Lord Námo’s Yule Gift

Námo, Lord of Mandos, stood to one side of the Mardi Envinyanto watching the elves at play. He had been waiting for some time and at last his patience was being rewarded. A door that had not been there before opened and an elleth stepped out, clutching a stuffed toy, looking somewhat fearful. Her Maia attendant stood behind her, encouraging her to join the others.

Námo watched as Eluwen (1) took a tentative step forward. She had been one of the elves escorting the Lady of Imladris on the fateful trip to Lothlórien when the orcs attacked. Eluwen had been taken captive along with Celebrían. The wife of Elrond had been rescued by her sons. Eluwen had not been so lucky.

Now the elleth was ready to join the other fëar in the Halls. Someday she would be Reborn and be reunited with her mistress... and her husband. Námo watched as Ivoriel, a Silvan from Eryn Lasgalen who had died when orcs out of Dol Guldur had attacked her village, came over and introduced herself. When Ivoriel held out her hand Eluwen shyly took it and soon the two ellith were playing together, already fast friends.

As Námo stood there unseen by the elves one of his Maiar servants approached, a rather pained expression on his face. "What is it Maranwë?"

The Maia bowed. "Forgive me for disturbing you, my lord, but... we seem to have a problem."

"Oh?" Námo raised an eyebrow. "Would you care to be more specific?"

"It’s the Mortals, or rather two of them..."

Námo’s eyes narrowed. "What is the date in the Outer World, Maranwë?"

The Maia looked at his lord in some surprise. "Er... the twenty-fifth of Ringarë, in the year 70 of the Fourth Age as it is now reckoned in Gondor."

The Lord of Mandos closed his eyes and muttered an oath that had every Maia in the Halls raising their eyebrows. One or two even snickered. Maranwë kept his expression carefully neutral. Námo opened his eyes with a sigh.

"Thank you Maranwë. I’ll see to it. Keep an eye on things here while I’m gone. We have a new addition to the Family."

Námo cast an eye at Eluwen who was now playing catch-me with Ivoriel and a few others. Maranwë smiled and bowed. "It will be as you wish, my lord."

Námo nodded then strode out of the Halls belonging to the Eldar towards the Mardi Firyaron that belonged to the Mortals. There, Mortals who had recently died reflected on their lives before being sent beyond the circles of Arda. It was supposed to be a place of soothing serenity, conducive to meditation, but if those two were there....

He entered the Mardi Firyaron to find himself in the midst of a minor rebellion. Maiar servants bowed as he entered; the Mortals never saw him, leastwise, the adults never did. Some children who were playing catch-me around the fluted marble pillars that graced these Halls stopped and stared at the Lord of Mandos with some trepidation. He smiled and gestured them over. When they came to him he bent down and gave each one a kiss on the forehead in blessing, then sent them off to play. He turned back to watch the adults, many of whom were milling about, muttering in some cases, shouting in others. Námo’s expression darkened at what he heard.

"Why can’t we have a little cheer even if we are dead?" one soul shouted. "The lad’s right. This place is drearier than Mordor even on a good day."

"Yes," said another whom Námo recognized as having been a miserly shopkeeper in Bree. The Man had been known for refusing to celebrate a proper Yule. "I bet the Elves have Halls of light while we get stuck in this dismal place however temporary it may be. Just goes to show you that ‘Secondborn’ really means ‘Second-best’."

Many of the others were in agreement with this sentiment and the muttering became darker. Námo glanced around. Very well, he admitted to himself, these Halls were not as bright as the Halls reserved for the Eldar, but they were not dreary. He liked to think of them as being tastefully low-key, a place for quiet reflection. He looked about at the tapestries gracing the walls. Their colors were muted, true, but they depicted scenes of tranquility, exquisite beauty and simple joys. Fountains quietly splashed in the various courtyards. There were even smaller chambers for those wishing for solitude until they were ready to move on. He honestly didn’t know what the Mortals had to complain about. It’s not as if they’re planning on taking up permanent residence, he thought sourly and with some exasperation.

"No, no," squeaked a voice in the midst of the crowd. "That’s not what I said."

Námo allowed his Presence to be felt by the Mortals and made his way through the crowd. "And just what did you say, Peregrin Took?" The crowd parted like a wave as the Mortals stepped back in awe and bowed to the Lord of Mandos. He rarely showed himself in these Halls but no one mistook him for anyone but who he was — Námo, Doomsman of Arda.

Námo stopped and stared down at the hobbit. Actually, two hobbits. Standing beside his cousin was Meriadoc Brandybuck. Each hobbit was dressed in his livery — the black and silver of the Guard of Minas Anor for Pippin and the green and brown of the Mark for Merry. Both hobbits went pale at the sight of him. Tentatively, they started to bow but Námo raised a hand to stop them.

"Did not Elessar tell you that you bow to no one? I suggest you take him at his word."

"B-but you’re...I mean.. you’re... one of Them!" Merry stuttered, rolling his eyes towards a direction that had he known pointed south rather than east where stood Taniquetil and the Thrones of the Valar. Námo hid a smile.

"Indeed," was all the Lord of Mandos said and he allowed the silence to stretch just a bit more than was comfortable. Merry and Pippin gave each other strained looks and shuffled their hairy feet like errant tweenagers.

"Now, tell me what you said, Peregrin Took." Námo allowed his voice to go cold and several of the souls standing about blanched and took a step or two back.

Pippin blushed and stammered. "Er... well... it wasn’t anything... er... are we going to be punished?"

Námo raised an amused eyebrow. How typical of the young rapscallion to assume his cousin would share in any punishment meted out to him. Merry rolled his eyes but otherwise did not say anything. "Do you think you should be?" Námo finally asked.

Both hobbits looked down at their feet and shrugged. Námo just stood there, waiting. They looked up again. "You still haven’t told me what you said, Peregrin, to upset these souls so. Something about not approving the decor, I believe?"

Now Pippin blushed in mortification. Merry decided it was time to step in and save his beloved cousin once more. "Well, it’s like this... er... Sir...." The hobbit swallowed nervously. "It’s nearly Yule, you see, at least it was when we... er... that is...."

"I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘died’," Námo commented blandly and watched with amusement as most of the Mortals, including the two hobbits, cringed slightly at the word. Honestly, these Children were too amusing and he loved them dearly.

*As do we all,* Manwë’s thought came to him full of solemn joy and Námo could sense the echo of Varda’s agreement in the Elder King’s words.

"Er... yes, thank you," Merry said in a somewhat strained voice. "So anyway when we got here Pip just sort of mentioned the fact that no one seemed to be celebrating Yule and... er... well..."

"It wouldn’t kill you to have a little greenery you know," Pippin said somewhat forcefully, and then gulped when Námo turned his attention back to him.

Before Námo could reply, however, something dropped out of the air. Námo looked down to see ropes of balsam draped about his shoulders. Then something else fell on his head. Rolling his eyes towards his brow the Lord of Mandos saw a balsam wreath. There were four white candles, all lit, nestled in the wreath with gold and silver ribbons streaming all about.

*YAVANNA! YOU ARE SO DEAD!*

Laughter echoed through his mind. Neither the balsam ropes nor the wreath disappeared, though. The hobbits gave him a critical look.

"Yes, something like that," Pippin said with a nod, "but you’re supposed to hang the ropes up, not drape them around you... er.... my lord."

Merry dared to snicker and one or two of the other Mortals standing about turned away. Námo suspected they were trying hard not to laugh. The Maiar did their best to keep straight faces. They had better, Námo thought sourly, or I’ll show them what my wrath really means.

*Now, dear, you know your servants aren’t afraid of you,* came the amused thought of his beloved spouse, Vairë. *They’ve seen you at your worst. Why the last time you pulled a Wrath-of-Mandos on them, Olórin and Maranwë simply laughed.*

Námo mentally cringed at that reminder. Honestly, he got no respect these days! Now more than one Vala’s laughter echoed in his mind at that thought.

"The wreath is a nice touch, though," a Woman said wistfully.

Námo tried to give her his most withering look, one that would have normally sent balrogs screaming, but his heart wasn’t in it. She just looked at him and smiled. He resisted the temptation to sigh as he turned back to the hobbits.

"Is this better?" At once the ropes of balsam and the wreath disappeared. There was a collective sigh of disappointment from the Mortals followed by gasps of surprise and delight. Some even clapped like excited children, including the children. The Hall was suddenly bedecked with balsam ropes wrapped around every pillar. The ropes were intertwined with gold and silver ribbons. Floating in the air above them was not just one candle-lit wreath but dozens, all casting a warm golden glow throughout the Hall.

Merry did his best to act nonchalant, giving a brief nod. "It’s a start."

Námo had to give the hobbit credit. Few would have the nerve to speak to him in that fashion. He suddenly understood why Olórin had found them so fascinating.

*And amusing, my lord,* came the thought from the Maia who was seeing to the needs of one of the recently Reborn still trying to come to grips with physical reality. Olórin never ventured into the Mardi Firyaron, preferring not to have to meet with his dear Mortal friends one last time only to have to see them leave forever. Námo respected the Maia’s decision. *Especially these two. May I suggest that you count the silver before you send them on their way, my lord.* Námo could almost see the Maia’s eyebrow lift with wry amusement.

*Never mind the silver.* That was Varda. *You better hope they leave Mandos still standing. These two wreaked havoc across half of Middle-earth during the War. I don’t want any complaints from you because half your Halls go up in smoke.*

Námo refused to dignify that last remark with an answer. Pippin, meanwhile, was nodding. "Very nice, but I’m not going to kiss you."

"You’re not going to what?"

Pippin’s eyes traveled upwards and Námo almost flinched when he saw a mistletoe ball spinning slowly above him.

"Fárëa, Yavanna!" Námo exclaimed aloud and several souls gasped; some even looked around as if expecting to see the Earth-Queen standing there. Námo reached up and grabbed the ball, throwing it into the Void, his visage dark and forbidding. All the candles went dark and the Mortals cowered and moaned.

Yavanna’s disapproval could be felt through their sanwë-menta. *Don’t be such a killjoy, love, you’re upsetting the poor dears.*

*I’ll do a lot more than that if you don’t stop!*

*Oooh, promises, promises,* and her laughter echoed throughout the Halls as the candles flamed. Some of the Mortals cheered.

"Well, that’s better," the former shopkeeper from Bree said somewhat petulantly. "It’s about time we Mortals got something out of dying beyond a ‘Thanks for visiting Arda and don’t bother to come back’ from the damn Valar and their pet Elves."

There was an audible gasp from the crowd. Námo stared at the Man in disbelief, then smiled in a way that was not pleasant to see as he took a step towards the offending Mortal. Several souls made hasty retreats. Merry and Pippin actually jumped out of the way and Námo saw two of his Maiar gather the children and herd them into one of the smaller chambers. The shopkeeper was rooted to the spot, pinned by the Lord of Mandos’ merciless gaze.

Esric Thistlewood trembled and tried to utter an apology but Námo held a finger to the Mortal’s lips to still his voice. Esric’s eyes widened and he went to his knees. When Námo spoke, it was in a soft and dreamy voice, which made it all the more terrifying.

"Beloved, I think you should concern yourself less with your imagined grievances against the Firstborn and the Valar and concentrate on how you will face the Source of your existence. I am sure he would be interested in hearing all about how you cheated your customers and employees over the years."

The Lord of Mandos then pulled the now weeping Mortal to his feet, then gathered him into his arms. "Hush, my dearest. No more tears." He kissed the Man on the brow. Esric moaned again and stiffened, his eyes going blank. Námo silently called one of his Maiar to him.

"Go and reflect on what I’ve just said," the Lord of Mandos said quietly and handed Esric over to the Maia who led him towards one of the smaller meditation chambers, the Man looking like one who was seeing something that was not there. The doors opened silently to admit the Maia and his charge and closed just as silently after them. Then, for good measure, the door disappeared, leaving a smooth section of wall where a tapestry hung.

Námo stood there in a sea of absolute silence while the Mortals around him stared at him in awe and dread. "Anyone else?" he asked in a genial manner without looking at any of them.

There were no takers.

*Feel better?* Manwë asked wryly.

*Immensely,* Námo replied with a smile in his thoughts though outwardly he looked as forbidding to the Mortals as ever. Then he turned towards the hobbits. Pippin looked positively green. Merry was staring blankly at him, his hands fumbling at his waist and Námo suddenly realized with some amusement that the hobbit was attempting to find his sword, no doubt to try to protect his younger cousin from Námo’s wrath.

"Swords are no good here, young Meriadoc," Námo said quietly and the hobbit stilled, looking like... well to be truthful, the Lord of Mandos thought, looking like death warmed over. He took a step or two closer to them and Pippin moaned. Merry put an arm around his cousin’s shoulders but his eyes never left Námo’s. It was obvious to all that the two hobbits wanted to flee, but like poor Esric, were rooted to the spot, pinned there by Námo’s will. Then the Vala did a surprising thing. He knelt before the two hobbits and slowly gathered them into his arms, giving each a kiss on the brow. He rubbed their backs as they stood stiffly in his embrace until they began to relax. Then he stood up. He smiled gently down at the hobbits and was pleased when Peregrin attempted a small smile himself. "That’s better. Come now, it’s time for you to leave."

Taking their hands he led them away from the other Mortals who stood still and silent watching them go. Námo escorted them to another chamber. The hobbits looked around with some interest. The chamber was actually a rough-hewn cavern through which a dark river ran. The light was dim and the hobbits could not see where the river entered or left the grotto. There was a wharf to which was moored a swan-shaped boat, it’s pearl-grey sides shining faintly in the dimness.

"Where are we going?" Pippin asked curiously.

Námo pointed to the boat. "That will take you beyond the circles of Arda and into the Presence."

The hobbits looked doubtfully at the Vala. "But we just got here," Merry protested.

"One would think you were trying to get rid of us," Pippin added shrewdly.

*And one would be correct,* came Manwë’s thought, though there was no condemnation in his tone.

Námo sighed. *Do you have a better suggestion, my liege?* Námo rarely spoke to Manwë in the mode of vassal to lord, though that was the true relationship between them. When he did it was in acknowledgment that Manwë, being first in the Thought of Eru, was his superior in all things. Manwë preferred to act the role of elder brother to the other Valar, though, and only exerted his authority as Elder King over them when absolutely necessary. This was one of those times.

*I do not, best beloved,* Manwë answered gently. *I merely point out that there’s no real reason to send these delightful Children from our presence so soon. Eru does not demand that they come before Him now and is willing to wait until they are ready to leave.*

*I have a terrible feeling they will never be ready to leave,* Námo thought with a sigh. *I think they’ll be having too much fun causing mischief here to want to leave ever.*

Manwë’s laughter echoed through Námo’s mind. *A risk we will have to take, but I do not think it will come to that. They will stay only until Elessar comes.*

*But....*

*Others await the High King,* Manwë reminded him gently. *Or have you forgotten?*

*No, my lord.* Námo gave Manwë a mental bow in acquiescence. *I just hope we survive the next thirty-eight years until Elessar arrives.*

Manwë laughed again, and it seemed to the hobbits standing there that they heard bells ringing in the distance but could not be sure. *It will be as Eru decrees, Vorondanya,* Manwë said and withdrew his mind from Námo’s.

"Indeed."

"Sorry, did you say something?"

That was Merry. Námo looked down at the hobbits. "If you desire it you may leave Arda now."

"And if we do not desire it?" Pippin asked, looking defiant and fearful at the same time.

Námo shook his head and smiled. "Then you may remain here until such time as you are ready to pass beyond the circles of Arda. Remember, though, you are mortals and cannot linger here forever. Eventually, you must leave, but you need not leave today. Do you wish to leave now?"

Both hobbits shook their heads. Námo nodded. "So be it. Come with me." He led them out of the grotto and down another Hall.

"Merry," Pippin exclaimed as he and Merry trailed after the Lord of Mandos. "I’m hungry."

Both Merry and Námo stopped short in disbelief. Pippin nearly collided with the Vala. Námo started to respond to the hobbit’s outrageous statement but Merry beat him to it.

"We’re dead, Pip. The dead can’t feel hunger."

"We’re also hobbits, Merry," Pippin retorted smugly. "Hobbits are always hungry. What does being dead have to do with anything?"

Merry threw up his hands and rolled his eyes, then glared at Námo. "If you don’t kill him, I will."

"But Merry, you just said that I’m already dead," the once Thain of the Shire piped up, doing his best to look like a confused tweenager. Pippin then turned to the Lord of Mandos, concern written all over his face. "He can’t kill me if I’m already dead...can he?"

Námo hid a smile. He had not paid much attention to the hobbits who had passed through Mandos, but if these two were any indication of this race’s character, he vowed to pay closer attention from now on. Mischievous or not, silly or not, they were indeed delightful Children.

"I might let him try... just for amusement’s sake," Námo said with a straight face and was rewarded with an audible gulp from Pippin. He stared at the younger hobbit for several minutes, allowing the implications of his words to truly sink in.

*You’re enjoying yourself too much, brother,* came a thought from nearby Lórien.

Námo smiled at his younger brother in the Thought of Eru. *You think?*

Irmo snorted at that but made no further comment. Námo finally allowed a small friendly smile to grace his visage. "Shall we go on?" Both hobbits nodded, Pippin looking somewhat subdued, as if he knew he might have crossed a line he shouldn’t have with his outrageousness.

As they continued along the passage towards a particular Hall, Merry asked a question that had been plaguing him for a while. "Sir, back there... with old Esric...wh-what happened to him?"

Námo stopped with a frown, but when he saw the genuine concern, even fear, in both hobbits’ eyes, he sighed and knelt down to be at eye level with them. They looked so much like the children of Men that he could see how others would easily make the mistake of treating them that way.

"Esric Thistlewood was not harmed," Námo explained softly. "Do not fear for him, or yourselves."

"But...h-he looked so... so....," Merry couldn’t finish his thought and Námo noticed the stricken looks on both their faces.

"Hush, now, Meriadoc," Námo said. "Esric was not harmed. He was experiencing Joy."

"J-joy?" Pippin whispered in disbelief.

"Yes, Peregrin. Joy. For a brief moment in Time, Esric Thistlewood was embraced by divine Love and the ecstasy of that encounter was greater than any physical ecstasy he might have known in his life. I gave him a foretaste of what he will experience when he comes before the Throne of Ilúvatar."

Both hobbits visibly paled at that and began to tremble. Pippin even had to grasp Námo’s arm to steady himself. "W-will that happen t-to us?" he asked in a strained whisper.

Námo smiled warmly. "Oh yes, my Children," and then he reached out and took Pippin into his embrace and kissed him on the brow though the hobbit tried to resist. As soon as he felt the kiss, Pippin crumpled to the floor, his head on Námo’s knees.

"Pippin!" Merry shrieked in shock to see his beloved cousin collapse, but Námo took him into his embrace before he could move and kissed him as well. Merry shuddered, then he too collapsed, falling deeper into the Vala’s arms. The two hobbits huddled against the Lord of Mandos, lost in a sea of divine Love such as they had never experienced before.

How long it lasted, neither hobbit knew, but as the final, deepest wave of love washed over them, they both gave loud gasps and then lay still, catching their breaths as the wave receded like gentle sea-foam.

Merry finally pulled away slightly from Námo’s embrace. "Th-thank you," he rasped.

Námo smiled. "You are most welcome, child."

Pippin looked up from where he still crouched by Námo’s knees, his face suffused with awe. "Is it... does my Diamond and M-merry’s Estella know such... joy?"

"Oh no, best beloved," Námo replied. "What you felt was but a pale echo of the joy your beloved wives are experiencing even now as they stand before the Presence."

"P-pale..." Merry began.

"... echo?" Pippin finished.

The two hobbits looked at the Vala in disbelief. Námo nodded, then he began to sing an ancient lullaby and in moments both hobbits were fast asleep, using Námo’s knees as pillows, much to the Vala’s amusement.

They slept for some time, while in the Outer World Elessar and Arwen led the funeral procession taking their bodies to their final resting place in the Rath Dinen. Soon, though, they woke, first Merry and then Pippin, both with bemused expressions on their faces.

Merry looked up at the Vala smiling down at them and blushed as he sat up. "Sorry, didn’t mean to fall asleep."

"But I meant you to," Námo replied then stood up and pulled the two hobbits after him, steadying them with a hand on their backs. Placing them in deep sleep had been a deliberate move on his part, for it helped in easing their memories of their Encounter with the Divine. As long as they remained within the circles of Arda, even in death, it was best they not retain such memories, except dimly.

"Do you still want to stay?" he asked gently.

Merry and Pippin exchanged a look then turned to Námo and nodded. "We promised Strider we wouldn’t leave without him," Pippin explained.

"Though I don’t think he would mind if we didn’t stay," Merry added somewhat wistfully.

"We did promise, though," Pippin insisted, though it was obvious to the Lord of Mandos that the hobbit was torn between two desires. "So, I guess..."

He let the thought trail off and Námo nodded in full understanding of what they were feeling.

"Well, I know the perfect place where you can await Elessar’s coming."

He led them a little further along until they turned a corner and found themselves in a short corridor with but a single door at the end, which opened silently for them as they approached. Inside the hobbits found themselves in a hall of Men, gaily decorated with banners and tapestries and standing together at one end...

"Boromir!" Pippin exclaimed with delight as he ran towards the late Captain-General of Gondor.

"Éomer!" Merry cried out as he followed his cousin towards the late King of Rohan.

"Merry!" "Pippin!" the two Men cried simultaneously and opened their arms. For a time the four of them greeted each other joyfully, quite forgetting the Vala’s presence.

When the initial excitement died somewhat, Éomer asked, "When did you get here, my friends?"

"It hasn’t been very long," Merry answered, then paused. "At least it seems as if we have just arrived."

"Your funerals were yesterday," Námo said, coming forward. The two Men gave the Vala deep bows.

"Yesterday?" Pippin asked, looking at the Vala incredulously.

Námo nodded. "You died on the twenty-fifth. It is now the twenty-ninth. Tomorrow is First Yule."

"But... that can’t be right, can it?" Merry glanced at the two Men for confirmation. Éomer shrugged. Boromir smiled, shaking his head.

"Time runs differently here than in the Outer World. If Éomer is to be believed, I have been dead myself for sixty-five years, yet I would swear to any oath that I arrived only yesterday and my Lord Námo and I were having a most interesting conversation." He looked at the Lord of Mandos and gave him a smile and a brief wink (2). Námo’s smile was brilliant in turn.

"And I would swear that I have only been here a few short hours," Éomer said.

Námo shook his head and smiled gently at the Rohir King. "Seven years have passed since you came here, my son."

Éomer nodded, accepting the Vala’s word. The hobbits still looked confused and not a little worried. Boromir put a comforting arm around each of their shoulders. "Don’t worry, Little Ones. You get used to it after awhile."

"So you wish to await Elessar’s coming as well, dear friends?" Éomer asked, changing the subject.

"Is that what you’re doing?" Pippin asked and the two Men nodded.

The two hobbits looked at the Vala standing beside them. "We can wait here with Boromir and Éomer?" Merry asked.

Námo nodded, looking grave. "Here. Nowhere else. Leave this Hall and I will assume you wish to continue your journey to the Presence."

*Well, that’s one way of keeping them in check,* Varda said with a laugh, *though I pity Boromir and Éomer. They’re not likely to thank you for the pleasure before Elessar arrives.*

Námo smiled in his mind. *Boromir and Éomer will do well enough. I have no fear for them. After all, Meriadoc is Éomer’s vassal and will obey him.*

*And Peregrin?* Manwë asked sounding highly amused by the whole thing.

*Boromir was Captain-General of Gondor and therefore Peregrin’s commander,* Námo answered. *He’ll keep the youngster in line.*

*We can only hope,* came the fervent reply from Varda.

The hobbits were apparently thinking things over. Boromir knelt before them. "I would welcome the company of the Ernil-i-Pheriannath," he said and at Pippin’s expression laughed. "Oh yes, Éomer has told me all about what happened after I died. Aragorn must have thought it most amusing when he found that the youngest member of the Fellowship had been declared a Prince by the people of Minas Tirith while he had yet to be recognized as their King."

Pippin had the grace to blush. "It wasn’t my idea," he said shyly and the two Men laughed. Námo smiled.

"And I have missed thee, Holdwine," Éomer added, also kneeling, and giving Merry the kiss offered to a vassal by his liege lord. "I think Elessar would enjoy seeing the four of us together when he comes, don’t you?"

The hobbits nodded.

"Then I will leave you," Námo said and turned toward the door, then stopped and turned around, looking at the four Mortals with a smile. "By the way... Happy Yule." With that the Hall was suddenly festooned with balsam ropes and holly, candle-lit wreaths and mistletoe. The Lord of Mandos left the Mortals looking stunned.

He was halfway to the Mardi Envinyato when he heard footsteps running behind him. He stopped and turned around to see Merry and Pippin halting before him. He looked at them gravely.

"Meriadoc. Peregrin. Have you changed your minds already?"

Both hobbits shook their heads. It was Merry who spoke. "We just wanted to ask you... do the Valar celebrate Yule?"

Námo shook his head. "No, child, we do not. Yule is a festival of Mortals, to mark the endings and beginnings of their lives between one year of the Sun and the next. The Valar and the Elves have no need to mark such passages of Time."

"Oh," was the hobbit’s only reply. Merry gave Pippin a look.

"What is it, children?" Námo asked, kneeling before them.

Pippin blushed. "It’s just... we thought... we didn’t want you to be alone on Yule... and no one should have to be alone on Yule."

Námo stared at the two hobbits in wonder and delight and then gathered them into his embrace. "Oh my children, you are indeed delightful creatures. Now, why don’t you return to your friends?" He stood up to leave them.

"Wh-where are you going, my lord?" Merry asked. "Could Pip and I... er... accompany you?"

"And what of Boromir and Éomer? Will they not miss your company this Yule?"

Pippin shook his head. "They said they didn’t mind if we weren’t there when we told them why we wanted to follow you... make sure you weren’t...weren’t lonely."

For a long moment the Vala looked at the two hobbits. He sent a silent question to Manwë who gave his approval, then smiled. "Would you like to see where I will be spending Yule?"

They nodded and Námo offered his hands, which they took. He led them to a particular chamber on the outskirts of the Mardi Envinyato. Inside, the hobbits saw four Maiar shining with an inner light. One Maia stood at the head and another at the foot of what looked to the hobbits to be a bier. The other two Maiar stood on either side. As they drew closer they could see that an elven lord lay there, noble and beautiful in sleep. He was naked but a sheet of white sendal covered him. The four Maiar bowed silently to the Lord of Mandos. The hobbits looked to him with questions in their eyes.

"This is Turgon, once King of Gondolin," Námo explained softly and the two hobbits gasped in wonder. They had heard of Turgon and the Fall of Gondolin long ago when their cousin Frodo had told them tales of the Elder Days. "For more than two ages of Arda he has slept, overcome with grief and guilt over the destruction of his city and his disobedience to the Valar. He has yet to come to Judgment."

"J-judgment?" Pippin whispered fearfully.

Námo nodded. "Yes, Peregrin. Turgon has much to answer for, but never fear. He will not suffer unduly and after Judgment will come Forgiveness and he will spend many centuries playing in the Halls of Healing until he is ready to be Reborn."

"Why’s he sleeping?" Merry asked.

"His fëa, his soul, has been too sick and weary to endure what he must when he comes to Judgment before the Valar. We have postponed that moment until he is ready to face it, and us. That time is almost at hand."

"And you plan to spend Yule here? Why?" Pippin asked, gazing in wonder at the slumbering elven king.

Námo sat down on a richly carved chair that appeared behind him. The hobbits looked duly impressed. "Because, my children," Námo said in a voice that, for all it’s gentleness, was full of deep joy. "Save for these Maiar guardians, Turgon is all alone... and no one should have to be alone on Yule."

He then gestured and they saw two chairs, designed with hobbits in mind, appear on either side of Námo's throne. "Happy Yule, my best beloved children," Námo said, gesturing for them to be seated. 

"Happy Yule, Lord Námo," Merry and Pippin said together as they climbed into the chairs.

Then, to their utter amazement a single candle-lit wreath appeared above them, hovering over the sleeping Elf-lord, casting a golden glow throughout the dim chamber. Then Námo, Lord of Mandos, began singing an ancient lullaby. Soon, only he and the Maiar were awake.

****

All words are Quenya unless otherwise noted.

Mardi Envinyanto: The Halls of Healing/The Halls of Renewal, where those elves destined to be Reborn go after death.

Elleth/ellith: (Sindarin): Elf-maid/elf-maids.

Fëa/Fëar: Soul or spirit.

Ringarë: December. In Sindarin this month was called Girithron. The 25^th of December is the day on which the Fellowship of the Ring set out from Imladris.

Mardi Firyaron: Halls of the Mortals.

Fárëa, Yavanna!: 'Enough, Yavanna!'

Sanwë-menta: Thought-sending.

Vorondonya: My Faithful One. A title Manwë often uses for Námo as a reflection of the steadfastness in which the Lord of Mandos carries out his duties as Doomsman of Arda and Lord of the Dead.

Ernil-i-Pheriannath: (Sindarin) Prince of the Halflings. Pippin’s title outside the Shire.

Note: There is no record of either Merry’s death or Pippin’s. Éomer died in Fourth Age 63. For purposes of this story I have the hobbits dying within hours of each other seven years after Éomer’s death.

(1) For more about Eluwen, see my story Elladan and Elrohir’s Not So Excellent Adventure.

(2) For details of this "most interesting conversation" see my story Drawing Straight With Crooked Lines.