set them up and let them shine in our light and make admiring and weighty comments over them and smile and laugh.

We both were enamored
of the glistening caverns
of the night; you and I,
drifting lazily in our bark
talking with those
who knew our small business
and the colors of our lightning
and the sizes of our shadows,
shining our lights
into undiscovered corners
gazing up at the luminous dome,
laughing as its icy tears
dripped upon our faces,
tracing our names
in the wet sand with sticks,
discoursing upon great mysteries
and sea-shells
counting the stars, both
those fixed in the glassy sky
and those floating
in the crinkled Sea
naming each and every one
for our friends.

Then at last
you saw a great Light
and we knew
your time had come
to sail into it.
Your frail frame
could no longer contain
the bursting radiance
that was your spirit.
But I cannot follow.
I stand immobile, watching
as your sweetness is dissolved
in brilliance everlasting
and now I can but huddle
in a boat of loneliness
in this graveless land
as gradually I lose your shape
and glory and lessons.
Why have you left me
once again? Why did you not
take me with you?
Where is my coat of silver rings?
How long must I mourn
your distant bliss?
Why will my questions happen
when I know the answers?

So many tender arms
bear me up, intertwining
with each other to form a net
to keep me from touching
the wet and flowerless ground.
So many tears, more bitter
even than my own, rain down
upon my head and shoulders.
And I wonder, Did I do wrong
to gain their love?
This treasure was earned
and not ill-gotten; this
I know well, and yet
sometimes its brightness
reproaches me; each gem
weeps in my cloudy light
as I press it to my heart
to ease my wounds.
I could not do without,
yet sometimes my bounty
seems a great weight.
It’s for those who provided it
I should lament.
My love for them
is brighter than the sun,
deeper than the sea.
I would not have them suffer
and wait, bereft of my flame
for all the ages.
Why must their night
linger so long?
Why can we not await the dawn
together as one?
Or will I be forgotten
when time has eased their grief
a mere name upon a page
a beacon on a faceless tower?
I would stroll and dance
on the stage of their memories
offering the comfort
of my small role and brief songs.
But why can I not share the one Gift
imparted to me, above all
worth having?

Spring was not made for leaving.
Too many things quicken
and happen and burst and birth
we should linger and wonder
and watch new eyes open
one step ahead
of each fresh quivering limb
each blossom and suckling
each villainous weed
each overwhelming shower.
It is no time to depart.
Shy love climbs a crystal stair
seeking the sky’s blessing.
One should not turn one’s back
on so soft a beginning.

And summer was not made for leaving.
Too many things ripen
and swell and sing and rejoice
we should linger and dance
and watch young eyes glisten
following after
young feet that trace pathways
of growth and discovery
of mischief and heat
of overwhelming cloud-bursts.
It is no time to depart.
Warm love stretches arms of longing
seeking the moon’s singing.
One should not turn one’s back
on so wild a becoming.

And autumn was not made for leaving.
Too many things demanding
the sweat and fever of harvest
we should linger and feast
and watch warm eyes misting
keeping in step
with strong legs that stand
in pride and warm knowledge
of passion and stories
and overwhelming winds.
It is no time to depart.
Quick love sings of victory and drama
seeking the sun’s delight.
One should not turn one’s back
on so rich a fulfillment.

And winter was not made for leaving.
Too many things needing
the carols and sleighs and blankets
we should linger and sigh
and watch bright eyes closing
resting beside
all things that sleep and wriggle
in joyous anticipation
of snowflakes and playthings
of mysteries and candles
of overwhelming ice.
It is no time to depart.
Wise love turns a glow of contentment
thanking the stars in peace.
One should not turn one’s back
on so comfortable an end.

I saw Bilbo last night. There he was sitting on the edge of my bed. He was all alight, and looked as he might have appeared in his young adulthood, but recognizable as my uncle as Olórin is recognizable as Gandalf. He didn’t touch or kiss me; there was no need. I felt embraced by his mere presence. He did not speak, but my heart heard him clearly. Take the next step, Frodo-lad, you know what it is. Don’t be afraid to follow your heart to the highest pinnacle. If I hear any nonsense out of you about how it’s too soon, I’ll come back and fill your bed full of sand-burrs.

No, of course they have not been holding me against my will! I could have gone home any time I pleased…and could leave right now but for the fact that I’ve too much stuff to carry and no ride. Tomorrow they will take me home, however. It’s just that there has been so much going on, what with the Orphans’ home and all…and I’ve enjoyed my work as counselor there, even though much of what the children tell me is so wrenching. Lady Celebrían is a little put-out with her mother for giving me this job. I was so fresh from my own loss and now I must hear of others? Dear Lady C—I will miss her so much when I go!

On the plus side, Rûdharanion seems to have started a trend for adopting orphans, for nearly two dozen have been taken in by families since he and Salmë adopted the three little lads. I would like to think these families are taking the children because they really want them and not merely because a great poet did so, and I have delegated people to going out and making sure the orphans are happy and well cared for in their new homes.

Also, the Matron—remember her?—is warming up to me. I think it happened when I first told her I was orphaned at an early age myself, and her eyebrows nearly touched her hair-line, and she said that she was an orphan also. Her parents drowned in a terrible flood…and we got to talking. Her name is Nessima, by the way. She has lovely blue-green eyes and an angular coltish beauty I had not noticed before. She has read a good deal, including the Epic, which she is now reading for the third time—it is really most thrilling, she said. Although she’s had to read it in bits, for it’s hard for her to get hold of a copy and she hasn’t time to copy it out herself. She really loves that Faramir, she told me with a little giggle—imagine that! And she has never been married, but once had a sweetheart who jilted her because her past was “too tragic” he said. And she had a bosom friend who was mortal, and died long ago in her arms. I really think I’ve become her counselor as well!

She is more than resigned to the uniforms now…which of course didn’t solve all the children’s problems, not that I ever supposed they would, but they were a start. There are actually fewer discipline problems now than before, she has admitted. She will probably think the uniforms were her own idea before long.

I have observed how the children are educated, and noted how little play-time they have. Seems they only really have any once a week, save for the one hour per day devoted to physical education. I decided they should have some time every day, and have designated the hours between school-time and supper for supervised play. I expected Nessima to protest—but she has been very cooperative indeed!

I shall see to it that she gets her own copy of the Epic, if I have to make it myself.

I will miss Perion also. He has his room across the hallway from my suite, and they assigned him to me during my stay, even when I insisted I didn’t need a page and would prefer to regard him only as a friend. But he has been excellent company. Knowing how I like to take my meals outside, he brings them out to me on a large patio that is accessible from my suite; it boasts a magnificent garden and a fountain, a round table, some cushioned chairs and two hammocks. And it really does me good just to sit there and listen to the chatty youngster rattle on and on about Palace life. He misses his Ladies, but admits it’s more interesting here. And it won’t be very long until the second part of the Epic is ready to be performed, will it? Rûdharanion has it nearly finished; it just needs a bit of polishing up. I’m glad I won’t have to play Bilbo in this one!

Where to begin? I woke late in the morning and Galendur was still here. He had fixed breakfast and was keeping my portion warm for me. I did mention he had been seeing to the upkeep of the cottage? Tilwen has been looking after my pony as well. She loves ponies. And she will be a mother soon!

“Drop over later in the day if you like,” he said as he was leaving. “Til will probably be home from her mum’s then, even if I’m not. I should imagine that in her condition, she can only take so much of Donnoviel now. She’d be glad of your company after listening to the Mysteries of the Universe all morning.”

“Perhaps I will,” I said as I walked with him to the archway. “Thank you for staying with me last night. That was most decent of you.”

“Remind me to show you my Decency medal from the War sometime,” he said with a wink. I laughed uproariously and embraced him.

I sat for a while on the terrace long after he had gone, remembering that day as if it were yesterday…the butterfly that hovered over us as Bilbo called me his prince…how Gandalf came along afterward and found me weeping over the body, and he took me on his lap and I did not protest, and he wept with me…but no, I don’t wish to speak of that. I felt an uncommon urge to take my boat and go rowing, so finally I threw on some clothes, combed my hair, washed my face and hands, and went for my boat.

And that was when I heard singing of a sort I’d heard before. Heart pounding, I paddled out toward the mouth of the pool where it empties into the sea, drawn by the sound of that sweet small undeniable voice….

And I rowed into the surf, all silver and emerald flecked with diamonds in the mid-morning sunlight, grey and white cliff-stones jutting all about, mottled with foamy spray and gull-droppings and grey-green lichens, a promontory overhanging on which I used to sometimes lie and stretch out my hand, waiting for Flossy the whale to come along and squirt it as she sometimes does…it is only my incomplete right hand she squirts, never the left one, strange to say. Galendur teased me once that it was her way of kissing it better.

(Perhaps it is too small and low to really be a promontory, but I wanted to use that word!)

Pearl-pure she, divine and wild
a sea-blossom dropped from a chrysoprase cloud
child of the Aurora and the philandering waves
laughter and small bright wisdom
mingled ’neath the undisciplined ripples
of her honeyed locks,
perfume and mithril woven
in the cadences of her voice
eyes the tinge of blue heart’s-ease
that bloomed in my childhood garden
mostly fittingly.
No reflection does she cast
upon the envious waters
yet my eyes hold naught but her,
and her, and her again
as though they were an ocean-bed
and she the Sea itself
overflowing with her until
she covers every inch of me
soaking me with her might
and restless treasure….

“Anemone,” I said, “these are two of my dearest friends, Galendur and Tilwen. They have been very anxious to meet you.”

I had told her earlier, that she would have to resign herself to being stared and gawked at, that she was the first of her kind that anyone on the Island had ever seen, most likely, and many or most would not know how to react, and might behave in a manner that might seem rude to her—a completely unnecessary warning. She just grinned happily saying in her pretty accent, “No matter. I think I shall enjoy seeing people’s reactions. It will be a new thing for me.”

“Well...I confess I was shy of being stared at, when I first arrived,” I said. “I got used to it, but it took a long time.”

“You were not so shy,” she pointed out, with her cheeky little grin, “when you stripped yourself nearly naked and leapt into the sea from the ship to swim amongst the dolphins.”

I chuckled sheepishly. “I was not myself that day. It’s not the sort of thing I normally ever did, even as a lad. I think I was bewitched. Perhaps you were the one who influenced me from the waves?”

“Oh no. I did not even know who you were then. When you leapt in, I thought only, Who is that mad child? He will freeze his backsides off, if a shark doesn’t eat him first.”

“In part, yes. Our folk protect sea-farers, it is true, but I’d no chance to do so. I became interested in you, but lost sight of you soon. Then after a season, you showed again, and my interest revived. You were shining and holy and full of wishing and knowing. A sea-star you were, belonging to the heavens. I knew only that I had to find my way to you, or be forever lost.”

I worried, I confess, about her clothing—the skimpy pale-green dress that barely covered her knees and left her arms almost all bare was fine when she was alone with me, but it would hardly do for visiting in the City. I wondered how to go about getting her some things that would be more suitable for receiving visitors. Of course I don’t wish to turn her into something she is not and wasn’t meant to be. But despite what she said, I don’t want people saying nasty things behind our backs…might there be a few Elven versions of Lobelia lurking about?

But how silly I was to worry! For when I went down to meet her to introduce her to Galendur and Tilwen--I meet her at a certain spot by the pool, pick a flower and toss it in and there she is standing before me--she appeared this time in a dainty gown of blue, almost ankle-length, with filmy sleeves that floated back from her elbows. Her violet eyes twinkled, probably laughing at me for being such a worry-wart, and I grinned back and plucked a purple orchid and tucked it into her amber locks, explaining that nothing was lovelier than a girl with flowers in her hair. If she thought that was silly, she didn’t say so, but took my hand and we wended back to the cottage-road. Her feet were bare also…but so were my own, so I supposed it scarcely mattered, especially considering how much prettier than my great shaggy clod-hoppers her little feet were!

Sam, forgive me if I sound totally besotted! The mere way her hand feels in mine, her soft cool fingers, so fragile and helpless…well, of course they are not, they are far stronger than my own, but one would never guess it! I had to stop and kiss them from time to time and press her hand to my cheek as we rode along in the pony-cart. It's all I can do to wrench my eyes from her face, keep my fingers from playing in her hair, refrain from watching her every movement. The way she turns her head sometimes, and smiles impishly over her shoulder at me, reaching up carelessly to put back a lock of hair...the way she leans her head on my shoulder, how light and soft she feels in my arms...her fingers locking behind my neck as her eyes look up into mine, the slenderness of her waist, her perfect little shoulders peeping above the neckline of her gown....I had thought I was happy before. I only thought I had been in love before. Now I am living the reality…and it is terrifying and intoxicating and delicious and purifying and dangerous…. I want to give her everything and take everything from her. I want to teach her and learn from her. Worship her and be worshipped by her. And so on and on.

I can imagine what was going through Tilwen’s mind as I introduced my little sea-lady. She is real, after all. Galendur wasn’t just telling ridiculous stories. How happy Iorhael looks…but WHAT is she? And mightn’t she be dangerous? And Galendur, rendered once more speechless. Casting about in his mind for some gallantly silly remark to make, and drawing a total blank. But as usual, I underestimated him. He rose to the occasion rather quickly, in fact.

“You want to watch out for this one, my little lady,” he said to Anemone with mock gravity. “He may look small and harmless, but he’s got tricks up his sleeve and no mistaking. Do you know he actually toppled a dark bugger’s tower almost single-handed? There was some fol-de-rol about him tossing a ring into a volcano, but you know there had to have been more to it than that. He even suckered them into making him a prince here. If—ow!”

“Pay him no mind,” Tilwen said to Anemone, who was looking at him in silky innocence and veiled amusement. “He thinks he’s funny. We are overjoyed that you and Iorhael have met at last. He is very dear to us, and I hope you will be very happy together. And you both must come and see us often.”

Anemone smiled a warm and accepting smile, her tiny hands cradling the porcelain cup before her. “This is what is called tea, yes?” she said.

“Do you mean to tell me,” Til said, “that Iorhael has not introduced you to tea yet?”

“We haven’t gotten that far in her education,” I said, wondering how I could have been so remiss. Then I saw loud laughter in Tilwen’s eyes. Yes, she was having me on.

“Shocking,” she said lowering her eyebrows at me. “Positively scandalous.”

“And I dare say,” Galendur said, “that he hasn’t explained a dratted thing to you about sparring yet, let alone horse-racing and yachting and such. What can you see in the blighter?”

“But he has explained about something far more interesting,” Anemone said with a naughty twinkle, then cast down her eyelids in mock demureness. Til gasped. I thought, oh no…well, of course I would never kick her on the ankle, but…perhaps I should fake a fit of coughing, or...

“And that would be…?” Galendur looked at her with raised eyebrows, and just a hint of horror.

And she looked him full in the face without batting an eyelash, and said, “Weddings.”

Well, I won’t have to make a copy of the Epic for Nessima. I simply put in a request to the Queen. I didn’t suppose it would come through very quickly, seeing as how she must get plenty of requests per day, but the Lady is not above playing favorites, I suspect. Within three days, Nessima had acquired her copy, bound in soft black leather tooled in gold, with lovely illustrations on the frontispiece. Seems the Queen has her scribes and copyists and book-binders quite busy nowadays.

Nessima came down to the cottage to thank me, to my surprise instead of waiting for me to come out to the Orphanage. Anemone and I were sitting on the terrace indulging in afternoon tea—which was actually a delightful orange drink, along with the famous golden mushrooms. I asked her if they would continue to grow after we were wed, and she said, “Alas, no. I will no longer have the power to raise them. But—” she looked up at me with soft blue eyes twinkling—“perhaps I can offer you something much better.”

She was wearing the little green dress when the peacock screeched his announcement of Nessima’s arrival. The bird is massively infatuated with Anemone, spreading his fan whenever she hoves into his sight, letting her pet and feed him and rubbing his head against her hand like a pussycat. She considers him adorable and once said she wished she had a dress or cloak embroidered with his feathers. I may have to put in another request to the Queen soon…and hope she can have it done in time for the wedding.

I jumped to answer the summons, glancing at my beloved and I almost told her not to do that thing she had done with Galendur’s brothers…then decided it was unnecessary. Yet when I returned to the terrace with our guest, I saw that Anemone was wearing the ankle-length blue dress once more.

I had not seen much of Galendur’s two older brothers, and neither had he. I did not see them at his wedding, for the plain and simple reason that they had not come. They had been outraged that he would stoop to marrying a kitchen-maid, of all things. Everyone knew serving-wenches were for amusing oneself with, not for marrying, unless one happened to be of the servant-class oneself! Galendur told me he overheard them making nasty insinuations just before the wedding that they could expect their baby brother to produce an heir very quickly—very quickly indeed, they chuckled with winks and lifted eyebrows. Maldor, the eldest, even expressed outrage that Galendur had “profaned” the Temple by having the wedding performed in it. After nearly a year went by and no “heir” was forthcoming, they showed some willingness to unbend and try to make peace. But then Galendur actually had the audacity to appear in the play, and Maldor was outraged all over again.

I had met the brothers a time or two, and couldn’t help but wonder if they were born with supercilious smirks on their faces. They are dark-haired where Galendur is fair. I think I prefer Maldor, if I must choose one or the other. He is a sanctimonious prig, but less malicious than Ortherion, who fancies himself a wit and a commentator on the state of Elvendom, which according to him, is "deplorably fallen these days". Many of his targets are at least somewhat deserving of his barbs, the inhabitants of the Brazen Parrot being amongst his favorites. But he takes far too much enjoyment in ridiculing them, and his jokes are unnecessarily cruel at all times, his victims much too easy. I’ve a feeling he was a bit of a bully in his youth. And as for his opinion of the serving classes…well, so often his anecdotes begin along the lines of “We had a kitchen-boy once, who was so abysmally stupid, it simply beggars description. Once when my wife and I were having one of our modest dinner parties…” I remember Bilbo faking an attack of the vapors when we had both had all we could take of Ortherion for one night!

I think I can at least partly understand their attitude toward their youngest brother. He is obviously their father’s favorite, and probably was their mother’s as well, the fair-haired one, the hero, the champion, who went his own way and dared to rebel, the idol of young lads, sought after by ellyth, and now, to top it all off, the special friend of the Prince. Ortherion told me last year, during the party at the Palace, “He’s changed a great deal in the past couple of years since he married, somehow. Perhaps there’s hope for him after all. I don’t know how to account for it, myself, but I suppose the truth will come out sooner or later, as it is often—ahem—known to do.”

Tilwen told me they didn’t even bother to make sure she was not about when they told Galendur how they felt about his betrothal to her. He, of course, minced no words telling them which part of his anatomy they could salute if they disapproved his choice of a mate!

Maldor has two daughters, both married, and one son, who does uncannily resemble Galendur—which may be a nice joke on Maldor, but can’t be very easy for the boy. Ortherion has a daughter I’m told is his especial treasure, the one thing he has going for him, I suppose.

Well, anyway! It happened yesterday that Anemone and I were visiting with Galendur and Tilwen, with the intention of staying to dinner, when without warning Maldor and Ortherion both showed up. I am thrilled beyond measure that Anemone and Tilwen have hit it off so quickly, and that Tilwen has shown Anemone how to arrange her hair in the latest fashion, and has explained certain feminine matters to her of which this old bachelor knew very little.

“She’s darling,” Tilwen told me after their first meeting. “She’s such an exquisite little poppet, I’d like to pick her up and carry her--although I know she wouldn’t like it! She's so wise and clever, I never know what to expect from her. I’ll admit I had misgivings when Galendur first told me of her. And it’s just a little scary to see you this happy, although it’s exactly what I've always wanted for you, and have felt so badly for you when I supposed you would never know it as I have. It’s rather like watching you stand on a precipice almost to the stars, as high as you can go, but such a long, long way to fall…do you see what I mean?”

“Yes,” I said. “It feels that way to me sometimes too. I just try not to look down…as much as possible.”

Well, there we were all four of us sitting on the back porch, discussing what it would be like once Anemone and I were wed…for of course, as I’ve already told you, she will become mortal then and her powers will leave her. I had not realized that the sea-folk were immortal before meeting her. I assumed they had life-spans the same as Men and hobbits and dwarves, perhaps longer, but that sooner or later, they died. Yes, I know I’ve said in my poetry that I’ve wished I could impart the Gift to my beloved friends here so that we might all meet on the Other Side without having to wait until the End of Days…but now that I am actually about to impart it to one of them, I’m wondering if it makes me something of a murderer! Yes, of course that’s absurd. It’s not as if I am forcing Anemone to make the Choice of Lúthien or anything. Immortality has no more charms for her, she says, and since I seem so convinced that the Other Side exists, she would go there with me when my time comes. And we cannot continue to cohabit like beasts on the Island, and I want others to accept her as my wife, not as some temptress who has bewitched me and will bring about my downfall.

This we were discussing when the brothers drove up. Galendur stood abruptly as he heard the horses’ hooves on the road that leads to the house. The rest of us took no particular notice at first, until we heard him say, “Oh sh--, it’s the Twin Trolls. They made good on their threat.”

Tilwen muttered a word I'd never heard her use before, then sprang to her feet and reached a hand to Anemone saying softly, “Come in with me for a moment.” Anemone went indoors with Tilwen. I heard some whispering but could not discern any words, but a rather naughty giggle or two.

“What threat?” I said to Galendur. I had to think for a moment what the brothers’ names were.

“Sorry, old chap,” he said. “You see, I ran into Maldor recently, and he said that he might drop by one of these days. Said he’d really like to make peace in the family, heal the rift and all that bloody rot. Well, it may be somewhat true of Maldor. But as for Ortherion, if he’s coming, then it's my guess he’s heard about the sea-lady and merely wants to satisfy his curiosity. But I didn’t think either of them would really lower themselves to come over, and I had more or less forgotten about it. Well, I suppose I shall simply tell them I have company and we haven’t enough room for all. Which is true enough.”

Actually it wasn’t quite true, for it looked to me as if the brothers had not brought their families along. I thought perhaps Anemone and I could slip out the back unnoticed. But there was something in me that didn’t want to just run off and leave Galendur and Tilwen—especially Tilwen—to the Twin Trolls’ dubious mercies.

“Hullo, little brother!” I heard one of them call out—Ortherion, I supposed. He was the hearty one. He waved an arm cheerfully high in the air. Maldor made a more dignified little salute. “Where’s your stable-boy, I say?”

“I gave him the week off,” Galendur said, not hearty at all. (Of course they have no stable-boy. Galendur is stable-boy there.) “So you saw fit to come out after all, did you?”

“Maldor warned you we would, did he not?” Ortherion obviously wasn’t the sort who was easily rebuffed. He dismounted and led his steed over to where his baby brother stood, Maldor soon following suit. “We were visiting with Father, and decided to drop by. The ladies and Elisiel are with my mother-in-law, and it was getting entirely too female in there, if you know what I mean. A regular hen-house. We had to flee for our lives. Looks as though you have company already, what?”

“How very observant of you,” Galendur said, and I thought I could have chilled my melons on his words. “We weren’t expecting you, so we haven’t supper for all, I’m afraid.”

“Ah well, we didn’t intend to stay long,” Ortherion said with a little chuckle—at what, I’ve no idea. “Thought we’d just drop in and see how you two were coming along. Or should I say three? According to Father, you’ll be producing an heir very soon, am I right?”

“You are,” Galendur said, adding under his breath, for my ears, “for once.”

“That is wonderful news,” Maldor said, glancing sidelong at me. “I’m surprised you seem less happy about it than one might expect.”

“Oh, I assure you we are more than happy about it,” Galendur said, “as I dare say you were when you came to find that the heir was not on its way so quickly after our wedding as you had hoped—er, supposed.”

Maldor had the grace to flush a little. “Bygones…” he murmured, then glanced to his brother in confusion. Ortherion noticed me and saw a chance at a diversion.

“And how are you doing, Ring-bearer?” he said. “Rumor has it that you’ve some happy news also?”

“And please allow me to offer my condolences on the passing of your uncle,” Maldor said, recovering himself. I must admit he has much better manners than his brother.

Just then the ladies emerged from the house, and came to stand at the porch-rail. I can remember the way both Maldor’s and Ortherion’s eyes popped at the sight of my diminutive bride-to-be. I fully intend to announce our betrothal in the Temple soon, but thought it would be better to let word get around first. It might cause quite an uproar if I were to simply spring her on the congregation.

Galendur took the horses and led them to the stable without a word. Tilwen sedately walked over to her brothers-in-law, holding out one hand. I had to smile a little then as I went to stand beside Anemone.

“Greetings,” Til said in an exaggerated lady-of-the-manor tone that tickled me to the core, “and welcome to our humble abode. Won’t you come and have a seat and a cool drink. You must surely be exhausted after such a long and arduous journey. I apologize for my woefully bedraggled appearance, but I was not expecting more company.”

She looked fresh and lovely actually, in an attractive shade of leaf-green, but it was the sort of dress she wore for everyday and not for special. And she had neglected to remove her apron.

“Truly,” Ortherion said, as he and his brother followed Tilwen up the steps and into the house. “I would have thought since you were entertaining royalty, you might have dressed to the nines, my dear. But it’s no matter, I’m sure. Dressing up can be a tedious business, and why put oneself out unnecessarily? You look adorable as ever. But aren’t you going to introduce us to the future Princess?”

I knew already that neither of them took my being a Prince seriously, and regarded it as something of a joke.

“This is Bryseluthea, Iorhael’s betrothed,” Tilwen said as she seated the brothers in two chairs and Anemone and myself on the sofa directly across from them. “But on dry land, she is better known as Anemone. These are Galendur’s brothers Maldor and Ortherion.”

“I’m Ortherion,” the middle brother said, Til having introduced him as Maldor and Maldor as Ortherion. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, little lady. It’s not every day that one meets one of the sea-folk. Of course, I never fully believed the report that you had a fish-tail. It would be abominably difficult to transport oneself on dry land thus encumbered, I should think. And the human-like appendages with which you have been gifted are far more attractive, I’m sure. No scales upon them, I see, but no hair either.”

If I had been bigger I would have landed my fist in his belly, and as it was I was seriously contemplating planting my heel right down on his instep, which I would probably have done had we both been standing. I saw Tilwen flush furiously, and Maldor cleared his throat in embarrassment. But Anemone merely smiled up guilelessly right in Ortherion’s face, and I halted.

“I only wear the fish-tail for special occasions,” she said very sweetly, “such as when I am meeting someone important.”

Tilwen turned very quickly, her shoulders shaking violently. Maldor put a hand quickly over his mouth, and Ortherion seemed a trifle discomfited. A completely new experience for him, I haven’t a doubt!

“There now, brother, you deserved that,” Maldor said. “Don’t mind him, folks; he had a bit too much to drink at luncheon, as usual, and is behaving like an thorough-going oaf. Which is to say, exactly like himself.”

Galendur came in just then. Judging from his grin, I dare say he had heard everything. I thought Ortherion might have the decency to apologize, but he tightened his lips and said nothing.

Tilwen went to get a bottle of wine, and the golden mushrooms we had brought over, which she had put in a bowl. She offered them to the brothers, and Maldor took one, but Ortherion said, “Just wine, thank you,” and she poured some for him, saying pertly, “Your loss. They are outrageously delicious. And before long, they will no longer be available for sampling. So perhaps you would do better not to taste them; that way you'll not miss them.”

“She is right, they are very tasty,” Maldor said, taking another. “I’ve never tried any like these before.”

“I have never been a fancier of fungi,” Ortherion said a little sullenly. “Keep fungus from among us, that’s what I always say. But each to his own, of course. Those who wish to feed upon toad-stools are certainly free to do so.”

I think he did not realize we had brought them over, and supposed that Tilwen had supplied them. Surely even he wasn’t that rude. I was casting about in my mind for a tactful way of leaving; I don’t know how much longer I could have put up with the likes of Ortherion. Til looked as though she’d like to force-feed him a toad-stool or two.

He then started telling about a dinner-party he and his wife had given recently…to which Galendur and Tilwen had not been invited, obviously. The most boring affair he had ever hosted, he said; we were all lucky to have missed it. Really he had to wonder about all these people his wife was taking up with lately. Some had actually taken in refugee children right off the streets, and why we didn’t all catch leprosy from these urchins was anyone’s guess. He supposed he was just going to have to lay down the law to her. They did have their daughter to think of, after all. And this was the Fourth Age? Give him the Third Age any day, monsters and all….

Maldor had to agree somewhat. Charity was well and good, but there were surely ways of exercising it that didn’t involve coming into contact with undesirables. Morality just wasn’t what it used to be, which was what came of letting the races mingle and intermarry. And as for the servants, there was just no keeping them in their place any more....

“Never underestimate a servant!” I heard myself speak up, able to hold back no longer...there, I said it! Finally!!

But it didn’t seem to register with anyone. For I saw something out of the corner of my eye that stopped my mind right in its tracks, so to speak.

She was wearing the blue dress when we came over, of that I was certain. It was her visiting-gown. But it did not look blue any more. It was a gold-green color now.

I told myself I was imagining things; she must have worn it over, and I hadn’t noticed. Or had she changed it when Tilwen drew her into the house? No…I was absolutely sure she was still wearing the blue dress when she came back out. If she had been wearing a different one I would have noticed. Why would she bring another anyway? Then I glanced upward through my eyelashes and saw that Ortherion had seen too. He was staring, hard, his wine-glass raised halfway to his lips, and if he had been a child he would have rubbed his eyes, I’m sure. I then glanced at Maldor, but he had reached down to pick up an object he had dropped on the floor. Then he too looked toward Anemone and did a double take. He looked to Ortherion, who looked to him…then both looked to Galendur, who seemed to have noticed nothing. Then they looked back at Anemone…who was once more wearing the blue dress.

I tried hard to pretend I had seen nothing amiss. Then I glanced at her face, and saw she was looking much too innocent, and I tried not to grin.

Then Ortherion evidently decided he had best get his bearings, clearing his throat.

“You’ll never guess whom I ran into the other day,” he said, in Galendur’s general direction.

“No, I suppose I never will,” Galendur said. Ortherion waited for him to say “Whom?” but he did not. He waited for a moment, then Maldor filled in the silence, saying “Whom?”

“Remember that fellow who supposedly died?” Ortherion said. His voice seemed a trifle shaky. “Peligar? Well, he was no more bloody dead than I am. And I asked him if he and his wife were--”

He stopped short and his eyes popped once more. I glanced down once more out of the corner of my eye, and yes, Anemone’s gown was a vivid rose pink.

Ortherion’s glass slipped and the dark wine dribbled down the front of his spanking clean shirt and tunic. He didn’t even seem to notice.

Maldor rubbed his eyes. Then the two brothers looked to each other again. And back at Anemone. Her dress was blue.

Well, I thought they would leave then, surely! But then Tilwen ran into the kitchen and came back with a napkin, which she handed to Ortherion. He stared at it stupidly, as if expecting it to change color also.

“I believe you are supposed to wipe your clothing with it,” Galendur pointed out to him. “Something wrong?”

Ortherion mechanically scrubbed at his shirt-front with it, then looked at it in horror as if it were bloody. He looked at Anemone and then at his brother and then back at her, but her dress remained blue.

“What in blazes is the matter with you?” Galendur demanded of him. I don’t think he had ever looked at Anemone’s dress at all. “Are you sick?”

“Perhaps the wine doesn’t agree with him,” Til suggested quietly. Was it terribly priggish of me to feel a little sorry for him?

“I may…have had a bit too much,” Ortherion admitted, finally. “I can’t think what I started out to say.”

“We are glad you could drop over for a while,” Tilwen said, the picture of graciousness. “I’m so sorry you could not stay for supper. Which reminds me, I had better check on the rolls.”

“Come, brother,” he said reaching a hand down to Ortherion. “Our wives will be wondering what happened to us, and may send out a search party sooner or later.”

“You must come over and see us sometime,” she said, and her dress was a shimmering gold. “We would be delighted to have you.”

I think Galendur noticed her dress then, from the look on his face. Maldor looked slightly furious.

Poor Ortherion looked near to fainting. Galendur said he would fetch the horses. Maldor took Ortherion by the shoulders and forcibly hustled him from the room.

“You did fine,” I said to Anemone late that evening as we stood on the beach looking out on the jeweled waves, the mass of stars above, and the Beacon with its steady beam far off. I felt like giggling all over again, remembering how she had so neatly wiped the sneer off Ortherion’s face. Then I sobered. “The thing is, however, I feel badly for Galendur now. Those are his brothers, after all. I am supposed to be a peace-maker, and I did precious little peace-making today. I don’t like to think of him estranged from his own kin. If only there were some way I could turn them toward the Light.”

“You take being a savior seriously,” she said taking my incomplete hand and running a finger over the stump, which she then pressed to her lips, “and that is a good thing. But even you cannot save all. However, there is one thing you can do, my Love: continue to be a brother to him yourself. He lives in the Light because of you.”

This afternoon Til came to tell me that Maldor had come over that morning, and he apologized not only for Ortherion’s behavior, but his own as well. He got on quite a roll, apologizing for his attitude toward Tilwen, for his refusal to come to the wedding, for not allowing his wife and son to have anything to do with them, for barely speaking to his youngest brother and sister-in-law ever since the wedding. What brought on this fit of penitence, Tilwen wasn’t sure.

“He said Ortherion was hung-over,” she told us as I brought out the tea-tray to the terrace table. “I had a good mind to march right over and give it to him hot and heavy while he was suffering, but I knew I’d never get past his door. And it might be bad for the baby anyway. But ohhh, when I think of the way he acted, I could just…if he EVER has the nerve to show his face at our door again, I will take Galendur’s sword and make mince-meat out of him! Believe it or not, I’ve seen him much worse, but not in front of you. Brrr! But after that little thing with the dress yesterday, I doubt he’ll be coming around any more. That was simply wonderful, along with what Anemone said about the fish-tail. I’m still giggling over that. And to think that lovely daughter of his, Elisiel, once had the nerve to accuse me of ‘disgracing’ Galendur by ‘roping’ him into marriage with me! Did you ever?”

“Well, I suppose we know who the real disgrace is now, don’t we?” I said. Actually I had been pitying Ortherion a little, but the pity dissipated quickly at the thought of the shame and mortification he had caused Tilwen, whom I loved as a sister and he should have done likewise. How he could be so petty and stupid, I could not imagine.

“I should say so,” she said. “Oh, I threw all kinds of fits, when she said that! You should be glad you weren’t there to see. Galendur went on the rampage. He went storming over there, and I don’t know what all he said, but I can imagine. I was worried, fearing there would be a blood feud right within the family and it would be my doing, and I should have kept my mouth shut, but I’ve certainly never been good at that, as you well know! But Elisiel came over and apologized, and I think she was sincere. Ortherion said he was the one who ordered her to, saying she had ‘spoken out of turn’--as if he ever does anything else--but I think it was his wife. Raina has her faults too, but basically she’s a decent person. I like her much better than that ice-princess Maldor married. They should trade wives. Maldor has improved somewhat over the past couple of years. He’s still too holy for his own good, but not nearly as much as he used to be. Maybe there’s some hope for him, at least. He said he wouldn’t have come over yesterday, feeling that he was not welcome, but Ortherion insisted upon coming, and Maldor decided he had better come along to try and keep him in line, Ortherion being ‘a little the worse for drink.’ Which is putting it much too politely.”

“Neither he nor Galendur are very good at holding their liquor, are they,” I said with a little smile, remembering our first encounter. “Perhaps it’s their mortal blood.”

“Whatever it is, they’re both simply abysmal at it,” Tilwen declared. “But I hope it doesn’t keep you two from coming to visit any more. Galendur told Maldor he must apologize to me as well, and he did so. Quite nicely, I must say.”

“Good for them both,” Anemone said. I nodded emphatically, and she patted my hand. “There now,” she said, “you see? Perhaps he is turning to the Light, at least.”

“If so, it was more your doing than mine, I’m sure,” I said grinning. “But as long as he is, it scarcely matters whose doing it was.”

“I suppose it’s as my mother said,” Tilwen admitted. “She was not keen to have me wed Galendur, either. She told me when you marry someone, you don’t just marry him, you marry his family as well. Much as I hate to admit it, I believe she’s right. Not that I regret marrying him or anything. I’d have wed him if Sauron himself were his brother.”

“At least Anemone hasn’t that to worry about,” I said, “since I’ve no family now, myself. Although I know Bilbo would have adored her.”

“How can you say you have no family?” Anemone chided me. “The entire Island is your family, my Prince. They would do anything for you.”

“Absolutely,” Til agreed. Then suddenly she sat very still, laying a hand to her slightly bulging belly. A soft radiance began to infuse her, then quickly spread until she was all alight with joy, and it was as if a grey cloud had moved away from the sun. Anemone looked at her in wonder.

“It’s moving!” Tilwen said. She took my hand and then Anemone’s, and pressed them to her abdomen. “Niniel said I would feel it move any day now. Can you feel it?”

I felt my face fairly crack open with delight as I felt the slight flutter. Tilwen stood and had Anemone press her ear to her belly. At the same time I felt a catch in my throat as I remembered my mother doing that with me when I was small, listening to the movement of the little sister who was to be, and yet was not.

I have been put in charge of casting this time, and am delighted to announce that Dûndeloth will play Faramir. Inzilbêth will play Éowyn this time. She is thrilled, after having read the complete Epic, to get the chance to really do something big. Speaking wise words, singing lovely songs and giving wondrous gifts is all well and good, but slaying the Lord of the Nazgûl is quite another matter. Well, whatever her shortcomings as a person may be, she is a very fine actress without a doubt. And somehow I like her better now than I did last year.

Gollum is the one I was most worried about casting. Who could possibly play him? Six lads read for it, and they were all wrong. My heart sank as I heard their attempts. What if the part were not cast well? It could ruin the whole play. I thought perhaps Dairuin, who plays Pippin, could double for him. He is quite an actor himself. Still, it is a lot to lay on a young boy.

Selin the director intimated to me that he would try to find some others, and was about to call for the ones who wished to read for another part, when a small voice piped up asking if he could read for Gollum. And there came forth the strangest-looking elfling I had ever seen.

He appeared about Dínlad’s age, but not so tall. His stringy pale hair hung lank about a triangular thin face out of which a pair of huge pale eyes stared with an uncannily knowing light. His appearance was altogether untidy and unhealthy, his arms and legs almost starved-looking in his ragged grey shirt and breeches. And yet there was something vaguely familiar about him, on which I could not put my finger.

I asked him his name and he said “Ninniach.” My eyes must have popped. The name means “rainbow” of course, and could scarcely have been less fitting. There was precious little color to him. He had the look of a street-urchin who slept in barrels and had made thieving a science by necessity. But obviously he could read or he wouldn’t have been there.

I nodded to my assistant, who was holding a script, and he handed it to Ninniach. And he got the croaky voice so right it was frightening. Where could he have ever encountered Gollum? Yet when he was finished reading the part, he handed the script back to the assistant, who stood there staring open-mouthed, as did everyone else in the room. And he shrank shyly away, hands behind his back, and no longer appeared dirty and shifty, but just a harmless and innocent little lad once more.

“Have you always lived on the Island, Ninniach?” I asked him, trying not to sound too rattled.

“I have,” he said, without looking me straight in the eye. He looked down at his fingernails, which appeared to have been nibbled down to nubs.

“Here in the City?” I persisted, gently, but I was determined to find out something about him.

“No,” he said softly, shrugging his scrawny shoulders. “I live in the woods, in a hut with my mother.”

“I never knew him,” he said almost inaudibly, then looked up at me. “Is that all right?”

“Ninniach…if we give you this part, you will have to work hard, you know that?”

“I’m not afraid of work,” he said almost defiantly, while I wondered how much work he could have done, with those bones.

“You will have to work with many people. Are you accustomed to being with many people at once?”

“You read the part extremely well, Ninniach. You were amazing, to say the least. And you truly have not done this sort of thing before?”

I was silent a moment, looking up at him—yes, he was taller than I, but I dare say I weighed much more. Strange how he avoided my eyes.

“You know you will have to perform in front of a great many people, don’t you? That prospect does not frighten you?”

“You have read the entire story, I take it.” It sounded stupid even as I spoke, but I had to know.

“Dínlad and Perion, who play Frodo and Sam, will be here after a while. Can you stay and read some with them?”

“I can. Have I the part?” He looked me in the eye, a harmless little lad once more.

“I doubt anyone but you could play it, Ninniach,” I said and managed a smile this time. And he smiled back, very fleetingly.

I said as much to Anemone, when I returned home in the evening. She looked at me with grave sweetness and said he most certainly would not; she would protect me, and I laughed. She had fixed supper for me, and listened intently as I told her of the day’s doings at the table.

I have been teaching her to read—perhaps I mentioned that before. She has caught on with uncanny quickness. By the end of the first day she had learnt the entire alphabet by heart. After three days she was reading quite fluently. And after a week and a half she could write a neat and clear hand, and had copied out three pages with no mistakes. There was no doubt in my mind of her intelligence from the first day I met her, but even so she surprised me. Naturally enough, we work with the Epic. We read it back and forth to each other, day after day, evening after evening, and discuss the meanings and significance underlying it all, and I am often floored by her insights. I can hardly wait to introduce her to the more intellectual circles; she will give them something to talk about, I'm sure!

Rûdharanion will play Gandalf once more…although he says he wishes he could play Gríma “Wormtongue”; it would be great fun to play a villainous role. But one of the actors in the Company is playing Gríma and he wouldn’t stand for anyone taking it from him.

And it’s Ninniach who is going to steal the show, as they say. He had all his lines memorized in the space of a week. No one seems to know anything of him. I have tried to find out where he lives, but he continues to be evasive, and no one else can get anything out of him either. I considered following him home, but he has a way of disappearing after rehearsals are over, before anyone even notices he is gone. I bring extra food for him every day, for it shocks me to see him so bony.

When I first proposed taking food to him, Anemone raised her eyebrows saying, “But Gollum is supposed to be very scrawny, is he not?”

“Yes,” I said, “but I had rather see him look less the part than watch him go hungry. I think he will play the part so well, none will care if he is not all skin and bones.”

Anemone smiled most radiantly, and said she would fix the food while I did whatever else I must do. I smiled back to see her acting so like a wife already. I hoped Ninniach would open up more when I brought the basket to him, and I could find out something more about him. But he merely thanked me and said he would bring it back next day. The other lads don’t seem to know what to make of Ninniach. Especially Perion. He says Ninniach makes him nervous.

“Why does he keep his hands behind his back all the time?” he asked me once.

“I suppose it is just a habit,” I said. “I’ve seen his hands, and there’s nothing amiss with them…aside from the fact that he bites his nails. I used to bite mine also.”

“I don’t care about his nails,” Dínlad said, “but why does he keep disappearing on us? That’s what gets ME. One minute he’s there and then, poof! he’s gone. You’d think he really DID have a magic ring or something.”

“I must admit that is strange to me also,” I said. Anemone rides with me to rehearsals sometimes. Once I said to Ninniach I wished to introduce him to a little lady who would be my wife. He said he would like to meet her, but must excuse himself for a moment. I supposed he was going to the privy, so I went into the stands where Anemone was sitting and asked her if she would like to meet our “Gollum.” She eagerly said yes, and accompanied me backstage. I called for Ninniach, but he did not answer. I looked around, asked other actors about him; no one knew anything. To all appearances, he was gone.

“I suppose he changed his mind,” I said to her, and she looked a little disappointed.

“Perhaps he is shy and frightened about meeting one of the sea-folk,” she said.

“Perhaps so, but he did say he wished to meet you, and he sounded as though he meant it,” I fretted.

The next day it was the same. He apologized for disappearing, explaining that he took spells sometimes in which he forgot things, and one of those times must have come upon him. And he must have had another such spell, for once more when I brought Anemone backstage, he was gone.

I explained about his “spells” to the lads. To be truthful, I had started to worry about whether Dínlad were capable of projecting the sort of pity toward Gollum that the play called for. I tried to squelch such a concern, remembering what had happened last year when I had feared he was incapable of conveying grief over the death of Gandalf. I can hardly help but wonder if Amras’s death were not so accidental after all, and was brought about for the very purpose of teaching Dínlad the meaning of grief, and that the Powers had every intention of bringing Amras back once that purpose was fulfilled. But what would it take to teach Dínlad the meaning of pity toward a wretched and unfortunate, and yet evil creature? If he could not feel and project that, the whole meaning of the story might be lost.

I discussed this with Anemone too, and she said I was worrying unnecessarily, as always.

“It seems to me that the Powers are backing this production,” she said. “And could it be that your Ninniach has been sent by them as well? You talk a good bit about faith, my dearest; perhaps it is time that you showed a bit more of it yourself.”

“But he has the lads all unsettled,” I said. “That cannot be a good thing…can it?”

“Yes, but she is an adult.” But even as I spoke, I thought perhaps she was right. Maybe the lads did need some unsettling. Perhaps it would do them good…but would their mothers see it that way?

“I think perhaps,” Anemone said, “that this Ninniach is completely throwing himself into the part, in order to awaken the others into the Truth. They must be made to understand that this is not simply a play; it is the Truth. Not that you can make them understand, at their age. But perhaps in some strange way, Ninniach can make them understand, if only in an unconscious manner. The Powers work in strange and wondrous ways, yes? So perhaps it is up to us to do what we can and let them do what we cannot.”

“Thank you,” I said chuckling. “I was forgetting. I suppose a Ninniach spell came upon me. Well, I must think what to do about his costume. The real Gollum went nearly naked, but that will not do for the stage. He must be more covered.”

She took pen and paper and began to sketch. Soon she came up with a drawing depicting a Gollum who looked so much like the original that I gasped, wearing a pair of ratty short breeches and a tattered garment draped over his upper torso that appeared to be woven of reeds or some such.

“Sea-weed,” she said, “or, river-weed, if you like. I dare say I can contrive something of the sort.”

“I should put you in charge of costume design,” I said grinning, “except you would have the ladies’ gowns changing color all the time, I fear, which would be greatly unsettling for the poor audience.”

She laughed her beautiful shimmery laugh, leaning over to kiss my cheek. “Perhaps they need unsettling also,” she said.

One day after a long afternoon of rehearsals, I felt in need of a smoke, so I went off by myself to fill my pipe, and almost bumped into an elleth who stood near the doorway. I started at the sight of her, not only because I was not expecting her, but because of her strange appearance. She was small for an elf, very thin, and drably dressed in an ankle-length gown without a particle of ornamentation, her pale hair hanging straight down on either side of her face, which was oddly plain itself, and rather sad and hungry-looking.

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” I stammered as I reached out to try to prevent her from falling.

“No matter,” she said gently, setting herself upright with no difficulty. “You are Prince Iorhael, I know that? My son has spoken much of you.”

“Then you are…” I looked up at her again. Her eyes were dark and enormous, a bit hollow looking, her cheeks sunken, her lips thin and pale.

“Ninniach’s mother, yes,” she said with a little wistful smile. “My name is Silivren.”

“I am honored to meet you,” I said, wishing I could tell her that her son had spoken of her often also, but in reality he had mentioned her but once. “But I am afraid Ninniach is not here today; we have not scheduled any of his scenes for rehearsal.”

“I know,” Silivren said. “I came merely because I wished to thank you for the food you gave him, and I fear he has not been polite enough to thank you so much as he should. You are very kind. He may not say so, but Ninniach thinks the world of you.”

“He is a very gifted lad,” I said, feeling even more puzzled. “His ability to play the part is nothing short of uncanny. And I think because of that, the other boys are doing better also. Ah, but where are my manners? Would you like to come take some lunch with me? There is a place just down the street here where I go to have a bite sometimes. We can talk more about Ninniach there, and I will treat you.”

“Thank you, I would like that,” she said, and we walked in the direction of the little tavern known as The Flamingo’s Roost. I ordered hot meals for both of us, thinking she looked as though she could badly use one, as much as Ninniach. And I thought perhaps she would tell me a little more about him.

“I have tried to draw him into conversation,” I said as we waited for our order, “but he seems shy, and reluctant to disclose much about himself. I think he must have a hard life of it, and may be feeling shame over things that are not his doing. And he plays the part of Sméagol so well, I must wonder how he can possibly know what he went through on account of…the Ring.”

“He was ever an odd lad,” Silivren admitted with eyes downcast. “He is given to strange fancies, and I have heard it to say he is not right in the head. But he would hurt no one. I think perhaps he can see what others cannot, or will not. It is a little frightening to me. To have him ponder the nature of that which should be left alone, yet has come to the surface. I am hoping, that after the play, he will leave off wondering about such things, and become more as other boys.”

“I believe he is as capable of living in the Light as anyone,” I said, “and will do so, and be happy. And I will do all in my power to help him into it.”

“You are betrothed,” she said after a long pause. “Your little bride is very lucky to get you. I hope she will prove worthy of you.”

I felt myself blush. “I feel like the lucky one,” I said with a wide smile. I would have liked to ask her about her husband, but felt it was none of my business. If she wished to tell me of him, she would, I was sure. “And I can only hope to be worthy of her.”

After our orders came, I tried to find out in a not too obvious way from whence she had come, but she was evasive, and would only say “somewhere near Mirkwood.” Her husband was killed by orcs while she was pregnant and she had barely escaped with her life. What she had gone through must have made an impression on her unborn child, she said, for she was given to bad spells and intervals she could not remember. She hardly even remembered coming here. She did remember the birth of her son on board the ship, and that she had named him Ninniach because he was as a rainbow after a terrible storm. I asked her about her occupation and she said she was a spinner.

“A spinner of flax, and of wondrous dreams,” she said with that wistful smile, and really was beautiful then. “Of rainbows, and sunlight, and caverns full of gems. And songs, and parties, and giants. And small princes who shine with the light of the stars.”

Yes. I think I know who Ninniach is. And Silivren too. That little “spinner” speech of hers was quite a dead give-away, what?

And I think she wants me to know, but does not wish to make it too easy for me. I’m just embarrassed that it took me so long to figure it out. The waif who was far too thin for the Blessed Realm…surely a spinner can make a sufficient living here, and neighbors would help. And still no one seems to know anything about him.

I took my time going home. I didn’t know what I would say to her. I decided I wouldn’t let on yet that I knew. I want to see how she will reveal herself…for I know she will. I did say I thought she would continue to surprise me, didn’t I? Little did I know!

I felt so foolish, stunned, light-headed, flabbergasted, kerflummoxed and…erm…unsettled, I truly didn’t know what to think. I went over the reasons she had done this. And could come up with but one. She wouldn’t prank anyone without good reason, as with Galendur’s brothers. And I doubt she was putting me to any sort of test; there is no need. And if she were, I have passed it, I am certain. No. There is but one reason she is doing it: to save the play. It is as she said: the play is the Truth. The book is not enough; there are too few copies yet. They will circulate slowly. And truly, there is no one else who could play the part, and she knew it. She must save the play, and thereby the Island, keep the Light burning. Not lightly did the Lord of the Waters choose a mate for me.

I worked this out in my mind as I drove along without seeing what was around me. I took a road not traveled much, for I did a silly thing recently: I had the cart painted gold, with black enameled wheels and black and green stenciling, and an emerald-green velvet cushion on the seat, and a tooled black leather harness made with gems and gold silk tassels on it, wishing to please Anemone. Sometimes children run after us, and we hear their excited voices:

I’m sure my face must get quite red, but Anemone enjoys the attention, blowing kisses to the onlookers which sometimes turn into flowers as they fly through the air. Why I didn’t just get a second cart and have that one done up fine, and use the plain one for everyday, I don’t know.

Well, really I have not known her very long; why should I have expected to know her better than I do? And perhaps she was right about people needing to be unsettled. When you have a jug of cider, you must shake it before pouring in order to get the full flavor, less too much settling render it insipid. Just so, perhaps the Island needs unsettling also, less it fall asleep and the Thief break in…as well he could do, if the guardians of the realm become complacent and soft and, well…settled. Didn’t I say something of that sort myself, long ago, about the Shire needing an earthquake or invasion of dragons to awaken it? Perhaps the same holds true of the Island.

Finally I reached home, and did not see her about. I put the pony in his stall and groomed and fed him, petted him and talked to him for a while, reluctant to go inside even though I was getting hungry. And then I heard a soft music, coming from the falls…a different sort than the usual. It sounded like tinkling harp-strings and fairy-bells and a soft drumming, along with a gentle shimmering sound as though the water were laughing, and I could see a light dazzling through the trees and bushes in that direction, turning the leaves to emerald and topaz dotted with the sapphire and ruby and amethyst and pearl of the flowers.

I darted to the falls, careful not to make any noise, and then stood transfixed at what I saw.

The water was alight as though a fragment of sunshine were trapped within the cliff walls, and a rainbow shivered over the highest fall and the bridge. The music seemed to be coming from within the caverns, softly rhythmic and yet it seemed the voice of the caves itself. And I saw her dancing on the ledges of the cliff clad in a short simple garment that seemed composed of dewdrops and snow, throwing out a million colors as the light touched it. She whirled and capered on each ledge, rising to the tips of her toes, arms reaching as high as possible, gold head tilted to the sky, then hopped down to the next one lower and danced and skipped on it, then tripped up light as a squirrel to the stone arch above the highest fall. Then she did a spectacular leap and caught a thick vine I could see dangling from a tree on another cliff—it looked too far away for her to catch it, but catch it she did, and she swung herself around and around in ecstatic circles, her legs straight out, her tiny toes pointed, her hair fanning out in the brightness, until she looked like a great gold and silver bird soaring and swooping in the radiant greenness. She might have been one of Gandalf’s fireworks, sprinkling tiny stars in her wake, all fire and ice and cloud-hair and jewels and music. How could I possibly connect this elemental creature, my wise, mischievous and enchanting water-lady, with the dingy little woods-urchin who seemed to understand the secrets of obsession and all-consuming need that crushes love and beauty and conscience into the dust?

I heard a slight movement beside me and glanced up to see the peacock in the tree watching her also. Then I saw her release the vine and turn an unbelievable flip in mid-air, landing as lightly and delicately as a bird on her perfect little feet on the stone arch above. Then she turned, looked down and smiled, then bent her knees with her arms outstretched and dove off, glittering, over the rainbow and the bridge, until she disappeared into the pool below, and I smiled as I saw the luminous little fish darting with incredible grace in the scintillating waters with their clean perfume and deathless patterns. Then I reached over and plucked the nearest flower and dropped it in, and there she was standing before me on the stone seat, her soft little arms around my neck, pressing her lips to mine in the snowy fire all around us.

To be quite honest, I am still considerably rattled. How well do I really know her?

She has told me plainly that she knows of me only what I wish her to know. She asked me nothing of past loves. She does not seem interested in the subject. No nonsense about did I ever think of So-and-so, what went wrong, and so on. No jealousy of any of my friends on the Island, male or female. No foolishness about keeping me guessing as to what she wants or what is bothering her; she tells me right out and we settle it then and there without any hysterics or accusations.

She has told me much about herself. She has eight children, and gave me their names rendered into my own tongue: Darkfin, Ebbtide, Moonrise, and Northlight, her sons, and her daughters Fairwind, Embergold, Nightingale and Gloryfall. The name of her mate, whom she left several years ago, she did not reveal. He fell into evil long ago, taking Darkfin their eldest son with him. This she told me with no excess of grief or shame, but in the tone of one merely stating a fact. Sometimes the sea-folk did fall to evil, the same as land-folk. But contrary to legend, they did not turn into hideous monsters, rather they became even more beautiful to behold, and that was far more dangerous than ugliness.

“The sea has regions just as the land,” she told me, “and my father is ruler of our dominion. If we have kings, then he is one, I suppose.”

“Then you are already a princess,” I said in wonder. “Did your father fall to evil too?”

“No, but my mate was from another region, and he succumbed to the Dark One,” she said. “I should have left him then, but I did not, until long after my youngest, Northlight, was born.”

“How long ago was this?” We were sitting beneath the overhang close to the place where we had first met, looking out to sea. The aurora was just visible in the evening sky.

“Not so very long ago,” she said. “Just before the downfall of Sauron. There was another of his kind, who was drawing many of our people unto him. My mate tried to force me to join with him, but I refused, taking all my children who would go with me, and we fled, where the Lord of the Waters hid us amongst the dolphins.”

“No. Not until recently. I take the form when traveling, for my mate and his kind cannot molest the sea-creatures. My other children are scattered about. But I cannot go back to my region, for my former mate may find us out and make a great deal of trouble there. This was why the Lord Ulmo chose me as your mate. He said you had toppled Sauron, and I had resisted the Dark One, and he would reward us both. But he knew he had to let me save your life in order to get me interested in you, and I suppose it was he who compelled you to jump. As I told you before, I had no idea who you were then. I did not even find you attractive; you were pale and scrawny with pink marks all over you, and those feet! But even so, I was intrigued by you. It was afterwards that the Lord of the Waters told me who you were, for I was curious, and I followed your ship to the Island. And he told me you were ill and must be healed, and had your old relation to look after. So I must wait and watch, then if I were still willing we could be wed, after I went back into the sea to farewell my kin. He told me if we should be wed that I would lose my powers, that I would know what it was to suffer, grow old, and die, and that my own people would not know me. He would hide nothing from me; if I made the choice, there was no going back. And he could not make you care for me; that was up to me to bring it about. You liked my pearl.” She smiled.

“It was your pass-key into my dreams, I take it,” I said. Her hand felt cool in mine; strange that it was never sweaty. “You invaded me, and made yourself right at home. Didn’t you?”

“You could have thrown it away, and then I could not have come in,” she said pressing my fingers to her lips. “And I think you knew that, did you not?”

I had to laugh a little: “Yes. And nothing could have induced me to throw it away.”

“I’ve no complaints,” I said, closing my eyes, thinking there was an understatement for the books. “And I know Lord Ulmo would allow no dangerous creatures on the Island. So…were you truly in my dreams or…”

“Your dreams were my dreams,” she said softly. “The Lord Irmo gifted them to us. Now we are living the reality, and will come to live it even more.”

“Well…I spread myself thin,” she explained. “I can thin myself until I can float as a low cloud in the air, but without being seen. And I watched, and bided my time. No, I did not spy on you—that is not allowed, and I would not do it anyway. But I saw you, and I learned of you what you wanted me to learn. It is hard to explain exactly. I saw the people of the Island love you, and the things you brought about. Such things were new to me. I became educated in the ways of people of the land. Some of my own people have scorned me for this. They brought out all the old stories of sea-folk who became entangled with land-folk, and none of them ended happily. But I cared not, I only wished to know more. There was no turning back. Rather like when you came to the Island. Before you came here, you did not know how it would be. You only knew you must come or die, and then you fell in love with the Island, and would not turn back. That is how it was with me also. I could not unlearn you.”

“And you were willing to give up all…for me.” I still could not take this in. All this before she even knew me, or started to find me attractive. I knew she was extraordinary even among her kind; still, I surely did not deserve this. Could I make her happy? What if I could not? I who knew so little of the ways of love, and could not give her children, how could she possibly want me?

Ah, there I go again, worrying. Faith, I reminded myself. Even as the special virtue of the Island had done its work on me, so it would for her also, surely. I shouldn’t wonder if she does have a dark side, after all she’s been through. We all have one, and I am willing to take the dark along with the light.

But Sam, is it terrible of me to be glad she will no longer have her powers when we are wed? Or is it completely unreasonable to feel that her personal charm and beauty and intelligence are plenty enough? And that I can give her the same pleasure she gives me, by way of compensation?

The performance is in three days. I am both anticipating and dreading the dress-rehearsal, in which all the players will perform in costume as if they were before an audience. Last year it was a grueling business, and I was terrified that the play would not go well, until one of the actors told me that if the dress-rehearsal went badly, that meant the play would go down splendidly. I had never heard such a thing, but I supposed he knew what he was talking about. And it did go down splendidly.

I’m waiting to see what sort of costume Ninniach will come up with. Will it bring back buried memories, and will they be putrid and horrible beyond imagining? And if so, can I keep my bearings?

I shall not tell her…yet. I am still waiting to see when she plans to reveal herself in all this. I think she knows I am onto her. And I think she wants to have it over with…or does she? Perhaps she is reveling in this little game…then again, maybe not. Perhaps she does not like deceiving me. And what if she is too successful? Will she change her mind about surrendering her powers then? Will the taste of success prove sweeter to her than love?

I still bring the food to Ninniach. Whether he eats it or not I do not know. He is still thin, though less so than before. Well and good, I think. After the play I can see more to him, and…good gracious, she is playing the part so well, I sometimes forget she is doing so at all!

The elleth who is doing costumes and makeup for the hobbits, Irilien, doesn’t seem very happy about Ninniach’s costume. She is having a hard enough time getting the boys to allow their hair to be curled. I showed her Anemone’s drawing a few weeks ago, and she said she could manage it. But now that the time is drawing nearer, she is fretting about it. I tell her to go ahead with the hobbits’ costumes; I will see to the boy. Ninniach says he can manage his own, looking at me in a rather surly manner.

“I don’t want her fussing over me,” he says. And suddenly I know why he seems familiar.

He reminds me of Dínlad, in some very odd way. He is shorter, fair where Dínlad is dark and not nearly so handsome--not that he is ugly, although he can make himself so during rehearsals--and yet there is a strange similarity in his features somehow. I wonder why I didn’t see it before. And WHY has Anemone chosen to do this?

But now everyone is getting into their costumes. I help some of them, but I don’t see Ninniach among them. Dairuin, who plays Pippin, is fretting about his scarf; why is he the only one wearing one? He is certain he heard some of the Company making fun of it. Edrahil, who plays Merry, confides to me that he is afraid he will forget his lines, and what if he can’t stop laughing about Treebeard’s costume? Perion groans to me that Irilien wants to “stuff” him to make him look stouter, and it makes him itch. Dínlad tells me he “doesn’t like Ninniach’s attitude.” Wearily I tell him he isn’t supposed to “like” it; he is supposed to understand and show compassion. And should he really be wearing blue? he asks. His mum said blue wasn’t his color. But Irilien wants to bring out the blue in his eyes. I didn’t think the color of his eyes was important, but Irilien did not ask for my opinion in the matter. I tell him he looks well in it, and so he does, but he doesn’t seem to believe me. Can it be that our Dínlad is starting to acquire a bit of “temperament”? Perion grumbles that he does NOT like spiders, and WHY does there have to be a GIANT one?? Even if the audience can’t see it?? Edrahil asks him, what does he want, a giant cricket? Dairuin starts to snicker until he sees my expression. The actor playing Saruman is grousing about how he doesn’t think it right that Gandalf should also be wearing white robes. Yes, perhaps that’s how it really happened, or so we say, but…why couldn’t Gandalf wear green robes, or red, or something? Surely it could be, if I said so.

“I don’t say so,” I tell him with my look that means business, that I use with the young actors at need, and to my utter surprise he quails back and says no more. Why does everyone seem in such a bad humor? I fix, explain, reassure, advise, admonish, instruct, adjust, then look around for Ninniach. Where has he gone?

I knew as soon as I saw him as Gollum. In an instant Dinlad and Perion were at my side, telling Ninniach to get away from me. And I had to tell them, no, I was all right, he just gave me a turn, rigged out as he was. And I managed to smile at Ninniach and tell him his costume was perfect, or as Seragon might have described it, "brilliantly conceived". The rehearsal was about to begin. I was directing the first few scenes, and must collect my wits and keep them about me.

I scarcely watched the parts my lads weren’t in, for thinking of them. Edrahil and Dairuin with their incorrigible scampishness and boisterous humor. Perion with his volubility and interest in everybody and everything around him. And Dínlad--moody, intelligent, thoughtful, still occasionally cocky, quick to make a splash when he can, a natural leader yet willing to follow the lead of those he respects. He is my favorite, if truth be known. All of them normal as daylight, full of life, healthy, buoyant, everything people want their sons to be. The way I would have wanted a son of my own to be, for that matter.

And then there is Ninniach. Perhaps there is a Ninniach in every society. The odd one, the strange one, banished into the shadows, mistrusted, misunderstood, often mistreated, always alone. Maybe he is the part of us we all try to pretend does not exist, but deep down we know he is there, just waiting to emerge from the hidden places. Our fallen, dangerous, unsettling side, which may yet in some unbidden way bring out our inner brightness and beauty and color as well, if we but listen to the higher part of ourselves in dealing with it thereby learning to conquer our fear and distaste.

Selin reminded us that we would have another rehearsal tomorrow, and dismissed everyone. And Ninniach, as always, disappeared before I could find him to tell him both what I liked about his performance and what needed work. Well, there was very little that was lacking. He would have everyone on the edge of their seats.

I told Dínlad I was very pleased with his work. The boy had done brilliantly, and the shaking-up Ninniach’s Gollum must have given him seemed the transforming element. I decided I should not worry too much. Whoever Ninniach was, it was obvious that the Powers were backing the play, just as Anemone said.

Dínlad grinned shyly and glanced down, having retrieved his horn from the actor playing Boromir (who had really died beautifully, I must say), then said, “Who is he, anyway?”

“Ninniach?” I said. “Well…I suppose we will all find out, sooner or later.” And devoutly hoped it was true.

“I am a little sorry for him,” Dínlad admitted. “I don’t know why exactly. I guess it’s because he is so…I don’t know. I didn’t want him to touch me. He’s creepy, if you know what I mean. But I still wanted to protect him, or, or something. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“I could see that,” I said, laying a hand on his shoulder for a moment, “and I was very proud of you. If you can just keep that up, I think the play will go down brilliantly.”

When I reached home, Anemone had supper ready for me, and she asked me how the dress-rehearsal had gone, and seemed a bit troubled. I told her what a turn Ninniach had given me when he appeared in costume, and she tightened her lips and paled a little, then asked if I were all right. I said I was fine, and the rehearsal had gone well for the most part. I was a little worried that Shelob’s eyes would scare the elflings in the audience (that being all they would see of her), and wondered if I should come on stage before hand and issue a warning. All through supper I gave her what I hoped were amusing accounts of the actors’ behavior during the day, wondering if she had witnessed any. Maybe she was Ninniach. Then again…I remembered all too well the shrinking horror that had nearly overcome me as Ninniach/Gollum had approached, how I cringed back from his touch, his very aspect. That could not possibly be Anemone, I thought. Perhaps he really was simply Ninniach, who had come from out of nowhere, known to no one, with an uncanny knowledge of the Shadow, acquired from who knew where. Still, the more I thought of it, that just seemed very unlikely.

But if he is she, and she will no longer have her powers after we are wed…then who will play Gollum next year?

I almost came right out and asked her then and there, but something held me back. I think I was afraid the play wouldn’t go off as well if I knew too much too soon!

My nervousness must have showed the morning of the performance. I could hardly eat breakfast. Since I was assistant director, I had to be there much earlier in the day. Anemone, as she helped me dress and brushed the suit of clothes I would change into for the performance, said that was all right, she would ride with Galendur and Tilwen.

The performance was wonderful, just wonderful. Well, a horse did its business on the stage in one scene, but I dare say no one noticed, or cared, although I was afraid someone would step in it and make a mess…but these were consummate actors we were dealing with, and I needn’t have worried on that score! Gandalf’s reappearance was so astounding and dramatic as he materialized in his dazzling white robes, everyone gasped and cheered, and Rûdharanion confided afterward to me, “I was SO afraid I couldn’t pull that off! But it was most wondrous…just like a rebirth, of sorts. Now I KNOW I can go on living.” Dûndeloth’s Faramir had young ellyth sighing in their seats; one lass said to me later, “He was so handsome and rugged and sensitive. I just died.” Inzilbêth was a bit miffed that she had so little to do, and I had to keep reassuring her that her big moment would come next year. “Naught is ever as we think it will be, is it?” she remarked to me, and I hardly knew what to say to that, except “I suppose not.” Shelob’s eyes went over wonderfully, causing shrieks from some quarters. I hoped they wouldn’t give my orphans nightmares! Nessima had been very concerned as to that, and I advised her to warn them in advance. My lads did magnificently; I had tears in my eyes, I was so proud of them. And Perion’s big moment, his fight with Shelob, brought down the house. He had to come back on stage afterward and take another bow. And his grief over the fallen Dínlad was so convincing, everyone was in tears, and he told me later he had to go off by himself for a while; the scene nearly “did him in,” as he put it. Still, he was in fine form enough at the end of the performance.

But it was Ninniach who really carried the play. I could have sworn he was the real Gollum. In fact Gandalf told me later, “He’s more Gollum than Gollum was. I’m almost glad Bilbo didn’t see him. He might have gone into arrest.” (But I’ve a feeling he could see him!) And when he took his bow, rather modestly, the crowd went wild, and he seemed a little abashed at the loudness of the cheering. I thought he might reveal himself then, but he just stood, smiling a little shyly, then he had to take another bow.

Rûdharanion was cheered almost as loudly, and as he was taking his bow as author, he motioned for Dûndeloth to come stand with him, taking his hand and raising it high above their heads. And then he glanced aside and saw me, standing in the wings and clapping him, and he motioned for me to come also. I hesitated, but Selin gave me a little push, and I had no choice but to go and stand with them.

And dear Sam…the cheering was louder than ever. I could hardly believe it. Rûdharanion and Dûndeloth took me between them, and the stands went wild. They stood and shouted themselves hoarse. Some threw flowers. Some shouted my name. Some stamped and whistled. I glanced aside and saw my boys fairly dancing, then they whistled on their fingers. I saw Ninniach, grinning and clapping too, then skipping around like Gollum, which was rather unnerving, then he laughed, and joined the lads again. Salmë came running up on the stage in a gold gown, and handed her husband a huge bouquet of red roses and kissed him before all, and the crowd roared once more. I felt so proud of Rûdharanion, I embraced him then and there.

There she was, close to the front, with Tilwen and Galendur, just as she said she would be. I glanced back over my shoulder…and there was Ninniach still there, clapping.

And Anemone broke away and came running up to the stage. I felt so dizzy, I could hardly move, barely hearing someone ask if I were all right. In spite of everything I could hardly help but notice the cloak she was wearing, which was of peacock-blue velvet, embroidered with tail-feathers around the edges, and a fan-tail design on the long collar in back. Great Valar, I thought foolishly, everyone will be wanting one of those! Underneath she wore a gown of white embroidered in gold, ankle length, and gold silken slippers. She carried a bouquet of white roses, which she handed to me and then kissed me on the lips, just as Salmë had done with Rûdharanion. And the crowd cheered once more, for her it seemed. I held her hand and clutched the bouquet with my free one, and glanced back at Ninniach once more, and he was smiling a big face-splitting grin then, and Anemone looked back at him also and smiled. Then Lyrien and Marílen came running up onto the stage, hugging me hard, and they handed me more flowers, squealing, giggling, crying, dancing, pelting me with questions and cries of “It was wonderful!” and when Lyrien caught sight of Perion, she ran and grabbed his arm screaming, “You were goooooooooooddddd!!!” (Do I see those two together in years to come...many years to come?) Galendur and Tilwen both kissed and embraced me, to my embarrassment. I lost sight of Anemone as more and more shrieking elflings came scrambling forward, and Dûndeloth’s son Firnhil and daughter-in-law Maianna came rushing forward to meet him. Then I glanced back and saw Anemone standing with Ninniach, holding him by both hands, talking earnestly with him, although in all the uproar I couldn't hear a word. A more grotesque contrast I had never seen. So she knew him?

And as the final curtain fell and the elflings were compelled to go back to their parents, I saw Anemone embrace Ninniach and kiss him on both cheeks. Then she looked at me, motioning me to come. And he no longer looked like Gollum, but simply like the boy Ninniach. And as she drew us both away from the others, he looked less and less a boy, although he became but little taller. His hair grew paler and more shining, almost silvery, his face more fleshed-out and smooth and fair, sharp-featured almost to the point of iciness, his eyes less huge and hollow and of a more vivid blue.

“Iorhael,” Anemone said softly, taking his hand once more and presenting him to me face to face, “this is my son Northlight.”

Outraged? Confused? Befuddled? Betrayed? Bewildered? Disgusted? Kerflummoxed? Infuriated?

I won’t have to marry Ninniach, after all. Except, perhaps, in the sense that, as Donnoviel had expressed it, one does not simply marry a person, but that person’s family as well.

This is one of those rare instances where it feels beyond wonderful to be wrong.

Northlight’s story in a nutshell: Not long after Anemone's eldest son Darkfin fell to the Enemy’s clutches, Northlight followed. He tried to resist, at first. But he was always drawn, as so many are, to those who follow the Shadow, and had both feared and admired his arrogant, forceful, and murkily charismatic brother…not surprisingly, far more than his more ordinary brethren Moonrise and Ebbtide. Northlight was more imaginative, more curious about the world above the waves…rather like his mother. So eventually Darkfin succeeded in drawing him into the wicked one’s realm, promising him the knowledge he craved, powers of his own, the chance to shine with his own light. But soon Northlight became horrified at the brutality he witnessed, the plots he heard, the appalling ambitions and intrigues he perceived, and he repented, and tried to go back. There was a skirmish, during which their father was killed—Anemone insisted she had not known her former mate was dead when she met me, and I believe her, and, shame to say, felt glad of it when she told me. Northlight managed to escape, but he knew his brother and his cohorts would catch up to him sooner or later, and try to pin the murder of their father on him, and they would be believed although he knew it was Darkfin who was responsible. So Northlight appealed to the Lord of the Seas, begging forgiveness and asking to be allowed to return to his own realm. Ulmo said he would grant him permission only if there were someone who would make intercession for him, and then he would have to perform a task to prove his worthiness to return to his own people. The intercessor, of course, was his mother...who was a particular favorite of the Sea-Lord’s. And the task was decided upon. If he failed at it, he must go back into the sea, and would not be granted protection. The idea of having him play Gollum was Anemone’s.

“You thought I was he, didn’t you?” she asked me the next morning, over breakfast. Northlight didn’t sit at the table with us, but leaned against the rail, looking around. After a while he left the terrace and strolled around the grounds.

“At first I did,” I said, “but the morning of the dress-rehearsal, I knew he was not.”

“I am sorry, my love,” she said as she stirred her half-cold tea. “I had to let you think as you did until the task was completed. Even encourage you to do so. I never wished to deceive you, but my son’s life was at stake, and perhaps the lives of my daughters also. When I first met you, I knew not that Northlight had followed his brother. You will find that strange, I’m sure, that I know not what goes on with my own children. But the sea is so vast, and we have so many, and they grow up soon and scatter quickly. We have a means of communication from great distances, and sometimes we can know what goes on with them, but only if they choose to tell us. I hear from the others once in a while. But I lost touch with Northlight not long after I left my former mate. When I called to him, he did not answer. At least, not truthfully, and if one does not answer truthfully then I cannot hear him.”

“So you did teach him to read then?” I said, thinking if she did, then he had obviously inherited her quick mind.

“No, silly,” she said smiling, “you did. He was there, all the while you were teaching me, but you could not see him. But do not worry—he was never with you alone except when he was visible; I would not allow it otherwise. I told him if he tried to spy on you, you would know of it and he would be banished from the Island. I knew it was in his head to do so, and so I ensured that if he did attempt it, you would know he was there. You did not sense his presence with you at any time?”

“But I wish the others to know,” I said seriously, “after the last performance. I would not deceive the rest of the Island. As you yourself said, they are my family.”

“They will know,” she assured me. “And then Northlight must go back into the Sea, although he may visit from time to time…if you still wish to wed me.”

“Of course I wish it,” I said. Call me a fool, but I meant it with all my heart. And sad to say, I was glad Northlight would not be staying with us. Not that I dislike him—he did save the Light, after all, I’m sure--but, to tell the truth, he does make me uneasy. It will take a while to get the image of his Gollum out of my head. “Will he play Gollum next year?” I asked. That was one of the things that had been worrying me when I had thought he was she.

“He will, if you wish it,” she said. “Silivren did not lie to you about one other thing: Northlight does think the world of you. In the beginning, he did not, to be sure. Not because of anything you had done, but because of your mortality, and the fact that in a sense you would be taking me from him. But he is not without a heart, or he would not have repented. You fed him, you were more concerned with his welfare than with how the play would go down, and he knew not what to think of that. He had supposed land-folk greedy and self-serving. I had to talk with him a great deal. One day he said to me, of you, ‘He makes me want to protect him, to keep the Dark One away from him. I don’t know why. It worries me.’”

“One more thing,” I said after a moment, “I noticed that he reminded me of Dínlad at times, in a very strange way. Others spoke of it as well. Did you see it?”

“That was my idea also,” she said. “I thought he should remind an audience of what you might have been, or might become, had you succumbed to the fatal lure of the Ring. That you and he should represent the dark and bright sides of one soul, and if the audience could grasp this concept, they would be shaken into an awareness of the duality of all things, and of their own fallibility. Perhaps, then they would not be lulled into a false security and would be less likely to let down their guard and open the way for intruders.”

“You are brilliant,” I said after a long moment, shaking my head a little. “Perhaps you should be directing plays, yourself.” And I grinned thinking of her behavior the previous night, when several ladies complimented her on her peacock cloak.

“Alas, it will no longer exist, after I am wed,” she’d told them gaily, “but this dress, at least, will still be mine. It is a gift from the Lady Galadriel. She had it made from one of her old gowns, imagine that!”

And she threw back the cloak and held out her arms to show the filmy sleeves of the snow-white gown, lined with fine lace and stitched with tiny pearls, the fabulously embroidered bodice, all displaying just enough and not too much of her pretty shoulders. How many ladies would be proud of the fact that someone had made an old dress over for them…even if that someone happened to be Queen? She is my Princess without a doubt!

I asked Galendur, later on, how I should be feeling, after I told him all, Anemone having gone back into the sea for the day—for as I may have mentioned before, she must spend several hours in the sea each day, or she will start to wither like a plant that does not get sufficient water. He rubbed his chin with one hand, then narrowed his eyes at me.

“Donnoviel was here earlier,” he said, then paused, no doubt waiting for me to ask him to explain his mother-in-law’s connection with the subject at hand. But I merely lifted my eyebrows as I picked up a shovel. We were cleaning his stable. He keeps it nearly as nice as Tilwen keeps the house, and even allows me to help out. Well, he does help me with my grape-harvest and other things at times; it’s only fitting that I should return the favor when I can. “She was at Tilwen all morning. I wasn’t here, but Til told me all about it. Donnoviel told her some cock-and-bull story having to do with some mortal girl who supposedly hanged herself on my account some umpty-seven years ago. I believe she got it from Ortherion, but she didn’t mention that, of course. ‘I think you need to straighten him out immediately,’ she told Til, ‘now that you have the baby to consider.’ And here I thought she was finally starting to like me. Seems every other sentence that comes out of her mouth ends in ‘now that you have the baby to consider.’ And if any girl was ever fool enough to hang herself on my account, I certainly didn’t know of it. So. How do you think that made me feel? Outraged? Wounded? Put-out? Murderous?”

“A little of all of those,” I said pausing to lean on my shovel. “Maybe more than a little?”

“Well, all right, another example. What did you feel the very first day you met me?”

“You’re right, I probably don’t,” he said, and came over and put an arm around my shoulders, lowering his voice as if about to disclose some secret. “The point is, my dear Baggins, is that you should feel precisely what you are feeling. Nothing more, nothing less. What’s the use of bothering over what you should be feeling? Whatever you happen to be feeling, is what you should be feeling, so feel it and be bloody done with it. Got that?”

“I’m feeling a little confused now,” I admitted, “but I think I see what you mean. But what about...what if you are feeling guilty about something that isn't really your fault?”

Don't I wish, I thought. Then I shrugged. “Yes, of course,” I said. “You're absolutely right.”

“Just ask yourself,” he said, “if it makes sense to be feeling what you do, and if it doesn't, then don't feel it. The thing to do is just try not to make things more complicated for yourself than they should be. So if you're feeling guilty when you shouldn't be, don't do it. And if you're feeling happy over a turn of events that worked in your favor, then feel happy. Mull things over and backtrack. Should I feel happy or unhappy about this, why, or why not? Why did it happen, what did I have to do with it, what does it mean, and what will come of it? And so on and so forth. Then feel what you should about it. What's so bloody hard about that?”

I smiled to myself. “I suppose I'm just the sort who has always felt that the way that seems easiest is usually the wrong way. And feeling happy seemed just too easy this time. But you're right. In this instance, I should feel happy, and so I will.”

“Jolly good,” he said, slapping me up the back of my head—a gesture only he could possibly get by with. “Now…do you think you might call Anemone to help me cook up some bizarre scheme for getting my mother-in-law and brother back? Because I really feel like stoving their heads in at the moment. Perhaps we could have Northlight knock on Ortherion’s door and turn into Gollum right before his very eyes. Of course, we would hide in the bushes and watch.”

“Northlight wouldn’t go for it,” I said, automatically smoothing down my hair. “He’s not at all like his mother, save for his intelligence. He’s entirely too serious. Truly, Seragon is a court jester by comparison.”

“Is he now? He should spend more time in our company. If anyone could take the starch out of him, it would be you and I, I should think.”

I laughed: “Well, he must go back to the sea soon anyway. He won’t have much time for fun and games, I’m afraid.”

And so must she, I thought. I dreaded the very idea of it. When would she return, and how would I ever get through her absence? I couldn’t think of it just now.

“So how do you like the idea of being a stepfather?” Galendur asked me as we sat down to rest a little later, and I took out my pipe and he took out a bunch of grapes.

“I’m not sure yet,” I said thoughtfully. “I suppose I’ll get used to it. Actually, it’s the thought of having his brother Darkfin as a stepson that should give me pause, but I suppose he’s no longer regarded as a member of the family. And Northlight has seen to it that Darkfin and his sort will never pose a threat to the Island.”

“So. Not exactly your average, run-of-the-mill hobbit-type family, I take it?”

“Hardly,” I laughed ruefully, “other than the sheer size of it. I came near being a stepfather once before, back in the Shire. I don’t know if I ever mentioned that to you before. There were but two children, boy and girl. They were small, and good youngsters most of the time, and I was fond enough of them. But their mother, Buttercup Briarwood—she was something else again. We could scarcely have been more mismatched.”

“Really? How so? Was she such a frump as all that? Or prickly, like her name?”

“No, she was rather pretty actually. And a nice lass and a good housekeeper and a decent mother to her children. But…ungallant as it sounds, she just could not stop talking. Particularly about the accident that took her Bertie 'in the flower of his life', as she put it. I could never get a word in edgewise. It would have ended up driving me mad, surely.”

“But absolutely. Particularly if she were one of those maddening creatures who can keep going for hours on end without actually saying a damned word. Preserve us from those infernally gabby types. And of course you couldn’t have married a Buttercup anyway, it would have been the very ruin of you. You shouldn’t even have thought of marrying a Buttercup. Just imagine it. You should have your ears boxed for even considering it. I thought better things of you.”

“Well, a hobbit who is unable to father children really hadn’t much choice in the matter, and may have to settle for marrying a widow who needs a male to help raise her children. But it would have been even more unthinkable to have had a family, what with the Thing that was entrusted to me. I shudder to think what might have happened to them. I suppose it’s just as well Buttercup was such a chatter-box. Her fatal flaw may well have saved her life, and the children’s as well. She ended up marrying Willy Hornblower, a good, sensible, uncomplicated sort of fellow. A bit shy, contrary to what his name may suggest, so her chatter might actually have been good for him. Rather like a continually flowing stream to a mill-wheel.”

“Hornblower,” Galendur mused. “Sounds like someone Dínlad should be related to, what?”

“Would it make you feel any better,” I suggested as we ambled back to the house later on to wash up for supper, “if I told you Ortherion is merely jealous because no girl in her right mind would ever hang herself on HIS account?”

“Unless she were married to him, perhaps,” Galendur said rolling his eyes. I frowned.

“I suppose it wouldn’t help at all,” I said, “if I said Donnoviel is only concerned about her daughter and grandchild-to-be, and someday you will understand being a parent yourself, but even so she was entirely out of line and I cannot blame you for how you are feeling about her at the moment?”

“Would it make you feel better,” I said grinning to myself, “if I told you Tilwen and the coming child are very lucky to have you as husband and father, as you are to have them?”

“It may,” he said and he was grinning a little too. “I’m already starting to feel like a parent, actually, and perhaps I do understand in part. And while my past may have been less checkered than it’s commonly reputed, it’s scarcely a virgin page either, and I suppose it will insist on rising to bite me on the backside from time to time, even after I’ve left my wild and woolly ways behind and become as staid and wise and ethereal as any good Elf is expected to be.”

“Thanks be to Eru,” I said softly, “that I won’t live long enough to see that.” Then thought maybe I shouldn’t have reminded him of my mortality thusly.

“Well, go on,” he said after a sober moment. “I’ll wait until you get to the part where you say how much you love me and are very, very lucky to have me as a friend and so on and on.”

“Of course,” he said snapping his fingers. “Bloody stupid question. So what is my most endearing trait?”

“And what is mine, then?” My stomach was hurting a little from suppressed laughter and joy.

“Your impeccable taste in friends,” he replied without batting an eye. I nodded. He really has yet to disappoint me.

“Yes, I’ve certainly that, if naught else,” I had to admit. “So…do you still feel like stoving heads in now?”

“Not so much as I did,” he said as we entered the house, where I could hear Tilwen in the kitchen, and smell a delicious supper cooking. “I should have known sooner or later, that you would talk me out of it. I suppose I should count myself lucky to have you also.”

“You certainly should,” I said as I ducked safely out of his reach, on the other side of the table, where I could actually feel my eyes twinkling, "now that you have the baby to consider!"

She has gone into the Sea to farewell her kin, and I know not when she will return. If only I could know, I could bear the waiting, perhaps….

We spent some time debating whether Northlight should go with her. I wanted him to go to protect her; I feared for her safety. She wished him to stay to keep me company and to assure me of her return. The Lord of the Seas would keep her from harm. He had chosen her as my bride, after all; certainly he would ensure that she would be safe. Yes, it did occur to me that if Northlight stayed with me, that made it all the more likely that she would come back, and I had a secret fear that she would change her mind. Lord Ulmo would not force her to wed me. She could change her mind if she wished, and what if she did?

The possibility was unthinkable, so I would not allow myself to think of it. I would prepare the house for her, just as if there were no possible doubt in my mind.

And Northlight would stay here. He would not live in the house with me, for sea-folk do not live in houses; they have no concept of sleeping in a bed, or eating at a table, and so forth. But he could help me fix up the house for his mother, although it was hard for me to believe he even wanted to stay with me at all, and was only doing so because his mother wished it, and perhaps it was part of his trial.

So here I am with my future stepson, scarcely knowing what to do with him, or myself.

I sat on the shore long after she had gone, unwilling to go into the house, although it was well after dark. I knelt before my praying rock for I knew not how long, leaning my head down on my arms in absolute stillness. I don’t know how many times I prayed.

(I’m sorry to do this to you, Sam. I know it must be distressing, but I know not what else to do. I cannot lie to you, nor keep things from you now. I wish I could, but I’m sure it would worry you more if I just kept silent. And I am certain she will come back. So please bear with me! And pray for me if you can.)

Northlight had gone into the sea, and I was there all alone in the night. I had given her my Evenstar and she had taken it as a pledge that she would return. We have scheduled our wedding not to coincide with the birth of Tilwen’s child. She is about six months along now....

I wondered, recently, if I should be put-out that Anemone has usurped me as a story-teller. The children seem to want to hear her tales more than mine now. But I do not mind; I am as enthralled as they. How can we not be, when she told of how her older sisters saved a merchant-vessel from capture by pirates?

“My sister Fairwind, for whom my eldest daughter is named, brought along a great whale which was her friend, and he caused a huge wave to wash up and knock the pirate-captain right off the deck,” she said, lowering her voice a little as she perched demurely upon a large flat rock on the beach, a circle of elflings about her, myself among them, grinning. The others gasped. “It is said that he ate the captain whole, but I think it is not true, for that is not whale-behavior. I think the pirate merely sank beneath the waves and was lost, although, to be sure, he may have become a shark’s lunch. He had a crossbow which he was aiming at the main deck of the merchant-ship. Of course, the wave tossed that vessel considerably, and some of the crew were thrown overboard also, but my sisters rescued most of them. But alas, Fairwind took a harpoon through her heart for her trouble, and she too was lost beyond recall, and the whale mourned her until he, too, died of grief. And poor Lightning rescued the cabin-boy, who was very pretty, but he sailed away on the vessel and she never saw him again. I wonder if she still thinks of him. She used to make up songs about him sometimes.”

“Ah, no,” she said smiling, “I was but a small babe then. But they told me all about it. Whether or not they were exaggerating a bit, I know not, but I think they told the truth on the whole.”

“Do ladies always fall in love with men when they rescue them?” an older girl asked.

“Not always…but they are in grave danger of doing so,” Anemone said, looking to me with an enigmatic half-smile. “And that is the only time they do fall in love—when they save a life. And if the love is not returned, then sometimes they die of grief, but sometimes they are allowed to forget, if they do other heroic deeds.”

“How many sisters have you?” Lyrien spoke up. I had been worried about her, for she seemed sad when Anemone and I had announced our betrothal. But I think she is starting to take to her.

“Twelve, I think,” Anemone said. Lyrien and Marílen stared at each other with wide-open eyes and mouths. Twelve! I chuckled to myself. “And I am the youngest. So I had to miss out on many of their adventures. But I got to save Iorhael, so I needed no other.”

“Seven,” Anemone said. More wide eyes and mouths. Of course, three children is considered a large family by Elf standards. “But some of them I have never met. They went off before I was even born. You see, Elf-children take about a hundred years to grow up, but it is different with the sea-folk. They mature in about ten or twelve years. I first became a mother when I was eleven.”

Fëariel asked, “Do sea-ladies lay eggs like fishes?” Her sister Linwë jabbed her in the side with her elbow, and she yelped in pain and indignation and jabbed her back. A couple of others giggled. Anemone smiled.

“No. We give birth in the same manner as whales and dolphins,” she explained. I tensed. Such matters are not freely discussed among Elf-kind with their young, but the prudishness of land-folk is not shared by those of the sea. I had explained this to her once, but perhaps it had not sunk in. “But it takes a sea-babe only about four months to grow inside its mother. So a sea-lady may have as many as three children in one year. Although they do not usually have more than two. And they have but one at a time, but every once in a while, they may have two. I had two at one time, myself. Nightingale and Gloryfall were born one right after the other. That is a very rare thing. They were made much over when they were small, for no other reason than being twins.”

She laughed a little. I smiled to myself. She had not forgotten, after all, and had provided a much subtler diversion than I would have.

“How old are you then?” Dínlad asked. Perion kicked him on the leg, but he just kicked back.

“I do not know exactly,” Anemone smiled at him, “but I think I am between 35 and 40 years of age. My youngest son, Northlight, is about 18. He is young, but not a child. After one reaches full maturity, age is of no consequence to us. One is neither old nor young; one just is.”

“I’m just 51 myself,” Linwë said proudly. I lifted my eyebrows. She appeared the age of a hobbit-lass of about 20. “You don’t look much older than I.”

“I don’t know,” Linwë said squinting at me a little. “About two hundred?”

I laughed. “You are about 145 years off,” I said. “I will be 55 this year.”

Fëariel gasped. “You look MUCH older than that!” she squealed. “Even if you are so teeny.”

Linwë jabbed at her again, but her sister jumped out of the way this time. I laughed. So did the others.

Anemone knit her brows, thinking this over. “I do not know,” she said. “I will be reborn…on the day of my wedding.”

Lyrien shook her bright head slowly. “That’s simply astonishing,” she said. I chuckled.

I tensed once more, feeling glad no parents were about. Anemone smiled kindly at her.

“Do they just go naked?” another asked. Some of the others giggled nervously.

“They appear clothed when they go on land,” Anemone said diplomatically, “although very few of them ever do. And land-folk cannot see them in the sea unless they appear as a fish or dolphin. When Iorhael first saw me on land, I was wearing a green dress…or appeared to be.” I cleared my throat.

“When you become mortal,” Lyrien said, “will you still have your dresses?”

“She said,” Anemone continued, in the tone of one imparting a great secret, “that she would make me one just like her own wedding-gown, only simpler, since one that splendid would not suit me being so small. She said she doesn’t still have hers, for it was made about six thousand years or so ago, and no dress can hold up that long. But her husband had a replica of it made for her about 600 years ago as a special gift, and she showed it to me, and said she would make a similar one if I wished, and I do wish even though it is not in the current style.”

“It must be wonderful to be a princess,” Marílen sighed. “I wish I could be one.”

“You are one,” I whispered to her. “Just ask your daddy.” She blushed and giggled.

I reminded myself of what she had said about the wedding-gown, and that the Queen was now working on it, as I sat beside my praying-rock. She will come back, I told myself. I know it. I know it.

But how can I go into the City now? The others will think she has deserted me. How can I look them in the eye?

The sea was calm now. I had my light in my pocket, but did not think of taking it out. By and by I lifted my head from the rock, looking blindly out. Clouds obscured the stars; it would rain, I was sure, perhaps even storm. I do not like to be out in a storm, but still I stayed where I was. I could not see the Beacon. My hand strayed to my throat almost instinctively, but the pendant was not there, and I felt much as I did just after the Ring was destroyed and I did not yet have the Evenstar to replace it. What would I do without it now?

But what if she decided she did not want to lose her powers, after all? What if she decided she did not want to know what it was to feel pain, or weakness, or death? What if her people succeeded in dissuading her…which some of them would surely try to do?

I laid my head down on the rock again, groaning. I gripped at my hair with one hand, hoping the pain would help me to forget the other kind.

It began to rain. A soft rain, but a cold one. I should go inside, I thought numbly, it will rain harder, perhaps there will be lightning. But I made no motion to rise. I sat there in the rain, looking out to sea, leaning my head on my hands.

They might have been my mother’s, lifting me from my crib, and I put up no resistance. I felt the warmth of a cloak being wrapped around me; I hadn’t realized I was cold before. Then the arms holding me close for a long moment, then lifting and carrying me along without a word. I expected to be put up on a horse, but was not. I felt rather glad of that, even though it was a surprise. But finally I did have to ask where Nightwind was. And Galendur explained that it would have taken too long to bring him out and put him back in again, and all that, and so he had come out on foot to look for me. He offered to gallop like a horse if I liked, and I think it frightened him a little when that did not draw so much as a smile from me. But he did break into a run when it started to rain much harder of a sudden, and thunder rumbled loudly, putting the hood of the cloak over my head.

I hated the thought that Tilwen was drawing a bath for me in her condition, and offered to heat the water myself, but Galendur said something like “hogwash” and started to help me off with my clothes. Curtly I told him I could undress myself, and he took it good-naturedly and even turned his back while I stripped myself in the kitchen beside the stove, on which a kettle was whistling, then wrapped the blanket he brought in around me and said he could look now. He poured boiling water from the kettle into a tea-pot and let it steep a while, hung my clothes up over the backs of chairs, then poured a cup for me. He rubbed my shoulder a little through the blanket as I sipped the tea.

Judging from his expression I would have said that all this was almost as hard for him as it was for me. Probably he was imagining the worst also. What would become of me if she did not return? The answer was unthinkable for him, but he had been trained to imagine the unthinkable.

Tilwen tapped on the door and said the bath was ready. Galendur made a motion to lift me, but I flounced away and walked ahead of him to the bathing-room where a steaming tub awaited me. He glanced aside until I was in the water with my knees drawn up. I don’t know why I was being so ridiculous; I was trim and muscular from all the hard work I had done on my land, and had nothing he didn’t have himself, only in a larger size, ahem--but that was exactly the point. The water was certainly hot, which would have been delightful under different circumstances… except it was my guess that dear Til had ordered him to stay in here with me to make sure I didn’t do something truly desperate.

“I don’t suppose,” he said after a long moment, “that we could take Northlight fishing with us? That might not be such a good idea, what?”

“We might end up hooking some close relative of his, perhaps?” I really think he was trying to get me to smile.

But I could only shrug. “Perhaps it would be better to take him to the Sporting Center,” I suggested. I thought of going hunting, but I never hunt myself. I don’t like to kill things. Not, of course, that I am necessarily adverse to sharing the kills of others. What hobbit doesn’t enjoy a good rabbit stew, or squirrel with dumplings?

“Good idea,” Galendur said. “And we could go sailing, and give him a taste of moving above water instead of below it. Although he may not see the point. Then again, maybe he’s always wondered what it would be like to be a flying-fish.”

That did draw a grin from me. “This is awfully good of you,” I said humbly, after a moment.

“Pish-posh,” he said, looking relieved. “It’s the least I can do, after what you did for us. Would I be here now, with all of this, but for you?”

“Piffle,” I said, meaning to sound like Bilbo. “As persuasive as you can be? You and Til would have kissed and made up eventually, even if I hadn’t done anything.”

“Perhaps, but there’s much more to it than just that,” he said. “And we all know what it is, so need we go into it all? Are you ready to come out now, or are your fingers not pruny enough yet?”

“I’ll get you one of my old shirts,” he said, rising to pick up a towel. I dried myself and wrapped up in the blanket while he brought me the shirt. Tilwen brought me a cup of hot soup after tucking me up in the “Round Room,” and sat beside me while I drank it down. It was spicy and delicious. Her cooking skills really are the top of the line.

After I handed her the empty cup, she set it down on the bed-table and took my hand and held it in both hers.

“Iorhael,” she said softly, “you know what Lady Elwing said that day? That we would all have our heart’s desire within two years? You can see it is coming to pass, for all three of us. Galendur and I are having a child, and you have her. So she WILL come back, I know it. You came here to be rewarded, and you will be. There’s no reason to disbelieve that.”

I nodded, tightening my lips even as my throat tightened. Tears welled in her eyes.

“So you must have faith that it will come about, and she will return,” she said, then turned the lamp low. “I miss her too, already. Where is your light?”

“Here,” Galendur said, bringing it forth and setting it on the bed-table. I looked gratefully at him.

“May I touch?” I asked her, indicating her swollen belly. She smiled through the tears, and placed my hand on it.

“It will surely be a boy,” she told me. “I doubt a girl would kick and squirm around so hard. Sometimes it feels as though he’s turning somersaults and handsprings in there.”

“Whichever it is,” I said, tears rising in my own eyes, “it will be a very lucky child, to have you as its mother...and Galendur as its father.”

And she put my glass in my hand, then put out the lamp, bending to kiss my cheek as I closed my eyes, and I felt her tears fall on my face. Then I felt another kiss on my forehead, and I knew it was not from her.

I don’t know what I would have done without Northlight. I had decided, as you know, to do the house over for her, just as if I had no doubt whatsoever of her return. I suppose I cheated a bit. I was sure she would return, even if she did not wish to marry, and if she did change her mind, she would tell me, and not leave me to wonder. And I thought, if she did change her mind, then saw what I had done with the house for her, she would see the true extent of my love and stay.

I had planned to work on the house with help only from Northlight, and some from Galendur and Leandros here and there, possibly even Gandalf. I wished for a new bed, and Leandros and his guild are carving a wonderful bedstead out of a wood called mahogany, which is of a rich dark reddish-brown color and intriguing grain. They are making a four-poster, with the posts reaching almost to the ceiling, a mermaid holding a shell carved into the center of the highly polished head-board. And they will make a wardrobe and shelves and chairs to match. Lady Celebrían is making the most gorgeous coverlet, silvery-blue satin with a patchwork design of starbursts in iridescent white and rose and pale green, embroidered in gold. The amount of work that she is putting into it still leaves me gasping.

And one whole wall of the “bridal chamber” has been tiled and painted—Ríannor’s work—with a sea-scape that shows an artistic rendering of the beach as seen from my terrace, at dusk with the Evenstar glowing over calm waves, white cliffs rising to one side, trees and flowering bushes on the other, flamingoes and ibises and gulls here and there, shells lying on the white sand, the sky streaked with colored clouds. On the other walls she has painted pictures of me and Anemone—one of them showing me standing on the beach holding my glowing phial, another of her dancing on the large flat stone, still another of the two of us sitting beneath a blooming tree, the peacock perched nearby.

And there is a large eastern window of colored glass, which looks like the sky at dawn, in just the right place to catch the sunrise.

And then there is the bathhouse. It was quite plain, which suited me and Bilbo fine, but I wanted something much better for my bride. We put down new floor-tiles in a rose-colored marble, and a sunken tub of the same sort—before that, we had simply two ordinary bath-tubs of tin, although we did have piped-in water from a warm spring. The new tub is big enough for two…and I hesitate to tell you how the water will fill it!

A friend of Dûndeloth's had brought in a little bronze statue, depicting a nude chubby lad just out of babyhood standing in--ahem!--a certain attitude, and he told us it had come from the fountain at his home, but recently he had married and his bride wished him to remove it.

“If you’d rather not have him, I understand completely,” he told us grinning. “He’s been there for nearly a hundred years and I’m fond of him, and would prefer to have him at the home of someone I know, rather than sell him off to strangers. My bride rather likes him, herself, but fears what her mother would think, and also she is afraid that when we come to have children, he might encourage them to…misbehave…in the fountain. But if you don’t wish to have him here, I can easily dispose of him elsewhere.”

Well, I won’t say but that I didn’t have qualms, but then I thought to myself that Bilbo would have been delighted with him…and Anemone, being a lady after his own heart, would be likewise. So he stays! And I can’t say but what it doesn’t give me a little wicked thrill to imagine the look on Lobelia’s face, if she had ever seen it!

There are other, slightly more decorous little marble statues set about, and the windows paned in pearly white glass, bordered with mother-of-pearl and hung with crystal beads. And shelves full of fragrant soaps and oils and lotions and perfumes and towels and sponges and pretty ornaments, candles, basins and what not. I’ll be smelling like a rose before long!

And well, we didn’t really need a fountain, but I wanted one for her. And yes, Northlight and I were going to be the ones to build it, with a bit of help installing the pipes and so forth, but so many of our friends pitched in, hauling in the stone…which is of the same rosy marble as the bath-house, with four white alabaster globes rising from ornate bronze mountings, and in the middle a bronze swan with outstretched wings, four little jets all around him, spurting merrily up at him. All around the fountain I paved with the beautiful stones the children had brought me or that I had found myself, many in iridescent colors, some of smooth amber, some marbled black and white, others glittery and quartz-like. The children helped with this, with great enthusiasm, so in the end there was little for me to do but oversee it all. And no one would take any pay other than a little physical sustenance. Tilwen, even in the condition she was in, came to help with the cooking, along with her mother and sister, and Lalaith, and Lady Elwing.

Of course we had to take a little time off now and then from all the remodeling and have some fun. Galendur and Seragon and Leandros and I took Northlight to the sporting center, as planned, and he seemed to enjoy it overall, particularly the races. He couldn’t quite understand the point of the sparring-matches; why did we do this sort of thing for sport? And why did people bet money on who would win? And why did they do things that caused them to get hurt? Well! I had my work cut out for me, explaining all these things. And he does like sailing, as it turns out.

But he loves to watch dancing above all else. Sometimes I take him into the City where they have dancing on a stage. This is something that was new to me when I first came to the Island, also. I never knew that people danced on a stage.

I think he would go to the dance-theater every night, but I am always too tired after a long day’s work, so we go but once a week. He dresses in the same manner as I. The first time we went into the City, he appeared in an outfit identical to my own. He even had a pipe in his pocket, although he does not smoke. I was a little embarrassed, thinking how odd it would look to go dressed exactly the same. Would people think it my idea of a joke? I didn’t know how to tell him this, however, so I shrugged it off and told him he looked fine. Let others stare and chuckle if they liked!

Once Seragon went with us and asked Northlight what was his opinion of the “underlying meaning” of the Dance. Northlight looked puzzled, then he said he thought the dance was people’s way of becoming music in human form. I grinned up at Galendur as if to say, That’s my lad!--much in the manner of Bilbo, I’m sure.

“That is simply astonishing,” Seragon said (now I know where Lyrien picked up that word, which has become her favorite lately), looking at Northlight in total awe, then to me as though he supposed I had put that notion into his head. “I myself had supposed the Dance to be the inwardness of Creation made outward, the body’s way of breaking and cooling down the searing Light of Truth into the colors of Understanding. Which should be the purpose of all art. But your interpretation is not incongruous with my own. Don’t you think so, Iorhael?”

“Naturally,” I said grinning. “It’s the reconciliation of Soul and Body, and the marriage thereof. The true high mating of Passion and Spirit.”

And Galendur said softly, glancing up at the ceiling, “I liked seeing the ladies flaunting their ankles and moving their bottoms all over the place, myself.” Tilwen slapped him on the shoulder in mock indignation and giggled, looking at us with her pay-him-no-mind look. Seragon looked to me and Northlight with a grin of indulgent exasperation, as one shrugging off the tom-foolery of an irrepressible younger brother, and I laughed perhaps more loudly than propriety warranted, but Northlight looked entirely mystified. Galendur told me not to worry, we’ll plant the seeds of humor in him yet!

And I’ve taught him to play chess. Most of the time he wins, for I am usually too tired in the evenings now to concentrate on it. I nearly fall asleep over the game sometimes, and then he leads me to the long chair, covers me with the blanket, then goes off into the sea for the night.

And at least once, I can swear I heard him say, “Rest now, Ada,” as he settled the cover over me.

I have often spent the night at Galendur’s, as I told you before. But this night…well, it had been over three months, and still no Anemone.

What if she didn’t come back? Yes, I had asked myself this more than once before, and I supposed I would simply cast myself into the sea…but what would that do to my friends? After all they had done for me, helping me to make the house beautiful for her, refusing pay, throwing themselves into it so enthusiastically, doing their best possible work? And Lyrien, the day she stood with me on the beach looking out on the sea, and made a little confession to me.

“I hoped, at first, that she wouldn’t come back,” she whispered, holding my hand. “Do you forgive me?”

I had explained to her long before that had I been immortal, I would have gladly waited as long as it took for her to grow up…and I meant it with all my heart, although it occurred to me later that it might have felt a little queer, as though I were marrying my niece. But it had also been explained to her that by the time she was old enough to marry, I would be gone.

I told her there was nothing to forgive, that I knew what it was to love someone who could never be mine. And I assured her that I loved her no less than I loved Anemone, only in a different way, and hoped that, being a child, she would be consoled by it.

“I tell you what,” I said, laying my arm about her waist. “How would you like to be in the wedding as a little maiden of honor to the bride?”

“Rather like a lady-in-waiting to the Princess. You would stand near the bride, and wear a beautiful gown made just for you, and carry flowers. Do you think you would like that?”

“A gown made just for me?” The beautiful dark eyes widened. “Could Marílen be one too?”

“Well, we could hardly do without Marílen, could we?” How sweet could one child be? “I think Anemone would rather have someone small as her bridesmaids, rather than ladies taller than she. So the two of you would be just right. It will be like marrying all of you.”

She clasped dramatically at her heart with both hands. “OH! How astonishing! Can we wear white gowns also? And lily wreaths?”

“Well…I think perhaps the bride should be the only one in a white gown,” I said smiling with immense relief. “But suppose I let you choose the color, and have it made in a style similar to the bride’s?”

I had not discussed this with Anemone at all, and was sure that the bride usually takes care of such matters. But she was not here, and I had a feeling she would not mind my seeing to it.

“Oh, I can’t believe it,” Lyrien cried, all aglow. “Which color should I choose?”

I chuckled. “Well, that is up to you. Blue would be lovely, I think. Perhaps you should discuss it with Marílen? You need not decide all at once.”

“Who will make the dresses? The Queen?” She was fairly dancing with delight.

“Well, she is rather busy, I’m afraid. But I’m sure she knows some ladies who could make the gowns. Or your mum could make yours, if she has time.”

“I’ll go tell her now!” And she kissed me on the cheek quickly and loudly, and darted off through the sand, with me smiling a little sadly after her.

So, how could I possibly make away with myself, when it would break so many hearts?

Then I remembered the erasing treatment Lord Elrond had explained to me when I first came here. Could I still have myself erased? Forget all that had come before? Forget her, but make friends with the others all over again?

And I thought of this as I stood on the shore with my light in my hands. Galendur would come after me sooner or later, if I didn’t go back to the house. I knew he was really starting to worry about me again. Perhaps I should go back now and explain about the erasing procedure to him. Surely he’d rather have me do that, than have me cast myself into the waves, or live on broken-hearted and empty….

I knew the true taste of despair that night. I only thought I had known it before.

I thought, if she should come back tonight, could I feel joy in seeing her, now that I know what despair truly is? I remembered what Tilwen had said, about seeing me standing on a precipice, and how I had told her I felt that way too, but tried not to look down.

I could not even see the bottom. It was enshrouded in fog, grey and shapeless as forgotten dreams and thwarted faith. The Powers had played me false. Perhaps this was the Dark Lord’s ultimate revenge, after all. What was the cruelest thing he could possibly do to me? Now I knew. And the Powers would let him, and laugh at my battered form lying under the fog. Perhaps my vision of the Other Side had only been a nasty trick, as well, and there was none, and it had all been a dream, and there was nothing, nothing….

I looked up at the Evenstar, which seemed to mock me also. And the glass. A light for me…when all other lights went out?

I made one last desperate attempt, willing the glass to light. And it began to glow, and that’s when I heard the singing, and looked down to see the fog was dispersing….

She was there, all alight, the Evenstar pendant hanging at her bosom…and I remember her words as clear as the phial’s light itself: So, Frodo, are you just going to sit there playing with a perfume-bottle all night, or are you going to stand up and kiss your betrothed?

And I dropped the phial, and sprang up, and grabbed her hands, and danced as I never thought to dance before, we danced all over the sand, and sparks jumped from her feet….And then Northlight appeared, and she took his hands and they danced also, then we all took hands, and skipped and leaped all over the beach, and it was as daylight although it was the middle of the night…And she laughed in pure shrill joy, and came at me in a run, and leaped right over my head, arms outstretched, and she appeared as a great bird, with wings of light and rainbows, then landed in the sand and skidded on her bottom, and I heard Northlight laugh then, wonder of wonders….and then I tried to do the same, and leap over her head, but she had to duck or I would have knocked her over, and I flopped onto my backside as well, and she pulled me to my feet and we embraced and kissed with unbelievable heat and length and I heard music the like of which I never heard before, even on the Other Side….

In the morning Anemone and I sat together on the terrace, taking our breakfast, which Northlight had prepared for us. Truly I had forgotten how beautiful she was. I had showed her all, and she had gazed in such wonder as I never though to see in her, touching all the new things, utterly speechless. She trailed her fingers through the fountain’s waters, bent to feel the smooth stones in the paving below, her other hand clasped firmly in my own. She looked at the flowers that had been planted in the garden, bordered with shells…for I’d found a use for all the sea-shells with which the cottage abounded, and at the gazebo I’d had built. Why we needed a gazebo I’ve no idea, but there is one in the park in the City, near the White Tree, and she seemed to like it very much, so I wished a smaller one for her. It had carvings at the top under the roof in the shape of the peacock’s tale, made by Leandros and Dínlad, and inlay of mother-of-pearl, made by myself and Northlight, with some help from Ríannor, so that it appeared to be surrounded by little white peacocks with spread fans.

And then I showed her the bridal chamber. How wonderful it feels to say “bridal chamber” in connection with myself for a change!

She nearly screamed when she saw the bed, with the satin coverlet and filmy curtains, looked to me and then to it again, until her eye fell on the, ahem, rather busty mermaid carved into the headboard.

“Reminds me of one of my aunts,” she said in her old cheeky fashion, and I had to sit down on the floor for laughing. And finally I showed her the bath-house.

“It is so wonderful you had such faith in me,” she told me as we wended back to the terrace. “I was so worried about you! I would have turned back many times, but I knew I did not finish my task, bad things would befall my people, and perhaps the Island as well. But now I see I need not have fretted—you have kept yourself so busy making all this lovely for me…you must excuse me if I am utterly overwhelmed. It feels so strange to be…adored. It is not something I have ever known before.”

Before I could answer, the peacock let out a raucous shriek. I jumped to my feet, wondering who could possibly be interrupting at a time like this…and saw the head of Seragon’s horse through the trees. I hopped from the terrace steps in time to see Lyrien scramble down from the horse before her daddy could even dismount and lift her down. She tumbled into the dust but sprang right up again, and I knew what had come to pass even before she ran screaming at us, Seragon following, grinning from one ear to the next.

And I embraced her wildly and so did Anemone, as Lyrien babbled her news, from which I could distinguish only the word “cousin”, then she squealed, “Come on, come on, QUICK!!!” Laughingly I told her I didn’t think her daddy’s horse could accommodate us all and she should go ahead of us, and we would follow in the cart. Looking around, I saw that Northlight had already gone to the stable to hitch the pony. He drove us, and Anemone sat between him and myself, her arms around us both. It was the most beautiful drive I could ever remember.

As we drove up to the front gate, we found it standing wide open, and Galendur appeared in the doorway. Anemone and I jumped from the cart before it even stopped and ran to him and he embraced us both at once, tears of joy streaming over his face, and I think they were on my own as well. He said he would see to the pony and told us to go ahead in, and I led the others to the bedroom where I could hear ladies' voices along with Lyrien’s. Obviously she had told all Anemone was back, since Niniel and Donnoviel looked delighted but not surprised to see us all together, and they brushed past us, beaming, and stood in the doorway with Lyrien in front of them, giggling.

Tilwen lay on her back in the big bed, her dampish red-gold hair in braids, looking both totally spent and utterly radiant, as only a new mother can look. The little one lay on its stomach with its tiny head on her bosom, one little fist loosely clasping her forefinger, its eyes tight shut, all wrapped in a little soft white blanket.

And Til smiled at us with the sweetest and purest love and pride imaginable, saying, “Meet little Iorhael!”

As I’ve told you already, we’ve been getting showered with gifts. Someone else was kind enough to give us a book entitled The Arts of Conjugal Love. Needless to say, I’ve been studying it quite diligently…and cannot believe how much I have to learn!

Another was a beautiful gleaming white pony for Anemone, Gandalf’s contribution. Anemone nearly fell over when she saw the creature, and after a few minutes of debating back and forth as to what to name her, she decided on White Gem, no doubt suggested by her pendant. White Gem reminded me of my first love. I told Anemone of her as we fed our ponies.

Gemma Goodbody was about twice my age, twenty-one or twenty-two, while I was a mere lad of eleven. I never actually met her; I simply adored her from afar, and heard others calling her Gemma, or Gem. Her hair was dark, almost black, but her eyes were rather like Anemone’s, her face heart shaped, her figure slender and graceful for a hobbitess. Sometimes I made a point of ambling past the market-stalls where I knew she’d stop on shopping-days, affecting a huge interest in fish, or turnips, or whatever it was she was buying, while the vendors looked at me with a touch of suspicion.

Although I was a cheeky little devil at times, I was shy when it came to speaking to her, and the only word I ever recall saying to her was “Hullo” when she said it to me once, making me the happiest lad in town. But one day I decided to find out where she lived, and followed her home from a great distance, ducking behind a tree when she glanced back over her shoulder, or turning my back so she shouldn’t see my face, kicking at pebbles ever so nonchalantly, and quivering inside when I saw her go indoors. I felt pretty pleased with myself, and skipped and whistled all the way home, although I did have to wonder why she had no garden. But that gave me the idea to pick some flowers for her, and so I picked some from my mother’s garden—I wasn’t allowed to pick flowers from it without permission, but I was naughty and picked them anyway, and took them to where I had seen Gem go in. I rehearsed over and over in my mind the words I would speak to her…but, you guessed it, I lost my nerve when I got there, and ended up merely laying the flowers on the doorstep. Then I climbed up into a tree nearby, and waited for her to come out and find the nosegay.

That’s when I found out it wasn’t her home after all, but the home of her great-aunt, the notorious Lavender Goodbody.

“Lavender" is a sweet name, but…let’s just say she didn’t exactly live up to it. I’d heard rumors that she rode on her broom-stick, and I could almost believe it. She certainly was handy enough with it. It was reputed that her hole was the tidiest in town, and woe to anyone who dared to cross her threshold without wiping their feet, or brushing the dust off their clothing, and she was allergic to flowers of almost any sort. So when she opened the door and saw my bouquet, I literally fell out of the tree. She said a few words I won’t repeat and kicked the bunch off her doorstep almost to her front-gate, screaming imprecations on whomever had left those vile objects to stir up her catarrh. Yes, she was a little cracked too, I’d heard, and I dare say it was somewhat true, which made her all the more frightening! Probably she thought the flowers had been left by some practical joker. Well, I sprang up and fled, for she had her broom in both hands, and I could just see her jumping astride of it and flying after me, turning me into who knows what! At one point I glanced behind me and saw her beating my poor artistically gathered bouquet with the broom as though it were a rat.

“In a way, yes.” I chuckled too as I fed my pony, who was less imaginatively named Toby, after Bilbo's favorite weed. “She went about asking neighbors if they’d seen anyone lay flowers on her door-step, and I suppose one of them had seen me walking to her smial carrying something with a handkerchief draped over it…and yes, I had taken just such a precaution. She came to my home and stood outside the gate screaming for my parents to come out—she couldn’t come through because of the garden, which was giving her fits. She told my mother I was a hideous boy and would come to some perfectly horrible end, then took herself off, with her eyes and nose running like a fountain, sneezing loudly enough to waken a hibernating bear. Of course I had to tell my mother all. I thought I would die of embarrassment, and figured I would get a licking for pinching her flowers. But she just said Gemma was a lovely lass and how she could possibly be related to that creature was a wonder on earth. I asked was she really a witch and Mum said of course not, she was only a poor old half-mad creature and we should just let her be and not believe all we heard. But it was a while before I could rest peacefully in my bed at night.”

“Did Gem ever find out about it?” Anemone asked me as she combed her new pony’s snowy mane.

“I don’t know. If she did, she said naught of it to me. But of course, I was only a small boy. My father said with twinkling eyes that I should stick with lasses my own age, but I didn’t find them appealing. They giggled and told secrets, and played games I considered ridiculous, and when there were more than two together, they would hold their noses and wave their hands if a lad came near, then scream with laughter after he left. Gemma, on the other hand, was mysterious and aloof, or so she seemed. A distant princess, who didn’t walk, but rather floated, while tiny white flowers sprang from her foot-prints.”

“What happened to her?” Anemone looked genuinely interested, like a child listening to a bed-time story.

“I don’t know. After my parents died and I had to go live with relatives far away, I never saw her again. I suppose she married a likely youth and gave him a family. There really are not many other choices for a hobbitess of the Shire.”

“Well, I’m sure there quickly came a time when the lasses stopped holding their noses when you approached,” Anemone said impishly, and I laughed. As we walked back to the house later on, on an impulse I glanced over my shoulder and saw little white flowers spring up where her feet had trod…anemones, of course!

Tilwen came out with Little Iorhael, and asked us to keep him while she started supper. She had already fed, bathed and changed him, so he ought to be all right, she told us with a wink. I had to grin as I watched his daddy holding him. He had confessed to me that fatherhood had felt to him the way the sea must have felt to me the very first time I plunged into it, unprepared for how cold it really was. So it was with him. I wonder if there is a book available entitled The Arts of Parenting? I’d better ask around.

A while later Tilwen and Anemone came out very softly from the kitchen, no doubt to make sure we weren’t doing anything outrageous with the baby, like tossing him back and forth across the yard, or force-feeding him grog and teaching him bawdy sailor ballads. Or breathing too hard on him. They looked vastly relieved to see us innocently sitting with his little basket between us, his tiny left hand gripping my finger and his right one gripping Galendur’s, while I made a bunny of my free hand with my forefinger and middle finger sticking up and made it hop all over my namesake’s tummy. After reassuring themselves that this foolery would not give him any horrid childhood diseases or warp his little character for life, the ladies cooed and gooed all over him, commenting on his myriad infant charms and speculating on which parent he would come to resemble most, then fluttered back into the house, where we could hear them giggling in the kitchen…about us, no doubt. And as if he had read my mind, Galendur said they were probably laughing at us, and I laughed uproariously…at what, I don’t know, but it felt wonderful, and he laughed also, and the ladies flurried out again to make sure we didn’t drop the little one on his head while we were bellowing like mooses.

By the way, I should really have said Gemma was my second love…my first being my mother.

“He is getting landish,” Anemone said as she watched her son one evening, where we were sitting on the terrace after supper. Northlight was patching a small hole in the roof of the spring-house.

“It happens sometimes when sea-folk spend too much time on land,” she explained. “That’s why we are warned against getting too curious about the world above the waves. If we are among land-folk too much, often we get a ‘feeling’ for them, and the sea begins to lose its charms for us. And either we become discontented and fall into bad ways, or else we end up not leaving the land, and we wither away and die unless we turn back to the sea. I feared that would happen with Northlight, but there seemed no other way to redeem him. I think it is what happened with Darkfin—he is another who had curiosity of the land, went there and became landish, until we did not know him anymore. I’m thinking Northlight will not wish to go back to the sea.”

“Perhaps he can just stay with us?” I said. “I’ve grown most fond of him, and don’t wish him to go back. I know he cannot stay in the house, and would not wish to even if he could, but perhaps he can keep close by…”

“Yes, I can see you have taken strongly to each other, and I am glad of that,” she said. “But this means he will not be content with his own people any more. When I was farewelling my kin, some thought I had lost my mind, but others wanted to go back with me to where I had been when I told them of my doings and the people I had met, and most especially, you. I wasn’t sure what to tell them. And they told me I had become ‘landish’ for want of a better word.”

“What if Northlight were to meet a lady?” I said. “He can be any size he wishes, yes?”

“I see,” I said, recalling a conversation I had with him while Anemone was away. We were on the beach, where a bunch of elflings were playing, and I had asked him if any lady had caught his eye here, and he pointed out Marílen saying, “That one.”

“Marílen? She’s but a little child.” I was shocked. I had heard of such things, but surely not our Northlight?

“Yes, but very slowly,” I said. “I don’t know how old she is, but it will be 60 to 80 years before she is of an age to marry. Your mother never explained this to you?”

“And there is no guarantee that she will be willing, when she does come of age,” I said more kindly. “I am sorry. I’m sure she is the most beautiful child on the Island, and has a sweet and gentle way with her. But I think you would do well to look to those who are of age.”

Northlight sighed: “I do not see them so much. It is the young ones who interest me. They have such wonder and delicate mystery to them. Like butterflies.”

“You love the Dance,” I reminded him. “Do none of the actual dancers take your liking?”

“I love to watch,” he said, “but I would scarcely dare to approach them. Sometimes I fear it would take the mystery from them, to know too much of them.”

One day I took him into the City and we strolled about the streets, watching some of the street performers. We stayed there well into the evening, took dinner in the Flamingo’s Roost, where I had met his mother in the guise of Silivren, and after we had finished, we went out and resumed our ramble. And it was there we saw…the Egg-Girl.

I had not seen her since the day I came home from the Palace after Bilbo died. The girl who danced blind-folded amongst the eggs without moving a single one, as a male Elf played on a three-stringed fiddle. I had supposed him to be her father, but he is actually a much older brother. Guilin is his name. They were once prisoners of Sauron, their parents murdered by his orcs. They live in a small flat in the City. Raven, I call the girl—I heard her real name, but it’s a bit too jaw-breaking for me, so I called her after the color of her hair, and she seems to like it. She can hear but not speak—she has not spoken since she saw her parents murdered, although I am hoping that time and some counseling will remedy that. Yet she managed to cleverly use her handicap as a means of escape, for many supposed her deaf as well, and she often pretended to be so, that she might hear plans undetected.

I introduced her to Northlight, gave her a gold piece and told her he would love to watch her dance. She was clad, as always, in a short dress of bright colors, with gold bracelets on her arms and ankles, and her feet were bare, her iridescent black hair braided in front with beads worked into it and drawn back away from her face, emphasizing her wide bright eyes. The bracelets jingled when she danced, her pretty bare feet skipping and leaping so nimbly between the eggs, as always not missing a one, her arms waving gracefully out to her sides, then over her head, then twirling herself about on one set of toes, then springing high into the air with one foot straight out in front of her and the other straight out in back, toes pointed, fingers spread outward like bird wings…and it really did look as though she should crush an egg when she landed, but no. Northlight watched in the most perfect stillness, unable to take his eyes from her.

And then he asked me if he might give her some money, I said certainly, and he gave her several coins from the little purse of money I had given him in payment for the work he had done on the house, and solemnly thanked her, and she favored him with a most radiant smile. I thought, I really must invite her and Guilin to the house when Anemone returns; I would love to see her and Anemone dance together.

But Raven is not yet grown either. I’m sure it will be twenty to thirty years before she is of a marriageable age. Can Northlight wait so long?

“We decided on blue,” Lyrien told me this morning. “For our gowns. Since you and Anemone both have blue eyes.”

“But which color blue should they be?” Marílen asked me seriously, as I suppressed a smile at the importance with which Lyrien pronounced the word “gowns.” “Morning-sky blue like yours, or purply-blue like Anemone’s?”

“Your blue is my favorite,” Lyrien said, “but Marílen likes Anemone’s blue best. Can we wear gowns of two different blues?”

“If it’s all right with Anemone, it’s all right with me,” I said smiling, feeling thankful that my bride-to-be was not of a persnickety sort who insisted on everything being just exactly so and would throw a fit if anything were the least bit out of order. Since she has never either had nor witnessed a wedding, she doesn’t even know what is right or not, she only knows what she likes, and would therefore be unlikely to make a huge fuss about gowns being two different shades.

Today we have quite a houseful…save that no one is actually in the house. Tilwen sits in a swing on the terrace with Niniel and Lalaith and Seragon’s sister Eilinel, who has come down with Laurewen and Amras and her parents to see the baby and visit with her old friend. They all sit around Little Iorhael in a little circle of feminine worshipfulness. Donnoviel sits in the gazebo with Perion’s mother and Seragon’s mother Aerin and Mirimë, while Anemone sits at the terrace table with Lyrien and Marílen and Perion’s younger sister Curíleth, who is somewhere between Marílen and Dínlad in age. Anemone is drawing several styles for the little bridesmaids to choose from. They make excited comments from time to time, then spring up to go check up on the baby, exclaiming over him:

He pokes his lips out when he's asleep like he's dreaming about kissing somebody! Isn't that adorable?

The rest of us, I, Perion and Dinlad, along with Edrahil and Dairuin, Amras, Galendur, Seragon and his father Quellemel, Leandros, Northlight, and Perion’s older sister Gildorien, who is interested in neither fashions nor babies, are pitching horse-shoes near the spring-house. Eventually Amras’s sister Haleth arrives with her daughters Linwë and Fëariel, and Linwë joins us immediately while Fëariel goes to see what Anemone and the little girls are up to. But the elflings don’t necessarily like her, because she puts on such airs. She used to be nice, they say, but lately she has become, in Curíleth’s words, “impossible”, her favorite expression being You’re just too young to understand, along with Really I’ve risen above such things! They tolerate her with cool politeness as she leans her elbows on the table watching with interest and making comments and suggestions, but I suppose the girls’ lack of cordiality reminds her that she is too old for paper-dolls after all; really she has risen above such things, and she flounces over to the other side where Tilwen and the others sit with Little Iorhael, tells him all about how sweet he is and tickles him under the chin, until it suddenly becomes obvious that he needs a change VERY badly, whereupon she rapidly decides it is time to turn elsewhere. She skips over to where we fellows are engaged in our game, glancing in the direction of the gazebo where her grandmother and the other older ladies sit chattering and making lace and embroidering and so forth. Perion and Gildorien and Linwë look surprised and not altogether pleased to see her, and I give her a smile and ask her if she would like to join us. She glances timidly at Gildorien…who can run like a deer and swim like a fish and climb like a mountain-goat, and is reputed to be almost as much of a crack shot with a bow and arrow as Legolas…and then evidently remembers that she is too feminine for such pursuits, and says ever so demurely that she will just watch. But horse-shoes is not exactly a spectator-sport, and I can see she is getting bored before long. She looks again to the gazebo, but who wants to sit with a bunch of old biddies?

Alas, poor Fëariel, with nowhere to turn! I am host, and ought to see to her. But what to do?

The peacock saves me from the need to make a decision, and I run to the gate, as a great silver stallion with a rider in red appears, along with an ebony-haired lady in dark green mounted on a white palfrey, a lovely little filly skipping along between the two horses. In a twinkling everyone has gathered at the gate, all shouting and jabbering at once, as Gandalf dismounts and assists his lady while the little girls pounce on Silverdance, and I smile to myself, knowing what news he has come to impart even before he takes Ríannor by the hand and asks Anemone if perhaps she could design a wedding-gown for his bride as well? High time, I should say!

And Anemone says, her eyes glittering with what might be happy tears, “I already have.”

His hesitancy is as I thought, he was going to wait until I was gone to speak, he told me as Anemone and Ríannor looked over the drawing at the terrace table, the little girls, Fëariel included, hovering close by…and the big-brotherly advice I had been contemplating giving her as to how to get back into the good graces of her friends seemed unnecessary now.

Lyrien ran to us all in a flutter to show us the bridesmaid’s gown Anemone had designed for her. Hers would be sky-blue and Marilen's would be dusky violet, both with embroidery all over the bodice.

“The embroidery will be in silver,” she informed me with great importance. “Won’t that be elegant?”

“Very elegant,” I said as Gandalf chuckled over the other word she had recently incorporated into her vocabulary. “But won’t it make a lot of work for someone? The wedding is but six weeks away.”

“Don’t you worry,” she said with sweet solemnity. “It will be done. Ohhh...I can't BELIEVE I'm going to wear a LONG dress!”

“Anemone is an amazing dress-designer,” Gandalf said as he examined the drawing. “I’ve the distinct impression that I’ve seen Ríannor’s gown before, but cannot quite recall where.”

“I suppose it’s the latest thing in ladies’ gowns,” I suggested. “I don’t notice the trends, but Anemone does. Not bad for someone who never even saw a gown for the first thirty or forty years of her life.”

Yes, I was actually just a little angry with him. What did he think I was, a child? I suppose I should be grateful that he cares so much, not miffed because he thought I couldn't look after myself. Now that I have Anemone, he said, he need not worry about me anymore. I’m still taken aback, as I am always when I see the manifestation of such overwhelming love that I sometimes still don’t feel I have totally deserved.

Long after everyone else had left, I remarked to Anemone that it was very far-sighted of her to design a wedding-gown for Ríannor, and she affected a look of adorable innocence which had that familiar little mischievous glitter beneath it.

“Well, time was hanging rather heavy on my hands,” she said as we sat on the swing in the twilight, “while you went about your duties in the City. No, of course I don’t hold that against you, my Prince, I could not care so much for you if you had not such a sweet and responsible heart in that small body. And besides, I felt that our Olórin needed a little nudge. And so I invoked the Lord of Dreams and gave our friend a lovely vision of his lady in the gown. Obviously it was very inspiring.”

“Aha! So that's why it seemed familiar to him....You arranged his wedding for him?”

“Oh, but he didn’t dream of HIS wedding,” she said fairly bursting with glee. “The bridegroom was not himself, but someone else.”

I startled myself with my laughter. “So you made him jealous? Brilliant! Which someone else, may I ask?”

“I’ve no idea,” she laughed also. “I supposed it really didn’t matter, as long as it wasn’t he. And the trick worked, so there you have it.”

“Is there anything you can’t do?” I said seriously after a moment, taking her free hand and holding it to my lips and then my cheek.

“I shall soon find out, I dare say,” she said, then ran her fingers slowly through my hair…an action that might have been all the proof I would ever have needed of the existence of heaven, had I not actually been there myself. “Now don’t you worry, my Love. I know it’s been preying on your mind as to how you’ll compensate me for what I’m giving up. But the thing is…well, being adored is better than having powers. I suppose I’ve told you before that it is an entirely new experience for me. Sea-folk do not adore each other, at least not unless they become landish. Not even their children. We are fond of them, of course, but we don’t adore them. That is a landish thing, which I’m only beginning to understand.”

“I hope the adoration doesn’t go to your head,” I said, meaning it in jest, but then, worrier that I am, I did consider that possibility.

“It hasn’t gone to yours,” she teased me. “How do you keep it from doing so?”

“I’m not sure,” I said as I fiddled with a long wavy lock of her hair. “I suppose it’s the thought that I’m not as worthy of it as they think I am. Many of them see me as being a little too good for this world…but to my own way of thinking, I’m not much out of the ordinary. And I could not have accomplished what I did without help from others…and from the Creator also.”

“You would not have had that help,” she pointed out, “if you had not earned it.”

“That’s what Lord Elrond said,” I remembered, “but I never really felt I had completely earned it, either. But I don’t worry over that any more. Perhaps it’s just as well that I should feel unworthy…otherwise you might come to find me unbearable.”

“Perhaps so,” she said. “Well, you needn’t worry how I’ll occupy myself while you’re in the City. Silivren may be a spinner after all. Talmar’s mother has been teaching me her craft. She’s having a spinning-wheel made for me as a wedding-gift. Want to see what I’ve made?”

“Of course,” I said and she sprang up and ran into the cottage. I knew our dairy-elf’s mother was a spinner and she had taken a great liking to Anemone…yes, the whole Island is falling in love with her, naturally. I had been wondering how she would keep herself busy while I was gone. I have hired Northlight as caretaker, so that he might make a little money of his own and also be some company for her while I am gone, and unless he stays around on the Island, I’ll have to find someone else after he goes back into the Sea. We have a laundress to do our wash once a week, and we will keep her on, since I don’t want Anemone to over-tax herself with the laundry. We will take turns with the cooking, and there are neighbors to help with the housework. It delights me that Anemone wishes to be productive rather than some pampered princess who might quickly grow bored with an ordinary life, and does not consider spinning to be too humble of a profession. I doubt it even occurs to her to think it. I've been teaching her to keep the books and I dare say she will be better at it than I am, with a little practice.

She returned with a work-basket with several balls of white yarn, which she had me hold in my hand so I could feel the softness.

“Wonderful,” I said. “You learned very quickly…why doesn’t that surprise me? You really are a dream-spinner, in more ways than one. I’ll take this to the City tomorrow if you like. Lady Celebrían would know where to sell it, I’m sure, and fetch the right price.”

“Oh, I shall give this to Tilwen for the baby,” she said as she replaced the balls and set the basket down. “She’s been such a good friend, it’s wonderful to think I can do a little something for her in return. But it is nice to think I can do something to bring in a little extra money, as well. Soooo…now I’m good at being ordinary?”

I chuckled. “My dearest, I’m afraid that is the one thing you’ll never be,” I said.

Now she’s back in the Sea for the night and I’m alone with my glass, the three dolls, and you…and you need not worry that I’ll forget you; even marriage will not allow me to leave off these nightly sessions with you, which have brought me such joy and comfort and healing for the past three and a half years, and thanks be to Eru that Anemone will not expect it of me! I sincerely hope you are as happy as I am just now.

This conjugal arts book is truly amazing. I never knew Elves even thought like this, and it has been very eye-opening, to say the least. Although perhaps it should be less so, after what happened in the garden back when I lived at Lord Elrond’s—did I ever tell you about that? When I could not sleep one night, and went out to the bathhouse and drew myself a warm and relaxing bath…and no doubt supposing me to be in bed, Lord Elrond and his lady came out into the garden and…yes, I’ve told you about it before, I know. How I dozed off in the water, and was awakened by the sound of giggles and some, er, talk...I had to duck my head under the water so I couldn’t hear. Perhaps I should have made my presence known, but they were too far along by then, obviously, so all I could do was keep ducking my head down and holding my breath for as long as I could, my hands clamped over my ears, and even that didn’t muffle all the sounds. I didn’t know how to look Lord E. and Lady C. in the face in the morning, so I sort of carefully avoided them for a day or two. Yes, I’d heard a few such sounds from the bedroom of my parents a time or two when I got up in the night to answer nature’s call…but I was too little to know what they were about then!

I’ve already finished the book and am reading through it a second time. I must admit it’s a trifle worrisome, for I’m determined to learn this as a means of compensating her for the loss of her powers, although I’m well aware that there’s a good deal more to marriage than this. I may be a bachelor, but I did have parents! And believe it or not, Anemone and I have only ever made love about half a dozen times since we have met, and have agreed not to do any more until the wedding-night. This is less difficult than one may imagine, partly because of the virtue of the Island, and mostly, I suspect, because she has so little physical sensation, which is rather frustrating for me.

But I hope you don’t mind if I read a bit to you. There are some things I dare say you never heard of doing either, unless I don’t know you as well as I thought, and perhaps Rosie would like very much…ahem…

Umm…perhaps you will end up with an even larger family than I foresaw, if you were to try that…or better yet, this….

Ahem…it may be my imagination, but it seems to me that Frodo-doll and Sam-doll are both blushing…and Bilbo-doll is looking very wicked!

It seems weddings are contagious here! Myself, then Gandalf, and now Guilin, brother of Raven the Egg-Dancer, wants to wed.

And he faces the perplexing problem of what to do with his sister, since his bride-to-be does not seem so keen to have her about. Her name is Seldirima, and she is the daughter of the proprietor of the City’s most prominent hostelry. And before Guilin can wed her, of course he must take a “real” job and become “respectable”—of course it won’t do to have such rag-tags about the place. And Seldirima thinks Raven should go live at the orphanage.

I’ve sometimes thought the same. To be sure, it would be a shame to do away with one of the City’s most well-known and colorful figures in such a manner. But she is still a child, after all—well, not really, Sauron and his agents stole her childhood long ago—but she really ought to be with girls her age, well sheltered and educated and taught a respectable living. And there is plenty of room at the Home now that so many of the children have been adopted. And who knows, some kind soul might take a notion to adopt her as well. Perhaps even Gandalf and Ríannor--who is the logical choice for a mother, surely, being a Dark Elf and former prisoner of Sauron herself, although she does not remember it.

Guilin and Raven come out to the cove from time to time, and I’ve heard much of their former lives. Their parents were of an aristocratic class of Dark Elves, and Guilin, bored with all that nobility involved, ran off as a youth and led a vagrant existence. He grew into something of a legend, with his rakish exploits and hair-raising adventures, and a string of broken hearts behind him. He’d been a circus performer, a pirate, an actor, a pick-pocket, a gambler, and a peddler of very dubious remedies, which included “love potions” among other things. He was 300 and some-odd years old when his baby sister was born, and he went back home to see her and quickly grew fond of her, so that he came around from time to time to visit. How she managed to find him after their parents were slain by orcs, he never knew, for she was mute after that. But he started taking her about with him, and she proved quite clever herself, and so they lived by their wits until they were captured by Sauron’s minions.

They were imprisoned for two or three weeks. Raven pretended to be deaf as well as mute, and a sleepwalker also, so that she was able to listen in on several plots without being suspected (so many orcs being notoriously stupid as it were!) or distract the guards so that her brother could steal odds and ends from them to effect their escape. Guilin had learnt the trick of “throwing” his voice, and it was a deep baritone which he could make sound very low and rumbly. One day he instructed his sister to move her lips as he muttered some imprecations pretending to be Sauron speaking through her, thus terrifying the guards so that Guilin and several other prisoners could disarm and kill them, then disguise themselves in their clothing and escape, taking Raven with them in a burlap sack and telling those of Sauron’s underlings they encountered that she was a “witch-child” who was wanted by the Dark Lord. They soon met with a cavalry regiment which stormed the prison and rescued the rest of the captives, and so the two had been allowed to come to the Island.

I had thought of suggesting to the Queen that she take in the girl as a young maid-servant, but Raven and Guilin frowned quite severely when I mentioned the idea to them. That was shortly after I had first met them.

Still, my stodgier part felt that the life of a circus-performer or street-urchin was scarcely desirable for a young girl. I blamed Guilin, feeling that he was using his sister to his own advantage. He dearly loved his legendary status, and was not going to give it up so easily. Being a prince I could perhaps have compelled him to do so, but I hate compelling people and would do so only if he were posing an obvious threat to Raven’s health and safety. But she appeared quite healthy and on the Island she was safe from harm, and she seemed to like her life as it was.

But now Guilin wants to marry a respectable hostler’s daughter! Whatever has come over him? I have met Seldirima and I must say, I was not impressed. She seems the capricious sort who always wants something very badly when she cannot get it easily and will do anything to acquire it, but grows bored with it quickly once it is in her possession. Now she has it in her head that she wants Guilin. Understandable enough; he is a colorful figure in the City, with his fly-away raven locks, motley garb and roguish wit; he has had many interesting adventures and is both a hero and a rascal. Other fellows must seem tame and bland by comparison. Raven is simply his pretty little dancing doll, to Seldirima's way of thinking, and he can dispose of her easily enough. Seldirima is definitely NOT the sort who wants any competition. Raven has to go. Not that he can’t visit her or anything. He can do so whenever he likes, and she will be well cared for, much more so than she is now, surely. BUT Seldirima wants him to herself, she has assured him. He is entitled to a life of his own, isn’t he?

On the one hand, perhaps it could be a good thing. Raven can finally have the relatively normal life she should have now…but on the other hand, won’t she feel terribly betrayed? Her brother is all the family she has. Guilin is behaving most irresponsibly, and I believe he has lost his wits! That Seldirima has bewitched him. The only thing I can think of to do now is beg him not to rush into this; maybe he will come to his senses eventually….

It is plain as plain that Northlight still has eyes for Raven. A striking couple they would make, she with her vivid dark beauty and he with his mysterious fine-drawn silvery fairness…but she is still too young, although she has the mere beginnings of a womanly figure. But I can see why Northlight is so taken with her.

And I have a somewhat selfish reason for hoping he continues to be so, and that is simply that I don’t wish him to go back into the Sea, and Raven might be a means of keeping him close by. I have hoped that he would become "landish" enough to live in the house, although for obvious reasons I can hardly expect him to do so once his mother and I are wed. But there are rooms over the stable in which he could make his home. They need fixing up, but I would be more than happy to have them made livable for him. But he still prefers the Sea.

Yet he has been asking me to teach him to write poetry. Of course I was taken aback; how does one teach someone to write poetry? But I tried to impart the lessons that I had learned from Dûndeloth. The other day he came up with this:

Your solitary Dance
doth all my mind entrance
your eyes are big and bright
and starry as the Night;
your skin is gold and fair
and midnight blue your hair
your pretty feet and legs
do not break any eggs.
My Mother soon will marry
one whose feet are hairy
and I would marry too
but I would wed with you
although you are too young
and cannot use your tongue.
How long must I tarry
till you and I might marry
and be my loving Bride
by the swelling of the tide?

I was sure he had not meant it to be humorous, so I refrained from laughing when he showed the poem to me. I suggested that he reword cannot use your tongue but didn’t know how to explain why. He changed it to and silent is your tongue and I told him that sounded much better. He said Raven could not read but he would read it to her, if I thought her brother wouldn’t mind.

It has gotten to where he is starting to enjoy the sparring-matches, especially when Galendur is one of the contestants. The other night we went along with Anemone and Tilwen, Donnoviel having care of the little one—thank heaven for grandmothers! Northlight goes barefoot as I do; it hardly seems reasonable to try to persuade him to wear shoes when I do not. He doesn’t seem to notice the looks others give him, and I try to ignore them, or else just look up with a proud smile. Well, there we were at the match, cheering our hero on, until the end of the first bout when I felt something at my ankle. I looked down and saw that Northlight had hooked his own foot about mine, seeming unaware that he was doing so. Later as I went to congratulate Galendur on his performance, I glanced back and saw Northlight laughing uproariously at something his mother had said…Northlight laughing! Even Galendur had not had much luck getting him to really laugh aloud, a small chuckle at most. When I asked him what was so funny, he said he couldn’t remember now; it just tickled him for some reason.

After we returned home and he turned to go back to the Sea, he first caught and embraced me tightly, and kissed my forehead saying, “Goodnight, Ada,” and I pressed my head to his shoulder and heard myself murmur, “My son,” choking up a little.

Our wedding is just a month away now. Raven and Guilin and Anemone sit together on a blanket on the sand, with a basket of golden mushrooms, watching Northlight and me playing in the waves. Guilin is talking to Anemone, probably of Seldirima. (She doesn’t like the beach, it seems. Strictly a city girl.) Northlight and I, wearing naught but old breeches, take turns diving from a low shelf of rock. I glance from time to time to see if Raven is watching Northlight. She is, so I get a brilliant idea: I will swim out too far, and pretend the undertow has taken me, so that he will have to rescue me and she will be impressed with his heroism. But I underestimate the distance, and the undertow does take me, and I thrash about frantically in its grip until I feel someone clutching at my hair and pulling me above the water. It is Northlight, of course. I cough and sputter, and I can see Anemone standing in the water, looking greatly alarmed, and I curse my stupidity at frightening her so. Northlight lifts and carries me to the shore and sets me gently down on the blanket, where Anemone frantically asks me if I am all right, pushing my sodden hair back from my face. Northlight wraps the blanket around me and they rub at me with it. When I can get my bearings I take a mushroom and try to joke that I had done it on purpose, but no one believes me.

I still have to marvel at the speed with which Northlight reached me. And at the radiance with which Raven now looks at him.

Later Guilin, who obviously wants to return to the City and his lady, asks us if Raven might stay with us for the night. I say yes, although I wonder if that is a wise thing to do, and if he might start taking advantage. And shamefully, I wonder if she can be trusted. The guest-room is full of wedding-gifts, many of which are quite valuable. Then evidently Guilin reads my mind and tells me I am a benefactor to Raven and she will not take any of my things. Northlight seems thrilled.

And I get my wish to watch Raven and Anemone dance together. In lieu of eggs, I scatter the remainder of the golden mushrooms on the sand. Raven is in her usual multi-colored beaded outfit and Anemone is in a short white gown with an iridescent sheen to it. I play a little drum someone made for me, and Northlight plays a little flute made with several reeds bound together, that someone gave me some time ago and I taught him to play. The girls take hands and whirl and leap high, their hair flying and fanning out all about them; they clap and kick and curtsey, and wave their arms gracefully, their faces glowing, and at one point Anemone makes an ecstatic and unbelievably high leap and lands with exquisite lightness on the sand with sparks jumping from her feet. Neither of them have harmed or even moved a single mushroom.

Raven spies something in the sand where Anemone’s feet touched after the music ends and runs to pick it up, then jerks her hand back with a little cry and puts her fingers in her mouth. Northlight picks up the object, dipping it into the water to cool it. It is a little glass formation that looks like a roll of icy lace. Guilin examines it and says he has seen such in the desert where lightning has struck in the sand, and he looks at Anemone in awe and amazement while I try not to grin too smugly. Northlight hands it to Raven who tries to give it to Anemone, who tells her she may have it if she likes. But Raven clearly wants to give it to Anemone, who takes it and kisses her cheek. Northlight finds another such formation and holds it to the sunlight, which fills it with colored sparkles. This he gives to Raven, who shyly kisses his cheek and then giggles. The sparks from the glass paint her face and eyes with shivering rainbow lights.

Well! Guilin is in for a big surprise tomorrow. Of course Northlight’s verse was a proposal. And Raven has accepted him!

Yes, they haven’t known each other very long, it’s true. But they will have many years to get to know each other.

“I suppose Guilin will have to teach him Raven’s hand-talk,” I said to Anemone as I watched Northlight and Raven walking together on the beach in the late afternoon, feeling as though we were quite an old couple already.

“Not necessary,” she smiled as she helped me gather up the scattered mushrooms. “He can hear her thoughts when they are for him.”

“Well, I suppose we will need to fix up the stable-rooms after all,” I said grinning also as I bit into a mushroom. Better enjoy them while we still can, I thought. “What do you suppose Guilin will say to it? Will he go for it?”

“Perhaps he’ll be all too happy to have her off his hands,” Anemone said frowning a little.

“It will be a good while yet,” I pointed out. “What, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five years? And can Northlight wait so long?”

“He is a serious and determined fellow,” she said, “and very patient. I think he can wait.”

“Good thing he didn’t choose Marílen, after all,” I said. “But what to do with Raven, in the meantime? I seriously do not think she would live at the Orphanage. She would be as a wild creature among domesticated animals. Can you picture her in a uniform, standing in line with other girls, obeying commands, studying her lessons? And then, there’s the small problem of her muteness.”

“I know just the place for her,” Anemone said as we walked back to the cottage with the blanket and the basket. “Talmar’s mother. Her girl is going away soon with her husband to the village and she’ll want someone to help her about the house. There is plenty of room there and the work would not be hard. And Tamsin is very kind, and her son’s dairy is close by, and Emleth her granddaughter is not much older than Raven and could be a friend for her. And it is but a few miles from here, so Northlight could go see her whenever he wished, if it is all right with you.”

“Of course it is all right,” I said, “and yes, it sounds a good idea, if Tamsin will have her. I suppose we’ll have to discuss it with her brother, when he comes back tomorrow.”

Then my eye fell on a little burlap bag I hadn’t noticed before, that I had absently picked up while talking with Anemone. Inside was a colorful small dress and some girls’ underthings, and a little night-gown. Hmm! So he had planned this. Bringing a change of clothes for his sister, fully intending to leave her with us for the night. Very good, Guilin!

As we were preparing supper, Northlight and Raven came back to the cottage, hand in hand. I smiled to myself as I watched them, odd pair that they undoubtedly were. Northlight’s face had more color and flesh now so that his sharp features looked a little less frozen, his eyes a less icy blue, like water under a spring thaw, and his silvery hair had the look of a white cloud in an overcast but promising sky. Now it seemed that summer had come to him as well, and there was a new sweetness and freshness about his face as he looked at Raven, his smile more from the center of him. He had made himself just a little taller than she, who still stood less than five feet tall. And he seemed content to be small, unaware of the importance of height or of what others thought of him. His childlike innocence in that respect never ceased to fill me with wonder.

We took supper, as usual, on the terrace, steaming mushroom soup and hot buttered rolls, fresh vegetables from the garden and goat’s milk. Raven kept glancing about, until I realized that she was looking for Guilin. He had not so much as said goodbye to her when he left. Anemone told her he had gone for the evening but would be back tomorrow, and she would spend the night in our guest-room. Raven looked at me, then at Northlight, then at Anemone with stunned eyes, and I thought of a few choice things to say to Guilin when he returned tomorrow…if, indeed, he did return.

Then Anemone gently asked Raven if she would like to see the bath-house. Raven nodded, and I thought to myself that she could do with a bath, at that, then wondered how she would react to a certain little bronze boy. Anemone picked up the little burlap back and they went out back of the house. I suggested to Northlight that we have a look at the stable-rooms.

There were two rooms, a very small one and a larger one, more habitable than I thought. Mostly they just needed cleaning and furnishing, and the partition between them needed some patching up, or else we could knock it out altogether. And the stairs leading to the side-door outside were badly dilapidated; I would consult Leandros about them tomorrow if I got time. I remember having to board up the rooms because elf-children would try to get up in them to play, and I was afraid they would step through those stairs and hurt themselves. But yes, the rooms would not require so much work as all that, and we could move Bilbo’s bed and desk and wardrobe in as soon as the stairs were fixed. Northlight’s taste in furnishings was simple enough, and he would not require any of what my Aunt Dora used to call “fancy fixings.”

Then as we climbed down the loft-hole, I said, “Come with me. I want to show you something.” We crossed the bridge over the falls, and I led him up the pathway until we came to a clearing between forest and beach, grassy and wild.

“Look at this,” I said. “It’s just the place to build a house, wouldn’t you say? When you and Raven come to wed, we can have a home built for you right here. You can see the Beacon from here at night, and the cottage in the daytime. And it’s private without being out in the middle of nowhere, and the ground about the place is fertile enough to grow a garden. What do you think?”

Northlight was silent for a moment, gazing at the spot. Then he said softly, “Close your eyes, Ada.”

I lifted my eyebrows, and he repeated his request, and I closed my eyes. I heard a soft shimmering sound with a note of music in it. And then he said, “Look now.”

I opened my eyes, and he had to catch me as I nearly fell over. Before us stood a small white stone house of luxuriant beauty, with arching windows and a red tiled roof, a little porch of patterned stone, a splendid garden out front. Birds cast rich and fluty notes all about, and fruit-trees stood in blossom here and there.

I stood gaping for a long moment, until Northlight told me to close my eyes. I closed them and when I opened them once more, the vision was gone.

On our way back to the house, we decided to knock out the partition. Northlight said he would rather just have the one big room, as two small ones. He liked lots of space. He said we could probably do it ourselves, and we could perhaps use the wood from the partition to fix the stairs.

Anemone and Raven sat out on the terrace swing, Raven all sweet and clean, her hair washed and combed out. She wore but one bracelet on each wrist. Anemone was smiling but her eyes looked troubled. Northlight smiled in pure delight.

We took the instruments out and played and sang as the sun started to sink into the waves. I played the harp and Northlight the flute, and Anemone and I sang while Raven listened raptly and the peacock perched in his favorite tree nearby.

White are the stars that course the vast heavens
Purple the firmament that cradles their delight
Silver the fulling moon, gold the lamp of morning
Fair the Evenstar that illumines our twilight.

Fairer still the Children who grace this verdant islet
Gracious the Beings that heal us of our blight
Glorious the One who spreads it all before us
Blessing our path with peace and eternal Light.

Holy the night where the Light of Truth is shining
Happy are those who abide in its embrace
Make of us a family, dispelling all divisions
Uniting us in love and the abundance of thy Grace.*

Raven spelled out the words with her hands as we sang, and Northlight missed a few notes on his flute for watching her.

Later as she walked with Northlight down to the sea, I asked Anemone how Raven had reacted to the bronze boy, and she said the look on the girl's face was priceless, her eyes and mouth popping wide open, and I laughed, but Anemone looked troubled still. And then she said to me very low, “Frodo—she has scars. On her back. Did you know?”

I sat down heavily. “No, I did not,” was all I could say for a moment. “I suppose I should have known. But one would not guess it from her manner.”

“No, you did right to tell me,” I said. “But…I don’t want Northlight to know. At least, not now. She must have some treatment to erase the scars. As mine were erased.”

“Yes,” she said, turning her head around to see if her son had gone back into the sea. He had. Raven stood on the shore, one hand raised, her back to us. The water was luminous at her feet.

“I will stay with her tonight,” Anemone said. “Yes. It will be my first time to sleep in a bed. This should be interesting.”

I looked straight at her in the dusk, then trailed my fingertips down her cheek.

Late that night, I could not sleep, and could not even concentrate on The Book. Finally I slid out of bed, took my light, and padded over to the door of the guest-room. It was rather cluttered, and earlier I had thought to take some of the things down in the cellar, but what with one thing and another, I didn’t get around to it. But I didn’t see the gifts, for looking at the sleepers. The golden head lying on one pillow and the black one on the other, the hands clasped together in between, just peeping above the edge of the coverlet.

On an impulse I went back to my room, opened a drawer and took out a little glass phial I had almost forgotten was there. Marílen had found it and given it to me long ago, saying if I ever broke my glass I could put the water in this one. I took it outside and stood on the terrace where I could see the Beacon and the Evening Star, then unstoppered my phial and very carefully poured a few drops of the water into the other. Then I fitted the stopper very firmly into it and spoke the words to light it, and behold, a soft flicker grew in the center, then brightened into a silvery glow!

"Thank you," I whispered to both the Beacon and the sky, then went back indoors. I took the new light into the guest-room and placed it in Raven's hand, the one that was not holding Anemone's, blew out the candle, and took my own light into my room and slid back into bed.

When I emerged from my bedroom, I saw the door of the guest-room standing ajar, and Raven was still in her night-gown, sitting on the bed with her back to me, looking at something—the glass I had put in her hand, no doubt. I suppressed a chuckle as she unstoppered the bottle and took a deep whiff of it, and I remembered a faint fragrance clinging to it--it had started out as a perfume-bottle, no doubt. Then she replaced the stopper, bent down and picked up something from the floor--the burlap bag. I supposed she was about to get dressed and started to withdraw, when something silver caught my eye, and I saw her take from the bag a gorgeously wrought chalice studded with moonstones and lapis. This she held for a moment, then rose and went to set it softly on one of the shelves with the other wedding-gifts. I tried to remember who had sent it to us. Anemone had it written down somewhere, a list she was keeping of who had given what. I think the chalice was from Firnhil and Maianna.

Anemone was taking rolls from the oven, Northlight seated at the kitchen table talking to her and drinking juice (he doesn't like tea). I kissed him on the top of his head and Anemone on her lips, breathed in the fragrance of the bread, then sat down at the table and began to nibble at the fresh fruit in the bowl in the middle. Northlight asked me if Raven were awake yet and I said she was, and would probably be in soon. I wondered if I looked the way he did when Anemone’s name was spoken in my presence.

Sam, when your wedding was at hand, did you count the weeks, then the days, then the hours, the minutes until the big day? Did you feel a mixture of ecstacy and trepidation as the time slipped interminably away? Poor Northlight—imagine having to wait twenty or so years for your beloved to grow up! Yet he seemed very happy just to be in the same house with her…breathing the same air. Rather like I had once been with Lady Elwing.

Raven came in, dressed, with the little phial in her hand, and she seemed to have absorbed a good deal of its light. A smile nearly split her face and she kissed my cheek before she kissed Northlight, draping an arm about my shoulders, and how I did love her then. She was so beautiful, so light on her feet, and so alive.

After breakfast Northlight and Raven went outside so he could show her the stable-rooms, and Anemone and I talked seriously for a long time as we cleared the table and washed up, and then Tilwen came over with Little Iorhael in his basket. I asked her if she would be willing to go with Anemone to take Raven into town to see if they could find her some decent clothes. The night-gown she had worn last night was little more than a rag, and I would wager it was the only one she owned.

“Of course we will,” Tilwen said. “Don’t you and Northlight want to come with us?”

“We would,” I said in an undertone, glancing toward the stable, “but we would not leave the house when Guilin may be coming. I don’t trust him. Northlight and I will work on the stable while you are gone. On your way into the City, is it possible you could stop by Leandros’ and ask him to come out here with some tools, or send someone here to help us? I would not ask it of you, except that he lives along the way.”

“I’ll be more than happy to,” Tilwen said as Raven came running up to see the baby, Northlight following close behind. “What a lovely couple they will make! Just like the two of you.”

“I’d like to have something made for her for our wedding,” I said. “Anemone has a few drawings to choose from.”

“Do you know,” Tilwen said, as she settled Little Iorhael into Raven’s arms as the girl sat on the swing, and Anemone went indoors to retrieve the sketches, “that some of Anemone’s designs have become the rage now? The other day I distinctly saw three or four ladies wearing gowns identical to some of the ones she drew for Lyrien and Marílen a few weeks back. I went up to one of them and complimented her on her dress, and do you know what she said? She said ‘Why, thank you, my dear! I designed it myself. I’m delighted you should have taken notice of my poor little efforts.’ Did you ever?”

“Oh, I suppose the girls quite innocently showed the drawings about,” Til said, “and some ladies took a fancy to them, and copied them to have them made for themselves. It just seems so outrageous that they should be passing them off as their own ideas.”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” Anemone said as she came out holding a portfolio, looking positively delighted, at that. “I am flattered that people like my silly gowns enough to copy and wear them. And to think that I didn’t even know what a gown was until a few years ago!”

“I agree with Tilwen,” I said as I watched Northlight sitting beside Raven gazing down at the baby in her lap. “They were your ideas, and you should be reaping the profits. But I don’t know how that works. Til, what did you say to her?”

“Well,” Tilwen said, “I told her, ‘Why, how very strange. I could have sworn that one of my dearest friends designed a gown exactly like it, but it must have been my imagination.’ Unfortunately, Little Iorhael picked that very minute to start crying, so I didn’t really get to see her reaction. But imagine the nerve of her!”

“Let’s go,” Anemone said with her cheeky grin. “Maybe we’ll spot some ladies wearing my gowns…and have a bit of fun with them.”

Tilwen looked at her, then giggled conspiratorially. “Why, yes…let’s! Coming, Raven?”

I lifted my eyebrows, wondering what they might be getting up to, then shrugged. Let her have her little fun while she still can. After that serious little talk we had had that morning….

Northlight hitched up the cart for the ladies, and Tilwen drove, while Raven held the baby in his little basket, and looked back at Northlight and kissed her hand to him in the same slightly exaggerated manner she threw kisses to her audience. The gesture was amusing coming from one so young, and I had to wonder once more about those scars.

As we went to the stable, Northlight asked me what he should do while he waited for Raven to grow up. I said, “Work, play, learn, make new friends, read, develop your skills, think, pray, take up new interests, make beautiful things, delight in the beautiful things others make, help others, watch Raven grow, learn her, help her to overcome the darkness in her own past. Time goes much more quickly here than you might suppose, and all the more so when you fill it with the things that will keep you in the light. There is a college here, which is a school for grown folk. Perhaps you may like to attend? I thought of going myself, but I had Bilbo to look after, and I got quite an education when I was living and convalescing at Lord Elrond's, so that it seemed unnecessary. I will take you there one day, and see what you think. Some of my friends teach there.”

I felt myself glow with pride at the very thought of sending Northlight to college, of watching his fine mind grow and develop with the knowledge he would acquire. I had an idea of how Bilbo must have felt. At the same time I wondered how I would persuade Raven to submit to Lord Elrond's treatment of her scars.

Northlight and I had nearly finished knocking out the partition when the peacock announced someone’s arrival…Guilin’s.

We were sitting on the beach once more, Guilin, Northlight and I. Leandros and another carpenter of his guild were chopping up the wood from the partition near the stable. Guilin had apologized for being so late, explaining that he had run into a couple of fellows to whom he owed money, and things had gotten a little nasty. When I told him about the betrothal of Raven and Northlight, he looked slightly outraged, but I gave him my steady gaze, and he managed to contain himself.

“Anemone and I discussed it this morning,” I said. “Seldirima doesn’t want Raven about, yes? And she won’t go to the orphanage, I know that. I—”

“What makes you so sure she won’t go?” Guilin said. “You are the one who makes sure the conditions there are as they should be, do you not? I went myself to check it out—you surely don’t think I’d leave my sister there if it weren’t all right, do you? And it’s a nice place, nothing remotely like Middle-earth orphan’s-homes, god-forsaken places that those are. Much nicer than the place we live in now. But…but am I to understand that you and Anemone…”

I can hardly say as I blame you. Until day before yesterday I had no more notion of adopting Raven than I had of flying to the moon, and I dare say neither did Anemone. I suppose neither of us expected to end up falling in love with the girl almost overnight and wanting her as part of our family, and I begin to wonder if she might have bewitched us all three. Certainly there is something faery-like about her dance, and according to Guilin, it did frighten some folk in Middle-earth, who didn’t want them coming around. But no evil magic is allowed on the Island, so I doubt we’ve that to fear from her.

And imagine it—three different races in one family! Did anyone ever hear of such a thing?

“Let’s get this straight,” he said, after I made my announcement, Northlight sitting gravely beside me at my feet—I was seated on a stone, my back to the sea, Guilin sitting on the sand before us. Instead of his usual gaudy ensemble he wore dark-colored leggings and a suede doublet with a touch of gold embroidery over a white shirt, black leather boots that looked new, and a leather belt worked in gold with a gemmed dagger with a curved blade thrust through it, more for dash than anything else, I suspected. All quite expensive looking, and small wonder he was in debt.

The peacock was perched in a small tree nearby. Seems he has to be in on everything that goes on about the cove any more!

“Yes?” I prompted Guilin, for he seemed to have forgotten momentarily just what it was he wanted to get straight. Surely the feeling of being totally kerflummoxed was new to him.

“You want to adopt my sister,” he said in a dazed tone. “You’re about to be married, and you’ll want a youngster about the place? I would have thought you’d want your privacy.”

“Let me tell you our plan,” I said. “It isn’t definite, of course. But this is what we have in mind for now, although it could be subject to change. We will draw up the papers for the adoption immediately, with your consent. After Anemone and I are wed, we will make the adoption final. Then Raven will stay at the home of the spinner Tamsin, for whom Anemone works and has what might almost be considered a partnership, and help her about the place, and be paid for it, if Tamsin is agreeable to it—admittedly, we have not discussed it with her yet. Of course I will introduce you to her if you like, and you may meet her former maid-servant, who can attest to the kindness of her character. Raven will stay there for a period not exceeding three months, and come here on weekends, during which you may come visit her, and take her into the City if you wish, and she may still dance, although any earnings she makes from that are her own. After that period, which may be shorter if we deem it so, or if she is not happy with Tamsin for any reason, she will come and live with us until she comes of an age to marry. Then if they both still wish it, she and Northlight shall be wed, and they shall inherit equally any property of ours after we quit this earth. In the meantime she shall be educated and receive treatment for her scars, both the outward and inward ones, from those know best how to do it. She will help Anemone about the house. A close friend of ours had a child recently, and Raven will go there at least once a week to help out with the baby, since it’s my guess she has had little, if any, experience with children, and if she is to be married, she should learn something about raising them, since Anemone and I will not be having any of our own. She will attend the Temple with us at least once a week, and be taught right from wrong, and receive instruction in the ways of the Divine. If she has interests other than dancing, we will help her develop them, and she may have friends of her own age. In short, Raven will have a simple and ordinary and upright life of it, and you shall always be welcome in the bosom of our family, and be no less her brother than you are now. So, how does this sound to you?”

“Straight enough, on the face of it,” Guilin said putting a hand to his chin, and I could see a couple of flashy rings on it. I had a strong feeling he was no stranger to the gaming tables of The Brazen Parrot, and was not above laying out his sister’s earnings to his own use. I’ve sometimes thought I should have that place closed down, but decided perhaps it served a purpose, rather like a trash-receptacle. Better to have the contents all concentrated in one place as to have them strewn about every-which-way. That may well be why others tolerate it as they do, come to think of it. “But I have to wonder. Just why do you want to adopt her? What could you possibly gain from it?”

“We love her, that’s why,” I said in surprise. “It never occurred to me to wonder what ‘gain’ I could get from it, but rather what she could get. What I’m hoping is that she’ll gain back some of the childhood that was stolen from her, which will lead to a happy maturity and marriage with my stepson.” I laid an affectionate hand on Northlight’s shoulder.

“You do realize,” Guilin pointed out, “that if you were to adopt her…Northlight would be marrying his sister?”

“Yes, I thought of that,” I said. “But if they are no blood relation, then it is not amiss, surely? Our King did as much. He married his sister also.”

“Well, I have not even consented to the marriage yet, you know,” Guilin said glancing at Northlight and then looking to me. “They haven’t even known each other for very long, have they? And they are not of the same kind. I’ve never held much with marrying out of one’s kind. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve naught against any particular race, except perhaps orcs—well, no ‘perhaps’ about it--I just think people are much better off with their own sort. Why complicate it more than it has to be already? Can you imagine me marrying a dwarf?”

I could see that Northlight was alarmed and dismayed. He looked up at me, reaching up a hand to my wrist. I gripped his shoulder reassuringly.

“If we were still in Middle-earth,” I said, “I could better see your point, but if I felt that way here, I would be destined for a lonely life, seeing as how there are none other of my kind on the Island. And I think you’ve seen for yourself that Northlight is capable of caring for your sister with all his being. You were here yesterday when he saved me from drowning. And he may not look like much to you, but he helped me to fix up the house for Anemone, and I saw him lift rocks that I could barely budge and carry them as if they were mere bricks. So there is no question of his being hard-working and faithful.”

“All well and good,” Guilin said, “but there is the simple fact that he would be alone with my sister for periods of time. She is not of an age to marry, and will not be for some time now. And I know myself how strong the lure of the flesh can be. So how could I possibly trust him with her for all that time? Oh, you may say he loves her and respects her and so forth, but one can only hold out for so long. I’m sure we both know this all too well. Mind you, this has naught to do with him specifically; I would feel the same toward any male who took an interest in my sister.”

I surprised myself by laughing a little. “You may lay your fears to rest. Sea-folk are incapable of lust. He will not even be tempted to approach her in that manner until the wedding.”

“What?” I almost laughed again at the expression on Guilin’s face, but dismay replaced the urge. What if he refused consent on the grounds that there was something unnatural about Northlight? “Do you mean to tell me…that he can’t…”

“I can,” Northlight spoke up. I remembered having to explain certain things to him, like why males and females must not see each other naked, telling him that males are inflamed by the sight of female bodies and this could easily lead to babies being born out of wedlock, and to rape, and other bad things. Then I had to explain what was meant by ‘inflamed’—he had no clue. It was quite an eye-opener, I must say. One day I came upon him thumbing through my conjugal arts book, looking totally baffled, and he couldn't understand why I was so embarrassed about his finding it.

“Our folk are more like beasts than land-folk in our mating habits,” he explained to Guilin. “I suppose you cannot understand that. We mate purely for reproductive and not pleasurable purposes, and after the young are conceived, we have done with it until long after the child is born. And we do not marry—that is a landish custom, which I do not entirely understand yet, but am coming to more and more, and we may leave our mates if we find them unsuitable, as my mother left my father when he fell to evil ways. I am hoping that when Raven and I are wed, I will become as land-folk and will know the pleasures of which I’ve been told. But until then, I know only the joy of being in your sister’s presence. It is all of the head and not of the body, if you can possibly understand that. I can scarcely explain it myself, for I have not experienced it before this.”

“Then you…are not human,” Guilin came out of his shock long enough to make this statement.

“No, I am not quite,” Northlight said earnestly, “but I would be. Long have I watched the ways of humans, particularly that of my Ada, and what I have seen of him and his friends make me wish to be like them. I did not trust him at the first, it’s true, even if the Lord of the Seas did choose my mother for his bride. I felt as you do now about me and your sister. But I have long since learned him, and would wish no other mate for her now. As for myself, I no longer have an affinity for my own kind, at least not as I did before. I have become what my mother calls ‘landish,’ which is perhaps another word for ‘human.’ Perhaps you might take the time to learn me as well, and then you could decide if I am a suitable mate for your sister?”

“This adoption business,” he said after a moment. “How does my sister feel about it?”

“We have not spoken of it to her yet,” I said. “I wished to discuss it with you first.”

“She is not a country-girl,” he pointed out. “She likes the City. She likes to see lots of people passing by, all the hustling and bustling, the places to see, things to do. She’ll get bored stiff out here and run away, I’ll warrant you. She’s like a cat—if she doesn’t like a place, she won’t stay in it, no matter how much you pet her. And…” he looked piercingly at Northlight—“she doesn’t like the water.”

“I think she will like it fine out here, with Northlight about,” I said. “And, if she doesn’t like a place, she certainly won’t stay in the Orphanage. Where would she go from there? She would never fit in. Please, take your time to consider it. Take all the time you need. Think of what it could mean for her. A home with two parents, education, wholesome work to do, religious instruction, friends, perhaps a pet or two if she wants one, pleasant diversions, a chance to heal and recover from dark memories that must be haunting her still. What will become of her the way she is living now? And how would she feel being consigned to an orphan’s-home, knowing you and your bride don’t want her about?”

“You just have to make me out a thorough scoundrel, do you?” he said. “It’s not as if the Home is on the bloody moon, is it? It’s practically next door. I can go see her any time I like. And Seldirima is just a young thing, and it’s only natural that she should want me to herself for a while. Stop making her out to be some selfish little brat—she’s naught of the sort. You should see her with her little niece and nephew sometime—she makes over them like you wouldn’t believe. She’ll make a splendid little mother. Maybe my sister will grow on her after a spell, and then she can come stay with us. Maybe after we have our first child, she can come help out. And I’m entitled to a life of my own, what? I looked after my sister for years. I saved her life more than once. I carried her in a sack when we were escaping that horrid rat-hole, and…and I went in her place. She’d be dead now but for me. She’s not afraid of me—have you ever seen any sign that she is afraid of me? If anything, I spoil her. Anything she wants, I get it for her.”

“I never meant to imply she was afraid of you,” I said, a little bewildered by this turn. “On the contrary, she adores you. That’s the whole point. I—”

“They were going to beat her,” he said, and I don’t think he even heard me. His voice was trembling and his eyes glittered wildly. “And I said, Beat me instead, and they did. I have the scars still, if you don’t believe me. If you want to see them, just say the word. From my shoulders to the backs of my knees. They laid on the leather hard, I thought they’d never stop. And then they beat her anyway. They stripped her bloody naked, and made me watch. They didn’t beat her as hard as they beat me, but beat her they did, and then they were going to…you know…take her. And I said, Take me instead. And…”

I thought I would be sick, and I glanced at Northlight, who looked deathly pale.

“Three of them,” Guilin said barely above a whisper. “Three Uruks. But they didn’t take her.”

Tears welled in his eyes and he swiped at them absently with his sleeve. I got up, my knees feeling wobbly, and knelt beside him, laying a hand on his arm.

“Both of you need treatment,” I told him gently, “and I can get it for you. Your scars can be erased, and you can be healed within also. Didn’t you know this? You must let me put you in contact with Lord Elrond. I can even summon Estë the Healer; I have a connection to the Powers. She treated me, and I know she can do much for you and Raven. I—”

“Well, there were certain things…that I didn’t want anyone to know,” he stammered. “You know what things, now. I didn’t even mean to tell you, it just…came out. I...well…”

“There’s no shame in it,” I said caressing his arm. “Although yes, I do understand your feelings more than I wish I did. It was done to you, and you were trying to protect her. You are entitled to healing, and so is she. You may do as you like for yourself, but I absolutely insist on it for her. It shall be done. If you care for her as you insist you do, and I believe you now, you will not require me to order it in spite of you.”

“Very well then,” he said. “You’re the Prince. There’s something, in fact…I have heard that one can have one’s memory erased totally?”

“Yes,” I said. “It was done for Gan—Olórin’s lady, in fact. It was offered me also, but I refused it. I do not recommend it.”

“I didn’t want to give Sauron the victory over me,” I said. “And I did not want to lose my wonderful memories. However, I would have had it done if Anemone had not come back from the Sea, and let him win. So I do have a breaking point, and can hardly boast.”

“Well, I have no memories worth keeping,” he said. “And a good many that need tossing. And so does my sister. I’ve naught else to live for. There's no call for tricksters here. I’m not religious like you. As a musician I’m no better than most. I can hardly hold my head up amongst respectable folk. I’ve no burning interests, no purpose in life but survival. I don’t even really want to marry Seldirima now, I don’t know what came over me. She was just a means of escape, I think. I’ll break it off with her soon. But this erasing process…I want it for my sister too. She saw and experienced things that would turn you inside out. No child should ever have to live with such memories. I want her to forget all. As soon as possible. I…”

“Even if I tell you I would consent to the adoption if you have it done?” He raised his eyebrows to me.

“Even so,” I said fixing my steady gaze on him. “I will never allow it against her will. I cannot stop you from trying to persuade her, but I would ask you not to. She is betrothed, and seems happy. Would you take that away from her?”

“Let it be done,” he said, “if it will truly help her. If she forgets me…I will be content to be just her brother. And maybe….”

“No, Northlight,” I said. “I will not allow your happiness to be destroyed, when you have so newly found it.”

“But…if it would make her happy…after all she’s been through…” Northlight began, tears starting in his eyes also, and I pressed his shoulder.

“YOU will make her happy,” I said. “And so will your mother and I, and our friends. And her brother.”

“They’re back,” I said smiling, and Northlight and I both stood up. I could see the cart, which Anemone drove now—they had dropped Tilwen off at her home. Raven, wearing a new red dress, stood up, waving to us, and Anemone laughingly pulled at her arm to make her sit. I could see bags at their feet. Guilin stayed where he was, watching us.

“All right,” he said hoarsely after a long moment, looking the very image of despair. “All right. You win. You may have her.”

So I’m to be a father! Now I have a strong inkling of how it feels to be able to say that…and this is only the beginning.

To continue: As the cart drove along, I went to Guilin and put an arm about his shoulders.

“Please take dinner with us tonight, and stay overnight,” I pleaded. “We have plenty of room. And please do not be hasty with this erasure thing. Go for the treatment with her, and see if it works for you before making any decisions that may be irrevocable. Raven still needs you. Please do not take her brother away from her. You did not survive as long as you did by being a coward. So please try to endure the crush of memory a little longer for her sake, and I think the burden will lessen quickly with the treatment if you would receive it.”

The peacock called as the cart drew closer, and Northlight ran to help Raven down and lift the bags out of the back and carry them for her. Guilin stayed where he was, not even looking at the cart. I saw the radiance die from Raven’s face, and saw Anemone whisper something to her—Comfort him, I believe. She had told Raven of the adoption plan on the way home, I found later.

Raven ran to her brother and threw her arms around him, kneeling before him. He pressed his face to her shoulder and she bent her head over his, tenderly stroking his hair. Tears streamed over her cheeks and her hair flowed over him like black water in the afternoon light.

I went to stand beside Anemone and motioned Northlight to come away, and asked him to take the cart to the stable. Hesitantly he piled the bags back into the cart and mounted it and drove through the gate. In a whisper I told Anemone what had passed between Guilin and myself. She looked delighted that he had given consent but distressed over the horrors that had befallen him and his sister.

“Poor fellow,” she said. “I don’t wonder he would be erased. But what would that do to her?”

“That’s what I said to him,” I said, marveling once more at how human she had become. How was it she was able to feel compassion now, when she still knew so little of physical pain? “I hope we can dissuade him for her sake.”

“And she will not choose it for herself, will she?” Anemone looked worried for Northlight’s sake.

“I think not,” I said. “I devoutly hope not. Although what I went through was pretty trifling compared to what she endured, I’m certain.”

I looked over at the two of them and saw her talking to him with her hands, and he talked with his also. His back was to me now so I could not see his face, and could only see the top of her head. But as I walked with Anemone slowly toward the gate, I saw Raven make the sign that I knew meant “I love you” and he made it back to her, then she embraced him again and laid her head on his chest and he pressed his cheek on the top of her head.

Then she stood and extended a hand to him to stand also, and I motioned for them to come to the house. Hand in hand they came after us. Then she seemed to remember her new dress and her smile returned, and she placed herself in front of her brother and held her skirt out in a pretty gesture and then signed to him. The red gown was just below knee length as befitting a girl of her age, the neckline and sleeves embroidered in black, and there was a narrow sash of black velvet. She wore little black slippers also, and I wondered if it were her first time to wear shoes on the Island.

“We found a marvelous shop,” Anemone explained to us, “where they sold used clothing, mostly children’s. We bought her three dresses there, beside the one she’s wearing. They’re a bit fine for everyday wear and tear, but not too expensive and she so loves pretty things, we bought them for her. One of them needs some taking in, and Tilwen said she or her mother could do it so we wouldn’t have to pay a dress-maker. We did order some everyday clothes and underthings for her. But Donnoviel will make her wedding-dress, for there isn’t time for the dress-maker to do so. Come on back to the house and we will show you the other things we bought. At least one of them will surprise you to death.”

Raven took Guilin’s hand once more and did a little skipping step, urging him forward. He gave her a little sad smile and went along, Anemone and myself following. Northlight had piled the bags on the terrace table. Raven snatched one of them and pulled out the other dresses one by one and held them in front of herself to show us. There was one in pure white that would be suitable for Temple, with a touch of gold embroidery, and one of blue velvet, and another in the shade of pink that became fashionable after Aredhel made her dramatic appearance in it at the Palace almost two years ago. Then she took out a little trinket-box of intricately carved ivory, with bronze hinges and clasp and showed it to her brother with shining eyes.

“Tilwen insisted on buying her that,” Anemone explained to Guilin. Raven opened the box to show a little string of polished coral beads, which she took out and put on, looking back at Anemone with a grateful smile.

“That from you, I take it,” I said to Anemone, smiling also. Raven laid it against her throat, with a look to her brother that seemed to ask him to fasten the clasp for her. Northlight sprang up as if to do this, but hesitated and then let Guilin do it. Then she took out a little silver knife with an ivory handle that was obviously the work of the same carver who made the box. This she presented to Guilin. He smiled sadly once more and kissed her hand. Then she took out a pouch of very soft brown leather with a gold silk draw-string, holding it out to me. I kissed her cheek and thanked her, saying how much nicer it was than my old one, and proceeded to transfer the contents thereof into the new one, without letting her see my look of regret for the old, sweet-smelling, twice-mended pouch that had served me so long.

And then…she grinned conspiratorially at all of us, and picked up another bag, reached in and pulled out something oh so slowly…something oval-shaped, about two feet in length and one and a half feet in width, and on it was painted a young black-haired girl in a colorful short dress and many bracelets…dancing among eggs. Everyone gawked.

“Obviously our Raven was an inspiration to some sidewalk-artist,” Anemone said rather unnecessarily. “The shop-keeper wouldn’t even take our money, he just gave it to us.”

With a little shy giggle, Raven presented the painting to Northlight, who took it and held it to himself with a look I can hardly describe.

“That will be all the decoration he will ever need for the stable-rooms, I’m sure,” I said, although at the same time I thought it probably wouldn’t be, not if Anemone and Raven had aught to do with it.

Anemone took the things indoors and hung the new clothes on hangers. Then she and I went inside to start supper, leaving Raven, Guilin and Northlight to discuss their plans on the terrace. From the larder I fetched a generous meat-pie that Talmar’s wife had sent over and put it in the oven, along with onion bread-rolls sprinkled with garlic and poppy-seeds, made by Anemone. They were from the recipe-book compiled for us by Lady Celebrían.

Then we went to see how Leandros and his friend had done with the stable, and saw that the stairs were all fixed. I wished I had asked them to stay for supper, but they had left before I realized it. I supposed they didn’t want to interrupt Guilin and me. They had also white-washed the walls, which were rather dingy, and they were dry now. Anemone and Raven took two brooms and began sweeping out the interior while Guilin, Northlight, and I went to get Bilbo’s bed and move it up the stairs. I felt a great qualm about moving Bilbo’s desk and chair and wardrobe…but well, somebody ought to get some use out of them. And at least they would still be about the place, and wouldn’t fall to strangers. We brought up the rug and curtains that had been in what was now the bridal-chamber, along with the book-case and lamps and some shelves for what-nots. In the space of little more than an hour, Northlight had his own little abode, very cozy and neat. A carved screen hid the bed nicely from obvious view. Raven picked some flowers and put them in the vases.

Over supper Anemone told us they did indeed see some ladies wearing her designs. She was thrilled, herself, but of course with Tilwen it was an entirely different matter. In fact, one of them, the fair-haired one, was the very same one she had spoken to that day. She and another were standing looking into a shop-window, talking, and so Tilwen whispered to Anemone and Raven her plan. She took Little Iorhael and went into the shop, while the darker-haired elleth pointed the baby out to her companion and twittered over his darlingness, and Anemone and Raven slipped up nearby at the next shop-window and made a production of admiring the things therein—which, as it happened, were hats of the sort worn by the younger and more foppish set of males.

Then they moved further over to a book-shop and peered through the window, and the two elleth began speaking to each other in low tones, glancing toward Raven and Anemone.

“Anira, look...that’s the girl who dances on eggs,” the fair-haired one said. “I’ve never seen her in broad daylight before. Ugh, what a sight! I’m glad they moved on; I wouldn’t want people to see her near me, and I wouldn’t want to have to smell her either. I wonder who that little girl is with her. She’s dressed rather fine. Does her mother know she’s with that ragamuffin?”

“Keep your voice down, Lissë,” whispered Anira. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

“She won’t hear us. I’ve heard she’s a deaf-mute,” Lissë said. “Who cares anyway, she’s just a street-rat.”

“Perhaps the fellow who plays that thing just follows her movements,” said Lissë.

“Well, maybe she finally got a bath. Maybe that little girl’s mother threw her in the tub or something. I certainly wouldn’t want a child of mine near an urchin like that. No telling what she might catch from her, or learn from her. Just keep a good grip on your purse.”

“Shhh!” Anira whispered in some alarm. “That’s not a little girl. That’s the Princess!”

“What?” Lissë gave a startled squeak, then peered over at the two, absurdly clapping a hand over her mouth as if to push all her words back in. “It IS! Does the Prince know she’s with that…creature?”

“Why are you asking me?” Anira whispered. “How am I supposed to know all that goes on with them? I never even met them.”

“Well, you may, if you wish,” said her friend. “I’m sure I don’t care.”

“So what? They are so adorable together, especially in that quaint little pony-cart. So pastoral. I wonder if they will keep sheep. Wouldn’t they be darling with little lambs frisking about? And can you imagine the children they will have? I just hope they don’t have hair on their feet, though. He really should wear shoes. He has a nice face, but those feet.”

“She’s rather charming too, in a tiny way,” admitted Lissë. “But WHAT is she? Does she have gills?”

“No. That one that went in, with the baby--I’ve met her before. She said something about my gown once. Said a friend of hers designed one just like it, or something like that. She didn’t seem to believe me when I said I designed it myself. She has red hair, you know, and that kind can be…awfully temperamental. I don’t think anyone is wearing necklaces like those anyway. Not any OUR age, at least. They’ve naught but old people’s jewelry here. She must be buying something for her grandmother.”

“I’ve seen her before too. Her husband is…ohhhhhhhhh. I wonder if he has a brother. I would think he could have done much better than her. In fact, I think he and the Prince are friends.”

“Then she must know the Princess,” Lissë said in consternation. “We’d better go before she comes out again!”

She turned to go, when her friend gave a little shriek. “WHAT is that on the back of your...”

“What?” Lissë made an absurd try at looking down at herself over her shoulder, at the risk of putting her neck out of joint.

“It looks like…a map,” Anira said incredulously. “It’s all up and down the back of your gown. It IS a map! Of the Island!”

“Here, turn your back to the window and look over your shoulder. You can see the reflection in the window-glass. There’s Avellonë right there.” She jabbed at the middle of her friend’s back with a forefinger.

“Ow,” squeaked Lissë. “Don’t poke so hard. Is there really a map? I think you’re having me on. I don’t want to look.”

“I’m not having you on. And if you don’t want to look, then don’t. But there IS a map on the back of your gown. And look…there’s something on your bottom…it looks like a pirate-flag, of all things!”

“Um…I don’t think I’d better tell you. It doesn’t look very nice. What does ‘yo ho’ mean? And what is a ‘saucy wench’? And… ‘She soon started jiggin’, untanglin’ me riggin’…whatever in the world?”

“Let me look.” Anira, braver than her friend, turned her back to the shop-window, then screamed. “There IS writing back there!”

Tilwen came out to find the two girls standing back to back, trying hard to look as if nothing was wrong.

“Wait until we show your daddy what we bought for your grandmummy,” she chirped ever so sweetly to Little Iorhael as she emerged from the door. “And for me. Maybe your daddy will stop thinking I’m not pretty enough any more. Oh—why, hullo! Erm…something wrong?” Her voice dripped with concern for the two young ellyth. Lissë looked ready to burst into tears, but Anira made a gallant attempt at a joke.

“We are comparing heights,” she said, as several people passed by, giving them strange looks. “Which of us is taller?”

“Why, you are,” Tilwen stammered. “But…” Suddenly she gave a huge gasp of fright as she looked at the shop window. Lissë turned to look, displaying her back to the street, then abruptly turning her back to her friend once more with a tiny screech.

“Oh, wasn’t I silly,” Til said with a little laugh. “I thought I saw something scary in the window. Must have been that beastly little boy of the shop-keeper’s, pulling faces. Well, I must be going. My little sweetling will be screaming for his dinner soon. Nice gowns, by the way.”

And she went off in search of Anemone and Raven, and went into the shop into which they had slipped when the two girls started noticing strange things going on with their clothing. Giggling very softly, they stood in the doorway listening for the reactions of the two young ellyth.

“I don’t know. We can’t stay like this all day long. Maybe we could just kind of walk home back to back…”

“Who could have done this to us? There must be some, some evil magic afoot. Do you suppose it was…her?”

“It must have been one of them. Or the one with the baby. Don’t stand so close, I don’t want those vile words to rub off on MY gown.”

“Well, I don’t exactly want your skull-and-crossbones rubbing off on ME either! Come along, Lissë, we must go. People are staring at us.”

“I bet it was the dancer. How else could she dance without hearing music, she must use magic.”

“Well, she’s gone now. And we’re stuck…wait, we ARE stuck. My bottom is stuck to yours!”

“It was that red-haired one, I KNOW it was! This is her way of getting us back for….”

“She put a wicked spell on us. What are we going to do now? Maybe we should call her back and ask her to take it off. Maybe we could threaten to tell her husband…something about her.”

“Sir,” the voice of Anira spoke, “this must look very strange and silly to you, but someone has played a wicked trick on us. We are stuck back to back. I don’t suppose you know aught of undoing spells?”

“I am sorry, my ladies, but I fear not. I am not versed in the magical arts. Is it possible someone stuck some glue to the cloth of your gowns?”

“I think there was a red-haired witch who just passed by…did you happen to see her?” Lissë said. “She was carrying a baby. No telling what she’s going to do with it, poor little infant.”

“I don’t seriously think there are any witches on the Island, my dear. It wouldn’t be allowed,” the male voice pointed out.

Lissë’s voice asked very timidly, “Do you see anything…strange…on the back of my gown?”

“No, I cannot see anything that shouldn’t be there. Nothing amiss with it at all.”

“What about mine?” Anira said, and Lissë squeaked in horror remembering the nature of the song. But the male voice affirmed that there was nothing on the back of her gown that looked out of the ordinary.

“Nice dresses, by the way, my ladies,” he said. “A very attractive design.”

“Oh…thank you,” Lissë said almost tearfully. Anemone waited for her to take credit, but this time, evidently she did not see fit to do so.

And so she decided to be merciful and not cover the backs of their gowns with large black and white diamonds after all.

Well, my conscience is acting up—again! For I am taking Raven from her brother. It is the best thing for her, of course. But it will never be the same. She will still be in close contact with him, but she won’t be living nearby, and who will show him affection and tenderness now, who will run to him joyfully when he returns home, to whom will he tell of the day’s doings in the evening? I seriously doubt he will marry Seldirima. I don’t fool myself that he has any overwhelming passion for her; she is, even as he told me, merely an attempt at escape.

But now he will be free to have a life of his own, and can find someone more suitable with whom to spend it. And he can get the healing he needs, and find honest work, and free himself from his own inner darkness. So I am doing him a favor after all, and should rest easy.

To continue: I think it would have been a good idea for Anemone to have waited until after supper to tell that story. I don’t know what must have gone through Guilin’s mind when I spewed red wine all over my bread-rolls, but the account did draw a chuckle from him, at least. Raven fell off her chair, literally, and Northlight hastened to help her up. She came up still giggling, her eyes glistening, and she clutched at him, kissed his cheek and giggled some more.

“Nana, you are wicked, wicked, wicked,” Northlight said shaking his head, his eyes full of twinkles, his own cheeks flushed with mirth. “Who would ever think it? But they got what they deserved. They had no right to say such things of Raven, or of you. Or Tilwen. I like Galendur very much, but I think he was the lucky one.”

“I’ve a feeling those poor girls will remain behind closed doors for a good while to come,” Guilin remarked with a tight-lipped grin.

“Well, if you think they are embarrassed now,” Northlight said, “just imagine how they’ll feel after they find out that my mother has adopted the little ‘ragamuffin’. Hah! Street-rat, indeed!”

“Perhaps it would be charming to have some little lambs frisking about, at that,” said my irrepressible bride-to-be as she refilled our glasses. “Wouldn’t you think?”

“Not unless watching a hobbit sneeze, wheeze, wipe his eyes and nose and scratch himself all over is your idea of charming,” I said. “I am allergic to sheep, remember? This is scarcely the right terrain for them anyway.”

“Oh yes, I was forgetting,” Anemone said. “Well that I am a spinner of flax and not of wool! Speaking of which, what say we go and see Tamsin after supper?”

Guilin and Raven took Guilin’s horse while Anemone led the way on White Gem, whom she often calls Gemma now—who but Anemone would ever name her pony after a former love of her betrothed?-- while Northlight and I cleared the table and piled the dishes into the wash-tub. Then we went to put the stable-room into better order as Northlight talked of what it would be like to sleep in a bed, and I tried to think what must have gone through Guilin’s mind at the supper-table. Watching us in our family togetherness, connected by ties of love and mirth and magic. Perhaps the joy we imparted to each other was as a fierce ache to him, forever apart from it, as though he never truly could find a place in our enchanted circle, feeling too besmirched and poisoned and weighted to allow himself to step inside, however much we tried to draw him into it.

It was nearly nightfall when the others returned, reporting that Tamsin would be happy to take Raven for the time decided upon, perhaps even longer if they proved well suited to each other. Her granddaughter Emleth had been there with her. She sometimes rides with her father when he makes his deliveries, and has done so ever since she was small. She is quiet and bright, grey-eyed and rosy-cheeked, and smiles slowly but frequently. Exactly the sort of girl you would want for your daughter’s friend.

I said we would go tomorrow to have the papers drawn up. Guilin said he hoped we knew what we were letting ourselves in for. For one thing, his sister had sticky fingers.

“It’s my own fault,” he said, putting his arm around her as she looked to us and then up at him with distressed eyes. “I taught her all she knows. But I would let you all know before you found out the hard way.”

“None of us are perfect either,” I said without batting a lash. “I used to steal mushrooms from a local farmer when I was a lad. Northlight and I both succumbed to the Dark Lord, if only for a moment. And I’ve done murder, also.”

“You WHAT?” Guilin looked as though he had been kicked in the stomach, then chuckled sheepishly. “You’re pulling my leg, right?”

“Well, on Mount Doom I told Sméagol—Gollum—that if he touched me again, he would fall into the fire,” I explained blandly. “And he wrested the Ring away from me—and so he fell in. So I caused his death, even if it were inadvertent.”

“That’s hardly the same as murder,” Guilin pointed out with a snort, as Raven stared round-eyed in awe.

“And as for Anemone,” I said with a glance at her, “you KNOW what she’s capable of. Compared to all that, a little filching is rather small potatoes, wouldn’t you say? And I am certain Raven can be trained out of any bad habits she still possesses.”

We had music in the evening, and Raven danced to one of the hymns. I couldn’t bring myself to explain to her that one does not dance to hymns, and found myself thinking: well, but why shouldn’t one? Because Northlight’s thoughts as he watched her were perhaps less than holy? Yet his expression was that of someone who is looking at the most beautiful thing one could possibly imagine. Such a look surely has something of the Divine about it.

The Beacon shone even brighter than usual that night, and I saw Guilin looking at it in wonder as a night-bird cried out in the distance and the music of the falls echoed very softly in the forest. I thought perhaps this was the first time he had seen the Light.

And Raven ran into the house, then returned with her own star-glass to show him. She signed to him on her hands, and I think she meant for him to keep it in his room when he went to bed that night. He took it, looked to it and then to her, then to the Beacon, then to the Evening Star…and then to me. And smiled, with closed lips, but with unforced sweetness and gentleness and freshening beauty, upon us both.

“Who wants to bathe first?” I announced early next morning. “We are going to the Palace.”

Raven put on her new blue velvet dress. I would not have thought blue would have suited her dark coloring, but that shade was simply perfect, bringing out the sheen on her hair, and she was breathtaking. Guilin fretted that he had nothing fit to wear, and I assured him the new suit of clothing he had sported the day before would be fine. I wore my best suit, and Northlight wore an identical one—well that the colors I prefer become him also! Anemone wore the white gown made for her by the Queen—it was her first chance to wear it since the play. She did her hair in a rather elaborate style Tilwen had showed her and was now fashionable, with several braids with beads and ribbons worked into it, and cascading curls behind. I prefer it hanging freely as when I first met her, but I indulge her in her fondness for getting herself up on special occasions. Of course Raven would have her hair done the same way and so Anemone had worked rags into it the night before to curl it.

I could see that Raven really wished to ride in the cart with Northlight, but I asked her to ride with her brother, saying that four people to the cart was a tight squeeze, but in truth, I wanted her to maintain her connection with Guilin as much as possible.

Northlight had met the Queen, but had never been to the Palace. As it loomed closer, he gazed in awe and a bit of nervousness as I instructed him where to go. The turrets gleamed bright gold in the morning sunlight above the pure sparkling whiteness of the building itself.

“We wish an audience with the Queen,” I told the gate-keeper in my most formal tones, and he grinned knowingly at me.

“Then tell her I’ll jolly her out of it,” I replied with a wink to Northlight, who looked puzzled and a little shocked to hear me presuming to joke with the royal staff. The gate-keeper chuckled.

“Very well then,” he said as he opened the gate for us, “go on with you, Ring-bearer. But if Her Highness pitches a fit and turns you all into barnyard-fowl, don’t come crying to me. Wait, what about those two behind you, on the horse?”

“They are a couple of ragamuffins we picked up off the streets,” I said. “You may admit them also. Trust me—you do not want to cross my betrothed. She has tricks up her sleeve you don’t wish to find out about.”

I glanced sidelong at Anemone, who favored him with the sweetest smile imaginable, hands folded daintily in her lap.

“All right, if you’re going to resort to threats,” the gate-keeper said with mock weariness as he waved us through. “Go on in with you, before I become frightened.”

Actually the Lady Galadriel was in quite a cheery mood, and seemed delighted to see us. So did Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian, and all were both shocked and delighted to hear that we would adopt Raven. The Queen had her own lawyers in to draw up the papers, and Guilin hesitated a long moment before signing the consent-form, but sign it he did, then smiled at his sister with profound sadness.

Then the Queen showed Raven and Guilin to their suites herself, the ones where they would stay until the wedding. Raven looked delighted to see hers.

“It’s the one I had when I stayed here,” I said in wonder. It had been almost a year since I had seen it. I remembered the bed well enough, which had a head-board in the shape of two swans with crossed necks. The bed was high even for a big person, and I had needed a little stool to get up into it, and even so I’d had to make a little jump to get in. And I’d forgotten about the height a time or two when nature called during the night, and ended up with a few bruises. But Raven is taller than I, and the little stool should be sufficient.

She stared at the room in awe as I set the bags with her things in it. Unknown to her, I had brought my dolls along for her, and when her back was turned I set them on her pillow. I had already told her that if the Palace was too overwhelming, there was another place she could stay, the one where I had stayed during my healing. Olórin the great Maia lived there, I said, along with the poet Dûndeloth, and Lord Elrond was one of their closest friends and would be quite happy to take on her treatment there, I was sure.

Then she signed to her brother, who said to us, “She wants to know if she can see the Beacon from here.” And so I led her out the door into the garden, and pointed northwest.

“You can see it on a clear night quite brightly,” I said. “I had forgotten how splendid the view is up here.”

Guilin’s suite was right next to hers. It was similarly decorated, and had a doorway where he could enter the garden without passing through her rooms.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Anemone asked her. “Or, perhaps Northlight could stay in Guilin’s room.”

Lord Elrond cleared his throat. “Actually,” he said, “I would rather the rest of you did not stay here, and would visit but once a week. I would prefer they have as few distractions as possible when we begin their treatment. Choose a day to visit, and come together. I think that will be best.”

Northlight looked crestfallen, but said nothing. Then Perion appeared. Lady C. said he would attend to Guilin, and an elleth just a little older than Perion came up shyly behind her. Lady C. introduced her as Nieriel, and she would be Raven’s hand-maiden for the duration of her stay. Raven looked taken aback at the thought of someone attending on her. When Nieriel dropped her a little curtsey, Raven smiled radiantly and curtseyed back. Perion suppressed a snicker and I had to turn my back abruptly.

After the servants were dismissed, we all sat down in the garden to discuss the healing. Lord Elrond explained gently to Raven that his mother would administer her treatment, since it would involve some touching of her bare skin. Lady Elwing had healed his wife when she first came to the Island, he said; she was a priestess and had a great love of all wounded creatures and would be very gentle and careful with her. Elrond would treat Guilin, and he asked if that sounded agreeable to all, and they nodded, both awe-stricken at meeting these great personages they had only heard about before. I wondered if Lady Elwing would take Raven on a “boat ride” like the one I took my first day on the Island, and if it would not prove too frightening for her.

Lord Elrond said he could find some work for Guilin to do so that he could earn his keep. There was a group of court-musicians and he might join them, if he liked. And he could help with the gardening, or in the kitchen, or the stables.

“Our rules are short and simple,” he explained. “If you wish to leave the Palace, please let someone know, and be back before midnight. You may have the run of this level, but do not wander about the Palace alone, for you may get lost. If you wish to see it all, I will arrange a tour for you. You may not bring outsiders here without permission. Do not enter the throne-room without leave, nor disrupt any counsel save in a case of dire emergency. If you have any problems, tell your attendants. We attend Temple once a week. If you do not wish to attend, you may wait outside until the service is over, but you may not remain in the Palace during that time, for no one will be about. Do not take a horse without telling the stable-lad. If you have a food preference, tell the cook. We take supper in the dining-hall, but you may take it in your rooms if you prefer. The library is just below your rooms. If you wish to take a book to your rooms, please write down the title on the register-book, which you will find beside the door, and return the book when you are finished. Do not go up to the observatory alone—if you wish to see it, let me know and I will take you up there. If you wish to poke fun at the courtiers, do so where they cannot see you. That is all I can think of at the moment, and I hope your stay will be immensely profitable to you both.”

We spent the rest of the day in the Palace, touring, talking, eating, listening to music, watching a little comedy that some actors got up for us, listening to a tale or two from a bard, and Guilin and Raven treated the court to an exhibition of the egg-dance, and Anemone participated also. The ladies laughed uproariously when we told them of the gown incident, especially the Queen. She said she had a good mind to adopt us all herself—we would keep the place jumping, certainly, and then she said she would like to see some of Anemone’s designs.

We ended up staying overnight, Anemone in Raven’s room, and Northlight and I slept in a room together next to the library. He said this was certainly fine, and I joked that I hoped it didn’t spoil him for his new rooms. After he had fallen sleep, I found myself too wound up to do so, so I put on my clothes—I was in my underwear, since I had not expected to stay the night—and wandered over to the library…where I met Lord Elrond.

“Good evening, Frodo,” he said, as I started at the sight of him. He sat at a table with a book in front of him, but he did not seem very intent on it. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“Yes, somewhat,” I admitted. “There was quite a bit of excitement today.” I found the chair that had been made especially for me during my stay, and sat down across from him at the table. He studied me intently.

“Well…I would prefer to have him tell you what he has told me,” I hedged. “I would not betray his confidence. I can but tell you he has been through horrors even I could only imagine. He talked of having himself erased, like the Lady Ríannor. But I am hoping he will decide against it, for Raven’s sake. But for her, I think I would recommend it for him. He has been through a great deal…a very great deal.”

“And you truly wish to adopt this little elf-maiden,” he marveled. “Your desire for children is that strong.”

“Well…even if I had my ability to father children restored, as you once told me it could be,” I said, “then our children would be small, like us, and whom would they marry? Each other? I would not condemn them to lives of lonely singlehood.”

“I see,” he said. “It has been over three and a half years since you came to the Island. And now your reward is coming full circle, and I can see you are blessed and at peace. Anemone is an enchanting little lady...in more ways than one. Raven is delightful, and Northlight is a treasure. You have your heart’s desire, even as my mother predicted.”

“Yes, and I hope Sam knows it,” I said. And I wished I could impart it to Lord Elrond. I wanted to ask him if he were blessed and at peace also.

I wanted so badly to make him happy. So very, very badly. It was the only drop in my own joy, at the moment, to know I could do nothing for him…so perhaps I should tell him my revelation.

Tell him, I could almost hear a voice telling me. If I could only be sure the voice came from outside of me, and was not my own wishful thinking...

“Lord Elrond,” I began, and yes, the words were not my own, it was only using my voice, as it did on the ship when I said he would see his daughter again, and I felt a strong twinge of terror thinking, What if I am wrong? But I had to tell him. “Lady Celebrían will bear you a child within the next two years. I cannot say whether it will be a son or a daughter…but there will be a child. This much I know.”

We chose temple day as our visiting day. We were going into the City that day, and we would be wearing our best clothes, and all that, so it made sense to choose temple day to visit Raven and Guilin at the Palace.

Guilin was there with his sister today. He seemed a bit uncomfortable, although he was looking splendid in a suit of black embroidered in gold over a white shirt, and he attracted many an admiring glance from the opposite sex. But Seldirima was not with him, and it did not take much guesswork to figure that he had broken it off with her.

I told him I was very glad to see him there, then admired Raven in her new white dress, and somehow I don’t think Northlight paid much attention to the service for looking at her. Afterward she made a sign to us, and her brother said she wished to know how Little Iorhael was. I said that he was smiling now and Tilwen said it wasn’t gas. Raven looked thoroughly delighted to hear it. Just then I caught sight of Tilwen and Galendur with their tiny offspring, along with Donnoviel, and pointed them out to Raven. But before I could go to them, Guilin asked if he could have a word with me.

“Are you very sure they know what they are doing?” he said, leading me into a small recess in the hallway. “She’s done naught but cry all week. She was never much given to crying before. What can they be doing to her? Is it really necessary to make her remember all the things that happened to her?”

I felt my throat tighten. “I know how hard it must be for you to see that,” I said, “but tears can be an outlet and a relief. And yes, it is hard to be made to remember, I know that all too well. But—”

“They make me remember also,” he said, “which was bad enough. But you and I are adults, and she is a child. If it was that hard for us, how must it be for her? I must seriously question their methods. She used to have bad dreams, as I do still, but after we came here, she had them far less frequently. I’m afraid this treatment is going to start them up all over again. Did you have bad dreams?”

“Yes, often,” I said shuddering. “But after I came here, they became less and less frequent. In fact, I have not had one in well over a year. I almost expected to have some after what you told me about your experiences, but I had none. I am absolutely certain that the treatment will work for her once she gets past the remembrances. I had scars too, but they are all gone now, and it's as if they were never there. I am a counselor also, and it is very hard for me to make the orphans remember certain things. But they must be unearthed and faced down in order to be rid of them, or they will stay and haunt for as long as one lives. Perhaps the Palace is a bit overwhelming for her? I know of another place she can stay, if so.”

“She seems to like the Palace,” Guilin said. “And everyone there seems to dote on her. I like it too, for that matter, and may try to see about getting a position there. I broke it off with Seldirima, in case you are wondering.”

“Not well. In fact, she pitched all kinds of fits. Threw things at me, called me some rather awful names, ‘sewer-rat’ being among the more polite ones. Said I had played her for a fool, what was she going to tell her friends, she would never be able to hold up her head again, and so forth. I didn’t feel any too good about it, and was of a good mind to run back and throw myself at her feet and beg her forgiveness and tell her I had changed my mind once more, but I knew there was no going back then. I felt bluer than your lady’s eyes. When I told Lord Elrond about it, he said I was not ready to marry yet, and must work through a good many things before I would be. But I still feel like going back and trying to make up with her…maybe I care more for her than I supposed. But now it can’t be. Her father would pitch me out on my arse if I ever came near the place.”

“I think Lord Elrond is right,” I said. “You must find peace and healing before you can find love. Have patience. Perhaps even she will have you back again, if she sees you standing in the light.”

“You must excuse me,” he said as we started back to join the others. “My experiences have made a cynic of me, and it is hard for me to ascribe pure motives to anyone. And when something seems too good to be true, it usually is. It just seems a stroke of unlikely good fortune that you and Anemone would take an interest in my sister to the point of wishing to raise her as your own child, and that you should want to help me to overcome my own demons. After I told you that you might have her, I kept wondering if perhaps you just wanted her as some free help for your missus. Then I told myself that even if that was what you wanted, she would still be better off with you, and there was the small matter of the inheritance. I cannot keep money in my pockets myself, being much too fond of the gaming-table. Probably she would end up marrying some howling jackass from the Brazen Parrot because no respectable fellow would want her. But anyway, the point is, it is hard for me to get used to the idea that someone could do a thing with unselfish motives. So you will have to exercise some patience with me.”

“You saved a good many lives, you know,” I reminded him. “Are you not entitled to some sort of reward?”

“I’ve done bad, as well,” he said. “I robbed a man once when we had no money and nothing to eat, and ended up getting him killed in the chase. I’ve killed others—in self-defense, it is true, but it would not have happened if I hadn’t severely provoked them. Yes, they were of a very low sort, some of whom would sell their mothers for a drink, but still…”

“You would not have been allowed here if you had not redeemed yourself by freeing those prisoners and protecting your sister,” I said. “And forgive me if I sound pious and stuffy, but I think you should keep away from the Brazen Parrot. Bad companions will drag you into the pit.”

“I don’t go often,” he said a little defensively. “And by and large I don’t care for the inhabitants. I’ve gotten into more than one nasty scuffle with them. But I feel far less at home among respectable folk. I feel I shouldn’t even be talking to you at times. That I’ll besmirch your purity or some such thing, and you shouldn’t be soiling your hands with me.”

I laughed a little. “You greatly overestimate me. But I know what you mean, for I’ve felt the very same way back in Middle-earth. And I think you should give me and my friends a try. I think you would enjoy us if you allowed yourself. We attend sporting events and plays, swim and sail and hike and ride and explore, discuss profound and weighty subjects and play ridiculous children’s games, sing hymns and tavern-songs, write poetry and toss horse-shoes, attend tea-parties and clam-bakes, consort with queens and blacksmiths and actors and hair-dressers and carpenters and small children. We are not so delicate as all that, and I seriously do not believe you will besmirch any of us. Shall we go join the others now? My stomach is making some rather unprincely rumbles. And the Queen said she would serve a very tasty dish invented by my uncle, which I don’t believe you have tried yet.”

We had brought along a basket of gifts for Raven. There were golden mushrooms, which she loves, from Anemone and myself, a linen handkerchief from Emleth, with a letter R prettily worked in red and a tiny black bird in flight embroidered on it also, and a narrow lace edging. Raven seemed astonished and wondering at having a handkerchief made especially for her. There were some cream-tarts from Emleth’s mother, who makes the best in all the land, and a little hair-ornament from Tamsin, made of multi-colored threads intricately braided.

And there were two little dolls, representing Raven and Northlight—made by Lyrien, of course.

“I’m making some of you and Anemone too,” she told me, “but they’re not finished yet. It’s taking me a long time, because your hair is all different colors. Yours is brown, Anemone’s is gold, Raven’s is black and Northlight’s is white. Do you know, my daddy said Raven will be my cousin soon?”

“He said that?” I was surprised and touched. When will I learn to stop underestimating Seragon?

She nodded emphatically. “So now I have two new cousins in the same year. Wait—THREE cousins. Northlight too! I almost forgot. That is sooo astonishing.”

I chuckled, looked at the dolls lying in each of my hands, then at her, and I sobered.

There was also a little ring set with three little pearls Northlight had dived for himself, along with a poem. He had brought the glass formation that he had found in the sand and set it in Raven’s window, where it caught the sunlight and threw little rainbow patches on the walls. His poem went thusly:

Faery child
Gay and wild
Light as a feather
Sweeter than heather
Eggs aren’t afraid
Of the dancing maid.
Your midnight hair
Doth make me stare
Your new gowns
Do not bring frowns
Your dainty feet
Are neat and sweet.

Your scars I don’t mind
To them I am blind
But I would see you healed
True wellness revealed
So have no fear
Of memories drear
Love will prevail
If medicine fail.
Your sea-born lover
Beside you will hover
My father and mother
And also your brother
Stay close to your side
With joy to abide.

This silvery ring
Is a tiny thing
But the pearls are real
And mayhap will heal.
Gollum to thee
I never will be
A traitorous blighter
Who’ll lead you to a spider
Or your finger bite
With hideous spite
But let me be Ninniach to you
A rainbow bridge with colors true.

Lord Elrond looked so very, very happy about his wife's news. I just cannot tell you what that does for me. After all this time, to see joy come to him. I remember how he looked the night I told him of my revelation. Exactly as one might expect…at first incredulity, then wordless wonder, and then…. “You are sure of this?” And then the light began to fill him, quietly—of course he has never been one to jump and shout—and I feared my heart would leap out of my chest, the way it was pounding. But I fixed my eyes on his, and then he was irradiated all over, and I began smiling also, and….

I looked to Guilin as we all sat in a sunny salon together, talking excitedly, and thought to ask Lord Elrond if Anemone might not come and stay with Raven at night until the wedding. I really didn’t like to think of her being alone. Watching her now, however, sitting between Northlight and Guilin with her basket of gifts, taking out the things and fondling them and smiling over them, particularly the little scroll with the poem, even if she could not read the writing, I thought perhaps it was unnecessary. But I decided to speak to Lady Elwing, just the same; maybe she could have the girl in her room at night.

And how happy SHE looked at the prospect of a new grandchild! Joy has come to her as well. My heart’s desire has come full circle. And just one more week now!

The following week when we returned, Guilin was much cheerier. He said Raven was crying far less. In fact, he had only seen her cry once that week. Lady Elwing had let her sleep in her room, and had stayed awake each night, sitting beside the bed, evoking the Lord of Dreams to make her slumber deep and pleasant. And Donnoviel had finished her wedding-dress, and had brought it to her yesterday to try on, and she was so thrilled with it and looked so beautiful, it was all they could do to persuade her to take it off again.

“The one with the light-chestnut hair that seems to float as thistle-down on a summer breeze,” he said. “And the golden-brown eyes that glint as honey from the blooms of clover, and skin like the lining of a pearly shell with a faint tinge of rose on the delicate cheekbones, and the slender form that moves as if hearing the secret shy thrumming of the morning stars, and the smile sweeter than spring sunlight through lacy clouds. Do you know which one I mean?”

“Yes, I believe I do,” I said smiling broadly. “She is a very nice girl. And I never heard you wax so poetical of Seldirima. That was quick, I must say.”

“And I think she likes me,” he said, dropping his voice to a whisper. “She smiles when she passes me by, whereas the others seem a little afraid of me. How much should I tell her of my past?”

“As much as she needs to know. I would recommend a middle ground—do not whitewash the facts too much, but surely there is no need to tell everything, either.”

“I doubt anyone here knows much about it, apart from my sister and yourself, and you would not tell her, would you?”

“Never, but I don’t think you should spare her too much. The truth has a trick of coming out in unexpected ways, particularly when unpleasant. And to quote an odd personage of whom I heard much from my cousins: Don’t be hasty. Give yourself time to heal before you take any heedless and drastic steps. I dare say Daeleth knows you are interested. So let things take their natural course.”

He reached over and took my hand with a gentleness I can hardly describe, covering it with both his own. Of what did that remind me??

Sam, is it possible you can convey the news of Lady C. to Arwen? I think she would love to know. I think Aragorn would be thrilled to hear I am to be married also, although you may have a hard time making him believe I am marrying a sea-lady....

And am I seriously mistaken in thinking there is yet another on the way for you and Rosie as well?

Now I know why it took Lyrien such a long time to finish the Anemone-doll—she made it wearing a bridal-gown!

Raven returned my three dolls when she received the two new ones, and set the little family on the table beside her bed. But she did look at me questioningly and made a little sign, and Anemone said to me, “She wants to know why there is no Guilin-doll.” And Raven nodded with a little embarrassed smile, then lowered her eyelids. I said Lyrien had not finished it yet and I would bring it by when she did, hoping I sounded convincing. I think I did. Well, it will be a lot of work for my little poppet-maker, but still--there really should be a Guilin-doll!

Gandalf and Dûndeloth came by later on to see Ríannor and the rest of us, and when Guilin was distracted by them, Lord Elrond took me aside and drew me into a room a good ways down the corridor.

“What is it?” I asked him. The room, I saw, was his private study, which led into the library. He closed the door behind us.

“It seems Guilin has another self,” Elrond lowered his voice. “He told me he has sometimes had periods in which he could remember nothing. That more than once, he awoke at the home of his friend Nithron with no recollection of how he came to be there, and Nithron told him he had claimed to be someone named Hathol, and had acted a total stranger. But Guilin could remember none of it. He said he thought he might have been stupefied by drink, but Nithron said no, he had not drunk to excess. This Hathol seemed an entirely different person from Guilin. Not that he was violent or deranged, merely different in a way that was very hard to describe. Guilin thought at first that Nithron was playing some ridiculous joke on him, but his friend thought exactly the same of him, except that 'Hathol' was just a little too convincing, and after a while he was terrified, fearing that Guilin was mad. He never spoke of this other personality to you?”

“Well…perhaps we should not use that word,” Lord Elrond smiled just a little. “I have heard of such things in Men, but never of Elves. I think the burden of memory was so heavy that he unconsciously became someone else in an attempt to escape it. He told me that was why he finally agreed to let you take his sister. He was afraid of what he might end up doing to her. Nithron told him he had been at his house for three days, and the only reason he didn’t throw Hathol out was because he was worried about Raven. The poor girl was, of course, worried to death when he did not come home. There is a kind lady who lives in the flat next to theirs, who goes to check on her sometimes, and Raven stayed with her for a while. She sent a party out to look for him, but no one could tell them where he was. Guilin told me he came close to putting Raven into the orphan’s home after that, but she was so upset and terrified, and he himself so hated the thought of being separated from her, he never could bring himself to follow through. He said he has become Hathol about four times since then, at least twice when Raven was there. She was frightened not because he did her harm, but merely because he was not himself. But he is afraid that there might be someone more dangerous inside of him waiting to come out also, and so he finally agreed to the adoption.”

“Poor fellow,” I said shivering all over. “He did the right thing by her then, and high time. But I have told him he might visit her and take her into the City. I suppose I cannot allow it now until he is fully recovered. No, he cannot have harmed her, or she would be afraid of him. But you and he are right. There may be something more evil inside of him, and I am afraid to allow him alone with her at all. He should have told me this. I wonder why he did not.”

“No, she is not afraid of him,” Elrond said thoughtfully, looking down at his fingers at the ruby ring he still wore on one of them. “I hoped they would do each other good here. Last week, she was often in tears, and I saw him lift her up in his arms and carry her about, up and down the corridors, as though she were a babe with the colic, or out into the garden, sometimes talking softly or singing to her, sometimes saying nothing at all, just ambling along. Sometimes he would hold her on his lap and sing to her until she was quiet. It was a sight that reduced Celebrían to tears, yet I thought they would do each other good.”

“It seems they have,” I said. “He seemed in better spirits today, and he said Raven had been crying far less this week.”

I wondered if I should speak of Daeleth. It would be betraying his confidence, but perhaps I should betray it a little for her sake. Yet could I break his trust in me now, when I had so newly gained it? Would it not undo the good that had been wrought in him?

“Yes, I have seen him showing interest in one of the maid-servants,” Elrond said, and I started. Well. I suppose I hadn’t made my thoughts private enough. “I will warn her off, and never tell him you spoke of it to me. Which, of course, you did not. I can see he is starting to regard you as a friend. And I think he is expecting his healing to happen overnight, but that will not be.”

“Neither has he spoken of it to me. I think he realizes now that he and his sister need each other. He loves her more than anything in the world, and I think now he will do anything for her, whatever it may cost him.”

“I would have you wear this during your stay,” she told him. “Please wear it beneath your shirt where Lord Elrond cannot see it. It once belonged to his daughter, whom he will never see again. You need not keep it a secret from him, simply refrain from dangling it in plain sight. She gave it to Iorhael before he left, saying it would bring him aid in a time of darkness, and it has done so.”
She took his hand and laid the jewel in it, then closed his fingers around it.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said, taking it and looking at it in wonder, then to his sister, who was standing with Northlight outside in the garden, looking at the stars that were just starting to appear. “But…”

“She has the glass, and the little dolls, which have dried athelas leaves in them,” I said. “The pendant has some of the same properties as the glass, being of the same light. I used to hold it in my hands, when I was receptive to it, I would sometimes hear a soft singing. It was the voice of Arwen Evenstar herself.

Drink the nectar of all beauty
let it stain your clothes
until you are all aglow
staggering, intoxicated
with the magic of your being.
Fill your throat with singing
whirl upon the sky
soar above the ether
in spirals ever growing
until you reach the summit
where all things do embrace.
Fear not to lift your eyes
to the bright unseeable;
mortal love, however great
sometimes is not enough
comes a time when some of us
must look to the Divine.*

We stayed at the Palace overnight, and later after I was in bed, I slipped out to visit the privy, then on an impulse I took my light and padded over to Guilin's room, and saw that he was asleep, lying on his side, clutching the pendant. His face looked calm--not peaceful exactly, but quiet, and I looked at him with tenderness for a long moment before I turned back for my room. That was when I noticed my phial was full again! How could that be?

Guess what Lyrien brought to me this morning? And I had not even spoken of the Guilin-doll to her yet!

Well, Hathol has complicated things somewhat. Raven will not be staying with Tamsin now, at least not for a good while yet. She wants to stay at the Palace and help take care of her brother, for as long as it takes. Do you wonder we’ve lost our hearts to the girl?

Elrond dismissed Perion from Guilin’s service. He does not really think Guilin would ever harm the boy, but he is taking no chances--he told me he could just see Perion's mother storming in here claiming that her only son was being “put in mortal peril.” Perion was none too pleased, at first, but I think deep down he is relieved, having confided to me once that Guilin was “of a gloomy-doomy sort for his liking,” and had a way of lowering his eyebrows and striking a dramatic attitude that could be rather unnerving, and also there was “something about fiddlers that gave him the willies.” But he said he was willing to stay with him because...note this...“it was what Sam would have done.”

But Elrond said he must appoint an adult to attend him, and finding one who was willing would be the tricky part. And Northlight has volunteered his service! I could hardly have been more surprised--he had once told me Guilin reminded him of his brother Darkfin, both in appearance and character.

“I am far stronger than I look,” he said, and by way of demonstration he walked over to a very large stone statue of a dog meant to represent Huan, and before anyone could speak, he had wrapped his arms around it and lifted it as easily as though it were a live puppy from its basket. I had to suppress a laugh at the way Lord Elrond’s eyes popped. Anemone grinned impishly at me and then to him. Northlight carefully set down the statue and then patted its head, and I did laugh then. So did Elrond.

“Very well then,” he said, “consider yourself appointed. But why do you wish to do this?”

“Perhaps I can make myself worthy of Raven that way,” Northlight said, reaching for her hand.

“You are already plenty worthy, I should say,” I told him, and Raven nodded in emphatic agreement, then shyly fingered a lock of his hair.

“But does HE think so?” Northlight said. “I will come home twice a week and keep up my work on the grounds. I—”

“Never mind that, Northlight,” I said. “We will see to the grounds. You shall stay here as long as you will. And may Anemone stay with Raven at night, until after the wedding, Lord Elrond? Only at night—she will not interfere with the treatment, but I do not like to think of Raven being alone in her bed.”

Raven made a sign to indicate that she would be all right, but I could see that she really wished to have Anemone there.

“She may,” Lord Elrond said. “But only at night, mind you. I shall move Guilin to another part of the Palace, so that--”

“She does not wish to be apart from him,” Northlight said. “She is not afraid of him.”

“She says he must be where he can see the Beacon,” Anemone said. Raven nodded. “She wants him near the garden, and near her.”

“I think he will be all right where he is,” I said. “Northlight can protect her if need be.”

“I will sleep in the adjoining room,” Northlight said. “There is a couch there which is very comfortable, and I need no blanket. Is there a stone dog like that anywhere else in the Palace, sir? I should very much like to have it in the room.”

“You may take it with you,” Elrond said with a smile. “I would offer to assist you with moving it, but I dare say you need none.”

Lyrien had made the Guilin-doll wearing his old motley costume, saying she liked it better. In the clothes he wore now, he looked like any other elf, she said. I told him this when we went to deliver the doll. He chuckled a little, but his eyes still looked despondent. Raven insisted on Guilin keeping the doll in his room. It would help him, she was sure, although he confided to me it made him a little nervous.

“What if it’s Hathol looking at me?” he said, picking up the poppet and eyeing it balefully. “I hate the sneaky bastard. Why he insists upon occupying my person, I still haven’t a clue.”

“Lord Elrond thinks perhaps it is your way of trying to escape your memories,” I said.

“In that case, why is it I can never remember him being there?” he said testily. “And he seems to do me no good, anyway. I’m still stuck with the memories after he takes his leave—why doesn’t he take them with him? All he does is get those around him rattled at the sight of some stranger taking over my body. I guess Lord Elrond told you Daeleth has left the Palace? You didn’t speak to her of my house-guest, did you?”

“No,” I assured him. “Lord Elrond noticed you looking her way, and warned her off. I was going to ask you to tell her yourself.”

“Well, I would have done so eventually,” he said, “although, as you now know, promptness is not one of my virtues. I suppose she’s going about the City now, spreading the word that Lord Elrond is keeping a dangerous lunatic in the Palace, without even chaining him in the dungeon. If there IS a bloody dungeon here.”

“There is, but I do not think it has been used for centuries,” I said. “And I doubt Daeleth will spread anything of the sort. She isn’t like that. And even if it isn’t to be Daeleth, there will be someone…when you are ready for her.”

“Did I tell you,” he said with a wry grin, “that Seldirima has got it about that her father withdrew his consent for our marriage, on the grounds that I am ‘of a dubious character’? Nithron told me, just the other day, when I ran into him in the City. Her way of saving her own face, I suppose. She's putting on quite a show, complete with hand-wringing and wiping away tears, but Nithron says that acting is definitely not in her blood. Well. At least she is unaware of just how dubious my character really is. Both of my characters, for that matter.”

“Perhaps you should try making friends with Hathol,” I suggested. Where that idea came from, I’ve no idea.

“Well,” I said, “perhaps if you ceased to regard him as a menace, and came to view him as a sort of respite…maybe he would go away, or cease to be. If you would reconcile yourself with him, offer him a sort of truce, he might, well…stop holding himself apart from you. Who do you suppose he is? Did you ever know anyone by the name of Hathol when you were younger, perhaps?”

“Not that I can remember,” he said frowning. “Do you mean to tell me you think I can kill the blighter by making up to him?”

I laughed a little. “Well, I wouldn’t put it that way. I think he may be a part of your own being with whom you somehow became estranged early in life, and he wants back in, and perhaps if you learned not to fear him, but to welcome him…then that lost part of you might become found again, and would help you in some way. It’s just an idea. I suppose it sounds daft, but…well, he does not sound dangerous, after all. It’s not been reported that he actually harmed anyone, merely unnerved them because he was in the wrong body.”

“Well, I don’t know of any better explanation,” he said, shaking his head, then picking up the doll once more. “But I would be content if he would just piss off and leave me in peace, myself. It’s hard enough being one person, I bloody well didn’t ask to be two.”

I went to him and laid an arm about his waist, and leaned my head against his shoulder for a moment. The afternoon sunlight was harsh on the doll’s scarlet cloak.

“I wish I could heal you myself,” I said, “but I must leave it to Lord Elrond.”

“You’ve done your part,” he said softly. “You got me here. Now it’s up to others to do the rest. And they've damned well got their work cut out for them.” Then he looked at the doll with a little more affection, fingering the red cloak, then he took it into Raven’s room and set it on her bed-table with the other four.

“He belongs there,” he said looking back at me with warm eyes, “along with his family.”

It was the thickest letter Arwen had ever received, almost half the size of the book that came with it. The page who presented it to her giggled when she joked that he needed a bigger charger.

She smiled as she opened the cover of the book, which was bound in soft red leather, and read the frontispiece, then thumbed through the pages. Little Eldarion, who had been playing contentedly with his blocks before the package arrived, had to come and inspect. Disappointed that the book did not appear to have any pictures in it, he turned his attention to the letter. His mother gently took it from him, although not before he managed to lick the seal, which looked to him like candy.

She was halfway through the third page before her son began squirming on her lap, so she set him down and tried to read in silence, but then he decided he wanted back up again, so she finally called for Mikala to come and fetch him. The girl took his hand, gently coaxing him to come with her to the garden. She was barely eighteen and looked even younger, so that she appeared more as an older sister than a nursemaid to the little Prince, but she did have a way with him. She took a bit of string from the pocket of her apron and asked him if he wanted to help her try to catch the bunny they saw in the garden yesterday, and he hopped along at her side as she ushered him out of the parlor. The Queen smiled, then turned back to the letter.

I hope you don’t mind terribly if I ask a favor of you. I send you this book that my master and Mr. Bilbo wrote in hopes that you could have it copied. I don’t have time myself, what with my duties as mayor, not to mention husband and father of two young uns and another that’s on the way. And I wouldn’t know who to ask here. But being as you had what you call scribes to set down our tale, and meaning no disrespect but they didn’t even come close to getting the whole story, I thought maybe you could see it done. So here it is and I think the rest of the world should have it also. I’m sure it’s most important that everybody knows what really happened, because if they don’t, I fear they’ll end up telling a stretched version to their young uns, if you take my meaning. And I know now that my master would not want that. After you read the rest of what I’m about to tell you, you’ll see why. That is, if you believe what I’m about to tell you in the first place, and don’t think I’ve gone round the bend….

She had finished the long letter and had begun re-reading it when someone came up behind her and covered her eyes with his hands. Supposing it to be Aragorn, she laid down the letter in her lap and put her hands over his wrists and caressed them.

“You will never believe this,” she said, as the hands took hers, “but Mother is with child. And Frodo is married.”

And when she heard two identical gasps, she looked up and saw both her brothers—Elladan being the one who stood behind her, Elrohir coming up close behind his twin. It was only at a distance that she could not tell them apart.

“Do you know,” Arwen said after she had finished reading the letter aloud, “I believe him. And I knew Nana was with child before I read it. Often I go out into the garden in the twilight and stand by the fountain and gaze at the Evenstar, and after a while…I can feel her. It’s as if our hearts are speaking to each other. And one night I came away with a feeling of great joy, although it was well into the evening when I realized why. And Sam very accurately described her in both character and appearance, don’t you think, even though he has never seen her. How could he have known?”

“He was in Imladris for a long time,” Elrohir pointed out from where he was sprawled gracefully on the floor, thoughtfully fiddling with one of Eldarion’s blocks. “Perhaps he heard someone talking of her, and saw a painting. There are several”

“He spoke of Dûndeloth also,” Arwen said. “Where could he ever have heard of Dûndeloth?”

“Why, everyone knows who Dûndeloth is,” Elladan said. He sat next to his sister on the settee, nibbling from a bowl of candied cherries. “He’s only the most famous poet in the civilized world.”

“Perhaps, but he speaks of Rûdharanion also,” Arwen said. “Here’s what he says:

I didn’t know who neither of them were. Now this Dûndeloth, I think I might of seen the name on one or two of Mr. Bilbo’s books, but I didn’t look inside of them. The other one I never heard of, and so I went to the library at Hobbiton and asked Miss Minnie Bulge, that’s the librarian, if she’d ever heard of him and did she have aught of his books. Turns out she knew both Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo, which was no surprise, and from the way she talked of him I’d say she was kind of sweet on Mr. Bilbo once, although she’s considerable younger than him, more Miss Lobelia’s age. Anyway, she had a couple of his books, and I peeked into one of them. It weren’t my kind of poetry by a long road, and I think some of it was a bit stretched, too. But he’s the one that made a play of our story. What I wouldn’t give to see that! But trust Mr. Frodo to make sure he wrote it like it really happened.

“What I wouldn’t give either,” she said. “If he’s making all this up, he certainly has an amazing imagination. I did not get that impression when he was here among us.”

“Did he say that Frodo was married?” Elladan chuckled. “Well well, the little devil. Who says size matters, after all? Or did our grandmother stow a few barrels of Ent-draught on board that ship?”

“Maybe a pretty hobbitess stowed herself away,” Elrohir said grinning. “Perhaps she followed hard behind, disguised herself as an elfling and sneaked on board. You never know what those little folk are apt to get up to, what?”

“Wrong on both counts,” Arwen laughed. “The lucky maiden is…and you are not going to believe this…a sea-creature.”

“Strange,” Elrohir said after a short silence, “for a moment there, I thought you said the lucky maiden was a sea-creature.”

“What a coincidence,” Elladan said snapping his fingers. “I thought she said the lucky maiden was a sea-creature also.”

“So he married a fish?” Elrohir said scratching his head. “I must admit I’ve having a hard time picturing that. You, brother?”

“Perhaps it’s a squid,” Elladan said tossing him a cherry. “Which is almost as difficult to picture, although at least, there’s the advantage of its being able to embrace. But just imagine the offspring!”

“More like a dolphin,” Arwen laughed as she picked up the letter again. “Here is what our chronicler says:

At first I didn’t know whether to believe him or not. It’s not like my master to make up stories, at least, not of that sort, and I was worried that maybe he was just making it all up so I’d think he was happy and all. But the way he talked of her, she seemed so real, and he was so happy, I could feel it. She is smaller than him, and very fair, and she had magical powers but had to give them up to wed him. And when he told all about the wedding, the air was just that full of joy, as though the sun had come down to pay a visit. And that Tom Bombadill fellow we met, well, he married a water-lady, didn't he, and there’s even a ballad about it, so why not Mr. Frodo? He said the Lord of the Waters chose her as his bride and she saved his life. As stretched as it sounds, I believe him. All the more so because just before Mr. Bilbo died he said I would come to the Island and then I would see for myself. Mr. Frodo would hardly be lying if he thought I was coming someday and would see her, would he now?

“See whom?” Legolas said from the doorway. He came in, clapped Elladan on the shoulder, and peered down at the letter. Arwen explained, laughing at the expression on his face.

“If this Galendur he mentioned is the same one I’m thinking of,” he said, “then I know him—very slightly. Young fellow he was, city-bred, a bit of a show-off, but very handy with a sword. Didn’t seem the sort Frodo would be likely to take up with, I should think.”

“Yes, the very one,” Arwen said. “Well, if there were ever any doubt in my mind as to the veracity of Sam’s story, that would dispel it, certainly.”

“And so Frodo married a sea-lady,” Legolas mused, leaning his elbow on Elladan’s shoulder and furrowing his brow trying to take it all in.

“And he has adopted a little elf-lass,” Arwen said. “And he called a lad back from the dead. And directed a play. And he has been made a prince. And he is a poet on top of it all, and a very good one. Look at this.”

“Frodo wrote this?” he said, then began to read through it. “This is wonderful…if a bit on the grim side.”

“Sam says he wrote it before departing,” Arwen explained. “I should imagine his poetry has taken a more joyous turn lately.”

“It sounds to me,” Elrohir said, “as though the Elf-side of him has completely taken him over.”

“I should say it does,” Arwen said softly. “And with Nana as well. And I know Ada is happy now.”

“What says the Evenstar tonight?” Aragorn asked as he sat on the edge of the bed and wrested off his boots. Arwen turned from the window and smiled.

“I think it will be a little sister,” she said. “And she will have hair as golden and rich and wondrous as her grandmother’s, and they will call her Lúthien for her ancestress.”

He came over to her and put his arms around her waist and they kissed before the starry window. Then he laid a hand on her belly.

“I do not know,” she laughed. “Is that not strange? And it will be older than its aunt.”

He laughed also. Then he put on his dressing-gown and they went out to sit on the balcony and look at the stars for a while. She took one of his bare feet in her lap and massaged it. He closed his eyes blissfully.

“And Frodo is married,” he said after a few moments without opening his eyes. “And Sam is happy about it, I know. I’m glad he is at peace also. And Gandalf is betrothed? That's the hardest of all to imagine.”

Arwen was silent, looking up at the brightest of the stars, which hung over the Tower west of them, then at her husband with a little sigh. He opened his eyes then.

And later as they turned and went back into the bedroom, arms about each other’s waists, neither of them saw the Tower take on a glimmer at the very top, which slowly brightened until it was as if several of the stars had taken refuge inside and begun to pulsate with an uncontainable if bittersweet joy.

Ahhhh, married life!! HOW did I exist before it?? To think one day I was one person, and now I am someone utterly different—but of course, you KNOW that feeling! And to think I am now one of the initiated…passion to be fulfilled, the steady building to an unspeakable climax and the sweet settling into the most perfect peace imaginable, a hand to hold in the night, a lovely face to waken to in the morning, a companion to grow old with…and now, to think I can give her all that she gives me!

And guess what...the day after the wedding, as we finally managed to get ourselves up to get breakfast, and take it out on the terrace as always, I happened to notice a circle of the golden mushrooms—growing all around the gazebo! I looked to Anemone, and she looked out at them and back to me with an expression of puzzlement, then at them again…and back to me, and we both smiled.

But you must not suppose that we spend ALL our time engaged in the practice of the conjugal arts! We are not neglecting Guilin and Raven. Raven is our daughter now, after all. And we wish to know how Guilin is faring.

He is not doing as well as I hoped. He has taken to sitting in his room, staring out the window, motionless, for hours at a time, wearing but his dressing-gown, his hair uncombed, his feet bare. Raven sometimes sits beside him, holding his hand, but he does not respond. Lord Elrond told me he thinks that now that Guilin has turned Raven over to capable hands, he can retreat to a distant place inside of himself, an indulgence he had to deny himself when he had the care of her.

I went to him one visiting-day and found him so. I wished I knew Rûdharanion’s mind-probe so that I could find out what, if anything, he was thinking. I thought perhaps he was thinking nothing at all, that he had emptied his mind of all thought, all memory, all sensation, all awareness.

I sat beside him and began talking aimlessly. I told him Raven had signed “I love you” to Little Iorhael in temple that day and he had smiled at her. I said I wished to send her to school at the Orphanage, since I wouldn’t have time to teach her at home. I said Emleth asked after her often. I told him what Perion told me about Northlight--he sleeps in the little sitting-room between Guilin’s and Raven’s rooms, but not on the couch, and Nieriel, Raven’s hand-maid, had peeped in one morning and nearly fallen over to see him sleeping on the floor with his head on a pillow against the stone dog…which was not in his usual position sitting on his haunches, but rather lying on his side, legs stretched out. She stifled a squeak and ran in to waken Raven, took her hand and pulled her into the room. Yes, the dog was on his side, Raven corroborated her story. But the next time they went in and Northlight had gone out, the dog was in his usual position. I didn’t even know if it were true or if the girls had made it up to amuse me. Anemone said if it were true, she hoped Northlight wouldn’t do the same trick with the bronze boy in our bath-house.

Finally I went out to the garden where Raven sat on a bench with Northlight and Anemone. They looked hopefully at me, a look that pierced me to the heart, and I shook my head. Then Raven made a sign.

“She says,” Northlight told me softly, “that she wishes her brother to be erased so that he will be happy again.”

I looked at her stricken and she lifted her huge dark eyes that seemed full of the sorrow of all the ages, her mouth beginning to quiver. She made another sign, then burst into tears. Northlight put both arms around her and she sobbed convulsively against his shoulder. Anemone put an arm across her back and stroked her hair.

Swallowing hard, I went back into Guilin’s room. I told him Raven wanted him to be erased so that he could be happy, and asked him what he thought about that.

No response. I took his hand and guided it to the Evenstar that hung about his neck, then went back out. Raven was leaning against Northlight, her sobs welling up from time to time. He stroked her hair, slowly, from the roots to the ends, speaking to her in words that were inaudible to me. My throat tightened again.

“Raven,” I said coming over to lay a hand on her shoulder and kiss her wet cheek, “even if he IS erased, he will still be your brother, dear one. We will make sure he comes to know you again.”

“I think not,” I said. “The length of time it takes varies with the person. With Ríannor, it was but a few weeks.”

“Please tell him not to begin it just yet,” Anemone said. “I have an idea. Certainly a shot in the dark…but let us try it.”

By the way, Sam, I had a strange and wonderful dream last night. I dreamt that the Tower of Ecthelion became alight at the top just like Lady Elwing’s tower. And the beams from each tower found each other over the vast distance and connected, and a voice proclaimed, “The Light of Truth outshines the sun!”

Guilin was a little more himself today. He was still sitting by the window, but at least he nodded to me as I entered.

He shrugged. “I saw no point in going,” he said in a voice that seemed to come from a place far back in his head. “It wasn’t helping. In fact, I think it was having the opposite effect.”

“Several people asked after you,” I said. “You do know, don’t you, that Raven asked for you to be erased?”

“Yes,” he sighed, rubbing his temples. “I suppose you think I’m a selfish old coward? But what else is there to do? Perhaps it would be better for her in the long run. She wouldn’t have to live with the ruin I’ve become.”

“Perhaps so,” I said softly, laying something in his lap. “Marílen made this for you,” I said. He picked it up and looked at it with lifted eyebrows. It was a picture book.

“Dínlad’s little sister. Remember Dínlad? He played me last year, and will do so again this year.”

Guilin looked at the picture-book without answering. On the cover was a drawing of the light-house, birds flying about it, and the sea in the background—with a flamingo wading in the surf, I noticed with amusement. Marílen is partial to flamingos, and once said she wished her daddy would carve one out of red coral to put in their front-yard. Guilin opened the book to the first drawing, which depicted myself and Anemone at our wedding, with the light-house in the background. Lyrien and Marílen stood at Anemone’s other side, in their blue dresses, and Northlight and Raven stood a little off at my other side. The words IN LOVE FOR EVER MORE, THROUGH OUT ALL ETERNITY were painted in fancy letters at the bottom of the picture. There were portraits of me and of Anemone, and Lyrien, Northlight, and Raven, and of Gandalf and Ríannor, of Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian, and Lady Galadriel…and yes, one of Guilin also. There was another of Guilin playing his fiddle as Raven danced, and one of myself and Anemone riding along in our pony-cart, and one of the peacock, even. And Galendur and Tilwen with Little Iorhael, and many others. The pages were carefully sewn together with bright-red ribbon.

“She didn’t draw all the pictures,” I said. “They are by several children.”

I turned to the doorway and motioned for Northlight to come in. He was pushing a wheel-barrow. Guilin's eyes widened as he saw the pile of things in it.

“Yes, they are for you,” I said smiling. “They are from children all over the Island, from my orphans also. Some of them made things; others gave things they had already. They badly wanted to cheer you.”

Guilin began picking up the things and examining them one by one as Raven stole in with Anemone. There were stuffed animals, carved ones, a little pillow of crimson velvet trimmed with lace, with “Guilin” embroidered in gold on it--Emleth's contribution. And an ebony mug with a dwarf-face carved on it, and a ball with his name pricked on it. And such unlikely objects as a lace doily, a silk scarf, a walking-stick, a coral necklace, a bag of marbles, a painted silk fan, a sundial, a jar of sweets, a horse-shoe, and other things. There was a bundle of letters and notes also, which Anemone had tied with a gold ribbon.

Guilin sat holding it in both hands. “I’ve seen this before,” he stammered, “but…but…”

“It’s Dínlad’s,” I said, looking to Anemone, who stood with Raven looking solemn and even close to tears. “He carried it with him always, slung on a leather thong around his neck. Probably took it to bed with him at night. I can’t believe he would…he doesn’t even know you.”

“I remember now,” he said in soft wonder. “I remember seeing the boy with the horn, around town, on the stage, on the beach…you must give this back to him. It was surely a great treasure of his.”

“It was Anemone’s doing,” I said looking to my bride, who smiled shyly. “She and Northlight conspired behind my back once more. I knew naught of it until today. I should have, however—she can look innocent as her namesake-flower, and that’s when you’ve got to look out for her.”

“But why would Dinlad give this to me?” Guilin said. “He does not know me from…from a hole in the wall.”

“He wanted to be like Iorhael,” Anemone said. “He said it seemed something Iorhael would do—give up the thing he treasured most for the sake of someone else.”

I felt myself blush. This was how Dínlad saw me? It was not even true. Had it not taken outside intervention to make me give up my treasure for the sake of others?

“And he said that he thought he could play him better this year if he did something he thought Iorhael would do,” Anemone added. “I tried to talk him out of it. I suggested he make something. He’s very good at wood-carving. But no, he would give you the horn. He said he did not want you to be erased, for he admired you, and he hoped the horn would make you change your mind.”

Guilin stared at the horn a good long moment. My head fairly spun from the silence in the room. Raven sniffled. Northlight clutched her hand. Guilin looked at her, then at the horn, at Northlight and Anemone, at me, at the horn, and Anemone again.

“Then you must tell him,” he said hoarsely, cradling the horn to him as though it were a newborn child, “that Guilin offers his profoundest thanks for his more than generous gift, that he will take the greatest possible care of it…and that it worked.”

“I have been trying to take your advice,” he told me, as we left Northlight and Raven strolling about the garden, and Anemone sat and talked with Lady C., “and ‘make friends’ with Hathol. I told Lord Elrond what you said about it, and he said it sounded a good idea. Then a few days later, I woke with a feeling of peace I had not known since I don’t know when. My sister kept looking at me fearfully all through breakfast, and that’s when Northlight told me I had been ‘someone else’ for two days. Of course, I did not remember a thing. I only knew I had awoken feeling more relaxed and cheerful. I think you had a good point about him taking over for me to give me a break from the burden of memory. Perhaps he really is just standing guard so I can get some sleep, so to speak.”

I saw he had set some of the gifts about on shelves and on the wardrobe, and in the window, and even on the bed, so it looked almost like a play-room. The picture-book, I noted with a smile, lay on the bed-table with the sheaf of letters. And the horn lay on a small table between the chairs in which we sat facing the window. Most of the obviously feminine items he had given to Raven. But the embroidered and fragrant lacy pillow lay on the bed.

“From what they told me, he seems a rather pedantic and tedious chap,” Guilin said with a chuckle. “Scarcely dangerous, but not exactly someone I’d choose as a chum, either. I hope he didn’t bore everyone out of countenance. Sometimes I can feel that old restlessness stirring in me, the wish to break out and get away from everything, that I used to feel in my youth. But of course, there’s only so much ground I can cover here. Sometimes I feel that keenly, and I think, just supposing I do recover, what then? Where will I go from there? Shall I marry, get a position, settle down and raise a family? I came close to trying all that, but to be truthful, I find the prospect a bit frightening now.”

“It suits me just fine,” I pointed out. “Yes, once I was as you, somewhat, and liked to go off once in a while tramping in the wild, seeing new places, meeting new people, having small adventures, not wishing to be tied down to the same routine. Thanks to the legacy Bilbo left me, I was free to do so. Yet I was always glad to return home and sleep in a bed with a roof over my head once more. I can see why the sort of life I am living now may not seem very interesting to those who know nothing of it. It’s scarcely the stuff of adventure tales. Yet it is the stuff of paradise. Our house has never been more aptly named.”

“Ah yes—‘The House of Joy and Delight’,” Guilin snapped his fingers. “You know, the first time I saw that name, I thought it sounded rather like a…well…”

“You can say it,” I grinned. “Bilbo and Galendur thought so too.” We laughed.

“By the way,” he said, “at the wedding I saw you talking to a lady who was very attractive. I felt I had seen her before. Tall, wearing a light-green gown, wavy dark brown hair spilling down her back like syrup from a jug, and a pair of astonishing blue-green eyes looking out from some rather straight thick eyebrows and angular features, like the sea in the sunlight seen through the branches of a dark tree. Do you recall the one?”

“That would be Nessima,” I suppressed a laugh. “She is the head matron of the orphans’ home. Scarcely your type, I should think, and at least twice your age.”

“Well, damn my eyes,” he said looking shocked. “Yes, that’s where I met her. Yet I thought her hard-nosed and old-maidish, and I’m sure she considered me an outlandish wastrel, and rightly so. She’s improved vastly from the last time I saw her. I never supposed she could look like that.”

“Nor did I. I thought as you did when I first met her. But eventually I came to see a different side of her, and now we are good friends. She is of a bookish sort, still rather proper and orderly and no-nonsense, yet she does have a sense of humor and deep down she is quite the romantic, try as she might to conceal it.”

“Hmm. It does seem an unlikely match, what? Yet you did manage to get around her. You have quite a gift for that, I've noticed. Daeleth seems a bit flimsy and too sweet now by comparison, and as for Seldirima, I can’t imagine what I ever saw in her, fickle bastard that I am.”

“Worse than Rûdharanion,” I laughed. “But I told you before and I will tell you again, you must find complete healing and peace before you can find love. Not the other way around--trust me, it does not work that way. You must give yourself time and have patience, and work toward what you want. It will not be easy, but it will pay off, I promise you.”

“Not easy at all,” he admitted. “It’s definitely not something that comes naturally to me. But I suppose you are right.”

“I hope I don’t sound as pedantic as Hathol,” I said, “but…seeing as how you missed Temple—again—I thought I might tell you what the priest said this morning. A professor began his class by holding up a glass of water, asking his students to guess its weight. The students tried, then the professor said, ‘I really would not know unless I weigh it, but my question is, What would happen if I held it like this for a few moments?’ ‘Nothing,’ the students said. ‘What would happen if I held it up like this for an hour?’ asked the professor. ‘Your arm would begin to ache.’ said one of the students. ‘You are right,’ said the professor. ‘Now what would happen if I held it like this for a day?’ ‘Your arm would go numb, you might have severe muscle stress and paralysis, and might even have to have the healer,’ ventured another student. ‘Very good. But during all this, did the weight of the glass change?’ asked the professor. ‘No,’ replied the students. ‘Then what caused the arm to ache and the muscle to stress?’

“There’s a point in all this, I know,” he said after a moment, “but I’m rather a lazy chap, and not given to serious pondering or solving riddles. So tell me, what’s the lesson beneath?”

“Life's problems are something like this,” I explained. “Hold on to them for a few minutes in your head, and they seem all right. Think of them for a long time and they begin to ache. Hold them even longer, and they begin to paralyze you, and you will be able to do naught else. It is important to think of problems in your life, but even more important to put them down at the end of every day before you go to sleep. That way you wake the next day and are fresh and strong to take on fresh challenges.”

“I’m even worse at putting glasses down,” he said, and I laughed out loud. To my amazement and delight, so did he. “You know, you really should bottle and sell that laugh of yours,” he said after a thoughtful moment. “It would fetch a fair price among healers, I’m sure.”

“Have you figured how to blow the horn?” I asked him as he picked it up from the little table.

“Blow the horn?” he said. “Is there another lesson in this? It’s a bit much in one day for my brain, you know.”

“No no no no, I just thought that blowing on it might be an outlet when your feelings built up and you felt an urge to yell and scream, but feared it wouldn’t be decorous or that it would frighten others. Perhaps if you took it out to the garden and blew a few hearty blasts, it would be a way of yelling without giving alarm.”

“So show me,” he said as we went out to the garden. “That kind of lesson I could learn, I’m sure.”

“It takes practice,” I said after I had instructed him and then wiped off the mouthpiece and handed the horn back to him. “And I know Dínlad would be pleased and comforted to know his horn is being put to such good use.”

“So what do I call you now?” he asked as we ambled back indoors later, thinking it must be getting on for supper-time. “You are my sister’s father…and yet I can’t very well call you 'father' myself, can I? I’m at least five times your age, although you’ve got it all over me where wisdom and good sense are concerned. ‘Brother’ would scarcely do either.”

Anemone and Lady C. were giggling uproariously together when I found them in the garden, and it seemed to me they sounded rather, erm, naughty. A few days ago, Galendur had told me he overheard Anemone and Tilwen comparing our…ahem…performances. “I think I need to borrow that book of yours,” he said with a wink. I knew how hard I must be blushing, and he laughed at me and slapped me hard on the back and said I was full of surprises without a doubt.

“We were discussing the correct way to launder handkerchiefs,” Anemone said when I asked them if they were having an interesting conversation. She looked at Lady C. ever so sweetly, and the Lady looked back just as sweetly.

“And how to grow…mustard,” Anemone said. “It was mustard, wasn’t it?”

“Most certainly mustard,” Lady C. said with a solemnity worthy of the Temple itself.

“And besides domestic matters,” Anemone said, “we discussed literature.” She took a piece of candy from the glass bowl that sat between the two ladies, and popped it daintily into her mouth.

“Literature. But of course,” I imitated Galendur a little. Tilwen had once commented that I was the only one who could imitate him successfully.

“I’ll have to take your word on that,” Guilin said. “I don’t think I’ve peeped into one in over a hundred years.”

“Perhaps you should try it someday,” Lady C. said blandly. “It could be...most enlightening.”

“Do I get the distinct feeling there’s another riddle in this?” Guilin said lowering his eyebrows.

“Could be,” I said winking at the ladies. “We Bagginses have always been good with riddles. At times it has proved our salvation.”

“A savior’s work is never done,” Anemone said gently, reaching over to lay her hand on mine.

“Never,” I agreed, taking her fingers to my lips as I looked into her twinkling eyes, “and neither is her husband’s.”

“So, do you feel up to Chapter Five tonight?” Anemone asked me as we rode home alone in the dusk.

“I was thinking of Chapter Six,” I said, nuzzling her hair and breathing deeply of its fragrance, “but Chapter Five would do just as well, I’m sure.”

“Perhaps we could do both--that is, if you think you’ve the stamina for it.”

“I think I could muster it somehow,” I said as I turned onto a more private road.

“Perhaps we’ll write our own chapter someday,” she said, taking her foot out of her slipper and caressing mine with it. “Oooo…I LOVE this fur!”

“Perhaps so,” I chuckled. “There are worse things one can be known for.”

“Come to think of it,” she said, “Chapter Four was really nice last night. Really, REALLY nice.”

“Was it? I didn’t notice,” I said. She giggled. “Was that what you were discussing so earnestly with Lady Celebrian? Chapter Four?”

“We princesses must stick together, you know,” she said very primly, glancing up at the emerging stars.

“I’ve said it before,” I said after a long moment, “but…I can scarcely tell you how wonderful it is that you love it as much as I do. If you didn’t, that would be simply terrible.”

“How can I not?” she giggled. “When you have such marvelous book-learning.”

“Ah, so I take it you do not consider The History of Tol Eressëa to be of vast superiority?” She referred to a tome with which someone had presented me shortly after my arrival.

“It has its merits, but no, I don’t think so.” I could hear a nightingale deep in the distance. Anemone kissed my ear caressingly.

“Not even that one. Although there is no question of its wisdom.” Actually, at the moment I could not recall a single word that was in it. Not the way her fingers were fumbling at my cravat.

“I must admit,” she said, “that I myself prefer our book over Lady Celebrían’s The Complete and Comprehensive Guide to the Art of Cookery.”

“That one runs it a fairly close second,” I said. “So…you do not miss your powers now?” I had not asked her before, and had resolved not to. But it had to come out.

“What powers?” she said, running her fingers very lightly over my cheek and throat in a way she knew drove me absolutely wild. “My Prince, your magic leaves mine in the dust. And that is the absolute truth.”

“Thank you,” I said, just before I took her chin to guide her mouth to mine. “That’s all I really needed to know.”

Raven and Northlight are home at last! As wonderful as it has been to have our privacy as newlyweds, it is more wonderful still to have our family all together now. Hard to believe we have been married all of four months!

It has been three months since Hathol made his last appearance. I do not like to take Raven from her brother, but I think she needs to be at home with her parents now. And it is six weeks until the school session begins, and I want her to have a good long carefree holiday before it starts. Perion will take Northlight’s place at the Palace.

We have fixed up my former bedroom for Raven with some things Lady C. gave us—white lace curtains, white coverlet, a pretty flowered rug, and some shelves on which to set the pretty things people have given her. As a finishing touch I placed the chalice I saw her take from the bag the first night she was with us upon her chest of drawers. But I don’t think she likes it half so well as her little doll-family from Lyrien!

Her scars are nearly gone. Guilin says his own are beginning to fade—he first noticed a change a few days after Hathol’s last visit. He will stay at the Palace until his healing is complete, and then they will decide what he should do and where he should go.

As we drive through the gateway, Emleth, Lyrien, and Marílen are waiting with baskets of flowers and baked goodies for her. They all squeal and run to meet her as she bounds out of the cart before we come to a full stop. Chattering all together, they grab her hands and lead her to the terrace, across which a wide banner is strung: WELCOME HOME RAVEN & NORTHLIGHT! In her new bedroom they help her take out her things and set them around, babbling: “Who gave you THAT?” “Look, we should put this here, no, over there…” “Raven, it’s so JOLLY to have you here!” I thought she might be disappointed by the plainness of the dresses we had made for her, but the two embroidered aprons Emleth and Tamsin made enhance them beautifully. I wonder what she will think of the room also, it being such a far cry from her splendid palace chamber, but I think its simplicity suits her far better.

And Northlight says it is wonderful to be back in his stable-room. Although he does miss the stone dog!

At lunch-time Raven looks about at us and makes a sign to indicate that she is the only one in the family who doesn't have blue eyes. Northlight shakes his head no, that is not so. There is her brother, he says in his serious way, and she lights up then at us all and signals to me to pass her the strawberries and cream. My heart nearly bursts as I watch the two of them re-acquaint themselves with the cottage and grounds, and I truly wonder if I could love them any more if they were the children of my own body….

Now the girls are playing on the beach, and Anemone has gone to join the four of them. Northlight, Guilin, and I sit together, watching them and discussing college. Northlight plans to attend this session. He and Guilin have grown quite close, not surprisingly, for all they are so different. Guilin told me recently that he could think of no one he would rather have as a brother-in-law than Northlight!

Northlight is trying to persuade Guilin to enroll in the college with him. He did go for some time when he was a lad, he said, but couldn’t fix himself to it. He just isn’t the academic sort.... As they discuss, I light my pipe and watch the girls. Their long hair, gold, brown, copper, black-brown, and blue-black, some braided and some not, dazzling in the light, against the silky blue and green and silver of the sea. Raven points out something to the little girls, which turns out to be a crab, and they squeal and back off, and Emleth laughs. Anemone picks up the crab and speaks gently to it, but I cannot hear what she says.

Then suddenly, the crab speaks! I can hear its tiny voice distinctly: Please don’t eat my legs! Anemone drops it with a startled squeak and the girls scream. Anemone laughs and shakes a finger at Northlight, and we laugh uproariously. Emleth asks what is happening. Lyrien explains, “It was Northlight! HE made the crab talk!” and Emleth giggles nervously. Marílen says, “MY brother can’t do that,” and there is more laughter. Raven looks proud and radiant. Anemone picks up the crab once more and wades out and sets it down in the water. The sunlight makes rippling fire of her hip-length hair as it brushes the waves. I wonder if it is possible to die of happiness….

Where has the time gone? Now it is one week until the next school session begins, and I hope I can persuade Raven to attend classes at the Orphanage. Northlight taught her to read a little at the Palace. She did not take very well to it, but she can write her letters and spell a bit. Even so, I am wondering how I will get her over her fear of the Orphanage….

“I have an idea,” Northlight said when I confided all this to him. “Before we take her there, let’s go to the college and take a tour of it. Perhaps if she sees where I am going to school, she won’t be so afraid of her school.”

The college affords a view of the sea and the harbor. It is about four stories high, with rounded windows and plenty of shade, a fountain out in front, stone benches and flower-beds and some fine statuary.

A couple of professors stand beside the fountain, and they wave cheerfully to us as we drive up. Northlight helps Raven out of the cart as I stop to let them off and then drive off to find a place to tie the ponies. Raven takes his arm with a smile. I have explained to Northlight that it is considered unseemly here for lovers to hold hands in public, and the proper way is for the male to hold his arm out at a slight angle and the female lays her hand over his forearm with her wrist underneath.

“I do not know, truly,” I said, thinking, really, why? “But when we go to live in a certain country, we must abide by the customs of that country, instead of expecting it to adapt itself to ours.”

“Yes, that is a concession the Island has made to me,” I said. “Sometimes a country makes concessions to those who come to live there, if those people are willing to adapt themselves to its customs otherwise. And sometimes they even end up adopting your customs as their own. You may have noticed that your mother wears her skirts almost to her ankles, instead of just below the knee as she did when she first came to the Island. She hates to wear a long gown, but realized that some compromise had to be made. And now, if you’ve noticed, many young ladies here have taken to wearing their gowns ankle length. She has set a trend. Of course, the older ones are not too happy about that, I’m sure.”

“Older folk do not take well to new things,” I said. “But sooner or later, new things become old, and then the elders sometimes accept them.”

“I like new things,” Northlight said earnestly, and I chuckled. “Don’t you?”

“Sometimes, depending on what they are. It would be frightfully dull if there were no new things. Yet sometimes they can be a bit unnerving. Where I come from, folks do not take well to change.”

“Same here. I did not think I would like change, when I first came here. But the more I stayed, the more I got used to the newness. Now it seems like oldness, and I do not wish to go back to my former ways. Especially now that I have Raven…and you, and my friends. Being landish is a wondrous thing. One finds much that is new and beautiful and exciting, and once that happens, there is no going back.”

Dûndeloth greets us as we enter the college. He asks Northlight if he will be playing Gollum again this year. Northlight says yes.

“It will be easier this time,” he says. “I will not have to play Ninniach playing Gollum, at least. I will be playing but one character now. That is far less confusing.”

Northlight looks puzzled. “Why, whatever the other students study,” he says. “You mean, I have choices?”

“Of course.” Dûndeloth lifts his eyebrows. “What is it you wish to be?”

“I don’t know exactly. I am content with what I do now—taking care of my ada’s land, helping him with his fruit-harvest, tending the ponies and the garden and so forth. Now that I am a princeling, however, I suppose I should learn something of it. I should take courses in ruling, and commanding, and so forth.”

I suppress a smile, and hope Dûndeloth will refrain from grinning…and so he does.

“Perhaps you could be an ambassador,” he suggests. “The sea-folk are not represented in the councils at Aman. I doubt they are represented anywhere?”

“No sir, they are not,” Northlight says. “Do you really think I could be one? I have naught to do with my own people now. I have seen none, apart from my mother, since I have been living on the land.”

While Northlight and Dûndeloth speak with an academic advisor, Anemone, Raven, and I slip about the hallway, peering into doorways at the classrooms. They are large and airy, with high ceilings and tall windows, and black marble floors. There are frescoes on some of the walls, some depicting the Valar, some battle-scenes, others representing the awakening of the Firstborn, ships sailing into the harbor, and…the forging of the Great Rings.

“Why, look!” Anemone says, running up to one. “Isn’t that Olórin there?” I blink at the picture that represents the Maiar sent to Middle-earth, and recognize Gandalf among them.

“Yes, that’s he,” I say in admiring delight. “Strange how he is still recognizable, even in that guise. I wonder if he has seen this painting.”

Raven makes signs. I have learned much of her hand-language by now, so Anemone and Northlight do not always have to translate.

“No, they have not depicted the toppling of Sauron’s tower here yet, dear one,” I say. “But I dare say they will, before long.”

“Look at this,” Anemone says, beckoning to us from another room. We go to where she stands, and yes, there is a scaffold before an unfinished mural in which I can recognize the Tower with the Flaming Eye atop, and Mt. Doom erupting, and the cataclysm at hand. And two little figures huddled together on the outcropping, sketchy they are, but it takes little cudgeling of the brain to figure whom they are meant to represent. And in the stormy distance I can see the outlines of eagles’ wings.

Raven holds her hands to her heart. Anemone looks up at the unfinished work in wide-eyed wonder. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Northlight coming up behind us, but I do not turn my head. Three years ago, I could not have looked upon this work. Now I am transfixed. This is why I am here, standing beside my wife and son and daughter, inside the enchanted circle that surrounds us, looking up at the representation of the Land of Darkness here in the Land of Light. That black tower with the burning eye, now given way to the white tower from which the Beacon now radiates across the Sea. I feel Anemone’s hand slide about my waist, and Northlight’s hand on my shoulder. Raven points to the little figures and looks questioningly at me, and Northlight nods to her, taking her hand. She smiles in that way she has, that can light an entire room.

“I only hope,” I say finally, “that Dínlad and Perion can handle that scene together. And yes…you too, Northlight. But as for myself...no, there is no going back.”

Nessima looks surprised to see us, although I have already told her I wish to enroll Raven in the school at the Orphanage. Raven is pale and trembling. Northlight holds to her hand firmly and Anemone keeps an arm about her waist.

“I can bring her in the morning,” I say, “and go about my duties, then come and get her after school and take her home. May we look about the place?”

“I will go with you,” Nessima says. Once more she is in the severe dark dress she normally wears, her hair in its accustomed tight braid. Raven has to look far up to make eye-contact with her, she is so tall.

“First I will show you where I work,” I say to Raven. We enter a study where my desk sits facing the door, and there is a book-case behind it, and a good many drawers full of files and documents. On the other side are some comfortable chairs, a round rug and a little table on which lie some toys and books.

“This is where people come to discuss with me when they wish to adopt a child,” I explain. “Or if they wish to talk about the child they have adopted and any problems or questions they might have. I also counsel the orphans here. It is right above the laundry, where they do all the washing. The laundresses are often quite noisy, and if they start talking too loud when I am in counsel, I can take this—” I pick up a large staff and rap it on the floor rather hard. “—and then they know to quieten down.”

I hope that will make Raven smile, but she just looks tight-lipped at the staff.

“Of course I never use it on anyone,” I assure her. “Come, let us go look at some of the other rooms.”

I lead her into the library, then the dining-hall. I show them the sewing-room, in which several girls sit about stitching on bed-linens, clothing, and other items. They look at us curiously, and some of them smile at me, as I introduce my family with fatuous pride. The smallest comes eagerly forward to show me her work. It is a nightgown, and some of the older ones look embarrassed, but I smile and tell her that her skill is remarkable in one of her age, which it is, then I kiss her forehead and she skips back to her seat, beaming. Raven looks a trifle less tense.

I take them upstairs to show them the girls’ dormitory. I knock upon the door of one of the rooms. No one answers, so I open the door. There are eight beds, four on one side and four on the other. I had new snowy dimity coverlets made for them recently, the old ones being a bit worn and dingy, and filmy white curtains hang at the windows where once there were none. And soft little rugs lie beside each bed, where once the floor was bare. Flanking the doors are shelves on which the girls can keep their things, and I can see dolls and books and shells and pretty boxes and other keep-sakes sitting about. Each girl owns one shelf, and is responsible for keeping it neat and clean.

At the end of the room is a wide doorway leading into a little study with a long table and bookcases flanking a small fireplace. Two large windows afford a lovely view of the forest, and the Beacon can be seen from them at night. Raven gasps and points to a painting above the mantel-piece, and Anemone smiles. It is a copy of Ríannor’s mosaic, made by one of the older orphans. I had forgotten the picture was there.

Then I take them downstairs to view the school-rooms. They are, of course, far different and less impressive than the ones at the college, but, in my opinion, more appealing in their simplicity. There are maps and drawings by the pupils pinned to the walls, and chalk-boards washed clean, and interesting objects on shelves: curved glasses for magnifying leaves and things, odd-looking rock-formations, clay models of birds and animals, instruments of measurement.

All this is totally new to Raven. She picks up the things and examines them, and I show her how to use some of them. I take one of the magnifying-glasses and show her how a butterfly’s wing looks under it, and the tips of her fingers, a hair from her head, the iris of my eye. I take a ruler and measure each of our heights. Nessima shows us how to use the more complicated instruments. Her manner seems softer and less abrupt now. We hear giggles in the hallway, and Nessima goes and shoos a couple of little ones out, telling them to go back to the play-room, the Prince is busy now and will see them later. But I think it is the Princess they are most eager to see! Anemone pokes her head out the door and wiggles her fingers at them, and they fairly light up the hall-way.

Then we follow Nessima out to the play-yard. Boys and girls play together, and one of the laundresses is hanging out sheets on a line. When a ball comes bouncing her way, she catches it. When a boy comes to claim it, she playfully pretends to throw it to him, and he growls at her with mock fierceness, whereupon she throws it gently past him, and he turns and runs after it.

“I spoke to Nessima,” I said to him, “as you wished. She thanks you for your interest, but says she is content as she is, and has no wish to marry. She is wedded to her work, and the orphans are her children. She truly does love them, in her strict, strait-laced and sober way, it’s true, but love them she does. She would not stay with them if she did not.”

She has the look now of someone who is exactly where she should be, and can imagine no other place. I think I must have that look myself.

Raven is calm and smiling as we take our leave, and I feel a welling of gladness and love and gratitude. But then she grows more serious, and signs so rapidly I cannot follow. Anemone and Northlight look to each other, to the school, to Raven, then to me.

“She says,” Northlight tells me, “that she is not afraid of the Orphans’ Home any longer. She says she was foolish to be so frightened, and she loves you for helping to make it nice and pretty for the orphans and giving them counsel. She says the school-rooms look very interesting. But, she does not wish to attend school here, for now she does not belong. She would go to school with Emleth and the others now because, she says, she is not an orphan any more.”

At the very last minute Guilin decided to enroll in the college with Northlight. Needless to say, Northlight is thrilled. It will be much easier to have a friend along, and they can study together and help each other over the rough parts.

Why is Guilin going? Well…it seems he cannot get Nessima out of his mind. He has tried looking at others, but she is the one he keeps going back to. And now he says he thinks he stands a much better chance of winning her if he tries to make something of himself. Just what he wants to make of himself, he isn’t sure yet. But he is making a start.

“It seems they are fading along with the scars on my back,” he said. “Is that how it was with you?”

“Why, yes,” I said. “It seemed that the less visible my scars became, the less oppressive the burden of memory became. When they had disappeared completely, the memories seemed likewise. I stopped having bad dreams, and began to feel much lighter of heart.”

“I’ve a long way to go,” Guilin said, “but even a little easing of the burden is wonderful beyond telling. I sleep much better now. I don’t go to the Brazen Parrot any more. I saw Nithron and a couple of my other former chums in town the other day, and I know they saw me, but they acted as though they didn’t, which suits me fine. Once you’ve had real gems in your possession, false ones don’t appeal to you any more.”

And he gave me a small smile of such unexpected sweetness and gentleness, as I have only ever seen him give to Northlight and Raven. If he gave it to Nessima, she would surely be won over on the spot and he would need naught else. But such a smile cannot be forced or planned. And it certainly will do him no harm to get an education.

“I won’t say as I don’t miss the gaming-tables,” he admitted. “I don’t know why they have such a pull on me. Lord Elrond tells me it’s because I've a need to win and keep proving myself. He’s been giving me sparring-lessons. Says it could be a useful substitute for the cards and the dice. I did take it when I was much younger, but I’ve a good deal of catching up to do. He says I ought to take lessons from your chum Galendur, that he’s the best on the Island. I’ve seen him at it, and yes, he IS damned good.”

I felt that qualm of jealousy and managed to squelch it. I’d confessed it once to Tilwen, when Rûdharanion and Galendur first became friends, and she laughed at me. “Weren’t you the silly one,” she said pinching my ear. “Galendur would die for you if he had to. He wouldn’t even get seriously injured for Rûdharanion. A bit bruised, perhaps.”

“The thing is,” Guilin went on, “Lord Elrond told me I needed a goal in sight, to motivate me toward full healing. I see that you are completely happy and at peace. On the one hand, that’s what I want, but on the other, I don’t always want to do what it takes to get there. I don’t want to be as good as you. So there you have it.” He chuckled ruefully.

I supposed it would be useless telling I wasn’t as good as he made me out to be. “Perhaps you should not worry about being ‘as good as’ anyone,” I said. “Instead you should concentrate on getting better one step at a time. And yes…you really should take sparring from Galendur.”

Please don’t laugh at me, Sam! It was still not easy for me to tell him that. But I felt that I would regret it if I did not. Friends, after all, are a vast part of healing. I spoke to Galendur and he agreed to do it, and I think he even knew that it wasn’t easy for me to ask him. That’s the thing about him; I never have to explain much to him. He seems to understand some things instinctively.

But once I had told him, the feeling disappeared on the spot. I think it is Northlight who is a little jealous this time. I hope I can get him over it!

Raven is coming along nicely. I was the one apprehensive about her going to school. How would she fare with the other girls? But when I expressed this misgiving, Emleth took Raven’s hand saying, “Do not worry, I shall protect her.” The school is on the edge of the City, a pretty white house with a garden and many windows, and a path leading into a wooded area where the girls take their nature-walks. There are two class-rooms, one for the older girls and one for the little ones. In the morning the girls study reading and mathematics and history, and in the afternoon they have classes in Domestic Arts, and also Healing and Natural Sciences. The uniform is a simple dress of soft green with a white apron over it, on which is stitched the school’s emblem, a gull in flight. In the morning before classes, the lasses all stand in a ring and sing the school song:

As white birds in sunny flight
Each day our souls do seek the Light
Each day brings discovery
Knowledge boundless as the Sea.
So let us go forth and endeavor
To live in sisterhood forever
Let us grow in unity
Strong in fearless harmony
Ne’er to let our Isle be marred
By quarreling and harsh discord
Making the most of each new day
Ever seeking the brightest way.
Flowers of joy spring at our feet
As we climb toward Wisdom’s seat
With the great Music we'll be one
In the ring of endless Sun….

Raven joins in the singing with her hands. The others seem to find it fascinating. Raven was none too happy about having to take morning classes with the little girls, but she is so behind in reading and writing, she cannot possibly keep up with the bigger lasses. But she may take her afternoon classes with them, at least. And Lyrien and Marílen are delighted to sit with her, and Emleth helps her after school so that perhaps she will catch up before long.

I’ve had to forbid her to dance for money, after I realized it would hardly look well for the daughter of a Prince. I told her she might dance for her own pleasure, but if she needed money, I would see to it that she could earn it in a respectable way. I would prefer to spoil her and let her have her way in most things, but as her father I realize I must set boundaries. But to my vast relief, she seemed glad of it. I wondered if she had hated dancing for money and never let on, and if perhaps Guilin knew it, but I did not ask either of them. Let the past rest.

Anemone is adjusting pretty well to mortality. I can’t say as I don’t worry about her. I guess I told you already I had to teach her to swim all over again, but she took to that quickly. But this morning I came in and found her slumped in a chair in obvious pain. I can scarcely tell you how that frightened me.

“I have that time when I bleed,” she gasped when I rushed to her asking what was the matter. “Tilwen said it might hurt sometimes, but it was never like this be—where are you going?”

I ran into the front room in search of the medical-book Lord Elrond had given us, and frantically thumbed through it looking for the section on “Female Troubles.” Then cursed myself as I realized we had none of the ingredients for the remedy, save athelas. I picked some and tried to think what to do next. Raven was at school. I supposed Northlight had set out for college, but he walked in just then. I explained the situation, and asked him to go in search of the necessary ingredients. He went to his mother and looked at her for a moment. She looked on the verge of telling him to go away, but he knelt and took her hand.

“Nana, I can draw the pain from you,” he said. “Lord Elrond showed me how when I lived at the Palace. It will last until we can make the brew. There’s just one thing…” He looked up at me. “I must give the pain to someone else, in order to take it from you.”

“No!” Anemone said sharply, jerking her head away. “I would wish this on no one. Go and gather the stuff, I can bear it until then.”

“Not on your life,” Anemone said. I’ve a feeling my bride can out-stubborn me, at that. “If you knew how it felt, you would not even ask. You would throw selflessness to the four winds.”

“I don’t know,” he said modestly. “I don’t even know if I can do it at all. I can but try.”

Then she said, looking balefully at us both, “Very well then. But if you end up not liking it, it is your own fault and I told you so.”

Northlight, after assuring me that I would not bleed, laid his hand on his mother’s abdomen, closed his eyes and began to chant under his breath. As it turned out, he was unsuccessful in dividing the pain in half, and I ended up getting it all.

Recently I came upon her in a none too cheery mood. She said she needed to wash her hair. Now, this is no easy matter for her, since she has so much hair. The washing part itself isn’t so bad, so much as the combing it out afterward. I had to instruct her not to rake the comb through it, and how to patiently work out the tangles. She is tender-headed, as it turns out, and makes quite a fuss when I try to help her comb it. Then she threatens to cut it, and I implore her not to, sounding rather pathetic and ridiculous.

I told her I would help her wash it, and suggested she get into the tub and let me do the work. She seemed in a perilous mood, and I had a feeling I had better exercise caution.

“I think That Time is about to come upon me,” she said. “If you wish to take the pain on yourself, you are more than welcome to it.”

“At least this time we have the ingredients handy,” I said in my most conciliatory tones, wondering if there were a concoction for the mood she was in now. Still she did let me help her undress after I had filled the tub for her. I considered getting in with her, then thought better of it.

The hair-washing went off better than I expected. I heard only about four swear-words out of her when the soap got into her eyes. After I rinsed it out, however, I realized I had forgotten the comb. I wondered if I would end up with bruises if I drew her attention to my remissness…and then I told her I had an idea and would be right back.

I went into the house and found the jar of balm, which I had used on her back when she was so badly sunburned. Then I retrieved the comb and padded back to the bath-house.

“What are you going to do with THAT?” she exclaimed, looking at the jar as though it contained boiling oil.

“It’s the balm,” I pleaded. “I think it could soothe your scalp while I try to take out the tangles.”

“I think not,” I sighed. “Just let me try it this once. Please?” I tried to look sad. It wasn’t so hard, at that.

She lay back in the tub, and scowled. “Very well,” she snapped. “But if I come out looking like something a troll spat up, it’s all your fault.”

I worked a handful of the stuff into her hair, rubbing it in and then, on a thought, I started easing it into the long strands on down to the ends. I expected her to demand to know what I thought I was doing, but she did not speak. It is unlike her to give me the silent treatment, so perhaps the fragrance of the balm was having an effect, after all. I picked up the comb and drew it through her hair, and encountered not a single tangle! She made not a sound and I thought she might have dozed off, so I continued combing her hair until I was finished.

“Now I’ll rinse it out,” I said as I reached for the pitcher. I expected her to protest, but she nodded. So far, so good. I filled the pitcher and gently poured the water over her head. Then I took a towel and rubbed the excess water from her hair.

“Thank you,” I distinctly heard her say. She stood up and I helped her dry off and dress. It was a lovely sunny day out, so I suggested we go outdoors and I would bring her something to eat. She smiled, and I dared to say she didn't look like anything a troll spat up. She giggled.

We went out into the garden and I went back into the house and made up some bread and cheese with strips of dried meat and a heavenly sauce someone had sent us, and some fruits and mushrooms, and brought it out to her. She devoured it, then apologized for being so “horrid” and asked me if there were any of “that cold stuff” left. Once I had left a jar of cream down on a block of ice in the fruit-cellar to cool it and had forgotten it when someone came over, and when I went down again later found it almost frozen through. On an impulse I tasted it, and finding it delightful, I began to experiment with it, mixing in a little sugar, and vanilla extract, and fruit juice, then I served it to the others who became ecstatic over it. It is particularly delicious served over cake.

I went down to the cellar, where there was a bowl of cream on the ice, and I took that and went upstairs and mixed in strawberries and orange slices, then took it out to her. The sun had dried her hair by then and I nearly dropped the bowl.

I had thought her hair lovely enough before, but now it was so silky and shimmery and full, glittering with shades of gold I hadn’t known existed. I led her inside to look into the mirror, and she gasped. I took a brush and drew it through her locks and it looked even more beautiful, it seemed to be full of the sun and the moon and the stars all together. I felt I should write a poem about it, but my mind was blank. And she gazed at her reflection, then turned to me, radiant all over, laying her hands on my cheeks.

Now she is in business. She begged the formula from Lady C., and made up some—Raven had to help her, since only an Elf can impart the special virtue to the balm—adding pure water, a bit of perfume, and some extracts from various flowers and plants. Raven’s hair came out so shiny and silky from it that the girls in her school fairly stared her down, and their mothers came to us and begged to know what we were using on her hair, and in one afternoon Anemone had taken orders for a dozen bottles of the stuff. By the end of the week, she had sold a hundred or more. I use it myself, I confess, and am quite taken with how my hair looks now...and more importantly, so is Anemone. Guilin, who is good at selling things, peddles it for her, and he brings her all the money, swearing that he has kept none for himself, and I believe him. Of course, she pays him for selling it, but he will take very little. She did insist, at first, that Northlight go with him, to make sure he didn’t cheat anyone, but she trusts him now. He knows a glass-blower, and together they designed a special bottle—very similar to my star-glass. “Bring the star-light to your hair,” he says mellifluously to the ladies as he makes his rounds. He is in his element, and of course they can’t resist!

But Nessima turned up her nose at it. “I’ve no use for frivolities,” she said, even when he offered her a free sample, “and if I were to use this stuff, it would cause such a stir in the Orphanage, I should never know a moment’s peace. All the girls would be wanting it. Please do me a favor and do not even bring it around. It’s difficult enough to keep order as it is.”

Well! I thought that would discourage him. But as it turns out, discouragement only strengthens his resolve. That’s how he is.

The play is six weeks away. I am looking forward to it with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Once more I will be directing the scenes with the hobbits, and will be playing Bilbo once more…although it will be easier this time, since I’ve little to do but act very old.

Last night I paid a visit to Dûndeloth, who as you know, is playing Faramir…whom Nessima loves, as I think I told you before. And I asked a favor of him, a very big favor….

Yes. Guilin will play Faramir now. I remembered he had told me he had done some acting, and he already had a small part in the play--Shagrat the orc, of all things. When I told him Dûndeloth had agreed to let him play Faramir, he seemed pleasantly surprised after I told him what Nessima had told me. It’s hardly the part he would have chosen—he would have liked to play Saruman, he told me chuckling. But, if Nessima fancied Faramir….

It was a daring move, I know. I don’t even know how good an actor Guilin is. But something tells me he can pull it off. And he can still play Shagrat.

“You are not trying unconsciously to turn him into Faramir, are you?” Dûndeloth asked me that night. I stared at him for a moment in shock, then laughed.

“Of course not,” I said. “That would be nearly impossible, even if I wanted to do it. But perhaps I had some idea of planting a bit of Faramir in him. I’ve thought that when the actors play certain characters exceptionally well, it is because there is a bit of those characters within them. Even when they are bad characters. And I have noticed that they truly enjoy playing those bad characters. I suppose portraying an evil person is a way of enjoying their inner darkness without guilt.”

I told only Anemone of my plan, and asked her to keep it to herself. I said naught to Nessima of it, deciding to surprise her on opening night. Meanwhile I told Guilin that sending her an occasional little gift would not hurt. Maybe a pretty trifle to set on her shelf, or a nice book, or something.

Now he is doing rather well for himself. Besides the hair formula, which he named after Lady C.—since she was the originator of it—he sells other things as well. His glass-blower friend makes colored beads of glass and crystal and little knick-knacks, and Guilin peddles these for him. He has his own horse and wagon now, a gift from the Queen. Sometimes Raven or Northlight rides with him also, and sometimes all of us do. It looks as though we are going on a family-outing, but it is very pleasant to see the countryside, some of which is new to us. Once I heard Guilin telling proudly a customer, “They are my family.”

Raven has a new art-teacher. There is an artist on the Island who is giving art-lessons at Raven’s school once a week. Her name is Findëmaxa. It means “soft haired” and we had to laugh about it in view of the new hair-formula. Northlight said maybe we should have named it after her instead of Lady C.

I have seen some of her paintings in one of the salons at the Palace. One depicts a fair maiden picking flowers in a garden, another show two lovers sitting discreetly apart on a bench, their hands barely touching, also in a garden; in still another stands a young mother holding a baby with two older children, a boy and a girl, and a pretty puppy, looking delightedly at the baby in, you guessed it, a garden, and the fourth shows a young girl in a swing, sailing high against a garden backdrop. They are painted very well, certainly, full of light and soft color. Most Shire-folk would have liked them, I’m sure. But there was just a little too much sweetness and light for my liking. It seemed false somehow.

And now she is teaching drawing in Raven’s school. I don’t know what to think of that, either.

Raven has shown some aptitude in drawing. I doubt she’ll ever be a great artist, but I think she could be just as good as Findëmaxa at least. If I were to choose a teacher for her, it would definitely not be Findëmaxa. But it looks as though I am alone in thinking so, for the mothers of the other girls are thrilled that such a famous artist will be teaching their daughters.

We met Findëmaxa the day before she went to give her first lesson. She came to the home of each pupil to “make our acquaintance.” She is pale-haired, slender and wistful, yet smiles a great deal and seems very fond of exclamation-points. In dress she favors shades of very pale blue, pink, and grey. She seems very young; yet she has lived in Middle-Earth.

“What a lovely home you have!” she said as Anemone and I escorted her into the cottage. “So soft and sweet and secluded! I would love to paint it sometime! With both of you in front of it, of course!”

Anemone barely suppressed a grimace. A good many artists have painted our portraits, and a couple of sculptors made images of us in stone. She says it gives her the creeps to see statues of herself. “It looks like another me who has been turned into stone by a sea-monster,” she told me once.

She invited the artist to sit down for tea, and we went back onto the terrace. Anemone went inside to fetch the goodies and Findëmaxa and I sat at the table.

“What a dear, charming creature!” she said, predictably enough. “I thought I should never meet you! And it’s so delightful you have adopted an elfling! The practice of adopting other people’s children is something I’ve always found rather questionable, I’m afraid. One never knows what one may get! But I admire those who do take that step, and throw caution to the winds. Caution is such an oppressive thing! I think it’s wonderful when we liberate our minds and allow ourselves total freedom from the stifling bounds of convention. It’s the mark of a true artist, wouldn’t you say?”

I managed a semi-smiling nod of agreement, although I privately thought that her work seemed hardly that of someone who had liberated herself from the stifling bounds of convention. I feared Anemone might be up to some mischief in the kitchen, the way she was taking her time, then told myself she was just taking extra trouble for a guest.

And then she appeared with the silver tray and teapot and some perfectly innocent-looking cakes.

“This is perfection!” Findëmaxa exclaimed as she glanced all about. “So untouched…so pristine…so untarnished! It exudes a wild spirit of eternal childhood and virtue, does it not?”

“I always thought so,” Anemone said, looking entirely too innocent, and I felt her foot brush up against mine in a way I knew was not accidental. “Iorhael and I certainly thought it last night, when we were celebrating our love on the beach in the moonlight.”

I moistened my lips with my tongue. I have told her she must not speak of such things to people we don’t know well. Yet somehow I felt no desire to take her to task about it this time.

“Oh, how lovely to stroll on the beach at night!” Findëmaxa breathed. “I’ve never done so myself, but I should like to try it sometime. Although I have decided never to marry, but to embrace chastity as a means of transcending the commonplace.”

She talked a bit more about herself. Her parents still lived in Middle-Earth, she said. But someday, she hoped, they would see the light of day and come here.

“I scarcely realized how filthy Middle-earth was until I came here,” she said. “So often I felt as though I were attempting the impossible, purging the earth of its ugliness through the medium of art. But here…it’s entirely different. One can breathe the sweet air, and all impurities are cleansed like the atmosphere after a great storm.”

The peacock sprang up just then and perched on the rail. I gave him part of my tea-cake. He looked rather disdainfully at our guest. He can look very disdainful indeed. She glanced at him curiously and with faint disapproval. I supposed her belief in transcending the bounds of convention did not apply to animals and birds.

“Umm…may I borrow your…facilities…for a moment?” she said presently, just above a whisper. Anemone smiled most graciously.

“Certainly,” she said as Findëmaxa rose. “Let me show you where it is.”

After our visitor had finally left, Anemone and I just sat silently for a few moments not quite looking at each other.

“I don’t know what to think exactly,” I shrugged. “What do YOU think?”

“I think she may have gotten an enormous shock in the privy,” Anemone said with a wicked twinkle in her eye. “Did you notice how pale and shaken she looked? I conveniently left a certain book in there while the tea was brewing, opened to a rather detailed illustration. I bet she nearly fainted.”

“I don’t like her,” Anemone said bluntly. “There’s something about her that yanks on my nerves. Have you noticed that for all her blather about the ‘stifling bounds of convention’ and ‘the foulness of the ordinary,’ that all the people in her paintings have exactly the same expression? That their features are virtually identical, and one can scarcely tell the males from the females, save by their clothing? That they seem barely able to touch each other, for fear they might become infected? And this is her idea of art? That is hardly what I would wish our daughters to learn.”

I had to laugh a little, yet I found her distaste for this young lady somehow disturbing.

“I think you are hard on her,” I said. “She is merely very young, and has some absurd notions in her head. She will grow out of them eventually. I agree that she is scarcely the teacher I would choose for Raven; however, perhaps she could just teach the basics of drawing, and we could urge her to get beyond all that. You are a very skillful artist yourself, for all you never had a lesson. You could take up where Findëmaxa left off, and impart the truth to her.”

“I devoutly hope so,” she said grimly. “I see I shall have my work cut out for me, trying to counter that creature’s influence.”

“If anyone can do it,” I said as I helped her carry the things back into the house, “it would be you, I should think.”

“And I thought she might go about telling folks how adorable we were, after the peacock invited himself to the table,” I said. “So much for that.”

“We are both,” Anemone grinned. “We’re filthy AND adorable. And no one needs her to tell them so.”

But after the first lesson, Raven seemed unwilling to fill us in on how it had gone. She showed us some of the sketches she had done, which looked harmless enough, being of wild flowers and young trees.

Emleth told us, “She said Raven had the makings of a true artist. She told her art might provide a means of commun—comm….”

“Yes, communication--so that her soul might say what her tongue could not,” Emleth said. “I thought that was nice, don’t you?”

She was more like herself later in the evening, however. She is doing pretty well in school, and I think will catch up enough to join the big girls sooner or later. She is always reluctant to take off her school dress when she comes home, for she is proud of it, but she does so, knowing she must take good care of it. She usually wears her hair in two braids now, as Emleth does, and she has invented signs for us: one finger means “Ada” two means “Nana” three for “Northlight” and four for “Guilin.” On temple-day, she will often get up early in the morning and lay flowers on the breakfast-table beside each of our plates: a blue one for me, a golden one for Anemone, a white one for Northlight, and a pink one for herself. And a red one for Guilin if he joins us, which he frequently does now.

Today Raven came home from school early, Emleth with her. I was not there, but I heard all about it when I came home. It seemed that during art-class, Raven drew an orc with a whip. When Findëmaxa saw it, she became livid, snatched the sketch, and tore it to bits.

“This is UGLINESS,” she said as she dramatically tossed the pieces to the wind. “Art is about the expression of Beauty and Perfection. What WERE you thinking? Were you making a mockery of the True Meaning of Art?”

“You should be kind to her,” she said to the teacher. “She has suffered much. We should all be kind.”

“You are being impertinent,” Findëmaxa said, flushing also. “Is that how your mother brought you up? Now Raven. I will give you another chance, to show I do have a heart. You drew so prettily last week; I’m sure you can do so again if you try. So, I shall forgive you this time, and—where are you going?”

Raven had dropped all her art supplies and fled. Emleth picked them up hastily and put them into her bag, then sprang up and ran after her. She walked with Raven all the way home, an arm about her waist, and told Anemone what happened. That was shortly before I came home from work. Anemone said Raven had gone off to be by herself.

“There now, you see?” she said. “I didn’t like her at first sight, and now I know why! Surely you can get her dismissed?”

I was silent for a moment, feeling badly shaken up. “Where is Raven now?” I asked.

She was not by the falls, however. I felt considerably alarmed, and called her by name. No answer. I looked up and down for her, over in the glade, in the forest, seized with a feeling of panic. I thought of something Guilin had said, that if she didn't like a place she would run away; then on a thought I crossed the bridge to the spot that would someday be her home and Northlight’s.

I called her name again. I knew somehow that she was about, although I could see no sign of her. Then I had the idea to throw a fit of coughing, and just to be sure I dramatically clutched at my stomach and dropped to my knees. Soon I heard a movement in the brush, and saw her tear-streaked face peeking out anxiously.

“Raven!” I said, springing up and going toward her. She crept out of the bushes and I met her halfway. I put my arms around her and we sank to the ground. She asked me with her hands if I were angry with her. I said of course not. And held her head to my breast and stroked her hair and felt her tears on my shirt.

I had not wept in a long time, but I could not stop. I shuddered, and held onto Raven tightly. Before long I felt her stir against me, and after a few moments she was the one holding me, pressing my head against her bosom and stroking my hair. She took my maimed hand in hers and kissed it and held it against her cheek. And we sat like that, wordlessly, sniffling, for I know not how long.

Finally I said that her mum must be getting worried, and so we rose and walked with our arms about each other's waists toward the bridge, and saw Northlight standing there, and she broke away and ran to him and he embraced her tightly. Then she looked over her shoulder at me, and held out an arm, and he did the same, and I went to them and we stood with our arms around each other. Then we turned and started back over the bridge to the cottage.

And I heard voices, and saw that we had visitors. Tilwen and Galendur, who had obviously heard about the incident, were on the terrace, Little Iorhael on his daddy’s lap. Raven's lovely smile broke through then, and she ran toward the cottage. Northlight and I grinned at each other.

We followed quickly, arm in arm, and saw Raven scoop up Little Iorhael, who gave a crow of joy to see her. His hair has gotten a reddish cast to it, although I think otherwise he resembles his father most. He laughs a good deal and can fetch up quite an ear-splitting shriek, so that Galendur calls him a little Nazgûl sometimes. It used to make my blood run cold, but now I’m used to it.

“Look what someone can do!” Til said as she took her small son and set him on his feet. “Stand back a little, dear,” she said to Raven, who backed up a few steps. And Little Iorhael tottered toward her, as she stooped a little with her hands out to catch his. “He just learned that today!” said his proud mummy as Raven caught him and nearly smothered him in another hug. “Sometimes he falls on his bottom, and I’m afraid he will hurt himself, but he always gets up and tries again, and doesn’t even cry. Such a big boy!”

Galendur, Northlight, and I all took turns giving him horsy rides in the yard, and Raven had to do it also, and he seemed to like her horsy best. Tilwen watched with the motherly mixture of pride and anxiety, then finally she turned to Anemone and me, who sat together on the swing.

“I’ve met that Findëmaxa person a time or two,” she said. “She’s a friend of Ortherion’s wife. I can't abide her either. On the face of her she’s as smarmy as her pictures, but it looks as though she’s revealed her true colors in more than just paints. If you want me to go give her a piece of my mind, I’d be VERY happy to do so.”

“And I’ll go with you,” Anemone said grimly, then looked expectantly to me. “You CAN get her thrown out, can’t you, Iorhael?”

“Maybe Northlight can fix her,” Galendur suggested. “Fill her house with talking crabs, or some such. Or spell her brushes so that all her paintings turn out ugly. Full of goblins…or worse still, the Conjugal Arts.” He gave a fake shudder, then winked. I laughed rather weakly.

“I will go talk to her,” I said glancing back at Northlight and Raven, who were standing facing each other as Little Iorhael toddled back and forth between them, first to one then the other. When he fell on his bottom, Tilwen winced and started to go to him, but Galendur caught her hand, and she looked vastly relieved as Raven reached down to pull him gently upright. “Yes, I do want her out of the school…but…”

“But WHAT?” Anemone said. “Don’t tell me you are going to take pity on the likes of HER! I may have to swat you.”

I laughed. “I could almost swat myself,” I said. “But as Galendur says, I’m a disgusting sort of chap, and somehow I just would not deprive her of a position, at least not without explaining some things to her first.”

“Oh, you needn’t worry that she’ll lack for money,” Tilwen sniffed. “She has plenty, which may explain why she’s such a poor artist. Seems that wealth and creativity do not go together somehow. She only teaches out of some cockeyed desire to ‘impart her vision to unformed young souls everywhere.’ Ha!”

“I shall talk to her, just the same,” I said. “If there is anything I’ve learned on the Island, it is that there is always more to everyone than meets the eye, and sometimes it does not take so much to bring it out. If she will not see reason then…well, I will have to decide what to do.”

I expected Anemone to look at me with exasperation, but she just studied me for a moment, then looked at me with affectionate pride saying, “You do as you see fit then, my husband. And I shall do as I see fit and take the Bilbo’s Delight from the oven, for it will burn in another moment if it is not removed and be most unfit for human consumption.”

I went out the next day and paid Findëmaxa a little visit—after finding out where she lived from a member of the school board. Raven decided to go back to school that day, and I was enormously proud of her--so proud, in fact, that I was much kinder to Findëmaxa than I had felt like being. I had instructed Anemone not to tell Guilin where the artist lived, for there was no telling what he was likely to do when he heard of the incident. I had a feeling he could make Shagrat look like a turtle-dove.

“If I did wrong, forgive me,” Findëmaxa said tremulously as I sat down in her blandly elegant studio, situated in a nice flat in the City. Finished and unfinished paintings sat about on easels, and a large window stood wide open, affording a nice view of the Temple. I could hear the murmuring of doves outside. “I acted hastily, I am certain. But, but, when I saw that THING…well, I just didn’t know what to think! Does…does your daughter often have such…fantasies?”

I explained about Raven’s past, and my own. Findëmaxa’s light eyes grew wide and a little frightened.

“But…but…but such an ordeal!” she exclaimed. “Why does she paint such things, if this happened to her? I should think she would want to forget them once and for all!”

“One would think so,” I said, sounding oddly calm although my hands were shaking a bit and felt sweaty. “But sometimes the evil phantoms have found their way into my poems, as well. Perhaps it is as with cookery. One cannot keep a lid on a boiling pot pressed too firmly down the whole time; one must let a bit of steam escape. Art can be a way of letting it do so.”

This concept seemed a bit too much for her. “I cannot think that such things have a place in Art, which should elevate and not degrade the Soul,” she said after a long moment. “It should be a means to escape the hideousness of Reality, not to give expression to it!”

“You have been to see the play, have you not?” I asked her. “All is not pleasant in it, you must agree. In fact, it would be rather dull if nothing dreadful happened in it, yes?”

“Yes…but I did think that some of the dreadful things were a bit much, and should have been toned down,” she said. “War is a most indecent business, and I should think the glory of it could be conveyed on the stage without all the horrors, which only upset people and should not be dwelt upon. The battle scenes could have been skipped altogether, and merely told about by the participants after they occurred. As for that thing with the, the Spider…” she shuddered. “Well, I had nightmares, absolute nightmares, about that, for a long time afterward. What could possibly be accomplished, by showing such things? I’ve a good mind not to see the next part, if it’s as horrifying. Could you not see to it that the noble and uplifting aspects of the story are emphasized, and the evil ones played down? I should think you could do it, seeing as how it is your story to begin with?”

Dear Sam, you have no idea how much I have been tempted to do exactly as she suggested. And yet…it would make our story a lie…far more so than Rûdharanion’s original abortive version of it.

“No, I could not,” I said. “To tell the truth only in part is to tell an untruth. As Dûndeloth told me once, there can be no light without the dark. My suggestion is that you learn not to fear the truth. When you first look into it, it seems an evil monster, it is true. And if you look at it longer, you will see the features begin to resemble your own, hideously distorted. If you turn and run from it, it may chase after you, and rend you to bits. But if you learn to stare it down, to defy it, to refuse to back down and let it enter and master you, sooner or later the horrible features begin to soften, and the more you look without flinching, they begin to look more like yours again, but softened and illuminated. It is as the sky after a terrifying storm. Or waking in the freshness of morning after a raging nightmare. But you can only achieve this by standing firm and keeping your eyes open…and asking for your Creator’s protection and guidance.”

After a long moment, during which she stared down at her hands folded in her lap, she looked up at me and asked pitifully, “So, are you going to have me dismissed?”

“Nay,” I said with a small smile. “I think you may do all right eventually. But I don’t look forward to going home just yet and explaining to my wife why I am not pitching you out, so will you do me the honor of going to luncheon with me? I really am not so filthy as you may suppose.”

She shook her pale head, tears standing in her eyes. “Thank you for your kindness, but…but I am a bit overwhelmed, and know not what to think. I am sorry that I upset your…your daughter.”

“I almost forgot,” I said, taking something from my jacket pocket. “Raven asked me to give you this. Put it in your window and see what it does to the light. Just be careful with it, it's very fragile.”

It was the little glass formation made by the sparks from Anemone’s feet when she had danced in the sand so many months ago, already full of colored sparkles from the sunlight in the window. It looked as though a thousand tears had come together and formed a small tangled rainbow after a long hard storm in the desert.

Guilin has had a multitude of ideas, some good, some highly questionable…and one of the most ridiculous has caught on.

It is exactly as it sounds: we set aside a day in which True Love is honored, and people buy romantic gifts for their sweethearts and spouses and send them flowers. I told him how absurd that was—after all, I don’t need a special day to give Anemone a love-token; I bestow one on her any time I feel like it! Guilin just laughed at my stodginess, and said it would be a prime way to drum up some business.

What’s truly exasperating and a little sad is that Anemone, Northlight, and Raven all think it’s a splendid idea. And they are conspiring to help him.

I think I’ve told you before, Sam: there is a bean that grows on the Island, which can be roasted and ground and sweetened to make a delightful drink, and used in sweets it is maddeningly delicious. It is called “cocoa” and I really think you should look into getting it imported into the Shire. It grows in warm countries, according to Lord Elrond. Perhaps you could speak to Aragorn about it. Anyway, Guilin had the big idea to pack candies made of this chocolate into pretty boxes to give to one’s beloved.

“Why boxes?” I said as we all sat about the kitchen-table discussing his plan. “People most generally sell sweets in little bags. Boxes are far more expensive to make.”

“Not if they are of paste-board,” Guilin said. Paste-board is a kind of hard paper, which is folded into boxes used by merchants here to pack and store their goods. They are much more lightweight than wooden crates, cheaper to make and do not require the use of nails. Sometimes it is even used for book-covers. “And Leandros’s brother Rinnion makes it, right? So there we are. What we’ll need for them is a symbol…a symbol of True Love. Now what will that be?”

“A heart,” Anemone said. “True Love is centered in the heart, yes? What could be more fitting?”

“No,” she admitted. “I have no idea how they look. But—have YOU seen one?”

“Not a human one, but I saw pig hearts during hog-butchering season when I was a lad. The human heart is similarly shaped. Rather like a strawberry. I saw a drawing in one of Lord Elrond’s books. It looks something like this….” I found a pencil in a drawer and a scrap of paper, and began to sketch a diagram of a heart. “See, there are four ‘chambers’, and here are some of the veins and arteries, the big vein called the aorta, and the pulmonary artery, and…”

I went on quite a roll, showing off my anatomical knowledge, but I don’t know if anyone were impressed except Northlight.

“It's quite interesting,” Anemone said, “but it isn’t very pretty. Especially with those pipes coming out—they remind me of squid tentacles. Ugh! How can a squid be a symbol of True Love? Perhaps your idea is better. Which flower, then?”

“Not that we are biased or anything,” he said. Anemone giggled. Raven picked up the drawing and looked thoughtfully at it.

“What about the eye?” Northlight suggested. “Love is seen in the eyes. Or the lips? One kisses with the lips. We could draw a pair of lips on the box. That should be easy.”

“A circle?” Anemone said. “Like a wedding-ri—no, on second thought, maybe not a good idea.”

“A strawberry,” I said, wondering at the same time how long it would be before I could eat strawberries without thinking of pig hearts.

Raven suddenly jumped up and went into the other room, then returned with a pair of scissors from Anemone’s mending-basket. She cut out my drawing, then folded it in half, took the scissors and began cutting again, a shape rounded at one end, tapering to a point at the other. Then she unfolded the shape.

“A morning-glory leaf?” I said. “Is a leaf a good symbol of love? I suppose it could be, but…”

“This is a heart?” I said. “But sweet one, it isn’t quite shaped like this. It’s…”

Anemone reached over and took the bit of paper. “Yes,” she said. “This is it.”

“But it isn’t like a heart,” I stammered. “The heart is not symmetrical. This shape is very pretty, but…”

“Looks rather like someone’s bottom to me,” Guilin said taking it and holding it upside down. Northlight giggled and Raven pouted.

“Silly,” Anemone chided us, taking it, “it’s TWO hearts, don’t you see? Two hearts joined in the middle, beating as one. What could be more fitting?”

Raven nodded, beaming. Northlight grinned proudly at her. She took the double-heart shape and the pencil, and very carefully wrote the word LOVE on it, and then shyly she gave it to Northlight. He looked at it and then leaned over and kissed her cheek. Anemone looked dotingly at them, then at me. I picked up the paper and cut out another double-heart, and drew a couple of flowers on it and the word LOVE, and handed it to Anemone. Raven and Northlight giggled.

His next big idea was to have the box in the double-heart shape. I said I would ask Rinnion, who runs the Island’s paper-mill, if he could contrive such a thing, and hoped hard that he wouldn’t laugh his head off. In the meantime, Anemone and Raven made up dozens of sweets, candied cherries, strawberries, oranges and nuts dipped in melted chocolate, and golden mushrooms also, and wrapped them in bits of thin paper, and those we didn’t eat they stored in the spring-house. And the next day Guilin and I went off to the paper-mill.

And Rinnion had a double-heart box made up for us, and did not laugh—at least not in our presence, and we took it home and Anemone covered it with a piece of red velvet she had left over from a dress, and it looked very pretty, and she managed to make a rose out of red satin that she had left from the sash. Add a touch of lace, and we had our first sweet-box. We packed about three dozen of the chocolate candies in it. Northlight commented that one could hardly tell from the looks of them what was inside them, so that one didn’t quite know what one was going to get.

Guilin took the box to the confectioner’s shop and asked him what he thought of the idea. Haldan the confectioner frowned a little, but his wife came in at that moment, and when we told her of our plan, she clasped her hands together exclaiming, “How delightful!”

And Haldan smiled sheepishly, and ordered a huge supply of the boxes made in three different sizes, and a good many of our female friends, as well as Haldan’s wife and three daughters, went to work decorating them and packing the chocolates. I hoped the Queen would not sniff at our idea…but when we requested the audience with her, both she and Lady C. were thoroughly delighted, and Lovers’ Day was made official. Anemone and Haldan’s wife fell to work decorating the shop-window with red and white streamers and double-heart shapes and roses, as well as the boxes of chocolates. Needless to say, the big boxes sold the most, the middle-sized ones going soon after. The confectioner was going wild ordering more and more of them. And it looked as though the little boxes might not get sold.

“There was a young lad in today,” Haldan told me, a couple of days before the big day, “who bought SIX boxes. He bought the middle-sized ones, for the big ones were too expensive, and the little ones weren’t ‘fine’ enough. Six boxes? I asked him if he had that many sweethearts, or if he was spoiling the one he had. And he told me, yes, they were for six different lasses. I told him he was headed for trouble, and he just blushed and laughed. Fancy that!”

I laughed: “Did he by any chance have tawny hair neatly combed, a slightly cleft chin, and very nice clothes?”

“Well, I didn’t really notice his chin,” the confectioner said, “but yes, that description fits, I should say. So you know him?”

I nodded. “That would be Perion, the Queen’s page. You are right…he may well be headed for big trouble. Guilin may have to answer for it.”

I laughed as I remembered my most recent meeting with Perion, as he stood in front of the mirror back stage after rehearsal, carefully combing down his hair. I noted his outfit especially, consisting of green silk breeches and tunic over a snowy shirt with ruffled sleeves and a gold-colored cravat with a pearl pin stuck through it.

Perion nervously adjusted the cravat, then asked me if it looked all right. I said he looked magnificent, and asked him if he were meeting anyone special.

Dínlad walked in just then. “Ah, he likes ALL girls,” he said. Perion blushed.

“Well…somewhat,” he admitted. “I only started noticing them this year…but they all look so pretty all of a sudden. I can’t seem to take my eyes from them. Their hair! And their eyes, their lips, the way they move….Do you ever have that feeling?”

Dínlad snorted. I said, “Well, I used to, but now I have eyes for one girl only. But Perion, aren’t you a bit young to be noticing girls?”

“Am I?” he said anxiously, turning away from the mirror to look at me. Dínlad snickered.

“Yes, you are,” he said. “By the way, did I tell you, you look ridiculous?”

“Ha! Miriel didn’t think so,” Perion said, running a hand over the top of his head, although his hair was perfectly smooth already. “Curíleth said she asked about me. And Sulien, and Kithwen, and Fëariel—”

Dínlad made a rude noise. “Girls. You can have ‘em!” he scoffed. “Always giggling. Always whispering secrets. Always tattling. They give me a pain in the you-know-what.”

“So they do me,” Perion said, nervously fishing out his comb from his pocket again, “but only if they’re my sisters.”

“Not to sound stuffy,” I said, “but really, Perion, you have all the time in the world to start liking the lasses. You don’t have so much time to be a youngster.”

“But it’s FUN to like them,” Perion protested. “Being a youngster is HUGELY overrated.”

As the big day drew ever nearer, there was the question of what to get for Anemone. Surely she was sick of the sweets, and she had all the flowers in our garden she could ever want. She doesn’t care much for jewelry, other than her pendant and her wedding-pearls, and has plenty of perfume, that people gave her as wedding-gifts, in beautiful bottles. In fact, with such a house full, she hardly needed any more things. I cudgeled my brains, and finally asked Northlight for advice.

“I’m making a book of my poems for Raven,” he said. “I shall make the binders of paste-board and have them covered with velvet, and I think Nana can help me. I know my poems aren’t nearly as good as yours, but Raven likes them, and—”

“What a wonderful idea, Northlight!” I said. “I shall do the same with my poems. But we’d better have someone else cover the books, or our ladies are sure to find out about them.”

Lady C. said she would be glad to help. So the books were made, and Raven’s was covered with crimson velvet with a double-heart embroidered in gold, along with a beaded gold silk book-marker, Anemone’s with peacock blue, embroidered in silver, with a silver book-marker. Lady C. even made some lovely illustrations for both, and charged us nothing.

And that left Guilin with the question of what to get for Nessima. And he told me he had a fiendishly clever idea and we would find out about it on the day he gave her his gift…that is, if it were finished in time.

Guilin gave Dínlad back his horn, the day before Lovers’ Day, thanking him for the “loan” of it. He’d had it cleaned and polished, and said it had served its purpose and helped him blow out his bad feelings and scared off the demons that haunted him, and now he thought it rightfully belonged to Dínlad, and the boy looked surprised and more than a little delighted to get it back.

Guilin gave Anemone back her pendant as well; it, too, had fulfilled its purpose. And she was glad to have it back, but I was even more so. Sometimes I had been afraid he would lose it.

He was selling a good deal of the hair-rinse, as well as perfume and fragrant soaps and powders. It was all going like wild-fire, he said. Just as well this was only once a year, or he'd never keep up with all the orders and manage his studies at the same time....

But his gift for Nessima was not completed yet, and he fretted a good deal about it, but he sent over a big box of sweets and a beautiful vase he bought from Ríannor, with some red roses and ferns and white lilies in it. He sent them anonymously, but I doubt she had any trouble figuring who her mystery suitor was. She said nothing to me about it, and I thought that was a good sign.

Haldan had about four dozen of the small boxes left over and he despaired of their selling, so I bought them all, saying I knew just where to send them. He raised his eyebrows, as if to intimate that I was even greater of a lover than Perion, but I mischievously refrained from telling him what I would do with them. I put in a note with the name of each child in the Orphans’ Home—there were just enough boxes, with a few left over, which I gave to Lyrien and Marílen and Emleth.

Lyrien told me she almost FAINTED when she read the note I had enclosed within: To the sweetest and loveliest Lyrien ever created, thank you for my healing, and for being you. Love and blessings evermore, your own Iorhael.

Beauty danced to the carol of your name
as we signed Love's treaty
on the terrace of morning.
Our beings, embroidered
with flowers, swans and lightning
became flags in a strange
and many-towered Citadel
where every window
laughed at frowning battlements
and night was just another name
for Immortality.

“Now that wasn’t such a bad idea, was it,” Anemone said as we sat together on the beach late into the night. I laid down the velvet-covered book of poems I had been reading to her. The colors of the aurora were unusually bright. The pale-green streak that looked like a geyser of water shooting upward through clouds and pools of fiery orange and magenta and purple, patches of pale blue and gold floating across like great silent birds, streaks of crimson undulating and zigzagging over all like fantastical serpents. How it all drifted and oozed and swirled about in entrancing dreamy patterns over mountain and crag and wave and forest…until it seemed that it looked as though my own life on the Island was magically reflected there, with the eternal stars dangling overhead, and the Sea surging beneath.

“Not bad at all,” I admitted, glancing over my shoulder toward the cottage. Raven and Northlight were sitting in the swing on the terrace. Guilin was out who knew where. The mysterious gift he had ordered for Nessima was still not completed. But he would give it to her on the night of the play, and perhaps that would be more fitting anyway.

The four of us had put on our best clothes, gone into the City for the evening and taken in dinner at the Palace, then to the dance-theater to see a performance, along with Lord E. and Lady C., Gandalf and Riannor, Ladies G. and E., Tilwen and Galendur. We also saw Rûdharanion and Salmë, and Seragon and Niniel, Leandros and Lalaith, and many other people we knew. The theater was giving The Tale of Beren and Lúthien that night, and Aelinalqua, one of the most famous dancers on the Island, was performing. A female narrator stood alone at the edge of the stage all in filmy white, reciting lines of the story as the dancers acted them out in graceful pantomime.

The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinúviel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering….

Dancers in the background held up silk flags painted to represent backdrops, and music was played on drums, flutes, harps, and bells by musicians in colorful sprite-like costumes cavorting here and there on the stage—one was even lowered from a swing-like apparatus from the ceiling shaped like a crescent moon. She was supposed to represent a star, I think, all luminous in very pale blue, and she shook a little set of bells from time to time, and I hoped the ropes wouldn’t break because she was VERY high up.

And there was a fiddler in a long scarlet cloak and black and white tunic who looked VERY familiar. He raced and darted across the stage from time to time, dropped to one knee and fiddled a very sinister-sounding tune when Morgoth appeared, dressed almost identically. And he did much the same when Carcharoth the werewolf made his appearance in a hairy suit, and everyone screamed. Raven made excited gestures to us each time the fiddler appeared. And he stood directly behind Morgoth and played, as Lúthien danced for him to distract his attention, a very sensuous-sounding melody along with the drums and bells.

When the lovers laid down at last, white-wigged, and died, and little wood-sprites came out to mourn…there was not a dry eye in the house. Especially when two spirit-like beings glided in and raised them to their feet, and helped them onto a contraption that looked to be a swan-boat, presumably to carry them to the Other Side where they would be united in love for eternity. Anemone looked at me then with a world of meaning in her glance.

Nessima looked stunning in dark blue, her hair pulled from her face and hanging unbraided down her back, as Guilin came from backstage, dressed in normal garb, to meet us. She smiled a little sheepishly when she saw us. Guilin was grinning from one ear to the other. When Anemone asked him why he had not told us he was going to be in the show, he said he wished to surprise us. Nessima said she had never been to the dance-theater before, and the performance was amazing. Northlight told her he suspected Raven would dance the role of Lúthien someday, and be even better than Aelinalqua. Guilin said we might meet her if we would stick around long enough, although he also intimated to us that we might have a long wait indeed, for this lady very much liked to take her time. And he agreed that Raven would be just as good someday, if not better. Nessima looked at Northlight a little sharply, as though she were unaccustomed to hearing youths brag about their sweethearts to her. I suppressed a laugh. Then her remarkable eyes softened, and Guilin looked at her and she at him, and he smiled that gentle little smile at her, and my heart leaped for joy within me.

“Do you suspect,” Anemone said, as we sat on the beach, “that this ‘Lovers’ Day’ business made Nessima feel keenly having no lover or husband, and Guilin plotted the whole thing with that in mind?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I do,” I said, surprised. “He’s still quite the trickster, you know. I think we have greatly underestimated him. This was an elaborate scheme, and I think it’s working.”

“I’ve no complaints,” Anemone said with her cheeky grin as she nuzzled against my shoulder. “I’m sure he made a great many people very happy today. I rather wish I’d been the one to think of it.”

We fell silent, and just sat looking out on the peaceful sea with the colors of the sky gently dancing on the ripples. Yes, it had been a wonderful day, and what a year it has been, so much love and joy abounding, who would have thought it would bring so much?

Because of you, you say,
I lost all powers I possessed
and learned the feel of pain,
to be tired, snappish,
jumping at noises
saying the wrong words
when I burn my hand in the kitchen
or drop the pot lid on my foot.
And what it is to know
that death awaits me.
Because of you
these things I learned
this I cannot deny.

And, because of you
my skin learned to sing
and burst into blossom
as your kisses fall as burning rain
upon me, my limbs
have learned to dance
when wrapped about you
and I learned to feel you
inside me even when
you are not, to know
the stars envy me
as I sleep in your arms
clad in naught but bliss
and the sun envies me
when I awaken to your face
and read fresh chapters
that teach us ways
to love each other.

Because of you
I sing at my spinning
dance at my cooking
and see double-hearts
and butterflies whenever
you speak my name.
My feet learned
to skip for joy
when I hear your wheels
to dash to meet you
as a pup to its master.

Because of you
I shall learn to die
as I have learned to live,
my Love;
there is no going back
now or ever.
Because of you
the path to Eternity
is unrolled before me
strewn with lamps
and velvet boxes
dancers and dinners
love stories old and new
and countless waterless dreams

Well. Once more I must ask your forgiveness. Can you possibly give it this time?

Surely, as a husband and father, you will understand. And I hope with all my heart you will still come when the time is right. If not, then I must content myself with the hope of meeting you in the next world.

Anemone is well aware that I talk to you in the evenings, but I don’t think she realized that the star-glass was the means by which I do so. Otherwise, I must wonder whether or not she would have allowed me to do what I did, after I found her weeping for her children on the beach and realized the full implications of what she had given up for me. Would she have done it, if she had known it would come to this? If she had known, by becoming mortal, she would have mortal feelings? She had been told she would, of course, but there was no way she could have known just what those feelings would cost her, and there was no balm that could heal this hurt.

As I dribbled the luminous water into the sea, I still had a few ounces of hope left…but when nothing happened, I knew then what I must do. It was not enough; the glass could have been refilled, after all. The sea wanted it also. A partial sacrifice is none at all.

I crouched there on the rock where I had first met my bride, holding the glass over the water. I silently willed myself to let it drop…erm, sound familiar? As my fingers clutched it stubbornly, and then, Anemone, realizing what I was about to do, cried out, “No!” Startled, I let it fall, and then the water began to fill with light and a soft voice of singing, as I felt as though I had dropped my heart into it, irretrievably.

As the light spread through the waters, we watched silently for I know not how long, then I took her hand and said, “Let’s go back now. It will take a while for the Light to reach them. Perhaps all night.”

Raven was in bed. Northlight’s window was alight; probably he was studying. Guilin had been here earlier. He had been the one to tuck his sister in. She still likes to be tucked in at night, and Anemone and I take turns doing it.

“It’s so good of you,” he had told us, “to do that for her, without telling her she’s too big for it. Sometimes I wonder how many times she cried herself to sleep because I wasn’t there.” He turned abruptly and looked to the window as if there were something very interesting out there.

Anemone and I did not celebrate our love that night; we merely lay down in bed and I held her against me, her back to my front, and I stroked her hair.

“No,” I said. “She is still afraid of the dark. It will not work anyway.”

“She would not mind. She would want you to. Then you could give it back to her.”

“The Queen would give you another, surely,” she said, “if you explained, and asked her.”

“I will,” I said, knowing even as I spoke it would not work, even if the Lady did give me another. The new one would not have the same power.

Anemone took my hand and kissed it, back and palm, caressing the fingers. I thought of the poem she had written into her book.

“I didn’t know you could write poetry too,” I said to her after reading it the first time.

“Add that to all your other talents,” I said with a smile. “I think my own poems may become a little more…daring, after reading this. Which would be all right, except then I could not show them to anyone else.”

Because of you
I shall learn to die
as I have learned to live,
my Love;
there is no going back
now or ever.

After she had fallen asleep, I found myself unable to do so, and I rose, slipped on my dressing-gown, and went out. It was cloudy, but the waves were still glowing, and I could hear the music more clearly now, faint and mysterious, strangely alluring, and somehow familiar. I then recalled hearing it ever so faintly in my dreams, back in Middle-earth. Why, I wondered, did the Sea require this sacrifice?

I went down to my praying-rock, and knelt there, wordlessly, for a long time, looking out on the waves that glimmered as though the moon were submerged in them. How will I do without you now? Is it even possible that I can? For four years our connection has so comforted and sustained me, and done more toward my healing than anything else, I know. Yes, dearest Sam, you need never think you failed me. You did the most, after all.

…All you have done
and will do lays a foundation
of might and gladness, sows
fields of health and color
for those about you, and those
to come. All the joy
that is mine now was bought by you
and I wear it as a favored child
in jeweled abandon. Never think
that I do not return your love;
sometimes I wish I had two hearts,
one scarcely seems enough
to contain the bursting cataract
that springs therein….*

How many times have I tried to leave you behind? I thought the last parting would be the bitterest…but it was nothing to this one. Can I ever be happy again?

I know the answer. I will be, because I must. The sacrifice I made will be useless if it costs me all my own happiness. How can I expect her to be happy if I am not? The healing virtue of the Island, and the hope I have of our final meeting will see me through. But the knowledge that your pain will heal and lessen is scant comfort when it is at its worst, as is the knowledge that it will ultimately give you strength, teach you compassion for others, and build your character. At that moment, pain is all you know, and all you can think of is relief for it.

In the morning it did bring a smile to my face to see my Anemone surrounded by her lost ones, embracing her, dancing about with her in the yard, while Northlight and Raven looked on smiling. Raven came to stand beside me, asking me with her hands what happened, and I explained, hoping I did not choke up too much as I did so. And she broke away and dashed into the house, and returned with her phial, pressing it into my hand when I tried to refuse, saying she did not need it now and wanted me to have it, and she kissed my cheek and I smiled a little and kissed hers.

We took a holiday, and packed a picnic lunch and went to the beach, and some of our friends came down, perhaps sensing something was afoot, and Guilin came also. They must have wondered why I did not join in so enthusiastically, and I could see that Anemone was worried about me even in her joy. She came up to me and asked if I were all right twice, and put her arms around me very gently, and I smiled and told her I soon would be.

The hair of sea-folk comes in three colors—honey-gold like Anemone’s, silver-white with that faint bluish tinge like Northlight’s, and midnight-black. Ebbtide and Embergold are the only ones with the gold hair, and Moonrise and Darkfin (who of course was not among them, and none spoke of him) have the black; the rest have hair of Northlight’s color: Fairwind the eldest daughter, and the twins Nightingale and Gloryfall. Embergold, who shockingly resembles her mother, brought along her little son and daughter, Onyx and Sandrose. It was the first I had ever seen of sea-children, of course. They had never been on land before, and they dashed about like puppies filled with wonder at their strange new surroundings, shouting to their mother, “What is this? Look at THAT!” Anemone’s black-haired sister Lightning, the one who had loved a cabin-boy, was there also. I wondered if Lightning had recovered from her broken heart, after all these years. Yet she seemed happy to be with her sister.

After luncheon I find myself feeling better, even showing the others how to play horse-shoes. The children and Moonrise and Ebbtide take to it quickly. The twins prefer cliff-diving, and they keep teasing their mother, who still loves it herself, but I’ve had to forbid her from diving from such lofty heights anymore, fearing she would dive too deeply or hit her head on a rock. But she seems happy enough just to watch her children at it. Later the girls all dance together, save for Lightning, who sits with her sister watching, Onyx and Sandrose on their laps. I try to take it in that Anemone is a grandmother, then ask Raven if she would like to join the dancers, but she shakes her head and sits with me, her arm wrapped tightly around me. I think she is in considerable awe, although she does express her delight that one of the sisters has a bird-name also. Northlight plays the music for their dance on his pipes, while his brothers look on with interest. The dancers all wear short gowns that seem made of sea-water—just as Anemone had worn when I first met her—shimmering in the late sunlight, first silver, then pale-green, then blue, then gold and back to silver again, and they spin and leap high, their hair fanning out like white and gold flames. Then Anemone and Lightning dance together, and they beg Raven to join them, and after a moment, she does so, Onyx and Sandrose with them, Raven catching their hands at times.

And Ebbtide and Moonrise finally get in on it too. They make Northlight come with them, and the three brothers dance, while their sisters sing a song in words I do not understand, clapping their hands in a wild entrancing rhythm.

After the sun began to sink, we all went back to the cottage, and I slipped away from them after a while and went back to the beach and sat for a while. Remembering the light Raven gave me, I took it out, and tried to light it. It glowed faintly, but as I talked to it, the light remained as it was, without turning to that warm candle-light gold, and I could not feel your comforting presence. I sat looking at it in despair too deep even for tears, until I heard a step behind me. It was Raven. She came and asked with her hands if she could sit with me, and I said, Please do. She said she was worried about me.

I am glad of that, I told her, also with my hands. She loves it when I talk to her that way, although it is unnecessary. But if you ever feel the need to draw them, then draw them at home and show them to me.

I would not do that, she said. I would not remind you of what they did to you. I drew one the other day, and put it in the stove. I think I will not dream of them any more now.

I smiled faintly, although it pierced me to the heart to think she was still innocent enough to believe one’s demons could be so easily done away with.

So I have a very big family now, she said with a little twinkle in her eye, smoothing down her apron unconsciously. Will they stay always?

No, only for a time. They will visit for a few days, then go back into the sea. It is their home. They will come back from time to time to visit, like relatives—which they are.

I’m glad of it too, I said with a chuckle. Having them around all the time would get overwhelming, I should think.

Because I lost my best friend last night, I said. No use keeping it from her. I told her all. She sprang up once more and ran to the house, and I was amazed at the speed with which she could run. Soon she came back with something in her hands. It was the handkerchiefs Emleth had made for her, about a dozen in all. She handed one of them to me.

Thank you, I said wiping my eyes, yet smiling a little to think she had thought I would have need of all the others as well. Perhaps I would, at that.

I know. She is a good friend to you. And I am so thankful you will never have to part from her, I thought.

I love you, Ada, she signed to me. I wish I could make you as happy as Sam does.

You make me very happy, beautiful one, I said. Anyone would be, to have a daughter as sweet and brave as you. And I will be happy later, but I must be sad now.

Everything. All the things I do in the day, and the things that happen to me, and people I know, and things I think and feel, and I sing to him and read my poems.

Sometimes. I know some of his doings. I see them in dreams, and can see how his children look, the things they do. I think it is a gift from the Lord of Dreams, to be able to see some of what goes on with him. Perhaps I will still have them.

You will have more of them, Ada. I shall pray for it. You said the Creator could hear me even though I cannot speak.

You made Nana very happy today. I have never seen her look so happy. So the Lord of Dreams will make you happy too, since you gave up your friend to give her joy.

I feel better now, I said, taking her hand in mine and kissing it. Thank you for coming out here.

You gave everyone joy, she said. You did not mind it that Nana had Northlight, and that he was Ninniach and you were good to him even when you did not know who he was. You did not mind that I could not talk and took things sometimes. And you were a friend to Guilin even when he was bad. Because of you, Nana and Northlight are happy, and so are Tilwen and Galendur, and Rûdharanion and Salmë, and Dûndeloth, and Dínlad and Marílen and Lyrien and Perion, and many, many others. And Guilin will be happy too, and Nessima, I know it. I hope Findëmaxa will be too, because I know she is not. She acts as though she is, but I know she isn’t. She acts like it too much. She is afraid of something.

I thought of my most recent meeting with the artist. I had met her unexpectedly coming toward the Orphan’s Home a few days ago, and at first she acted as though she had met me by chance, but then she asked if she could speak to me. I led her into the counseling room, smiling behind her back, and asked one of the maids to bring us tea.

“What is this?” Findëmaxa asked me, picking up a furry white blanket that lay on the couch.

“It was mine once,” I explained. “Sometimes the orphans like to wrap up in it when they talk to me, even though it never gets cold here. It seems to comfort them.”

She put it about her shoulders, admitting that it was comforting, somehow. Then she confessed that she had lied to me, looking very fearful though afraid I would hit her.

“My mother still lives, but not my father,” she said. “My father died when I was yet a baby. I don’t know why I told you he was living still.”

“How did he die?” I asked. I had an idea what the answer would be before she told me.

“Well…my mother used to tell me it was,” she said fidgeting with the blanket. “She said I cried so, he went out in the night to get away from the noise, and that was when the orcs killed him. I know it wasn’t true, but I believed it then. And she used to tell me, when I was naughty, that the orcs would get me if I did not behave myself. I grew up in terror of them, although I never actually saw one. I found out later that he was not killed by orcs, but by men, and that he had gotten into a fight with them. She told me it was orcs both to frighten me into being good, and because she was ashamed of the way he died, fighting with mortal men, that he was an Elf and superior to them and yet he could not fight them off. I came here, even though I have never seen an orc, because I was so afraid. My mother would not come because she was ashamed. She said I was born before she wed my father, and so she was not worthy to come. And…well, I do not want her to come, either.”

“I see,” I said. “Perhaps if you could find a way to forgive her, you might overcome your fear and shame. I know it would be very difficult, but—”

“Forgive her?” Findëmaxa dropped the blanket into her lap and looked at her untouched cup of tea.

“I know it would be hard,” I said. “She should never have tried to terrify you into being good. It was very wrong of her. I—”

“No, never,” I said. “When I was very bad, I got a strapping from my father, and if I were only somewhat naughty, I was not allowed to do something I dearly wanted to do. But my parents never tried to frighten me into good behavior. I do not know if other hobbit-children are treated so or not. But I would never do it with one of mine, any more than I would severely beat one. I was horrified to find that abuse of children is common among Men. It is rare among hobbits, and virtually unknown among Elves, as far as I know. Aragorn, our king, said he thought it may be the reason Men are at war so often. Harsh treatment in childhood makes them grow up angry and bitter and quarrelsome, and it leads to entire nations at war.”

“I never thought of my mother’s treatment as harsh,” she said. “I thought all parents did as much. But perhaps you are right, and I have been holding ill feelings toward her because of this. But how can I forgive her, as you suggest?”

“I dare say her parents did as much to her when she was growing up,” I said. “And she grew up thinking that was the right way to deal with wayward children, and did not realize it was wrong. And I think perhaps she did not want you to make the mistakes she made, and tried too hard to keep you from it. Can you not take this into consideration, and perhaps it will make it easier for you?”

“Perhaps…but it will still be difficult, especially when she is not here,” Findëmaxa said, her eyes brimming over. “I do love her in spite of all, and sometimes wish she would come to the Island, although I do not know if I could abide in the same house with her. Sometimes I remember when I drew the sort of pictures she did not like, she would take them from me and put them in the fire, saying it was unseemly to draw such. That I must do her proud, and keep my work maidenly at all times. And now…I feel as though I, too, could draw orcs. Yet I don’t want to. I don’t know what I want really. But I thank you for listening to me, at least. I think it has helped.”

She loved your gift, I said to Raven. She said it helped her to see the Light in soft colors, instead of in blinding brightness. It is less frightening that way.

Raven pointed out the Beacon to me, noting that it looked unusually bright. I said perhaps it was taking light from the Sea tonight, since it had been full of light. She released my hand and slowly stood, looking toward the Light. She stood like that for a minute or two, and I sat looking up at her in wonder. She seemed to be filling with its light, herself.

“Talk to it, Ada. You do not need your glass now. Talk to the Light, and Sam will hear you.”

It was a full moment before I realized she had spoken with her voice, and not with her hands….

Raven was right. She told me she did not mean to speak, someone else was using her voice…which sounded oddly husky, as well it might.

“I know the feeling,” I said. “I have had such instances also, of others using my voice to speak, or at least that is how it felt. If you felt such a thing, perhaps you spoke rightly. Sam will hear me.”

“Must I use my voice and not my hands now?” Raven said. “I am not used to speaking. It frightens me a little.”

“Suppose you use your voice at home for a while,” I suggested as we sat back down together, our arms about each other’s waists. “Then when you feel confident enough, perhaps you will come to speak to others. Do you want to go back to the house now?”

“Not yet,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder. “I am shy of them. Is it all right if I tell you things first?”

“Of course, dear one. What would you tell me?” I felt a chill of apprehension. “Do you remember…when you first lost your voice?” I said very gently.

“Yes,” she said barely above a whisper, and shivered. “I remember my mother talking of Valinor. She wanted to go. She talked a great deal about it, and said someday we would go there, and everything would be wonderful. I wanted to go also. But my father was a Dark-Elf, and he had never seen Valinor, and I think he did not want to go, although he told us that some day he would take us. He was a noble and had many servants and they respected him and liked working for him. Most were men. I did not know many Elves who were not relatives. Guilin was away when I was born. He had a restless spirit, and did not like to be long in one place, I guess you know that. But when I was very small, he stayed a long time. He said I was very adorable and he stayed because he loved me even though I was such a dreadful little piece of mischief, and would only go away for short periods.

“Then the wars started happening. One day I was in the stable with Branion the stable-boy. He was feeding the horses. I was standing on a rail. And I said ‘Watch.’ And I started to dance. He laughed at me and called me a show-off, yet his eyes were shining as he watched me. My mother did not like that I was friends with him, she said I was too free with the servants. But I liked him because he was not always telling me to mind my manners and be a little lady. I sang a song I had heard my brother sing, and Branion said I should be ashamed, but he laughed, and then we heard a noise. I could not tell what it was. But Branion looked frightened. He said it sounded like invaders. We ran outside and he put me in a barrel. I asked him to hide too. But he said he would get his sword and fight them. He had a sword and he liked to show me how he could use it. He was always talking about how he wanted to go away and fight like his brother, and now was his chance. He told me not to make any noise. I hoped he could hold them off.

“I was so scared, I was crying, but I tried not to make any noise. I could hear them getting closer…I heard them….” She was shaking violently. I put my arms around her.

“I couldn’t see anything. There was a crack in the barrel and I could have seen a little bit, but I didn’t look. I didn’t want to see. I heard screams, I heard beasts making horrible noises, I heard…them. I heard arrows hissing, words in a language I did not understand. I smelled smoke. I smelled a stink that was worse than anything I ever smelled before. I curled up to make myself as small as possible. It went on for a long time. I opened my eyes and tried to see out the crack and I could see people moving, but not enough to tell what was happening. Then finally it was quiet. I waited for Branion to come and tell me it was all right to come out, but he did not come. It grew dark, and I fell asleep there in the barrel. And I heard screaming in my dreams but still I slept. And in the morning when it grew light again, I waited for Branion and he did not come. Finally I stood up in the barrel. I had wet myself but did not know it yet. And I got out, and I saw…bodies…everywhere…”

I saw him. His own sword stuck through the middle of him. Sixteen, he was. I saw servants, many people. And parts of people. I saw a very ugly creature among them, cut almost in half, his teeth were pointed and his eyes were bloody…

I remember Guilin finding me. But I could not speak then. I was locked. No words could come, even to tell him what happened. I think he knew. He must have heard about the raid. He said he would go and avenge them, and he took me to a place he said was an orphanage. He said I must stay here for a while and after he had avenged them, he would come back for me. But I did not want to stay. The house was so crowded and sad, and the matrons looked cross and tired, and the children looked so thin and dirty and hungry. And I began to tremble and cry and cling to him so hard, he said I did not have to stay, and took me away with him. And we left and did not go back ever again.

“I do not know. He had a horse, and we rode about, and camped on the ground. Sometimes he shot a bird or rabbit and cooked it, or caught a fish. And then we would go into a town, stop at an inn and get a bath and he would have some ale. He taught me to read and write a little, so that I could write down things instead of saying them. And then he came up with a way of saying things with the hands. I was better at that than with writing things. It took a long time, but I learned it. He never tried to make me use my voice, never once.”

“And he taught me lots of tricks,” she said, not looking me quite in the face. “How to distract vendors and look pitiful while he took things and hid them under his cloak. How to give him signals while he played cards, to let him know what cards other players had. I remember one time…we went to a tavern, and got a room. And a woman kept looking at him and smiling, and…did he tell you of this?”

He had told me how a buxom wench kept giving him bold glances, and so after Raven was asleep he slipped downstairs to meet the woman in her room, where she had a drink waiting for him…a powerful dram indeed, for the next thing he remembered was waking with a throbbing head and not a stitch on, and the woman, his clothes and his money all gone. Still he managed to think of his sister, and he glanced around for something to put on, finding only an apron that had belonged to the woman…either she had forgotten it or had left it as a joke. Then he looked at the bed-linens and took one of the sheets and some pillow-slips, and wrapped them around himself for a gown, and tied the apron over them, and found a cloth on a small table and used that to make himself a kerchief, after doing his hair in two long braids. On a thought he took a pillow and tied it in the middle and stuffed it down the front of his “gown” for a bosom. And thus disguised he was able to make his way back to his room feeling only moderately ridiculous. Raven carried a packet of needles and thread, since on their travels they were very apt to tear their clothing. Her skills at needle-work did not extend much past simple mending, but she was able to help him stitch up the sheet so his “gown” would not fall off. The whole outfit looked pretty miserable, but he gritted his teeth and worked on it until it would look reasonably presentable at least in the tavern common-room, where most customers would be too drunk to be judgmental.

As he went down, someone slapped him heartily on the backside. His first impulse was to plant his fist squarely in the middle of the slapper’s face, but then remembering he was supposed to be a woman, he turned and saw that his admirer was, as it turned out, a pirate! Seems they were closer to the coast than they had supposed.

And the first thing he knew he had arranged a tryst in the pirate's room. He told Raven of his plan, and she giggled and went outside and climbed into the window of the room he indicated, where she found a couple of bags and proceeded to go through them while Guilin flirted with the tipsy victim and kept him distracted. She found a purse of gold pieces and some copper bangles which she appropriated for herself. Then she found some clothes and stuffed them into a bag she had brought, and slipped out the window with her plunder as she heard Guilin and the pirate approaching. And Guilin used the same tricks on the unfortunate corsair as the female thief had used on him, and after the fellow passed out dead drunk, Guilin found quite a few interesting items, such as a ruby ring, a pearl-handled cutlass with amazing carvings on blade and hilt, and what was obviously a shrunken head--which he did not take. Then he met Raven outside and they went into an alley where he put on the clothes she had taken. When he inspected himself in the mirror, he decided he looked most dashing, and thought he might have gone off to sea if he hadn’t had his sister to look after!

He had told me this story to amuse me, but although I laughed, I couldn’t help but feel a little sad that his sister had been compelled to get this sort of education. She stopped and hung her head during the telling of it, then looked up at me with a guilty expression.

“The past is the past,” I said, rather lamely. But it seemed to make her feel better.

“After that,” she said, “I began asking him if we could go to Valinor. But he was too bad to go yet, he said, and they would not be likely to let us in. And he wanted to see the world. I think he was certain it would be dull in Valinor, and he wanted to go about and see all before we settled down. So we wandered, and sometimes had to run for our lives, when people caught us stealing, and we had to hide out and disguise ourselves. He had me pretend to be a boy, because he thought I would be safer so. I rather liked being a lad, but sometimes I wanted to be a lass again, and nearly forgot how. Finally we met some people along our way, and stayed with them for almost two years. We covered our ears with our hair and pretended to be mortal, because often people feared Elves, thinking we had magical powers. They traveled in wagons, and camped out in the wild, and liked to dance, and play games, and sing, and sometimes they stole things too. There was a lad who could do a dance with eggs, and he showed me how. They gave us some of their clothes to wear, very colorful, with a lot of jewelry and glass beads and things. One of the women had a palantir, and she would tell fortunes. She said Guilin and I would go on a long journey. Guilin just laughed and told me she probably said the same to everyone. But I knew she meant Valinor. And I started dreaming of the Sea. I knew that somewhere beyond the Sea, there was peace and beauty, and forgetfulness of all bad things, and we could leave our wicked ways behind us, and I could be unlocked. But I could not make him see it.

“And they told stories. One was about a magic ring that had once belonged to the Necromancer, and how the King Isildur took it from him, then was slain and the Ring was lost, and found by a creature called Gollum, and then by the hobbit Bilbo, who was out on an adventure with Dwarves, then he took it away with him and it was never seen again. And Guilin listened with great interest, and asked them where this hobbit had gone. But they could not tell him, they said they didn’t think the story was true anyway. I wondered if there was really such a thing as a hobbit. And Guilin said he would like to see this Ring. He said it as a joke at first. But he began to get serious after a while. Then someone let it slip that the hobbit lived in Rivendell, where there were Elves. And he spoke of going there. I did not care about the Ring. But I wanted to see the hobbit, and Rivendell, and other Elves, maybe they would persuade Guilin to take me to Valinor. They did not know the way, but one day Guilin woke me up early in the morning and said come away with him, we were going to Rivendell. And we slipped off without saying goodbye. Did Guilin tell you any of this?”

“He did say something to me once, of wanting to find the Ring,” I said. “But I did not think he was serious.”

“He was not, at first, I think,” she said. “But he kept talking about it until he began to frighten me. And we went along, asking people along the way, which way to Rivendell. Most would look at us as though we were mad. But we traveled for a long time, until we finally met some Elves. They pointed us in the direction, then said they were going to Valinor. Guilin told them to take me with them, and he would join me eventually, but I would not go without him. He said in Valinor I could be a lass again, and he told me many things, but I would not go unless he came with me. He tried to slip away once and leave me with them, but I knew what he was about and watched him, and began to follow him. He was very angry, but he did not take me back to them.

“And then some marauders attacked us, and stole our horse, and we lost our map, and got turned around, and we never did get to Rivendell. I was very angry, and tried to run away, and then I got separated from him and he had to find me. It was very frightening, but he did find me. And he said he would forget about Rivendell and the Ring, and we would go to Valinor. He would have to get another horse, and that would take some doing. We were in Mirkwood. There was no horse to be found, and we got hopelessly lost in the woods. We began seeing nazguls on wings, and I was terrified, and began having bad dreams, and I would walk in my sleep, and Guilin would have to find me, and we grew more and more lost. Finally we found our way out of the woods, but did not know where we were, and there were orcs patrolling the rivers and valleys, and one day they caught me when I was sleepwalking, and they captured Guilin when he tried to rescue me. And they took us prisoner, along with some soldiers…”

“No, not that far. I think it was somewhere in the south of Rhovanion. But it was a dreadful place, barren and dreary, I could see no trees or horses, only some ugly beasts Guilin said were wargs. I was so frightened, I do not remember how we got there. We were the only Elves….”

I devoutly wished I did not have to listen to what came next. I hoped something or someone would come to interrupt her narrative. But she continued, with her hands when her voice failed her. Most of it I knew already from Guilin. It did not take the orcs long to discover that Guilin and Raven were Elves. And singled them out.

“No,” she shook her head, “I closed my eyes; then they said if I closed my eyes they would do the same to me, so I opened them, but I veiled them. I could do that, veil my eyes so I could not see what was happening before them. And I did not see. Then I pretended to faint—Guilin taught me how to faint, and make it look real, a trick to distract people. But my hands were tied to the rack from which I was hanging, and I think I fainted in reality, because after a while I found myself lying down on a pallet on the floor and Guilin with me, his arm around me. He was unconscious or asleep, and someone had put a shirt on me—one of the soldiers. I was cut and bleeding, and the shirt stuck to me, but Guilin had no shirt on at all. He was covered with a ragged sheet to his waist and he lay on his side. There was a man standing over us, and he had a small flask in his hand. He looked down at me as I looked up at him, and he put the flask to my lips saying it would ease my pain and help me forget for a while. He said it was flower juice. I did not know flower juice had such a virtue.”

“I drank some, then looked around to see my brother. And the man said he had already given him some and he would sleep for a while. He said he was a healer. He was with the soldiers. I saw he could read my thoughts if I let him, and I told him to give most to Guilin. And he put some balm on my wounds. He said he was sorry he must look upon me bare, but there was no one else to see to me. ‘’Tis demons they are, demons,’ I heard him say as he put the medicine on me. He told me he had a little daughter like me, so I think he was younger than he appeared. I said I wanted to help take care of my brother. And he said, ‘You are beautiful.’ Although I knew I looked a fright.

I felt as though the surf were inside my head. I heard Raven asking me if I were all right. And if I didn’t want to hear any more.

“I said he was beautiful too,” she said with a hint of a smile. “Although he had a big crooked nose and a scar on his forehead, a couple of teeth missing, and a stubble of grey beard and very bushy eyebrows. But when I said he was beautiful, I meant it. And he said his wife married him for his looks. I knew he meant it for a joke, but it made me cry. I remember Guilin had said something about how ugly he was, a few days before. And he gave Guilin some more of the flower juice, and I saw he had a bandage between his legs, like a nappy, and that was all he had on. Hathol changed the bandage and did not mind, and sometimes I changed it too. Hathol would hide me when orcs came into the room, there was a panel in one wall where he put me and covered me with a bag. And Guilin could make a rat noise that frightened some of the orcs, and once I slipped up on one of them and stole a knife. I think it was two weeks before Guilin was on his feet again. It was well for us we were Elves, it would have taken much longer for a mortal to heal. One of the soldiers found Guilin’s clothes for him, and mine also.”

“What became of Hathol?” I found myself asking, wondering why Guilin had not remembered his healer’s name. Obviously he did, in some distant closet of his mind. I suppose maybe he had locked his memories of the prison away, Hathol along with them, and had never named his “visitor” to his sister for that reason.

“I do not know. I hope he escaped, and found his wife and daughter again. Some of the prisoners were killed. But I do not know, to this day, what became of him. And it was then, as we started on our way on foot, that Sauron’s tower was toppled and the War was ended, and we were taken to a place where we could rest and heal. But I wanted to meet you, before going to Valinor. And Sam. Guilin said he would never be worthy, and would never forgive himself for not taking me when he had the chance. How could I ever forgive him, he said. But I did forgive him, for he got the worst of it after all, and he took my place.”

True enough, I thought, fuming, but there would have been no need for him to take her place if he had taken her to Valinor when he had the chance. Still, who was I to judge him? I should know better than anyone what sort of hold that abominable object could have.

“There were some soldiers who were going to attend the coronation of the new King,” she continued. “Guilin asked them to take us, and they did. As you know, we did not get to meet you, they said you were recovering and could have no visitors, and there were so many others who wanted to meet you too. But I sent you something. Do you know what it was?”

“I’m sorry, dearest, but…” Then I remembered. “Would it happen to be…a painted egg?”

“Yes,” she said with her smile. “It was of alabaster. I painted your name on it in gold, with swirls and stars and moons all around. Do you have it still? I think not.”

“Forgive me,” I stammered, “but I had so many things people gave me, I could not possibly bring them all with me. Sam has it. I hope it provided him a bit of comfort. How did you manage to get an alabaster egg?”

“Well…” she hedged, and I wished I had not asked. “I stole it,” she said casting down her eyes once more. I chuckled, although of course I shouldn’t have. Then the chuckle died as I saw tears slip from beneath her eyelashes, and she began to tremble once more.

And I heard a step and turned to look up. It was Northlight. I do not know how long he had been standing there, silvery-blue and beautiful in the night. It is unlike him to eavesdrop, yet I think he had heard much, if not all.

Carry her, I mouthed to him. And he stepped over and lifted her into his arms as though she were all hollow, and began to walk down the beach in the light of the moon and the Beacon. I watched them retreat, glowing, until they disappeared around the bend of a cliff, and I do not think I could have moved if a warg had charged me.

I must have dozed off after a while, because I started at hearing Northlight’s voice, as he stooped down saying, “Do you want me to carry you now, Ada?”

I gave him my hand to help me up, and embraced him, saying, “No no, that is good enough.” And we all sat down together, myself wedged between my two sweet ones, reminded of how Galendur and Tilwen had looked after me in Anemone’s absence, sitting in the twilight with me between them as if I were their child, and once Til laid a hand on her bulging belly and remarked that when Anemone returned she and I and Northlight would be a family just as Tilwen and Galendur and their little one would be. How did she know that Little Iorhael would be born the night Anemone returned?

And as if I had conjured her by thinking of her, Anemone emerged from the shadows.

“They have gone back into the sea for the night,” she said caressing my hair. “I only thought I loved you before. I cannot take it in that you did this for me. Although it should not have come as such a great surprise. But how can I possibly thank you?”

“I have already thanked him,” Raven said, and Anemone jumped. And I told what had passed.

“I think so,” I said. “In fact, I saw him. That must have been when I dozed off. He was standing before me, speaking to me. I could feel his hand touching my face. It was not like a dream; it felt real.”

And we all sat looking out at the Light, and I heard the first few strains of music which began as a faint murmur and grew in sweetness as slowly as the awakening of morning, layer upon layer of effervescent sound, voices playing off each other as subtly as only the voices of water can be, and the silken voice of air mingled in along with the crackling voice of fire and the thrumming voice of earth, a rich dark bell-tone from the utmost depths of the Sea, the ethereal harp-notes of the stars, as many notes as there were stars, infinitely far yet infinitely near.

Until a sound of clopping hooves brought it all to an abrupt end, and we all turned to see Guilin pull up on his horse.

I awoke this morning to find the velvet-covered book lying open on Anemone’s pillow, with these words inscribed:

What greater joy can I know
than to feel your warm arms
defend me each night
and the sheen of your face
on the pillow next to mine
gentle as the kiss of starlight
on dusk-dimpled sand?
I would drink you utterly
until my whole being is filled
with every drop of you.
I would dive into your magic
swim in your sweetness
bathe in your purity
dance in your power
whirl in your wonder
faint in your divinity
float in your stillness
walk in your warmth
fade in your fairness
and die in your arms.

This is all there is
and all we need to know:
that Love is
and ever will be
until all that we are
and were
and will become
is swallowed whole
in Eternity’s embrace.

“I suppose no one will be much interested in my doings now,” Guilin had told us after we wandered back to the cottage, Raven’s arm wrapped about his waist, her free hand in Northlight’s, Anemone and I following close, hand in hand. As we took our seats around the terrace table, Anemone brought up some of the frozen cream confection from the cellar. There was enough left for each of us to have a dipperful. Raven and I poured orange juice and bits of strawberry over ours, while Anemone and Northlight sprinkled shavings of chocolate and chopped nuts on theirs, Anemone adding some pineapple chunks. Guilin took his plain, pronouncing it “most edible.” I could just hear him casting about in his mind as to how to make a profit from the stuff.

“I know I haven’t been around much lately,” he admitted. “I suppose you all think I’ve been up to no good.”

“Now why would we suppose such a thing?” Anemone said with an impish twinkle, as I hummed a little and glanced up innocently. “It’s not as if your past is against you or anything.”

“Has it to do with Nessima’s gift?” I asked him. “Is it finally finished?”

“Yes, but that isn’t what I was going to tell,” he said. “And you can tease all you wish,” he looked pointedly at Raven especially, who pouted a little, “but no one, and absolutely no one, is to know what it is until the night I present it to its recipient. And that’s the end of that.”

“So, tell us your big secret,” Northlight said. “We all know you’re simply dying to,” he grinned. “Tell us before you burst. It would be quite a nasty job for us to have to clean you off the terrace.”

“It has to do with Anemone’s dress-designs,” Guilin said. “At least primarily. I talked with one of the Queen’s lawyers, Maeglin by name—you know, that pompous-looking chap who likes to wear a pearl the size of a small country in his cravat. Well, he and I managed to come up with an idea to prevent further theft of your ideas—and any other, for that matter.” He glanced down meaningly at his empty dish. “It’s quite simple really. You register your idea with Maeglin and he draws up something called a ‘patent,’ which forbids others from using your idea without either paying up or getting written permission from you. If they presume to do so, they must pay a fine for their impudence, and most of it goes to you. The Queen herself has approved this plan, so there you have it. One purchases the patent, one’s ideas are safe. Oh, you needn’t purchase the patent for your designs yourself, Anemone—I took the liberty of purchasing it for you. You are my business-partner after all, as well as the mother of my sister; it’s the very least I can do. And Lady Celebrían has taken a patent on her hair-formula, and we will be making much more money from it than we already are. So…what do you think?”

I had come up with an invention of my own recently—nothing world-shaking, but most handy. I suppose I’ve told you before—Anemone and Tilwen make the hair-formula in the kitchen four days per week, and pour it into bottles they set upon the table. Well, I cudgeled my brains for ideas to make it easier for them. And I took some clay and molded it over a pipe, shaping it into a little trough with small spouts at equal distances apart, had it fired up, and laid it on top of the bottles with a spout going into each one, so that the flasks could all be filled at once. Well, in no time it was dropped and smashed, and I made another, then hit on the idea to make it of metal. So I took it to Leandros and asked him to take it to a metal-worker and have it cast in tin, and then I came up with a long compartmented wooden box in which to set the bottles so they wouldn’t tip while being filled. And then I had the idea to have the trough made double so that another row of bottles could be filled at once. It made the job far quicker and less tedious for the ladies, and I had one made for Talmar’s wife also, to facilitate her job of filling milk-bottles and cream-jugs for her husband’s route customers.

I had also contrived a sort of pen made of bamboo-poles, to keep Little Iorhael out of the ladies’ way while they worked. It is about four feet square with a cushioned rubber mat within, and there we placed some toys and teething-rings and his favorite blanket, and the whole thing can be easily folded up and stored away when not in use. He plays in it and chews on his teething-rings until he falls asleep, and when he awakes Raven is usually home from school to take him out and change him and play with him for a while until his mummy and auntie are done with their work and his daddy comes over to take him and Til home. I did have qualms, wondering how the idea of having his little son penned would go over with Galendur, but the child seems quite happy in it, and his dad resigned himself to the contrivance quickly enough, to my vast relief, and even arranged to have one made for their home.

“I think it’s your best idea yet,” I said to Guilin. “What say you?” I asked Anemone. She shrugged.

“I liked Lover’s Day better,” she said with a little wink at Guilin. “But if you feel so compelled to protect my silly little designs, far be it from me to prevent you—especially seeing as how you’ve so completely taken matters into your hands without seeing fit to consult me first. You will have my undying gratitude.”

“I think it’s smashing,” Northlight said, his smile illuminating the entire corner in which he sat. Raven grinned proudly, yawning at the same time. It must have been close to midnight.

“Ah, I almost forgot,” Guilin said snapping his fingers. “I’ve gifts for all. Here, where’s that bag—here it is….”

For Raven there was a silver locket with a letter R engraved on it. For Northlight a silver watch on a chain…so that he would not be late to class any more, Guilin said. We chuckled, Northlight being quite notorious in the college for his punctuality. He opened the cover, which had a letter N engraved on it, to examine the little sun-dial within, the numbers wrought in black onyx.

For Anemone there was a pretty silver bell, engraved with dolphins, for calling us to dinner, and for me a small silver tankard with a hinged lid. And yes, engraving, the words With Cold Beer All is Possible, all around it, in very fine Sindarin script. We all nearly fell over laughing, Raven hardest of all.

Of course Guilin stayed the night in our guest-room, and after everyone else had gone to bed, Anemone and I slipped out into the night to the little cave beneath the cliff by the sea, where we had celebrated our love for the very first time, on the first night of our meeting, and also on our wedding-night—she preferring this special place even to the bridal-chamber--and there we recaptured that first shivering fiery consummation of our union. Truly it felt as the first time.

Afterward, as she lay with her head on my bosom, my fingers wandering lazily through the waves of her hair and over the firm damp satisfied curves of her body, marveling in the drunken reality of our kissed skins, I glanced at the light that filtered through the vines dangling over the mouth of our cave, and listened to the whisper of the faintly singing tide as it ventured ever closer, and yes, Sam, I thought of you, and wondered if you could possibly be as happy as I, and I sincerely hope and pray so. And I knew that we must live completely in the present, and move ever forward, looking back only as much as was good for us.

...for memory is a starry bridge
that will ever lead you to me
no matter what dark things disturb
the hungry waves below.
Still I would have you cross it
only as is needful
lest your steps should wear it thin
and you forget from whence you came....

I closed my eyes, telling myself it wouldn’t do to fall asleep here, with nothing on, but my eyes would close, and sleep began to take me in spite of all, when suddenly a little gasp brought me to.

I blinked, wondering where I was, then saw something luminous rolling up toward us on the sand. Anemone sprang up and went to retrieve it, and brought it to me, and it illuminated her all over…how was it possible, I wondered stupidly, that she looked even lovelier with no clothes on, and how had I ever lived before knowing her? And then she put her finding in my hand as I slowly sat up.

All I could do when she put the glass into my hand was gawk at it. Finally she spoke.

“No. I dropped the stopper in after the bottle.” I uncorked it and dipped a finger into it, then tasted the water. “Not salty.”

“He sent it back,” she said. “The Lord of the Seas. He put you to the test and you passed it, and he has rewarded you thus.”

“I don’t wonder,” I said looking dotingly up at her. She laughed. A more joyous sound I have never heard.

I suppose it remains to be seen what new properties it has been given. But at the moment, I am more than content with the virtues it possessed in the beginning!

In the morning, as I read through Anemone’s new poem the third time, I heard giggles coming from the kitchen and smiled to myself as I closed the book, swung my feet over the bedside and began getting dressed.

I met Guilin on my way to the privy and had to laugh as he stood in the hallway gawking at the bevy of small creatures gathered in the kitchen with their mother. He looked positively fearful about going into the kitchen, an expression that sat most oddly on him, to be sure.

Before I could answer, little Onyx appeared in the doorway of the hall, staring up at the incredibly tall fellow standing beside me, and his tiny mouth fell wide open. He stood about a foot high, dressed in a brief white shirt and breeches that stopped just short of his knees. His jet-black hair fell in short waves about his forehead, neck, and sharply pointed little ears. His sister Sandrose appeared behind him, peeping timidly around the edge of the doorway. She was about half a head taller than he, her hair the color of Northlight’s and very long, and she wore a simple frock the dusty blue of her eyes.

“Good morning, my dears,” I said smiling at them, thinking how wonderful it was to have little ones about the place who were actually the size of hobbit-children. They suffered me to kiss them for good-morning, although such was still a new concept to them.

“Who is that?” Onyx whispered to me, pointing upward. I gently moved his hand down.

“This is Raven’s brother, Guilin,” I said. Guilin seemed at a total loss for words…something I would never have thought to see. “Where is Raven? I don’t see her in the kitchen.”

Two girls appeared in the doorway, looking grown-up versions of Sandrose, and exactly like each other, their bright-blue eyes full of merry curiosity.

“I don’t know,” her sister whispered back, “but he’s most fair, in his huge, dark, wicked way. Better not let Fairwind see him.” She glanced back fearfully over her shoulder.

I could hardly suppress my laughter. “Guilin,” I said, “these are my…grandchildren, Onyx and Sandrose, and this is Nightingale and Gloryfall. I’m sorry, dears, I still can’t tell the two of you apart.”

The twins giggled, Sandrose smiled shyly, and Onyx just stared. I bent to pick him up, then thought better of it. I think he doesn’t like it much. I contented myself with caressing Sandrose's abundant hair.

Guilin got his bearings then. “Charmed,” he said with a little bow of his head, and much to my surprise, gave them his gentle smile, perhaps moved by their resemblance to Northlight. I was touched, but the twins seemed not to know what to make of it. They looked to each other to see what their reaction should be, then smiled with adorable friendliness up at him, taking each other’s hands, one of them smoothing back a lock of hair.

“I am Nightingale,” the one on the left said, “and this is Gloryfall….”

“I am Gloryfall,” her sister said at the same time, “and this is—” And they looked at each other and cracked up giggling. So did Sandrose, although she probably had no clue what was so funny. Then another came up whom I would have thought to be Anemone, but she had that slightly transparent quality that Anemone no longer possesses since becoming mortal.

“This is Embergold,” I said. “She is the mother of these two little ones. Embergold, this is Raven’s brother Guilin.”

“Is he your son also?” she asked as the children edged up to her sides. “Or have you made of him your father?”

“No,” I laughed, “he is but my friend. It's an unusual situation, admittedly.”

“I am feeling more and more like the Tower of Avellonë by the minute,” he said grinning.

Embergold looked quizzically at me. For all she is so like to Anemone in appearance, she has a serious and dignified questioning manner that is an almost comical contrast to her mother’s cheeky gaiety. I dare say she has a hard time seeing the point of a joke.

“What is this Tower?” she inquired with raised eyebrows. “A sort of mountain?”

“Ah, I see,” she said softly, in the tone of one who has discerned a great mystery and approved it. “You feel that you resemble this tower in contrast to the rest of us,” she said to Guilin. “We have made ourselves small to accommodate ourselves to our Mother and her new mate. I am most pleased to meet his friend.”

“Likewise,” he said. “And I am astonished by your resemblance to your mother, whom I hold in the highest esteem.”

Embergold nodded seriously. “I am the only one in the family who resembles her,” she said, “and therefore am the most beautiful one, although I cannot see myself.”

Guilin and I were both astounded at this bold statement, uttered not as a boast but merely in the tone of one stating a fact. To my further amazement, the twins nodded in agreement.

“I know how I look,” Nightingale said happily, “for I look like Gloryfall. Everyone says so.”

“And I know how I look also,” Gloryfall said. “Fairwind looks somewhat like us, but I think her even prettier.”

“You want to watch for her,” Nightingale confided to Guilin. “She may come to fancy you. She has been mated three times. She is most fickle and adventuresome.”

“Not at the moment,” he grinned, “but I’ve my eye on a fine lady, and shall probably speak my mind to her soon.”

“A QUEEN?” the twins chorused, their pretty mouths dropping wide open. Sandrose clapped her hands to her cheeks. Guilin laughed.

“That is a figure of speech,” he explained. “It means only that she is, well, tall, and dignified, with a commanding presence and imperious manner that sets her apart from others of her sort. So where is Fairwind now?”

“Oh, she is on the terrace, with our brethren,” Nightingale said airily with a little flip of her hand. “She much prefers the company of males.”

“Most definitely,” her twin agreed. “I find it most intriguing that Northlight is to mate your sister,” she said fluttering her eyelashes at Guilin. “The ways of fancyment are as a vast and disturbing mystery to us.”

I could see Guilin was enjoying himself immensely, surrounded by such small glorious femininity. For that matter, so was I.

“To be quite truthful, my dear,” he said, “they are to me as well. Although I have experienced the pangs of…fancyment…more than once, and expect to do so in the future, I have yet to gain full understanding of that all-encompassing emotion.”

“Do you see the black-haired female in the kitchen with our mother?” Gloryfall whispered to Guilin. “She is our aunt Lightning. She had a fracture of the heart. Do you know what that is?”

“She fancied a cabin-lad,” Embergold explained, “and saved his life. But he never knew of it, and he sailed away, and she never saw him again. That is how her heart came to be fractured. I do not understand that either, myself. I understand that it often causes one to feel something known as sorrow, of which I have yet to feel.”

“I would say count yourself lucky,” I said, “were it not for the fact that one must know it in order to feel joy in its true fullness also.”

“That is what our mother said,” Nightingale said. “She says one must become landish to know it.”

“I have heard it said,” Gloryfall said, “that when one has a fracture of the heart, one’s eyes leak, and one’s nose also, and one makes funny noises, sometimes very loudly, like the little one your friends have. His heart must be very badly fractured.”

“One does,” I said soberly, “some more than others. But little ones do not cry because of fractured hearts, but more because of empty tummies, or hurting teeth, or wet nappies. Speaking of which, I must go and take care of some urgent business, or I shall be experiencing leakage elsewhere.”

“The functions of the body,” Nightingale said. “Mother told us they can be most irksome. And sometimes disgusting, like pirate-bilge.”

“Or spit, or vomit,” Gloryfall said as I hastened away. “Or rotten fish, or gull-droppings. Or….”

When I came back from the privy, the hallway was clear, although I could still hear voices in the kitchen. I almost bumped into Guilin coming from the guest-room, fully dressed now.

“By the way,” I told him as we made ready to go to breakfast, “that was a wonderful thing you did for Anemone. I think we were all a little too sleepy and ecstatic last night to thank you properly. But it was a fine thing, and I do thank you.”

“After what she did for me, it was small payment indeed,” he said. I wondered what he meant, until I remembered a certain wheel-barrow, and a horn.

“Still I would do whatever I can for her, in my own way. You were given a priceless little pearl of a lady...and no one was ever more deserving than yourself.”

I was trying to think of a reply when I heard a muffled sound from Raven’s room. I had supposed she was on the terrace with Northlight. I glanced at Guilin, who looked as surprised as I. Without hesitation I turned and tapped on her door.

“Raven?” I called. I heard a sob, and was most alarmed. After a moment, I turned the knob of the door very softly. I could see her lying on her side in her bed still, her back to me, clutching an old stuffed bunny that she’d had since a few years before coming to the Island. “Raven? Dearest, what is wrong?” I sat on the edge of the bed, caressing her hair. Guilin came in behind me, and I could hear the twins whispering in the hallway.

“She weeps,” one told the other with great concern. “Has she a fractured heart?”

I motioned to Guilin to close the door. He did so softly, then went to the other side of his sister’s bed, and stroked her cheek.

“What is it, love?” he said in the gentlest tone I had ever heard. I felt my heart constrict, remembering her disclosures last night, thinking of that terrified child hiding in the barrel. Guilin looked at me, stricken. “Do you want me to carry you?” he asked her, taking her hand in both his.

No answer. Then I heard a soft tap on the door, and it creaked open. It was Anemone. The twins must have summoned her.

“What is wrong?” she whispered, squeezing up beside me. Raven finally turned on her back and slowly sat up, sniffling. She tried to stop crying, succeeding only in bursting into tears all over again. I looked helplessly at Guilin, who looked equally helpless, but Anemone took the girl in her arms and rocked her softly. I looked back and saw Northlight peeking anxiously around the crack in the door, and I went and asked him to take the others outside and stay out there until summoned.

“No, you do not have to go to school today,” Anemone said. “You may take a little holiday, and we will give you your lessons so you don’t fall behind.”

“Tell you what,” Guilin said, “would you like to go with me on my route today? That sometimes makes you feel better, doesn’t it?”

“I…I do not want anyone to see me,” she said against Anemone’s shoulder.

“We can take the less busy roads,” Guilin said. “And you needn’t go into the houses with me.”

“If you do not wish to see or speak to anyone,” Anemone said, “you may stay in your room until you are ready to come out, and I will allow no one to disturb you. Or you may go to your secret place in the woods, and I will distract the others so they do not see you go. Whichever you prefer.”

“Let's get you dressed, then,” Anemone said. “What would you like to wear?”

Guilin and I left the room as Anemone helped Raven choose a dress, closing the door behind us.

“What gives?” he said shakily. “I thought she was going to be all right. And now…”

“She revealed a great deal yesterday,” I pointed out. “It took its toll. We must just let her give expression to her feelings from time to time. It may never go away completely, but she is a courageous lass, and it will not dominate her.”

I could see Northlight in the kitchen. He looked guilty at not having gone out to the terrace as I had directed him, but I nodded to him, and he came to us. I explained him that Raven would go riding with her brother; maybe he would like to go also? At least he didn’t have a class today. He said he would go.

Raven was still weeping a little as she and Anemone came out. She wore a plain green dress without the pretty apron, her hair in two braids. Northlight put his arms around her, and they went out back while Guilin went to get his horse. Then the twins appeared, each bearing a bunch of flowers.

“Thank you, sweet one,” I said. “I will put them in water and set them in her room for her.”

“But we wished to give them to her,” said Gloryfall. “They smell pretty—yes?” She held her bouquet out to me. I sniffed, and tried not to sneeze.

“Look at this,” Nightingale said and a flock of luminous butterflies burst from her flowers, then disappeared. “Don’t you think that might cheer her?”

“You may give them to her, when she returns,” I said when I had recovered myself sufficiently. “But she does not wish to see anyone just now. She will be all right after a while…especially after she receives your gifts.”

I would have enjoyed myself immensely if I had not had to worry about Raven, for my new-found stepchildren are most delightful. Fairwind, the eldest, is the romantic one…and I suppose Shire-folk would be shocked over her past, and I’ll admit I was myself at some of the things her brothers and sisters told me about her, with her sitting right there all the while. She asked after Guilin, and the twins giggled as Anemone explained about Nessima.

“I am profoundly curious as to fancyment,” Fairwind admitted, “and of landishness. I am one of those who have always longed to know of the things and people of the Land, like Northlight and Mother. She read to us some of the words you drew for her, and it has greatly aroused my interest.”

I lifted my eyebrows to Anemone, who smiled a bit sheepishly. Yes, I have written a few poems recently which were strictly for her, if you know what I mean. And she had read them to her children??

“I would give much to have a male draw such words about me,” Fairwind sighed, “although I cannot read. If the Sea-Lord would only find a hero for ME to wed!”

“Perhaps,” said Ebbtide, “he fears you would not stay with him for more than a year.”

“Oh no,” Anemone said, “it is not like that for land-folk. They mate for life, like the larger beasts.”

Moonrise said to Fairwind, “Perhaps in about a hundred years, there will be another hero for you.”

“I enjoy seeing you and Mother press your mouths together,” Nightingale said to me, “although I do not yet understand why this is done.”

“If I had a male-child,” Fairwind said, glancing toward the peacock, who had flown up to his favorite tree by the terrace, as usual to get in on anything going on...especially when what is going on happens to be a meal, “I would call him Peacock. That is the most wondrous of birds. His tail looks made of sea-waves and gems.”

“Did Mother tell you,” Embergold said to me, “that WE saved Middle-earth also?” Embergold is still with her mate, although he did not come with her.

“She told me once,” I said, “that you all took out a fleet of ships from a distant continent, full of men who wished to find new lands to conquer and try to force their evil ways upon the people. She said they were sent by the Dark One in order to aid Sauron, and that you all fought them off and set the sharks on them.”

“She says you all are what we in Middle-earth would call Rangers,” I said. “Rangers of the Sea. You protect the islands and coasts and merchant-ships from marauders and pirates and such. And this is why you have been allowed to come to the Blessed Realm. And others of you are herders of fish or whales or dolphins, or trainers of sharks to be as the guard-dogs of the sea.”

“I only hope,” Embergold said, “that my young shall grow up to do me proud also, and will keep other evil ones away from the peaceful lands.” She smiled gently upon her little ones.

“I hope it will not be necessary for them to do so,” I said, somewhat shocked.

“I am a herder of whales now,” she said. “I carry a spear no longer. I have not been a warrioress for many years.”

“But you took the form of a whale,” Fairwind reminded her aunt, “when we defeated the fleet, and you caused a mighty wave that capsized some of the ships. It was truly a sight to see.”

Lightning modestly cast down her eyes, and I tried to picture her as a whale. She is shy and gentle, with the jet-black hair and a flower-like face. A dove, perhaps, or a doe…but a whale?

“Mother said,” Gloryfall informed me, obviously a lass far more interested in love than war, “that when she has pains of the body, you soothe them, and you even took them to yourself once. And you tolerate her when she feels cross, and help her comb her hair, and think up ways to make her work easier.”

“She gave up much to be with me,” I said, reaching over to lay a hand over hers, where she sat on the other side of Nightingale, and she looked the least bit shy, which was odd indeed. “I would be a poor sort of mate if I did not do all I could to make life as pleasant for her as possible. Besides, I greatly enjoy doing so.”

“Amazing,” Moonrise said. “And Northlight is changed…he is like himself, yet something more. He says because of you, he has discovered things in himself he never knew were there. The greatest discovery of all, he says, is the depths and heights and true magic of one’s own being.”

Raven seemed in better spirits when she returned later in the afternoon. She was delighted with the flowers the twins presented to her, and she even put on one of her embroidered aprons. The twins were intrigued by her braids, and wished to put their own hair into “tails” as well. Anemone helped them to do so, working flowers into their hair and Raven's.

“We are all twins now,” Gloryfall said, as she and Nightingale looked to each other to see the results, “although Raven looks not at all like us.”

The art-teacher had grown concerned when Raven did not come to school, and had come to see about her. And Raven spoke to her softly—I did not hear what she said, but Findëmaxa’s face was something to see, even more so when the little bevy of sea-folk descended on her gazing in open curiosity. And she gave Raven a drawing-lesson to make up for the one she had missed at school. They went down to the beach for it, away from the throng…which mysteriously disappeared when I went into the house to change into more casual clothing. But when I came back to the terrace and looked out at Raven and Findëmaxa, I counted ten glass butterflies fluttering about them in the late sunlight, and grinned to myself before going back to help Anemone start supper.

Later on, Raven came and showed us what she had drawn, which was no less than a portrait of Findëmaxa herself. And Findëmaxa had drawn a portrait of Raven, very lovely and expressive, and we invited her to stay to supper, and she accepted. The others were delighted with the drawings, and wished to have their portraits drawn as well. And Findëmaxa suggested that, rather than having her draw them one by one, that they all group together. They exclaimed in excitement, and the twins would be in front, striking some rather exaggerated poses until Findëmaxa gently suggested a more relaxed position. Northlight and his brothers stood behind the sisters and the little ones in front, and then they called for Raven to join them…and then me and Anemone.

And she drew us all, and to our surprise each of our faces looked different, even the twins. Then nothing for it, she must paint it in water-colors, and when it was finished Anemone said it was the most beautiful work she had ever done, and so it was. And we had her paint individual portraits of us, and when our visitors got a look at them, it was not long before they were clamoring to have theirs drawn as well, both individual and family-portraits. So now Findëmaxa is much in demand all over the Island.

And it’s my guess that the Queen herself will soon be commissioning a portrait of the Royal Family at the Palace, especially seeing as how there will be a new little member before long.

“I’d no idea I could draw portraits like that,” Findëmaxa said as I walked her to the Flamingo’s Roost for our luncheon. “I feel like burning all my old works now. They seem utterly false. Yes, they are all lies, and deserve the flame.”

“Don’t think too badly of them,” I said. “Perhaps they merely represent a stage of your development from which you have moved on to the sort of art you were meant to do.”

“Yes,” she said, and blushed a little. “Erm….do you think perhaps…that your lady could advise me as to some new clothes? I am tired of my old ones, and now that I have a bit more money coming in...”

“And…and a little flask of that hair-formula I’ve heard tell of, I should like to try….”

I had a disturbing dream last night…if dream it were. It felt rather more like my vision of Boromir’s spirit in the House of Healing. But it did answer a question that has been pestering me ever since the night Raven spoke, about a week ago….

I am looking upon a landscape not unlike that of Mordor, rocky and barren, ashy, very little vegetation. The charred remnants of a large building smolder in the background. Dead bodies lie here and there, mostly orcs, but some Men also, many in the uniforms of soldiers. I see them as through a sad and dusty mist, standing alone with my newly filled glass in my hand, and I wonder whether to go and help them. But my feet seem rooted to the spot.

More soldiers come, some on foot, some on horseback. I see other men approaching, their hair and beards wild and tangled, their bodies and what is left of their clothing filthy and smelly. One wears no shirt at all. He is young, and his features are regular and might be handsome if they were clean and his dark hair and beard washed and combed. I can see a few whip scars on his back, and I shudder.

He and another prisoner appear to be looking for someone. The soldiers assist some of the wounded. I turn my eyes away as one of them stabs an orc who appears to have some life still in him. Then I see the shirtless prisoner and another one bending over one of the fallen prisoners, who has an arrow embedded in his side. He appears older than the others, his hair and beard all grey, his head bald on top. He lies on his front, his face turned to one side, and I can see it is grimaced in great pain. It would be an uncomely face even in peace, yet I feel a wish to go and ease him. The two prisoners stoop over him and very slowly turn him over. He groans, and the shirtless man admonishes the other to be more careful.

The wounded man murmurs something I cannot hear, and the shirtless man bends over to listen. He nods, and takes something from a bag lying nearby. It is a dark-colored flask. I cannot see if there is anything in it. The shirtless man uncorks it, and holds it to the wounded man’s lips.

Drink, I can hear him say. The wounded man tells him, Give it to the others. I’ll not last long.

No, Hathol, says the shirtless man. You eased the pain of others, now let us ease yours. There’s but one swallow left anyway.

And he supports the wounded man’s head and pours what is left in the flask into his mouth, and he does not protest. The shirtless man smooths back a lock of the grey hair, then caresses his forehead.

Nay, leave it, lad, says the wounded man. I can feel the life leaving me even as I speak.

No, Hathol, we’re going to save you if we can, says the shirtless man, his voice breaking a little. And we’re not leaving you in this godforsaken place. If you’re to die, it will be among friends at least.

Then the other man speaks: I’m going to pull out this arrow now. We must not delay. He breaks off part of the shaft, which is a thick one, and puts it between the wounded man’s teeth. Bite down on this, he says. Then very slowly and carefully, he begins pulling the arrow out. The wounded man does not cry aloud, but his face goes grey, and I wince, wondering if he will bite through the piece of shaft. The shirtless man holds to the wounded one’s hands, and his face clenches a little at the pressure of the older man’s fingers on his own. Then the contents of the flask begin to take effect, and the lines of pain in the wounded man’s face begin to relax as a soldier comes along and begins dressing his wound.

Two more men carrying a ragged blanket approach, and lay the blanket on the ground beside the wounded man. They fold it in half, then again, and speak to the others to lift the wounded man onto it. They slide their hands underneath him, then very gently, almost tenderly, they lift him onto the blanket. Then each of them take a corner of it and carefully lift it and begin to carry the wounded man into the mist. I cannot see where they are going, and I begin to follow. I must not lose sight of them. I am frightened, yet I plod through the dust, past the dead orcs, whose stench I can smell distinctly, and I try not to be sick, despite the entrails I narrowly miss stepping on. I call, Hathol, Hathol, but cannot see anyone about. Then I remember my glass, and I murmur the words to make it light, and it does so. Ah, now I can see….

And the next thing I see appears to be the soldiers’ encampment, with a tent in the midst. It is dusk, but I hold my glass high, and walk among the ones who are making their beds outside the tent, which I approach, and no one seems to be able to see me. I enter the tent, in which several wounded men are lying on pallets, some of them unconscious. And I find Hathol quickly enough. I stood down beside him. Hullo, Ringbearer, I’m glad you’ve come at last, he says, just as if he were expecting me. Involuntarily I touch myself on the place where It was wont to hang, but It is not there. And I remember, I gave the Evenstar to Anemone, and I wear no chain now. I hold up the Light to look at Hathol’s face, and he smiles sweetly at me, and I take his hand with my good one. His eyes, I can see, are golden-brown in color, and full of their own special light. And he says, Tell the Puss I go to a fairer land.

Puss? I think, taking this to be a pet-name for his wife. How would I ever find his wife? Then I nod in understanding, and I uncork the glass, dip my fingers into the water, and brush his forehead with them, and profound peace comes over his craggy features, until he is indeed beautiful. I kiss his bald head, and his eyes close in sleep, and I sit beside him until he draws his final breath. I take his hands and fold them over his breast, then take the blanket that lies over him and gently cover his face.

No one else seems aware of my presence. Finally I rise, and walk among the other wounded ones, and I uncork my glass once more and dip my fingers in the water and brush them across each forehead, and each face becomes peaceful, the tent full of a soft silvery light, and I know that those who are to die will sleep in peace, and those who will survive will come to walk in the Light. And I step out into the night, and the mist is gone and the sky is full of stars. And I am sitting once more on the beach, and I turn to go back to the cottage before Anemone can come out looking for me....

All next day I waited for Raven to come home from school, wondering when the right time would be to tell her. And as her many siblings gathered chattering in the garden, I drew Raven away and walked with her to the beach, where I told her of my dream.

“Puss,” she said as we sat watching the evening sky draw out its multi-colored scarves and its lone gem, “that was his name for me. He could not say my right name either. He always called me Puss. But I think I did not tell you that. Did I?”

“No, and yet I knew whom he meant,” I said. “I think the glass contains water from the Fountain of Irmo now. Something tells me that all the Valar have had a part in the refilling of my glass. And I have found myself thinking of Hathol often, and wondering what became of him. I am wondering about Guilin, why it is he should have become Hathol. Whether or not it is that his spirit possessed him for a while, to give him peace…or if he were just remembering the healer in some remote chamber of his mind, and took on his name in order to give himself peace and healing of some sort.”

“But Guilin said his Hathol was dull,” Raven said, “and mine was not. One of the soldiers said that outside of the prison, he often cheered everyone with his jokes and witty remarks. It cannot have been the same one.”

“Maybe the glass will explain that someday, as well,” I said. “I am thankful that it did not let me see the battle. It is wise, and knows what to show me and what not.”

“The soldier without the shirt is the one who gave me his,” she said. “I do not even know his name. What color was his hair?”

“Why--black, I think,” I said, puzzled as to why she would ask this. “Or very dark brown. I did not really notice.”

“So am I,” I said. “I think I know why you would not be erased now. I think you have been sustained by the memory of Hathol and the soldier, and the others, who risked their lives to save you, and took care of you and your brother and eased your pain for a time. It is as Lord Elrond said—one finds unexpected friendships along the way, and to do so may turn great evil to great good. Which does not mean that the horrific memories ever completely go away, but we can keep them at bay when we live in the Light, which we can find only through those who bear it themselves.”

“I am glad for him,” she said, although her eyes were very bright. “His wife and daughter will go to where he is someday. But I am sad for them.”

“So am I,” I said. “A fine and loving husband and father he must have been. But I'm glad they will not be left to wonder about his fate.”

“I want to make a monument for him,” she said. “Here on the beach, where I can always see it. Can we, Ada?”

We chose the place for the monument—in a secluded spot between the cottage and the orange-grove, which is the place we have selected for Anemone and myself to be buried together once we have quit this earth.

And this afternoon I came home and you will not believe what I found. The monument has already been erected—barely three days after Raven and I discussed it! It is made of a slab of pure white marble with a gold veining. Northlight, Ebbtide, and Moonrise went to the quarry the day before and cut the slab themselves and carried it all the way home—and the quarry is a good 25 miles away! And they carved and chiseled it and worked on it all night and day, behind the stables. I wondered what they were about, but Anemone told me they were making a surprise and asked me not to enquire into the matter. And today after work…I saw the slab, polished and erected, with the names of Raven’s parents along with Hathol’s, and also that of Branion the stable-boy, who had hidden her in the barrel and died defending her, some pretty ornamentation all around the names, and also a little epitaph Raven had composed herself:

“I know you or Northlight or Nana could do much better,” she said to me, “but they were mine, and I wanted to make a little verse for them myself.”

“I do not think any of us could have done a bit better,” I said with a little catch in my throat. And of course the others heartily agreed.

Above the names was a tiny niche in which a lamp could be set. Anemone and her daughters had transplanted flowers, bushes and a couple of small trees and ferns to the spot, and inlaid some flat stones in front on which one could kneel before the slab. And then the brothers moved a small stone bench from the garden and placed it across from the monument, and erected a little arbor behind it, by which the ladies planted a wisteria vine.

We all held a little vigil that evening, Guilin included, each of us taking a candle and standing in a circle around the monument. Raven lit the little lamp and we sang our hymn, then I said a prayer for those great souls the stone commemorated, and we stood in silence for a long moment with our heads bowed. I can imagine what was going through the minds of my stepchildren and step-grandchildren, to whom this ceremony was a completely new and alien experience; yet they seemed moved by it and filled with wonder.

Well, the play is just four weeks away! The entire family is involved. Anemone will be playing Rosie, as I think I told you before, and she is also assistant costume designer. Irilien is constantly confounded by her cleverness at contriving outfits out of bits and pieces of the unlikeliest materials. Raven will play a Gondorian maiden—she has no lines, but she will be one of the dancers in the celebration of the downfall of Sauron. And the others will be in it also—they will play members of the crowd, and they will dance too. Everyone is in quite a “tizzy” as Aunt Dora would have said.

But our Eowyn—that is, Inzilbêth—has quit. She was not at all happy that Guilin is playing Faramir, instead of Dûndeloth, whom she greatly fancies...but I was really not expecting her to refuse to play the part, with her big Moment in it and everything. And barely a month away from the performance!

I heard about her tirade from some of the other actors. Selín told her if she walked out on the play, he would expel her from the Company. And she told him, “Very well. You can just do without your leading lady, and see how far your precious Company goes. We both know there is no one else who can play the part. And I will have naught to do with that young upstart of a Guilin. He can’t act his way out of a grass hut. Whatever possessed you to cast the likes of him? There must be SOME reason why Dûndeloth would give up the part. It certainly can’t be because of ME. There’s some mischief afoot, and I wish no part of it.”

“Well, I am sure Melian can play the part,” Selín told her with devastating calm—or at least, what would have been devastating calm to anyone else, “and would be most happy to do so. It should not be hard to fix a golden wig for her.”

“Melian? Please,” sniffed Inzilbêth. “Her hair-color is the very least of it. She can weep convincingly, I haven’t a doubt, but if you mean to tell me she can persuade anyone that she can slay the Witch King of Angmar, I will laugh in your face.”

“Laugh all you wish,” Selín said, although he knew that she was right. And who else could learn it on such short notice?

He came to me and asked me if there were any possibility that I could persuade Inzilbêth to change her mind.

“She likes you,” he said, a little desperately, “and may listen. I know it’s a long shot, but you have succeeded where others have failed, and you seem to have such a persuasive way about you. Or do you possibly know anyone else who could play the part?”

“I will cast about and discuss it with my wife and friends,” I said, shuddering at the very thought of having to go cringing to our drama-queen. I really was furious with her, and did not think I could even bring myself into her company, let alone try to cajole her into changing her mind. I’m just NOT that good an actor!

So I went home gloomily with Northlight and Guilin…who offered to give the part back to Dûndeloth, but I told him nay, we were NOT going to capitulate to that creature. If she thought the play depended on her alone! Well, maybe she had another guess coming….

“A pity Anemone no longer has her powers,” Guilin said, as we were nearing the cottage, “or perhaps she could do it. I’ve no doubt she could have pulled it off. But of course that’s out of the question now.”

“There’s Tilwen,” Northlight said. “I should think she would be good in the part, being so fiery of temperament. Of course, she does have the baby and all. She can hardly tear herself away from him for two minutes.” He grinned to himself, shaking his head.

“What about Nessima?” I said. “Do you know if she has ever done any acting?” Even as I spoke, I thought it extremely unlikely, despite her dramatic looks. Yet that touch of austerity she has might well befit her for the role.

“I scarcely think so,” Guilin said soberly. “And somehow I don’t think she’d go for it. Say…what about you, Northlight? You’re a first-rate actor—you’d have to be, to play Gollum the way you do. Do you think it possible that you could double for the part of Eowyn?”

Northlight looked as flabbergasted as I must have, at the question. I think neither of us were sure if Guilin were joking or not.

“I doubt I could play a female role,” Northlight said. “And Gollum is such a big part, and I have my studies along with it…”

“True enough,” I said with a sigh. “I--wait. What about one of your sisters?”

“Why, of course,” Guilin said. “Perhaps one of them would like to play it. There must surely be a great reserve of talent in your family. Do you think perhaps Fairwind, or…”

“Perhaps,” Northlight said thoughtfully. I had to laugh a little at the thought of Inzilbêth’s face if one of Northlight’s sisters should take her part. She would be fit to be tied.

It was late in the evening when we arrived home, and Anemone and her daughters were out on the terrace still, Raven with them, sitting on the swing with the little ones at her sides. Onyx and Sandrose took to me strongly after I told them a story one day, and they sometimes climb into my lap now and ask for more stories. At first I told the funniest ones I knew, well-known to all hobbit-children, but I imagine the humor was a little lost on them. They like better to hear about my own childhood; they smile more over the things I tell them about myself and Bilbo and others I knew, and I’ve told them to call me Granddad. After a while Sandrose will lay her head against my shoulder, and Onyx, not to be outdone, does likewise, and they are so warm and soft and light in my arms. I do not like to think of the time that they will have to go back…but their father lives far away and I imagine they miss him already…why must the sea be so vast?

Of all the daughters of Anemone, she has the most dramatic flair, and seems the most fascinated with all that goes on, and with the story itself. She cannot read, but she memorizes quickly, and Northlight and Anemone are a tremendous help. They tirelessly read her lines to her and have her say them back, then read the other parts for her so she can hear her part in context. She is far more intelligent than she seems at first, and throws herself into anything she does. And her singing voice carries wonderfully well. And she is delighted that she will get to make her hair appear the color of Embergold’s!

I became aware, then, of how beautiful she really is. I just wonder if Guilin will end up falling in love with her instead of Nessima! But I am a little more worried about Fairwind falling for him. Of course, it would add a level of depth to her acting, if that should happen…but certainly I do not want her to get hurt!

Meanwhile there is much to do with directing my lads…and the part I’ve been dreading most is coming up: the Tower scene. Today we rehearse the part where you fight off the orcs and come and find me in the Tower. I am not at all looking forward to it, to say the least….

“Will I have to go naked on the stage?” Dínlad asked me. We were on the bare stage, just he, Perion, Northlight, and I. Rûdharanion, Guilin and Selín and a few other actors, some of whom played orcs, sat out in the front row watching.

“Of course not,” I said startled, laughing a little, then I wondered just how we would handle the scene. “I suppose…perhaps you could be bare from the waist up. I think that would work.”

“He could wear only his underdrawers and cover himself with an old rag or something,” Perion suggested.

“I am NOT wearing my underdrawers on stage,” Dínlad declared. “I’d never hear the end of it.”

“How about a nappy?” Perion said and we laughed again. Dínlad stuck out his tongue.

“What say we paint them skin color,” Northlight suggested. “Then it would just appear that he were naked on the stage, but he wouldn’t really be.”

“I think it would be all right if he just kept his breeches on,” I said, wondering how I managed to discuss the matter so calmly and even with humor, “just as you wear the rags as Gollum although in reality he wore but a loincloth. Certain realities must be sacrificed to discretion.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Dínlad said, and we laughed once more. I picked up my script, saying, “Now let’s go over the scene. You, Dínlad, lie over here, where the pile of rags will be…and you…” I looked out to the youth who would play the orc with the whip, and he jumped up from the front row and onto the stage. The rehearsal went off awkwardly, as one may imagine…but of course, it was only the first one.

“Do I have to pick him up and hold him?” Perion pleaded to me at one point. “I feel awfully funny doing that. Couldn’t I just look at him like--like I’m glad to see him or something?”

“The audience will not be able to see your expression so well, if you only look as if you are glad to see him,” I said.

“But…but he’ll have nothing on,” Perion pointed out. “I mean, no shirt, or anything. I’ll feel…silly. The other lads will tease.”

“The lasses will love it, I assure you,” I said smiling. “The lads will be jealous.”

“Absolutely,” I said. “Lyrien told me this is her favorite part in the whole story, and she can hardly wait to see it on stage. She says she falls into a thousand pieces just thinking of it.”

“Does she?” Perion stared at me open-mouthed for a moment. “But—she’s little,” he remembered.

“She won’t always be,” I reminded him. “And Raven said this was her favorite scene also. It just makes her melt all over the place, she said. And Marílen and Fëariel…”

“Truly?” Perion squinted at me and I thought I detected a spark of disbelief in his eyes, although Dínlad rolled his own at the names of his sister and cousin. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rûdharanion and Selín look at each other in delight.

“Trust me,” I said with all sincerity, “the girls will love it. They will all melt all over the place.” I wished Raven and the twins had come along, but it would have made the boys nervous, surely, to have too many people watching—especially girls.

And so we went over the scene, and Perion lifted and held Dínlad in a way that almost made ME melt all over the place. We rehearsed it three times, and the boys put down their scripts the third time and did it all from memory. I was nearly in tears, I was so proud.

After a couple of hours or so, after I dismissed the lads and told them to go get something to eat, and Northlight took them out of the rehearsal hall, it started to fall in on me, however, and I hastily beat a retreat out backstage and sank down on a low stool with my head on my knees, my heart pounding. Maybe the rehearsal had gone just a little too well.

Sam…why is it, that ever since I got my glass back, that I miss you even more than before? Is it because it has enabled me to see you even more clearly now, in my dreams? Should I ask it not to? Or is there some purpose to this new faculty now, related to the play, perhaps? I suppose I should let it take its course; it is wise, knows what it is doing, surely….

I heard soft steps behind me, but did not look up to see who it was. Then I felt arms around me, holding me close, ever so gently, a hand passing over my hair and then rubbing my back, no words, rocking me a little.

“No,” I said in a voice muffled against his shirt-front. I sat up straight and shook my head. “I am director for the lads and I shall do the scene. I can do it, you know.”

“Perhaps so, but why put yourself through it if you don’t have to?” Guilin said, putting his hands on my shoulders and holding me back away from him to look me in the face.

I trembled a little, reminding myself, He went through it also, and much worse. Why had he come to watch this rehearsal? It must have surely been hard for him. Yes, I could see that it had been.

“You didn’t have to come, you know,” I said. “Did…did Raven ask you to? Or Anemone?”

“No,” he said, and I knew he was telling the truth. “They were worried about you, but they didn’t ask me to come here. I told them I would.”

“It was very good of you,” I said and managed a smile. “But you needn’t worry. I can do it, and I shall. Are you all right?”

The next day Rûdharanion approached me, after we rehearsed a later scene, and drew me off alone, saying, “Iorhael…I wish you to let Selín direct the Tower scene. Will you…please?”

I looked up at him in disbelief, and he dropped to one knee before me, and took me by both hands. I barely refrained from pulling them away.

“No,” I said. “It’s my scene. Why should I let him direct it? He has enough to do as it is.”

“Only that one scene,” he pleaded. I looked at him in wonderment. “I have some idea how hard it must be for you,” he said. “When I was writing it…well, I hadn’t really thought so much about it when I was just reading the Epic, but when I was shaping it into the play, well, it occurred to me then…what you really went through, for the rest of us. And I was, well, truly overwhelmed. It fairly knocked the wind out of me. And Dûndeloth told me about when you went to the Light-house with him and the others when I was up there, what it meant to you to go to a tower, and yet you wished to help me--and you didn't even like me then. And I thought of all you’ve done for me, and how if not for you, I would not be where I am, with Salmë and the lads…yes, I know I’ve told you all this before. But when I was writing that scene, I was truly flattened. I…are you all right, my dear friend? I did not mean to distress you, talking this way but…”

“No, I am all right,” I insisted, wishing to get away. But he held my wrists firmly.

“Please allow Selín to direct this one scene,” he said. “It’s bad enough you should have gone through such an ordeal in the first place, it’s not right you should have to relive it in this fashion.”

I must admit, for a long moment I was tempted to regard his wish. It would have been easy, just to let Selín handle it. For yes, the thought that I would have to rehearse it again, and yet again, until it was exactly right, filled me with icy dread. I was likely to be a wreck before the whole thing was over. And there was the whole Mordor thing ahead, and now that seemed even worse. Why not let Selín do it?

“I can do it, and I will,” I heard my voice saying. “It is my task, and I shall fulfill it. And no one shall stop me, and I should like to see them try it.”

Rûdharanion’s hands were trembling as they held mine. I pulled mine away and looked him in the eye.

And with that, I turned and quickly walked out of the hall, into welcome sunlight, where Northlight and Raven and Guilin were waiting for me, and Dínlad and Perion, along with Edrahil and Dairuin were standing all together with their scripts.

“Come, my lads,” I said with a cheeky grin in their direction, “we’ve work to do.”

Frodo-lad was the only member of the Gamgee family who was not completely thrilled over the new arrival. He had a sister already; what did he need with another? But since he was but two years old, he could not make anyone understand his feelings, except by yelling at the top of his voice, at which the others would shush him, he didn’t want to be wakin’ the little un, did he now?

No, he didn’t, for then she would cry herself, and then all the attention would go to her once more. He couldn’t win, one way or t’other. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

Now his mum was feeding li’l Rosie-posie, as Elanor called her, and she said he could come sit beside her while the little 'un nursed, but he wasn’t having any. Why couldn’t he at least have had a brother? When he had a sister already.

Ellie was sitting in their dad’s lap now, before the fireplace, and he was telling a story. Frodo-lad didn’t know what it was about, and didn’t much care. He sat holding his lamb in the corner and sucking his thumb. Maybe if he sat absolutely still and gave them all the silent treatment, they would see, once more, that he was important.

"Mister Gandalf is wed," Dad was saying. "I seen it all last night. Since Mister Frodo found his glass again, I can see the dreams more clear. And this 'un, it was like I was right there. I didn’t see Mister Frodo’s weddin’ save for in my head, but I seen Mister Gandalf’s, and it was even splendider. It was at the Queen’s Palace, and I’m guessin’ the entire Island turned out for it. The Palace was atop of a hill, and that hill was just solid with folks. Mister Frodo said when he was wed, there was young 'uns up in trees, and folks out in boats, lookin’ like a regular fleet out on the sea, and it was his guess that there was folks out for a mile around. But this was different. And I was there, strange to tell."

"Yes," Sam said in hushed awe. "He didn’t look like I remember him, but I knew him for Mister Gandalf the moment I set eyes on him. It was out front the Palace, and there was flowers everywhere. I never seen so many flowers. Red, yellow, white, pink, orange...and lilies. And daisies, and carnations, and pansies, and poppies, and wisteria, and honeysuckles, and--"

"Why...yes," said her dad, running a finger along one of her gold curls. "Lots of elanor. They couldn’t of done without that, of course."

"What about bluebells?" she asked him. "And buttercups? And daffy-down-dillies? And dandelions? I like to blow on ’em."

"If you want bluebells and buttercups and daffy-down-dillies, then they had ’em," her dad assured her. "And there was flowers we don’t have here, that I don’t know the names of. It was as if all the gardens of the Island had turned out, just as the folks. And butterflies was all over the place, not as they’d been invited, but they turned up anyway, and no one was turnin’ 'em away. And--"

"I’m gettin’ to that," Sam grinned. "Well, there amongst all the flowers, and butterflies, and what not, stood Mister Gandalf. As I was sayin’, he didn’t look the way I remembered, his hair bein’ solid black, and he had no beard and his face was all smooth and not crinkly, but I’d of knowed him for Mister Gandalf if I seen him on the moon. All tricked out like a king he was, and he wore his white--not the same white, 'cause this robe was trimmed with gold and with fur. And was a mite too long in the back 'cause it drug the ground, but he didn’t seem to care. And he had a gold crown on his head, with some red and white gems in it, and a chain on his neck with a big disk of gold, and under the robe he wore dark blue and red velvet embroideried with gold also. And tall black boots, polished so I could of seen myself in 'em.

"But even as royal as he looked, I forgot all about him when I seen Mister Frodo."

"Plain as daylight," Sam said softly. "He was standing with his lady...and she looked much as I pictured her, and even fairer. As fair as Mister Frodo hisself, and a fine couple they did make. She was all in gold, and had yellow roses in her hair, which was gold like yourn, lassie, but considerable longer. Did you know she’s going to be playin’ your mum in a play soon?"

"You don’t say!" exclaimed Elanor, sounding just like her Aunt Daisy. Rosie smiled.

"She’ll have her work cut out for her then," she said. Sam never could be quite certain she believed Mister Frodo really had a lady. But if she didn’t, she humored him along.

"That she does, playin’ the fairest of 'em all," Sam said, and Elanor giggled, and Rosie said, "Go on with ye now."

"She’s havin’ to cut her hair some for the part," Sam continued, "and Mister Frodo’s about to break his heart over it. But it’ll all grow out again, I keep tryin’ to tell ’im. And Mister Frodo is got up as princely as he might be, in silks and velvets, and a silver circlet on his head, with a pearl in it. And a white robe over all, trimmed with silver. And...what else do you think he’s wearin’?"

"Don’t tease the child, Samwise," Rosie chided. "Why don’t ye tell her what she wants to know?"

Elanor lit up a little. "A helmet," she said, "with wings on. Like Uncle Pippin told of."

Her dad laughed out loud. "Now I can just see Mister Frodo wearin’ one 'a those. No, sweetling, he was wearin’...boots! Fancy that!"

"Boots," Sam assured them. "White ones, worked in gold. I’ve a feelin’ he don’t much like to wear 'em, though, and only puts 'em on for special. But there he was in his boots, standin’ with his little water-lady and the elf-lass that's their daughter now. And before long he takes his leave of 'em and goes up to this platform that’s covered in white cloth and draped over with flowers, and there’s a stand on it with a book, and he climbs some steps in back to get up on it. And as he’s goin’ to it, he passes by some folks standin’ near to his lady. Music is playin’. I can see a lady playin’ the harp--it’s the Lady Celebrían, Lord Elrond’s wife, I’ll swear to it or my name ain’t Samwise Gamgee. She’s all in gold too, and the Lady Galadriel stands close by, and for once she ain’t in white--she’s in light blue. Reckon they figure the bride ought to be the only one in white. And there’s yet another lady...I could swear it was Lady Arwen, but I know she couldn’t of sailed. She’s standin’ with Lord Elrond...she’s his mum. The Lady Elwing. She’s for real, and not just made up."

"She’s the one as turns into a bird," he said when the others looked blankly at him.

"Oh!" exclaimed Elanor, clasping her tiny hands in her lap in awe. She had no idea what the story was behind Lady Elwing, but.... "Did she turn into a bird?"

"No, m’love," Sam chuckled. "The only time Mister Frodo seen her as a bird was when the ship was comin’ in, and she flew down to meet Lord Elrond. It was...I don’t know how many years it was since she seen her son, but it was a long, long time. Longer than I could imagine. I couldn’t imagine goin’ for a week without seein’ my babes, let alone hundreds of years." He shook his head, trying to take it in.

"Course you’re not," Sam teased her, lightly pinching her nose, then glancing over at his small son, who had nodded hisself into a little heap in the corner, his chubby cheek pillowed on his lamb. "Where was I? Oh yes. Well, there was others playin’ instruments as well, the like of which I never seen before, even in my travels. I--"

"No, lovey," Sam said, "I didn’t see no bagpipes. Just flutes, and harps, and a little drum, some bells, and others I don’t know the names of. And there was some ladies dancin’, all in pretty colors, with flowers in their hair, they made a circle around Mister Gandalf and danced, real graceful-like, wavin’ their arms around, and some of 'em brushed their hands along of his sleeves and hair..."

"They didn’t!" Rosie said, at the same time taking the newborn babe off her breast, since the tiny one had fallen asleep. "Don’t sound quite proper to me."

"They do things different in different places," Sam explained. "Well, finally I cast my eye, wonderin’ if the bride is ever goin’ to show, and...there she is. Everybody hushes up, and the instruments play soft, and she comes, real slow. Course she’s all in white, with a thin sheet over her face, I don’t know how she can see where she’s goin’, and I’m hopin’ she won’t trip and fall. She’ll feel mighty silly if she does. But the sheet’s right thin, I can kinda see her face through it, and Elves have keen eye-sight. She’s holdin’ gold-yellow roses, and..."

"What's her gown like?" Rosie asked. "Besides white, I mean. Did ye get a good look at it?"

"I seen it plain as I’m lookin’ at you now," Sam said solemnly. He tried to think. It was true enough he had seen it, but like most males he didn’t have much of an eye for detail when it came to ladies’ gowns. All he could remember was, it was white and beautiful, and most fine. But seein’ as how Rosie was so interested, he figured he’d better improvise, not wishing to disappoint her. "It had pearls, lots and lots of pearls, all over the neck, which was...well, a mite low. And lots of embroidery in silver and gold. And...and I can swear, it had three sets of sleeves. The--"

"Aye," Sam said, glad he remembered that, at the very least. "There was sleeves made of lace clinging to her arms--you could see her arms right through ’em, fair enough, and there was tiny pearls all over ’em too. Then another pair over ’em, of some mighty thin white stuff, all puffy-like, that came to the elbows, and they had lace a droopin’ off of ’em too, long lace it was, mighty pretty. And a hangin’ down in back of ’em was some long, long sleeves of thicker stuff, lined with silver, and all over gold and silver and gems in back, they hung almost to her ankles, they did. I never seen the like of it, not even when Lord Strider and Lady Arwen was wed." He shook his head, just thinking of it.

Elanor looked at him in awe. When Joy and Poppy Smallburrow came over to play tomorrow, she was going to play weddings with them, and she was going to have three sets of sleeves too. Joy would be mightily impressed. Poppy probably wouldn’t care much, but she was so little. Not much older than Frodo-lad.

"And besides the three sets of sleeves," Sam continued, "she had a skirt that was much longer in the back than in the front. In fact, it was so long in back, it would of drug the ground if five little ladies hadn’t been a carryin’ it for her. One of ’em, the last one, was Mister Frodo’s little lady. There was another that looked a good deal like her--her daughter of course, but looked almost like it could be her twin sister. There was three other little ladies with hair the color of moonlight or white clouds, the kind of hair only very old folks have here. Two of ’em was twins, I could see. Well, the Lady Ríannor, that’s the bride, just sails along with the little ladies holdin’ her skirt up off of the ground, and as she comes up closer to Mister Gandalf, suddenly the back of her skirt comes right off! I could hardly believe my eyes. I’m hopin’ she don’t notice, 'cause if she did, she’ll be mightily embarrassed. And the little ladies don’t even tell her, they just take the piece of her skirt and toss it right into the air! And you ain’t a goin’ to believe this part, but--"

"No, sweetling--she had still the rest of her skirt coverin’ her in back, and her petticoats too I’m sure. But when the little ladies tossed the piece of her skirt in the air, the wind snatched it and carried it high up, and what do you think happened to it?"

"It blowed away," Elanor said primly. Why was dad askin’ her such a thing? When any fool could of figured it out.

"No, lovey," her dad said. "It turned into a swan, it did. Right there and then. I couldn’t believe my eyes."

"I would of thought so," he said, "if I hadn’t of seen it with my own eyes. It turned into a swan, a right big 'un, and flew up, up, up, and circled round a time or two, then flew away, with folks shoutin’ and pointin’ and everythin’. Mister Gandalf seen it, but he looked mighty kerflummoxed, of course he weren’t expectin’ it. But I reckon his lady didn’t see it, with that sheet over her face and all. I don’t know why she had the sheet on her. Reckon it’s the custom there, or somethin’, to have the lady’s face covered. Anyway, the swan flies away, and Mister Frodo is lookin’ out to his own lady, like he thinks maybe she had somethin’ to do with it all, but she looks back up at him real innocent-like, and then the other little ladies giggle. And Mister Frodo holds his hands up, and I figure he’s askin’ the folks to be silent so’s he can perform the weddin’. And I’m half expectin’ Mister Gandalf to bark at 'em to cease their clamorin’, but they settle down, and Mister Frodo clears his throat, and starts off with a prayer, and everybody bows their head. Then he says somethin’ like, 'Dearly Beloved, we are gathered to unite this couple in the bonds of holy wedlock’ and pretty soon he gets to the part about how he pronounces them husband and wife, and that’s when Mister Gandalf lifts the sheet off the bride’s face. And--"

"Nay, far from it," Sam said in hushed tones. "She’s one 'a the fairest ladies I ever seen. Her hair is all black as night, and her skin is white as cream, and her lips are red as rubies, and her eyes are...not that she was so fair as my own ladies, mind you."

He had to throw that in, since he had the feeling Rosie had misgivings at times about how he could love her after all the beauties he had encountered in his travels. He wanted to assure her, that her own down-to-earth comeliness suited him far better. What would he have done with an elf-lady even if she’d of had the likes of him? He’d of looked ridiculous, he would.

"And Mister Gandalf looks at her in the purest joy you could ever imagine," he continued, "and he kisses her, right on her ruby-red lips. And everybody is dead quiet, and the music stops playin’, and I’m fair tremblin’, just watchin’. I’m thinkin’, Mister Gandalf has his reward at last, just as I had mine, and Mister Frodo has his. After all he’s done to fight that Sauron and save Middle-earth, he has his bounty, and he’s happy through and through. I can see it shinin’ from him like the sun, and the moon, and the stars, and the light from the towers, just beamin’ all over the whole world, like. And Mister Frodo is shinin’ just as bright, and I can see how happy he is for Mister Gandalf, it’s as if one of his dearest wishes has come true, and he could just leap for joy, hisself. And then the music starts up again, and Mister Gandalf and his lady start dancin’, him not takin’ his eyes from her, and her not takin’ her eyes from him, and they whirl around a time or two, then sway, then take a few steps and whirl again--they’re the only ones dancin’ this time. Some of the ladies in the crowd are dabbin’ at their eyes, and some of the fellers as well. And then, just as the music has ended...well, what do you think happens?"

"Her sleeves fell off and turned into birds?" Elanor said. Sam could only stare for a moment. Even from her, that was most unexpected. Rosie smothered a giggle.

"Nay, lovey," he said when he could get his bearings. "But something just as wondrous. Seven swans suddenly rise up into the air, and fly all around and around, swoopin’ and circlin’ the crowd, and one of 'em settles right down on the platform next to Mister Frodo. And what do you think? It seems to be sayin’ somethin’ to him, although I can’t hear no words...and he shakes his head. And then it seems to be sayin’ somethin’ more...it wants him to get on its back. Mister Frodo don’t seem like he wants to, and I can’t say as I blame him in the least. But finally he does get on its back. I scarce expect it to rise, but it does indeed, as though Mister Frodo weighed no more’n a butterfly, and up they go, round and round, and Mister Frodo is holdin’ so tight, I’m thinkin’ he might choke the life out of the bird, and my heart’s fair in my throat, but it seems to be assurin’ him that it won’t let him fall, and soon he relaxes his grip, and even seems to be enjoyin’ himself somewhat. They don’t fly very high, at least. And it swoops down near Frodo’s little lady, and their elf-lass, and she gives a little squeak and jumps away, and giggles, and it circles round a few more times, and finally settles on the ground and lets Mister Frodo get off. I let out a sigh of relief, and he goes to his lady, and I look to the bride to see if she’s put-out about havin’ the attention drawed away from her, but she looks like it was her own idea to begin with. And Mister Gandalf is laughin’ out loud, and then the music starts up yet again, and more folks dance, and some go to the eatin’ tables...and the swans settle back to earth and turn into the little folk once more. I can’t tell for sure which of ’em gave Mister Frodo a ride--one of the twins looks more pleased with herself than the rest, so I’m guessin’ it’s her. She shouldn’t of done it, is what I say...but it’s over with, and no harm done after all. Still, she shouldn’t of done it. And I think it’s gettin’ on for bed-time for some of us here, what say?"

Long after the little ’uns were tucked into bed and the lights turned low, Sam sat with his pipe beside his own little lady, looking solemnly into the fire.

"I seen ’em," he replied. "But I reckon I won’t write it down the way I wrote down some of them other things he told me, since nobody would be likely to believe it, and think I was wantin’ in my upper story, if they was to see it. I wish I could write down the poems he tells me, but I never can remember 'em when I awaken, only the sense of 'em. It’s a sad thing that the rest of the world must go without ever knowin’ of 'em."

"But he’s happy and well at least," Rosie said, "and that’s the main thing."

"Aye, it is," Sam said thoughtfully caressing one of her spirally fair curls. "He’s where he belongs. He’s doin’ the folk a world o’ good, and he’ll continue to do so. And I reckon he never supposed he’d end up with such a family as he’s got now. I know he’s happy and full of joy, every night, I can feel all he feels. When he’s sad I can feel it. When he helps somebody, I’m proud of him. And..."

"And when he reads certain books to ye," Rosie said with a roguish twinkle in her eyes, "ye learn some mighty interestin’ and useful things."

"Aye, that I do," Sam had to agree, and if anyone else had been around he might have blushed. "Perhaps I should write ’em down...but I don’t know whether I’d get meself elected for one term after t’other, or run out of the Shire, if anyone was to see ’em."

She laughed aloud. "You are a caution, Samwise Gamgee," she told him pinching his cheek, "and no mistakin’. Remember when Daisy and May paid you to drop their hankies so’s he’d pick ’em up and they’d have somethin’ he touched? And he wondered how you come to have lasses’ hankies with you, and you said your mum must of switched them in the wash? That was pretty good comin’ from a lad of nine years."

He laughed with her, then sobered, and was silent for a long moment, listening to the purr and crackle of the fire, fancying he heard the far-off roar of the sea when one of the logs fell hissing.

One week until the play! It will be a vast relief to have it over and done, and never have to worry with it again. On the other hand, that’s when my stepchildren will be going back…and I don’t want them to!

Lightning has already gone back. She was missing her mate too sorely, she said. She now cares for him, and wishes to return to him. Well, I am very glad she has finally gotten over her cabin-boy and wishes to be happy with her true mate now. But Anemone has grown so attached to her…how will she do without her sister? And how will Lightning fare now that she has soaked up so many landish ways? Can she make her mate fancy her in return? They were not supposed to stay as long as they did. But they could not resist the temptation, and I had grown too fond of them to admonish them to go back.

Today Moonrise confided to me that he fancies his mate now also, and wished to see her and their three children, and so he will go back directly after the play. And yesterday Embergold told me that although she was not very fond of her mate, she felt she should go back, since he was fond of the children and she thought she ought to bring them back to him. She was very sad because she wanted to stay with her mother and me, she said. And so did the little ones. But now she had what was called a conscience, and felt that she ought not rob her young of their sire. I scarcely knew what to say.

Ebbtide is undecided; he would like to stay, but feels he should go back. He has a mate but no young yet.

“She probably doesn’t expect me back now,” he told me. “Maybe she’s found someone else. I’ve met several ladies I could fancy here. But I feel I should go back to her. And what if I go, and find out she does not want me any more?”

Fairwind is having the time of her life, what with the play and all the rest of it. She has taken the Company by storm. Her enthusiasm and passion make her as a breath of fresh air there—yes, just like her name. I remember well when I walked arm-in-arm into the theater with her the first time, and saw Perion’s mouth drop wide open, and his was not the only one. I suppressed a giggle as I saw several males reach up involuntarily to smooth down their hair. As for Selin, he stood transfixed, which is utterly unlike him. I could only grin with pride and delight…at the same time, with worriment, and I knew all the more what it was to be a father. Of course I was far less concerned with the effect she would have on them than with what would become of her. She is not a child, but a parent is a parent no matter what age the offspring!

She has decided to learn to read, in order to better learn her part, and when she announced her intent, her brothers and sisters wished to get in on it also, so that Anemone had quite a little class going! Lightning looked after the little ones while the others took their lessons—Northlight offered his stable-room for the little school, and I had a long table and benches made up for them, and borrowed some school-books and slates from the orphanage. Then Sandrose and Onyx decided they wanted to learn also, so I taught them their letters in the afternoon. What they will do with this knowledge when they go back, I’ve no clue, but if they want to learn, then learn they shall….

As for the twins, they and Raven are so attached to one another, I doubt they will leave either. Raven said she always wanted a sister, especially a twin, it was different from having brothers, she said. Emleth was dismayed, I think, that they were together so much; where would she fit in now, with these three sisters? But the twins have gone all out to assure her that she is more than welcome among them, even giving her a sea-name: Lilydream, which I think banished any misgivings. They’ve given sea-names to the rest of us as well. Lyrien is now “Lovepearl,” and Marilen is “Glasswing Dancebug”—Nightingale thought of “Glasswing” and Gloryfall came up with “Dancebug” (her word for butterfly) and Marílen couldn’t decide between the two names, so she ended up with both. Nightingale wished to call Dínlad “Singlehorn” and Gloryfall proposed “Lickeyes” after the boy expressed his hilarity over the way crabs lick their own eyes while feeding. So now he is “Singlehorn Lickeyes”. It has been reported to me that the little girls giggled over these names for over two hours, well into supper-time!

Guilin is “Bloodsong” and Little Iorhael is “Seabell”…partly for my poem and partly for his exceptionally loud voice. Gloryfall thought of “Dampbottom” but I laughed and said I didn’t think it would go over too well with his mum, whose sense of humor seems to have taken a half-holiday where her infant son is concerned. But the twins did give Tilwen a lovely name also: “Candlemother,” and she likes it very much. Galendur is “Steelmaster,” and when he heard that one, he said he would have expected something softer, like “Melonhead.” I said that sounded good to me, and he said come to think of it, his brothers used to call him that sometimes when he was small. Gandalf is “Greatstaff”--I know he must love that one! Ríannor is “Swanbride,” Lord Elrond is “Eagleheart,” Lady C. is “Harpfairy,” and Lady E. is “Jeweldove.” And Lady G. is “Heavenfire.” How many people do you know who would presume to rename their queen? I’ve a feeling the twins will be much in demand soon as name-givers…although I’ve never heard of anyone making a living as such.

Yes, I have a sea-name also. The twins proposed several, including “Sapphire,” “Ringfather,” “Silverhands”, “Whiteboots”, “Bottleprince,” which made Anemone giggle, and, erm, “Squigglefoot”…which nearly had me to the floor. The twins were almost there with me. They have the most delightful dimples when they smile, and their eyes nearly close up when they laugh, and the sound is as that of fresh water trickling over small stones. Then Raven spoke up, saying she had a name for me too, and she dubbed me “Towerstar.” When I modestly asked if I weren’t a trifle short for a tower, Anemone said, “No, Beloved, for although you are small, you tower above all others, for you give off the light that saves them from all fear and darkness and gives them their own true height.”

And Sam, you are “Easthope Sunbrother.” You are quite the hero with my family!

Although Embergold has stated that she is the most beautiful of the sisters, and I should agree since she is the one who resembles her mother, I would venture to say that Fairwind is just as beautiful. And she does have her mother’s eyes.

Not that I would ever have chosen her over her mother. I can imagine no mate but Anemone. She was made for me. Each morning when I waken, I think of her first thing, and wonder how she is faring, and if I make her as happy as she makes me, and fervently pray to be able to do so, whispering Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you over and over. Then I hop out of bed, hearing her steps in the kitchen, her voice talking to her children or sister or grandchildren as she prepares breakfast, and I smile and dress quickly and drift down the hallway, watching through the kitchen doorway until I can get her to turn and look my way, bracing myself for her smile. I watch the play of sunlight through the window on her hair, the way her gown fits about her waist and slips around her legs, the way her feet in their dainty slippers move with the lightness of a dancer, the twinkle in her eyes as someone says something amusing. I feel thankful she does not hurt herself as often in the kitchen as she did when she was first getting accustomed to her mortality. Although I did enjoy making the burns and cuts better, I still hate for her to feel pain however slight. I watch her until she turns to look my way, and then I could weep for joy all over again. And once more ask myself: have I the right to be this happy? And this morning I can say: Why even ask? Her happiness is what you wish above all, and therefore, you should wish it for yourself, and so yes, you have the right.

“I wish my mates could see me now,” Fairwind said as we rode to rehearsal. Northlight was not with us, since we were not rehearsing his scenes until much later in the day, and he had classes. “Especially Greycliff. He used to tell me I was good for naught because I did not give him a child. I and Embergold and some of our cousins once took out a contingent that would have killed all of us, but he gave me no credit because he was away and did not see it. He did not believe me and said I was only trying to make myself look worthy of him, and finally he left me, saying I was barren and therefore was no use as a mate. He was a prince of high degree, and I failed him.”

“That was very wicked of him,” I said horrified. I knew she had been through three mates, but knew little of the details. At the same time, I was reminded that for all her obvious femininity, she is indeed a warrioress. Small wonder she is so enamored of the character of Eowyn, and has learned her lessons in using a sword so adeptly. I had Ríannor to teach her, instead of Galendur, for Tilwen's peace of mind.

But if Greycliff were not impressed by her actual prowess, I doubted he would be any more so by her portrayal of a personage of whom he knew nothing. I didn’t know how to tell her so, however.

“I don’t choose to be barren,” she said. “I want to have young like any other female. But I had two other mates, and I left them when they did not father a child with me, so that they would not leave me. I did not truly want to leave Redsand, for I was fond of him somewhat. But I knew if I did not produce young, he would tire of me and find another, and my sisters and cousins would think me a failure.”

“They think no such thing,” I said. “They all consider you wonderful. They’ve told me so. Your mother brags of you more than any of the others.”

“Yes,” I said truthfully. “She said when she thinks of you, she can feel less badly about Darkfin.”

“Oh!” she said, clasping her pretty hands in her lap. She was wearing a dress that reached the ground, saying that although her mother hated to wear a long gown, she liked it, herself. It made her feel mysterious and fascinating. “Yes, my mother has changed since she met you. She adores us now. It is a strange feeling, to be adored. And it is curious to watch you and Mother adore each other. I wish that for myself, so I shall not go back to Redsand. Since Mother adores you even though you are barren also, perhaps I can make someone adore me, and then we can adopt all the orphans in your Home, and I can be a mother so. And I can defend the Island if need be, and still make everyone proud.”

“I doubt you would want to adopt them all,” I said smiling, reaching over to press her hand. “There are over fifty of them in all. And children may be much more difficult to handle on land than in the sea.”

I sobered, remembering the other day when I came home to see Sandrose and Onyx dancing on the roof of the cottage, and Anemone smiling up at them and encouraging their antics.

“Well, perhaps only a few then,” Fairwind said. “Guilin and Nessima would not be happy for me to take all the little ones from them when they come to mate, I am sure. They will, do you think?”

“I hope so,” I said, thinking of Guilin’s mystery gift. Well, in a week, we shall all know…if he does not end up falling for Fairwind instead.

“I’m extremely fond of young,” Fairwind said in her carelessly guileless way. “I can see now why landfolk adore them. Although sometimes it must be hard. I spoke of Darkfin to Mother once, but it gave her wet eyes, so I do not do so any more. I think she was the fondest of him. He was her first, and she was so proud of him. But I think now it was not her fault that he became bad.”

“It gave her wet eyes, truly?” I was greatly dismayed, my throat tightened, and I wondered why I had not considered Anemone’s feelings about her firstborn before. Well, I had, but not in such depth. The fact that she’d had a life before meeting me often gave me pause, and I did not like to dwell on it. I had told myself if she wished me to know more of it, she would tell me. Perhaps I should have encouraged her to speak more of it; that was my work, after all, wasn’t it? And I had been remiss, and with my own wife, at that.

Fairwind nodded. “And she is so proud of me, she will not get wet eyes about him someday?”

“Well, I wish that could be so,” I said slowly, “but among landfolk, mothers tend to blame themselves when their children go to the bad. Sometimes it is in part their fault, but not always. One makes one’s choices. I do not really know if it were her fault that he chose the Evil One, but I think not. However, I fear she will always get wet eyes about him, and there is naught I can do about it. I’ll always feel it my responsibility to make her happy, and this is one hurt I cannot heal. We will both have to live with it.”

I sighed and sank back in the seat of the cart. Fairwind reached up and brushed back a lock of my hair.

“You have made her very happy, Ada Towerstar,” she said. “She shines when she walks and when she sits. And she says the way you make love to her, it makes her feel as though she is the queen of all things and that nothing else matters…oh, pardon, Ada. I always forget that landfolk get a red face with the subjects of coupling and such.”

I laughed, feeling very red indeed. “Well, I am glad to hear that she feels this, at least,” I said, “although I already knew it. She is not shy of telling me. And obviously, she is not shy of telling others. Although it does give me a red face, the fact that she wishes others to know can only be a good thing.”

“And you made me happy also,” Fairwind assured me. “At least, somewhat happy.”

“Yes,” she nodded earnestly. “I feel less badly now about being barren. Maybe I shall never have a child to be known as Peacock, or anything else, but you have made me feel that I am worthy even so. And that my mother is not disappointed with me. I feel now a part of what all things are, that I am connected. And that if the things I have done to save our people are not known, they are still good things.”

“Of course they are,” I said. “And all this makes you…only somewhat happy?”

“Well, I would be perhaps all the way happy, like Mother, if someone else would adore me,” she said.

“Do you?” she said sitting straight up in her seat, reaching up to push back her long silvery hair as a sudden puff of breeze blew it forward. I remembered the portrait Findëmaxa had drawn of her peering out from behind a tree. It was one of the artist’s own favorites, and she had made several copies, and done amazing things with them. “You can adore more than one female? I did not know this was possible.”

“Not that way,” I chuckled, pushing back her hair from her face. “I mean as a daughter. The way your mother adores you. Just when I thought it was nearly impossible to be any happier, you and your brothers and sisters came along. At the first I was glad you would not stay long, but I learned you and grew fonder of you day by day, just as I did with Northlight, and now I don’t wish to let you go. I suppose that is how it is when one is going to become a parent yet again. One sometimes doesn’t wish to have more children, yet when they come, one cannot imagine life without them. That is how it is with me. I do not look forward to letting you go...at all.”

“Then I shall not go,” Fairwind declared. “If you would die without me, I shall stay. I did not know that there were some people who could adore me so much they would not wish to live without me. I shall be like Northlight, and be landish, and live here and be an actress in the Company. They all think I am wonderful, except Inzilbêth, but no one cares what she thinks. She’s only an old cat with long claws anyway. That’s what Perion said. I don’t know what that means exactly--Lyrien's cat is very nice, and buzzes when I touch her--but it sounds ungood to be.”

I tried to repress a laugh, not very successfully. “If you wish. Yes, you are wonderful, and will be all the more so if you will try to refrain from speaking harshly of others, even when they deserve it. But you should know the risks of landish life. They can involve great unhappiness as well as joy.”

“But that is not like knowing it in the chest,” she said, and I nodded. “Yes, Mother told me so. But she said she would not go back.”

“Then I can only bid you hearty welcome, lovely one,” I said, and I confess I got wet eyes both for happiness and sorrow.

Well, it seems both our families are increasing! Now the twins have decided they definitely want to stay.

I remember Lady C. telling me she used to tie a red string around Elladan’s wrist and a blue one on Elrohir’s when they were babies so that she and their nurse could distinguish between them, but as they grew older she was able to tell them apart through differences in their personalities. So it is with our twins. With Gloryfall I am often unable to tell when she is joking and when she is being serious, whereas I never have that problem with Nightingale. And Gloryfall is much more absent-minded than her sister; she will enter a room and forget what she came for, while Nightingale, it seems, never forgets anything. “It’s good to have a smart twin, when one is stupid,” Gloryfall remarked to me once, and to my chagrin, I didn’t know whether to laugh or not.

They will sleep in the sea along with Fairwind, although Raven wishes they might share her room. They have slept in our guest-room a time or two, just to see what it was like to sleep “in the air” but Gloryfall said it left her so “discombobulated” (a word she got from Galendur, who got it from Bilbo), she didn’t know what was going on for a day or two.

They have been trying to persuade Embergold to stay, and I am hoping they succeed. Embergold has found that she greatly enjoys pondering things, exploring great concepts, which has made her a favorite with Donnoviel and Seragon and their set. If she goes back to her mate, all this pondering will go for naught, for he has no use for such. And I told her, sadly, that I could not make her decisions for her; they were for her alone…when all the while I longed to say, “Leave him behind, my dear, he is of no use to you. We have far more need of you here, where you can be loved and appreciated for what and who you truly are.”

Northlight will greatly miss his brothers. And Ebbtide will miss the Sporting Center, being fascinated with anything involving vigorous physical activity. He is a simple sort of fellow, what my father would have called “rambunctious,” unable to sit still for long, naturally mischievous, fun to be with at least for a while, although he can grow rather wearing on an old hobbit after so long. I doubt he thinks very seriously about anything, but he is surprisingly curious, and reminds me of Pippin sometimes. Of course I’ve always been a bit of an old fool about Pippin, and Ebbtide does remind me of how very much I miss him….

Moonrise is of a darker nature--or maybe it is his coal-black hair, slightly swarthy complexion, and dark-blue eyes that make him seem so. They give him a brooding appearance that makes him look more interesting than he really is, but he is clever and quick-witted at thinking his way around certain situations. And he is naturally protective, both of his siblings and of his parents, and he must surely be a good father. He has taken quite an interest in different kinds of rock ever since he and his brothers carved the monument for Hathol, and enjoys exploring the cliffs and caves and quarries on the Island. I think he would do well as a stone-cutter, if only….

Well, I suppose I must enjoy their company while they are still here, and I am sure they will come to visit often, for I think the Island has got a hold on them, and will not let them stay away for too long….And we'll still have Northlight. If you'll pardon me for boasting a bit, I simply must tell what he did yesterday. I was not present, but I heard plenty of it. Little Iorhael, who is now at the stage where he is apt to put anything and everything into his mouth, grabbed a chunk of apple at tea-time when Tilwen and Anemone were taking a break from their work, and Northlight was there, fortunately. The child swallowed the piece of fruit whole, and began to choke and turn blue. Frantically Til pounded him so hard on the back that he started to fall forward from his chair. Northlight jumped and caught him about the waist, and forgetting his own strength gave him quite a squeeze, at which the piece of apple popped from Little Iorhael’s mouth and his natural color began to return and he began to whimper. Needless to say, Northlight can do no wrong in Tilwen’s eyes now, not that she ever had anything at all against him! And I believe he is on an equal footing with me in Galendur's esteem also. Galendur certainly does love his little lad....

Just before noon this morning, I was coming out from rehearsal with Moonrise and Ebbtide, who are playing members of the Dead Army, and heard Inzilbêth's name spoken by Barathon, who portrays Eomer. Guilin was sitting on a bench across from him, both of them eating their luncheon, and Northlight and Fairwind sat at Guilin’s feet, all three their backs to me. Barathon did not appear to see me and my stepsons. Then I heard Fairwind’s voice, and halted.

“I shall not say harsh things of her,” she said gently. “My Ada would not like it.”

“Ha!” Barathon laughed. “It’s all right, my lass. I’ll never tell. Nor will Guilin, will you, eh? But the Prince wouldn’t punish you too severely for such as that, now would he? Surely he’s taken plenty of her guff.”

“He would not punish her at all,” Northlight said, slipping an arm about his sister. “She is grown. But she wishes to please him.”

“Yes,” Fairwind said. I grinned at Moonrise and Ebbtide, who merely looked puzzled.

“As you wish,” Barathon said good-naturedly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “But I thought to let you know—she has quite a following in the City. She’s even been going about insinuating that Guilin here has designs on your mother. Not that I believe it for a moment.”

“Our mother!” Fairwind and Northlight said simultaneously. I looked at Moonrise and Ebbtide, and I was NOT grinning. Both set their lips tightly together.

“How ridiculous,” Fairwind said with simple innocence. “Guilin does not fancy our mother, he fancies Nessima. The tall one.”

“It’s perfectly outrageous,” Guilin said. I think he must have had a red face, although it was hard to tell from this angle. “I think the whole world of your mother, but not in that way.”

“I knew she could be spiteful,” Northlight said, “but I did not think even she would stoop that low.”

“And even if I did fancy her,” Guilin said, “it would be an extremely awkward situation, considering our height difference, if you know what I mean.”

I could almost see Barathon, who is blessed with a lewd sense of humor, thinking of making a bawdy joke, but fortunately remembering there was a lady present. He cleared his throat.

“No one with any sense will think anything of it,” he assured the others. “But I thought perhaps I should tell you, before you heard it elsewhere.”

“Everyone will know he fancies Nessima soon,” Fairwind said, and I could hear her smiling. “He has a special gift for her, though I know not what it is. I am sure she will like it. I admire Nessima, even though she is, well, so very tall. I mean that not to be harsh,” she said turning her head to look up at Guilin. “I do admire her, I just wish I could take some of her inches, and give them to you.”

Barathon had the goodness to turn away, doubling over. I clamped my hand over my mouth.

“Thank you, my lady,” Guilin said with delightful diplomacy that made me proud, “but whatever my other shortcomings may be, I do not think lack of inches to be one of them.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Northlight said pointing at Barathon, whose shoulders were jerking violently.

“He’s choking,” Guilin laughed. “Quick, Northlight—do that thing you did with Little Iorhael!”

Northlight caught Barathon about his waist and squeezed, while Guilin laughed heartily and Moonrise and Ebbtide looked at me as if to inquire as to what the joke was. Well, I scarcely knew how to explain it! But at least the insult was momentarily forgotten.

Yet now, according to Tilwen, who heard it from her sister-in-law Sabariel--Maldor’s wife, the ice-princess, who has thawed out a bit since Maldor and Galendur seem to be reconciling somewhat, and who is a friend of a friend of the actress--, Inzilbêth has led some of her admirers to believe that she was “forced” to give up the part of Eowyn because “the Prince wished his stepdaughter to have it, and shamelessly pulled all possible strings”!

“Did you ever hear anything so preposterous?” Til fumed, nearly cutting herself as she diced up an apricot for her offspring, who was getting a trifle clamorous. We were on the terrace, she, Anemone, Northlight, Raven, Embergold, Moonrise, Ebbtide, the twins and myself. Sandrose and Onyx were playing jack-stones near the doorway, not paying much attention. Fairwind was at rehearsal, for which I was rather glad. “And to think some of them actually believe her! I cannot believe there are so many stupid people on the Island!”

“I have long known there were many who did not like the idea of those of other races being admitted here,” I said. “I suppose some of them figure among Inzilbêth’s friends and admirers.”

“According to Sabariel’s friend,” Tilwen said as she spooned the chopped fruit into her son’s ever-eager little mouth, “whose name I can’t recall at the moment, That Creature has been secretly watching some of the rehearsals, and she says Fairwind is one of the worst actresses she has ever seen. That’s certainly NOT what I’VE heard about her. I heard she was every bit as good as Inzilbêth, and has a much lovelier voice.”

“Just imagine that!” Nightingale exclaimed, from the swing where she sat with her twin, Raven between them. “Our Fairwind.”

“She DOES have a lovelier voice,” declared Gloryfall folding her arms. “She has a voice exactly like...like a flower.”

“A flower?” Embergold and Anemone said together, both raising their eyebrows, and looking nearly as twin-like as the twins.

“Well...you know what I mean,” Gloryfall said shrugging a little. “Like...well, like a rainbow.”

Nightingale jerked her chin in emphatic agreement. Anemone looked at the twins with a gentle smile of pride. Raven giggled.

“Ada,” Northlight said, “have you ever had anyone to tell you that you were not welcome here?”

“No,” I said, “although certain things have gotten back to me. I take no heed of them now. Have you had anyone to tell you so, Northlight?”

He was sitting on the steps with his brothers. I sat at the table, puffing on my pipe.

“Well, there were some fellows at college,” he said, leaning back on his hands and looking up over his shoulder at me, “who used to go about telling some people I should not be there because I was not of ‘their kind.’ This was back when I first started. Most students have been kind and helpful. But these…well, they would whisper to each other when I passed by and look at me. And sometimes one of them would ‘accidentally’ bump into me and knock me over. And one of them, whom they called Ionwë—he was pretty much the leader of them, I think—he said, pretending not to see me, but I knew he meant me to hear, ‘I suppose they’ll let just anyone in, these days. Makes you wonder what this island is coming to. Mortals and all manner of strange types.’ Then one day, he ‘accidentally’ backed into me while I was standing by the fountain in front of the college, and knocked me into the water. And I took the form of a small whale, and squirted the cold water all over him.”

Everyone laughed, including myself, although I was distressed to hear of our Northlight being treated thus. Why had he not told us before?

“Why, he threw a fit, I’m sure,” Northlight said. “I ruined his clothing and his books as well. In truth, I think he was far more upset about the clothing. He’s quite the snappy dresser, and spends a great deal more time looking into the mirror than into his books.”

“I’d have made his clothing invisible,” Ebbtide said, and all laughed again.

“Well, I did make it shrink a great deal on him,” Northlight grinned. “I took pity on him later and unruined his books…but not his clothes.”

“I wouldn’t have unruined his books,” Gloryfall said. “What a wicked chap!”

“I didn’t tell him I had, at the first,” Northlight said. “His sister Arasinya told me that he told his father I tricked HIM to fall in the water. She said his father went on the rampage, shouting and blustering and threatening to make us pay for the damage. He said this was what came of allowing all kinds of strange ‘types’ to populate the Island and ‘perpetuate their kind among its rightful inhabitants.’ ‘What types are they going to allow next? Dwarves? That will be the day!’ he said, according to her. Those ‘types’ would be wanting to marry Elf-women and breed who knew what kind of monsters, he said. Then their mother got in on it, and while the three of them were standing around raging and ranting and going all about it, Arasinya quietly picked up one of the books and opened it, and there it was as good as new. And she examined the others and saw they were not spoilt in the least. I can just imagine Ionwë’s expression when she called his attention to that fact.”

“Very much so, I’m sure,” Northlight agreed. “He takes after his father, obviously. Good thing his sister does not. She told me she wished she could go to college also, but they wouldn’t let her because she was female. One scarcely needs a college education to get a husband, they told her. I said she ought to go when she was of age, because I think she seems very smart. Much smarter than her brother.”

“Why, no,” Northlight said puzzled. “I’ve not seen her since that day. It was many weeks ago, before the others came.”

“I hope his father gave him a good thrashing,” Embergold said, “whatever that means.” No doubt she has been listening closely to Dínlad and Perion.

“I fear he is too big for a thrashing, more’s the pity,” I said smiling. “At least, from his father. So has Ionwë given you any trouble since then, Northlight? Somehow, I think not.”

“No,” Northlight chuckled, “he quite avoids me now. Especially after Guilin heard of the business with the fountain. He marched right up to Ionwë and fairly shook the bones out of him, saying if he ever ‘trifled’ with me again, he’d stick his head in the fountain for two hours.”

“And good for Guilin too,” Tilwen said. Little Iorhael giggled uproariously.

“Go!” he said. This is the one word he has in his vocabulary, but he uses it to express a great deal. It overwhelms his mummy with pride and joy every time.

“Hmmm,” Moonrise said. “This gives me an idea. This Inzilbêth—we could teach her a lesson. Who is that fellow she fancies?”

“Dûndeloth,” Northlight said. “The one playing the fellow Guilin plays now—Faramir.”

“Right,” Moonrise said. “Well, what I was thinking, was, perhaps one of us could go looking exactly like Dûndeloth and pay her a visit, and make violent love to her…and…”

“Now there’s an idea,” Ebbtide said, then sobered. “But what if she were to throw herself all over you and ravish you utterly? Ugh!”

“Then I turn into…an octopus,” Moonrise said and the rest of us fell into convulsions. Sandrose looked up from her jack-stones then. Onyx looked up at his mum questioningly. Little Iorhael burped.

“Go,” he said, a little sternly it seemed. Raven sprang up, took him in her arms and sat back down with him on her lap, tickling his tummy.

When I could get my breath, I said, “My lads, forgive me if I sound a stuffy old bore, but really there’s no need to ‘teach Inzilbêth a lesson.’ She is getting her punishment now. Her acting career is in ruins. No one of any importance believes the things she’s been saying. She will never have the standing she once enjoyed.”

“But she deliberately tried to ruin the play,” Tilwen said, “all the while knowing how much depended on it. And all because she couldn’t get what she wanted. She oughtn’t to just get by with that. And then there are all those, those things she said.”

“She isn’t getting by with it,” I insisted. “She’s punishing herself.”

“Wouldn’t it be funny,” Nightingale said, “if we could give her a love potion that would MAKE her fall in love with an octopus? Could you imagine?”

More laughter. “But you cannot make such a potion,” Anemone pointed out. “It is impossible to make one fall in love that way, here.”

“I still think it would be fun,” Ebbtide said. “Can you imagine the look on her face? It would set her back a thousand years.”

“Very well then,” I said with a sigh, “have your fun if you must. But do no damage, either to person or property. Or you may well get a thrashing.”

“We adore you, Ada,” she assured me kissing my cheek, then laying her head on my shoulder, “even if you ARE stuffed.”

In order to impersonate Dûndeloth convincingly, Moonrise and Ebbtide decided they would need to learn him better, observe him closely, study his mannerisms and gestures and speech-patterns. And so they got the idea to follow him about, in the guise of dogs.

After Gandalf/Olórin’s wedding, Dûndeloth had gone to stay with a colleague for a while, in order to allow the newlyweds their privacy. Not that this was entirely necessary, the house being plenty large enough to accomodate all three of them, but nevertheless he would stay with his fellow-professor for a few weeks. When he left the college or the theater he would often walk through the park, taking his time, sometimes sitting on a bench beside the fountain, reading, writing, observing the names on the Orphans’ Wall, or chatting with passers-by, children, or friends he met. Thus were Moonrise and Ebbtide, in their canine forms, well able to observe the poet-professor at close range.

One evening he had been invited over to Olórin’s for dinner, unknown to the brothers, who followed him all the way to the house at a distance, slinking through the bushes and flowers in the garden out back of the terrace where Dûndeloth sat with Olórin and Ríannor.

“Is someone out there?” Olórin said, noticing the way Dûndeloth kept looking out toward the shrubbery.

“A couple of dogs have taken a liking to me,” the poet chuckled. “They’ve been following me about for three days now. I thought I saw them out in the garden. Ah yes, there they are. A black one and a tawny one, over there behind the jasmines. Handsome fellows they are. I wonder from whence they came, to whom they belong.”

“Perhaps they are strays,” Ríannor said. “I see them. Poor creatures, perhaps they are hungry.”

“I tried calling them to me,” Dûndeloth said, “but they are shy. They do not come.”

“Strange,” Olórin said rubbing his chin. “That is not dog-like behavior.”

Moonrise, upon hearing this, looked to his brother, with the message Perhaps we should go to them. They may suspect. Ebbtide agreed, stepping hesitantly from the bushes.

“There they are,” Dûndeloth said leaning down from his chair. “Come, fellows. Look what we have for you.” He laid a plate Ríannor had brought down on the floor. The brothers stopped short as they saw the vile-looking mess on the dish. Were they expected to eat that? They looked to each other.

“Doesn’t that look tasty?” Ríannor said. “Poor beasties. But they don’t exactly look starved, do they? Perhaps they do belong to someone.”

“But why would they be following Dûndeloth?” Olórin said. Moonrise avoided his eyes, and turned his attention to the nasty-looking stuff on the plate. It did smell better than it looked. Perhaps he ought to take a taste, just to allay suspicion…and then he flicked his tongue it. Hmm. Not bad. Not so bad after all…but what was Ebbtide doing? Why…he had gone to the lady, who was now stroking his head and ears. He remembered to thump his tail and let his tongue hang out, wishing he might lick her hand, but he was not so bold.

“What a lovely boy!” she was saying. “Look, my darling—isn’t he special? Perhaps we should keep him. What think you?”

“I think he likes us,” she said. “Dûndeloth, you may have the black one. He’s a beauty—but there’s something about this one. Such soulful eyes he has.”

Moonrise nearly choked on his food. Soulful eyes! Wait until the others heard that one!

“How about it, my lads?” Dûndeloth said, fondling Moonrise’s ears. “How would the two of you like to stay with us? Think you’d like that?”

The tawny dog closed his eyes in bliss as the lady ran her lovely pale hand over his head and back. Well! And then…what was that sound he was making??

“Listen,” Olórin said. “Is it my imagination…or is that dog purring?”

“Why…yes, it does sound like it,” Ríannor said. Dûndeloth listened. Moonrise began to growl.

“Something very strange is going on here,” Olórin said. “I’ve a feeling there’s more to these hounds than meets the eye. Or ear.”

Moonrise suddenly began to bark, on the pretext of spying something in the garden. The three humans peered out.

“Is there someone out there?” Ríannor said, standing and stepping back from her chair.

“Some nocturnal creature perhaps,” Dûndeloth said. Moonrise bounded up and dashed out into the shrubbery, barking and snarling. “Or a cat. I see no human shape.”

“I’ve seen no cats out there before,” Ríannor said. Olórin was silent. The tawny dog darted after the black one, reluctantly disregarding the lady’s protests. They ran a fair way until they met in the park once more, reassuming their human shapes.

“Stupid,” Moonrise rasped at his brother, “it’s cats that buzz when they are stroked, not dogs! Now that Gandalf fellow is suspicious!”

“I forgot,” protested Ebbtide. “I’ve seen precious little of either beast. And the way her gentle hand caressed me…I could scarcely keep my silence!”

“So I suppose you would be her doggie now?” snapped Moonrise. “Yes, I can see it all. My brother the dog. Mother will be so proud! Bragging to all of her son’s soulful eyes!”

“But is she not a beauty?” Ebbtide sighed. “Such a fair creature I’ve rarely seen the like of, on land or in sea. Truly a legend she is.”

“Well, your legend belongs to another,” Moonrise said, “and somehow I do not think he will be so agreeable to share his bounty. But come, let’s go. I think we’ve learnt enough of him to portray him with some degree of convincingness. Now, if we can find out where she lives….”

Three more days until the play! I think I would be a wreck by now, were I not surrounded by so much love on every side. It makes me fairly grateful for all I’ve been through, for I may never have known the fullness of it otherwise.

Anemone has had her hair cut to her shoulder-blades, and she seems to like it so. I will admit the curly style makes her look very hobbitish, and the length becomes her. Still, I can but hope it grows back very quickly, and that she will allow it!

Here is what I found this morning in the velvet-covered book, lying open on Anemone’s pillow. I don’t think it will give you a red face.

Who has ever been
loved as I am?
Surrounded by stars
blessed beyond blessedness
how can I possibly
thank you enough?
How was my true strength born
the day my powers died?
How did I grow large
by becoming small?
How did my wet skin
turn to paradise?
You are as a spring
filling me endlessly--
my small frame can never
hold so much!
All I can hope to do
is become a waterfall
imparting to others
what you have given me
then rise as mist
and rain over trees
and flowers and fruit
and grain and grass
and mushrooms and moss
until all are spangled
with my rejoicing
then sink into the soil
at last to return to you
so that you may fill me
yet again
Beloved.

Today I got to watch the rehearsal of Fairwind’s big scene, her confrontation with the Witch-King. I don’t know how I mustered the courage to go and watch, since they were in costume this time.

The actor playing the Witch-King is called Alagos--I don’t know if it is his real name or no. I regret to say I’ve been rather evasive of him, simply because of the character he portrays. He’s not the sort of fellow who readily draws me in, being of a withdrawn and stand-offish demeanor…or so I tell myself; it’s entirely possible that he is merely shy. I’ve asked no one about him. It’s easier just to believe he hasn’t a nature congenial to mine. I’d seen him in costume before, of course, in the first play. But that was two years ago. And how did they know what sort of helmet he should be wearing? Gandalf must have described it for them.

Fairwind was in her costume also. I scarcely recognized her, seeing her taller than her full height. Sea-folk are smaller than Elves and Men, but taller than Dwarves. Fairwind is naturally about five feet tall, and when she is with us at home, she appears about my height, which is three feet and eleven inches. Small wonder Nessima seems so towering to her. Now, on stage, Fairwind must have been well over five and a half feet tall. She can only stay tall for a short period of time, she said, whereas she can stay small for as long as she likes.

“Being small is nicer,” she said recently. “It feels closer to things. When I am high, it is as though I’m trying to get away from what is real and beautiful. As if I’m trying to be better than I’m meant to be. I don’t like losing the connection to what is deep and true and alive.”

“Perhaps, although I thought at first it was because of Raven,” I said. “She told me once that she thought she stopped growing the day her parents were killed, and has only just begun to grow again. But maybe it’s also as you said. It says much for Northlight, that he wishes to maintain that connection with his origins, and not try to surpass the rest of us.”

I wish with all my heart she didn’t have to be saddled with the role of slaying the wraith. I knew she had encountered enemies before, but they were of her own kind. Surely it would take it out of her. Yes, of course it was only playing a role on a stage, but I had a feeling that for her it was more than that. Just as, for me, this was more than a play. Yet I didn’t wish Inzilbêth to play the role either, for she knew naught of the reality of it all. She was too high, too cool, too removed from what the play and the scene really meant. And maybe, just maybe, deep down, she knew this.

This realization hit me as I watched Fairwind confront the figure of unthinkability in the mock-battle. Such illuminations of mine had always proved correct.

I do not doubt Inzilbêth was truly smitten with Dûndeloth. But her behavior, spreading scurrilous rumors about our family, was reprehensible. Why would she do such, if she had walked out because she had known she could not confront the true darkness at the center of the drama? Perhaps she would rather be thought spoiled and selfish than cowardly and incompetent? Or perhaps she had come up into some dark corner of herself and had run amok of it. But was the confrontation with the shadow so world-shattering that she would throw away her entire career and reputation because of it? If I could withstand it, why couldn’t she?

“Are you all right, Ada?” Northlight whispered to me as I watched, transfixed. He was sitting next to me, Guilin on his other side, Dínlad and Perion on my other side, for we would rehearse some of their scenes later on.

I had been about to ask the same of Dínlad, who was staring with very round eyes.

Northlight laid a hand on my shoulder, the one that had been wounded, caressing it gently. I laid my hand, which surely was icy, over his. Perion whispered, “What’s a dwimmerlaik?” and Dínlad went “Shh!”

Much later, as Barathon/Eomer took his leave of us, I saw him look at Fairwind with a softness which was somewhat more than brotherly. I met Dûndeloth backstage, talking with Rûdharanion, as I was waiting for Northlight and the boys to change out of their costumes. He asked me if I were all right. I would survive, I said with a grin.

“You know,” he said as we moved some props off the stage, “I almost acquired a new dog the other day. A couple of them followed me around for three days, and I managed to get them all the way to Olórin’s and coax them to us. Handsome fellows they were. But yesterday I saw no sign of them anywhere. You didn’t happen to see a couple of dogs, one black and one tawny, yesterday, did you?”

“Ríannor was most taken with the tawny one,” he said. “But they took off after something in the garden, and I have not seen them since. It’s very strange.”

“What is even stranger,” Dûndeloth said, “is that when she stroked him, we could have both sworn we heard him purr. But perhaps it was only a throaty growl. I was greatly disappointed to lose them.”

For some reason, I glanced around for Moonrise and Ebbtide, and caught sight of them through a doorway. The black head and the tawny one. Slowly I put my hands on my hips, turning back to Dûndeloth. Northlight stifled a giggle.

Just as I was leaving the theater with Fairwind and her brothers in the late afternoon, I saw a tall cloaked figure standing in the shadows near the entrance, evidently intent on staying out of the light. Although her hair was covered and her face concealed, I had no trouble to recognize her.

“Iorhael!” she whispered to me, although there was not actual need to whisper. No one else was about. “May I have a word with you alone?”

“What is it you want?” I said as coldly as possible. Although Fairwind was behind me, I could feel her staring at the former actress. “Whatever you have to say to me, can be said before my family.”

I turned, rather dramatically it’s true, to look to them. Moonrise and Ebbtide looked to each other. Northlight moved closer to his sister, as though to protect her.

“If you have come to ask for your part back,” he said, “don’t you think it’s rather late for that?”

“Of course I have not,” Inzilbêth said with limping dignity. “I only wished to explain something. I know you all have been hearing some…things…about me. That I’ve been going about spreading vicious rumors and slanders and so forth. I only came to tell you that there is no truth to that report. I have done some things for which I am at fault, but that is not one of them.”

I sat down on a bench just outside the door, folding my arms. The others, led by Northlight, withdrew leaving me and Inzilbêth alone together. She remained standing.

“It is true I walked out of the play,” she said clutching at the edges of her cloak. “I am not trying to excuse myself, although I did not do so for the reason you think. The thing with Guilin and your wife—I said that to his face, but I never went about saying it behind his back. He and I had been quarreling, and he said some things that upset me, and yes, it’s true I am not always what I should be, and so I said what I should not. And others were there and heard it, and so of course it got out of hand. But I repeat, and I do not expect you to believe me, nor am I trying to exonerate myself: I did not go about saying those other things you heard. That was the doing of one who has ample reason to hate me, and so I shall not give her name. Long ago, I stole her sister’s lover, and that was after taking from her a role she very much coveted for herself. He became my husband. Well, if she would have but seen it, she and her sister had their revenge, for he was very bad to me and we were not happy together. I came here, and whither he went, I know not. I know not what became of the jilted lady, either. It’s possible he went back to her, although I think it unlikely. Her sister claims I broke her spirit as well as her heart, but she had not much spirit to break, or he would not have left her. But she has taken this opportunity to ruin me, not that it is necessary. I sealed my own fate when I walked out. And as I said, it was not for the reason you think. I let them suppose as they did, because I did not want to face up to the truth.”

“Which is?” I didn’t know whether to believe anything else she was telling me, but a chill ran up and down my body. I almost did not want to hear it. “Is it that you were confronted with the spectre of pure evil, and could not face it?”

“Who would know better than I?” I touched my left shoulder. “I felt his blade. I bore his mark for two years. I am here now because of it. Although I suppose I should thank him for it. I’ve known happiness here that I never would have supposed possible, very much in part thanks to him. But I also knew misery and despair and terror that most know only in nightmares. It’s not just anyone who could survive that, and yet I did so.”

She backed off a step or two, her hood falling away from her wavy hair, which looked somehow drab and unresplendent in the shade. Almost involuntarily she reached up and pulled the hood back over her head, her face white and drained and…haunted, the skin stretched strangely tight over the magnificent cheekbones.

“Yes, I knew this, and yet…” she stammered. “How did you survive it? I began having nightmares, weeks before I walked out. I would see him before me, and I was immobilized, helpless in front of him, I could not move or cry out. He would taunt me with my worthlessness, and tell me I would be his, and he would own me, and ultimately he would devour me, down to my very bones. I woke screaming and trembling, and could not move from my bed for hours. And it did me no good to walk out, because I still see him. He haunts me still, sometimes choking me with black smoke, laughing at me, saying he will claim me…how can I ever be free of him? It is like, like a violation…I knew such in the flesh with my husband, who saw fit to take me against my will when he pleased, and although this is not of the flesh it is even worse somehow….”

She was trembling all over, tears streaming down her cheeks, and I knew that even she was not a good enough actress to feign all that. I shivered also. I could see my stepchildren standing at a distance, watching, and I knew any moment they would come over here and face her down, if I betrayed too much of what I was feeling.

“I know all too well of what you speak,” I told her. “You must resist him. He is our Enemy in the guise of this wraith, and you must recognize him as such, for that is the only way you can be rid of him.”

“Is this my punishment?” she asked barely above a whisper. “Have the Powers sent him to me, because I’ve had a less than virtuous past?”

“No,” I said. “That is not how they operate. Although I once thought the same thing, that they had sent evil spectres to punish me for claiming the Ring at the end. But they do not use such cruelty, and would prefer to protect you if you would put yourself into their care. He is taking advantage of your past to try and use you to gain access to the Island…and perhaps, to me. He still wants me, and is trying to use you to get to me, as he once tried to use Ríannor. This is why the play is of such vital importance. They did tell you this?”

“I think it was ultimately for the good that you walked out, after all,” I said. “Fairwind is an experienced warrioress, although you would not suppose it, and has been instrumental in protecting the Island from evil. I believe she can face down the Spectre without it haunting her or gaining access through her. I have wished that she did not have to do it, and have cursed you for making it necessary, but perhaps it was right after all. Sometimes it is the purest who are sent to do the dirtiest work, for it is the ones who are besmirched who are most vulnerable.”

“Why do they suffer him to exist?” she asked. “Why do they not simply destroy him?”

“I have wondered that myself, and I cannot tell you,” I said, absently moving a loose pebble with my toe. “I suppose it is because in order for there to be good, there must be evil also. Light cannot exist without darkness. Things cannot move forward without opposition. They only sit still and stagnate, and out of the standing waters comes only foulness. One cannot become fully human without walking through the darkness…although, admittedly that was easier to say before I became a father.”

“Then I am the most human person I know,” she said with the tiniest hint of a smile, and she sat on the bench across from mine, letting her cloak fall open. “And it is not easy for me to say, for I am a mother also. And it would not upset me in the least, if the Powers were to strike down that being once and for all, and give me some respite from him. So how, if you do not mind telling me, have you managed to free yourself of him?”

“By refusing to allow him to empty me of myself,” I said. “By allowing those wiser than myself to instruct and guide me, yet doing for myself when I was able. By helping others. Through love and friendship, wholesome work and devotion to a higher power. Through hope and faith and determination. Through connection with all that is beautiful, healthy, holy, and real. Through laughter and poetry and exercise. Through the breaking of separation from the Divine. Through the recognition and acceptance of my own imperfection, the embracing of it, laying aside fear and condemnation. And…through visibility. Hiding only increases his determination, and makes one all the more vulnerable. Only by being what you truly are can you hope to hold him off.”

“What I truly am,” she said with a mirthless laugh. “I thought I had been entirely too much of that, which was what brought on all the trouble in the first place.”

“You are, or were, an actress,” I said with a little smile. “Perhaps the playing of roles has become so habitual to you, that you have lost the ability to distinguish between them and your true self. Or you lost sight of why you are an actress in the first place. But I have seen a light in you, if you would but let it shine without the colored shade of an assumed role. I am not saying you should give up acting—only that you should not let your true light disappear beneath the largeness of self. That gives him a great advantage.”

“He is all I could love,” she said, a slight flush staining her cheeks, giving her a tragic beauty. “But I know it will never be. Well…I think I shall take a long hiatus from acting, and go to Aman and stay with my daughter for a while, if I can manage to make peace with her. I think he cannot reach me there.”

“Do not be so sure,” I said. “I think you should free yourself from him completely before you attempt to reconcile yourself with her, lest he unleash his spite on her as well.”

“I would incinerate him and myself both in a ball of fire before I would allow that,” she said and I smiled hugely then. Glancing aside, I saw a bush of white roses next to my bench. I picked one and gave it to her.

“Leave off your hood,” I advised her, “and carry your head high. Visibility is all.”

“So we don’t get to do the thing with the octopus?” Moonrise said after a long moment as we walked toward the cart.

“I think there’s much to be said for being a dog, myself,” Ebbtide said as we squeezed in, Northlight taking the reins as usual. “When one has the right mistress, with petal-soft hands and eyes like dark water full of winking lights. There is much to be said.”

I suppose I should have felt better about myself than I did. But I was out of sorts all through dinner, and couldn’t manage to eat much.

Every evening after dinner, Northlight takes the others, including Raven, down to the beach or into town so that Anemone and I might have some quiet time alone together. The girls wash the dishes and put them away before they leave, and are gay and noisy and songful about it, and delightful as it is, I am glad when they finally go. Usually we sit for a while together on the terrace or in the garden, or walk down to the beach and sit apart from the others, watching them play. Or we go boating, or for a walk down the other end of the beach…and yes, sometimes we do a little “celebrating”...but mostly, we simply revel in each other’s company.

The others often go to the Sporting Center, for they all love sport except Raven, so Northlight usually takes her to the dance-theater, or just ambling about, talking to acquaintances of hers they meet. More often, they all go to the Park. Passers-by smile hugely to see them all, children shouting and pointing, their elders gently reproving them. Sometimes children get up a ring-game, and all join in. They all love children’s games still, and behave nearly as child-like as the elflings, even the more serious of them, namely Northlight and Embergold. And Onyx, who is oddly solemn for such a little chap, unlike his sister who is gay-hearted like the twins, sometimes exasperatingly frisky. I feel I should reproach the little ones when they climb up on the fountain and dive in dramatically, to the consternation of many onlookers, but since I’m not supposed to be watching, I hold my tongue. Anemone just beams, and I shrug and laugh, and let them frolic.

We go to the Park also this time, where a large pond takes up one end. There is a small dock where one may rent a row-boat, but the owner never will take my money. He just says “Go on with you now!” and gives us the smallest boat, which I suspect he has had made special for us. It has a small ruffled canopy on one end and a nice cushioned seat, and I like to have Anemone sit there so I can face her while I row.

She is wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat with silk flowers pinned onto it, to keep the sun out of her eyes, which are now sensitive. She looks so maddeningly sweet in it, I have all I could do to watch where I am going. I have to admit she looks all the lovelier in the hat with the shorter hair, and it holds a curl better now this way, she says. She wears a gown of pale pink to match the flowers in her hat. It's most gratifying to me that she likes to dress nicely without being obsessive over how she looks.

“You look so handsome in that suit, I don’t know how much longer I can restrain myself,” she says with dancing eyes as we pull along, waving to other boaters we saw. “We are the prettiest couple in the Park. Everyone is fuming with envy.”

I have to laugh: “They do not look fuming to me. On the contrary, my Love, people greatly delight in seeing us together. They light up in a way they do not when it’s just myself. I would venture to say it brightens their entire day.”

“Well, they are fuming,” she insists, teasing my ankle with her big toe. “You merely don’t see it because you are so ridiculously modest. We shouldn’t even be here, we are ruining their day. AND we have the prettiest children, and they all know it.”

“I can scarcely argue there,” I grin. “And they are the smartest, and bravest, and sweetest, and funniest, and most gifted of any besides. I think so, anyway.”

“I’m so thankful you are able to love them,” she says more seriously, putting her foot back into its slipper, “instead of merely tolerating them for my sake. You’ve no idea how happy that makes me.”

We fall silent for a few minutes, taking each other in, the sheer wonderfulness of just being there, together, two souls eternally knitted in love and poetry and destiny and soft magic. A pair of swans float by, their downy offspring trailing after them. Anemone takes some pieces of bread she brought along in a bag to feed them, and tosses them out.

The artist is walking along with two other ladies and a fellow. She recently took up with a community of artists and has moved out of her flat to live among them. They live in a building near the Museum, and are regarded as eccentric and even a trifle daft by the population in general, and I can hardly picture Findëmaxa among them. It’s said they have no furniture other than a chair and small table, they don’t wear underwear, and many sleep in hammocks strung between the trees outside. They do the sort of art she once denounced as “a slap in the face of True Beauty.” Now she is wearing an ankle-length tunic of a black silky stuff painted over with rose and gold flowers, a white under-dress with full sleeves underneath, and several strings of beads and gold chains around her neck. Her fair hair is loose and flowing, held back from her delicate face with a beaded scarf. Her feet are in little black slippers, and one of her ankles has a small gold chain on it. Her companions are similarly clad. We wave to them and they all wave back, rather solemnly, but Findëmaxa gives us all a shyly beaming smile.

“It’s a far cry from that pale, spinsterish get-up she used to sport,” I admit.

“Well, she looks as though she’s enjoying herself at the moment,” I say thoughtfully. “As for ‘happy’…well. I’m sure it’s a push in that direction. She’s feeling her way. And something tells me she will get there eventually, whether in our lifetime or no, I couldn’t say. But she will get there.”

I laugh so hard I make the boat wiggle. “I’m sure I don’t know. I never entirely believed that report, anyway.”

She laughs also: “I wonder if she still means to embrace chastity all her life. Somehow, I think not. I think we corrupted her. We should do so more often. It’s such fun, isn’t it?”

“By the way,” I say after we calm down a little, “Aredhel is going to have a child. Rûdharanion told me so this morning.”

“Isn’t there? In Middle-earth, it seemed scarcely any Elves were having children. Perhaps there will be a good many of them come about now that there is peace abounding.”

“Most thrilled…and a trifle kerflummoxed.” We both laugh. “To think he was once betrothed to her, and now...But I think it will do Aredhel a great deal of good to be a mother. Having a baby will propel her into adulthood very quickly.”

“Look,” Anemone says sitting up straight. “There’s Guilin--with Nessima. Doesn’t she look splendid? There’s another you’ve hopelessly corrupted. Although I’ve a feeling she’s got on underwear.”

We row back to the dock. Nessima does look very striking in a conservative but stylish and well-made gown of grey-green with a tiny figuring of black silk embroidery at the neckline, her hair neat and flowing. She has one hand draped over Guilin’s arm.

“So you had a little excitement at the theater today?” Guilin says cheerily as we disembark. “Northlight and Fairwind told me all about it, just a while ago. Why do I always miss all the good stuff?”

“Because you’re too busy pursuing the wives of your benefactors,” Anemone says with a wink, giving him a poke in the chest with her forefinger. I can hardly believe the audacity, even from her. After a startled moment, however, I begin to roar with uncontrollable laughter. So does Guilin. Nessima looked a trifle puzzled at the way we have taken the incident so much in our stride as we have.

“You look darling in that hat,” she tells Anemone as we walk to the other end of the Park. “Your sense of style is amazing.”

Now there is something I never would have expected to hear from Nessima! I also never would have expected to see my Anemone get pink cheeks at something “the tall one” said either. Whatever Guilin’s gift is, I certainly hope it is a good one....

It is growing dusky, and Nessima says she must get home. Guilin offers to walk her back, but she thanks him and says the officials would frown on seeing her with a male companion so near the Home.

“So do you feel better now, Beloved?” Anemone asks as Nessima’s figure recedes in the twilight, laying her arm over mine. The three of us sit on one of the benches near the fountain, Anemone in the middle.

“Much better,” I say. “I think a bit of that...thing...tried to follow me home. But fortunately, we lost him.”

“He knows better than to trifle with our family,” Anemone says. “So will Inzilbêth really give up acting?”

“She didn’t say she would,” I say. “I believe she has this idea she can make a new start in Aman. I hope she can, if she goes about it in the right way. But she will be a smaller fish in a much bigger pond.”

“Know what I think?” Guilin says. “I think she’s tired of the Island, and wants to break away into bigger and better things. And so she got up this whole hoopla in order to get away without a breach of contract. I bet she doesn’t even have a daughter. I think she made up that whole story to gain your sympathy, and to get you to use your influence, put in a good word for her and all that rot.”

“She knows you better than that,” he says. “You may not be the worldliest of chaps, but you’re not anybody’s fool either, and she knows that. She figured she’d better come up with a bloody good story, so you’d do it without being asked.”

I shake my head. “The thing with the Witch-king rang too true. I don’t think even she is a good enough actress to pull that off.”

“She is, and she studied her part well,” Guilin insists. “That’s her job, after all. She knows how to make it damned good, I’ll give her that much.”

“You once told me,” I remind him, smiling, “that I've a face one cannot lie to.”

“Did I? Well then, I’ll amend that: You’ve a face one cannot lie to, unless one happens to be Inzilbêth. Lying is a way of life with her. Did she ever mention having a daughter to you before?”

“No, but then, the subject never came up. We’ve never exactly been bosom friends.”

“Even so, those with children usually bring up the subject of them from time to time, whether among friends or not. Just don’t let her fiddle you into any funny business.”

“Oh, I shan’t. But I think you’re wrong about her. You’re angry about the things she’s said and I don’t blame you. But I think perhaps I’ve corrupted her too, just a little. She’d be so much happier if she had a family like mine.”

“Corrupted whom?” Northlight says, appearing in the dim light near the fountain, Raven coming up close behind, holding lightly to his hand. The twins trot up after, also hand in hand, then Moonrise carrying Onyx, the little one’s head drooping sleepily on his uncle’s shoulder. Sandrose scrambles down from Ebbtide’s back and runs to us, embracing first Anemone, then me, then Guilin, climbing onto his lap and babbling about all the things they’d done in the park. He is most fascinated by her tininess--a little lass perhaps the age of Lyrien, or the equivalent thereof, yet no taller than Little Iorhael. Raven sits down beside us and gathers Onyx onto her lap, hugging the tiny boy close. Fairwind and Embergold appear arm in arm, enjoying the time they have left together.

Well, I scarcely know how to begin. I suppose I should feel glad to be alive, and so I am. But.......

The play has been postponed for two more weeks, our Aragorn having attempted rock-climbing and sustaining a nasty sprain as a result. While I would not wish a bad sprain on anyone, I feel like shaking his hand, for I feel the play needs a little more work before it’s really ready to be performed…and also, my stepchildren will stay just a little longer now.

Of course Anemone and Fairwind are most thrilled. Moonrise is none too pleased, for he was looking forward to seeing his mate and children…and so was Ebbtide, who has decided he no longer wants to be Ríannor’s doggie and his own Jasmine is just as desirable after all.

Meanwhile, Galendur’s brother Maldor has been having multiple qualms of conscience about his past behavior, particularly in not having given his brother and sister-in-law a wedding-gift, and now he has presented them with a belated one. After temple, Galendur urged us all to come down and see the surprise. We followed him down to the dock, where our eyes were dazzled by a two-masted, gaff-rigged boat with sails of bright clean white, her decks of polished teak. And a bowsprit and scarlet and gold flags flapping from her masts, and a harpoon lashed on the starboard side of the rudder, and a wide bench at her stern.

“What a beauty!” I spoke up first, my estimate of Maldor jumping several degrees. He and his wife and son had come along also. Calanon does indeed look as Galendur must have as a youth. I can only wonder how it must have been for him, growing up in this family. He seems friendly enough, however. His mother, Sabariel, is dark-haired; for some reason, I expected her to be fair.

“She’s really splendid,” Calanon said of the boat. “Weatherly and ship-shape. We went for a sail yesterday. She’s more maneuverable than ours.”

“The poor Lady Vana,” Lyrien said, shaking her head at the little dinghy by the side of the new craft. “I hope she doesn’t feel left out. She looks like a little baby boat next to her mummy.”

“Not much resemblance, though,” chuckled Guilin. “I like the white sails. I think they always look better on a small boat than colored ones, somehow.”

“So do I,” Tilwen said, bouncing Little Iorhael on her arm. “They look purer and more serene out on the waves.”

“So what say we all go for a sail?” Galendur said. “At least, some of us. There’s not room for all. So it will have to be the Bagginses, since they haven’t sailed yet. There’s a good westerly breeze blowing today.”

“She hadn’t one yesterday,” Lyrien said. “Did you name her yet, Uncle?”

“Well...I thought I’d wait and ask the twins,” Galendur said, looking at Nightingale and Gloryfall, who gave each other startled glances and then looked to me, “seeing as how they are good at giving names. What say you, my ladies?”

They looked at each other again, nonplussed; evidently they did not know people named their boats. They looked to their mum, then to me, their eyes asking me for a suggestion.

“Amaryllis,” I said, before I could even think. To this day I do not know what made me think of the name. It just came right out.

“Amaryllis?” Maldor repeated. “Is that after anyone in particular?” His tone seemed to say, Some old flame, perhaps?

“She was born too soon,” I explained quietly, “my mother having met with an accident, and her tiny heart was too weak to sustain her life. She lived not more than an hour after her birth. I was but nine years old. I called her Bud, because I thought ‘Amaryllis’ too long a name for one so tiny. The Bud that never opened.”

“I wish she had opened,” Fairwind said clasping her hands. “You would have made a wonderful brother.”

“I like the name Amaryllis,” Gloryfall said. “There's just...something about it.”

“The Amaryllis Baggins,” Galendur said rubbing his chin. “Does have a nice ring to it, wouldn’t you say?”

“It’s very sweet,” Tilwen said. “I would be honored to have a boat bearing your sister’s name, Iorhael. Almost as honored as I am to have a son who bears yours.”

“Fine, although just ‘Amaryllis’ would be better,” I said. “What say the rest of you?”

The others all shouted “YES”, the younger ones dancing and skipping about, and Anemone laid an arm about my waist, Fairwind smiled gently at me, Galendur grinned at us both, and Little Iorhael said “Go!” at the top of his voice.

“So it’s unaminous,” Galendur said. “The Miss Amaryllis she is. Perhaps we could call her Bud for short...or, maybe not,” he said as I shook my head no.

We had a little christening party there on the beach, with a good many eats, and even a bit of dancing. After a good long drink of ale, Galendur said he had once learnt a sailor’s dance called the “hornpipe”, which he would attempt if anyone knew the music.

“Is it fitting for the ears of ladies and children?” Maldor asked. I might have asked the same, had I not known Galendur better.

“It’s got no words, that I know of,” he said. “It goes something like this...” He began to whistle a very gay, catchy tune. Maldor nodded.

“I do know that one,” he said and began to whistle it also. The children began to clap in rhythm with it as Galendur started dancing on the dock. Little Iorhael giggled and clapped also. Tilwen took his hands and moved them together more rhythmically. I watched Galendur’s feet carefully, then suddenly Raven sprang up and went to join him in the dance. She did it better than he, her face aglow with unadulterated enjoyment. When he tried a really tricky step, she imitated it exactly. After watching her with enchanted pride, I got in on it also, and Anemone after that. We made the pier rattle, and no mistaking. Not to be outdone, Moonrise and Ebbtide soon joined us, then the twins, then Calanon. I could swear his mother Sabariel looked at him in consternation, but if he noticed, he took no heed. The other day Tilwen told me that Sabariel told Raina, Ortherion’s wife, that Til was “really rather a nice little thing, after all.” Nice little thing, indeed! Glad as I am that Maldor and Galendur are finally reconciling, somehow I think it will take a good long time to warm up to Sabariel....

Finally Galendur began assembling his “crew.” Since Calanon, Sabariel, Lyrien, and Tilwen had gone sailing yesterday, they would remain behind this time. Fairwind, the twins, Moonrise, Ebbtide, and Northlight eagerly leaped onto the Amaryllis’s deck. Guilin soon followed, a little reluctantly, it seemed. Raven hung back, as I expected. She is less afraid of the water than she used to be, thanks to the twins, but when it comes to boats, she will definitely keep her feet on dry land. Embergold said she would prefer to remain on land also, telling the children there wasn’t room for them this time. Sandrose protested a little, but I think she really wanted to play with Lyrien.

Anemone said that since there were so many of us, that she would stay with the others this time. How profoundly thankful I will always be that she made that decision....

Soon we were running--that is, sailing with the wind behind us. Galendur and Maldor began explaining and discussing all the riggings, and the gear for deep-sea fishing, and then they began telling stories about the fish and squid and octopus they had supposedly caught in the past, some of which sounded pretty far-fetched to me, but we pretended to believe them. Although I did have all I could do to stop naughty Ebbtide from making fun of Maldor, who does get rather long-winded, by standing with his back to him and mouthing along with him, making exaggerated faces and gestures.

I did like Maldor better, however, when he remarked what a good dancer Raven was.

“No,” I said, “but I may do so soon. Although she seems to be doing fine on her own.”

“We teach her a good deal,” Nightingale chimed in, “and she teaches us. Only, she does not dance high on the cliffs with us. But that is a good thing for her.”

“Or on the roof,” Gloryfall said. Maldor’s eyebrows nearly touched his hairline, and I could see Galendur trying not to laugh out loud, his back to us as he steered. “It’s lovely to dance on a person’s house. Especially when it is the house of those you adore. I would love to dance on top of the Place of the Bells someday. I should think it would make me feel very close to the Creator.”

“And can you make your gowns change color as you dance?” he asked. Startled, I remembered Anemone’s little trick of a year and a half ago, and I laughed aloud.

“I would wear a gown in rainbow-stripes,” Fairwind said, “except that on the Island, it is considered improper to wear too many colors at once. I do not know why.”

“Once our Nana painted a lady’s back with a pirate-ballad,” Gloryfall giggled. “And a treasure-map. The lady was saying wicked things about her and Raven. And Tilwen. Imagine!”

“When she still had her powers,” Nightingale nodded. “I wonder if she doesn’t miss them, but she says when one has a mate like our Ada, there are far better things than powers.”

I looked at her in what I hoped was a warning. I don’t think she noticed. But she did leave it at that.

“I would like to have such a mate,” Gloryfall sighed. “Nightingale and I never had mates because we could not bear to be apart. Perhaps we could meet male twins on the Island and all live in the same house, although it would be strange to sleep in the air all the time. I tried it once, and it did not seem to agree with me. But perhaps I could get used to it, if I had a mate who would make me feel like the queen of the universe every night.”

Guilin turned away quickly, gripping the rail. I had all I could do not to laugh aloud, although I could feel myself getting a red face. Moonrise and Ebbtide looked puzzled as to what was so funny.

“You’ve a most unusual family,” Maldor told me, after a thoughtful moment--as if I didn’t know it already.

“As you should be,” he said, and I warmed up to him more and more. “I dare say you never know a dull moment.”

“Never,” I agreed, at the same time thinking such was probably not the case with him.

Up jumps a crab with his crooked legs
Saying, You play the cribbage and I'll stick the pegs
Singing blow the wind westerly, let the wind blow
By a gentle nor'wester how steady she goes...

Up jumps a dolphin with his chuckle-head
He jumps on the deck saying, Pull out the lead
Singing blow the wind westerly, let the wind blow
By a gentle nor'wester how steady she goes...

Up jumps a flounder so flat on the ground
Saying, Damn your old chocolate, mind how you sound
Singing blow the wind westerly, let the wind blow
By a gentle nor'wester how steady she goes...

Up jumps a whale, the biggest of all
He jumps up aloft and he's pawl after pawl
Singing blow the wind westerly, let the wind blow
By a gentle nor'wester how steady she goes...

Up jumps a herring, the king of the sea
He jumps up on deck saying, Helms a-lee...
Singing blow the wind westerly, let the wind blow
By a gentle nor'wester how steady she goes...

Up jumps a shark with his big row of teeth
Jumps up twixt the decks and shakes out the reefs
Singing blow the wind westerly, let the wind blow
By a gentle nor'wester how steady she goes...*

“What a jolly song,” Nightingale said. “I think I could make a verse also. How is this?”

Up jumps a squid with his eight slimy feet
Saying, I would dance with every maiden I meet
Singing blow the wind westerly, let the wind blow
By a gentle nor'wester how steady she goes...

Up jumps a dog where the captain’s wife sat
And when she did stroke him, he buzzed like a cat
Singing blow the wind westerly, let the wind blow
By a gentle nor'wester how steady she goes...

“You make one, Ada,” Fairwind said when we could all get our breath from laughing. “You are a poet after all.”

The others piped up, “Yes, Ada, you do one too,” and so finally I took a deep breath, and sang:

Up jumps a sea-maid as fair as the dawn
She kissed me and fed me on mushrooms and prawn
Singing blow ye wind westerly, let the wind blow
By a gentle nor'wester how steady she goes...

I sincerely wished Bilbo could have been there, and hoped he was having as fine a time as I was….

Well, I think Maldor and Guilin had planned to do a bit of deep-sea fishing, but what with all the talk and singing, they had pretty much forgotten about it. The wind was blowing a bit hard by now for it anyway. I had not realized how far out to sea we were getting. I felt we should turn back, but not wishing to be considered silly and old-maidish, I said nothing for a while, reminding myself that we had sea-folk aboard, six of them yet. Maldor hung some hooked lines on back of the boat, which he explained were for trolling for albacore, going into great detail as he explained the differences in the bait for albacore, bluefin and yellowfin. I could still see the Island as I looked back, but only just.

I went to Galendur with the intention of telling him to turn back right now, when I felt the Amaryllis rise on a wave that mounted higher and higher...and yet it seemed that the wind had slackened. I stumbled and grabbed for the rail, and that was when I noticed what was unmistakably the fin of a shark--and no small one either--in the distance. And I started to call out, when I felt myself being pushed from behind, and I fell and hit my knee on the deck, then felt a wash of cold water over me. Someone grabbed my arm, calling, “Ada!” It was one of the twins. She pulled me to a sitting position, screaming, “Guilin has gone over!” I saw Guilin’s head disappear into the waves below, and the Amaryllis rose ever higher.

I saw Northlight, Moonrise and Ebbtide all leap into the water after Guilin, desperately hoping they could find him and fetch him up--the fool could not swim, as I remembered. Maldor was heaving-to, pulling on the sheets to adjust the sails, while Galendur desperately tried to maneuver through the wave that was tossing the boat about as though it were a toy. Glancing up at the mizzen-mast I noticed the life-preserver hanging from it, snatched at it and threw it to my stepsons, whom I could see were holding Guilin’s head above the water. Moonrise caught it, but it appeared that Guilin was unconscious--still alive I hoped--and they would not be able to make him hold to the life-preserver. I spied another line hanging to a hook on the main-mast, tied it with unbelievable speed around the mast, then made a running-bowline at the other end, feeling thankful that I had been paying attention when Galendur taught me how, and even more so that I had been so patient in teaching Onyx, who had quite an interest in tying knots. I tossed the loop I had made to my stepsons, and Northlight caught it and put it over Guilin’s head and shoulders and secured it under his arms.

“Here, Ada,” Nightingale said, “you hold to the line so you don't get washed overboard. We will pull him in. We are strong enough.” And she and her twin grasped the line, which was certainly thin and I wondered if it would hold, until I noticed what it was made of. Híthlain.

And I saw the shark again, as Maldor frantically trimmed the sails. It was huge, looming above the waters which were rising once more, and I could see the teeth, some of them at least nine inches long, as it came closer and I was about to call to the twins to pull harder, when I saw Fairwind dive for the harpoon lashed to the starboard side. She hurled it at the shark with incredible force and it struck the creature behind the gills, and it went beneath the water and I saw it no more. And the twins pulled Guilin in, and incredibly, the wave began to recede, little by little, and the Amaryllis pitched about, but seemed out of danger of capsizing.

And I saw Northlight climbing the rope with the life-preserver, as nimbly as a spider climbing a web-strut, his brothers coming up after him. The twins took the line off Guilin and let him fall limply onto the deck. I went to him and felt his chest.

They turned him over and I straddled his waist, pushing beneath his shoulder-blades with quick sharp thrusts with the heels of my hands, feeling thankful once more that Aragorn had taught us this life-saving technique on our journey.

“Is he breathing?” Galendur asked, looking over his shoulder at me from the rudder. “Here, let me—”

“Yes, I am.” And I continued to push, praying silently the while. And wondering what I would tell Raven if I did not succeed. Please breathe, Guilin. Please, you must breathe...ye Powers above, help me to save him.... I saw Northlight close his eyes, moving his lips...

And then I heard a wonderful noise...choking, coughing...and I never thought I would be overjoyed to hear anyone vomit, but when Guilin heaved up a stream of sea-water, I thought it the loveliest sound, next to Anemone’s voice, I had ever heard....

I continued to push, and he coughed and sputtered, then I let him be, and got off his back, hearing him breathe on his own.

And I saw him look up at me as I knelt beside him, pushing the sodden black hair back from his face, and wiping the water away from his eyes and nose and mouth with my wet handkerchief.

“Now you see,” he said when he could get his breath, “why I don’t like the water.”

Maldor found a blanket under the bench at the stern and put it around Guilin, who sat up and leaned back against the hull. The twins made quite a fuss over him, bringing him a flask of miruvor that Maldor had found along with the blanket.

Fairwind sat on the seat at the stern, seeming strangely despondent, considering that she had saved Guilin’s life and those of her brothers.

“Where the deuce did that wave come from?” Maldor was saying. “The wind wasn’t strong enough. And that shark was big, but not big enough to cause a wave like that. A blue whale leaping into the air could have made it, but not a shark that size.”

“No, that would have made a wave mighty enough to drown an entire continent,” Maldor said. “Some devilry was at work there, that’s all I can think of.”

“Well, Fairwind did damned good,” Galendur said, glancing at my stepdaughter who now leaned against the rail, looking out to the water, not responding to what he said. “I was going to harpoon the bloody devil myself, but she beat me to it. And the way she hurled it--I never saw anything like it, not even in the war. I’m feeling silly that I didn’t do it myself, did nothing at all really.”

“You had to steer,” I reminded him. “And you did a wonderful job of it. No telling what would have happened to us all if you hadn’t kept your wits about you.”

“I hope I didn’t hurt you when I knocked you over,” Guilin said to me. “Didn’t mean to do it so hard, but that wave was coming right at you. It’s damned strange--it’s as if the water was reaching up a huge hand to smack you right into the drink. And it got me instead, or maybe the boom hit me--my right arm feels like someone took a bloody big club to it. But thanks to all of you for hauling me in...and you for getting me breathing again. It’s a hideous thing, not to be able to breathe. Nothing I’ve ever been through has prepared me for that.” He shuddered.

“I’m not hurt,” I said, although, now that he mentioned it, my knee felt good and sore where it had hit the deck. “Thank you for saving me.” I tried to take it in that he had risked his own life to save mine.

As we drew nearer the shore, I realized we must have passed the barrier that kept danger from the Island. Guilin was talking quietly with my stepsons, the twins with Fairwind. I could not understand what they were saying to her, but their voices sounded as though they were trying to comfort her. I went back on the pretext of examining the trolling-lines, not much surprised at finding them gone, still wondering about the wave and the shark, when I heard Fairwind’s voice behind me.

“Please swear never to tell Nana what I am about to tell you,” she pleaded. “Please?”

“Well...I don’t like to have secrets from her, you know,” I stammered, then suddenly, somehow, I knew what she was about to disclose. And here was one secret I could keep from Anemone with my last breath.

“That, that thing,” she lowered her voice very close to my ear, “it was no shark. It was...”

“He made the wave,” she said, almost tonelessly. “He meant it for you. And there were others with him, but they fled after I speared him. They would have made more waves, and killed all of us. But he’ll never try it again. He’s dead. I killed him. I killed my brother.”

*Old sea chantey...not exactly ME, but I thought I could get by with it this time...;);)

Because of him, the others saw nothing of what happened. He it was who invited them to the Sporting Center to watch a game in which the players ride horses and hit a ball about a field with a long mallet. Only, this time, instead of horses, the players used donkeys. The results were often hilarious, according to all who watched, the donkeys sometimes sitting down in the middle of a play, or braying aloud at a crucial point, or donkey-kicking at an opponent’s steed. Sabariel would not allow her son to participate, not wishing him to “compromise the family dignity” by such a ridiculous pursuit. But she allowed him to stay and watch the game, taking herself off to her sister’s, and then one of the players came up to him and said he had hurt his ankle, and would Calanon like to take his place? I strongly suspect that Tilwen, less than enchanted with Sabariel’s supercilious attitude, did a little aiding and abetting of her nephew--who is not a little boy after all, and less likely to come to grief on a donkey than on a horse. They went on and on, telling us all about the game in detail, interrupting each other: “No no, it was like THIS...” and I managed somehow to laugh and chuckle in the right places, while another part of my mind was going back over what happened.

After Galendur and Maldor had turned the Miss Amaryllis around, Galendur called me to him. I left the twins comforting their sister, and went to the helm, where he drew me close and lowered his voice.

“I pulled the harpoon in, while you were pumping Guilin out,” he said, “thinking we might need it in case some of the shark’s relations took a notion to follow, and when I drew it in…well, it was naked as a newborn. Not a trace of shark upon it. Not only that, not a sign of our shark…but…” He glanced back over his shoulder at the others. “I saw someone floating just below the surface of the water where he went down. It was a human form, smallish--about Northlight’s size. It was male, I suppose, although all I could really see of it was floating black hair and a pair of shoulders. For a moment I thought it was Moonrise, until I saw him climb back up on the deck. Then when I looked back at the corpse, the strangest thing happened. It started giving off this pale green light, like phosphorescence, the way you see on the waves at night sometimes. The hair started waving about like squid-tentacles, then all seemed to dissolve until all to see was that eerie light. Then even that faded away. What do you make of that? It damned nearly had me pissing myself, except I think I already did that when our shark first made his appearance.”

Very softly I told him what Fairwind told me. I had told Galendur of Darkfin before, but it had been over a year ago.

“Oh, sh--!” he said glancing back at Fairwind, whose back was to us. Her brothers were gathered close to her, along with the twins. Maldor and Guilin stood together, talking about I don’t know what. “So…she killed her own brother then?”

“Yes. We passed the Barrier. I sensed when we passed it, but when I was running up to tell you to turn back, that’s when the wave came up. I don’t know what we’ll tell Anemone. I think we must not tell her at all.”

“I should say not,” Galendur seemed dazed, glancing back at Fairwind again. “So, this Darkfin…he was lying in wait all this time, on the chance that you just might happen to sail out too far one day and he could get his hooks on you? Or teeth or whatever?”

“He’s a servant of Morgoth, remember. And has been endowed with extraordinary powers, even for sea-folk. And I think he wished to kill his brothers and sisters as well. He wanted to get his revenge on his mother by destroying those most dear to her.”

“Because she refused to acknowledge his superiority and bow down to his authority,” I said. “Northlight told me much about it. His father said he was a ‘natural leader’ and was ‘destined for great things.’ But Darkfin was adamant about having his own way in absolutely everything, and took whatever he wanted, and his father encouraged this behavior until finally Anemone took the others away, fearing what Darkfin would do to them. She had them stay with her parents, while she did what she could to counter her mate’s influence over her firstborn. She told me once that she even considered having his father killed, in order to save her son, and that she threatened to do so, and so it was constant war between them. When he was grown, Darkfin went off and organized his own faction, and with the help of his father overthrew the ruling faction of that portion of the kingdom. Northlight was with them at the time. He considered that faction to be weak and corrupt, and he and his brother should be the ones to replace it. Anemone and some of her siblings organized a small ‘army’—if one can call it such, consisting of many of her father’s subjects and members of the defeated faction—and attempted to route them, but by then they had grown too large and powerful, and so the coup failed, and some of the siblings were killed. Anemone and her other children were in danger for their lives, so she appealed to the Sea-Lord, who granted her a safe haven so Darkfin’s minions could not find them. This was shortly before I sailed. I believe he considered her marriage to me a mortal threat to himself and his dominion.”

“And so he would have…eaten up his own brothers, along with Guilin, if Fairwind hadn’t skewered him?” Galendur asked. “And the rest of us for afters?”

“Yes,” I said, “he was that monstrous. He badly needed killing. I just wish it didn’t have to have been Fairwind to do it.”

Galendur stood for a long moment, bereft of speech. “So now he’s dead,” he said finally. “What do you suppose will happen now?”

I was about to answer that it remained to be seen, when a soft sound caught my ear. Looking up I saw far ahead of us a good many reefs sticking up from the water in the afternoon sunlight. The sound was issuing from them, a melodious voice of singing, strange and haunting and very sweet, caressing and sensuous and ethereal all at once. Galendur turned the rudder to maneuver past the reefs, calling to Maldor to trim the sails, and I spied something perched on one of the rocks. I took it for a seal at first, and I put a hand above my eyes to shield them from the sunlight, and that was when I saw that it was human, with long, long hair very like Anemone’s….

“Great Valar!” Galendur said, and I started. “Looks like Anemone, what? But it’s not…is it? Looks too tall for her.”

“No,” I said between clenched teeth, every hair on my head and feet prickling, and I wondered if it were standing on end. “Do not look at her. Turn your head away and do not listen to her. Steer as far from the reefs as possible.”

I could see her face more clearly. She casually drew one hand through her hair and smiled in our direction, showing perfect bare breasts, and began singing once more. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Maldor and Guilin staring at her also. And I must confess it took all the willpower I had to turn my eyes away and look at Galendur, who did not appear to have heard a word I had said.

“Galendur,” I said, “do not look at her! She is one of his. You will wreck the boat and we’ll all be killed. Think of Tilwen and your son. You MUST look away! Just steer the boat and close your ears to her….”

The singing grew louder, more rich and mysterious and sweet, and it made goose-bumps rise all over me, such a beautiful, beautiful sound, like golden mushrooms and roses and pearls and velvet and thrush-calls and waterfalls and auroras and starlight, all mixed together, powerful and seductive beyond words. A sound one might hear in the loveliest dream possible, full of sable-haired dancers and foamy clouds and snowy horses and flamingoes rising from twilit pools of rose-white lilies….

I wondered if I should hit Galendur in his groin-area and take over the rudder myself…except I was still not so presumptuous as to suppose that I could hold out against that voice much longer myself. My heart was pounding like an orc-drum in the deep…in the deep…no, must not give in, not this time, I would not, I would not, help me….

And she stood up, her shimmering hair blowing back in the breeze, her slender ivory arms lifting with incredible grace, and I saw all of her, pale and perfect and fresh and glowing in the light, and I told myself to avert my eyes, and I did so, and pushed Galendur away from the rudder—no need to hit him after all, and took it myself, willing myself with all I had not to heed that voice, not to look at that form. But I could hear, and in another minute I would look, my head would turn and I could not stop it, oh Powers, help me, I cannot steer this boat….

And suddenly there was a roar of rushing wings, and I saw six large sea-gulls circling furiously about the figure, squawking, diving at her, pulling at her hair, one of them going for her eyes, another for her belly, another attacking her from behind. She raised one hand and a ball of fire shot at one of the gulls, and I opened my mouth to scream but no sound came. The gull barely dodged the fire and wheeled upward, shrieking, and Galendur snapped out of his trance and nudged me aside and took the rudder once more. She raised another hand to send out another fire-ball, but a gull flew straight at her armpit, and she produced not so much as a spark. She screamed and flapped madly at the birds, and they circled her, two of them going after the backs of her knees, one at her breasts, another at her left ear, and then, incredibly, two of them caught her by the hair with their beaks and lifted her straight from the rock, depositing her unceremoniously into the water.

“Steer,” I commanded Galendur. “Maldor, the sails! They will catch up. Don’t look back!”

Galendur needed no urging now. Maldor unfurled the spinnaker and hoisted the jib and the wind whisked us smartly along. Guilin stood up and looked questioningly at the harpoon. I told him we were too far from the woman for it to be any use.

Another gull plummeted straight down after her, and there was turbulence below, then the bird resurfaced, and there was no more motion in the water. Then the gulls began flying back to the boat, all six of them, and a moment later, all six of my stepchildren stood there smiling, their hands reaching for each other’s, their hair blowing out like incredibly sweet flags in the wind.

And we crossed over the Barrier, while back in the Sporting Center, Calanon’s donkey-team beat the other 16 to 12.

If anyone wondered, we would tell them a whale had made the wave, I hoping hard that no one had seen or heard of it. We discussed in detail in order to make sure we all had the exact same story for the others. Not a word of the shark, let alone of the sea-witch.

“Well done, me hearties,” Galendur told them with what seemed to me a forced cheeriness as my sea-family stood before him and myself in a half-circle. “No captain ever had a more gallant crew. If I had medals, I would give them out to each and every one of you.”

The twins took hands and looked at each other with shy smiles, then back at him, then at Guilin, then at me.

“And thanks to me,” Ebbtide said with blood-thirsty delight, “she may have to take up wearing an eye-patch. I’ll wager it will spoil her looks for a while.”

“She won’t have much to sing about anymore, I’m sure,” Guilin said thoughtfully.

“Which of you was it,” Galendur asked, “that picked her up by the hair of her head and dropped her into the wash? Now that was something to see. Was it Northlight? and Fairwind?”

“I wish I could take credit for it,” Northlight said, “but that was Nightingale and Gloryfall.”

“Ah yes,” Ebbtide said. “They may look all sweet and adorable, but don’t let that fool you. They're no one to trifle with.” He pinched Nightingale's ear and she slapped at his hand. Gloryfall just smiled modestly.

“I think not,” Nightingale said, “but she won’t be back. I don’t think she knew Darkfin was dead. But she’ll find out soon enough.” She smiled gently at Fairwind, who stood still and silent.

“I do not know,” Northlight said. “He had a good many followers among the females.”

“Somewhat better,” she said softly. “It is good to know I have saved my true brothers, and my sisters, and Guilin, and you, and all the rest. But Nana will have a fractured heart.”

“We shall all protect her,” I said. “Not a word to her, anyone…is that agreed?”

“Fairwind,” I said reaching out to take her hands in both mine, “I doubt you even begin to realize the enormity of what you have done, my dear. You not only saved all of us, but thousands, maybe millions, of lives. He would have become more and more powerful, if no one had stopped him, and his dominion would have grown ever larger, and may even have spread to land. He may even have penetrated the Barrier, if the Islanders were so incensed with grief and rage at our loss that they abandoned all reason and hope and faith, and turned from the Light. He may have come to make Sauron look a petty tyrant in a garden-spot, by comparison. Because of you, the seas and the Island are safe now. At least, far more than they were.”

“You don’t suppose he has a son, do you?” Galendur asked rubbing his chin.

“Two sons and two daughters,” Northlight said. “They are but children now. Perhaps they will not fall to evil now their father is dead.”

“What will happen now?” Maldor said. “I hate to sound like a sour old pessimist, but there could be more where he came from. He may have been felled, but Morgoth is still out there.”

“His forces are weakened,” Fairwind spoke up. “And I think…I should go, and try to subdue them. Perhaps if I went forth and raised up our armies again, we could do so this time, and bring about peace.”

“You’ll be leaving us then?” I said, my stomach caving in. How would we do without Fairwind and the rest now? And how would we keep the knowledge from Anemone?

“Ohhhh,” Gloryfall said, “I don’t wish to go. My eyes are getting wet at the very thought of it. Don’t go, our Fairwind. Let someone else do it.”

“But I am the oldest, now that he’s gone,” Fairwind said, and she was starting to get wet eyes also. “I think it my duty.”

“Yes, I will,” she said, “but after that…I really think I should go. I do not ask the rest of you to come with me. You may tell Nana I missed Redsand, and went back to him. I will come back to see all of you sometimes, if all goes well. Perhaps for good.”

“I stay,” Northlight said looking sideways at me. I shuddered in relief. “Nana would go wild with grief, if all of us should leave her now.”

“We stay also,” Nightingale said looking at her twin. Gloryfall nodded mutely, swiping at her eyes with the back of her free hand.

“Our Ada needs us too,” Gloryfall said. “And Raven. We cannot leave them.”

“Perhaps Embergold will stay also,” Nightingale said. “I wish she wouldn’t go back to that stupid mate of hers, he’s sooo dreary. And it would be ducky to have the little ones about, wouldn’t it?”

“You look glorious...like your name,” I assured her, and truthfully, remembering Anemone telling me how she got her daughter's name after seeing a waterfall full of the afternoon sunlight on an island.

Gloryfall smiled tremulously. “I think I could learn to sleep in the air,” she said, “and maybe even bring myself to wed someone, as long as Nightingale lives right next door or something. Weddings are a lovely thing, and I’m enormously sorry I ever tried to talk Nana out of having one with you, Ada dearest.”

“You are forgiven,” I said smiling in bittersweet relief as we hove in sight of the dock, and I saw none of the others about.

“The sea seems happy tonight,” Anemone said as we sat together on the beach, late in the evening. “There is a feeling of rejoicing about it. Almost as if there were a wedding in the deep.”

The waves seemed very calm, and caught the full moonlight in gently dancing ripples and winking star-gems. Listening carefully, I could hear a soft music about it, like many voices conversing gaily, and laughing and singing while a happy rain fell about.

I made a jolly good show with them, didn’t I? Galendur said to me after the others had left. Considering that I feel like the arse-end of nothing…or maybe more like what comes out of it. How did YOU hold out against her?

I wouldn’t have held out for long, I said. Little by little I was caving in. You did no worse than the rest of us. Maldor and Guilin…and myself.

But I was responsible for us. I would have wrecked us. I did try to resist, truly. But I bloody failed, and that’s all about it.

Now you’ve some idea why I came to the Island, I said. Do not allow him to make you despise yourself, dear friend. That is one of his keenest weapons. I should know.

I’ve never been any paragon, but I’ve never once been unfaithful to Til since we’ve been wed. But that…woman…in my mind, I was ravishing her from head to toe. I don’t know how to face Tilwen now.

I laid an arm about his waist, thinking what a good friend he was, sweet and funny and caring and understanding, and I kissed his hand. What wonderful times we’d had together, and we had learned much from each other, and I had shared his joy in his first-born as he had shared mine in my wedding. What could I say to set things right?

“Is something wrong, Beloved?” Anemone asked me. I started, wondering if perhaps today had been a bad dream.

I don’t understand it, Galendur said when I suggested that it may have been the Sea-Lord who compelled us over the Barrier, for the purpose of destroying Darkfin. If that’s the case, why didn’t the Sea-Lord just destroy him himself?

I have wondered about that also, I admitted. Really, why? Why had I been chosen to bring down Sauron? Why could not Eru have just snapped His fingers and made him vanish from the face of Arda? Why choose some puny mortal like myself?

Well, yes, I could come up with reasons. The same reasons good parents might require their children to solve their own problems. Learning to solve one’s problems matured one, built character and instilled courage and strength and responsibility. Having their parents solve them only made them into spoilt, soft nothings. But what about other people's problems? Frodo, go clean up that mess Silvio made, I could almost hear my aunt Eglantine saying. Why should I? Let him clean up his own mess. It's not fair.

Anemone kicked off one slipper and drew her toes across my foot, leaning her head against my shoulder. I kissed the top of it.

“You can keep your hair this length if you like,” I said softly a moment later, fingering a curl near her cheek. “Now that I’m used to it, I have decided I like it. And I’m sure it’s easier on you not to have so much.”

I remembered how Maldor watched his brother as we were parting. Galendur knelt and embraced me and then Northlight warmly, touching his cheek--he now loves Northlight as much as he loves me, since the choking incident. Then he grasped Guilin’s hand and looked softly at the others, and as Maldor watched us, I had an idea that he felt he had missed out on something, for all he had raised three children. Still, he had chosen to make a start in the right direction.

“Thank you,” Anemone said. “I like it better this way too. It’s so easier to wash.”

Not that I should be angry. The Sea-Lord had given me Anemone, after all. Who was now fumbling at my cravat.

“Do you mind terribly if we don’t do it tonight?” I heard myself pleading, laying my hand over hers. “Really I’m all in. I’m not sure why.” It was not far from the truth, at that.

I was a little afraid she’d be put-out. But she just sat up straighter and looked up at me.

“You do look tired,” she said. “And a little sad also. Is it because some of the children will be going away?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling glad that I didn’t have to lie about that. “Even Fairwind said something about missing her mate. She may be going too, for all she said she would stay.”

“Yes, she told me,” Anemone sighed. “And I thought she was adapting so nicely here. But I knew she would miss Embergold. They were always so close.”

“I knew she would also, but I thought the twins might comfort her. They are natural comforters. Look how much they’ve done for Raven. They listen to her, cheer her when she’s sad, make her laugh, take an interest in all she does and encourage her in all she would do. Very sweet girls they are.”

“And Moonrise. Do you know he’s going to carve a stone dog like Lord Elrond’s for Northlight before he goes? Northlight really likes that dog. He and Moonrise keep teasing Ebbtide about posing for the clay model. Ebbtide is never going to hear the end of that incident, I fear.”

“I shall greatly miss those two scamps,” I said. “And Embergold—I shall miss her grave and startling observations, and the way she looks so much like you when she makes them. I hope the twins will succeed in persuading her to stay. Along with the little ones.”

“And perhaps Fairwind is the most amazing of all,” I said. “She is full of surprises, and character, and talent and love and purity and wonder. I think she is destined for great things. And Northlight…but what can I say of him that I haven’t said before? He has brought us all such joy, in his own sweet, serious, eccentric way. Yes, you have quite a knack with raising children, my dearest. What you have accomplished is truly awe-inspiring.”

I was surprised at myself, the way it all just came pouring out of me. But I felt that if I commended her on where she had succeeded, she would feel better about where she had failed.

She will know, one day. Perhaps someone will let it slip, or she will sense it, or someone from the sea will bring her news of it. There is no way to prepare myself for it. It will be a pain I cannot take upon myself, but must watch her struggle through it, see her tears and hear her cries and try to convince her that it had to happen, and hold her all night and all day also, and talk with her long into the evenings, as the children bring her flowers and little gifts of their own making and she will smile over them with red eyes, and after they have gone to bed she will lean against me and ask what she did wrong, and she will rail at me for keeping it from her as long as I did, then weep because Fairwind had to be the one to bring it about. And I will pray and sing and write poems for her, and point out once more the enormity of what she has accomplished…and place her Evenstar in her hand and set the glass in the window at night, and make love to her and hold her hand until day-break…and rejoice that the seas are safer and many, many lives will be spared because of the deeds of small people….

And know that although I cannot bear her pain for her, I can bear her, and shall do so for as long as we both endure upon this sacred, fractured earth….

The play is tomorrow. Our Aragorn, Thalimorgûl, has been stumping around the stage for the past week, although Selin tells him to take it easy and stay off his hurt ankle as much as possible. Sometimes Thali hops about the stage during rehearsal of his scenes, looking pretty silly. But I must admire his dedication.

This morning the twins, who will play hobbit-lasses, appeared at the breakfast-table with mops of brown curls on their heads, and I did a double-take, and rubbed my eyes, and there they were still, giggling. Then they showed me their feet, which were covered in curls also.

“How do you like us?” Nightingale said. Raven stared with her mouth wide open, as did Sandrose and Onyx.

“Our hair is your color now, Ada,” Gloryfall chirped. “We are the first sea-girls ever to have brown hair.”

“Where did you get those wigs?” I asked the twins. “They are extremely well made.”

They looked at each other, then burst out laughing, and in an eye-blink their hair was its original color and texture. Gracious, nothing should surprise me anymore!

“Very,” I said, “although I must admit, I prefer your hair its true color.”

“Only very old ones,” I said smiling, “which is why I like yours. It reminds me of Bilbo’s.”

“Fancy playing your own mother’s grandmum!” Gloryfall said. “I would feel very silly. I’d rather play a pretty tavern-wench. Then I could be brown like you, Ada, and all would know me for your daughter. Already I’ve your eyes.”

“I liked having mine Embergold’s color,” Fairwind said. “But shall not have it so much longer.” She sighed softly. Embergold reached over and laid a hand over hers.

“I liked the feeling of having no hair at all,” Northlight said, and the twins laughed.

“Nooooooo,” Nightingale exclaimed, reaching over to caress the rich dark locks. “You wouldn’t be our Raven with OUR ridiculous color!”

“Yes,” Gloryfall said, jumping over to Raven’s side, “you are perfect as you are, Birdsister. I would have MY hair like yours.”

“Extremely perfect,” Fairwind agreed with a little smile. I noted how quiet she had been all week.

“She would be our Raven with any color,” Anemone said. “But yes, her hair is perfect as it is. When the sun is on it, it is full of deep shades and mystery. Like the aurora. Why would you change it?”

“You are the most beautiful girl on the whole Island,” Nightingale assured Raven. “Northlight thinks so too, and he is very smart.”

“You are his bride-sister,” Embergold assured her, “or, you will be. Then all the more ours.”

“Yes, indeed,” Northlight said with a doting look at Raven, who lowered her eyes in abashment at the love being poured all over her. “When first I saw you, I thought you a dancing princess of the night, full of dreams and stars and secret murmurings.”

“How lovely!” Gloryfall said, and Nightingale nodded in bright-eyed agreement.

“Well…I meant but for a little while,” Raven said, blinking back a tear. Northlight took her hand and kissed it.

“Where are Moonrise and Ebbtide?” I asked after a moment. “I didn’t see them all day yesterday. I wonder what they’re up to this time.”

They usually show up bright and early for breakfast, sometimes with a nice catch, which they clean and cook for us...usually with help from me, for to be truthful, I am a much better cook than either of them. Which is not saying very much.

Then the peacock cried, and I jumped out of my chair and looked out the window. The twins flurried to the door, the children following.

There were our fellows, coming up the path…each with a lovely little lady on his arm, one of whom carried a golden-haired maid-child. And two little lads following.

I might have gotten trampled if I hadn’t moved out of the doorway just in time.

When all the uproar died down, Moonrise introduced his amber-haired mate, Sweetfern, while almost simultaneously Ebbtide presented his black-haired Jasmine. Then the little boys, Crystal and Piper, and the tiny Summershine, scarcely out of babyhood.

“They came to see the play,” Moonrise said proudly as he balanced his small daughter on his arm, caressing her bright hair. She sucked on her fingers, scarcely seeming to know what to make of this airy land.

“How long will you stay?” Sandrose asked of black-haired Piper, who appeared about her age, skipping about before him, for she cannot seem to stand still for more than a minute or two.

“As long as Mother does,” he murmured, looking to his mum, who was talking with Anemone. Moonrise passed Summershine to her grandmum, who took her in beaming delight. The twins gathered close by, exclaiming over their little niece. Raven edged up shyly after them. Onyx stayed close to his mum.

“This place is strange,” pale-haired Crystal, who appeared a year or two older than his brother, said. “Everything rises so high up. Is it true that food is burnt before it is eaten here?”

“Sometimes,” I chuckled, remembering Ebbtide’s recent attempt at cooking flounder. At the same time, I found myself quivering inside. What if someone should mention Darkfin? Surely Moonrise and Ebbtide had remembered to swear all to secrecy. But what if one of them should forget, and let it out? I looked to Fairwind, and she nodded, then went to Moonrise, drew him aside, and whispered to him. I saw him nod, glancing toward his mother. I let out my breath in a long sigh of relief, and soon it was my turn to hold little Summershine, who favored me with a shy but friendly smile so that my heart flopped like an over-sized frog in a pond. This was how Anemone must have looked as a babe!

Later in the evening I slipped away unnoticed, and sauntered out to the beach in the twilight. I needed to be alone for a while...I’ve almost forgotten what that is. And Bilbo was afraid I’d be all alone after he was gone!

Sam…I’m so glad the play will soon be over and done with...and somewhat sorry too. What will come after? I suppose I shouldn’t even think of that. Just take things a day at a time, revel in each moment, do my work and enjoy my family and friends...without a project to work toward. I can still write poetry, maybe even a book or two...maybe a volume about the sea-folk. That would be something different....

I’m so glad we had that two-week reprieve; the scenes are so much better now. It’s still very hard for me to direct certain ones, of course. The one in the Tower and the one at Mt. Doom are still the ones that make me almost sorry I didn’t have myself erased…but they have shaped up beautifully. Dínlad and Perion are perfectly amazing in them. I must admit, sometimes I have had to get away and weep a little after the rehearsals, but I let no one see. Northlight did catch me at it once, but he promised not to tell. I thought he too would advise me to let Selin direct, but he did not. On the contrary, he said although he knew the others meant well, he thought it right for me to do it.

Moonrise and Ebbtide have nearly completed the stone dog for him. When they went to Lord Elrond and asked his leave to copy the statue, he was touched, and said he would have given it to Northlight except that it had been a gift from a beloved friend, who carved it for him sometime after Lady Celebrían had sailed. When I heard his name, my eyes must have popped: Annûnlanthir, son of Alkhlokëion, the sculptor who had designed the Argonath. Someday I would perhaps meet him, Lord Elrond said; he was also a distant relative of Legolas, if he was not mistaken. He purchased the stone for the copy of the dog himself, the black marble with a veining of gold. I think he is much impressed with Moonrise’s skill in stone-cutting. Perhaps he can persuade him to stay on the Island….

And I went to the Queen herself, fearing she might divine the truth about Darkfin and announce it…and so she had. But she had kept it to herself, for the same reason I did so.

“But someday, she will know,” she told me as I sat with her in her council-chamber.

“Yes,” I said with a sigh, “but I would have her go for as long as possible without knowledge of it, to know as many happy days as she can. Do you…by any chance know when it will be?”

“That has not been revealed to me,” she replied, “and I think I would not wish to know.”

“I have tried to prepare myself,” I said. “But I know not what to do, when the time comes. This is something of which I can never really know, except in part.”

“You love her this much,” Lady G. said looking softly at me. “My dear Prince, you need not trouble yourself as to what to do. When the time comes, you will do your part. You will blunder at whiles, but you will be forgiven, and other times you will say and do what is exactly right. And although she will carry a wound that will never heal entirely, she will yet know joy, and find her strength through you, and learn the ways of growth and virtue and fellowship with all hearts and minds that suffer and endure. Yes, if you wish to prepare for that time, do so, in your own way. I see you have already begun. But go also as you did before, doing what you are able, and leaving the rest to the Divine.”

As I left the Palace, I thought of Lord E. once more, wondering at the power of endurance of the heart. I have always hated to think of what he must have felt at the departure of Lady C. I can see how he loves her each time he looks at her, each time he speaks of her. How did he bear it, the knowledge of what had happened to her, the guilt and anguish and helplessness in not being able to help her, and being without her? I cannot begin to comprehend it. It is bad enough to be faced with knowing what my Anemone will go through...what if she’d had to leave? I would have gone with her, I know. Nothing could have held me back....

The sun has sunk into the waves, and northward the colors of the aurora drift in their astonishing glory--green, gold, purple, rose, scarlet, the Beacon glimmering below like a lesser star. I can begin to feel the joy of the waters, which harvest the colors and lights, teasing them into curls and waves and flames and ropes and entrancing patterns as though some sort of fire-works display were going on below in celebration. I thought of the twinkle in Sweetfern’s eyes, her excitement in being on land for the first time…and there was joy radiating from her; surely Anemone must have wondered at the cause?

I stooped on the beach with a heavy sigh near my praying-rock, almost resenting the happiness of the waters. Did they not know that their joy was born of someone else’s heart-ache? Ah, where was my glass, why had I not brought it with me, must I find answers in the stains of the night?

Then glancing aside I saw a stick lying in the sand, reached over and picked it up, examining it closely as if it held some secret. Slowly I walked along the beach a few steps, looking at the footprints that still dotted the sand, the larger ones of the males, the children’s, the disrupted place where Sandrose had skipped before her cousins, the tiny prints where little Summershine had toddled holding to Anemone’s forefinger...and I smiled to myself, in spite of the tears that had gathered in my eyes.

And with my stick I wrote I LOVE MY LADY in the sand near the prints. The tide would obliterate it, to be sure, but after it did so I would simply write it again, and again and yet again....

And I wended my way back to the house...and early in the morning, a miraculous thing: where the tide should have erased my words, there they were still...with many tiny multi-colored stones cast all about them.

She rode as usual with her husband and son as far as the archway, then hopped lightly down from the cart after kissing them both. She watched until it rounded the bend in the road, waving to them as they turned back to look at her, then turned smiling back to the house, when something on the beach caught her eye.

She smiled all the more warmly as she read the words. But what was this? Obviously he had stood with his back to the sea while writing in the sand--unless he had written them upside down, which was extremely unlikely. And yet the sand was wet, indicating that the tide had indeed come in, but the words were still there, and he had not gone out to the beach that morning. She’d had one eye cocked toward him always, not because she didn’t trust him but merely because she liked to look at him. And he had not gone out of the house; she would have noticed his absence.

Now why would he take such care to erase his footprints…why erase them at all?

Her heart thumped in her bosom, fluttering with the wonder of it all. She bent to touch one of the letters, then with her finger she drew a double-heart next to the words on the left, and another on the right. Then she turned and looked out to the waters.

Thank you, she called to the waves, as the breeze blew her tawny locks back from her face and ruffled her skirt around her legs, her sleeves from her outstretched arms. It has been far too long since I have thanked the Sea-Lord, she thought, but he will forgive me, surely. I believe he has already.

She turned and glanced back, shading her eyes with one hand, and saw Sandrose with her cousins in the garden, teaching them the delights of dancing on the edge of the fountain. I suppose I should go and get ready, she thought. Not that I’ve so much to do in the play, but I should go help the others….

And she turned for a final look at the letters, noting the tiny colored stones scattered amongst them. Gem-stones. It seems they are gifts from the sea. There are pearls, to be sure. Dozens of them, round and perfect, various sizes. Why should they have come to me? As if someone were thanking me…for what? Sapphires, emeralds, rubies, diamonds, topazes, amethysts, aquamarines, garnets, opals, beryls, peridots, tourmalines, moonstones, scattered like painted stars on a white dawn. She recalled one of the first lines of poetry he had written for her. A sapphire mated an amethyst and bore twins, which became your eyes. Very silly, but what other sea-maid ever had poems written for and about her?

She bent to pick up the stones, then stopped. They looked just fine where they were. It was as if the letters were leaves of graceful grass, spangled with rainbow dewdrops in the salty sunshine. Where would they look better? And she knelt on the sand, bowing her head, catching her hair at the back of her neck and holding it there.

You are the Ring-bearer’s bride, his true Gem. You share his light, you are his glory and completeness and reward. You became small that he might become large, learned to die that he might learn to live. And learned to suffer that he might find his truest bliss.

I have come to find that when I suffer, he puts it aright, and gives me joy tenfold.

And finally she rose and turned back toward the house where her real jewels were, their laughter echoing from the cliffs where the waterfalls poured out their endless bounty in the morning light.

AT LAST it is over!!! I feel as though I had completed a second Quest…this one being far easier and more fun than the first, of course…but yes, it’s all over, and now I can breathe freely again. And never again will I have to be reminded of those dreadful scenes….

But at the same time, I’m also sorry. I shall greatly miss the players. I shall miss the flurry, the merriment, the laughter as some fluffed their lines in rehearsal or sat about in their costumes and made good and bad jokes and told stories about plays they had been in before this…the going out and celebrating after a particularly successful rehearsal…the respect and affection showed to me and my family members by all…the feeling of true fellowship shared by every one of us. Yes, I’m more than a bit sorry. What to do now?

Things were a bit hectic in the morning, as you may imagine, what with our new guests and everything. I wished I’d known in advance they were coming, but I hadn’t, and everyone was in a flutter, what with Crystal and Piper firing questions at me: Why are there sails in the windows? Why does everyone wear clothes on their feet but you? Why does the little room in back have a bowl of water in the chair? Why does everyone keep putting their lips on Summershine? Does she taste good? And Sweetfern and Jasmine wishing to know what to wear, how to conduct themselves, and so on. Then there was the sticky problem of who would see to our visitors during the play, seeing as how everyone else was in it one way or another. Anemone said she would ask Tilwen. But finally I did manage to get away, and Anemone rode as far as the archway with me and Northlight, as usual, and told us not to worry about a thing, she would see to all, didn’t she always? And Guilin would come and pick up the others later on….

And when I glanced back at her, I saw her looking at what I had written on the beach, and I smiled to myself. It was nature’s call that had awakened me before everyone else, but after it was answered, on a thought I had run down to the beach to restore the words I had written the previous night, only to find that they were still there, although my foot-prints and all other prints about them were gone, the sand all around as smooth as mother-of-pearl. And the tiny gem-stones scattered all about the letters. If this were not a sign from the Sea-Lord, what was?

Fairwind was brilliant. Her scene with the Witch-King was truly terrifying and thrilling also. And her scenes with Guilin…well, they were so convincing, I began to worry for both of them.

Northlight was so believable as Gollum, when he fell into the fire it made my blood run cold, could this really be my Northlight? I’m truly thankful he’ll never have to play that role again. I’ll dream of it from time to time. But now he can settle down and go back to being just Northlight. Although Selin is asking me if he might offer him an acting contract. I’m not sure what I think about it myself…my son as an actor? Selin also spoke of offering a contract to Fairwind. I told him I didn’t think she would be around much longer, but if he wished to speak of it to her, he might. I suppose it is selfish of me to hope she would take it…but I really do!

And Anemone as Rosie…I just wish you could have seen her, Sam! A very small part, yes. But it was one of those Touches, one of those details that somehow set off a great masterpiece by their delicate and unobtrusive perfection and make it what it truly is. The twins had a wonderful time, and one of the actors told me that they seemed to have an uncanny capacity for enjoyment that was enviable indeed. I can only hope they keep it for all time.

Raven added a touch I would never have expected…she played a street-urchin of Minas Tirith who was trying hard to see the Ring-bearers during the rejoicing, and no one would let her get near them…so she slipped up behind a street-vendor and stole something from his stall, darted through the crowd and handed her pelf to a guard, pleading with her eyes for him to give it to the hobbits, watching anxiously until he did so, then smiling with mute joy and executing a little dance-step. I just have to wonder whose idea that was….

I’m guessing that some of the audience were not too pleased at Guilin’s replacing Dûndeloth in the role, but there were others who seemed taken with him…among the ladies, I’m sure. I was not too hopeful of his performance at first, but all in all, he did very well with what he was given. I was reminded of his recovery in the Palace, wondering if he would pull through, and then…when Fairwind accepted his proposal he gave her that gentle little smile of his, and that did the trick. I smiled to myself.

Thalimorgûl had a very slight limp, but no one seemed to notice, and he did splendidly in the main. Moonrise and Ebbtide did reasonably well, but I doubt acting will prove to be their true calling. In the Dimholt Vale, they created some misty effects that were a little frightening. I wasn’t exactly expecting that, either.

But I must say that Dínlad and Perion were the very best of all. They were the heart and soul of the whole production. And in the dreaded scenes…I found myself thinking only of the astounding love that had born me from them, risking all to snatch me body and soul from a fate too horrible to imagine. The love of the true Hero of the entire undertaking, the closest thing to the Divine I will ever know upon this earth, even where I am now….

And now your winged heart
will bear me aloft
above the foul clouds
of poison and loss
the shadows unspeakable
now are dissolved
such love astounding
I have not deserved
yet still you give it...

The tears that gathered and overflowed this time were not of self-pity over the memory of torture, terror, starvation, thirst, exhaustion, failure, and degradation, but of overwhelming gratitude and awe and adoration and joy at having a Friend of Friends who never forsook me, who had kept me warm, protected me from my enemies, given me the last drop of his water, born me on his back when my own legs could go no more, hauled me away from the Fire at the very last. Who has ever had such? My dearest Sam, may you be as blessed as I for all time, now and forever, and have all the joy your heart can hold and then some….

And I can never forget the reaction of the audience, how they stood and their cries rang out in a seemingly endless roar all around, as each principle cast member came to take his or her bow, then finally Dínlad and Perion, who I’m sure must have been overwhelmed by the deafening adulation, particularly when Thali and Barathon came up behind them and lifted the boys to their shoulders; the people shouted themselves hoarse. Then Rûdharanion and Dûndeloth came to take their bows, but they kept looking to me, and Guilin whispered, “What are you waiting for? They want you with them!” and gave me a push that nearly sent me sprawling, and the authors caught me and lifted me high between them, and the audience truly went wild. They would be hoarse, if not speechless, in the morning. And then the two elves finally set me down, but kept hold of me between them, and three ladies brought bouquets of roses, which they presented to us. And I managed to smile and bow again and again. And then there was a group bow, and more flowers were presented, including a large bunch of white roses for Fairwind and a smaller one for Anemone, who glanced at the small note that came with hers, and mouthed what looked like “Inzilbêth” to me. I looked out in the crowd for Inzilbêth but could not pick her out, but then the audience was so vast. And I turned to Anemone, and I do not know what came over me, I just grabbed her suddenly and planted a huge kiss on her lips, which went down wonderfully with the audience. And she didn’t seem to mind a bit!

And then I saw Nessima. Guilin was leading her up onto the stage. She looked bewildered and a little reluctant, but not wishing to make a scene by resisting, so she allowed him to assist her up the steps, as he carried a bag under one arm…ah, at last, The Gift!

I could not hear what he was saying to her over the roar of the crowd; evidently he told her to close her eyes because she did so. And he opened the bag and took out something of a shimmering midnight blue, with a glitter about it, and shook it out, and laid it dramatically yet carefully over the lady’s shoulders…a long velvet cloak embroidered with silver and gold stars all around the edges…yes, indeed a cloak of stars, that seemed to glimmer and twinkle on their own, and as she opened her eyes, and gasped, along with the audience, I glanced aside and saw Fairwind looking on with tears in her eyes, unaware of Barathon gazing tenderly at her from behind….

No…she has not fallen in love with Guilin; that was not supposed to happen! I started to go to her, when Anemone clutched at my arm and pointed up toward the box where Lord Elrond and his Ladies sat, along with Gandalf and Ríannor, and I saw Lady Celebrían grimacing and clutching at her swollen belly, Lord Elrond’s arm all around her….

Would you please to inform the King and Queen that they have a baby sister? Her name is Lúthien, and it’s my hunch that she will be every bit as beautiful as her namesake ancestress. Certainly she has very lovely manners already, to wait until the play was over to decide to be born…and her mother is doing fine indeed, and her father wears happiness as a starry crown. And of course the grandmothers are ecstatic. Here’s hoping that the Royal Family will continue to grow!

Well, thanks to little Lúthien, Fairwind, Embergold, Moonrise, and Ebbtide, with their mates and offspring, will be staying a few days longer than planned, and I’ve taken a short holiday from work to relax and enjoy their company while I still may. We were all guests at the Palace for a couple days, and there was an atmosphere of such joy permeating the entire place, I can scarcely describe it.

Fairwind doesn’t fancy Guilin after all; she was only sad because she would be going away soon. And also, she whispered to me, because Guilin reminded her of Darkfin somehow--yes, I remember Northlight saying he did. Strange to think they can accept him as their brother even so.

Perion told us of something that happened to him shortly before the play. He had been staying at home for a few days, and some of his sweethearts heard of it. Well, as you may suppose, they had been less than pleased at his juggling so many at one time, and so they all came in a body, six or seven of them, to his mother’s house, demanding he come out instantly. His sisters Gildorien and Curíleth came to the fore, the younger one, Curíleth, in the upper storey, with a barrel of walnuts—there is a grove of them all about the house. As the offended lasses shouted him out, Curíleth began pelting them with walnuts from the window above the front-door, yelling at them to go away before she set their dog on them (said creature being actually very small and old, nearly toothless, but they didn’t know that). One or two of them took cover behind a tree, but it was not until Gildorien appeared in the doorway with a shield and spear which had belonged to their late father, threatening to skewer and roast the girls like quails that they ran off squealing! I laughed and told Perion that there was safety in numbers, but not when it came to sweethearts. He replied with a wink, “There is in sisters and walnuts, though!”

I think he may be just a bit disgruntled that Dínlad has become so popular with lasses all of a sudden! Dínlad says he certainly didn’t ask to be. They send him love-notes and sweets and such, and follow him about with moony eyes, and naturally everyone else teases him, until Perion offered him a bucket of walnuts and his ada’s spear.

“This is ALL YOUR FAULT!” Dínlad raged at me. “Next time you want somebody to play you, DO IT YOURSELF!”

“Some chaps don’t know when they have it good,” Perion said shaking his head, as the younger lad stormed from the room.

This morning Moonrise and Ebbtide and the bigger boys, Crystal and Piper, slipped away after breakfast without telling anyone where they were going. The rest of us, after a minor grumble, went about washing up and putting the house to rights, the two little girls helping out—Summershine standing in a chair wiping the cups as Sandrose showed her how. She’d give the cup a tiny rub with the towel, then show us the dry spot, while everyone exclaimed with delight at how lovely she’d made it look, then she’d hand it to her mummy, who secretly wiped it the rest of the way dry with her apron. Onyx helped me and Northlight with the weeding. He talks to the weeds as he pulls them up, saying, “Sorry, weed, but you have to go. I think your mum wants you home,” or, “Pooh, get away, you ugly old thing. Orc-flowers aren’t wanted here!”

Guilin came down the road just then, in a most merry mood. Raven rushed to him and he caught her up and swung her around as if she were Summershine’s age. He kissed me and Anemone both on the tops of our heads, and might have done the same to Northlight if he hadn’t laughingly dodged him. We were each of us no doubt about to make some teasing remark, when we saw Moonrise and Ebbtide coming up the way…carrying a small chest between them.

I came near getting stampeded once more. They set the chest down before the terrace steps, and made a big production of asking us not to crowd around too close.

“We were going to wait until we left to present you and Nana and the rest with this as a farewell gift,” Moonrise said. “But you know Ebbtide, he gets impatient, and he nagged me into bringing it up. We took it from a pirate-vessel some time ago and hid it in the cavern under the waterfalls until the time came to leave. We wish all of you to divide it among yourselves as you see fit.”

The twins looked to each other, then to me and Anemone, then back to their brothers. I could only feel a little sadness, thinking I’d much rather have the lads and their sisters and children here than any old treasure, and it’s my guess that Anemone felt exactly the same. Raven looked dubious, glancing at her brother, then me, then Northlight, and I hoped she was not reminded of the pirate she and Guilin had fleeced so long ago.

Ebbtide grinned a little, sadly I thought too, then slowly, dramatically, they raised the lid.

There were two burlap bags within, one containing coins, the other jewels and some small daggers. A collective gasp went around as the bags were opened and the contents spilt on the ground before us.

“Ada,” Moonrise said, “you may see to the distribution. I know you probably don’t need much, but you never know when some of it may come in handy. It’s as much as we can do for you, the way you’ve taken care of our mother and brought her such joy. And certainly it’s a small reward for your deeds in bringing about peace to your own native land. So we would like you to accept this small boon from us as a token of our esteem and gratitude.”

“Thank you, my dear lads,” I said, with a tightness in my throat. “While I have already all the reward I could ever wish for myself, I am grateful that you think enough of me to present me with this bounty. I hope you don’t mind if I use my share to endow the Orphan’s Home with some much-needed facilities.”

“Not at all,” Moonrise said. “In truth, I had a feeling you would do just that.”

“Well then,” I said, “the rest of you may choose what you wish. My Love, you first?”

“I have all the jewels I would ever want,” Anemone said, “but I would like to have some of these coins. They are most interesting. They must be from several different nations. I would like one of each.”

She was fingering the jewels already. I thought she was a bit young to wear any yet—they looked rich and valuable indeed, and must have belonged to a queen. I had to wonder at myself allowing her to take something that was stolen property, and I rather wished our boys had let the chest be. Still, our Raven does love gems. Maybe it would do her heart good to own something very beautiful and precious…not that it had ever done Sméagol any good.

“I choose this,” she said finally, lifting up a gold chain with a pear-shaped pendant, in which was set a large and very beautiful white stone full of subtle lights and colors, surrounded by tiny diamonds and pearls and exquisite filigree work. “But I don’t want it for myself, but for Lady Elwing, for she was so good to me when I was in the Palace.”

Everyone else looked at her in wonder. Then Anemone smiled saying, “Take it then, sweet one. But do you wish naught for yourself?”

Raven picked up a small fire-opal ring. “I love this,” she said slipping it onto her finger and holding it up for our admiration, and I smiled my approval. Then she looked to the twins.

They took their time, then said they didn’t know which to choose, since there were no two things alike there, except ear-rings, they fretted, and surely they would look silly going about each with one ring in one ear. Finally they asked Raven to choose for them, they being “too ridiculous” to do so. Raven picked a string of pearls and carved jade set in silver for Nightingale, and a necklace of sapphires for Gloryfall. She picked lovely necklaces for Fairwind and Embergold as well, saying they could wear them when they came to visit. And bracelets for the little girls.

Guilin chose a gorgeously gemmed dagger, along with a small pearl brooch for his lady—just the thing to clasp her fine new cloak, he said. Northlight took a mithril ring with a little eagle on it and a clear blue-green stone, although Guilin warned him not to go about calling it his precious and talking to it. I frowned to myself but said only that I thought the ring suited him well, and so it did.

Just to make the girls happy, I did end up choosing a little ruby pin for my cravat, and they said it looked “just like me,” whatever that meant. After luncheon, I asked Guilin to take the rest of the treasure to the Orphanage, and he looked touched that I would trust him to do so, and told me he would get it there safely and quickly. Raven asked if she might go along, and I said yes, if it were all right with Guilin, and he said it was.

The rest of us spent the afternoon on the beach, playing in the surf, which was high. I have always enjoyed watching the waves when they are high, crashing against the grey and white cliffs, taking on shades of blue and green and silver as they spread out urgently on the white sand, and sometimes idly wondering what it would be like to take a small boat and ride atop of a wave. As I sat with Anemone and Northlight, watching the little ones playing, along with their mothers and daddies and aunties and uncles, I found myself expressing this thought aloud.

“Perhaps you could,” Northlight said. “If you were to take a board of teak, or something light-weight like that, and...”

“But how would I get myself out there?” I said. “I doubt I could swim out with the sea being as rough as it is, too much so for boating. I--”

“Perhaps if you ran out, then lay down on the board and pushed with your arms...” Northlight ventured.

“I doubt I should have the strength,” I hedged, almost sorry I had brought up the subject.

“I could help you,” he said. “I could get us out there, and help you to stand, and...yes, I think we could do it! What think you, Nana?”

“It would be most interesting,” Anemone said, “and far safer than riding on a dolphin, I should think,” she winked at me. I laughed.

I’m not sure whether or not I’ll ever forgive Galendur or Leandros for getting up this contraption for me, or Northlight for going to them about it, or myself for getting the whole idea in the first place. But here I am with it, whether I like it or not.

It’s simple enough: a long plank of wood, rounded in the front, smoothed down on top. Leandros said he had once owned a book about people native to islands far away, riding the waves on boards, and there were some drawings in it, and so he had modeled my board on these illustrations. He had lost the book, so he had to rely on memory. He said, with twinkling eyes, that in the pictures, as far as he could recall, people didn’t wear any clothes, at least naught more than a strap or flap over their nether regions. I said I thought I’d wear a bit more, and he laughed. I had a feeling he’d have far more to laugh about once I made my first attempt at using his board!

So there we were: myself and my family, along with Galendur and Leandros and their families, I hoping hard that it would rain, or the sea would be calm and flat, but no such good fortune was to be mine that day. The waves were quite exuberant, in fact.

Northlight said he’d try out the board first. Dínlad, Marílen, Lyrien, Sandrose, Crystal, Piper, and Onyx watched with great interest, while little Summershine kept close to her mum and Raven and Little Iorhael. The boys wore old breeches, the girls in the little bathing-costumes designed for them by Anemone, consisting of a knee-length pair of drawers and a very short dress of the same material, in bright colors so as to be visible in the water, in case of accident. For grown ladies the costume was similar, except the drawers came to below the knee, the skirt just short of it. There were no sleeves, and I had my doubts about my ladies and lasses appearing so exposed in public, but as long as they wore the suits only among family and friends, I would resign myself.

Naturally Northlight got the board out easily enough. He took it under one arm and plunged into the water, and I could see nothing of him for a moment, then the wave rose, hugely, and there he was, lying full length on his belly, smiling and waving to us…and then, unbelievably, he suddenly sprang to his feet, and stood atop of the board, arms stretched out to his sides! He did not stand straight up, to be sure, but stooped a bit, his backside sticking out and his head forward as though about to take a dive, and Leandros said that yes, that was the way he remembered the men doing in the drawings, making for good balance. The children cheered and danced about, and Anemone watched in proud delight, and I had to grin. I’d no notion of standing on the board myself, but of lying or sitting only. Would they expect me to stand also?

Then Moonrise and Ebbtide must try it, and Ebbtide had to show off, wiggling his rump then standing on one foot and waving his arms about, and he fell right into the surf, and had a time retrieving the board. The twins had their turn, and they would both go and share the board, and one hopped onto the back of the other, straddling her waist and waving her arms. They received considerable praise by all. Even Fairwind went and tried it, and did the best of any after Northlight, I thought.

Northlight told me not to worry, he would tow me out, since he didn’t fancy the thought of me getting swallowed up by a huge wave. He bade me straddle his waist, as he held to the board with one arm, and he dived right in, and I found myself riding along on his back as though he were a dolphin although I could see him, vaguely, beneath the water, in his own shape. We went a good distance thus, and then he instructed me to lie full length on the board and paddle with my arms, and he would tell me when to catch the wave, and if I should fall in he would fetch me right up. He told me not to try to stand, just lie on my belly and hold to the board…not that it was necessary for him to tell me this. I’m not sure how it happened—I think Northlight helped in some mysterious way—but in a moment I found myself on top of the swell, shooting along at a most incredible speed, holding on for dear life, flying headlong, my wet hair standing straight out, most likely, and I started to get to my knees, but thought better of it, remaining as I was with my backside sticking up like a cow starting to rise. Then I felt a sharp slap on my rear and I flattened myself out once more, until the wave bore me in and broke, and I quit the board and let the surf bear me along until I was in the shallow, skidding along the soft sand--well for me that I was a good swimmer--whereupon I looked behind me for the board and saw it sliding along and stick in the sand. And I stood up, amid the cheering, and lifted my arms into the air saying, “I did it!” feeling pretty proud of myself...until I realized, and very quickly, that I had a crab down my breeches..........

Well, I shouldn’t wonder if word of this new activity gets around very fast on the Island and it catches on…but don’t worry, my Sam—you will NOT be expected to try it!

Well...I went back to work today. Nessima was singing as she came in. I scarcely knew her for herself. She says she will go to the dance-theater with Guilin day after tomorrow. I gave her a big impish grin and told her she looked lovely in stars. Her cheeks grew very pink indeed!

Barathon met me at the Flamingo’s Roost at lunch. Of all the actors in the Company, he counts as my favorite. There’s a modesty about him that most of the others are just a bit shy of, and his laughter is as apt to be directed at himself as at others.

He offered to buy lunch for me, along with the ale, and I decided to let him. I had a strong feeling as to what he was going to ask of me.

“Fairwind is a most lovely lady,” he said as the maid whisked off with our order. “To get straight to the point…well, to be truthful…I mean, she is most lovely, and enchanting, and…”

“Well, not to beat around the bush or anything, and perhaps I shouldn’t be so bold seeing as how I don’t really know her so well yet, but still…” He paused, clearing his throat. “Well, why fudge around? Better to just have it out once and for all, get down to brass tacks and not waste time with all the why’s and wherefore’s and what have you’s. So, I’ll just out with it, and save us both the trouble, and have done. The truth is…to put it plainly…I’m dead gone on her.”

I smiled. Then remembered she would be leaving in a day or two, and the smile faded. Barathon set down his mug.

“I know we are a bit mismatched,” he said, “but…well, I’ve been watching her for some time. One day we were speaking of Inzilbêth, and Fairwind said she didn’t wish to speak harshly of her, because you wouldn’t like it. And--”

“Did you now? Well, I thought she was pretty special even before, but I think that’s what pushed me over the edge. A lady who won’t speak ill of another is hard to find. My mother could take a lesson or two from her. Not that Nana’s so bad as all that, but she does like gossip. She’s widowed, you know, and lives with me now. I also have my little nephew with me. He lives at the Orphanage, but comes to stay with me on weekends. He’s a very nice and smart little lad and I dote on him. Perhaps you know him, Emerion is his name?”

“Of course I know him,” I beamed. “A boy after my own heart, in truth. But why does he live at the Orphanage?”

“Well, he’s an orphan,” Barathon explained, leaning back in his chair, “and so he feels more comfortable going to school at the Home than elsewhere, not having parents like the others. And he’s a sociable little chap, and likes to be around others of his age—it’s like having a good many brothers, he says. He’s an odd little lad in some ways. Sometimes I think he’s trying to make up for not having any brothers or sisters of his own by staying there. But here’s what: I offered to visit him during the week, but he says no, because he doesn’t wish to make the others feel badly about not having anyone to come see them. Because few of them do, you know. How’s that for a little fellow? But he comes home with me on the weekends, and we go out fishing, or boating, or watching a game or something. Sometimes I slip over there and watch him play on the grounds, from a distance. So if you ever catch me lurking about, you’ll know I’m just watching my nephew. I’m not sure how Fairwind would feel about the whole business, however. Perhaps if she were to accept me, and she was all right with it, he could come home to stay with us. And, well, I know she’s a princess and all that. I’ve a bit of noble blood, but…”

“I don’t mind if you’re not a prince,” I said chuckling a bit. “I was made one, I wasn’t born one, remember. And I’d likely forget that I was, if people didn’t constantly remind me. I would be pleased to have you as a son-in-law if Fairwind is agreeable to it, noble blood or no. But the thing is, I think she is going away soon. I…”

“Also, she may not be able to have children,” I added. “She is fond of them, and I think she would love Emerion. Maybe she would even be willing to adopt others. You may speak your mind to her if you like, but I must warn you not to get your hopes up. And if you can persuade her to stay, I would be most grateful. You may see her in Temple tomorrow.”

“I’m most obliged,” he said, his face softening into a golden beauty that made me smile before I knew what I was about. “I’m the owner of a sugar-plantation, and that’s what I do between plays. I’ve a nice house by the sea-side. She’d have a good life of it, not too soft, but she wouldn’t have to work her fingers to the bone either. There’s work to do, but she’d have help. And if she still wanted to act, why, that would be fine with me. If you ever want to come and see the place, just say the word. Bring the whole family if you like, there’s plenty of room.”

“I’d love to see it,” I said as the maid brought our orders. He told me more about himself during the meal, how his brother and sister-in-law were killed by marauders when Emerion was but a tiny tyke, and he himself did his share of fighting. He liked to ride, along with acting, and growing things, and yes, it was true that he had some rough edges, but surely they could smooth out under the influence of such as Fairwind, he said. I found myself hoping they wouldn’t smooth out too much. I thought him a bit of all right just as he was.

My spirits were high as I went back to the orphanage. They lasted well into the afternoon, although I did manage to keep my mind on what I was doing for the most part.

Then a white dove lit on the window-sill in my office, and fluttered and paced, seeming very agitated…not very dove-like I thought, and I tried to concentrate on the boy I was counseling, wishing the bird to go away. Fortunately our time was nearly at an end, so I sent my lad off with a strawberry-tart and words of encouragement. After he went out the door, suddenly there was Fairwind standing before the window, the bird gone.

“Ada,” she said raking a distraught hand through her hair, “please come home right away. We need you.”

“It’s—it’s Nana. She knows...about Darkfin. She heard Ebbtide and Jasmine talking of him. I told her all. Please come home now!”

A/N: "But a diversion the most common is upon the Water, where there is a very great Sea, and surf breaking on the Shore. The Men sometimes 20 or 30 go without the Swell of the Surf, & lay themselves flat upon an oval piece of plan[k] about their Size and breadth, they keep their legs close on top of it, & their Arms are us'd to guide the plank, they wait the time of the greatest Swell that sets on Shore, & altogether push forward with their Arms to keep on its top, it sends them in with a most astonishing Velocity, & the great art is to guide the plan[k] so as always to keep it in a proper direction on the top of the Swell, & as it alters its direct. If the Swell drives him close to the rocks before he is overtaken by its break, he is much prais'd. On first seeing this very dangerous diversion I did not conceive it possible but that some of them must be dashed to mummy against the sharp rocks, but jus[t] before they reach the shore, if they are very near, they quit their plank, & dive under till the Surf is broke, when the piece of plank is sent many yards by the force of the Surf from the beach. The greatest number are generally overtaken by the break of the swell, the force of which they avoid, diving and swimming under the water out of its impulse. By such like excercises, these men may be said to be almost amphibious. The Women could swim off to the Ship, & continue half a day in the Water, & afterwards return. The above diversion is only intended as an amusement, not a tryal of skill, & in a gentle swell that sets on must I conceive be very pleasant, at least they seem to feel a great pleasure in the motion which this Exercise gives."

Thus, Lieutenant James King, commander of the Discovery, 1779, recorded in the ship's log the first written description of Hawaiian surfing by a European.

Fairwind's news came as something of a relief, at the first. At last I could stop worrying about what to do when the time came.

“I know you told us all not to discuss it even amongst ourselves, for fear she would hear of it,” Fairwind said as we rode homeward. “But I think Ebbtide forgot to tell Jasmine not to speak of it. It would be just like him. But now she’s gone off who knows where, and he is devastated. I can’t feel very angry with him any more. I hope she’ll come back for his sake, although to be truthful I don’t like her very much, and I think he’d be better off without her.”

I had heard from both Moonrise and Sweetfern that Jasmine had taken another mate while Ebbtide was gone, then quickly tired of him and came back to Ebbtide. As you may well suppose, I frowned severely over this, but Ebbtide obviously adores her, so I said little of it. Perhaps she would straighten herself out here on land, and then they could be properly wedded. But my hopes are slim. She is a vain and languorous sort, not one who would likely be willing to work and do all it took to make a happy home. Perhaps it’s premature to think she is lazy, fickle, and not highly intelligent, since I don’t know her so well yet. But yes, I’ll admit I am in agreement with Fairwind.

“I’m not angry with him either,” I said. “I imagine Jasmine brought up the matter, and he had little choice but to speak of it. Perhaps she’s not completely at fault either, if she didn’t know, although she should have thought of it, with your mother right there in the house. Maybe we should refrain from pointing fingers and assigning blame, it will do no good in the end. We should deal now with the fact that your mother does know of it, and take care of her as best as we can.”

“I suppose it will come to us,” I said. “Our hearts will guide us if we listen. I think she will feel to blame for the way he went, although I'm certain that was much more his father's doing. Is she very angry with me—or you?”

“I think not,” Fairwind said. “She knows why you had us keep it from her. And she is glad I saved the rest of you. But...well, I am no mother and perhaps never will be, but I can see her pain if not feel it all. And if she feels more than I, then she must suffer terribly. We will be staying now. She needs all of us with her. Sweetfern says Nana’s brothers and sisters and their families are seeing to Darkfin’s dominion now, they do not need us so sorely.”

“I’m glad of that,” I said, and awful as it sounds, I was vastly relieved. “I wish it could be under less sorrowful circumstances, but since when does life work the way we wish all the time, even here? I will be thankful you are staying, at least. And I suppose this is rather a bad time to bring up the subject, but Barathon spoke for you today. Did you know he had an interest in you?”

A glimmer of a smile flickered over her face. “Yes, I knew it. He spoke for me?”

“Yes, he wishes to make you his wife,” I said. “I told him it was strictly up to you. Do you return his feelings in any measure?”

“I do like him,” she said, and her cheeks pinked ever so slightly. “But…well, does he know—much—of me? That I am barren, and that...about the boat?”

“I told him you might not be able to bear children,” I said. “The thing with Darkfin I did not tell him. I was not sure as to how much he should know.”

“I had a feeling he fancied me,” she said. “And some of the other actors seemed to like me, but that was different somehow. There seemed something selfish in their liking. I did not see that with him.”

“Lustful? I suppose so, although I do not understand that in full. But I think there was something besides lustfulness. A wish to subdue me to their will, to possess me as a prize mare or some such, show me off, take pride in ‘owning’ me and having ‘won’ me, and so forth. I could not abide that sort of thing. But I do not think they were truly aware that was what they felt.”

I had to smile a little. “My wise Fairwind,” I said softly. “No, I saw naught of that with Barathon. But if you would accept him, do so only if you wish to, do not do it to please me or Nana.”

“What if I were to become his mate?” she said. “Would I know the joys of the flesh, as Nana does with you?”

I told myself I should be used to this sort of talk by now, and should not be so absurdly prudish in discussing Certain Matters with my own family. Yes, I am rather traditional in that way, and feel that her mother should be the one to instruct her and her sisters in such things, as I do with the lads. But obviously I was not in a position just then to point this out to Fairwind—who is an adult after all.

“You would,” I said foolishly trying not to blush. “But do not wed him for that alone. It is a vital part of marriage, but it is by no means all there is. Please do not let any curiosity sway you in this matter. I would not have him hurt thus. And besides, I suppose you know also that being able to feel great pleasure also means being able to experience immense pain as well. One cannot have one without knowledge of the other.”

“Yes, I do know it,” Fairwind said, “in my head. I would know pain not only of the body, but of the heart as well. But if I became fleshly, I would have it all the more? As Nana now does?”

“Yes, I am afraid you would have that risk,” I said. “I sometimes wonder at the Sea-Lord for creating his children as he did, with so little ability to experience deep emotions or physical sensation, but surely there was a good reason for it. Do not make any hasty decisions, my dear. I wish you all the joy you can hold without the pain, but the choice will be yours alone in the end.”

“I saw some of the pain of Lady Celebrían when she was bearing her child,” Fairwind said. “It was most frightening, and I wondered why she must endure it, when she had not done wrong. But then I saw her joy in her newborn, and she did not seem to remember what came before. I thought perhaps I would be willing to bear it, myself, to have what came of it. But it seems that is not to be, for me.”

“I’m not so sure,” I said, feeling profoundly thankful that she would never know what Lady C. knew that brought her to the Island. Or what I had known. “Perhaps if you were to wed him, your ability to bear children could be restored. I’ve been told mine could, if I chose it. And perhaps you are not barren at all; your time has just not come yet.”

She smiled softly, and I hoped she would wed Barathon, not just so she would stay on the Island, but so that she would have the joy that would make her as lovely as that smile was making her.

“Should we go and fetch Northlight and Raven?” she said after a long moment. “We nearly forgot them.”

“No, they are in classes now. Guilin will bring Northlight home. And Raven is within walking distance, and Emleth walks home with her. They need not know just yet. I suppose the twins and Embergold are attending to your mother?”

Fairwind nodded. “I hope Moonrise is not being too hard on Ebbtide, and that he will help him find Jasmine. Or else persuade him that he is better off without her. I know you don’t like me to speak harshly of others, Ada, but Ebbtide is my brother, and I cannot help but think hard things of those who would hurt him. He may be silly sometimes, but he would harm no one, himself, without great cause.”

“Yes, sweet one, I know,” I said laying a hand over hers. “I have been thinking hard things of her also, and I know it is hard to refrain from speaking them aloud. The trick is to try not to have the hard thoughts. And the way to do that is to try to understand why people act as they do. That is the only way one can avoid hating certain folks, and escaping the bitterness that mars one’s own character.”

“Then I will try to understand,” she said, “for I wish to be like you. If I cannot be a mother, then I will be a healer, as Eowyn wished to be. Do you think Barathon would allow it, if…?”

“I think not only he would allow it, he would see to it that you had the best possible training,” I said, positively beaming now. “If you truly wish this, I will see to it myself. Perhaps Lord Elrond himself would be willing to teach you, or Lady Elwing. Have you spoken to your mother of this?”

“By all means. I should think it would be a comfort to her, to know you have this desire.”

“I do have it, and I will tell her. And I think later on I shall go and tell Barathon I will wed him if he likes. Although I suppose today is not a good day to do so.”

I suppressed a chuckle. “Umm…I’m afraid that is not the way it is done here, my love. You must allow him to ask you first, then accept him if it is your wish. Although I’ve a feeling he would be thrilled if you were to do it your way, I doubt it would go down so well with his mother. Who may be another obstacle in your path, but I haven’t a doubt you will win her over eventually. And there is his nephew also.”

“Emerion? He was at rehearsal once. He’s adorable. He has lovely manners, and talks so interestingly.”

“Wonderful.” I sincerely hoped that marrying off the others would go so well!

Just the other day I had run into Calanon, Galendur’s nephew, in town, and it seems he heard about the wave-riding incident and wished to try it for himself. Well, he mastered the trick in just three days, he said, and now he can’t get enough of it, although naturally his mother does not approve.

“By the way,” he said as we walked along the street (somehow I had a feeling that our meeting had not been entirely accidental), “the twins…they are really most jolly. I’ve never met any girls like them before. They say…things…I mean, unexpected things. I never know what they’re going to say, and that’s…well, some lads wouldn’t like that, but I do. Some of the things they say might shock some people, I know, but to me there’s something kind of, well, innocent, about it at the same time. And they don’t go around worrying about getting their clothes dirty or their hair mussed all the time, and they laugh instead of giggle, I mean really laugh out loud, yet it sounds so pretty, and they make me laugh, and they’re fun to be with and all. And they’re so sweet too, I mean, look at them with Raven, they’re tender with her, they never treat her like she’s some little brat who should get out of their way. They’re like little girls in a way, but not childish, if you know what I mean. They’ve quite spoilt me for Elf-maidens my age, they’re that different. I know I’m rather young for courtship and all, at least my parents think so, although my eldest sister was wedded when she wasn’t much older than I, but…well, do you think I stand any sort of chance with the twins?”

He was getting a red face. I grinned to myself, thinking that a lad who looked as much like Galendur as he did stood all kinds of chances with any girls.

“Well, perhaps, but not with both of them,” I chuckled, remembering Perion and his legion of sweethearts. Calanon has two sisters also, but they are much older and married, and not likely to be much protection should he arouse any maidenly ire. “Which do you like best?”

“That’s just the thing—I don’t know,” Calanon stammered, shoving his hands into his pockets, then taking them out again and looking to them as if for answers. “They’re both jolly…but they’re not alike in personality. Nightingale…sometimes I think I like her best. She plays the hardest, she’s smart and clever, and says just what she thinks. But then Gloryfall, she’s gentler, she’s more…emotional, or something, more impulsive. She’s less decisive, but she likes to be in on all that's going on. She says what she thinks, but in a different way, it’s hard to describe. But I guess you know better than I do.”

“Yes, I am well aware of their differences and similarities,” I said. “I suggest you take your time, and get to know them better. Have you any driving ambitions other than wave-riding?”

“Well, my parents wish me to go to the college,” he said, “but, I admit I don’t fancy studying. Once I’d thought I would like to be a knight or a soldier or mariner or something, and have lots of adventures, but I guess there’s no call for that here. It’s well that we have sports and all, or things could get a trifle dull, wouldn’t you think?”

I laughed ruefully. “There’s much to be said for dullness, although yes, that’s an adult point of view. And yes, I once thought as you did, before I had my big adventure. It seems Elves are getting wed here and having families much younger than in Middle-earth, now that peace abounds and the dangers are past. But it does still involve a great deal of responsibility and hard work, along with all the wonderful things.”

“I know,” Calanon said. “That’s the scary part. My father makes a good deal of money and all, but I don’t fancy doing what he does. Working in a counting-house sounds horribly boring to me. I’d rather be up and doing, on boats and water and all. I think I’d like to get work on one of the ships that imports stuff from Aman--stone, and oil, and all that. Or maybe be a fisher. I think I’d like that. But my mother says such is ‘beneath me’ and I ought to set my mind on ‘higher things.’ But I don’t LIKE higher things. And I don’t like to be around the folk who do them. I like to be around folks like you and Uncle Galendur and Aunt Til, and Uncle Leandros, and Northlight, and the twins, and the rest of you, who like to have good times and don’t worry about having to make the right impression every minute. Please don’t tell my mother I told you this, but I can’t abide her snooty friends. Every time they come over, I take myself off as quick as I can. Some of my friends envy me coming from such a ‘nice home’ and all. But I’d swap places with any of them in a heart-beat.”

Well, he was no Barathon, I thought as Fairwind and I rode homeward, and saw the waves beyond the cottage twinkle in the afternoon brightness. Then again, he’s only a lad yet, and I dare say there is more to him than meets the eye and ear, and with a little maturity on him, he might do. If he can manage to choose between the girls, that is!

But now we were home. And I could see Anemone sitting on the beach with the twins, their backs to me, the sun blinding on their hair…right beside the words I had written in the sand.

Yes, there she was, sitting beside the words I had written over a week ago, and the little gem-stones were still there. Raven had asked if she could have a few of them, and Anemone had told her to take all she wanted. But Raven only picked up about two dozen, and gave half to Emleth, saying how lovely it was to have something she could give to her friend.

Fairwind took the reins as I jumped down from the cart, and she drove it to the stable as I went down to Anemone and the twins, who sat with their arms about their mother on either side of her. Gloryfall (always the more emotional one) had tears on her face, and Nightingale alternately fondled her hair and her mother’s. Anemone’s eyes were reddened, but her cheeks were dry.

“Please go back to the house now, sweet ones,” I said to the twins, who rose and embraced me, then turned and ran to the cottage, hand in hand. I sat down beside Anemone, who remained seated. She averted her face toward the jeweled words in the sand.

“I am so sorry, my love,” I murmured as I laid an arm about her waist and kissed the top of her head. “So sorry.”

She did not weep, but she leaned her head on my shoulder after a moment. I held her close, and could hardly tell where I left off and she began, so completely did she fit into the hollow of my body and my soul.

“I knew it would happen, sooner or later,” she said. “It was only a matter of time before his evil deeds would turn on him. But I did not think it would be his own sister who would prove his undoing.”

“Nor did I,” I said, vastly relieved that she did not seem angry with me. “But...well, things happen in unexpected ways sometimes.”

“When he was born,” she said, “I called him Greenjade. But his father wished him to have a ‘dangerous’ name to strike fear into our ‘enemies,’ so he changed it to Darkfin. My parents had given several of their children dangerous names—Hurricane, Lightning, Blackwing, Crossbow, Wildwave, Stingray, Skyfury, Firespear, Avalanche, Sandstorm, and my own, Sea-anemone—so why should not he? Hurricane never liked her name either, and changed it to Fairwind. I gave her new name to my eldest daughter somewhat in defiance of her father, but also in tribute to my sister, who lost her life saving others. But he was obsessed with the idea that we had all manner of enemies lurking about, biding their time, plotting our downfall. And convinced that his firstborn son would be the one who would ultimately destroy or subdue them. Darkfin took after him in that respect. He seemed to believe we were surrounded by enemies also. He was so sure of it, he ended up making enemies of others, merely by supposing them to be so.”

“He said I could give the others pretty names if I liked,” she said, “but our eldest would be formidable, our Protector. And how could anyone be formidable who was called Greenjade? I must wonder how different things would have been if he had kept his name. Would he have turned to the dark one then? Or is that putting entirely too much blame on a name?”

“The name may have had something to do with it,” I said, “but seeing as how his father groomed him to be a terror to all about him, I would say that was a far greater factor.”

“He came from a realm that was frequently at war,” she said, “and that may account for his notions that we had so many enemies. I dare say his father was the same way--he was so certain he had enemies that he ended up making them of those who might have been his friends, had he chosen to trust or negotiate. But he told me we could trust no one, that those who did so were fools. And he had many dreams that his eldest son would rise and overthrow our foes and bring about peace and strength. Sometimes I even believed him, and so I consented to the change of his name. Not that he needed my consent.”

“But in the end, it was your eldest daughter who brought about the peace and strength,” I pointed out. “It is thanks to Fairwind that the seas are happy and at peace now. And the way she turned out was your doing.”

“I know so,” I said. “She was the true protector, the one who brought about the downfall of your enemies. Yes, it was terrible that it must come about as it did, but solutions often involve immense sacrifice. And I really think Fairwind will do all right. Someone spoke for her today, and I think she will accept him. Love will prove her healing.”

“Then I will have another son,” she said clasping her hands together, tears springing to her eyes, “to replace the one I lost.”

“She also wishes to be a healer,” I said. “Think of that for a daughter of ours. Did you know of this?”

“She spoke of it somewhat,” Anemone said, “when Emleth hurt her ankle, and Fairwind bound it for her, and she told me it was a wonderful thing to make someone’s pain better. And once Little Iorhael fell down and cut his knee, and she patched it, and talked so gently to him, he stopped crying quickly. She said she would do that often.”

“I suspect it is a mother she truly wishes to be,” I said. “But if that is not to be for her, then healing could be the next best thing.”

We watched the waves, which seemed uncommonly gentle. I held her head against my breast and stroked her hair, wrapping myself around her in body and mind. The sky was cloudy, as though it felt too much blueness would be a cruel and naked thing, and so it put on a white lace veil out of consideration for the wounded small being below it. The birds were quiet, and the sand-pipers did not come up on the beach as usual, having no fear of us. Even the roaring of the waterfalls seemed subdued. After a while I could begin to hear a very soft wordless singing, sad and sweet, but from which direction it came, I could not tell.

Fear not to walk upon the night
I have spread out my soul for you
to spare your feet, and I have poured
my light upon the waters
so your eyes shall be not blinded
with too many tears, and that
your heart may cease its bleeding
and know its dearest desires
and seek its warmest nest
in the palms of my hands
and the day shall clothe you
with hope and bliss once more
as I raise you to my face.
Love will hover all around
as candles surrounding your bed
fragrant and steady and bright
none will ever burn out
leaving you gazing comfortless
upon a dark and smoking gap.
Always will there be a pair
of arms to carry you
many a pair of eyes
to smile upon you
when the stars forget to shine
a chorus of voices
to lull you to peace
when the great Music
falls silent in the waters
always a boat to bear you
into the safest haven
where the great Light awaits
to cover you in final glory
at the end of all things.

I found myself singing softly an old lullaby my mother used to sing to me, remembering when I had stood outside her door and sung it the night after little Bud was laid in the ground, and my father came and found me at it, and he lifted me up and sang with me, all the verses we could remember. And then he opened her door and she turned in the bed on her side, her face wet, and held out her arms and we both went into them, and lay there all curled together until the dawn.

“What will happen now?” Anemone asked me after a long while. “What will become of him? He cannot have reached the Other Side you spoke of, surely. Will he be destroyed, or have torment as some say, or...”

“I honestly do not know,” I said truthfully. “I have sometimes wondered what becomes of those who willfully choose...the wrong path...” (I avoided saying “evil” for her sake) “I used to wonder about Sméagol especially, how he was faring in the next world. I sometimes wonder if perhaps they could be purified and sent back to make a new start. Lord Elrond said something once about orcs being such.”

“Do you think it could be?” she asked, sitting up and clasping her hands once more. “Is it possible that perhaps he could be Greenjade once more? You brought Amras back...and then there was Olórin, and...is it possible? Iorhael?”

Oh dear. What to tell her? For I truly did not know. For my part, I thought it better to leave him where he was. But she was his mother, and how could I tell her such a thing? This was a mystery I would never fully understand, the bond between a mother and that which she had conceived and grown in her body, and suffered great pain in delivering, and lay in joy with it in her arms for the first time, and named it and suckled it and protected it and watched it grow and felt its pains and dreamed of what it would become under her care. What would I ever really know of that, save what I had observed in others?

And I had no infinite powers--no powers at all really. Well yes, there was my glass...and I’d often suspected the Valar had all contributed to its contents...well, why not? That included Lord Námo, did it not?

“I do not know, my dearest,” I said finally. “I will try to invoke the Lord Námo with the glass, and we might make intercession for him. But please do not get your hopes too high. I will bring it out when the Evenstar is brightest, and do what I may.”

She leaned against me once more and we sat like that in silence for a while. Then finally she said, “He wished to destroy me, you know. He tried to destroy all of you, to bring me down the hardest way he possibly could. What did I do wrong?”

I felt her tears cascading against my hand, and that was when I lifted her in my arms and began carrying her down the beach in the late light, and it seemed she had no more weight than little Summershine, however much her own heart may have felt a millstone in her breast.

Pacing, pacing, he could not stop. He had no idea where he was and would have supposed himself in some hideous dream, were it not for the spear that pierced him through from time to time. Always the same: it entered beneath his left ear and shot straight through his heart and came out his right side, causing a sensation the like of which he had never experienced before. It caused him to shriek in a way that he had heard from others in the lands he had visited, but had never thought to do himself, and what was strange, although there were others all about him, they did not seem to hear.

He could vaguely make out slimy stone walls, some of which had tiny windows, but he could see nothing through them. Desperately he approached each one, groping for an opening through which he might climb, but his grey hands touched only sheer nothingness, and one of them had bars, whose touch produced such a jolt that it threw him to the floor, shrieking aloud, until he struck his head on something there and lay still until that burning spear came to pierce him through once more.

He tried to remember what had happened before he found himself here. But the events were muddy, like a dream he could not recall in full, only bits here and there. There had been a boat. And then that terrible piercing, yes. Then it seemed he stood in a tunnel of utter blackness, cries ringing out, and terror had seized him then, and this horrendous sensation, this Pain….and a mocking voice, somehow familiar and yet not: You have failed, and did I not tell you she would be your undoing?

Of course some would say he had. But that was because they simply did not understand.

And the piercing came again. If it did not stop, he would go mad. Perhaps he already was. Perhaps this was what madness was. It was not a prison, but a lunatic asylum, and he was locked away…but how to escape?

He must speak to someone. Did they not know who he was? His people needed him. What would they do without him?

He could see others around, in the terrible smoky mist. Just shapes they were, human shapes, but all mere shadows, moving, they seemed to have no awareness of him. His shrieks did not get their attention at all.

Where was his Master? But wait, he had none. He had been his own master. Always.

He paced and paced. It seemed this prison went on forever, with many halls branching like the tentacles of an octopus, leading to the same endless grey foulness, yet it was the only way to escape that terrible piercing, only if he kept pacing it would cease, or at least become less frequent….

He must speak to someone, convince somebody how important it was that he leave here, he would arrange a reward…but how long had he been searching, pacing, seeking that aperture which seemed to loom straight ahead of him, opening and closing like the mouth of a fish, but every time he approached, it would disappear, and then appear further down, until it seemed he was merely moving his feet, going nowhere.

Some enemy had done this. Had devised the most horrible prison possible, and he could not escape, never escape. Some fiendishly clever enemy indeed.

Yes, a fiendishly clever enemy indeed, a voice said, and he started so that his pacing stopped, and the piercing began once more…then, inexplicably, it stopped, as the speaker raised its arm. And he could see someone in the fog, a human shape, but not merely a shadow, this one. This shape had height, solidity, form, color, mass, dimension; it had a voice, a light, a presence, here in this morass of nothingness. A kingly form, tall, straight, with black and flowing hair like his own, a face of grave beauty and terrible love, pale and stern and somehow sorrowful, above dark raiment which could not entirely eclipse the soft light that emanated from the form beneath.

Some may say so. The voice came out both deep and sweet, at once soothing and perplexing.

He felt a fool. He WAS a fool. Of course this was the Enemy, however somberly imperial and compassionate he appeared.

How came you here, Prince? the Tall Figure asked him. Have you no recollection?

On the other hand, if this were the Enemy, why did he not feel the piercing now? He fell on his knees.

I think I was captured, he said. By some unseen foe who took me prisoner and cast me into some pit where my faculties were taken from me, then I was brought here. There was a boat…perhaps some brigand snared me in his nets. And there was something—a female. She speared me, it seemed. I felt something piercing me. Then there was…a tunnel.…

He had a feeling this Tall Figure was toying with him, that it knew more than it was insinuating. It was taunting him, trying to coax him to divulge what it already knew. Perhaps it was that Master he did not have, in another form...why shouldn’t he be able to change his appearance? What did it want of him, and how far would it go to make him tell? Would it use some of the methods he had observed in his many travels? No, no, not that…It was holding back the spear. If he did not tell, it would pierce him again…and again and again….

I was betrayed. I was deserted, cast away, left behind...yes. I was betrayed. I was...

I think you know already, Darkfin. Have you had enough? Or should I go away and leave you here?

And then he knew. What he surely suspected all along, yet dared not face. He was dead. That voice, that other voice, that he had heard before he found himself here. She will prove your undoing. You must find her and kill her before she can bring you low. Kill all of them. Only then will you be safe, only then may you find your true destiny, the ultimate pinnacle. You must destroy them before they destroy you.

And then the great mockery, the laughter. You have failed. You swam into a trap like a fish into a net. And she impaled you and now you are destroyed, your realm is at an end, you are no more. You are Mine. You have failed. All hope is gone. You belong to me, and you are Mine. And you will love me and despair.

Yes. I knew that someday, he said. Somehow she would betray me. She never believed in me, she plotted my undoing from the beginning. She did all she could to destroy me, undermine my kingdom, my authority, my sovereignty. She turned my brothers and sisters against me. She even wedded a mortal so that their union might overthrow me. How could this have happened? My own mother! And the Lord of the Seas, he conspired with her....

I believe you heard your true betrayer at the moment of your death, Darkfin. Your own Lord and Master. He it was who said you must destroy her before she destroyed you. And you went in search of her, and it was her daughter who speared you. And he laughed as you fell into his trap. He used you for what he could get from you, then when he could get no more, he cast you aside like an empty wine-bottle. Welcome to the Shadow. You have heard much of it, yes? Well, here it is.

No one? True enough, he is a liar. But so are you, if you claim you served no one.

He promised me much. I wished to know things. I wished to see beyond the reaches of the world, to know what it was to feel, to have pleasure, to know pain, to have control, to know the reasons for everything, to rule, to see, to know. I wanted to see all the lands and peoples. And I traveled about, from a very young age, and saw much. I saw kings and emperors, and queens and slaves and all manner of evildoers. I saw palaces and castles and tombs and mansions, people living in such splendor as I never could have imagined. I wanted it for myself. But above all…I wanted to feel. I wanted to know what gave them such expressions of joy when they coupled with beautiful women, or ate steaming food from gold dishes, or had a slave beaten for some small infraction, or sat with heaps of gold coins lying about, counting them over and over again. I wanted to know. I also wished to know what made people scream in the prisons when they were whipped or had fire put to them. I wished to know all. He promised me I would have all, if I would but do his bidding.

What would you do if he were here? Demand of him why he betrayed you? Ask him where is the pleasure he promised you?

Yes, this torment. I wish to know why he used me thus. And what I can do to escape it.

The Tall Figure shook its head. What a child you are, Darkfin. You consider yourself ill-used. You see enemies at every turn. You believed your saviors wished your downfall, and embraced your betrayers as gods. You believed yourself guiltless, that every evil deed you perpetrated was the fault of someone else. And yet it’s exactly as he wished. He turned you about and about, and you joyfully allowed it, all for the promise of ultimate knowledge. And now you have that knowledge, and you are not content with it. You see it as torment. How very ungrateful of you!

Here are my terms. You will return to Earth as a mortal Man. You will take the name Greenjade, which was your original name, and you will dedicate to cleaning up the filth of Sauron, helping to rebuild his fallen realm, and whatever other opportunities and deeds will present themselves to you for your doing. If you turn back to evil ways, you will quickly find yourself back here, even worse off than you are now. You will know of pain and pleasure. You will know of sickness, and fatigue, and loneliness, and cold and hunger and thirst, and you will feel the scorn and hatred of others, and eventually, you will know death. How and when it will come, I cannot say. But if you succeed in atoning for the evil you have done, you will know peace and joy and rest. Come with me and I will show you a foretaste of what you will know.

He followed his would-be deliverer to a window, a small and dirty window laced with cobwebs and filth, which the Tall Figure brushed away with a wave of his pale, shapely hand. Darkfin peered out and saw a soft and beautiful light outside, far away, like a large star. All he could see was the light, at first, and he was seized by a sudden and inexplicable longing, as the light grew brighter and larger until it nearly outshone the sun.

He fought the longing with all that was left of his might. He must not be feeling this. It was weakness. What could possibly have come over him? For he would have to bow down to It, obey It, prostrate himself before It. And then what? He would no longer be himself. He would belong to the Light. He had no use for It. It was his enemy, his betrayer, and now It wanted him for Itself? It wanted him to be Greenjade. He was NOT Greenjade, never would be. He was Darkfin. His rightful name and rightful self.

Yet he found himself unable to take his eyes from the Light. And as he watched, It began to recede and diminish, and he could see something below. It was a garden, the like of which he had never seen before, full of trees and flowers of colors unknown to him, fragrances he could smell from the wretched window, soft sounds, sweet, sweet music, such as he had never heard even from his Sirens, wafting over the perfume. Waterfalls flowing from high jasper walls, in which were carved steep and winding stairways, lit by small star-like lanterns, but whither they led, he could not see.

And he could see people moving about, male and female, adult and child, some skipping and playing about, some dancing, some diving into a clear stream that was filled by the crystal waterfalls. Others he could see were climbing the stairways in the rock walls.

They go out from the Halls into the Mountain of Discovery. What lies within, I cannot tell you, for it is different for each one who enters. They stay until they have been purified and are ready to take their place in the Garden. Some stay in for a very short time. For others, it takes a good many years before they are ready to come out into the Light.

I cannot tell you that, any more than I can tell you what you will learn in your sojourn into the world of Men. It has not been disclosed to me.

One may call it so. A bath, a purging, an education, a sleep, a healing, a trial, an exorcism, a communion, a processing…all these and more.

Because some have interceded in your behalf. One of them being she whom you tried to destroy in the cruelest manner you could devise. She would give you this chance to prove and purify yourself, for all there are few less deserving of it.

I told you already. She wished for my destruction, and did all she might to bring it about. She made an enemy of herself to me. She betrayed me. She refused to believe in me. She…

I think we both know better than that, Darkfin. Her one mistake was allowing your father to change your name, and she did that in a misguided attempt to keep the peace in the family. And because he managed to persuade her, fleetingly, that you were destined for great things.

Oh, that’s what she wanted you to believe. I suppose she presented herself as an innocent and hapless victim of my father and myself. She did not tell you, I suppose, that she raised an army to destroy me?

And I suppose you were not plotting to take over the whole kingdom, and annihilate any who opposed you? It was never her intent to destroy you, only to save her other children and the rest of her people. So you will not take this chance to redeem yourself, and escape this ‘prison’? If you spurn it, you will have no other chance. Trust me, Darkfin, your mother is the only ally you have.

They were all killed in an uprising. You made many enemies, Darkfin, some of whom have become as ruthless as yourself. You made them so. Their revenge was swift and thorough.

Your children are in the Halls. Eventually they will find the Garden. Garland is here. But she will not intervene in your behalf. You made an enemy of your own mate, of the mother of your children. So. Shall I go and tell your mother you have refused her offer, and will abide here for all eternity?

I suppose I cannot yet expect you to truly understand, Darkfin. Your mother became mortal when she was wedded with a mortal being. In doing so, she took on both the physical and emotional attributes of a mortal. And it has been both greatly to her joy and her sorrow. You might have done likewise, yourself, had you been deserving. But you willfully chose the way of the Dark Lord. But since she chose the will of her Creator, she has had to pay the price in experiencing the normal emotions of those of the Land, including the strongest of all, the awakening of the true maternal instincts, of which she now has a tenfold of what she possessed as an immortal. In other words, it is her love for you that motivates her, and if you do not believe that, yours will be the greater suffering. She wishes to see you turn from the Dark One and find your way into the Light, of which you have seen but a glimpse. Do you hate her so much that you would embrace your own doom, your own eternal torment, to increase her pain? For hers will know comfort and surcease, in both worlds. But yours will not. For the last time, will you take what is offered? I shall not ask you again.

And there it was once more. That piercing, even more intense. When his eyesight cleared, he could no longer see through the window, which was filthy and filmy once more. All he could see was the black air all about, the Black Breath that was all he would ever know. It was worse than the Pain, in truth. It would enter and suck out every vestige of his soul, making of him a shell, a toy for the dark one, a rack of bones that could only crawl and beg...and the piercing would not stop.

You shall not see your mother or your siblings again until you have reached the Other Side, if and when you do, said the Tall Figure. You may npt visit the Isle on which they now reside. However, you will not be utterly alone. You shall have a companion. He will travel with you and assist you in your journeys. In this way will he also redeem himself. Should you part, for any reason, you are on your own. Your mother’s companion has interceded on behalf of this one, and so I send him with you. Your creator will be no help to you in your sojourn on land, and you will have to turn to the One to help you…which he will, if you will accept him thus.

Darkfin looked down at the creature the Tall Figure had indicated, the one who would be his companion. It looked scarcely human at all, yet not animal either, writhing and moaning before him in seemingly ceaseless torment. Darkfin had seen human beings roasted, and that was how this one appeared, with the skin completely burned away, little but bone and scraps of charred flesh clinging to it, its eyes huge and round and bulging in its nearly naked skull like ghastly bubbles. A putrid stench arose from it. He drew back in horror and loathing. This thing was to accompany him? What sort of foul joke was that?

And yet as he gazed, unable to wrench his eyes from it however much he wished to, he felt something else that nearly unnerved him utterly, so foreign, so unexpected, and so ultimately terrifying it was to him.

You will take Sméagol with you? Lord Námo said, and it seemed he nearly smiled. The charred bony figure stopped writhing at his feet and was still and quiet, as a wounded animal under the stroke of mercy. There was some cessation of the stink, and the flesh began to appear more wholesome, more covered, more...fleshly.

Jasmine is back! Where and how they found her, I am not sure, for in all the hubbub I could hardly make out what anyone was saying. Ebbtide is happy now, and that’s what matters. I privately told the others we must take Jasmine as she was, rather than as we would have her, and through love and example we might sow beautiful things in her so she will grow inside. Raven immediately gave her all the little gem-stones she had picked up for herself, and Jasmine looked touched, and leaned over shyly to kiss her cheek.

Fairwind has accepted Barathon as her bridegroom. There is quite a flurry going on now, what with designing the bridal gown, who will be in the wedding, and all the rest of it. What with all the excitement, Anemone seems to have enough to keep her mind off Darkfin.

Now Moonrise and Sweetfern wish to have a Wedding also, as do Ebbtide and Jasmine. After seeing Fairwind’s delight over being the second of her kind to have one, Sweetfern said she would be willing to wait until after Fairwind’s to have hers. Fairwind looked touched, and told Sweetfern to go ahead and be wed whenever she wished; she would not mind being the third or even the fourth. I hinted strongly that I thought it would be more fitting, if they would live on the Island, to be married. And so it looks as though I may be performing a double wedding soon! They are having houses built here in the cove, which is large enough to accommodate a small village.

The twins had found a nice place in the water to make their home, but seeing as how so many of their siblings are living “in the air,” they have decided they want to also. They are the sort of girls who like being around lots of people, and the place in the water is “too pokey” for them any more. They now share the guest-room, to Raven’s delight, but they talk of having a house of their own.

Embergold has become concerned with the plight of widows on the Island. Of course they are much better off here than they would be in Middle-earth, but many of those without children have a hard and lonely time of it still. She proposed setting up a communal home, and Anemone said she should propose this idea to the Queen, and so they did. And what do you think? Gandalf offered his own house, saying it was too big for him and Ríannor and Dûndeloth, there were so many rooms and it was a great bother keeping them all up. The widows could double up perhaps, the bedrooms being fairly large, and they could use the chamber Bilbo and I once shared as a work-room, receive visitors in the salon, take counseling in the library, and rotate kitchen, cleaning, and gardening duties. Gandalf and Ríannor went to live at the Palace, for the time being; I think they are planning to build a home out in the country where they can raise horses. Dûndeloth took a flat near the College. And there is a gardener’s cottage out back where Embergold and the children can live. Fairwind will stay with her until her wedding, which will make it much handier for her to study healing with Lady Elwing.

And Embergold takes the running of the Widows’ Home very seriously. She conducts poetry-readings and singings there once a week, and holds Philosophical Discussions and group-counselings in the library, and the ladies get into it all with a good deal of enthusiasm. I could hardly help but notice how much happier they seem than when the home was first set up just a few weeks ago.

I do hope Guilin isn’t getting dismayed at the idea of marriage! He talks of it still, but says he’s not sure what he and Nessima intend to do yet. She does not want to leave her post, and he does not want work that will necessitate his staying in one place all the time. But surely it made her uneasy knowing his route took him into contact with lovely ladies all day!

And so I asked Talmar’s second-eldest son, Túlian, if he might like to buy the rights to my frozen-cream confection. He is in partnership with his brother, who runs a bakery, but has been talking of branching off on his own if he could come up with a good business idea. Túlian is sweet on Haldan the confectioner’s eldest daughter Almárëa, but must get established before he can speak for her, and I thought perhaps Guilin, with his head for business, could help him get started. Well, it turns out that Guilin is even more clever than I supposed, and had all kinds of ideas, and had been turning them over in his mind ever since he first tasted my concoction, and now he and Túlian are partners, and Túlian and Almárëa are officially betrothed. And Guilin came up with the idea of making a kind of sweet flat-bread cone in which to pour the frozen cream, and sprinkle bits of chocolate and chopped nuts on top. They turned the sweet-shop into a small café specializing in all manner of frozen confections. Then Guilin got the idea to put an ice block in his wagon and make up a bunch of the cream-filled cones, which he inserted into racks set over the ice, and sell them all around the edge of town to the youngsters. He had to rig up a canvas covering for the wagon to keep the sun from melting his wares too quickly, and he had it made in bright colors with streamers fluttering from it, and a contraption ofbells hung in the back to get the children’s attention. Of course they anxiously await his coming once a week, even make up songs about it!

So who is peddling the hair-formula now? Ebbtide! Jasmine goes with him. Somehow I don’t think they bring in as much money from it as Guilin used to, but it’s a start for them. Moonrise helps Northlight to maintain the grounds, so that he has more time to devote to his studies. Northlight has decided he wants to become a professor of Marine Sciences. There is no such course at the college now, but the Dean likes the idea of having one, and who better to teach it than Northlight?

Last night was our first wedding anniversary. We celebrated our love in our favorite place, in the little cave, and it was wonderful beyond all imagining. And in the morning we saw that the tide had finally washed away my words on the beach. They have served their purpose.

Now we sit on the beach in the late afternoon, watching the children play in the water and sand. Onyx is making crab houses for Summershine, who sings one of Bilbo's songs softly as she watches. Crystal, Piper, and Emerion are building a truly complicated castle, Sandrose making criticisms and suggestions from time to time, then running back to see what the little ones are doing. She seems a bit dismayed that her little cousin has usurped her place in her granddad’s lap; she says nothing but looks dolefully at us as I hold Onyx and Summershine, which is a great reproach to me. I think I need a bigger lap!

Barathon takes a stick and writes something in the sand. Fairwind looks down at it and giggles, and the boys come running to inspect, then shrug and go back to their castle with baffled expressions. I chuckle. Moonrise, Sweetfern, Ebbtide, and Jasmine are wave-riding, while the twins and Raven try out a few dance steps to Northlight’s flute—trying to remember the hornpipe, I think, as Embergold sits beside her brother and watches with a wistful half-smile. I look to Anemone from time to time, who watches all with an expression of serenity and happiness, drumming her fingers in time to the music, and I think of the dream I had of Sméagol and Darkfin. Sam, please keep an ear peeled for any mention of someone by the name of Greenjade—I’m sure you’ll never see him in the Shire, since he is of the Big Folk now, but perhaps you may hear of him elsewhere!

And I look out and wonder how it was that my lady who had turned out all these miraculous, lovable beings could also have produced such a one…but life is full of mysteries we will never fully discern. And now I can see the Beacon’s first glimmer, and I remember the first time I saw it glow was exactly five years ago this very night. And I can hear Guilin’s wagon with its tinkly chimes rattling up the road, and the children make a mad rabbit dash, all but little Summershine, who stumbles into Anemone's arms, and we look down at the precious, sleepy toddler and then at each other, as Guilin pretends to run out of the cones, then remembers that he might have one or two left…no, wait, there are three…why, look here’s another, and another, and…

Dear, dear Sam, I know you cannot come for a very long time yet, but I miss you, and so wish you could be here now. Both our families all together and blessed in the Light, in the silver air of the West.

A/N: And here, alas, it ends...but wait! There are two sequels: "Journey out of Darkness" being the story of Greenjade and Sméagol, and "West of the Moon, East of the Sun", which is of the long-awaited reunion of Frodo and Sam. They can be read in either order.

Warning: This list contains spoilers for those not familiar with the entire series.

A chart of the age equivalents of young characters appears at the bottom of the page.

Dûndeloth, an epic poet, friend of Elrond and mentor of Frodo

Rûdharanion, another epic poet, rival of Dûndeloth

Galendur, a close friend of Frodo

Tilwen, friend of Frodo and wife of Galendur

Lyrien, Tilwen's little niece and special friend of Frodo

Niniel, Tilwen's sister and Lyrien's mother

Seragon, husband of Niniel and father of Lyrien

Donnoviel, mother of Tilwen and Niniel

Marílen, Lyrien's cousin and playmate

Dínlad, Marílen's brother

Leandros and Lalaith, parents of Marílen and Dínlad

Rinion, Leandros' brother who runs a paper mill

Perion, a young friend of Frodo and Dínlad, later page to Galadriel

Edrahil and Dairuin, twin brothers, friends of Perion and Dínlad

Gildorien and Curíleth, sisters of Perion

Aredhel, a spoiled young elleth, once betrothed to Rûdharanion

Salmë, Aredhel's great-grandmother, later wife of Rûdharanion

Alcandor, suitor of Salmë and later Aredhel's husband

Quellemel and Aerin, Seragon's parents

Eilinel, Seragon's sister and Tilwen's friend

Amras, Dínlad's cousin who meets with a fatal accident

Mirimë, Amras' mother

Mardil and Haleth, Amras' brother and sister

Fëariel and Linwë, Haleth's daughters

Laurewen, granddaughter of Firnhil, later bride of Amras

Raven, a young orphan later adopted by Frodo

Guilin, Raven's older brother

Seldirima, once betrothed to Guilin

Nieriel, former maidservant to Raven

Nessima, matron of orphanage, beloved of Guilin

Findëmaxa, artist and teacher of Raven

Haldan, a confectioner

Almárëa, a daughter of Haldan

Selín, director of acting company

Inzilbêth, an actress

Bonny Hill, a disreputable hobbitess with whom Frodo was involved in his youth

Darkfin (aka Greenjade), Moonrise, Ebbtide, and Northlight, Anemone's sons

Fairwind, Embergold, Nightingale, and Gloryfall, Anemone's daughters

Sandrose and Onyx, Embergold's children

Hurricane, Lightning, Blackwing, Crossbow, Wildwave, Stingray, Skyfury, Firespear, Avalanche, Sandstorm, Anemone's siblings

(These age equivalents are those of "Men", of course, and are those of characters as they first appear in the story.)

Light from the West by Armariel