This is original fan work, intended solely for the entertainment of the readers, and in no way intends any infringement on any copyrights, trademarks, or licenses held by The Estate of J.R.R. Tolkien, Tolkien Enterprises, George Allen and Unwin Publishers, Houghton-Mifflin, Ballantine Books, or the holders of any other legal rights or licenses pertaining to the works of J.R.R. Tolkien.

The quality of mercy is not strained,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blessed:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice, Act IV, scene 1

I

Until that evening, Frodo had wondered if it ever rained in Valinor.

Common sense told him that it must; the air was not overly heavy with moisture from day to day, and when he woke near the dawn, he saw dew on the trees and flowers and other growth that surrounded Olórin’s little house in Lórien, which he had shared with the Maia for most of the almost nine months he had now lived in Aman.  And all those plants, from the greatest of the trees to the smallest blade of grass were green and strong, all the pools and streams and fountains of Lórien forever flowing with clear water.  But since his last night aboard the ship that had borne the Ring-bearers from Middle-earth, when he had fallen asleep to the gentle sound of rain on the decks above, he could not recall a single day without sunshine, nor an evening in which the clouds thickened and let loose showers that lulled the world into peaceful slumber.

Yet whenever he thought to mention this peculiarity, all the locals who heard him chuckled softly and said of course it rained.  Even here in the Blessed Realm, growing things had certain requirements which needed to be met so that they might live and thrive, just as he and the Bilbo and the Elves needed food and drink to sustain them.  Their nearest neighbor, Ványalos — a Maia who served as a messenger for Lord Irmo — regaled him with amusing tales of remembered rainstorms that Frodo was certain were, if not wholly a product of the red-haired Maia’s abundantly active and impish imagination, at least quite heavily embellished for both the halfling’s sake and his entertainment.  Frodo might not have believed him had Olórin not confirmed his claim that yes, it did indeed rain in the Undying Lands. 

He had been further supported by Eäron, a Maia servant of Ulmo, the Vala Lord of the Waters.  Eäron made his home in Lórien to serve his master by helping attend its many waters, and Frodo supposed that if anyone would know such a thing for certain, it would be one Ulmo’s people.  It did indeed rain, Eäron had told him, for all living things of Arda needed water, and Ulmo took great joy in the beauty of rain and snow.  But depending on the needs of the land and the whims of both Ulmo and Manwë, who was master of the winds and the skies, it fell at odd intervals.  Sometimes, for many days, the rains would come at different hours, in the morning or afternoon or night; at other times, it would fall without stop for several days, then not at all for several more; and at still other times, for months at a stretch it would fall briefly but at the same hour each day.  Since Frodo’s arrival, Lórien’s rains had fallen briefly, for but an hour or two in the deep of night, swallowed up quickly by the soil and plants and streams so that come morning, only a glistening sheen of dew remained in the dawn sunshine to tell of its passing.

Politely, Frodo had said that he believed the Sea Lord’s servant, but privately, he continued to wonder.  On several nights, he had tried to sit up as late as was necessary to see the proof for himself, but even focusing on the sounds of the local residents who gathered somewhere in the area each evening to share food and song and story was not enough to keep him awake.  Sooner or later, the healing peace of Lórien crept over him, and he surrendered to the lure of sleep.

When, by the nearest he was able to reckon, the truly magnificent blossoming of spring passed and the month of June came in, he began to think all the folk of Aman were having some little joke at his expense.  Both spring and summer without at least a few days of rain seemed utterly unnatural to him, no matter what the various Maiar and Elves insisted — and then, as Eäron had told him, something in the air changed.  Several weeks before midsummer, on the afternoon of a day as pleasant as every other day he had spent in Valinor, Frodo and Olórin were tending the vegetable and herb patch behind the little house when the halfling felt a shadow fall upon them.  For a moment, he remembered the last time such a thing had occurred when they were at work in the garden; the shadow had been caused by the passage of a Great Eagle who had brought Manwë’s herald, Eönwë, to ask if they would come with him to Ilmarin.  Shivering faintly, for the later events of that day had not been pleasant, he looked up, saw that it was only a passing cloud, and noticed that those to the west were thickening.  As he took a deep breath of relief, he realized that he could catch just the barest scent of moisture on the air.

He glanced at Olórin, who had been deftly bundling up some of the overgrowth of herbs he had just trimmed from the plants edging the garden. As he watched him work, Frodo was once again amazed to realize how quickly he had grown accustomed to his friend’s markedly changed appearance, which seemed much more that of an ageless, fair-haired half-Elf of unremarkable height than the old gray Man he had seemed to be when he had dwelt in Middle-earth as Gandalf.  As in all his Maia people, he possessed a kind of unassuming grace and beauty that was less lofty than that of the Valar, but far more than the fairest of Elves or Men.  Yet Olórin had chosen no part of his current appearance, save his simple pale blue and white clothing; his fana manifested simply as an expression of what he was in the truest essence of his being.  He was proud neither at heart nor in his outer manifestation, the single exception being the narrow circlet of twined crystal threads that ceaselessly graced his head.  A gift from Lord Eru, it was also the means by which the Maia was slowly being healed of the unexpectedly serious hurts his spirit had suffered from two thousand years of life bound to mortal flesh in the lands most poisoned by the hate of Melkor.  For a time after he had been told to wear it always until he was otherwise instructed, the Istar had felt self-conscious about it, and had gone so far as to attempt to conceal in under his hair. But the effort had been wasted, for the more he tried to hide it, the more it seemed to catch every glimmer of light and shine even more brightly and noticeably.  So he had given up and taken to wearing it openly, as the One clearly wished, which somehow made it far less obvious, little more than a thin line of flickering white light against the brightness of his pale hair.

Perhaps, Frodo often thought, it was this simplicity and Olórin’s attempts to maintain it that had allowed him to so swiftly grow accustomed to the Istar’s appearance here in the land that was his home.  He gave and shared what he had and what he was without thought for personal cost or personal gain.  It was all so much the very essence of Gandalf as Frodo had known him, how he looked no longer mattered.  The hobbit saw the same friend in his heart, and always would, no matter what his outer appearance.

If he noticed that Frodo was staring at him, Olórin showed no sign of it.  Relieved, the hobbit scanned the skies again, then made a small, curious sound.  “Is it my imagination,” he wondered aloud, “or is actually going to rain?”

Olórin took the bundle of sage leaves he had finished tying and set it into a gathering basket as he spared a glance to the west.  After taking his own measure of what he saw, he nodded.  “Not soon, but by this evening.  Eäron mentioned it to me this morning, when you were off collecting your daily provender from Ványalos.  He thought you might like to know.”

Frodo sniffed.  “Then why didn’t you tell me?  I won’t believe you forgot....”

The Istar smiled as he returned to his task with the herbs.  “No, but I thought you might enjoy the surprise of discovering it for yourself, after so many months spent wondering if such things ever happen here.”

Color rose faintly in the hobbit’s cheeks, yet he laughed.  “I do suppose I was being rather thick-headed about it,” he admitted, adding the young leafy greens he had collected to the other things in the basket.  “But truly, I never saw or heard as much as a single drop, not in all this time!  Though I do grant I wouldn’t have noticed if a storm had come and ripped the house down about my ears during the months when you were sick.  I’m so glad you’re well again.”

“As I am pleased to see you whole once more,” Olórin replied, meaning both his small friend’s wounded spirit, which time and care had healed, as well as his injured body, which the skills of Estë and the power of Eru Ilúvatar had fully restored, from his pierced shoulder to his lost finger.  Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Eäron also mentioned that the rain would arrive before sunset.”

What more was implied by that statement struck Frodo after a moment or two.  “We won’t be able to share the evening meal with the others, then?  I’m sorry to hear that.  I’ve come to look forward to that part of the day more than any other.  It’s not the same as sitting down to a big Hobbit supper, but there’s so much more to it than just the food.  I think I’m finally beginning to tolerate the sound of Valarin, you know, and I’m afraid that if I spend too many days without hearing it at all, I might backslide and have to start over again.”

Eyes glittering with mischief, the Maia said something Frodo could not understand, but immediately recognized as being in the ancient tongue of the Ainur.  The halfling immediately winced at the sound, which was not precisely unpleasant, but fell so strangely upon the ears of any of the Eruhíni, its alien beauty pierced one straight to the heart.  When he hissed softly, Olórin relented, and laughed.  “Is that enough to fulfill your daily requirement?” he asked.

Frodo knew well that he was teasing, and so answered in kind.  “More than enough, thank you.  I can quite understand why the Elves preferred to fashion their own language rather than attempt to use yours.  I cannot believe that the throat of any living creature was ever meant to make such sounds!  What did you say, anyway?”

“That those things in life which are most worth having and experiencing can only be properly appreciated if one must devote some effort to attain them.  But you need not be deprived entirely of those daily customs.  Eäron also came to ask if we might enjoy the company of some of those who would also miss the nightly sharing of song and story.  There have been many visitors to this house since I returned home, but there has never been such a gathering under this new roof.  Perhaps it is well past time for it, and with the rain due, tonight would indeed seem appropriate.”

As he added another handful of tender greens to the basket, the hobbit’s whole face lit with delight.  “That would be splendid!  I’d wondered if you would ever think of entertaining guests here, since your friends made you this lovely home with that in mind, but thus far, the most who have ever been here at once for pleasant reasons was when Elrond and Celebrían brought Bilbo to stay for a time.  But I wish the weather had changed a week sooner, then, so Bilbo might have been here to enjoy it as well.”

“I’m sure Bilbo will be back to visit again,” Olórin said as he tied up the last of the cooking herbs, twigs of thyme and savory and mint that had escaped from larger cuttings.  “And there will be other opportunities.  For now, I think he will be much happier settling in to his rooms in Elrond’s house in Tirion and becoming acquainted with all the good people there.  You should have more chances to do the same with those who live here in Lórien, since you made the choice to live here rather than with Bilbo.  I fear that thus far, too much of your time in Aman has been spent entangled with my problems rather than seeing to your own happiness.”

Frodo dismissed that with an easy wave of one hand.  “I doubt that I could have been happy if I hadn’t done what I could to help you.  But that’s over and done with, thank goodness.”

“For the most part,” the Istar agreed.

Frodo looked up from his work, frowning at the peculiarly flat tone of those words.  He knew what Olórin meant, and as with the question of rain, he wondered how long this matter would linger before seeing resolution.  As he reflected upon how and if he should react, he tugged up one of the larger root vegetables to see how well the crop was faring.  The radish he selected was on the smallish side for one that might be considered fully mature, but for the apparent time of year, it was quite respectably grown, so he added it to the other things in the basket.  He continued to think while he selected two more likely-looking radishes, then exhaled in a sigh.

“Do you ever plan to accept his apology?” he asked in the best nonchalant manner he could affect, knowing that Olórin would be well aware of what he was speaking.

The Maia shrugged with an equally casual mien, picking up the radishes as Frodo put them in the basket, to brush off the heavier soil.  “I already have.”

The hobbit snorted. “Really?  When?  I don’t recall hearing it....”

“And do you hear every word I utter or thought I think?”

“Of course not, but I know he hasn’t been here since... well, since the day you finally got better, and I know you haven’t been to see him, summoned or otherwise.  I suppose you might have other ways of communicating with each other that I couldn’t possibly be aware of, but something tells me neither of you have availed yourselves of them.  So if you’ve given him the forgiveness he asked for, you must have posted him a letter.  And so far as I can tell, Valinor doesn’t have a post service, unless you sent it with Ványalos when he went off on one of his errands. You haven’t left the hill country to go farther than the edge of the plains since that day in March.”

Olórin made a disgruntled noise, then chuckled at Frodo’s very astute observations.  He was indeed aware of the subject under discussion without any names being mentioned:  the state of affairs between the Maia and the Vala he served, Manwë, the Elder King of all Arda.  They both remembered all too clearly the day in late January when they had been summoned to Ilmarin so that Olórin could hear the truth about why he had been suffering from a strange yet increasingly debilitating weakness since his return to Aman — the truth being that the circumstances leading to his deteriorating condition had been caused by Manwë himself when he had ignored the direct advice of Eru Ilúvatar in ordering his servant to go on the errand to Middle-earth as one of the Istari, rather than explain himself openly to garner Olórin’s fully willing cooperation.  Frodo had never seen his friend so furious and upset, but then, he had never before seen him at the moment he perceived that he had been betrayed by one he had long served and admired and loved.  Manwë had asked for forgiveness that day, but Olórin had not given it, nor had a word been spoken between them in all the days of his illness, nor since the Maia’s recovery.  The latter had come on the twenty-fifth of March, by Shire reckoning.  It was now full summer, approaching the Hobbit mid-year festival, and still, there had been no communication between the two of which Frodo was aware.

And he was aware of quite a bit.  Ványalos had told the halfling that there had indeed been no word passed between Ilmarin and the little glade in Lórien which held Olórin’s home, not since the day the latter had been blessed by a semblance of the presence of Lord Eru Himself.  The red-haired Maia did not know if this was deliberate or merely a coincidence, but he was not the only person who suspected it was no accident.  Olórin was of Manwë’s people, and though the Elder King did not often call upon his services, in the past he had been in frequent contact with Olórin, who was often out and about the land, and was able to provide his lord with information about the state of Aman’s inhabitants which Manwë could not perceive as clearly from his mansions atop Taniquetil.  But those around them who would be aware of such exchanges, if not what was said, had felt nothing but silence between the two.

Given how much time had passed, Frodo had begun to feel that something was not right, but he had not been able to think of a way to broach his concerns subtly, so he availed himself of any opportunity his host provided to at least attempt to discuss the matter.  “I don’t mean to meddle, Olórin, truly,” he told his friend.  “But I can’t help but feel that this isn’t a good thing, especially for you.  I’ve never known you to be spiteful or vindictive or the sort to carry grudges, even back in Middle-earth.  Snappish sometimes, yes, a bit brusque and impatient, especially with foolishness, but always much quicker to forgive than most people.  Did Lord Manwë really hurt you so badly that you cannot let go of it?”

Again, the Maia shrugged, setting aside the semi-cleaned radishes as he nibbled on one of the tender mint leaves that had fallen during the cutting and gathering process.  As ever, he had no actual physical need to eat or drink, but he enjoyed some of the little reminders of his life as a mortal, especially when it was something he did by choice, not by painful necessity. “If you want an honest answer, I don’t know.  Of all the pains I have endured throughout my life, none felt as terrible as this.  I have always respected and admired and loved him, Frodo, not just as my lord but as someone I had long felt was truly a friend.  I trusted him and his leadership, and never opposed him because I knew there was no reason.  My relationship with him was not like that which I shared with any of the others who have betrayed me over the years; I was not close to them as I was close to him.  Discovering that he had not trusted and respected me in such an important matter was a dreadful blow.  In time, I am sure I will find it in me to forgive him, but for now, the wounds are still too new, too deep.”

He had been staring at the greenery in the basket as he spoke; he now looked up, directly into Frodo’s eyes, and the hobbit was struck anew by how brilliant a blue those of the Istar could be when they caught the light just so, not dark as they often appeared, but luminous and intense as blue fire.  There was a slight glitter like a haze over them at the moment, bright as sharp points of clear sunlight on the ripples of a pond.  Frodo sighed.  "I can understand that," he admitted.  "But wouldn't it be better to try to put it behind you?"

The answering smile was sad.  "Oh, certainly.  I would forgive him, if only I knew how in such a situation.  Forgiveness means nothing to either the one who gives it or the one who receives it if it is naught but rote words, spoken as a ritual without sincere thought for what is being said and offered."

Frodo considered that for a few moments, then nodded.  "I suppose you're right. Empty words make for empty forgiveness.  Although I do think Manwë's apology was sincere."

"I have no doubt of that," Olórin said with a soft sigh.  "But I don't think he quite comprehends why I became so angry and felt so deeply hurt.  He knows that I was harmed, but it seems to me that he does not see how his choice shook the very foundations of trust between us.  How would you have felt in similar circumstances?  From the beginning, I told you all I knew and could tell you of the Ring and its perils, and the dangers of the road ahead of you.  I did not deliberately keep anything from you once I knew the truth; I did not lie and tell you it would be an easy task when I knew it would not, nor did I ignore your concerns.  I did not say, ‘You will go, Frodo, no matter what you fear, because I command it, and because your worries are of no consequence.’  I allowed you to choose for yourself,  even though I would much sooner have said, ‘Stay at home in peace and safety, and let others take up this burden.’  Had I done that, you would have known no peace or safety anywhere, I would have broken faith with the promise I had made not to force the decisions and acts of the Eruhíni, and I would not have been at all a good and true friend and teacher to you.  I would have tarnished our friendship and the respect between us; indeed, I would have destroyed it.  Would you have found it so easy to forgive me, especially if after ordering you to undertake this quest, I had remained somewhere safe and distant and did little or nothing to offer you any assistance in accomplishing your mission, even from afar, and knew long before the end that the tragedy I had set in motion would be borne by you alone?”

The hobbit shook his head, able to imagine what Olórin was describing.  “No.  Whenever I was feeling sorry for myself over what had happened during the journey to Mordor, I had only to remember that I hadn’t been the only one who had been hurt to stop feeling quite so much self-pity.  Sam went through a terrible time, both Merry and Pippin were badly injured, Boromir died, everyone lost friends and family....  You might have been sent back stronger than you had been before, but you still had to suffer before that, and still you never stood back and let other people take the risks for you if there was any way you could take them yourself.  I know you would have gone with me to Mordor, and you would have taken the Ring there yourself, if it had been possible.  You wouldn’t’ve let anyone else be hurt if you could’ve done something to prevent it.  But if you’d ordered me to go when you knew I was afraid, and had yourself stayed behind in Rivendell, safe and sound, I would’ve resented it, I’m sure.  And I would have wondered if all your talk about the Ring being a danger to you was only a way to avoid an unpleasant job you simply didn’t want to do.  I don’t think I could have been your friend anymore if you’d done that.  And if you’d told me that you had a notion of the precise dangers I needed to avoid but hadn’t mentioned them to me because you thought it would make you look bad, I would’ve felt that you considered me ignorant and untrustworthy.  I do understand.”

He sighed, rubbing away the dirt from the last of the radishes before placing it in the basket and climbing to his feet.  “But I’m not you, Olórin, nor are you Lord Manwë.  He isn’t perfect; he makes mistakes, as you did when you lived in Middle-earth.  Some of your mistakes affected me, and I forgave you for them.  I can see that your situation is something more difficult to come to terms with, for even though I was hurt because of your errors, I never felt betrayed by you.  But won’t you at least try to forgive him?  It would be one less unhappiness you’d have to carry with you.”

It was the Maia’s turn to sigh as he picked up the now-full basket to carry it into the house.  “I do want to,” he admitted at length, when Frodo moved ahead to hold open the door for him.  “And I have truly tried to find the appropriate words within me.  But for some reason, I cannot.  Never have I had such difficulty doing this, and I am at a loss to understand why it eludes me now.  It almost feels like....”  His voice trailed off to nothing.

Frodo, however, did not let the silence linger.  “Like what?” he prompted, not even attempting to offer a speculation of his own.  In the months that he had resided here in Aman, he had come to know Olórin better than he could have known him when he lived in Middle-earth as the wizard Gandalf, but he had also come to know that there were some things about the Maia that he would never fully comprehend.  There was a fundamental difference between their peoples more profound than the differences between the small and mortal Hobbits and the tall and immortal Elves.  There were some things that any naturally incarnate being looked at and thought about differently than any of the Maiar or Valar, who were by their own natures only temporarily self-incarnate, beings of spirit rather than of true flesh.  Having lived as a mortal Man for two thousand years, Olórin had a far deeper understanding of what it meant to live a genuinely mortal life than any other of his people, but he still was what he was at heart, and at times, Frodo had difficulty grasping how and why he reacted to certain things in certain ways.  The hobbit was quite sure that this was due to his greater range of experience, parts of which Frodo could scarcely begin to imagine, and though he could not truly understand, he did at least try to show acceptance of their differences, and compassion toward those that brought his friend distress.

This was without a doubt the most distressing matter left unresolved in Olórin’s life at the moment, for in spite of all that had happened, he still loved the Vala he had faithfully served since before the beginning of Time.  Frodo could see that, but he could not see why Olórin was having such difficulty forgiving him a betrayal that had been intentional yet accidental.  The Istar moved into the cool shade of the inner house, taking his burden into the kitchen where its contents could be sorted and prepared for storage.  He exhaled softly as he set the basket on the board beside the sink.  “Like the shadow that had fallen on me and brought me to such great harm before Lord Eru acted to help save me from it,” he finally answered the prompt.  “I have seen enough of spite and vengeance and malice during all the years I opposed both Sauron and Melkor and even Saruman; I know the signs of it only too well.  I do not think that I feel any of those things toward Lord Manwë, but perhaps I am wrong.  It was the poisons of evil that injured me during my incarnate life in Middle-earth, and I know I am not yet fully healed of those wounds upon my spirit.  I fear that I have been poisoned so badly, my inability to find forgiveness in my heart is because the scars left behind by evil have changed it, as the shadow stole away my life.”

Frodo abruptly understood what he was trying to say, and answered at once, quite firmly.  “You are not evil, Olórin.”

The Maia snorted.  “Nor am I perfect.  And Lord Eru did say that my life as a mortal had left me irrevocably changed.  Perhaps this was what He meant, that some things I was once able to do with comparative ease have now become strangely more... complicated.”

The hobbit disagreed.  “Perhaps, but changed by evil things that were done to you does not mean you yourself became evil.  You were touched by it, yes, as I was, for both of us had tasks to fulfill that would not allow us to run from it, but because a cup is touched and even stained by the tea it is required to hold does not mean it is the tea, and even stains can be removed, in time.  I think that all those years you spent living as a Man left you more confused than changed, at least in this way.  Could anyone have really prepared you for all you would encounter and experience as a mortal?  No, because no one in Aman had any greater understanding of all that it meant than you did.  How many mortals had come here, before you left?  Two?  And who of them knew what it was like to be both a human and an Ainu?”

He shook his head.  “It seems to me as if you lost some of the perspective you had before you were sent on a mission that took many turns no one could have predicted, some very dark and tragic.  I don’t mean to be presumptuous, and I beg your pardon if you find this so, but do you think that perhaps the reason you cannot find it in you to forgive Lord Manwë’s betrayal is because you still have not come to terms with Saruman’s?”

For some moments, the Istar contemplated this, his eyes focused on the things they were removing from the basket; when it was empty and its contents sorted atop the sideboard, he looked at Frodo.  “I must confess, that had not occurred to me,” he said, his tone showing not the slightest hint of offense.  “Personal betrayal is not something I have often had cause to deal with.  Before Saruman turned against me and all Middle-earth, it had been more years than you can imagine since I had needed to deal with such treatment from one I had trusted.  Aránayel had been my first experience with it, and before Saruman’s my last, of any true significance.  Through Nienna’s teachings I learned how to contend with the ways I reacted to treachery, a skill I had never had cause to develop before Aránayel turned on me.”

He shook his head at the memories of that time long ago, his pale bright hair brushing against his shoulders with the motion.  “I was dreadfully naive when I told Aránayel I loved her, so utterly foolish and blind to the less noble aspects of the world that even Pippin was more mature in such ways than I.  Never think that we Ainur are immune to or above such things!  Mortals quickly learn to protect themselves from the harshness of the world in which they live, but ours began as a very sheltered life, in the presence of Lord Eru, where no evil can endure.  After we entered Eä, I knew of Melkor and the existence of evil, but I had never confronted it directly, nor personally, until the day when I spoke my heart and Aránayel broke it.   Only then did I truly understand what it meant to be hurt.”

A frown darkened his fair features as he thought back to times now long gone, but not forgotten. “Then, I only knew of betrayal as something that happens in the world, but not as something I had ever experienced; now, I have been betrayed many times, though few as grievous and intimate as these three.  Because of that, there may be truth in what you say.  I had little time to assimilate the full scope of Saruman’s treachery before I was required to deal with it, and since the remainder of my time in Middle-earth was quite busy, I suppose I simply pushed away the more personal aspects of it because I truly had no opportunity to reflect upon them.  It may have been sitting in some dim corner of my mind like a spider in a web, and when I learned of what Manwë had done, I stumbled into it, set it loose, and now have not been able to properly deal with either.”

He sighed yet again, taking the roots and leafy vegetables Frodo gave him and setting them in the sink while the hobbit went to fetch a bowl to hold the greens they would eat with their supper.  “But Saruman truly is no longer an issue.  He is so diminished that even were he permitted to return hither, his presence would be of no consequence to me, or anyone else.”

“But Lord Manwë is of consequence,” Frodo pointed out while he rummaged through one of the lower cupboards.  “He is here, and he is not diminished, and you are still in his service.  Or have you considered leaving it?”

Olórin shrugged, lifting the lever over the basin to fill the sink with cold water.  “I have both considered it and dismissed it as a possibility.  It would not solve the problem, only push it away again.  I have known no other master save Lord Eru, for though I have given service to others of the Valar, that has ever been done simply because I cannot refuse to help when help is needed.  I am loyal to all of them, and I have great respect for them, but it has always been different with Manwë.  And I imagine that is why I am having such difficulty finding the proper way to forgive him.  I know the facts as they stand, but I simply cannot comprehend how he could have ever believed it was right to go against the will of Lord Eru.  To me, such a thing is inconceivable.”

Frodo smiled crookedly as he brought a carved wooden bowl and set it on the board.  “I used to think that there was nothing in the world that you couldn’t do or understand better than I, but I can see now that I was wrong.  From all you’ve told me about how you reacted to these betrayals, it seems to me that what puzzles you so terribly about them is that you cannot see how or why someone could give their trust to another, and then willfully break it.  You never did give your trust to anyone lightly, probably because all those years ago, you gave it to someone you loved who did not love you in return, and instead hurt you for having done so.”

“And would you not do the same thing?  Is it not prudent to be cautious of fire after you have been badly burned by it?"

"Oh, yes, indeed it is.  But we mortals get singed and scorched and burned so often by such things, we learn to develop a thick skin just to protect ourselves.  You never really did, it seems.  You once told me that many people in whom you had placed your trust failed you, but none, I think, did so as personally as these three of your own people.  Perhaps you could dismiss what Saruman did more easily than the others because you were not so close to him, despite your common mission, but I should think that your relationship with Lord Manwë was much closer, and therefore the hurt much harder to accept.  I know how I would feel if Bilbo had deliberately done something wrong to me, without considering my feelings.  I would not be able to put it behind me without considerable difficulty — which is why I am concerned for you now.  If you cannot move past this and let it go in your heart, your relationship with Manwë can never be the same, and losing that would be a terrible thing, I think.”

“It would,” Olórin agreed, rinsing off the greens and setting them on a cloth Frodo had laid out for them to drain upon.  Now that he was no longer in danger of fading to nothing the more he used the abilities peculiar to his kind, he might have dealt with this entire cleaning process much more simply and quickly, but he had learned to appreciate the disciplines inherent in the common lifestyles of the Eruhíni, and did not mind attending such little chores in the ways to which Frodo was accustomed.  Arda had been made to be the home of the incarnate Children of Ilúvatar, and living within it was best appreciated in their ways, even for the Ainur.

The Maia glanced at the hobbit as Frodo set the greens in the bowl, once they had been sufficiently drained.  “I know that my heart wishes very much to forgive him, and indeed, I believe I have, save for speaking the words to him.  Yet I simply cannot.  I have thought time and again of going to Ilmarin for that very purpose, but before I can set out, something always makes me hesitate.  I know that if I spoke to him now, the words would not be fully sincere, and I cannot lie merely to have it over and done with, for it would not be over and done with.  And this does not please me in any way.  It either means that there is some hidden hurt I have yet to discover, or that I have grown so petty that I cannot set aside my own injured feelings to grant forgiveness to a person who has done me far more good than harm.”

“You don’t suppose you’re... well, sort of carrying a grudge on behalf of Lord Eru?  You’ve said that what truly shocked you was the fact that Manwë dared to disobey Him.”

Olórin spent a few moments considering the question while he scrubbed away the now-softened dirt in the deeper creases of the radishes that had been soaking in the water. “I don’t believe so.  What would Lord Eru need with my support?  He is the One Who created all that exists; I may be in His favor, but I am only a Maia, and by no means the greatest even of my own people.  I would consider it presumptuous to take offense on His behalf when He is far more than capable of defending Himself than I could ever hope to be.  No, whatever the root of this trouble, it is something wholly within me.  Yet I cannot imagine what that could be.”

“Neither can I,” Frodo said, letting loose a very deep breath while he moved the bowl to the dining table and sorted through some of the herbs to find those he wished to mix with the greens.  The sound of his sigh seemed to continue long after he was done exhaling, prompting him to notice a rise in the normally gentle breezes that moved the air through the house.  It smelled of distant dampness, and reminded him of events to come later in the day.  He looked out the window nearby to see the increased movement of the branches on the trees surrounding the house, and the still thickening clouds in the skies beyond.

“Well, perhaps the change of routine this evening will provide some inspiration for an answer,” he speculated as he finished his task and carried the wooden bowl to a cool storage pantry at the back of the small kitchen.  “I’m not the only person in Lórien who has given thought to this, you know.  Your other friends here are concerned as well.”

Olórin did not even attempt to deny it.  “I know, and I suspect that given time, someone will be able to see the answer I cannot.  I had not realized how very much I missed having a home and being a part of a community where I was not considered either an ill-tolerated outsider or an honored but infrequent guest.  There is much to be said for belonging somewhere, and I had forgotten that during my long stay in Middle-earth.  Which is also why I am more than happy to do anything I can to help you find a place to belong here in Aman.”

Frodo smiled as he came to collect the washed radishes and take them to their storage place in the same pantry.  “For which I am very grateful.  I knew that somehow, I would find healing here, but I was never certain if I would also be able to feel at home.  I already do, even though I’m still learning about the land and the people who live here.  I wish I’d been here when Eäron brought you his news and asked about this evening.  I think I would like to have invited some of your friends I still don’t know very well to share the meal with us.  A few have asked about Hobbit customs, and it would have been a good opportunity to show them a proper Hobbit supper.”

Olórin laughed.  “Only if you had had the entire day to prepare for it.  There will be other times to instruct them in Hobbit dining customs; for now, you can prepare them for the full lesson by showing them your less elaborate ways of offering hospitality to visiting guests.  Quite enough for one evening’s work, I should think.”

Frodo could not deny the truth of that observation, and so the weightier questions they had been discussing were set aside so that he could make ready for the evening ahead.  But though he was distracted for the time being, he did not forget them.

II

Before late afternoon, the clouds had rolled in, a beautiful panoply of grays and whites and near-blacks that reminded Frodo of the spring storms and glowering late autumn skies in the Shire — appropriate, he thought, for the place in Aman that reflected that part of Middle-earth.  The rain began about an hour or so before sunset, while he and Olórin were preparing the evening meal.  It began gently, but at times would come down more heavily, and the changing rhythms of it were a pleasant music Frodo only now realized he had missed.  When Ványalos arrived to help them, since most evenings he shared the meal with his neighbors, the Hobbit was surprised to notice that he was not the least bit damp, until he remembered how the Ainur could move about from place to place with the ease of a thought, so long as they needed only to move themselves.  When all was ready, and they somehow knew that the time of sunset was upon them, the two Maiar sang the benediction Frodo still had not quite learned, though he did join them in the parts with which he was sufficiently familiar.  It was pleasant to hear only the two of them for a change, since neither were often inclined to sing alone during the evenings they shared with others who lived nearby.  Both of them had the exquisite voices of their people — Ványalos’ an agreeably mellow low tenor half an octave above Olórin’s more resonant baritone — and Frodo was glad for this unexpected opportunity to enjoy listening to them.

As ever, Ványalos came with tales to tell, about his activities during the day, things he had heard or learned, rumors that had come to his ears.  He had the makings of a terrible gossip, Frodo had long since realized, but also the remarkable discretion to know when to stop just short of it.  Today, his news was mostly about visitors who had arrived in Lórien’s hill country that afternoon, a small group of Elves and Maiar who had come from various places in Eldamar with business in Lórien, and had chosen to travel together.  None of the names he mentioned were familiar to Frodo, but one Ványalos felt should be of interest to Olórin.

“Correct me, please, if I am mistaken,” the redhead said to his shorter and much fairer friend and neighbor, “but during all the times you spent under the tutelage of Lady Nienna, you did make the acquaintance of one of her servants, Helyanwë, did you not?”

The Istar smiled softly, nodding as he finished refilling all three teacups from the pot that was now empty.  “Helyanwë was one of the first of Lady Nienna’s people I met when I went to the Lady’s house on an errand for Lord Manwë after... well, I’m sure you know when, because you also know very well that Helyanwë and I are friends.  As I recall, after I first came to Lórien and you became aware of my friendship with her, you and several of your cohorts in mischief went out of your way to repeatedly suggest that I attempt to develop a relationship of a different kind with her, to help hasten the recovery of my broken heart.”

He snorted, a sound of perfectly humorous derision.  “Such utter absurdity.  I may have misjudged both Aránayel’s feelings as well as my own in my foolish ignorance, but I knew as well as you do that while our people can have many deep and lasting friendships, each of us has but one true mate of the heart, if indeed we have any at all.  Aránayel was not mine, nor was Helyanwë.  She, and many others, gave me support and guidance when I sorely needed it, and since then, our tasks for those we serve have brought us to work together again, at times.  I know you are perfectly aware of this, Ványalos.  Are you preparing to tell some inappropriately sordid — and completely untrue — tale to amuse Frodo and embarrass me?”

The taller Maia clicked his tongue and wrinkled his nose in chiding.  “Certainly not!  I would never do such a thing to you, pityandil....”

This time, Frodo snorted, amused but not fooled by the display of feigned innocence.  “You already have, on at least six separate occasions I can recall,” the hobbit pointed out.  “If I didn’t know that you are indeed Olórin’s friend, I would suspect you of being his sworn enemy, after some of the outrageous stories you’ve told — or perhaps I should call them lies, instead.”

Had he been a child — or more childish rather than childlike — Ványalos might very well have stuck out his tongue at the halfling.  “I have never in my life told a lie,” he said indignantly.  “Exaggerations, perhaps, and embellishments to improve upon an otherwise dull tale and give the listener greater pleasure, but not lies.  But I do grant, Olórin,” he added, relenting, “that this particular attempt to lift your spirits was an ill-chosen one.  You spoke well of Helyanwë, with some affection, and I admit that I misinterpreted it as interest of another sort.  Even if I had not, the timing of such a thing would have been poor, and I should not have pressed the matter as I did.”

About to drink from his teacup, the Istar set it upon the table instead, leaned back in his chair, and stared at his neighbor, dark eyes wide with disbelief.  “In all the thousands of years since that incident, I have never once heard you utter such a sincere apology for it.  Is something wrong, old friend?  I cannot imagine you have been saving this without considering when it might best be used to your advantage.”

The redhead smiled crookedly.  “Now, you are being unfair.  I have never been that mercenary!  The reason I mention it now is quite simple, and not at all a matter of manipulation: Helyanwë is among those who arrived from Eldamar today.  She and her company had just reached the commons while I was there on my daily errands.  Apparently, someone mentioned to her that I was your friend and neighbor, and had been much involved with the attempts to aid you during your recent difficulties.  She asked if you were sufficiently recovered from your injuries to entertain guests you have not seen in many a year.  Since to the best of my knowledge, you have always been on good terms with her, I told her I could not see why you would object.  I knew Eäron intended to ask you if some of the local folk could gather here after the evening meal, because of the coming rain, and I did not think you would say no. I informed her of this, and she felt it would be an excellent time to visit.  She did ask if I might make mention of this to you, however, so that if you felt otherwise, you could contact her beforehand and forestall any potential unpleasantry.  She is indeed a lovely person, and I regret not having made her acquaintance much sooner.  I hope I did not misspeak in extending her this invitation.”

“Not at all,” he was instantly assured.  “I think it is well past time for Frodo to meet a few of my friends of the Maiar who are not rogues like you.  Had I know she was in Lórien, I would have invited her myself.  Did she say what brought her here?”

Ványalos shook his head as he swallowed his last mouthful of his meal, as ever savoring each morsel.  All of the Ainur Frodo had met and broken bread with enjoyed sharing this part of the life of the Eruhíni, but none took quite so much pleasure in it as Ványalos.  Sometimes, the halfling could not help but feel that when He had fashioned the Hobbits, Eru Ilúvatar had also borrowed a few notes from whatever song Ványalos had sung in the Ainulindalë, for he was quite certain it must have at least in part concerned such mundane delights.  “She did not mention it, and I did not ask.  Whatever prompted her to approach me, I felt it to be a private matter and not my business unless you or she choose to make it so.”

He flushed slightly, a rare thing among the Ainur, and even rarer for the generally audacious Ványalos.  “I did not wish for her to think I was prying, not after what I did long ago.  I have no doubt my ill-considered pressure of you reached her ears, and having now met her face to face, I understand why you were offended.  I am sorry, Olórin, if I shamed or hurt either of you.”

The Istar’s eyes glittered as he reclaimed his cup and took a sip of the warm and fragrant tea.  “Since apologies so heartfelt are rare gifts from you, I shall accept this one, but I suspect Helyanwë was not offended.  Amused, perhaps, because she has had her share of scalawags with which to contend, but not shamed.  Had she been, I’m quite sure she would have greeted you with stern words and a chill that could freeze what passes for blood in a Balrog’s veins, rather than a polite inquiry about my welfare.  I shall enjoy seeing her again, and I will be interested in discovering why she has come so far from Nienna’s halls — and via Eldamar, at that.”

**********

Upon a dark midsummer’s eve there came a maiden fair,
All gowned in blue with golden sheen and blossoms in her hair.
Around the bright and festive fires, aglow with silver light,
Beneath the starry summer skies she danced throughout the night.

Her hair about her shoulders fell in locks of precious gold,
Her face shone like an Elven maid in song and lore of old.
Her step fell light upon the grass, as gentle as a breeze;
Her laughter glittered in her eyes like starlight on the seas.

And as she danced, she sang a song so marvelous to hear
That all who hearkened to its notes recalled it through the year.
It warmed them in the autumn chill, gave comfort in the rain,
And when the snows of winter flew it brought the spring again.

Yet when that soft enchanted eve did fade before the dawn,
Those who had seen the maiden looked about, and found her gone.
But ever after, on the wind the echoes of her tune
Were heard until she came and danced beneath midsummer’s moon. 

Although Frodo had a fair singing voice, he had felt very little desire to participate in such activities ever since that dreadful night in Bree when he had allowed himself to get carried away, almost to the loss of all Middle-earth.  Since his arrival in Valinor and the security of knowing that no such mishap could be repeated — and that many of the local residents knew nothing of what he had foolishly done at the Prancing Pony — he had been less disturbed by that memory and more self-conscious due to the extraordinarily beautiful voices of the Elves and the Ainur among whom he lived.  But those who had not been to Endorë in many a long year were hungry for new songs and tales, and their interest in anything Frodo had to offer was keen.  He was still reluctant to participate overmuch, but neither did he wholly refuse, as he had at first.  With so many guests about this night, he was too busy to do much more than listen, but as some of the Elves also celebrated midsummer and that time was drawing near, he was easily persuaded to share with them one of the briefest Hobbit songs pertaining to it.

Complying with such requests was less discomfiting, he had come to realize, because he was never required to perform entirely alone.  During his long stay in Middle-earth as Gandalf, Olórin had become familiar with every song written by the Hobbits since they moved into the land they named the Shire.  Sometimes he would sing with Frodo, if he felt so moved, sometimes he did not, but he knew accompaniment for them all, and was able to render them more than passably well on the great harp he had been given by the one of the Telerin Elves many years ago.  Frodo loved the sound of it, for it was fuller and richer in tone than any of the harps he had heard played in Middle-earth, even in such Elven lands as Rivendell and Lothlórien.  It seemed to the halfling as if the instrument had a living voice that was somehow an extension of the Maia who owned it and was able to call forth such beautiful sound from its strings.  He never tired of listening to Olórin play it, whether it was during evening gatherings or when he did so for his own pleasure.  Hearing it always woke in the Hobbit a desire to learn such a delightful skill, at least as well as he, a mere mortal, was able.  He had not mentioned that wish aloud, since he doubted he had even half the ability of an Elf, much less one of the Ainur, but someday, perhaps, he would.

For now, at the request of one of their guests — the Elven weaver Mirimë, who lived along the river that skirted the meadow to the west of this small community — he sang the short song he had first heard many years ago, on the midsummer after he had come to live with Bilbo at Bag End.  His uncle knew many songs most other hobbits had forgotten, and had written quite a number of his own.  Frodo more than half-suspected this was one of Bilbo’s efforts, but one he had never fully finished, since it seemed more brief than his usual songs and poems.  Olórin agreed, although he had no actual proof that Bilbo was in fact the source of the song.  He only knew that he, too, had first heard this from his old friend and not elsewhere in the Shire, and that it had come to light not long after Bilbo’s adventure with the Dwarves.

“I suspect his head was so full of all he had seen during his travels, he had to find some way to record it all before he forgot it,” the Istar speculated after Frodo had finished the song and received the adulation of their guests, especially of Mirimë, who had asked who had written it.  Frodo had turned to Olórin for confirmation of what he had deduced, which the Maia had supported.  “No such thing ever happened in the Shire, of course — not during the years of Bilbo’s life, at least — but he saw and heard a good deal during his stays in Rivendell, and even in Mirkwood and Thranduil’s halls.  I sometimes think he felt disappointed that the Hobbits had none of what he would call ‘magic’ about them, and dearly wished to bring some of what he admired about the Elves to the Shire.  By the time he returned home from the trip to Erebor, he had heard the tales of Lúthien and Melian, and had seen some of the fairest of the Fair Folk still residing in Middle-earth.  When I first heard this song, I could hear the echoes of those tales and Bilbo’s own experiences in it.  He never did claim it was his own, of course, but in a manner of speaking, he has left his mark all over it.”

The weaver — a tall and willowy Elf woman with glossy black hair and pale sea-green eyes — nodded her understanding.   “It is a charming song, whoever wrote it.  We have heard tales of your people here in Lórien for many years, Master Frodo, but none of my folk who have sailed West brought with them any of your music.  I could not believe that it had no merit of its own to make those who have heard it disdain it so — to speak the truth, I have often thought those who came with the tales forgot everything else because they were too concerned about their coming voyage to pay more than half a mind to those they were leaving behind.”

Frodo smiled and bowed to the lady as he accepted the goblet of wine Ványalos offered him.  “It’s good to know that we Hobbits have not been entirely overlooked by those in the West, nor completely forgotten by the Elves who left Middle-earth, but I would not think so harshly of them.  As a rule, my people had little to do with any of the Big Folk, and if anyone could be accused of disdain, I’m afraid it would be the Hobbits.  Many of us wanted nothing to do with outsiders, and those like my uncle who came to know the Elves and Dwarves and Men — and Wizards,” he added, inclining his head to Olórin to let him know his part in the history of the Shire was not being overlooked, “were usually considered odd, not quite respectable by Hobbit standards.  I could scarcely blame any of the Fair Folk who passed through the Shire if they did not choose to carry with them any memories of a people who wanted naught to do with them.”

“Yet here you are, Master Baggins,” another of the Elves, Failon, remarked, smiling.  He was unusually tall even among the local Elves, a Noldo almost of a height with Ványalos, dark-eyed, dark-haired, but with a cheerfully sunny personality.  He was noted in the region for two things: his baking talents, which were excellent, even by Hobbit standards, and his skill with the flute, which rivaled that of the local Maiar who favored such instruments. Ványalos had introduced him to Frodo not long after the halfling had first come to Lórien, and their mutual enjoyment of cooking arts had led them to become friends as well. “Some have said that you and your uncle came only because Olórin insisted, but it seems to me that you are quite at home here, in your own right.  You speak our language well for someone who was not raised among the Eldar, and you know many of our customs.  I should not say that you, at least, have wanted little to do with us.”

Frodo laughed after taking a deep draught of the red wine he had been given.  “No, I was always fascinated by tales of the Elves, even before I went to live with Bilbo.  And if I had had any inkling that the person we all knew as Gandalf was so much more than a wandering old Man, I would have pressed him for far more than the tales we were sometimes able to jolly him into telling!  I do miss the Shire, but because of the people I left behind, not the land itself — not anymore.  I found it here, all over again, and I think in time, I will find new friends as well — not to replace the old, of course, but to add to the joy I am finding again in life.”

Failon snorted, but with amusement.  “And that you might have begun to find sooner if Olórin had not waited so long to invite more than one or two guests to this house we built for him.”

The Istar, who had been adjusting one of the harp strings, deliberately struck a very dissonant chord that he knew would make the Elven baker, who was seated nearest him, wince.  From beside the softly glowing central hearth, one of the other guests clicked her tongue.  She was a small woman, delicate-boned and slender but with a visible inner strength, like the taut strings of the harp.  Though her gown was of unassuming dark blue and soft grays, her hair shimmered like moon-washed mithril, caught up in a net of fine dark threads set with silver beads that shone almost as bright as her large gray eyes.  She had been introduced to Frodo as Helyanwë, Olórin’s friend of old who was in the service of Nienna.  Her appearance had made the hobbit wonder how she had come by her name — which, as he recalled, was the High Elven word for rainbow — but the moment he heard her speak her greeting to him, he understood.  The many beautiful colors her name implied came not of her outer aspects, but of her voice and her personality, both of which were as lovely and radiant and as full of the promise of fair days after harsh storms as the rainbow itself.  He quickly knew why she served Nienna the Weeper, and why she and Olórin were friends.  She was a reflection of the hope that sustains and lightens the hearts of those who have suffered long and bitterly, and he shared that hope in full measure.

She turned now to the defense of their host.  “Come now, Failon, you are not being fair.  You came to Aman in the first Crossing, and have been here ever since.  You have never been ill or injured a single day in your entire life, so do show some compassion toward those who have.  Olórin has spent much time away from home on business of the Valar, and if he was especially wearied by his last long journey on their behalf, then he has earned all the peace and rest he wishes.  Even Lord Eru has said as much.  Are you presuming to argue with Him?”

The baker made a soft grumbly sound; Olórin nodded to his supporter.  “Thank you, Helyanwë, you have always been one of the most sensible and gracious of our people.  But I fear Failon has recently spent too much of his time loitering about in the company of Ványalos, so I do not wonder at his impertinence.”

Ványalos sniffed with mild indignation as he hesitated to offer his host the cup he had prepared for him.  “Impertinent I may be, pityandil,” he rebutted, “but it is not a habit I encourage in anyone but myself, and if Failon were my pupil in this, then I would consider him a negligent student, at best.  But it seems to me that the coincidence of the rains changing their pattern to come on the evening of the same day as visitors arrive from other parts of Aman is perhaps not a coincidence, after all.  It is well past time you took back some of the more pleasant parts of the life you knew before you went on that perilous mission to Endorë.”

Olórin acknowledged the truth of that observation, and was given his wine cup in reward.  While the others took the moment to also refresh themselves, the Istar left his harp and joined Helyanwë beside the hearth.  The warmth of it was not needed, for this part of Aman seldom grew very cold, but the low fire held at bay the cool dampness of the rainy night.  “Is this what brings you to Lórien?” he wondered as he settled into the vacant seat nearest hers.  “Lady Nienna was greatly concerned for my welfare during the months of my illness, and I know she continues to watch from afar — through her brother Irmo, if not directly.  Did she send you so that she might have a detailed report to hear from one of her own people?”

Helyanwë laughed as she tucked back an errant strand of her silver hair that had escaped its proper place in the decorative net.  “I have no doubt that she would be pleased by it, but coming here was my choice, not the Lady’s instruction.  You are likely not aware of it, since you have had much more vital matters to concern you since your return to Aman, but I and others have had unusual charges in our care, in recent years.  There were many of the Eldar who fled Middle-earth when it became clear that war with Sauron was drawing nigh once again, and some of those who had suffered through the last such conflict had no desire to be present for another.”

Olórin nodded heavily.  “I know that feeling all too well, I’m afraid.  Had it not been my duty to stand with the Eruhíni and help them oppose him, I might have chosen to flee to the West as well.  I was not there during the battles of the Second Age, but I still remember those of the First far too clearly, and my fear of Sauron’s power came of his deeds I had seen when he was still Melkor’s lieutenant.   Well did he earn the name Gorthaur the Cruel!  But it was responsibility and my duty to the Valar and Lord Eru that kept me to my task, not courage.”

“And your love of Lord Eru’s Children,” she reminded him gently.  “That has ever been your strongest motivation for giving aid to those in Endorë, and I know you well enough to know your heart in this.  Courage has many forms and many guises, my dear Olórin, and most often, it stands behind the humble mask of what is done for the sake of love.  But I have not come to discomfit you with commentary upon that which all your friends and neighbors know for themselves.  Rather, there is a matter concerning several of the Eldar in which I suspect you may be able to provide great assistance.  My journey to Eldamar took me to the city of Alqualondë, in search of an Elven sailmaker by the name of Lindarinë.  I did not know it when I left Nienna’s house, but I have since discovered that you and he have been friends since well before the time of the Revolt.”

“We are,” the Istar acknowledged, “though we have not been as close in the years since his release from Mandos.  He was one of the most joyful persons I knew among the Eldar before those tragic events, and though he has returned to incarnate life, the memories of that time have so dimmed his spirit, he has not been able to find a reason to return to the life of joy he once knew.”

“Until now, that may have been very true,” Helyanwë agreed.  “But not long ago, we found that perhaps there is a reason for him to live again.”  When Olórin regarded her with puzzlement, she explained.  “As I said, almost four years ago, by the count of time in Endorë, when the conflict with Sauron began to erupt into open war, many of the Firstborn came hither to escape what they thought might well prove to be the triumph of the Shadow over Middle-earth.  As you doubtless know, Círdan and his shipwrights were busy indeed, preparing vessels to carry those who wished to pass into the West.”

“Not only Círdan,” Olórin said with a sigh.  “Some who knew such craft still lived in Dol Amroth, and they were also hard pressed to use their skills to build ships, or to teach their craft to those who wished to sail West and were unwilling to wait.  Most fled to Mithlond and joined Círdan and his people when the Southrons first stirred and began to press the borders of Gondor some years ago, but a few held out until the war opened in earnest along the southern borders.  They then either fled to safer regions or took ship themselves.  I had heard that several planned to return to the lands that had been their home, should the war end in favor of those who stood against the Shadow, but I do not know if they did.”

“Nor do I, but I do know that some of these lesser shipwrights removed themselves to small settlements along the western shores of Endorë, near the same gulf where the havens lie.  They were not unscrupulous, nor did they deliberately look to profit from the fear of others, but some were unwisely moved by the terror of those who came looking to escape to the West.  If Círdan and his folk did not have a ship ready for their crossing, these others were willing to craft smaller vessels to allow them to leave sooner.”

The Istar’s dark eyes widened, so extremely that they caught the light of the flickering fire and for a moment burned a brilliant blue; the threads of the circlet gleamed bright in answer, as if responding to the thoughts searing through his mind.  “I had not heard of this,” he said, “not from Círdan or Elrond or anyone who might have been privy to such information.”

“Mayhap because it was not common knowledge,” Helyanwë assured him, laying a hand on his arm to calm him before he could become needlessly disturbed by the news.  “Círdan, I have discovered only recently, did know something of this, but it did not go beyond his jurisdiction.  Such incidents were not frequent, and when it became known that they were occurring at all, he made certain they did not continue.  He considered this a private matter, to remain and be dealt with by his own people, and I believe his judgment was correct.  The craftsmen who acquiesced to the pleas of those desperate to depart were not taking advantage of them to increase their wealth; they were genuinely moved to compassion by the anguish of those who begged for their help.  They hurried the building of ships that could go into the West, and did not know the results of their haste.  Only three such vessels set out before Círdan intervened.  All three made the crossing, but not without incident.  Two barely reached the easternmost shore of Tol Eressëa; they landed hard, away from any port, but with no loss of life.”

She sighed, her gray eyes dulled with sadness.  “The third and last was not so blessed.  It foundered in the crossing and would not have come as far as it did if not for the intercession of Uinen, who saw it, lost and desperate, and came to its aid so that it might reach the waters of Aman.  But when he saw what she had done, Ossë her spouse grew angry, as is too often his wont; he felt she had acted improperly, and raised up the waters of the Shadowy Seas, so that the ship she had rescued foundered and was wrecked against the most desolate and rocky shoals of the Enchanted Isles.  All on board were drowned, but for two young Elf children, who were saved by Ulmo himself when he heard the cries for help of those aboard the ruined ship.  Even he came too late to save them all, but the young ones he took safely to Tirion, where great Elven healers lived and could succor them.  They were fair children, even among the offspring of the Eldar, golden-haired and dark-eyed, not babes, though not yet even half-grown, perhaps six or seven years as the mortals count them.  None in Tirion recognized them, and the terror through which they had lived — foundering at sea and like as not witnessing the loss of their parents and close kin — had stolen away their voices.  They would not speak, or could not, and had closed their minds to any who might commune with them in that fashion.”

“I have seen such things before,” Olórin said, his tone heavy with compassion for the orphaned children.  “More often among mortals than among the Eldar, but from time to time, one of the Eruhíni who has suffered a terrible and sudden loss will shut themselves off from others in this way.  Some recover their voices in time, others do not.  Children seem more apt to do so, but only when the fear has passed and they are able to feel safe again.  If they are not known to any of the Eldar here in Aman, it may be long before they can find such security.”

Helyanwë agreed.  “Which is why they were brought to the house of my mistress.  Lord Irmo and Lady Estë both agreed that the hurt which had stolen their voices was not a physical injury, nor one of the mind that he could heal through his skills.  It needed the compassion of his sister Nienna instead, and so they were brought to live in her house.  I have been much involved in their lives since they were found, and it has been time well spent, for it has at last borne fruit.  Only a few weeks ago, they began to speak again, with those of us who have been as family and teachers to them, and we finally learned their names:  the boy is Lére, and the girl is his twin sister Melui.”

This time, an audible gasp escaped the Istar.  “I know of them!  Indeed, I have met them, when they still resided in Middle-earth.  Their mother, Lassea, is one of the Teleri of Mithlond, and has lived in the region of Lindon all her life.  Her spouse, Runel, was one of the Galadhrim of Lothlórien, a boat crafter who came to learn from Círdan, as he was the most skilled of the Eldar in such things.  He fell in love with both Lassea and the Sea, but agreed to stay in Middle-earth until such time as she was ready to cross and perhaps rejoin her parents and other kin who had gone to the West long ago, by choice or by death.  They had wanted children for many years, yet they came to them later than is typical for the offspring of the Eldar.  Lassea took this as a sign that the time for their departure to the West was drawing near, yet when I last saw them, perhaps five years ago, I saw no indication that she was in such haste to leave Endorë that she would risk the lives of her very precious children in anything less than a ship from Círdan’s own hands.”

The silver-haired Maia sighed softly.  “Perhaps, but it would seem that she did just that.  The children, of course, cannot tell us what their parents had meant to do or how they reached the decision about their departure from Middle-earth, but Círdan himself knew more — a great deal more.  Not only does he recognize the twins, but he knows the full tale behind this tragedy.  During the time of the Great Crossing, there were twin brothers among the Teleri who waited for the second crossing, Nolvo and Rávo.  The elder of the two, Nolvo, stayed as part of the group Ulmo had asked to remain behind; Rávo and his spouse went on to Aman at the urging of his brother, who desired that the first  generation of at least one of their families be born in the Blessed Realm.  There was no bitterness at their parting, for Rávo was going to a land of great bliss, and for Nolvo to be asked to remain in Endorë by the Lord of the Seas himself was a great honor.  Toward the end of the First Age, Nolvo took a wife, Inwitári, and they had but one child, Lassea.  During the Great Battle that destroyed and changed Beleriand and much of western Middle-earth, Inwitári was captured by the minions of the Enemy and killed.  Nolvo, still faithful to his promise to remain in Endorë, raised his daughter on his own, and himself was slain during the Third Age in the battle with the Witch King of Angmar.  Thereafter Círdan saw to Lassea’s welfare, though she was full grown and had been well-prepared by her father to live and thrive on her own.  As you said, when her twin children were born after so many years spent childless, she took it as a sign that it would soon be time for her to leave Middle-earth.  When she heard news that the Nine were abroad and Sauron was once again stirring, she felt certain the moment had arrived, and convinced her husband of such.

“They and others of their acquaintance were impatient to leave and unwilling to wait for Círdan to prepare a ship for them, for they had all been in Middle-earth during the war of the Last Alliance, and they were terrified of seeing another, even more dreadful conflict.  Because of what had taken the lives of both her parents, Lassea in particular wanted her children to never know the horrors of such a struggle, so she and others found one of the shipwrights from Dol Amroth who was willing to prepare a vessel for them as quickly as possible.  But as always, haste proved its own undoing, even a haste wrought of love.  Círdan warned them against this, but Lassea would not heed him.”

Olórin had been listening attentively, not interrupting, but when Helyanwë paused, he spoke, giving voice to connections that had entered his mind.  “Lindarinë is Telerin, and if I am not mistaken, his father’s name was Rávo.  If this is the same person of whom you speak, then here there is tragedy heaped upon tragedy.  I know this family, and there is a reason why Lindarinë has so few kin, and none as close as might be.  When Fëanor and his followers came to Alqualondë and used force to take what they had been refused, both Rávo and his wife actively and willfully fought against them.  They slew in anger and hate, not in defense of themselves or others as many of the Teleri did, and I know that Lord Manwë will not permit them to leave Mandos, for they remain as unrepentant of what they did as is Fëanor.  It is a very large part of why Lindarinë can find no joy in life.  He returned in the hope that ere long, his kin would again be with him, but none of them who died that day have yet come forth, either because Manwë forbids it, or because they will not leave so long as others cannot also return.”

Helyanwë let loose a deep breath, full of pity.  “And much the same is true of Lassea’s parents.  Her father, Nolvo, took many lives in battle more cruelly than was necessary because he so hated the orcs who had killed his wife.  Yet he slew far more than mere orcs, taking the lives of many men who had fallen to the darkness or were its unwilling slaves.  He will not admit that any of what he had done was wrong and is worthy of regret, and thus Lord Manwë will not allow Lord Námo to release him.  So long as he remains in Mandos, his wife will not come forth, for she refuses to leave without him.  So Lindarinë remains alone, with only some very distant cousins as family.  He has no wife, no child to give him comfort.  These children of Lassea are his near cousins, and once that had been discovered, I was sent to Alqualondë to see if he might take them into his house and care for them, until their parents win their own release from the Halls of Waiting.  It would do all of them good, I deem, for the children wish very much to have kin of their own kind to guide and watch over them, and I believe it would help Lindarinë find the healing for his own heart as well.  Both he and the twins need family to effect their cure, but he does not believe himself fit for such a task.”

The Istar grumbled softly.  “He is wrong.  Long ago, he was able to help me through my own darkness, and with others found ways to lead me back into the light of life again.  He could do the same for these children, if he would only let go of his bitterness and grief long enough to see it.”

Helyanwë smiled, her eyes glittering.  “I knew you would say this, Olórin my friend, which is why I came here when I realized I could not open his eyes, or his heart to these children.  But I did not come to ask you to go to Alqualondë and attempt to persuade or force Lindarinë to do what he refuses to do, nor to remind him that it is his duty as their last living kin to look after these young ones.  I came to ask if you would consider coming with me to Nienna’s house, to see the children and help determine if they might indeed be the remedy Lindarinë needs, and he theirs.  You are the greatest of all Nienna’s pupils, though you are not of her people, and you are acquainted with all three who are sorely in need of help.  Knowing Lindarinë as you already do, perhaps if you have a chance to see the twins as they are now, you might also see the way to do what is best for all of them.  Thus far, it has eluded those of us who have been charged with the task, and your assistance would be greatly appreciated.”

“I think it’s a splendid idea,” another voice chimed in, reminding Olórin that they were far from alone.  They had an audience, in fact, as the others had been listening to Helyanwë as if she were telling a tale of bygone days.  Frodo had been the one who had spoken, and when the Istar looked up at him with a profoundly skeptical expression, he continued.   “Well, it is, if you think about it.  It seems as if there are quite a number of people in need of help at the moment, people who helped you in the past, and this would be returning the favor, wouldn’t it?”

The hobbit gave him such a pointed look as he spoke, Olórin wondered for a moment what more he might be implying.  It took only a moment more for him to understand.  Others had aided him in the past when he was in sore need of it, and perhaps the person who might best be able to help him determine why he was now having such difficulties in his relations with Manwë was Nienna, who understood more of the complex workings of the heart than any other of the Valar.  “It might at that,” he agreed as he digested these thoughts, nodding slightly as he held Frodo’s eye to let the halfling know that he had grasped his tacit meaning.  “But it is a fair distance from Lórien to Nienna’s house on the western shores, at best some seven days of travel if one goes by land.  I do not know if this would be a good time for such a long journey.”

A frown of worry darkened Frodo’s expression.  “Why not?  Are you feeling ill again?”  He hardly thought such could be possible, not after Eru Himself had intervened to help the Maia before he had dwindled to nothing.

He, and others, were glad to see Olórin shake his head, without hesitation.  “No, of course not.  I am not so foolish as to disregard Lord Eru’s advice concerning the use of His gift, especially not after He gave it to me to help heal the harm that had been caused when other advice of His was ignored.  I’m fine, but this trouble is mine alone, and I would not have you waste even a day of your time here in Aman on a journey you may not wish to make.”

The halfling dismissed that concern with a casual gesture.  “The time is mine to spend as I will,” he reminded his friend, “and since Bilbo and I were told we need not leave this life until we decide we are ready, I will have as much time here as I wish.  But I do understand that you might not want me tagging along.  Is there some reason why I cannot simply stay here while you go?  I'm not a child, in spite of my size, and I’ve grown quite comfortable here — at least since you were made well again.  I wouldn’t mind an opportunity to get to know the other people who live hereabouts without feeling as if I am nothing more than your shadow.”

Olórin’s eyes narrowed as he glanced first at the hobbit, then beyond him to their guests, who were listening to their conversation, either openly or with politely veiled interest.  “Have you felt this way even since you first came to Lórien?  That I have been overprotective?  If so, I apologize, for I never intended to cause you  discomfort....”

Frodo again waved the matter aside.  “And you didn’t.  What I felt were my own misconceptions, not your mistreatment.  Everyone has been quite kind to me, yourself included — and I have very much appreciated it,” he added, looking about to smile at the guests who were watching him.  “But I haven’t been alone for more than a few hours since before I left Middle-earth, and I should like a chance to see how well I fit in here without thinking that someone else must always be responsible for smoothing the path for me, so to speak.  It’s not as if I’m in danger, after all, and even if something were to come up in your absence, I’m certain any of your people would happily summon you if there was need.”

“Indeed we would,” Ványalos agreed with an emphatic nod that set his long braid of red hair dancing across his back.  “I do not think Frodo needs anyone to look after him, Olórin, but if you are concerned that he might become lonely or bored, we will see to it that he does not.  Indeed, I believe there are others who would like an opportunity to improve their acquaintance with him. Few of our people here in Lórien have had the experience of interacting with mortals more than briefly, and this is the first opportunity for some to do so, since Lord Eru granted Frodo and his uncle the grace to live and travel safely in Aman. I would gladly see to it that they take care not to intrude on his solitude when he wishes and requires it.”

One of the taller Maiar, Eäron, snorted.  “So you would appoint yourself his caretaker instead, Ványalos?  Did you not just now say that he needs none?”

Laughter skittered about the room at the way Ványalos both flushed and glared at the sea lord’s servant.  Eäron’s own spouse, Lantara, nudged him for making such a brazen remark, though she too was smiling.  But Frodo came to his neighbor’s aid.  “I do not, Eäron, but neither do I mind the companionship.  Ványalos was the first new friend I found here in Lórien, and if he cares for my well-being, then I am blessed by having such a friend.  And you do not know Hobbits, if you believe that we do not have ways for ridding ourselves of guests who have overstayed their welcome!”

“That is quite true,” Olórin agreed, far more familiar with the ways of the Endorë’s Little People than all the others in the room combined.  “Any folk who enjoy the giving and taking of hospitality as much as the Hobbits need to develop skills for ousting those who would linger long after even their notions of propriety say the time has come to go home.  Small though they might be, the Hobbits have many methods for evicting unwanted guests which even you might find surprisingly effective, Eäron.  He can deal with Ványalos — or with any of you, for that matter, if needs be.”

The Istar sighed, his decision made.  “Very well, then, Frodo, since you have no objections — and indeed it seems you would enjoy some time out of my company — I shall go with Helyanwë.  I do not know how much I will be able to help, but it does indeed seem that there are many matters which could find the beginnings of their resolutions in the house of Nienna.”

III

On the farthest of the western shores of Aman, along the endless strand of the Ekkaia and not far from the very Doors of Night, Nienna had come after the shaping of Valinor and there built her home, away from the other residents of the Blessed Realm.  It was a desolate land and thus had always been, not lush with green as the plains and forests, nor towering and majestic as the mountains of the Pelóri, nor as vast and unsleeping as the great seas.  It was a place where the clouds often lowered over the land below, which itself was bleak, giving sustenance to the unimpressive growing things that perched upon the rocky bluffs against the sea, or found ways to root themselves in the sands and broken stones where the surf pounded in ceaseless rhythms of the tide and the wind.  Few of the kelvar made their homes here, for there were many more places in Aman for them to live and thrive with greater ease.  It was a place of deep quiet, interrupted only by the constant voices of wind and sea that battered the shores and stony hills.

Most people looked upon this land and wondered how anyone could choose to make it their home.  Surely, some thought, only a cold and heartless person would make such a choice, for only an unfeeling heart could find anything of worth in grim desolation.  Olórin had thought much the same thing, the first time he had come to Nienna’s house, but later, when he had come in terrible need of isolation, wanting nothing more than to hide his shame and numb the pain he had felt after Aránayel’s cruelty, he had learned much about the Weeper and her home that he had not grasped before.  He had spent considerable time alone during those days when he had resided here at Manwë’s instruction, wandering the seemingly empty lands that were Nienna’s domain; in time, he came to realize why she had let him do so.  There was wisdom in the stillness, understanding to be found in silence away from the clamor of others’ thoughts and feelings.  Like all of his kind, he perceived the presence of his fellow Ainur as a wordless sound, forever pressing against him like a noise that increased with the numbers of others around him, and diminished the farther he went into solitude.

Only once had he ever known total silence, both physically and mentally: during the time after his death in Moria, when he had become untethered from any physical existence and was set adrift outside the circles of time and space.  He had been nowhere, then, and nowhen; he could not perceive anything but himself, not the presence of a world about him, material or immaterial, nor even the passage of time.  It had been the Void in its uttermost sense, and if that had been what Melkor experienced every time he went into that nothingness to seek the Flame Imperishable, then Olórin did not wonder that at length he had been driven to an utter madness that would have destroyed everything, had he been able to achieve his goals.

The quiet of Nienna’s realm was not so disturbing to the Istar, and had not been for a very long time.  He knew why she had come here, and what benefit she derived from such a dwelling place.  Now that he appreciated it, he enjoyed the times he spent here as ones of peace in which he could find  focus for his spirit and greater understanding of all the facets of Arda and those who inhabited it, Ainur and Eruhíni alike.  When he and Helyanwë arrived, using the swift movement of their kind rather than the longer physical journey across the land between the western shores and Lórien, they came to a place that was the accustomed point of arrival, a broad area atop a stone bluff that overlooked the sea on one hand, and looked up to Nienna’s dwellings on the other.

As they gazed upon it, an errant shaft of sunlight played across the dark slates of the large granite and glass structure that was called Nienna’s house. Only among the Valar would such a place be thought of thus; anywhere else in Arda, even among the Maiar and the most noble of the Elves, it would be considered a mansion.  Yet for all its size, it was more simple than most other dwellings of the Valar; its only embellishment was the drama of the world about it, and that needed no enhancement to steal one’s breath away.  The skies above them were thick with leaden clouds, pierced through in places with searing patches of blue and shot with ribbons of white; the spray of the heavy surf that roared against the dark stone bluffs filled the air, both in dampness and in scent.  The wind blew down from the north, along the strand, chill after the pleasant warmth of Lórien, stirring the raiment of the Maiar, driving the clouds ever on, bending low the dry sea grass that here and there sprang up between the rocks.

It was on just such a day that Olórin had come here many years ago, arriving in this very spot.  He remembered how he had felt, then, pitifully young and ignorant and in pain he could not understand.  He had made the journey only because it had afforded him the excuse he desired to flee Ilmarin, and the unbearable circumstances that had caused his pain.  He felt a very human thickness gather in his throat as he recalled the last time he had been in this land, again flying from the halls atop Taniquetil to escape the pain of another unexpected betrayal.  On the first of those days, long ago, Manwë had risen to his servant’s aid, and had bid him remain with Nienna to find the healing he had so desperately needed.  But when Olórin had come here but a few months ago, fleeing Manwë himself, the Elder King had not come in search of him, or asked after him; he had left that task to Ulmo and Nienna.

Was that, Olórin wondered, perhaps a facet of why he was finding it so difficult to fully forgive his lord?  Did he harbor some lingering perception that Manwë had not cared enough?  If so, it was a misperception, and Olórin knew it, for he had deliberately hidden himself from Manwë, and in the days that had followed, the Lord of the Air had done all he could to help find a way to undo the harm he had wrought.  He would have done anything to make right the wrong he had caused — so why could Olórin not find it in him to say the simple words that would end this tension between them?

The sound of a voice nearby reminded him that he was not alone.  “You are thinking too much, Olórin, and that has never boded well,” Helyanwë said, her tone light enough to let him know that she was not pressing for information that was none of her business, but grave enough to make him aware that she was able to sense more than perhaps he intended to project.  “You did not say as much before we made ready to leave your home, but I cannot know you and not know when something is troubling you.  I will not ask what, since that information is yours to keep or to share as you choose, but I will say that I could not help but feel that this journey might have benefit for more than those of the Eldar I seek to help.”

Olórin’s eyes slipped away from his study of Nienna’s house and the play of light upon it to regard his companion with a wry smile.  “I shan’t ask if this conclusion was reached on your own or with the help of others, since I know you need no help to read the hearts of those for whom you care.  A skill you learned well from Lady Nienna, long before I first made your acquaintance.  I do wish to help Lindarinë and his kin as much as I am able, for I owe him greatly, yet there is a personal matter I desire very much to discuss with the Lady, if she will.  But I will postpone my business until after I have done what I can for you, if you wish.”

Helyanwë shook her head, a momentary gleam of sun glittering on the silver beads of her netted hair.  “There is no need for such haste,” she assured him.  “Indeed, I think it would be better if you saw to your own needs first, if you are able, for it would doubtless clear your mind and allow you to focus better upon the matters for which I asked you to come.  And do you truly question whether or not the Lady would speak with you any time you asked?”

He conceded the point and they started the walk along a path set with flags of slate and granite that led from the seaside bluff to the entrance of Nienna’s home.  “No.  Others may call her the Weeper, but I have long been aware that Lady Nienna is not as cold and grim as many think.  Perhaps that was why she was so willing to teach me, because I was willing to see her as she is and not as her reputation paints her.  Pity is something greatly misunderstood, both here and in Endorë.  Pride so often blinds one to its true nature, prompts those who would not be seen as weak to scorn it as an unneeded prop for those not stern enough to weather the storms of life.  I have been rash and impatient and foolish, far too many times, but that manner of pride is not in my nature, nor in Lady Nienna’s.  And yet the Eruhíni are so vulnerable to it...!”  He shook his head, remembering the many people not of his own kind he had met over the years, especially during his most recent sojourn in Middle-earth.

Though she had not participated in that venture, and knew little of the Atani, Helyanwë nonetheless understood.  “It brought doom upon the Noldor, and upon far too many of our own folk.  I have heard what became of your fellow Istari, and although I am saddened to hear that all of them fell away from your mission, the manner in which all but Aiwendil appear to have done so does not surprise me.  Curumo and Alatar in particular knew this kind of pride far too well long before this embassy began, and they learned it from others who demonstrated what they saw to be its more pleasurable aspects.  Melkor was not the only one of the Valar who knew such arrogance, though he was far greater a master of it than anyone else.”

Olórin chuckled softly as he clicked his tongue.  “Such disloyalty does not become you, old friend.  Surely you would not count your own mistress in this....”

She made a delicate sound that was nonetheless clearly a snort.  “Perhaps not, though she will be the first to admit that she has had her own moments of ill-chosen pride.  Others would not be so honest.  Is it a matter of pride that is troubling you?  I will not believe you if you say you have been guilty of such a thing.”

“I would not tend to believe it, either,” the Istar admitted as they reached the broad steps of polished dark marble that led to the main entrance of the great house.  “But perhaps I have been and cannot see it, and thus am the cause of my own worries.  Do not concern yourself overmuch on my account, Helyanwë, please.  This is very much a personal matter, and from what you have told me of the youngsters in your charge, you have more than enough to keep you occupied.”

“But never so much that I cannot also care for a troubled friend.  I will do as you request, of course, but should you change your mind and wish for any help I can give, you have but to ask.”

He smiled as they came to the burnished silver and glass doors that opened with only a thought as they approached.  “Of that I have no doubt.  Yet allow me a chance to deal with this on my own.  I cannot help but feel that having spent two thousand years bearing the burden of care and worry for all of Endorë has left me a bit out of practice when it comes to handling such affairs of my own.  I need the exercise, I think.”

Helyanwë laughed, kindly.  “Perhaps so.  Then I will continue on to see how the young ones are faring.  I did not argue with Lady Nienna when she asked if I would undertake the task of  investigating their origins and family connections, but I do admit that I did not wish to leave them with other caretakers.”

Olórin's eyes glittered even as they passed into the dimmer light beyond the doorway.  “What you are experiencing sounds to me very much like the trait the Eruhíni, especially the mortals, call ‘maternal protectiveness.’  A very interesting phenomenon, Helyanwë, and one I think suits you admirably.  You may wish to discuss it with Melian, someday, as only she of our people has any great and direct experience with it.”

“I may do that, when the twins are properly settled.  For now, they are residing in the little house where the Elves who occasionally come to visit Lady Nienna are quartered.  You will find me there, when you have finished.”  With that and a gracious gesture, she headed off down the corridor that headed north out of the entranceway.

She did not tell Olórin where he might find Nienna herself, and the Istar did not ask; he knew.  Unless she was occupied with matters that demanded her presence elsewhere, the Vala could ever be found in the great hall that was the entire western portion of the house.  There, facing the sea and the Doors of Night, were many wide windows that afforded a clear view of the world beyond, stone terraces that overlooked the towering bluffs and open skies and pounding surf.  Nienna went there not to weep, but to ever contemplate matters of the heart and its ways that brought understanding and wisdom and compassion for all that lived.  There had Olórin learned from her, many times since they had come to Arda, and he could sense her familiar presence in that place with scarcely an effort.

As he went down the corridors that led to the hall, he noticed that as always, the house was quiet — not silent like a tomb, but merely quiet.  The echoes of voices and the distant roar of the sea and wind could be heard, if one paid heed to know them for what they were.  They were the sounds of the living world, and he wondered at them no more than he wondered at the fact that so many of his people chose to live in it in the forms of the Eruhíni, when it was not essential to their being.  He himself had spent many years in Arda without a visible fana, at work studying and helping the Eldar before the emergence of Men.  Yet in this realm of substance and hue and shape, it had always seemed to him to be a way of hiding, moving through it and among its inhabitants, unseen.  Many of the Ainur understood this, and though some preferred to remain without a body visible, most of even the greatest maintained a form able to seen by all, even when they were not among the Eruhíni.  Thus they built themselves mansions and halls and homes, and therein dwelt to share also in that part of incarnate life.

Olórin generally did not reflect upon this, for elsewhere in Aman, incarnate life abounded and their imitation of its form seemed quite natural; but here, in a land many considered desolate, few saw the point of it.  That they also saw only the lonely sadness of the place explained their attitudes, but he had long since seen past such illusions to the beauty beneath.  Others would walk down this same passage, hear the distant echoes of sound and call them mournful; he listened to them and heard but another part of the Great Song that was needed to bridge between the dark notes of a lament to the bright song of rejoicing.  It seemed so simple to him, as the rainbow cannot be without first the rain, that what truly made him wonder was how others who were certainly more intelligent and perceptive than he could not see this.

Of course, he had his own areas of blindness; if he hadn’t, he would not have been here now, seeking the Lady of the house.  In his heart he felt the touch of a wordless but warm welcome, and knew that he was on the right path.  He lengthened his stride to cover the distance more swiftly, and at last came to the nearest entrance to Nienna’s great hall.

The sun had broken through the clouds and now poured through the wide walls and roof of glass like water filling a clear vessel.  The chamber was all aglow with it, and in such radiance, the true colors of Nienna’s home were revealed in all their simple splendor.  The polished stone of the floors gleamed as brightly as the silver of the plain but finely wrought furnishings; the carpets that lay upon them and the hangings of the wall were not elaborate, but their fibers that seemed dark and dull in the shadows showed many vibrant colors in the sunlight.  Tall doors of silver and crystal opened onto a terrace that gave a magnificent view of the sea and sky; before them was Nienna’s chair, carved of stone, washed with silver, and set with cushions of fine woven cloth the blue of midnight.

The Lady herself sat upon it in a gown of the same deep hue, gazing out upon the world as her thoughts and her heart wandered its vastness, ever in search of greater understanding.  She did not stir when Olórin entered, for she knew without seeing that he was there, but when he paid his wordless respects by kneeling before her, the student ever willing and ready to learn, she smiled, her eyes shining, but not with tears.  She spoke no word at first, either aloud or in thought, but bent forward and gently kissed the top of his lowered head.  He looked up and smiled in return as she leaned back in her chair.

“It gladdens my heart to see you again, Olórin,” said she, gesturing for him to find a more comfortable seat.  He did, though he remained on the softly carpeted floor before her, a place from which he had learned much about compassion and wisdom.  “Not so long ago, I had nearly lost all hope for you, and  it brings me great joy to see you restored to health and strength once again.”

“Thanks to Lord Eru,” he agreed.  “I am not yet wholly restored, though I know it is but a matter of time and patience.  Any improvement is a blessing, and each day I find new reasons to be thankful.  Did I remember to thank you, my lady, for rescuing me when I so foolishly exhausted myself into all but nothing, practically upon your doorstep?”

Nienna’s eyes gleamed as a shaft of brighter sunlight pierced the clouds above and fell upon her.  “I cannot recall if you spoke the precise words, but it matters not.  Our friendship is old enough so that none are necessary.  I have long known your heart, whether you wish it or no, and I knew from the moment I lifted you up from the shore that for all you were broken and weak and in despair, you were grateful for my aid.  And I know what brings you here now, even though you have yet to speak of it.”

The Maia laughed, and though the stone and glass of the walls and floors made the sound ring more loudly, it did not seem at all out of place.  “I knew there would be no need for me to say anything at all to you. Indeed, it has never been necessary for me to inform you of such matters; you always seem to know before I can even form the thoughts of what I might wish to say.”

“And does this offend you?”

He shook his head; the same sunlight that shone in Nienna’s eyes glinted off the circle of crystal threads all but lost against the brightness of his pale hair.  “You already know the answer to that as well.  No, my lady, it does not offend me.  Truthfully, it makes the situation easier for me, for it means that I need not find ways to say aloud what I either cannot say or have said too often, to no avail.  Do you have any notion at all why I cannot find it in me to forgive Lord Manwë, even though I very much wish to do so?”

One corner of the Valië’s smile quirked wryly.  “I have many notions as to why this might be so, but only one which I believe to be the truth.  I have watched you from afar these past months, and I have felt your inner struggle with this difficult question.  You are near to the answer, I think, but perhaps too near to see it clearly.”

Olórin grunted softly.  “I suspected as much.  And what might this answer be?”

Nienna favored him with a mildly amused sidelong glance.  “If I told you, you still would not see it, I fear.  I look into your mind and your heart, and I perceive that it is already there, but in pieces you are trying so hard to join together, you do not know that you are attempting to do so in the wrong fashion.  If I said to you, no, do it this way, you would try, but you would fail, for you had not found the truth by yourself, and there is much to be learned in so doing.”

The Istar's smile faded; as he turned his head away, distress settled upon his fair features.  “If you will not help me, then what am I to do?  I cannot continue to stumble blindly, searching for an answer that if it does not come may forever estrange me from Lord Manwë.  I am his servant, and I entered that service gladly and willingly; I do not wish for it to end because I have not learned your lessons of compassion and forgiveness well enough.”

The Lady leaned forward and with one slender hand touched Olórin’s face and turned it back toward her.  When she had caught his eyes with her own, she smiled compassionately.  “You have learned every lesson I ever set you well enough, and more.  Not a one of my own people can make that claim, for they tend to concern themselves with one aspect of our duties here in Arda and not many, as you have done.  You are not blind, dear Olórin, only weary and confused and uncertain after too many long years toiling in the Darkness and amid the poisons of the Enemy.  Did you hear what our Father told your young friend, Frodo, of the healing of his own wounded heart?”

Again, he nodded.  “He told Frodo that he had done much on his own by forgetting his troubles for a time and turning the focus of his mind and heart to the welfare of another.  If what happened to me served no other purpose, then that alone would have more than made it worth whatever cost I paid, to help hasten Frodo’s recovery from all the hurts he took from the Enemy.”

“And if the advice of the One was good for your small friend, it is also good for you.  To find the answers you require, you must turn away from them for a time and occupy yourself with the welfare of others.  In so doing, you will see what now eludes you, and in the end profit not only those whom you will aid, but yourself as well.”

Olórin considered her words for several long moments.  “And I suspect that what Lord Eru said to Frodo was not meant for his ears alone.  Nothing He ever does is mere coincidence, and He could not have failed to see what was doubtless already troubling me, though I knew it not at the time.  But are you guessing what might be, my lady, or do you foretell with greater certainty?”

She chuckled softly.  “You know as well as I that so long as all of Eru Ilúvatar’s children of thought and of flesh have wills of their own, there is no certainty for the future, only speculation.  But some guesses are more educated than others, and founded on a solid basis of knowledge and understanding and fact.  I know you, I know the problem you wish to resolve, I see the root of it, and I see how it may be plucked out — but you must see it for yourself, else like the weed that grows deep roots, you will attempt to remove it in the wrong way, leave behind the most vigorous part, and in time, the weed will come forth again.  What I suggest is what seems to me to be the best way for you to learn what is needed to uproot the whole of the problem, and put an end to the trouble once and for all.  Are you willing to make the attempt?”

The Maia did not hesitate before nodding.  “Of course, my lady.  You have never advised me in any way that was not to my benefit in the end, and I will not begin to doubt you now.  And is your advice now to help Helyanwë find a way to unite the orphaned twins with their cousin?”

“Or whatever way will be to the greatest benefit of all involved.  Do whatever you are able to help them, and their cousin in Alqualondë, and you will certainly be rewarded in ways that are now beyond your perception.  Such was the case after you returned to us from your recent difficult mission in Endorë, was it not?”

He smiled crookedly.  “In the end, yes, but it certainly did not seem so at first.  Lord Eru’s wisdom is as infinite as His humors, and ever He finds new ways to remind us that there is no evil that cannot in time be undone by His will.  Then I will do as you bid, my lady, and set aside my own troubles to see to those of these orphaned children.  I will be glad if there is indeed something I can do to help them, and Lindarinë, for he did much to bring light back into my life.  I would do the same for him and his kin, if I am able.”

“Of that I am certain,” Nienna said as she stood and held out her hands to help the Maia from the floor.  The assistance was not necessary, but the friendly gesture was well-meant, and therefore much appreciated.  “Perhaps someday, I shall ask my brother Námo to consider allowing you into his Halls to discuss matters of patience and wisdom with Fëanor.  He has nursed his grievances and defiance almost as long as you have waited for the chance to give recompense for a debt to one whose life would not have been ruined had Fëanor not led his ill-considered revolt.”

When he was on his feet again, Olórin laughed, the sound as bright as the sunshine.  “My lady, you honor me with your high opinion of my value as a counselor, but I fear this effort would be utterly wasted, unless Fëanor’s heart has greatly changed during my recent sojourn in Endorë.  I greatly admire his skills as a craftsman and the quickness of his mind; this he knows, but there are certain issues about which we have never seen eye-to-eye.  He and I were once acquainted, and he was greatly flattered by my admiration of his work in fashioning the palantíri, but when I did not support him in his desire to regain the silmarils, seeing it clearly for the unhealthy obsession it was, it put an end to what favorable relations there were between us.  I have a reputation for stubbornness, and I know it, but he is far more stubborn than I.  My difficulty in forgiving Lord Manwë is naught but a child’s tantrum compared to his resolute anger toward any who opposed him in the matter of the silmarils.  If you sent me to try to persuade him to change his mind over a matter about which he has remained obstinate for three ages, you will be sending one rock to beat upon another.  It would serve no purpose at all — which I am sure you know quite well indeed.  Never let anyone tell you that you do not have a sense of humor, my lady.  It may not be to the liking of all, but it is uniquely your own.”

She chuckled.  “And I am pleased to see that you have recovered from your illness and weariness well enough to appreciate it, once again.  For indeed I did not mean for you to take my suggestion seriously, as I know too well that Fëanor is unrepentant in his all-consuming obstinacy, and his refusal to admit to any of his own willful wrongdoing.  I grieve that those things he might yet do for the sake of Arda will remain undone, so long as he will not bend his stiff neck — as others have also done, to their own loss, most of all.”

The Maia knew she was referring to Saruman, who, like Fëanor, had fallen to evil out of pride, had refused to repent of the wickedness he had brought upon himself and others, and had rejected forgiveness when it was offered, for to accept would mean to admit his own fault.  He saw also why she had mentioned Fëanor: it caused the Istar to remember that sometimes, betrayal took root in another’s madness, a folly for which no one but they themselves were to blame.

He bowed to her, graciously acknowledging her gentle reminder.  “Thank you, my lady, for your wise counsel, as well as your concern.  By your leave, I will go now and join Helyanwë and your young guests.  I do not know what help I might be able to give, but any that is mine to offer, I will.  My debt to Lindarinë is old indeed, and it is well past time that I found a way to repay it.”

IV

The guest house in which the twins were currently residing was a short distance north of the main hall, slightly downslope toward the sea along the line of granite cliffs.  It was not as small as the cottages in which many of the humans lived in Middle-earth, but in comparison to Nienna’s personal dwelling, it was vastly more cosy, about the size of Butterbur’s inn in Bree.  Nienna did not often have many guests, but frequently those Elves who had just been released from the Halls of Mandos came first to her house for a time, to settle back into life in the incarnate world before moving on to rejoin their kin elsewhere in the Blessed Realm.  There were no such guests about now, only the two little ones who were awaiting their own release of sorts, hopefully into the care of their cousin in Alqualondë.  Nienna accompanied Olórin on his errand there, not because he required direction, but because she wanted to confer with Helyanwë, now that she had returned from her mission of inquiry.

The house was not entirely quiet when they arrived; the sound of a childish voice singing could be clearly heard, along with the notes of silver pipe.  Nienna smiled softly as they entered and the music became more easily heard.  “If there has been one thing that has helped these children through their difficulties, it is their surprising love of music.  As you can hear, Melui is an excellent singer, and Lére is quite skilled with the little pipe.  When they were first brought to us by Ulmo, they were taken to Valmar, where they discovered how very much music is a part of the lives of all our people.  Their parents had shared that love, and it gave the little ones considerable comfort to find that the people with whom they had been forced to live at least would provide them with that familiarity.”

Thought creased Olórin’s brow as they headed toward the source of the sounds.  “I wonder if this will prove to be useful or a hindrance,” he admitted.  “Lindarinë was once tremendously fond of music, but from what I know, he abandoned it utterly after his return from the Halls of Waiting.  Introducing him to two youngsters who have such a passion could either revive his own or cause him to reject them all the more, as a reminder of what he has lost.”

“I have considered this,” Nienna said, gesturing for the Maia to precede her down a corridor that led to a small courtyard at the center of the house.  “Yet once, you were also persuaded to give up sorrow and sadness and return to a life of joy.  Might some of your own experiences of the distant past provide the insight to help you solve this new riddle?”

He sighed.  “Possibly.  I’m flattered by your faith in my abilities, Lady Nienna, and I hope that I am able to justify it.  My experience with ones so young is not as extensive as might be required.  I have never avoided them, neither here nor when I was in Middle-earth, and I very much enjoy their company, but my work has seldom allowed me to indulge in the pleasures of sharing time with them, more than briefly.  I would not want to jeopardize their future happiness by erring out of ignorance.”

The Lady smiled.  “I have considered this as well,” she assured him, “and I suspect that whate’er may betide with the young ones, you are not as ill-prepared to deal with it as you think.  Yet I understand your concern, and I will see to it that you shall not be required to shoulder this particular task alone.  Come now, I am eager to hear Helyanwë’s news, and I should not be at all surprised if she has already informed the twins that you are coming to meet them.  They ever hunger for the company of others.”

The double doors at the end of the hallway opened onto a small but attractive inner courtyard that surprised many who saw it for the first time.  Though the land all about seemed quite bleak and inhospitable, here it was lush with growing things, such small trees and shrubs and flowers that could grow well in the somewhat limited light.  The Elves who came to this house after their release from the Halls of Waiting were always glad to find such familiar and comforting beauty in the midst of their temporary lodgings, and they contributed much to tending the garden and encouraging it to flourish in all the seasons of the year.  When none of the Eldar were about, one of Yavanna’s people who resided in Nienna’s house saw to its care, and it took but a glance to see that no plot of land was more lovingly tended anywhere in Arda.  The fragrance of the sun-warmed blossoms met the new arrivals the moment the doors were opened, wafting to them along with the notes of the children’s song.

The pair were at the center of the garden along with Helyanwë, who had seated herself on a comfortable bench to listen.  The tune was a welcoming song of the Teleri of Mithlond, often used to greet ships that sailed up the firth of Lhûn to the ports at the Havens.  Olórin recognized it; the notes of that same song had greeted the ship which had brought him to Middle-earth as the last-comer of the Istari.  The sound of it brought a smile to his face which remained as the last of the notes faded and the others turned to greet them.  As Helyanwë rose to welcome her mistress, the twins made small respectful bows to Nienna, then turned curious eyes to her unfamiliar companion.

Helyanwë moved gracefully toward the newcomers.  “Greetings, my lady,” she said as she made her small obeisance to Nienna.  “And thank you for allowing me to spend a few moments with the twins before tendering my news to you.”

“No thanks are needed,” Nienna replied, favoring the children with a smile, which widened when she noticed that their attention was not upon her.  “I knew you would wish to reassure yourself that all is well with them.  Have you warned them that there was a visitor here to see them?”

“Indeed yes, and they are quite intrigued.”  She glanced back at the youngsters, who were still in the process of appraising Nienna’s companion. 

Olórin noted that they had changed very little in the years since he had last seen them, perhaps a year before their unfortunate departure from Middle-earth.  They would be about twelve, now, he reckoned, yet they appeared as human youngsters of perhaps seven or eight.  That was typical of the Eldar, he knew, for though they learned speech and other basic skills much sooner than human infants, their physical maturation was slower, and would not reach full adulthood until they were about fifty.  Although they were small, perhaps the same height as Frodo, they were clearly Elven, slender and fair of face, with unusually thick golden hair that was the legacy of their father.  The girl’s was long and had been pulled back into an intricate plait that fell to her waist; the boy’s had been cropped so that it fell not quite to his shoulders, a more manageable length for an active youth who was still in a childish stage where he did not want to in any way resemble his twin sister.  Their garb was simple, of fashions suitable for their age and their people, and their dark eyes studied the Istar intently.  He smiled, well aware that they were watching, and though they looked away for a moment, their scrutiny soon returned to him, clearly attempting to take some inscrutable child’s measure of whether or not he was acceptable.

Helyanwë called for them to come meet their visitor, and though they responded politely enough, they continued to stare.  The girl, Melui, wore an oddly puzzled expression, as if she was trying to see something she thought should be there but could not quite bring into focus; her brother Lére’s face crinkled into a frown.  “You’re not an Elf,” he said, a declaration without the slightest hint of doubt.

Though Helyanwë appeared perplexed by this odd reaction, Olórin was amused, though he did not allow it to show until he knew how the child would accept it.  “Were you told that I was?” he wondered, curious rather than accusing.  He glanced from Lére to Helyanwë, one eyebrow lifting querulously.

“Not by me,” she assured the Istar.  “I scarcely had time enough to mention that a guest would be coming soon before they presented me with the song they had practiced for me.  Why do you say that, Lére?” she wondered.  “Did I say something to give you that impression?”

The boy shook his head.  “No.  But I thought he was when I saw him come into the room.  For a moment, he looked like Father, but he’s too short, and his ears look strange.”

Melui nudged him with one toe.  “No they don’t,” she scolded, clearly exasperated, even though the three Ainur were amused.  “And he doesn’t look at all like Father.  You’re just imagining things because almost everyone here has dark hair, like mother, and he doesn’t.”

Lére sniffed.  “I suppose — but he’s still too short.  Mother told us all the people in the West were tall and fair, not short.  She’s taller than he is.  Why are you so short?” he asked the Istar with the bluntness only a child can use without reproach.

Olórin was having difficulty suppressing his laughter, so he decided to say something before he lost his composure.  “Why are you so short?” he countered, his amusement restrained in his eyes.

“Because I’m just a boy!” Lére answered rather indignantly, as if the question was completely absurd and therefore a mean joke.  “I’m supposed to be short because I’m young!”

“Well, so am I, in a manner of speaking.  I am the youngest of all my people, so does it not make sense that I also would not be as tall as the others?”

It was a very reasonable answer; some of the lad’s indignation faded in its enlightenment.  “I suppose it would,” he allowed after taking a moment to digest it.  “But that can’t be why your ears look funny.  They aren’t like ours, or like theirs.”  He gestured to the two Ainu women.  “Why not?”

Olórin’s glance flicked briefly toward Helyanwë, clearly asking, Is he always this inquisitive?  But he remained amused, and provided an answer as he took a seat on the bench she had vacated, near the twins.  “Because I am the way I am, just as you are the way you are.  I have been reliably informed that they look rather like those of Hobbits, not Elves, so that would explain the difference, wouldn’t it?”

“What’s a Hobbit?” Melui asked despite her efforts to be more polite than her nosy brother.

“Ah, you probably call them halflings, if you have heard of them.”

“Of course we have!” Lére said, more intrigued now than insouciant.  “Our father came from Lothlórien, and he passed through the land of the halflings whenever he journeyed to Mithlond, before he met Mother.  He’s told us all about it — the halfling land, that is.  He said we might go to visit it someday, on our way to see Lórien.  But we never had a chance before we sailed West.”

The Istar nodded, his expression sober.  “So it would seem.  I lived in Middle-earth until I too came West again, quite recently, but before I left, I spent a good deal of time in both the Shire and Lothlórien.  I even visited Mithlond from time to time.”

“Did you know our parents?” Melui asked, clearly torn between curiosity and a desire to refrain from asking rude questions.

Olórin smiled softly.  “I did indeed, though not as well as I might have wished.  There was much to be done, and my work did not often allow me to linger in any one place for long.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed at that remark, studying him more intently; they suddenly opened wide as she gasped in shocked recognition.  “Mithrandir!” she cried, her hands flying to her mouth.

The three elders looked at her with surprise; Lére, however, made a rather sour face.  “That’s silly,” he insisted.  “I remember Mithrandir — he was old, Melui!  Why, he had a beard twice as long as Círdan’s, and wrinkles, and he was a Man!”

“No, he wasn’t!” the girl insisted right back.  “Remember the stories Father and Mother told us about him?  He had to be at least a thousand years old, and Men can’t do that — live so long, I mean.  Besides, you’re not looking, Lére, or listening.  He is Mithrandir, I’m sure of it.  Look at his eyes!”

Her twin made it plain that he was doing this only to humor her, but when he did as instructed, a moment later, his skepticism turned to shocked surprise.  “He is!” he gasped, doubt vanished, though he then turned his glare on Helyanwë.  “Why didn’t you tell us?” he wanted to know, a note of hurt in his voice.

She was honest.  “Because I did not know you knew him as such, Lére.  I had no idea you had met Olórin when he lived in Middle-earth until he told me yesterday, and I knew nothing of his other names until he returned to Aman not so very long ago.”

Melui’s already pale face turned ghostly.  “Did you come to take us back to Middle-earth, Mithrandir?” she asked.

The Istar could clearly sense her distress at such a notion, and could easily guess at the cause, considering the results of their last voyage across the Sundering Sea.  He shook his head.  “No,” he said gently, “there would be no point in it, even were it possible.  What kin are left to you reside here in Aman, I am told, and I should think it would be best for you to be with them, until your parents are returned to you.”

Lére sniffed, rather unkindly.  “There’s only one kinsman of ours here,” he pointed out, “and he doesn’t want us.”

Olórin studied the boy carefully before responding.  “Are you certain of that?  Have you met him?”

“No,” Lére grunted, “but I don’t have to meet him to know it.  If he wanted us, we would be living with him, wouldn’t we?”

The Istar glanced at the two women.  Nienna was as serene as ever, but he caught Helyanwë’s  half-hidden wince at that bitter truth.  He sighed.  “Perhaps, but I have also heard it was only recently that you and your sister were able to speak again, and tell others who you were and where you had come from.  I think Lindarinë was likely quite surprised to discover that he had kin among the living, and it may well be that he simply has not had enough time to become comfortable with the knowledge.  He knows you as little as you know him, after all.”

The boy conceded that logic, though not with any great liking for it.  Melui stepped a bit closer to their visitor, almost as if she somehow derived comfort from the presence of someone she had known during their life in Middle-earth, even briefly.  “Helyanwë told us you came from a place called Lórien,” she said quietly.  “Our father did, too, and he always told us it was very beautiful.  Is your home like Father’s home, or do they just have names that sound the same?”

“The names are similar,” Olórin agreed, “and a part of the country in which I live is indeed quite similar to Lothlórien.  It’s not far from my home, but that region is where Lord Irmo and Lady Estë reside, with many of their servants.  I live in an area called the hill country, which is quite beautiful in its own way, very much like the Shire, where the halflings live.”

This intrigued Lére enough to divert him from other unpleasant thoughts.  “Father said the Shire was not very far east of where we lived in Mithlond.  We never had a chance to visit it, but Mother and Father once took us to see the White Towers.  When we climbed to the top of Elostirion, we could see very far, and Father said that much of what we could see to the east was the land of the halflings.  It was very green and pretty, and I thought we should go to visit it straightaway, but Mother said there wasn’t time, we had to return home.  We had to get ready to leave on the ship that would soon take us to the West.”  He snuffled softly.  “I think I would much rather have gone to see the halflings and their homeland instead.”

“Can you tell us about the place where you live, Mithrandir?” Melui asked, an oddly imploring note in her voice.  “I would very much like to hear about it.”

“So would I,” her brother for once agreed.  “It’s not very green here, you know, except in this garden.  I miss the trees that grew near our house back home.”

Olórin looked to Nienna and Helyanwë for their opinions on the matter.  Helyanwë appeared to support the children, and the Lady smiled.  “I see no reason why you should not,” said the latter, glancing from the Istar to the twins, then back again.  “I still would like a moment with Helyanwë to hear her report, and since you came to become better acquainted with the children, this will give you an opportunity.  Other matters can be decided when I return.”

He inclined his head in mute acceptance of her suggestion, knowing it for what it was.  He was not uncomfortable with youngsters — in truth, he considered their company refreshing, since they tended to be simple, as he was at heart, not yet spoiled by the complexities of life — but he had not wished to seem to be an interloper, not after Helyanwë had mentioned her feelings of protectiveness toward them.  When they were gone, before he could ask the pair what they would like to know about Lórien, Lére spoke first.

“Are they going to make us stay here forever if our cousin won’t have us, Mithrandir?” he asked, suddenly seeming much less insolent and more vulnerable.  Uneasiness had crept into both his face and his voice, making his words slightly uncertain.  “I don’t want to stay here.”

Before Olórin could express his surprise, he was startled even more by Melui’s agreement with her twin.  “We’re glad to have a place to live,” she told him, not wanting the Maia to think they were ungrateful.  “Lady Nienna has been very kind to us, and I do like Helyanwë — she makes me think of our neighbor Aerlinn in Lindon, who would teach us and sing with us when Mother and Father were very busy.  But the others....”  Her voice faded on a tremulous note, as if the words she had thought to speak tasted too bitter to let past her tongue.

Lére was less reticent.  “They make me think of the wind in winter, when it blows from the north along the sea.  It whistles so strangely, and it smells very clean, but....”  He shrugged, also unable to continue.

“It’s cold,” Olórin provided, able to sense what they could not say.  “I’m afraid that has always been something of a problem with some of Lady Nienna’s servants.  To protect themselves from being hurt overmuch by feeling the pain of those whom they help, they maintain a distance that is sometimes difficult for those who do are not familiar with their ways to understand.  And there are so few children in Aman these days, I fear some of my people, even Lady Nienna’s folk,  may have forgotten how to deal with them.  Especially here, where most of the Eldar who come are full-grown and have spent many years in the Halls of Waiting.  The skills needed to help them apparently do not work quite so well with those still new to the world.”

Lére wrinkled his nose.  “We’re not babes,” he grumbled.  “But I think I miss more than just the trees.”  His sniff sounded as if it came from more than mere disdain; its source was likely the same as the mist in his sister’s eyes.

Olórin closed his eyes briefly, nodding in sympathy.  “I understand.  It is not easy to be apart from those who have been your family, especially when you do not know when or if you shall ever be with them again.  I had been in Middle-earth a very long time before I first met the two of you, and there were few of my people about.  I seldom saw them, and I could not come home to my friends and those who have been like kin to me until my work was done — over two thousand years.  There were many things I missed during that time, and it would have been a comfort to have had some place in Middle-earth which I could call home for a while, but that was not to be.  It is difficult, forever feeling like an unwanted stranger.”

Melui blinked rapidly, trying to hold back her tears, but one slipped down her cheek despite her efforts.  Irritably, she brushed the traitorous moisture away, and sniffled hard to prevent more from escaping.  “That’s how we feel here,” she confessed softly, lest Nienna be close by and overhear her ingratitude.  “I like Helyanwë, and Lady Nienna is nice.  Some of the others treat us well, but I feel as if the rest would rather we were sent off to Eldamar, where the other Elves could decide what to do with us.  When we heard that Helyanwë was returning with someone who was coming to see us, we were both afraid that it would be someone from Tirion or one of the other cities in Eldamar, come to take us away and make us live with people who aren’t our family because we weren’t welcome here, anymore.”

The Istar wiped another tear from her cheek with a light touch of his fingers.  “Nonsense.  I may not be one of her people, but I have been a student of Lady Nienna’s since long before your parent’s parents came into this world, and I assure you, she would turn away no one in need, not even if Lord Manwë himself commanded it.  She and Helyanwë and many others, I am sure, are concerned for your welfare, more than I think you can see.  You’ve said you are not truly happy here, and she can tell this, whether you speak of it openly or not.  You wish to live in a happier place, where people go about life with more open cheer than they do here.  Am I mistaken?”

The two shook their heads as one.  “Ever since we were brought here, Helyanwë and some of the others have taken us to the spring and autumn festivals in Valmar,” Lére said after rubbing away the dampness in one eye.  “And sometimes, in midsummer, she’d take us to the festival in Tirion or Alqualondë.  She was trying to make us feel better, I think, when we still couldn’t talk.”

“It was a little frightening, at first,” Melui admitted.  “We’d never seen so many people in one place, not even in Mithlond, and in Tirion and Alqualondë, we saw people who looked like they might be our kin — but none were.”

“In a way, perhaps you did,” Olórin speculated with a wan smile.  “There are many Telerin and Noldorin Elves living in both cities, and doubtless there are some who would remind you of your parents.  Not close kin, perhaps, but more distant ones.  Did seeing them make you wish to live among them rather than here?”

Both youngsters squirmed.  “No,” Lére finally confessed.  “It hurt to see people who reminded us of Mother and Father.  We want to be with them, not with strangers.”

“But they said we couldn’t,” his sister added.  “We didn’t understand why not.  People told us they were in the Halls of Waiting, and that they aren’t far from here, but we couldn’t go to them.”

The Maia sighed.  “And rightly so.  The Halls of Waiting are no place for the living, especially not youngsters with all of life still before them.”

Lére nodded sagely.  “We understand that, now — and that’s why we don’t want to stay here, anymore.  It’s too cold, and I don’t think Lady Nienna will let Helyanwë do nothing but take care of us until Mother and Father are allowed to leave the Halls.”

Olórin knew without asking that the boy did not mean cold in the sense of physical climate alone, but also emotional.  He noted that both of the children had subtly moved closer to him, and he did not have to ponder the matter for long to see why.  When they had arrived in Aman, they had known no one.  Not a person in the Blessed Realm was familiar to them in the slightest, save in some unhappy resemblances that reminded them of their terrible loss; even the place in which they now lived was strange to them.  Mithlond and the western shores of Endorë were not always the most hospitable of places but neither were they as bleak as this land between the Halls of Mandos and the Doors of Night.  The chill in the air that was normal for this region was little felt by the Ainur who inhabited it, but it cut both to the bone and the heart of these young ones.  He could not help but feel compassion for them, all the more so because they were not complete strangers.  As he felt his own heart go out to them, pitying their unhappy situation and all they had lost, he perceived that they sought more of him than tales that might distract their minds and give them a moment’s comfort.

He gazed at them long and deep, taking a hand of each in his own; they flinched from neither his touch nor his scrutiny.  At length, he inhaled deeply, then released it slowly.  “You are trying very hard not to ask something of me,” he said without any hint of accusation.  “You would like to return with me, to Lórien.  Perhaps that is not such a terrible thought, but though it may give you some relief from your sadness for a time, I fear it is not the lasting answer you need.  You remember me from before your journey across the Sea — which truly amazes me, I must confess, for others far older and more experienced have not been so perceptive — yet you have known persons here far longer than you ever knew me.  Helyanwë, for one, has done much for you.  She cares for you in ways I cannot, for she knows you much better.  For five years she has seen to your welfare, whereas I was a visitor you once knew for a handful of days, when your parents were still alive.  Would you forget all she and others here have done for you to grasp at memories of a time no power in this world can ever bring back again?”

He had spoken softly and kindly, mindful of what he was able to sense weighing down their already overburdened spirits.  When he asked his question, their eyes dropped, and both looked away, clearly feeling some degree of shame.  “No,” said Melui after a time, in a small voice.  “I am very grateful to Helyanwë, Mithrandir, and to Lady Nienna, truly.  She took us into her house to help us when we were both sick and frightened, and Helyanwë looked after us as if we were her own.  But when she left on errands for the Lady and was gone for weeks, we realized she can’t stay with us forever, or even until Mother and Father come back again.  She has her own work to do.”

“That’s why we thought whoever was coming was going to take us away,” Lére added, also rather quietly.  “Because Helyanwë had been gone for so long.  People have said this is no place for children, and that we should really be some place where there are more of our own kind around to take care of us and teach us.  That’s why I thought you’d be an Elf, like us.”

“An understandable mistake,” Olórin allowed.  “I was asked to come to see if I could find a way to help you because I know your cousin Lindarinë, but I had not thought to take you from this house until some permanent solution was discovered.  Have you been here all the time since Lord Ulmo rescued you at sea?”

Melui nodded, Lére shrugged.  “Most of it,” he said.  “We don’t remember all of what happened on the ship, or things right after, but I remember we were taken to a big city with domes and bells, where people like Lady Nienna talked to us.  We didn’t know until Helyanwë took us to the festival that autumn that the city was Valmar, and it wasn’t until we could talk again that we found out that the people who had often visited us when we were there were Lady Nienna’s brother Irmo and his lady.  And we do get to leave during the festivals, but not the rest of the time.”

“But I don’t think they were trying to keep us shut away,” Melui said.  “I don’t know why we couldn’t talk for so long, but they really didn’t know anything about us for sure until just a few months ago.  That was right before the last spring festival.”

“Still, that’s quite a long time for any visitor to spend here,” the Maia observed as he considered these facts.  “Lady Nienna’s guests seldom stay for long, as is intended, for this place is meant only as a stopping place for the newly released Elves on the way to their return to the lands which were meant for them.  Yet she could not in good conscience send you to your people without knowing where you truly belonged.  I do not doubt that there are many in Eldamar who would gladly give you a home and be as family to you, should Lindarinë remain stubborn; I can think of several who would be delighted to have young ones about them again, and I do not think you would find their company unpleasant.  But  I think first, we must see if there is a way to bend your cousin’s stiff neck.”

Lére grunted, frowning again.  “He won’t.  That’s why Helyanwë went away, wasn’t it?  He didn’t come back with her, and she didn’t say he wanted us to come to him, did he?”

“He did not,” Olórin regretfully confirmed.  “But I know him better than Helyanwë does.  He was once a person very much like your father, as I recall Runel, full of joy and laughter.  Lindarinë has been waiting for far too many years to find such happiness again, and though he seems to push it away whenever it comes near him, I believe he truly wishes to be the person he was before tragedy tore apart his life.  I have been trying, when I can, to help him find his way back, but thus far, I have not succeeded at all.  Would you be willing to give me your help in this?”

They considered the request.  “Would we have to stay here?” Lére asked after he and his twin exchanged shrugs and glances.

The Istar chuckled.  “Not unless Lady Nienna insists.  People who are sad and weary of heart seldom are able to help others who suffer from the same afflictions, and I think both of you feel this way, cut off from people and surroundings that might seem more familiar and pleasant to you.”

“We do,” Melui agreed, nodding so vigorously, her braid danced upon her back like the swishing of a horse’s golden tail.  “Please, Mithrandir, can’t we go back to Lórien with you?  I would like to see places that look like the land where our father was born, and the halflings' homeland.  Even if we cannot stay there, I would like the chance to see it for even a little while.”

“So would I,” Lére chimed in enthusiastically.  “You don’t have to help us here, do you?”

Olórin had the sensation that he was being herded into a corner by two very determined shepherds, but he grasped their motives without difficulty.  He had never been a child in the way they were, but he knew what it was like to be young and eagerly curious, then unexpectedly brought to great sorrow.  The grief alone felt confining, and the need to seek out new experiences, new places, new people simply to know that happiness still existed and could be found was as keen as the thirst of a long and bitter drought.  He quickly contemplated the notion.  His house was certainly large enough to accommodate them, and he had no doubt that Frodo and all his neighbors, Maia and Elf alike, would welcome the youngsters.  He was reasonably certain he could sufficiently see to their welfare, especially if someone who knew the twins better, like Helyanwë, came along to assist.  But there was one major point to consider.

“I shouldn’t think so,” he answered the boy’s question.  “But we cannot decide this without consulting Lady Nienna.  This is her house; it was she who took you in, and she who has directed your care these past five years, though you may not be aware of it.  We must seek her opinion and approval of this notion first.”

“And you have it.”  Nienna’s voice was heard from the same direction in which she and Helyanwë had departed, so suddenly that it startled the trio in the courtyard, the children because they had been focused on other matters, Olórin because he had not anticipated such a blindingly swift response to his unasked inquiry.  The Lady smiled as she stepped out of the shadows near the walls and into the pool of sunlight, alone.  “I have heard sufficient for my needs, both from Helyanwë and the twins, to understand that it is well past time for them to be in those parts of Aman where life flourishes more readily and joy comes to replace grief.  Such was the case for you, Olórin, many years ago, and on that occasion I sent you to my brother Irmo and his lady Estë in the healing lands of Lórien.  The remedy worked wondrously for you, and I believe it will also help my two young guests take another step upon the road to reunion with their people and their kin.”

The children could barely restrain their sounds of relief and delight; the Maia's reaction was somewhat more decorous.  He smiled at the twins even as he rose to his feet to acknowledge Nienna’s presence.  “I had begun to have similar thoughts, my lady,” he said.  “And while I am certain there will be no barrier to their welcome in the hill country, my doubts concerning my own abilities in certain matters remain.  I have few skills in seeing to the needs of children of any race, and though Frodo at least has personally experienced that part of existence and shared his home with little Elanor Gamgee before he set sail with us, I do not think he is better prepared for such a challenge than I.”

Nienna inclined her head.  “Very true, and as I said earlier, I would make certain this task would not be one you would carry alone.”

Melui had managed to follow the adults’ conversation.  “Is Helyanwë coming with us?” she asked, too excited to remember to address the Lady properly.

The Valië was untroubled by her lapse.  “No, I wish for her to pursue certain business on your behalf in Alqualondë.  In time, perhaps she will join you, but for now, another of my servants will accompany you to Lórien and give Olórin whatever assistance he requires.”

She gestured toward the entrance, and someone stepped forward from the deep shadows into the lighter ones just behind Nienna.  The newcomer was another female Maia, tall and slender and as graceful as the wind.  Her remarkably long hair was the color of burnished oak leaves in autumn, bound up with golden cords, and though her deep green gown was simple, it in no way detracted from the beauty of her face, which in many ways was greater than Nienna’s, smooth and fair and without flaw.  Her eyes were an unusual shade of blue that was almost green, and they pierced through any upon whom they glanced as the strongest winds of deepest winter cut through clothing and flesh to freeze the very bone.

Lére and Melui made odd sounds of resignation, seeing who was to accompany them in Helyanwë’s place.  Olórin had intended to smile in greeting, but the response froze within him before it touched his lips.  Only a single word breathed past them, as the barest rustling of an unexpected breeze:

“Aránayel.”

V

It should not have come as quite so great a surprise to Olórin when he saw the Maia who had once been a servant of Manwë and handmaid of Varda here in the house of Nienna, for he had known that the punishment for cruelty that had been leveled against Aránayel ages before had been expulsion from the service of the Elder King and his queen.  He even knew that she had been instructed to serve both Nienna and her brother Námo, as service was needed, but in all the years he had come to Nienna’s house as both a student and a friend, never had he crossed paths with Aránayel, whom he had loved in youthful foolishness and who had mercilessly broken his heart.  He had once supposed that their failure to meet again was not a coincidence, that Nienna in particular made certain she was never about when Olórin visited, and now, the mixed emotions that stirred upon the very sight of her disturbed him.  He had forgiven Aránayel long ago, and that was no lie; thus he had expected that when they did inevitably meet again, he would be able to accept it with calm and complete detachment.

It was rather disturbing to find that he did not.

He did, however, manage to react outwardly in the fashion he intended.  The incipient smile that had frozen at the sight of her finally manifested, with genuine sincerity.  He was not angered by her presence, nor did he continue to feel upset over what had happened between them so long ago, yet for a moment, he felt as if time had leapt back to the instant in which he had first beheld her.  Much had changed, it was true, especially in Olórin himself, but the memory was as sharp and clear — and unexpected — as it had been on the day they had met.  He made a conscious effort to bring his thoughts back to the here and now, so that he might respond properly.  He bowed slightly but graciously.

“It is an unexpected pleasure to see you again, Aránayel,” he said in greeting, confident that his words were also not a lie, or an exaggeration.  “It has been far too long since last we met.”

She did not return his polite gestures.  “Long enough,” was all she said in answer.

That terse response answered several questions Olórin had been pondering, the strongest of which was whether or not Aránayel had been aware of his involvement in the matter concerning the twins.  Her demeanor said that she had, though the news had come but recently, and had not been received with much liking.  Well, he had more than half-expected that when it came, his meeting with Aránayel would not be entirely pleasant; that he had been right made him all the more determined not to lower himself to the same level of impoliteness, though he had to wonder at Nienna’s choice. 

His glance flicked toward the Valië, who did not so much as blink under his questioning gaze.  “Aránayel has been aiding Helyanwë in tutoring the children, since they regained their voices,” she said.  “She has assisted many who have come forth from the Halls of Waiting during the years of her service here, and her skills have been of great use in helping the twins.  Since she has been as eager as they to be away from this cold part of Aman, I thought it a logical assignment to send her with them.  They will all have their wish to leave my house fulfilled, and the young ones will be able to continue their tutelage with her, sparing you that portion of their care.”

Aránayel did not react in the least to Nienna’s blunt comment about her desire to leave this bleak region, but the twins had the grace to wince and flush at her words.  The Lady smiled at them before they had a chance to protest with some feeble half-truth.  “I have been mindful of your feelings, my little friends,” she told them, sympathetically, “and had I been able to find a better place for you, I would have sent you there much sooner.  But in the end, I think you need to be with your blood kin, and it would have been more unkind to send you off to complete strangers, who might not have the proper compassion for what you have suffered.  So long as Olórin is willing to allow you into his house, I shall have no fear for your well-being.”

“But couldn’t Helyanwë come, too?” Melui asked, her tone such that it was plain she would rather have asked if Aránayel might stay behind.

Nienna shook her head, still smiling softly.  “I’m afraid not.  I have no one else to send who might carry out my errands in Alqualondë as well as she.  If it is any consolation to you, she would have gladly gone with you to Lórien.  She may yet join you there, if her work goes well, but for now, you shall have the pleasure of Aránayel’s company on your journey.  She came to help you prepare for it, so the sooner you begin that task, the sooner you will be able to depart.”

From the face Lére made as his eyes slipped toward her, he did not consider Aránayel’s company any kind of pleasure.  He began to say something, but his sister nudged him to still it, knowing his thought all too well.  “Thank you, Lady Nienna,” he said instead, dragging his feet with a very unElven lack of grace as they followed their tutor into the house. 

Aránayel said nothing, not even sparing Olórin the coolest of glances as she passed by.  He watched them go, making no mention of her demeanor until the doors were closed behind them.  Even then, he said nothing for a very long moment, weighing his own reactions and whether he should say anything at all.  At length, when Nienna did not depart, he removed his gaze from the closed portal to regard her instead.  She also said nothing for several moments, then smiled crookedly.

“I do not need to read your thoughts, Olórin, to interpret that expression,” she chuckled.  “Did you not say only a short time ago that I have never given you advice that was not to your benefit?”

His nose twitched.  “I may need to reconsider that, in light of what has just occurred.  My lady, I know you would do nothing to deliberately harm me, and it is true that I have long since put the matter of my youthful relationship — or lack thereof — with Aránayel behind me.  I harbor no anger toward her for what she did, nor do I object to her presence, if she has indeed been tutoring these children.  I would never have expected her to be capable of such patience, and that she has won even a measure of it speaks well for how she grown during the years since we last met.  But might you not have at least given me some small warning that it was she you had in mind to lend assistance?  When last I saw her, it was to flee from her rejection and her mocking laughter.  Seeing her again so abruptly woke those memories more strongly than I had anticipated, and I might have been better prepared had you at least warned me that this would be the day on which I would at last see her again.”

Nienna’s smile softened to one of sympathy.  “I know,” she said simply, “and if you were too unpleasantly surprised, then I ask your forgiveness.  But though forewarning might have allowed you to prepare for the event, there is sometimes truth to be found in the unexpected that can be of greater benefit.  You had not imagined your reaction to this meeting, had you?”

The Istar was silent for a time before he shook his head.  “No.  Truthfully, I had thought that when next I saw her,I would feel nothing for Aránayel, save pity.  Yet there was more to it than that, though I cannot tell you precisely what.  This will require greater examination before I can fully understand it.  But if I am to help Melui and Lére, is this the proper time for such a distraction?”

“I believe so.  There are many persons who have been a part of your life who are now in need of help that is long overdue — yourself included.  Months ago, I did not assign the task of tutoring the children to Aránayel with the expectation that you would eventually become involved in their difficulties, yet I deem that my choice was most fortuitous.  One cannot untangle a net by straightening only one or two strands around the knots; the whole must be dealt with, so that it can function freely once again.”

Olórin nodded, understanding.  “And Aránayel is beyond doubt one of the largest knots in my life that has been left untended for far too long.  I see your point, my lady, and I will try to make the most of this situation, to learn from it what I may.”

His eyes slipped back to the doors through which Aránayel and the children had left.   He sighed.  “But this time, I fear you may have at last devised a lesson too difficult for me to master.”

**********

As it was not possible for the twins to journey from Nienna’s house to Lórien in the way of the Ainur, the preparation took the remainder of the day, and it was decided long before its end that they would depart in the morning.  Helyanwë was relieved by this decision, since she wanted some time to spend with the children before going off on her own mission, and she was determined to make certain nothing they would need was forgotten.  Olórin was somewhat less pleased by the situation, not because he was impatient, but because the delay gave him too much time to ponder what might turn out to be a rather unpleasant ride back to Lórien.  Fortunately, it did not take long for him to realize the folly of dwelling upon it, and rather than brood or wander about, he decided to begin getting used to the situation by not avoiding it.  After he had been informed of their plans and had had more than enough time to contemplate the near future, he went to offer his assistance to those making the preparations.

When he arrived in the twins’ quarters, where they and Aránayel and Helyanwë were at work, he had done no more than utter the words, “Is there aught I can do to help?” before he realized his mistake.  Aránayel, bent over a chest while folding the children’s clothing to be packed, heard him speak and stopped what she was doing.  She stood straight, like a pillar of stone in the Dwarrowdelf, her posture making her seem far taller than the Istar, who was already the shorter of the two.  She favored him with a glare as cold and sharp as the edge of a newly honed steel blade in the frozen wastes, her air of disapproval strong enough to taste.  Though he hid his reaction well, he regretted his failure to consider his words before offering them, for it had been such innocent requests — spoken in thoughtless generosity and taken with heartless selfishness — that had entangled their lives so long ago, and ultimately led to bitter unhappiness for both.  Olórin wished he could snatch back the words, but once spoken, the damage was done.  Aránayel took a breath to speak, and he prepared himself to receive her scorn, but before she had more than stood straight and moved her lips, Helyanwë interrupted.

“Indeed there is,” she said with such sunny cheer, Olórin knew she was deliberately attempting to counter Aránayel’s iciness.  “Lére and Melui are both excellent riders, and they will do well on your journey to Lórien, but as I have heard you learned a great deal about horsemanship during your recent sojourn in Middle-earth, I think it would be wise if we made use of your expertise in selecting the beasts from Lady Nienna’s stables.  There are none of Lord Oromë’s people in this house at the moment, and your knowledge would greatly appreciated.”

Though she did not seem at all deceived by Helyanwë’s tactics, Aránayel remained silent.  She returned to her tasks, though not before she gave Olórin another frosty glance, her nose wrinkling in distaste that might have been caused by either his words, Helyanwë’s interruption, or both.  The twins, fortunately, were involved in selecting which things to take with them, and did not notice what had happened.  Before they could, Helyanwë gestured for Olórin to follow her to the stables, and they were gone.

“I don’t believe I have made so incredibly foolish a mistake in at least five thousand years,” the Istar muttered softly once they were well beyond the keenest earshot, headed for the stables.

Helyanwë’s soft smile was compassionate.  “It has been longer than that since you last saw Aránayel,” she pointed out.  “I have worked with her now and again for far shorter a time, and already I know that once out of her presence, one tends to quickly forget her abrasive nature.  Do not fret over this, Olórin.  If it was an error, it was opportune, for I wished to have a chance to speak with you before I must depart, and I had feared there would not be time.”

He let loose his breath in a remorseful sigh.  “Then I will let it go, and try not to think of it again.  I had thought you might wish to instruct me about the children’s care....”

But the silver-haired head shook.  “No, I have no concern for your abilities in that regard, especially not after seeing how you spoke with them in the garden.  What your mind does not yet perceive about caring for young ones, your heart already knows, and knows well indeed.  It is Aránayel of whom I wished to speak.”

Sadness dimmed Olórin’s face.  “There would not appear to be much left to be said on that account,” he admitted.  “I harbor no ill will toward her, truly, and any hurt she may have caused me in the past has long since been forgiven, for she acted after her own nature even as I did.  Yet it would seem that for all the years since last we met, we remain very much the same.  She has no feeling for me, and I cannot seem to stop myself from foolishly offering her my help even when I know that it was the cause of the problems between us.  She took what I offered out of convenience, not love, and I misinterpreted her acceptance as a reflection of my own infatuation.  I do know better now, Helyanwë, and you may rest assured that having slipped once, I will try my best to not slip again.”

Her smile brightening, she took the nearer of his arms and lightly wrapped her fingers about it in a gesture of affectionate support.  “I am pleased to hear that you are wise enough not to say that you will never slip again!”

He snorted softly, one corner of his mouth lifting with humor.  “Well, even the greatest of the Wise do not know all ends, and as I am far from the greatest, I at least know myself well enough to realize that with even the best of intentions, I still make mistakes.  At the moment, while I am still recovering from and adjusting to the changes of attitude and thinking that resulted from my time as a Mortal, I know that I am rather prone to certain errors and weaknesses, but with time and effort, I hope that my failings will be fewer, and of less consequence.”

“As do I.  You have grown a great deal since first you came to Nienna’s house, my old friend, far more than anyone had anticipated, even the Lady.  Your pride has not grown along with your knowledge and understanding, and I think that will help you greatly in the days to come.  For Aránayel has changed as well, but not, I fear, in the same ways.  She has learned new skills, how to be of assistance to a different master and mistress than those she knew in Ilmarin, how to aid those who are newly come from the Halls of Waiting, how to guide those who are bound for them to their destination.  Yet she thinks little of these tasks, and what regret she bears is for the life she once knew as a handmaid of the Star Queen and a servant of the Lord of the Winds.  She yearns for the notice and acclaim of others, as ever she did, but even when she is praised by our mistress for jobs well done, she scorns it as being nothing beside the honor she had as a servant of Manwë.  And for that loss, she blames you.”

“Which comes as no surprise to me,” Olórin said, not without regret.  “It was never her nature to accept responsibility when that meant admitting fault.  Yet has she heard nothing of how I reacted to her rejection of me?  Never once did I blame her for it.  It was my error that led me to believe she might return my feelings, and my foolishness that prompted me to reveal them to her when I had been warned and knew well that she would not.  It was my mistake, not hers, and though she might have treated me with greater kindness, I do not harbor any resentment toward her for what happened.  I have never attempted to hide these truths, and since they were a ripe source for gossip among our people for many years, I cannot believe she is unaware of them.”

“She is not,” Helyanwë confirmed.  “She knows only too well that you have spoken not a single ill word against her — and because she spoke so many against you, she believes you are deliberately concealing your true feelings so as to be avenged, leaving her to appear the heartless villain and yourself the unjustly wounded but noble victim.”

The sound the Istar made was a cross between a snort of disbelief and a laugh.  “If such a picture has been painted by idle talk and speculation, I was not the one who wielded the brush.  Truth speaks for itself; it does not need my help to be made clear. If doing nothing against her is a crime, then I freely admit, I am guilty.  But has she not made any attempt to let go of the past and allow it to fade?”

Helyanwë favored him with a sidelong glance.  “Have you?”

He answered first with a droll expression. “You know the answer to that; you have already said as much.  Of course I have.  If I had not, I would doubtless still be trapped in a miserable existence of doubt and self-recrimination.  I do regret what happened between myself and Aránayel, for no one takes delight in such unhappy experiences, but in ways, I am also grateful for it.  I would still be the same naive person I was in my youth if not for all that came about as a result of that hurt.  I have not forgotten the lessons I learned, and I never shall, but I have let go of the pain and unhappiness.  If I am hesitant to embark on this endeavor with Aránayel, it is because I do not know her feelings on the matter, and from what little I have seen thus far, I fear she is not at all in favor of it.”

His companion acknowledged it with a sigh.  “You are right, alas.  If there is any way in which she looks at this assignment in a positive light, it is in the fact that by accepting it, she will at last be able to leave this desolate part of Aman and return to the more sociable areas she has missed.  If it must be borne, she looks upon your company as a necessary evil.  She has nurtured her hatred of you for more than three ages, Olórin, and it burns hot within her.  If you look to achieve some kind of reconciliation with her through this joint venture, you will be disappointed.”

“I had no such plan,” he assured her.  “Yet it seems strange to me that Lady Nienna would have chosen her for this task if there was naught to be gained from it, for either of us.”

“I have thought the same thing.  My Lady does not make such choices lightly, for her understanding of us is often greater than we know, but I cannot see any purpose behind her selection of Aránayel.  She is not the only one of the Lady’s servants who has tutored the twins these past months, and though she carries out her duties with them quite well, any of the others are as competent, and are better liked by the children than she.  All I can imagine is that mayhap this is a test for Aránayel, to see how she fares away from the immediate attention of those she serves.”

Olórin considered this possibility as they came to the outer door nearest the stables where the steeds used by Nienna’s servants and the visitors were sheltered.  “Has she never been free from service since she was sent into the keeping of Lord Námo and Lady Nienna?”

“Very seldom,” Helyanwë replied, “and even then, always with others in attendance.  It seems a stern punishment, I agree,” she added when the Istar’s eyes widened in shock, “but it is not unwarranted.  You know that she was first sent to serve Lord Námo in the Halls of Waiting.  She chafed in such isolated conditions, and was quite bitter to have been deprived of not only her status as a servant of Lord Manwë and handmaiden of Lady Varda, but also of the attention she was used to receiving from her many admirers in more openly active and populous regions.”

“I am aware of that,” Olórin said, following his companion across the open stretch of stony pasture between the guest house and the stables.  “Aránayel always craved the companionship and admiration of others.  I would not have erred so badly in judging her heart, had it been otherwise.”

“So I have long suspected.  But I think you do not know what occurred not long after you were sent into Lady Nienna’s care, and Aránayel was banished from Ilmarin.  Several months after she came to Mandos, there was a time of festival in Valmar, and she asked if she might be permitted to go, even though she was still in Lord Manwë’s disfavor.  As she had carried out her tasks to Lord Námo’s satisfaction, he allowed it.”

He nodded, remembering the time.  “She had always enjoyed such gatherings, but as I recall, that was one I did not attend.  Lady Nienna had decided to remain at home during that feast, and I was so involved in the studies I had just begun with her, I did not even realize there had been such an event until it was over.  I doubt I would have been interested in participating, even had I known.”

“I believe Lord Námo knew this, and that it was a part of why he was willing to allow Aránayel to go.  Yet even he had misjudged her.  She met many of her friends and admirers in Valmar, and she apparently had been greatly concerned that her standing among them had been seriously tarnished by her expulsion from Ilmarin.  So she did all she could to make certain she appeared totally blameless.  They had, of course, heard what tales had been spread by those who had been in the halls atop Taniquetil when she had been summoned by Lord Manwë to account for what she had done to you, and she concocted many elaborate tales of things you had supposedly done which completely justified her treatment of you.  By her accounts, Lord Manwë punished her to cover your guilt, shifting the blame from you to her when she was, of course, completely innocent of even the slightest wrongdoing.”

Helyanwë’s scowl held dark shadows of outrage toward such injustice.  “Her claims were utterly despicable.  Few believed them at all; many more rejected them outright, seeing them for the falsehoods they were.  Even then, you were well known among all our people, for your generosity and humility, if naught else.  What she said you had done during the times you worked together were so clearly lies to any who knew of you even casually, long before the end of the day, the game she was playing came to the attention of those she would not have chosen to hear of it.  Before Lord Manwë discovered it, it came to Lady Varda’s ears, and she herself rose to your defense.  She took Aránayel aside to deal with her quietly, for she did not wish her husband’s anger to be kindled once again.  Yet it could not be done privately enough for Aránayel’s liking, and it was Lady Varda’s command that she not be permitted the freedom to attend any such gatherings unsupervised until she had learned to hold her lying tongue and show greater respect toward those who had never done her harm.  Lady Nienna took up the task of making the decision as to Aránayel’s progress in these matters, and sadly, though she has seen some small improvements in her, the Lady has not yet seen enough to declare that she has met Lady Varda’s requirements.  Indeed, the incident did little but give Aránayel further cause to despise you, even though it was her own deceit and no doing of yours that brought about this added punishment.”

Olórin groaned, sounding almost like the hinges on the stable door as he opened it.  “I cannot imagine she would have reacted otherwise!  Lady Varda’s defense may have been well meant, but there are some things it is best to simply ignore — and I have long since realized that Aránayel’s temper is one of them.  How is it I never heard of this?  Such incidents at festivals often become common knowledge  all through Aman before the end of the day.  And yet I have heard not even one word of this in thousands of years!”

“Through very diligent effort on the part of those who consider you their friend,” Helyanwë said graciously as they entered the building, which was currently lit by slanting rays of the late afternoon sun.  “The lies she spoke that day were unconscionably cruel and unwarranted, and none who heard them and knew them for what they were could bear repeating them.  She had already hurt you more than you could have possibly deserved, no matter what errors in judgement you might have made.  As much as Lady Varda did not wish for Lord Manwë to hear of it, we of the Maiar wanted to be certain you heard nothing as well.  Can you tell me that if such lies and terrible accusations had reached you then, you would not have been wounded by them?”

For a moment, he was silent; then he shook his head.  “No.  I would be dishonest if I said otherwise.  As I was then, I doubt that I could have borne yet another humiliation from Aránayel’s lips.  What I cannot understand is how it has managed to remain secret for so very long.”

Helyanwë smiled impishly.  “For the same reasons, I suspect, that your friend Ványalos reacted with such trepidation when we finally met face to face, yesterday.  You may not be the greatest and most powerful of our people, Olórin, but I think it is not unfair to say that you may well be the most loved, perhaps because you have become the wisest of us.  As you care for others, others care for you — save those like Aránayel, and even among them, you have in time made many friends of those who were once your enemies.  As Ványalos will defend you for the sake of your friendship, so would I.  Back then, even those of us who did not know you well could see the unfairness of her deceits, and though it was not actually discussed, it was somehow agreed among us that we would not let you be hurt by her words, then or ever again.  You did not hear of it because we chose to never discuss it.  But what you did not know, we did, and after a time, it required no effort to keep the knowledge to ourselves.  There was no danger that Aránayel would tell you herself; even if you had happened to meet by chance, after that incident, she blamed you all the more for her unhappiness and would not have spoken to you unless commanded to do so by one of the Valar.”

“That would explain her terseness in the garden.  With Lady Nienna standing beside her, she doubtless felt constrained to answer me, however briefly, so as not to prompt the Lady to change her mind and force her to remain here where she does not wish to be.”

“No doubt.”  Helyanwë stopped before they reached the stalls in which the horses were currently feeding, then turned so that she could look at him directly as she spoke.  “Olórin, I do not think you truly understand how much Aránayel has come to despise you,” she said intently, lightly settling her hands upon his shoulders. “I do not know what she might do once you have gone beyond Lady Nienna’s lands, but I beg you, be careful.  I have felt the depths of her hatred toward you, and it chills me to the very heart.  If she cannot be free again, as she was before you spoke to her of a love she would not return, she may well try to find her revenge by doing what she can to be certain you will never again know joyful freedom, either.  I know not how she would attempt to accomplish this, but somehow, she will try.”

“Then she will fail,” he said simply, no trace of doubt in his voice.  “She cannot harm me any longer, not in my heart or my spirit or even in this incarnate veil.  I felt the strength of her spite the moment I set eyes upon her in the garden, and powerful as it may be, it is naught compared to that which I have endured from Melkor and Sauron and Curumo.  I was never put to a direct trial of strength with either Melkor or his lieutenant, but Curumo I faced, and I survived.”

“For which I am glad, but he was fettered and she is not.”

“True, but I was also fettered then, and am no longer.”

“Yet you may be fettered still.  You have never loved Curumo as you once loved her.”

He conceded the point.  “Quite so, but it is far from the same.  I know my peril in regards to Aránayel, and I promise you, my dear friend, that I shall not close my eyes to it.  There is more at stake here than my own safety, for where’er we go there will be the children and at length other friends whose well-being is very much my concern.  For their sake if not my own, I will be cautious.”

“Then promise me that as soon as you reach your home, you will make certain others keep watch over her when you cannot.”

A small smile flickered across Olórin’s face, which brightened as a beam of sunlight broke through the clouds, pierced a nearby window, and fell upon him.  “I did not know you cared so deeply for my safety, Helyanwë.  Did Ványalos lay his finger upon some part of the truth when once he teased me about the notion that there might be more to our relationship than I could see?”

She smiled back, but again shook her head, gently.  “Not in the way he described it.  I have loved you as a good friend for many years, but in the way of spouses... no.  I do not think you were meant for that kind of life, Olórin.  You care so much for so many that I cannot imagine you are capable of limiting any portion of your heart to the love of but one person, save Lord Eru.”

His smile twitched with wryly amused concession.  “You are right — and in that, you know me better than I knew myself in my foolish youth.  I saw the devotion between Lord Manwë and Lady Varda, and it seemed so wondrous a thing to me, I felt that this was something I wanted to experience for myself, the bond between mates of the heart.  I suspect I imagined it existed between myself and Aránayel because I read in her constant acceptance of my help things that simply were not there, but that I wished would be there.  And now, though I have many friends who are as dear to me as closest kin, I have learned to love all of Lord Eru’s children, both of thought and flesh, far too much to devote myself to one alone in the ways that spouses must be dedicated to one another.  I have long since realized that one state is not superior to the other; they are merely different, and each of us is suited to the kind of life that best serves our purpose in Lord Eru’s thought.”

“Just so.  I am not yet so certain what sort of life was meant for me, but for now, I am content, and I know that the bond between us is that of friendship only.  Yet I care deeply for your welfare because I would see no friend of mine come to harm of any sort, and you have suffered far more kinds of hurt than I could have imagined during these past two thousand years alone.  I do not need to love you as I would a mate to wish you would remain safe, and avoid new injuries.  If a warning spoken now will help you do so, then I would be a faithless friend if I remained silent.  Would you have me do that, simply to prove that Ványalos’ taunts were indeed ill-chosen?”

He chuckled.  “Not at all, and I am grateful.  For all that I have learned during my time in Arda, my knowledge about Aránayel and how her life has fared since last we parted is meager.  I have heard bits of news now and again, mostly that she remained in the service of either Nienna or Námo, with few details.  What you have just told me may indeed be of great use.  I am capable of protecting myself, but should she choose to hurt me by turning her anger on others who are not as skilled, knowing her mood and that she might make such an attempt could be very much to my benefit, and theirs.  Forewarned is forearmed, as they say in Middle-earth.  I will be careful, Helyanwë, I promise.”

She briefly closed her eyes and made a sound of relief.  “Then I will cease worrying.  I will admit, I feared for the children, but so long as you are aware of what dangers they and you might face, I know all of you will be safe.  Come now, I will show you the Lady’s steeds and tell you of their natures and habits, and perhaps then you can tell me which of them seem best suited for the seven day journey to Lórien.  Their usual caretaker is on a journey for Lord Oromë at the moment, and though we know well enough how to see to their daily needs, none of us who serve Lady Nienna are skilled in understanding the language of the kelvar.  I saw the horse on which you arrived in Valmar on the day of your return from Endorë, and never have I beheld a more noble beast.  I have heard that Lord Oromë covets him, though he is much too polite to mention it to you.  But do not be overly surprised if some day, he comes to visit unexpectedly, for he very much desires at least an opportunity to ride this lovely creature.”

Olórin laughed, aware that Helyanwë was making idle small talk to lighten the mood.  “You seem to know almost as much news of the small things that happen throughout Aman as Ványalos.  This is not an insult!  Impudent though he may be, his mind is quick, and he misses little.  Lord Oromë is welcome to visit my home whenever he wishes, but I cannot promise him that Shadowfax will cooperate in allowing him to ride.  He has ever been quite stubborn in that respect, and at the moment, even I am not in his good graces.  In my relief over being restored to health and strength, I fear I made more use of my own abilities to travel swiftly, and did not pause to consider that Shadowfax might regard this as an insult, ignoring him far more than I ought.  He is an intelligent and sensitive creature, and I do not care to think how he will take it when I return home on some other steed.  I suspect I shall have to find new ways to soothe his irritation and repair our friendship.”

Helyanwë chuckled as she led him to the open stalls.  “By then, I have no doubt at all that you will manage to console him.  I am certain seven days in the company of Aránayel will teach you ways to deal with another’s ill temper that you have never imagined.”

VI

Although meals were not necessary for the Ainur, they were for their young Elven guests, and sensitive to their feelings and Helyanwë’s, Nienna planned a farewell meal for that evening.  The others who had taken part in caring for the twins during their stay in her house had been invited as well, as had Olórin.  He made the most of the time not only to observe the children and come to know them better, but also to watch Aránayel and glean what he could of her current moods and habits that might be of use in dealing with her during the coming weeks.  He had no notion at all how long she and the children might remain in Lórien, and because of that, he had sent word to Frodo through Ványalos, warning the hobbit of the guests who would be returning with him so that he could prepare in whatever ways he deemed necessary. 

He had considered going directly back to Lórien to deliver the message, since such a journey was no hindrance to him now that his strength had returned, but it had been less than a day since his departure, and he knew that Frodo did indeed wish to have some time without him always about, to become better settled into the new life he had chosen.  If he appeared abruptly on the same evening of the day he had left, it might look as if he was checking on Frodo’s progress, and even though Olórin was certain the impression would pass quickly in light of the truth, he saw no need to startle his small friend when it was not necessary.  If Frodo had questions or concerns that Ványalos could not answer, then the Istar would return home, but so long as his presence was neither required nor requested, he decided this was the best approach.

Since he received no frantic reply in response to his message, Olórin did his best to enjoy the evening meal.  He knew all the other Maiar who were in attendance, and having a chance to converse with them and the children was quite pleasant.  Aránayel was notably quiet, speaking only in answer to direct questions and then briefly.  Olórin was not foolish enough to try to engage in her in even the lightest conversation, but he noted quickly that her manner was unusually reserved.  Clearly, she was trying her best to avoid doing anything that might result in her assignment being revoked, thus forcing her to remain here in the desolate wilds of the western shores.  He respected her attempts at self-restraint, and did not interfere with them.

Yet as the meal continued, he became aware that she was not entirely ignoring him.  Subliminally at first, he sensed that she was watching him from time to time.  Knowing what he did of her, he carefully looked elsewhere whenever she glanced toward him, lest she take offense or feel embarrassed by having her notice be noted.  It was clear to him that there was no real warmth in her regard, but the fact that she was bothering to look at him at all made him wonder what purpose might lie behind it.  That she was having a change of heart was a notion that he dismissed as quickly as the thought arose.  He had spoken the truth to Helyanwë: Aránayel remained what she was, even as he did in heart.  There was no reason whatsoever for her feelings toward him to alter in a positive direction; at best, she might be searching for some way to endure his presence during this coming assignment so that she could prove that she had changed, and had at last earned the right to resume a lifestyle she preferred.

After the meal was over, the children asked if they might present a song or two for the friends they would be leaving behind, the only gift they had to give.  Nienna graciously granted it, though she knew it as a youthful ploy to delay going to their rest for the evening.  Mature Elves needed remarkably little sleep, but their young required it as much as human children, to help provide energy for their growing bodies.  While he listened to their song and felt Aránayel’s glance upon him yet again, it occurred to Olórin that there was something he might be able to do to help his companion-to-be accept the necessary evil of his presence.  When the first song was finished and she asked leave to go and make her own preparations for the morrow’s journey, he excused himself and followed her out of the hall.  He caught up with her in a quiet corridor well away from any who might accidentally overhear, and called to her, softly.

“Aránayel?”

She continued on for several paces before slowing her step; after several paces more, she stopped, but did not immediately turn toward the Istar.  He knew why without asking: she was deciding whether or not she wanted to acknowledge his presence, much less his attempt at communication.  Finally, without turning, she sighed.  “Is it not enough that I must participate in this... farce?  I know it for what it is, a poor attempt of Nienna’s to make a jest at my expense, to prove that I am fit only to endure age after long age of exile in these barren lands.  What other mockery must you add to my unending misery?”

“None,” he replied, a note of faint puzzlement in his voice.  “I have never mocked you, Aránayel, intentionally or otherwise, for any reason.  What compelled Lady Nienna to choose you for this task I cannot say, but I promise you, I had naught to do with it.”

She snorted, a sound somewhere between derision and amusement.  “No, I daresay you would not.  Have you ever in your life been less than a model of perfect patience and tolerance, Olórin?”

He knew that she meant it less kindly than it sounded, but he answered with honesty.  “Oh, yes, quite often.  If you do not believe me, you have only to ask my friends and neighbors once we reach Lórien.  There are many things I do not bear well, nor tolerate without chafing.  I am far from a model of any kind of perfection, and I know it.  Which is why I wished to speak with you now.  During the meal, it occurred to me that I have been remiss in certain matters, and since I am aware that this particular mission is important to you — if for no other reason than to prove that you have more than earned an end to the judgments that were lowered upon you long ago — I want to make certain there is as little friction between us as possible before we set out tomorrow.”

Her head turned slightly, but not enough so that Olórin could see her face.  “And did you come to offer me forgiveness?”

“No,” he said simply.  “What is there to forgive?  Long ago, I might have felt that you were to blame for the upset I felt over what happened between us, but through many years of difficult experience, I have come to realize that if any apology needs to be offered, it is mine.  You never lied to me, telling me untruths to coerce my assistance when I did not wish to give it.  I offered it of my own free will, and if I received no consideration for my deeds, I have no one to blame but myself for asking naught in return.  Had I done so, I’m certain you would have been equally honest with me, and put an end to the illusions and fantasies I had allowed to flourish in my mind.  You did not put them there, nor did you encourage their growth; both deeds were mine.  If they were ill-considered, then the fault is also mine, for not opening my eyes to the truth.  I am sorry, Aránayel, for all you have suffered because of my mistake.  I have never spoken a single word against you, and if I had but known how severely you had been restricted all these years, I would have done whatever I could to persuade those who imposed those bonds to remove them.  I know that you are far more social a creature than I, and it is not fair that you should have been made to endure such a cheerless exile on my account.”

Again, there was a long silence.  At length, Aránayel turned halfway about, her face swiveling toward the Istar, eyes narrowed.  “And I suppose you will also tell me that you know nothing of the incident that occurred somewhat after our... misunderstanding which led to my imprisonment in these forsaken regions.”

“If you are referring to what happened during the festival several months later, then the answer is both yes and no.  I know of it, but until earlier today, I had never heard of it.  That I should remain ignorant for so long is as difficult for me to believe as it is for you, I swear.  Yet it is the truth.  There was apparently some sort of unspoken agreement among our people to keep this matter from ever reaching my ears, and I would not have known of it at all had I not been informed today.”

Aránayel’s expression tightened, as one will upon smelling a bitter odor.  “And so they told you... for what reason?  To prejudice you against me so that I cannot help but fail on this mission?”

The pale head shook.  “Had that been the intent, it would not have succeeded.  I have never judged anyone solely on the reports and opinions of others.  I do not know the specifics of whatever it was you said that day; even if I did, it would not make me hate you or seek revenge against you.  You acted out of upset, and understandably so, for you had already been punished quite severely for having told me the truth rather than lie and pretend to have feelings you did not in order to manipulate me to your liking.”

She made a sharp sound of disbelief.  “So are you saying that you approve of how I treated you when I spoke that truth to you?”

A hint of a wry smile flickered across Olórin’s face.  “No, since you might have been kinder in how you expressed yourself, and refrained from making me feel worse than I already felt in my embarrassment and regret.  Even so, I do not hold it against you.  I was hurt, yes, and you could have spared me some of that pain had you wished, but I never considered it a crime.  Had I not been lost to reason because of my own confusion and self-pity, I would have spoken in your defense at the time, and asked Lord Manwë and Lady Varda not to punish you so sternly over a situation that would not have come to pass but for my blindness.  And so I now offer my deepest regrets, for if I had not been such an ignorant fool, none of this would have happened.”

Aránayel finally turned to face him, her arms folded across her chest even as she lowered a piercing glance upon him.  “And are you telling me this now in order to curry my favor, and persuade me to have a change of heart toward you?  If the words you spoke those many years ago could not win me, have you decided that a different tactic might succeed where once you failed?”

Olórin’s answer was unhesitant.  “I would not dare to be so presumptuous a second time.  Whatever unkindness you might have given me then, you did speak truly when you said there was no love between us.  I was far too naive for my own good, bedazzled by the beauty of the love between my Lord and his Lady, tricked by my own overactive imagination into believing you loved me when you did not, and mistaking my own infatuation for something far greater.  I may yet be a fool in some ways, but not in this.  There is no one for whom my heart holds that kind of singular affection, and I do not believe it is something I was intended to have, not in this life.  Perhaps someday, when the world is remade and we are no longer bound to the circles of Arda, I might find it, but I have learned much during the years since I made that mistake.  I am content with my life as it has grown, and as I have grown.  I am offering my apologies because I believe it is a debt I owe you, and for no other reason.  As it is Lady Nienna’s wish that we undertake the care of these orphaned children together, I wish only to do what I can to mend the broken bridges between us so that we need not do this constantly at odds or avoiding one another.  I am sorry if my attempt has offended you, but I truly meant no harm.”

She sniffed.  “You never do.  If this was your entire purpose in speaking to me now, apologizing for the errors you made so many years ago, why did you not simply say it plainly back in the hall, where others might hear it?”

The wryness in his expression became more pronounced.  “Because I am somewhat less of a fool than I was in my youth.  Had I attempted to speak with you in the presence of others, you would have rebuffed me, or ignored me, as has been your habit since we met again in the garden.  And if by some miracle you had not, I had no way of knowing if you would take what I had to say well or poorly.  For all I could know, because there were others about, you might have chosen to interpret it as an attempt at persuasion, not penitence, and there we would have been again, trapped once more in a sorry situation where my words offended you, and angered you.  I already bear enough guilt for my part in all the unpleasantry that happened ages ago, Aránayel.  I did not want to add to it the guilt of provoking your anger in the presence of Lady Nienna, who would certainly have looked upon it as an indication that you are not ready to be released from your bonds of service to her.  I will admit that I was thinking somewhat of my own feelings as well, for I do not enjoy having them bruised, but I was far more concerned for yours.  If I was to receive an angry response, I wanted there to be no risk that you would suffer for having shown it before the wrong persons.  And if this attempt to be considerate offends you, then I’m afraid I have no defense for it.  It was your welfare I had in mind, not my own.”

Her nose twitched again, with perhaps a fraction less bitterness than before.  Olórin was not ignorant enough to take it as a sure sign that perhaps she might be ready to allow her frostiness toward him to thaw, if not into friendship then at least into a better tolerance than she had showed him in thousands of years.  “And yet my welfare would have been better served, I think, if others were made aware of this.”

He shrugged.  “I will go back to the hall and repeat what I have said to them, if that will please you, but I suspect it would not, in the end.  Lady Nienna is quite well aware of my attitudes and opinions on this particular subject, and has been since before you came here in her service.  If I were to make such a public apology to appease you, she would likely view it as evidence that you have not grown in the ways Lady Varda wishes, for it would seem that you are giving more thought to your personal image than to the apology itself.  Such things are better made in private, especially where matters of the heart are concerned.”

Aránayel’s blue-green eyes narrowed for a moment; then she finally sighed, heavily, with a clear trace of exasperation.  “Perhaps so.  I have often heard it said that you have grown quite wise, Olórin, and I suppose I must acknowledge that the rumors appear to have been not entirely groundless.  I would indeed prefer that others hear this from you and not from me, so that they might cease to think ill of me and know that this was not something I fabricated, but in the wrong ears, such words are as apt to turn against me, no matter who speaks them.”

“Just so.  I’m sure there will come a time when I may do so with impunity, but first, I think it would be best if you gave them such proofs in ways that none will be able to deny were your achievement, not my less meaningful attempt at assistance.”

“True.  I shall not lie and say that I am looking forward to this journey, but at least I will admit that you are not the same naive person I knew in ages past.  I do not know if I find it a change for the better or not, but that you were willing to admit that the error was yours and not mine gives me some hope that this task before me will not be as intolerable as I had feared.”

The Istar's smile shifted from wryness to one more genuine.  “I would expect no more than that.  You have changed as well, Aránayel, and from what I have seen and heard, it is for the better.  For your sake, I am glad, for I know well what it feels like to be an exile from lands and friends you love.  I was not made to endure it as long as you, but I learned much from the experience.”

“More than the others, it would seem,” she allowed as graciously as she was able.  “That Aiwendil and Pallando failed does not surprise me, nor is it difficult for me to believe that Alatar could not have succeeded.  Why Aiwendil was even sent, I cannot fathom, for I cannot imagine anyone could have believed he had the ability to deal with Sauron and not wither under the first assault like a handful of fallen leaves thrown upon a blazing fire.  And Alatar and Pallando were always more full of words than deeds, eager to speak of great glories but forever the last to join the attempt.  If aught startles me, it is that they were willing to step forward at all.”

Olórin snorted softly.  “And you would not include me in their number?  I was under the impression you considered me to be the worst of cowards.”

“I did,” she said frankly, “and I continued to believe so, until I learned of things you did in the resistance against Melkor.  I would not have thought you to have the courage to stand upon the same continent with him, much less do aught in direct opposition to him.  Not that I consider actions taken in deepest secrecy to be particularly praiseworthy, but at least you did not wholly shrink from the task, as those three were far too often wont to do.”

“So it may seem to others, but I think you underestimate them.  Alatar was ever too proud for his own good, and Pallando too willing to follow his lead out of friendship, but their ambition was considerable — which, perhaps, is what ultimately led to their fall.  And for all that they appeared to be stronger and more capable than Aiwendil, they fell away from their mission long before he did, and they succumbed utterly to the Darkness, while he did not.  Aiwendil was of great help in our embassy for many years; it was only toward the end that the power of the Enemy grew too great for him to withstand, and even then, he did not surrender to.  He ran from it instead, and there he tripped and fell, for to do so successfully, he ran from his own memories of what and who he truly was.  I pity all of them, but my heart is most sorely pained for Aiwendil, who fell not because he embraced evil, but because he broke faith with the mission he was sworn to see to its end, be it sweet or bitter.”

An expression of mild boredom and disdain crept across Aránayel’s artfully delicate features as she listened.  When he was finished, she dismissed the matter with a gesture.  “It was still weakness, no matter what prompted it.  I fully expected Aiwendil would never return, and I would have wagered the same for Alatar and Pallando, given what I knew of them and their habits.  That Curumo failed does surprise me, for he was Sauron’s successor in Lord Aulë’s favor, and no weakling would have been shown such approval by so great a lord of the Valar.  But then, perhaps there was no better choice to be had.  Curumo never was Sauron’s match in any way, so it may be that his failure was as inevitable as the others’.”

“Perhaps,” was all Olórin would say on the subject.  A memory of Frodo’s comments about the former head of the Istari stirred as he listened to her commentary, but he did not feel this was either the time or the place to reflect upon them, silently or aloud.  He shifted the subject away from the fallen wizard.  “I note that you have expressed no opinion of my participation in this effort.”

She was characteristically blunt.  “I did not think you would return, either,” she said without preamble.  “If any of the five who were sent had any hope of succeeding, I felt certain it would be Curumo.  Do you need to hear me say that I was wrong?”

He answered her bluntness with gentler honesty.  “No.  I expected you would feel thus.  I suppose what I was most curious to know was whether or not my failure to fail disappointed you.  You need not answer!” he said quickly, holding up his hands to still her before she spoke.  “In reflection, I find that I do not wish to know. Such matters belong to the past, and are not important to the present.  I did return, we both have a task to undertake on the morrow, and if either of us still have old wounds in need of healing, I think it best to leave them be and concentrate on what must be done now.  Can we not at least agree upon this, for the sake of the young ones who will be in our care?”

Aránayel tilted her head in such a way that the subdued light in the corridor struck her eyes and made them glow like those of a hunting cat measuring its prey.  Olórin remained impassive, wanting her to see nothing in his expression, neither anxiety nor eagerness, both of which she had been known to take poorly, especially from him.  At length, and to his great relief, the hardness in her eyes and face softened — slightly, but positively.  “We can.  No matter what others may have said of me, or what you might yet recall from your ignorant youth, I am not an unreasonable person.  I take my duties and my tasks seriously, and prefer to spare little time for those who would hinder them with foolishness.  I had anticipated that this particular task would be intolerable because I would forever be required to avoid you so as to escape such hindrance, but you have indeed changed more than I had realized.  If it will enable me to carry out my appointed task well, then I will make such an agreement.”

Olórin politely refrained from pointing out her less than altruistic motives, not to mention her possibly unintentional but more likely deliberate insult, and instead answered graciously.  “Then I will look forward to beginning our journey in the morning.  Thank you, Aránayel, for accepting my terribly belated apology.”

She smiled, her mouth tight and the expression crooked rather than warm.  “I did not say that I accepted it — but I do, if it will make this task less onerous.  You have changed, and that is not without merit.  Perhaps something beneficial can be made of our relationship, after all.”

He did not argue with her evaluation of the situation.  He acknowledged her response and bid her farewell for the night with a small bow.  As he turned and headed back to the dining hall, allowing Aránayel to continue on toward her original destination, Olórin felt relief that their conversation had gone as well as it had.  Aránayel’s attitudes toward him had not altered as greatly as they might have, but that they had done so at all gave him hope that she was ultimately on the right path, bound for a promising new life as she grew into a better person among the citizenry of Aman.  For her sake far more than his own, he was pleased, as he would have been for anyone who had wandered too long on unhappy paths of self-destruction, and had at last turned their steps onto a more favorable road.

But he might have felt quite differently if he had only taken a moment to consider all the implications of her final remark — and how those words might be not an omen for a brighter future, but a warning that shadows and darkness loomed ahead.

VII

Dawn in Aman was one of the most beautiful times of day, even on the desolate western shores which so many thought of as grim and colorless.  Helyanwë had left for Alqualondë well before daybreak, not wishing to face another sad goodbye with the twins, so Olórin had taken it upon himself to see to it that the horses they had chosen the day before were properly readied for the journey.  Several of Nienna’s servants who had been tending the beasts in the absence of their normal keeper were there to assist, and they took direction quite well, so he was able spare a moment from their tasks to watch the sun rise over the distant northern reaches of the Pelóri.  A light mist had embraced the land before the dawn broke; it vanished quickly under the sun’s bright rays, showing the sky as clear blue and cloudless, an unusual state for this part of the West, but not unwelcome for the trip ahead.

Is this your doing, Lord Manwë? the Maia wondered as he noted the abnormally fair weather, which would doubtless add some greater warmth to the chill winds from the north; summer winds carried some softness to the air even in these colder climes.  Olórin had no doubt that his master was aware of events currently transpiring in Nienna’s realm, and it would have been typical of Manwë to do what he might to make the trip more pleasant for those involved.  If it was the Elder King's doing and not merely a fortunate coincidence, he was grateful for it, yet made somewhat ill at ease by it as well.  It reminded him of the personal problems that had made it so easy for him to agree to come to Nienna’s house, and prodded him to realize that the issue was not yet resolved.  He did not think Manwë would have done this solely as a small reflection of an apology to the servant he had grievously wronged, but that he might have sharpened Olórin’s regret over the troubles between them.  Perhaps, he thought as he watched the sun slowly climb into the eastern skies, all that was needed was time for them to sit down and discuss the situation, alone and without the distractions of other troubles and tragedies weighing upon them and pushing them apart. 

After all was said and done, it might be that simple.  For all they had both done and experienced over the years of their residence in Arda, neither of them were so complex at heart that they held hidden motives and buried grudges deep inside.  There was no question that Olórin still respected and loved his master, and he knew for certain that his feelings were returned.  But there had been so little time since the discovery of the truth behind his illness, between the inflicting of the hurt and his healing, so little chance to do more than allow his strength to return and the darkness to lift from his heart and soul.

It could well be that both he and Frodo had been wrong.  There were no unresolved issues within Olórin concerning the betrayal of Saruman; he had spent much of the night meditating upon that very matter, since Aránayel’s mention of the fallen Istar had stirred his thoughts in that regard.  If any emotion lingered on that account, it was pity, the sorrow that Curumo had gone so badly astray, and Olórin had not been able to see the changes in him soon enough to even attempt to help him, had the proud leader of their Order deigned to allow it.  Olórin had never wanted that position, much less to be the bearer of the Valar’s judgment against his predecessor.  He did not shirk such duties when they were required of him, but he never took pleasure of any kind in their execution.  He was still saddened by the knowledge that Saruman had turned against him, but every time he had offered him kindness and forgiveness, he had offered it sincerely, and it had been just as sincerely rejected.  Saruman’s choice was not his fault; he knew it well, and thus had let go of any anger he had felt toward his brother wizard’s deeds in Middle-earth long before he had returned home.  Curumo had paid a terrible price for what he had done, his spirit rejected from Endorë, exiled from Aman, unable to rest anywhere.  And the harm he had done in his search for power and for vengeance had come to naught, the lands he had despoiled restored to even greater beauty, the peoples he had tried to subjugate or eradicate now flourishing and prospering.  There was nothing left unresolved so far as Saruman was concerned, and deep meditation during the night had fully convinced Olórin that it was not the source of his inability to forgive Manwë.

No, if there was any cause for his hesitance, he knew it was something strictly within himself.  There was something he needed to let go from his heart and mind, some lingering shadow that cast doubts between him and his master that should not have been.  After all, if he could manage to arrange a truce between himself and Aránayel after so many years of estrangement and bitterness, surely what lay between him and Manwë could be dispelled as easily as the brisk morning winds blew away the last mists of night.

Reflecting upon the fact that he had somehow managed to come to an agreement, however strained, to keep the peace with Aránayel during their journey to Lórien, Olórin laughed, suddenly feeling hope that the matter of his relationship with Manwë was not beyond repair, and that Lady Nienna had known precisely what she was doing when she had chosen Aránayel for the task ahead.  Those who had been assisting with the horses looked at him, puzzled by his sudden laughter, but he merely smiled and resumed his work.  Wherever this beautiful dawn had its origins, it seemed to him a positive portent for the future.

The horses he had selected from Nienna’s stables were all dappled grays, smaller than Shadowfax and not as strong or intelligent, but sturdy beasts who were well familiar with the uneven lands of western Aman, with good temperaments that would be well suited to a journey with several marginally experienced riders.  He had no doubt that Helyanwë had accurately judged the twins’ skills, but they were still young and even the best Elven riders grew restless and uncomfortable and impatient during long rides at so tender an age.  Aránayel, he had been told, did not enjoy such a mode of transportation at all, considering it a waste of time and a general nuisance; she much preferred the swift travel of their kind, and did not even care for the long walk between Nienna’s house and the Halls of her brother to the north.  Olórin had chosen the most gentle-natured of the beasts for her, to spare both her and the horse any undue trouble, but he would have preferred to send her on ahead, or tell her to wait and come to Lórien only after he and the children had arrived.  He was certain he could manage the journey with the twins without assistance, but neither option was truly feasible.  Frodo had never before met Aránayel, and although many of the Maiar in Lórien knew of her, few were actually acquainted with her.  He did not think it wise to send her on without him, so that he might at least have a chance to forestall any unpleasantries that might arise because of her often haughty and abrasive nature.  Moreover, there was the matter of the children’s tutelage to consider, and though he was certain seven days without it would not cause them to forget all they had learned, he was also aware that this was a part of the test that would determine whether or not Aránayel had earned the right to have her long punishment ended.  And, he supposed, it would do him good to see how well he dealt with her presence after so many years, before he brought her into the house that was currently as much Frodo’s as his own.

He had no more than imagined the potential repercussions of sending Aránayel into the keeping of Frodo and Ványalos before he decided it was a bad idea, all around.  He had learned patience from Nienna, in most things, and one lesson he had learned very well was not to rush to meet the future.  It would come soon enough, and even well prepared for it, one often found one’s self still not quite ready for it when it arrived.  He dismissed such thoughts and focused instead on the immediate task at hand, and the prospect of a pleasant day in which to begin the journey home.

Feeling much lighter in spirit than he had been upon his arrival less than a day ago, he sang softly to himself while he went about his work, a very ancient tune he had known even before he had first entered Arda.  Frodo would doubtless have found it unsettling, since the words that had eventually been fitted to the melody were in Valarin, but there was something unusually reassuring and uplifting about the air, and few of his people did not take pleasure and comfort from it.  It wove in its sounds memories of a time before time, and beauties beyond beauty that were a part of every Ainu who did not reject the light and embrace the darkness.  He had kept his voice low, but before long, he noticed the others singing with him, and chuckled.  This was one part of his life as a Maia he had terribly missed during his life in Endorë, not just the music that was as blood to his people, but the sense of joy and belonging that was woven between them in moments such as this.  All the Ainur were a great family, not of flesh and blood, but in their shared being as the children of Eru’s thought.  More than anything else he had left behind, it was this simple yet profound feeling he had missed most keenly.

“You seem in an unusually good mood this morning, Olórin,” said one of Nienna’s servants who had been helping him fit the riding gear onto the horse that was to be Aránayel’s.  He was tall and slender, dark of eye and hair and distinctly Elven in appearance, though he was not of that kindred.  Many of Nienna’s people adopted forms closely akin to the Eldar, since much of their work was with them, assisting those emerging from the Halls of Waiting, or dealing with their kin.  “I would not have thought it possible, with the prospect of a journey in Aránayel’s company before you.”

Yesterday, the Istar might have agreed with the sentiment; today, he laughed, the sound of it as bright as the morning sun.  “You forget, Séretur, that until yesterday, I had been deliberately steered away from any encounter with her by Lady Nienna and other well-meaning friends, while you have had the pleasure of living and working in her presence for nearly as many years.”

The taller Maia’s expression twisted in a way echoed by the others who heard that remark.  “I would not call it a pleasure, by any stretch of the imagination.  We are not so well acquainted as I know you are with others of the Lady’s servants, but I believe I know you well enough to understand that your reputation for wisdom has been well earned.  And so it astonishes me all the more that you could ever have loved one such as Aránayel.”

The humor remained in Olórin’s voice.  “We all make mistakes, no matter how great our wisdom, and mine was all but non-existent, back then.  What I thought I felt was as unreal as the illusion of warmth Aránayel gives to others when it pleases her to use them.  That I was stupid enough to actually tell her of my fantasies when I had been warned by those wiser than myself is proof enough that I had much to learn, about myself and the rest of creation.  Yet I do not blame Aránayel for it, Séretur, and it would be well if you remembered this.  She has been sent into a kind of exile that is very difficult for one of her nature to bear, for having done nothing more than speak the truth, bitter though it may have been for me to swallow.  For whatever unkindness she inflicted upon me, she has more than paid the penalty, and I hope this journey at last convinces those who have the authority to release her from this life she was not meant to live.”

Séretur snorted softly, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.  “If I did not know better, I would think you were still smitten with her.  You are being more gracious than she deserves, you know.  Her treatment of you long ago was but the beginning of a long history of infractions, of which I’m sure you know little or nothing, having been otherwise occupied in the service of the Valar.  I will do as you ask, of course, if you will accept one morsel of advice: Be wary of her.  She has not often spoken of you since Lady Varda placed greater restrictions upon her freedom, but when she has, it has always been with venomous words.  She will try to hurt you again, if she can, to be avenged for her own mistakes.”

The Istar nodded as they finished preparing the horse.  “Helyanwë has already mentioned this to me, and I have given her my word that I will take care.  And I thank you for your concern, but I think perhaps it will not be needed.  Much as she may despise me, Aránayel hates her life in these remote lands even more.  She has always been gifted in seeing to her own welfare, and she cannot help but know that anything she does against me, directly or indirectly, will not bode well for the freedom she seeks.  If I can survive the journey between here and Lórien, she will have lost any opportunity she might have had to attempt to act against me.  Ever since my illness, my friends there seem intent on watching over me, and even if she somehow managed to slip past my guard, she will not get ‘round theirs so easily.”

“And Lord Irmo not least among them, I suspect.  I am glad to hear it.  Aránayel is too sly for her own good, and many of us had fears that we were setting loose a serpent whose venom had but grown stronger since last she had struck.”

Olórin laughed, clasping Séretur’s shoulder as he came around the horse to make certain the packs had been properly secured.  “From all the concern I have heard on this matter over the past day, I am beginning to think Aránayel must have grown into something far more deadly to me than the poisons of Melkor and Sauron that very nearly ended my life in this world.  Worry not!  I suspect her desire to be free again is greater than her hatred toward me, and even if it is not, I am not without protection.  She will not attempt anything that would harm the children or even prejudice them against her, since word of it would certainly reach the ears of Lady Nienna.  I have never understood persons with acquisitive natures,” he added as he eyed the packs that Aránayel had sent as her luggage.  “Especially among our people.  What possible reason is there for hoarding things when we have little need of tools and other implements, and can refashion what we already have to the needs of the moment?”

One of the other Maiar grunted, the sound threaded with humor.  “You have never been a gatherer, Olórin, and everyone in Aman knows it.  When Eönwë and Melian and others suggested we rebuild your house in preparation for your return, there were those among us who saw no reason for it, since we suspected you would either reject it utterly, or accept it out of politeness and then let it fall to wrack and ruin.  There is no one in all of Arda to whom it is more difficult to offer a gift, be it large or small.  If we had not been told that you would likely be returning with mortals who might wish to remain in your company for a time, we would have thought the effort quite pointless.”

“Whereas Aránayel is completely the opposite,” Séretur continued.  “Andon has a very good point.  You are not preoccupied with possessions, but Aránayel has a fascination with things, and counts them as a measure of her worth.  Did Curumo not have a similar obsession?”

The Istar sighed.  “After a fashion.  That is one of the weaknesses of many of Lord Aulë’s servants, I’m afraid.  His was a mastery of the physical world, and those he drew to him as servants and followers shared in his love of such things.  I have never quite understood why Aránayel did not become one of his people rather than Lord Manwë’s; she would have been better suited to his service, it seems.”

The Maia who had grunted, Andon, now snorted rather loudly.  “She is a hoarder, not a maker.  And how long did you work beside her, without seeing that if she must serve, she would settle for no less a master and mistress than the king and queen of Arda?”

Olórin conceded the point with a good-natured chuckle.  “Not long enough to avoid making a fool of myself, I’m afraid.  Well, it matters little, if at all.  She will do what she will do, and I will make the best of things.  After the last two thousand years in Endorë, commissioned with the task of uniting peoples who would just as soon go to war with each other than come together against an obvious common enemy, I cannot imagine there is anything Aránayel could do during a seven day journey that would seem even mildly intolerable.”

Andon’s nose twitched, but not at the scent of the horses as they led them from the stables to the place where they were to meet the others who were departing.  “Then you do not have as active an imagination as your reputation claims.  I can think of several dozen, and that is without half-trying.  Shall I enlighten you?”

“No need,” he was swiftly assured.  “My imagination is quite alive and well, thank you.  If I were to begin making lists of all the ways in which this coming journey may turn unpleasant, I will certainly find it so, and by my own making.  I am not as naive as I was in my youth, and among the many things I have learned since then is that dwelling upon potential troubles will only make them worse when and if they do arrive.”

“I still suspect you are being more generous than she deserves,” Séretur remarked.  “But not, perhaps, more than is your nature.  Nonetheless, I wish you good fortune with her, Olórin.  She is a bitter person, and it would be easier to remove all Melkor’s poison from Arda than to sweeten her disposition.”

The Istar laughed softly.  “It is not necessary that she be sweet, merely civil.  And that much I believe she will manage, if for no other reason than to be freed from her service here.”

The others did not contest that notion, for they knew it was likely true.  They continued along a path that curved around the eastern side of the guest house, to the place before its southern entrance where they were to meet Aránayel and the twins.  The children were seated on the bottommost step before the doors, playing some game involving a piece of string intricately twisted by their nimble fingers; Aránayel waited at the top near the doors, clearly seeking shelter from the chill morning wind.  From the way she was attired, she was anticipating the onset of winter, not summer.

Olórin was mildly amused by that, though he hid it.  None of their people ever needed feel the discomforts of weather, unless they chose to experience that part of incarnate life, yet Aránayel had always appeared quite sensitive to it.  Charitably, he had once supposed she did so to better understand the world in which they lived; wiser now, he knew she did so as a kind of vanity, to attract sympathy and attention.  It was a habit so old, she likely had forgotten how to shift her perceptions of such things, and would not take kindly any instruction he might have to offer, however gently it was worded.  She would be more apt to complain, and thus provide one of the many ways in which Andon had predicted she might make the journey intolerable.  Well, he had lived with worse during the past two millennia in Middle-earth, and he could certainly live with this for a mere seven days.

As they led the horses to the appointed place, Olórin caught the movement of someone coming toward them from the Great House itself.  He did not need to look to recognize Nienna’s presence; the children noted it a few moments later, and ended their game to rise to meet her.  Even Aránayel reacted with deference, coming down from her sheltered place to join the others who were gathering at the foot of the steps.

Nienna smiled as she and those leading the readied horses arrived at almost the same moment.  She looked up at the sunny skies, then turned her smile to the waiting travelers.  “A most beautiful day to begin a journey.  I think you will enjoy the leagues between here and Lórien, my little friends,” she said to the twins, “and also the land in which my younger brother dwells.  If you have reconsidered your desire to visit Lórien, you will of course be welcome here, but I am sure you will be happier there.  To all things there is a time, and the time has come for you to move away from my house and closer to your own people.”

Melui and Lére exchanged glances; he nodded, and she spoke for both of them.  “We thank you, Lady Nienna, for your kindness and hospitality.  We will never forget it, and someday, if we can, we would like to repay you.”

The Valië’s smile brightened.  “That is not necessary, but should the time come when that is the proper thing to do, then I will welcome it, as I will welcome you.  For now, let your hearts find peace and joy again, and that will be payment enough.”

She held out her hands to the youngsters, and on her open palms they saw matched wristlets made of fine plaited sea grasses tinted a deep blue that held twined amid the strands fourteen small polished stones of a kind common to the western shores beyond her house.  “I know you collected many pebbles from the sea strand when you were taken to visit it, Lére, and that you, Melui, fashioned many lovely weavings from the grasses you found on those long walks.  These are but a small parting gift, a token in remembrance of my home for you to take with you on your journey.  I will not forget either of you, though you be far away, and I hope these will bring to you more pleasant memories of my House, where you will ever be welcome.”

Wide-eyed, for they had not expected any gift from the Lady, they accepted them, as well as her help in fastening them about their wrists.  They were beautiful things, for all their simplicity, and would indeed kindle memories of their more pleasant days in Nienna’s house.  “Thank you, my Lady,” they both said softly, Melui adding, “but we don’t have anything to give you in return.”

“And nothing is needed,” Nienna assured her.  “You have given me the joy of your presence in my home, and the gift of your laughter and song last evening.  I will treasure all of those things, until the end of days, and when the world renewed.”

When she was finished speaking with the twins, Séretur and Andon came and helped them onto their steeds while Nienna turned to Aránayel.  “I give to you a parting gift of words, Aránayel: my hope that when we meet again, it will be in a time and place that will bring you greater happiness than you have known while in my service.  You have learned much, and now the time is come for your final test.  Continue as you have begun, and success will carry you to all which you so sorely crave.”

Aránayel inclined her head in deference, careful not to disturb the lay of her cloak about her neck and shoulders, which would allow the chill morning wind past her defenses.  “Thank you, my lady,” she said, her tone completely proper — almost too much so, to Olórin’s ears, as if she refused to let go of the slightest bit of warmth or real gratitude.  “I shall do my best.”

Nienna, undisturbed by her attitudes, remained cordial, her pale smile undimmed.  “Then I will look to see you again in the autumn, when we gather in Valmar for the festival.”

The tall Valië turned then to Olórin, her smile warmer.  “Your visit was too brief, Olórin, but as you came for the sake of my young guests and not for other purposes, I do not begrudge it.  It was enough for me to see how you are indeed recovering from your long and difficult labors, more than sufficient to be of help to others yet again.  I am glad of it.”

“As am I, my lady,” the Istar answered with a gracious bow.  “I grew accustomed to such activity during my recent time in Endorë, and I will admit I had feared returning to a life without clear purpose.  I know that will not happen now, and I thank you for allowing me to be of service.”

Nienna chuckled.  “Even were there naught left for the rest of us to do in tending Arda, I cannot help but suspect you would somehow find a way to serve.  Lord Eru has some greater purpose for you in His music, I think, though none of us can yet perceive it.  But we will all know soon enough, in the fullness of His time.  You shall ever be welcome in my house, but return now to your own and take with you my greetings to my brother Irmo and his lady, as well as my blessings.”

As he acknowledged her kind words, he heard a sound from the twins, one that could only be described as a hastily smothered giggle.  He noted that they were both grinning when he turned to mount his own steed, as he also noted the peculiar expression on Aránayel’s face.  The coldness in it was only to be expected, but there was a strange hint of envy to it as well.  Undoubtedly because Nienna had asked him to carry greetings to her brother, not Aránayel.  Inwardly, the Istar sighed, but let loose no discernable trace of it.  Aránayel had agreed to a truce, and though he did not expect it to be a comfortable one, he did not believe she had lied.  Séretur aided her onto her horse, and when they were mounted and ready, they set off, heading south and east into the ever-brightening day.

They rode in silence until the great house was in the distance behind them; the twins then giggled openly.  From the glances they were exchanging, Olórin knew they were sharing some kind of private communication, though he noticed that their eyes occasionally flicked toward him.  “I’m pleased to see the two of you in such merry spirits this morning,” he said, his placid tone belying his curiosity.  “Would you care to share the reason with us, and perhaps brighten our day as well?”

Melui’s cheeks suddenly flushed with chagrin, but Lére chuckled.  “I think she likes you, Mithrandir,” he said, as if stating a fact so obvious, even a blind man could have seen it.

The Istar’s brow furrowed with puzzlement, his own eyes looking toward Aránayel for a moment, wondering how the two could have missed her frostiness toward him.  A glance proved that he was not in error; she appeared no more pleased with him or anything in the world than she had before they had left Nienna’s house.  If anything, she seemed marginally more disgruntled, her mood soured by the wind, the cold weather, riding on a horse, and the need to do so in his presence.  He turned back to the boy.  “I beg your pardon?”

“Lady Nienna,” Melui answered, clarifying the mystery, her composure regained.  “We think she likes you.”

“I’m certain she does,” Olórin said, glad that there had been no potentially troublesome misunderstanding concerning Aránayel.  “She is a very compassionate and caring person.  She has taken many people in need into her house, and I was one of them, many years ago, as you were more recently.”

The boy favored him with a glance that judged him quite the densest person in existence.  “Not like that,” he said sententiously.  “Like... well, you know.  The way Mother likes Father.”

Olórin blinked, genuinely surprised by the remark, largely due to the frequency with which such notions had been brought up to him in recent days.  “And why would you think that?  She treats me much the same as she does you and your sister, and her other servants and students.  I am not one of her people, but I have been her pupil for many years, and I return to learn from her when I can.  She knows me well, better than I sometimes know myself, but her feelings for me are not of the kind you imagine.”

“Then why did she ask you to take her greetings to her brother?” Melui wanted to know.  “Whenever Father sent messages to his family in Lothlórien, he never sent them with just anyone, only very special friends.”

“Whom I am sure he loved and trusted, but not in the ways he loved your mother.  Lady Nienna was showing me no special favor by making that request.  I am Lord Irmo’s counselor, and I speak with him often.  I know him and Lady Estë well, likely better than either of you or Aránayel.  It would make the most sense to send messages with me then, would it not?”

Melui nodded, rather reluctantly, but Lére was not so easily convinced.  “Maybe,” he allowed.  “But that doesn’t mean she can’t like you, does it?”

The Istar sighed.  “Perhaps not.  But if Lady Nienna has a special fondness for me because I have been her pupil, does that also mean that Aránayel has such feelings for you because you have been hers?”

It was the boy’s turn to be embarrassed, his face flushing a bright red from his neck to the tips of his ears.  His sister giggled, but was content to let the subject drop.  “Can we sing a song, Mithrandir?” she asked after Lére had scowled at her for being amused by his discomfort.  “We didn’t travel much before we left Middle-earth, but whenever we did, Father would teach us new songs along the way, to shorten the journey, he said.  It’s been a long time since we learned a new song.”

Olórin glanced at Aránayel, not wanting to infringe upon an area which she might consider her purview, being an aspect of the twins’ tutelage.  She shrugged, huddling more deeply into the cloak wrapped about her.  “I am in no mood to sing when I must endure such hardships,” she sniffed.  “Do as you like, it matters not to me.”

Again, Olórin sighed silently, wondering how he could ever have believed there was any love between himself and Aránayel, for her behavior was no different now than it had been all those thousands of years before.  At least she was only being irritable, not openly hostile.  Grateful for that small favor, he turned back to the youngsters.  “Since we have met only recently, I do not know which songs you may have already learned, other than those I heard you sing yesterday.  Are you familiar with any of the Hobbits’ songs?”

Both fair heads shook as one.  “We’ve never met a halfling,” Melui explained, “and I’m not sure Mother or Father ever did, either.  Are their songs terribly long or difficult?”

Olórin laughed.  “Not as a rule.  One of the Hobbits who came with me when I returned from Middle-earth has written some that are quite lengthy, but his songs are the exceptions — and not all of his are long.  There is one I learned from him long ago, well before you were born, that I think would be quite suitable.”

“Can it be played on a pipe?” Lére wondered, looking to make certain his was still safely stowed in the pocket where he had placed it.

“I’m sure it can, though you must know the tune first before you can play it.”

“I learn quickly,” the boy assured him.

Olórin smiled.  “Then no doubt you’ll soon have it mastered.”  As they continued on their course, moving at a steady but gentle pace, following the strand of a small river inland, he sang and the children listened attentively.  Aránayel appeared not to notice them, although her glance would occasionally touch them, as if she was trying to solve some inexplicable riddle to which her companions were not privy.  When they stopped briefly to let the horses drink from the stream and graze for a bit before moving on, Lére brought out his pipe to try the newly learned tune, and its lilting notes sang through the riverside glen, heedless of Aránayel’s inscrutable glare:

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.

VIII

By the hour before sunset, they had moved well inland, still following the dwindling river, but as yet well removed from the nearest settlement.  The weather was warmer than it had been along the damp and stony seashore, though a chill lingered in the air that spoke of coming night and the summer season that had yet to arrive in these desolate parts of Aman.  There was also a hint of moisture on the breeze that had nothing to do with the river or the sea.  Olórin knew it for what it was, a sign of rains that would arrive with the sunset, and so they stopped to prepare for the coming night.

Aránayel had been told by others that they would likely spend the first two nights of their journey making camp in the wilds, both because their course would not take them into more inhabited regions, and because the children, though Elven, still needed rest and refreshment for their young bodies.  She was not pleased by these necessities, and wanted no part of erecting the small shelter that had been provided for their use; fortunately, the twins were both fascinated by it, and were more than willing to assist the Istar.  Olórin made no comment about Aránayel’s attitude, nor that she settled herself to wait for them to finish without lifting a finger.  When the tent had been erected and the twins had gone off to collect some fallen wood for a fire, he at last turned to his fellow Maia and spoke softly.

“I know that these chores are neither within your experience or your liking,” he said as impartially as possible, “but there are things about Eruhíni children which you may not realize.  Even those of the Eldar are small and seemingly weak and inexperienced at this tender age, but they see and hear more than we often are aware.  They also are not inclined to forget easily, and what they know, they may repeat to others if it seems proper to them.  I will not judge your behavior on this mission, Aránayel, and even were you to treat me badly, I would say nothing of it so as not to influence the choices of those who are to decide your fate.  But Lére and Melui have no truce with you, nor any particular desire to see that you are freed from your long punishment.  Neither I nor you can control what they might say if they are asked their opinion concerning how you acted on this journey.  I have not been their tutor as you have been, but I have seen enough if our brief time together to sense that they have a clear preference for elders who treat them with kindness, if not actual affection.  If you do nothing at all, and too often speak only to teach or to express discomfort or displeasure, they may have uncomplimentary things to say about you, in the end.”

She sniffed, clutching at the throat of her cloak to close it against the rising wind.  “And do you know them well enough to be so certain what they will say?”

He shook his head, pushing aside strands of his pale white-gold hair that the same gust of wind had blown into his eyes; his long fingers twisted the strands together and tucked them more securely behind one ear.  “Of course not.  But I was acquainted with many children in Endorë.  Even though I could not spend as much time with them as I wished, I came to understand some of their more remarkable habits.  If these two were not so observant, would they have noticed enough to remark upon the gracious manner in which Lady Nienna treats me?  I was in her house for but a day, and the twins and I spent little time together in the Lady’s presence.  They did not perceive the nature of our relationship correctly, but they did indeed note that we have one, and that it is not quite the same as her relation with most others of our people.  Would you risk them mistaking your actions, or lack of them, for something they are not?”

Aránayel’s lovely brow creased for several moments before she made a sound of resignation.  “No.  You have made your point — but rather too late, I think.  Why did you not mention this to me before the work of preparing our camp was completed?  To deliberately prejudice them against me?”

“No,” he answered simply.  “Because they would have heard that conversation as well, and likely misjudged it.  But this need not work in your disfavor.  Though you and I do not require food to sustain us, they do, and the preparation of the evening meal has not begun, nor is it difficult.  Among the Eruhíni, I have noted that the offering of food is often viewed as a gesture of great kindness.  I must see that the horses are readied for the night, and if you would care to prepare the meal for the children, it can easily be done in the comfort of our shelter, out of the wind where it is warmer.”

Again, there was a pause before the auburn-haired Maia responded, but this time, there was less bitter displeasure in her tone.  “And you do not think this skill beyond me?”

“Why should I?” he asked honestly.  “Many of our people merely assume the visible forms of the Eruhíni without taking upon themselves any of the limitations or discomforts of incarnate existence.  I would have expected you to be one such person, yet I admit that I have known little of your life since our ways parted.  I know what it is to feel the bite of cold and the weariness of long journeys, as well as the pleasure of a meal after long labor; it was a necessary part of my life these past two millennia in Endorë, and I can see clearly that you are not feigning your own discomfort.  Such feelings are inconvenient, it is true, but they are also a very important part of life in Arda.  For whatever reasons you first fell into these habits, they do you credit now.  They have better prepared you to show compassion toward our young charges.”

Aránayel studied the Istar closely, searching for any hint of condescension or mockery; finding none, she accepted his assessment, though warily.  “Perhaps so,” was all she would allow.  “Have the supplies been moved into the shelter?”

“Whatever was needed for the night.  I will see to it that the rest is removed when I attend to the horses.”

“Take care with my things,” she said primly.  “I do not want them ruined by mishandling.”

She moved on into the tent without waiting for a reply, a queen expecting her orders to be obeyed without question.  Secretly, Olórin had to admit he was glad to see her go.  He did not bear any ill will toward Aránayel, but the cold demeanor she had displayed ever since their departure convinced him that those who wondered how he had ever imagined he loved her were more observant than he had been in his youth.  He was amazed to see how blind he had truly been.  Even so, he did not regret this enlightenment, for in ways, it was apt to make their journey less uncomfortable.  He no longer held any doubts whatsoever about his feelings toward her, but had she changed during the intervening years, he might have found this enforced companionship more difficult and confusing.  He knew now that at best, he could expect Aránayel to cooperate when it was in her own self-interest, and he would not hope for more than that from her.

While the Istar went to unsaddle the horses and remove the packs they still carried, he heard Aránayel at work preparing the meal.  The sounds were not particularly encouraging.  If he had not felt pity for her situation, so woefully prepared for anything of this sort, he might have found her dilemma over such simple matters amusing.  Though she had worked long in the service of Nienna and Námo, her duties had apparently seldom involved these mundane aspects of incarnate life.  In some ways, Olórin supposed this was just as well, for she certainly would have viewed such work as drudgery and yet more unjust punishment heaped upon her.  Even so, from what he had witnessed during the farewell meal the night before, she enjoyed partaking of food and drink more than just for the sake of hospitality.  She remained as ever a bundle of contradictions and vanity, desiring the pleasure of certain things but not wishing to make any effort to attain them.  For her sake, he hoped that she was capable of managing this without producing food the twins might find unpalatable, for she would certainly be offended if her work received anything but praise.

The pair returned perhaps half an hour after they had gone, arriving just as Olórin finished attending the horses and seeing to it that they had adequate shelter between the tent and a copse of trees along the riverbank.  He had spoken to them to make certain they did not wander farther than was needed to graze or drink from the cool waters during the night, thanking once again the circumstances that had led him to become so well acquainted with the speech of their kind.  He was in the process of making sure the tack and other packs were also sheltered from the coming rain when the twins approached him.

“There wasn’t much wood to be found, Mithrandir,” Lére said as he displayed his armload of dry twigs and bits of fallen branches as evidence.  “I shouldn’t want to hurt any of the trees to find more.”

“It won’t be necessary,” he was assured, with a smile of approval for their efforts.  “The shelter Lady Nienna provided will allow us to have a fire within, so long as it is small and we take care with it. It will be needed only for your comfort and light, after the rains have come.  When you are older, you will not find so great a need for these things, but while you are still young and growing, such comforts are welcome even among the Elves, if you wish to sleep well.”

“We know,” Melui said, shivering slightly.  “On nights when it was very windy around Lady Nienna’s house, it would get very cold in our rooms, and Helyanwë always made certain there was a fire on the hearth to keep us warm while we slept.”  Sadness cast a shadow across her face like the clouds now masking the sun.  “I miss her already, Mithrandir.  Why couldn’t she have come with us instead?  I know she wanted to.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he agreed, his voice deliberately low, “for she is quite fond of you.  But Lady Nienna would not have sent her on the errand to Alqualondë unless her presence was needed there.  And in many ways, Aránayel’s presence is needed here.”

Lére’s nose wrinkled at the very thought.  “I can’t see why.  She’s not a bad teacher, but she’s not a very nice person.  She never sings, and she hardly ever smiles or laughs.  I don’t think she likes us at all, and I know she doesn’t like you.”

One of Olórin’s pale brows cocked curiously.  “Oh?  And how do you know this?”

The boy shrugged.  “From listening.  We heard about the ship that was coming from Middle-earth, bringing some very important people, long before it arrived.  Helyanwë was always very polite around us, but before our voices came back, some of the others acted as if we couldn’t hear because we couldn’t speak.  One day, someone mentioned that you would be coming home on that ship, though we didn’t know it was you they meant; we didn’t know your real name.  Aránayel seemed almost angry about it, and she said many unkind things about you before Lady Nienna came into the room and she stopped.  I heard other things later, all quite mean.  When Helyanwë realized that we’d heard Aránayel talking this way, she took us aside and told us not to pay any attention to it.  It wasn’t true, she said, just a lot of angry and bitter talk because something bad had happened between you and Aránayel a very long time ago.  Once we could speak again, Aránayel was careful not to say anything when we were near, but I think I heard more than enough.”

“I should say so,” the Maia said.  He sighed as he finished securing the protective cover over the tack and other packs, settling back on his heels to look up at the twins.  “I’m sorry you had to hear of it at all, for I know the kinds of things Aránayel has said of me.  But try to understand that I bear her no ill will for the unpleasantries that happened between us, or her bitterness over her punishment.  I truly believe she was given more harsh a sentence than she deserved, and how well she fares on this journey and in Lórien may well decide whether or not she will be freed from her exile.  She and I have agreed to try to let the past remain the past, and not influence our actions now.  She is doing her best, I think, and if we can help her to feel that her efforts are not in vain, then she may improve more quickly.”

Melui appeared doubtful.  “Do you really think that would help?  Lére’s right, she’s done well enough as our tutor, but I don’t think I like her very much.  She’s always so cold and unpleasant....”

Olórin smiled wanly.  “And during these past years, since the shipwreck, have you always felt cheerful and kind toward those around you?”

She considered the question for almost a minute before shaking her head.  “No, I wasn’t always, but that was because I was very upset and frightened.  We lost everyone we knew when the ship was wrecked.  We felt very alone and out of place, because we didn’t really belong here.”

“The same can be said of Aránayel.  You were taken from your home and the people you had known since you were born, and cast adrift in a strange place.  In Nienna’s house, you were given help and kindness, but her people are not your people.  So it was with Aránayel.  When Lord Manwë sent her from his service and into that of Lady Nienna and Lord Námo, she was cast adrift in a lonely place where she did not belong.  The need to be among many people who are more sociable is part of Aránayel’s nature, what she has been since the moment she was brought into being.  And she has been made to endure this loneliness for thousands of years.  Do you think you could be forced to live under such circumstances for so long, and not feel bitter toward the whole world, especially those who bore some responsibility for your unhappy circumstances?”

It took but a few moments before both twins shook their heads.  “I don’t think I would like it at all,” Lére admitted.  “If you want us to try to be nicer to her, Mithrandir, we will.  We didn’t know these things you just told us.”

“Mother was a bit like that, you know,” his sister added in a softly confidential tone.  “I think that’s why we never went to visit Father’s kin in Lothlórien.  She liked all the friends she had in Mithlond,  and she was afraid she wouldn’t be accepted that way any place else, especially not in Lothlórien.  She heard from others that it was... different, not like the other Elf cities in Middle-earth.   Colder, she thought, but not like the weather.  I heard her say so to one of our neighbors when I was very little, and she thought I was asleep.”

“Lothlórien was indeed unique,” Olórin confirmed, “but if its people seemed different, it was largely because they lived so close to places where the Enemy had strongholds.  In times of peace, it was beautiful and warm and a very pleasant place to be, but by the time the two of you came into the world, it had become a fortress against the Shadow.  I think she would have been welcome there, but knowing both the people of the Golden Wood and those of Mithlond, I can understand why your mother would have had such fears.  You see, then, why Aránayel is not a happy person.  She was made to live in a place where she felt different and outcast for far longer a time than your father and mother were acquainted.  I believe she has learned things during her exile that will help her become a better person, but so long as she is made to live where she feels lonely, she will not be able to make proper use of those skills.  We can help her by overlooking her bitterness and doing what we are able to make her feel that she is not unwelcome among us.  Do you think you can do this — carefully, so that she will not mistake kindness for mockery?”

Lére nodded first.  “One of Mother’s friends was often cross and grumpy, but we always tried to be nice to her, so as not to upset Mother.  I wouldn’t’ve thought you’d want us to do that with Aránayel, since she’s said so many nasty things about you, but if you’d told us this before we left Lady Nienna’s house, we would have done it straightaway.”

The Maia smiled.  “Well, you haven’t been impolite to her, so now is soon enough, so long as you remember that she will take it badly if she has any reason to believe you are doing this to make sport of her.”

“We would never do that,” Melui said, quite seriously.  “Father told us to always be polite to Mother’s friend, but one time, we made too much of a fuss over her, and she knew we were pretending to like her.  She was very upset, and got angry at Mother because she thought Mother had told us to do this because she really didn’t like her.  Afterward, we realized that we’d treated her badly, and upset Mother, too.  We never did it again, and we won’t do it now, Mithrandir.  We like you, and we wouldn’t want to hurt you by hurting Aránayel.  We’ll be careful.”

Olórin’s smile brightened.  “I have known so few children of the Eldar in recent years, I had nearly forgotten how wise you can be at so young an age.  I have no doubt at all that you will do your best, but take care that she does not learn that I asked this favor of you.  She would also look upon that with displeasure, which could make the remainder of our time together most uncomfortable.”

As he stood, brushing dust and bits of grass from his knees, he was glad that they had spoken quietly, and that he had been able to hear the sounds of Aránayel at work in the tent some yards away from where the horses were sheltered, clearly disinterested in anything but her current task.  “Let us see how your dinner is coming, and if Aránayel would appreciate your help in preparing it,” he suggested, collecting the gathered wood from the twins as the first drops of rain began to fall.  “I know she will not permit it from me, but perhaps from you, she may take it as a sign that you are growing to accept her, which might sweeten her disposition all around.”

**********

Surprisingly enough, Aránayel was indeed willing to accept assistance from the twins.  She was not far from finished with the meal preparations when they joined her, and thus she did not look upon their offer as an attempt to step in and do what she could not.  She seemed fairly pleased with herself and her success, and was happy to display her handiwork for their praise and approval.  Olórin noted with relief that the twins were indeed quite skilled at being polite and deferential without falling into condescension; he himself could not tell if their praise was fully real or partly feigned, for Aránayel had done well, no matter that the task was a simple one.  He was inclined to believe their behavior was largely sincere, and so much the better.

While they finished readying the meal, he saw to it that the place in which they would sit was properly arranged, the ground cloths spread and any offending stones or twigs that might lie beneath them removed.  Near the center of the tent, he set the stones for the fire that would keep the space inside warm and dry through the night.  The rain was now falling in earnest; gusts of wind whistled about their shelter from time to time.  He set the gathered wood into the ring of stones, and when it was arranged just so, the twigs and branches set above a layer of dry leaves and smaller sticks, he held his hands above it and spoke softly.  Flame caught on the leaves and spread rapidly to the larger kindling, then licked up to embrace the firewood itself.  Under his command, it burned only so quickly, enough to give warmth and light, yet not consume all its meager fuel before the night was spent.  Melui and Lére watched, fascinated, as they and Aránayel brought the meal.

“Father said you know more about fire than anyone else in Middle-earth,” Lére said, still staring until his sister nudged him back to work.  They set the things they carried on the cloth before settling themselves on the ground as well.  “Do you, Mithrandir?”

“In some ways, perhaps,” the Istar replied, accepting the plate Melui offered him with a gracious smile.  “I know much of how it can be used for beneficial purposes, but Sauron was far more familiar with its destructive ends.  I am quite glad that he will no longer trouble the people of Endorë, so perhaps they might learn again how such things can be used for good rather than for evil.  But I was not to remain to teach them.  The customs of Lady Nienna’s house are somewhat different from those in Lórien,” he added, deliberately changing the subject, as the thought of what he had not been able to accomplish in Middle-earth saddened him.  “Both peoples give thanks before they break bread at the evening meal, but in Lórien, the manner is not the same.  Since you will likely be guests in Lord Irmo’s land for some time, would you like to begin to learn its ways before you arrive?”

Both children nodded enthusiastically, and when they were all settled — Aránayel seated atop the bundle of bedding they would use later in the evening, disliking the thought of sitting so near the chilly ground — Olórin sang the songs with which the inhabitants of Lórien, both Eldar and Ainu, gave thanks at the close of day.  The twins listened closely, enchanted by the songs and delighted to know the words of the Elvish hymn, though they did not yet know the unusual tune.  Aránayel also listened but did not participate, for in Nienna’s house such thanks were spoken rather than sung, and the words offered were not quite the same.  Olórin pointedly focused his attention on the twins, so as not to discomfit his fellow Maia, but he could feel her eyes upon him all the while he sang.  He could not tell if she watched with approval or disdain, but as she made no comment when he was finished, he knew at least that he had not accidentally angered her.

It was also clear to him that the children’s praise of their meal was not feigned or exaggerated; Aránayel had done well, and to have it noticed definitely pleased her.  She did not make any great effort to join in their conversation — which was largely the children questioning the Istar about the part of Aman that was his home — but neither did she make ill-tempered remarks or attempt to change the subject.  She was gathering information, Olórin realized at length, attempting to learn as much as she could about the country to which they were headed and its people without asking any direct questions that might make her appear ignorant.  For her sake as well as the twins’, he answered the latter as thoroughly as he could.

When they finished their meal, the children hurried to collect the utensils from their elders.  “You were kind enough to prepare everything,” Lére explained to Aránayel, “and we did press you to tell us tales of your home, Mithrandir.  We can take care of this.  It’s only fair, after all.”

Neither of the Maiar argued with them.  Aránayel, however, cast a puzzled frown at the Istar.  “Why do they call you that?” she asked while the twins wiped the dishes clean and returned them to the pack in which they had been stored.  “Has no one told them your proper name?”

Olórin laughed, hastening to explain his mirth before she could think he was laughing at her.  “Do any of us truly have proper names?  Those we bear here in Aman were given to us by the Eldar long ago; what spoken names we used before then tended to be descriptions of our purposes and powers, not names in the way the Quendi made them.  Mithrandir was the name the Elves of Middle-earth gave to me when I first arrived there as one of the Istari, and it is the name Melui and Lére first knew for me.  To be honest, at the moment, I am more used to hearing it than Olórin, since no one in Endorë knew me by that name.  Mithrandir and Gandalf were the names I heard most often over the past two thousand years, and I see no reason to reject them now.  It seems suitable enough, even now, as I appear to be destined to continue wandering, for a time.”

“But you don’t look at all like you did in Middle-earth,” Lére said, returning to the center of the tent now that their tasks were done.  “You were very gray there, and very old, for a Man.  Though if you’re a Maia like Helyanwë and Aránayel and the others, I suppose you’re really much older than we thought you were.”

Olórin chuckled.  “Yes, I’m afraid so, though I hope I wear my age better, here in the West.”

Melui eyed him critically.  “You look younger than Father, I think, even though you must be much older.  But you aren’t quite like the other Ainur we’ve met.  Most of them look like our people, or like the humans, or sometimes like not much of anything at all.  If your ears are like the halflings’, does that mean the rest of you looks the way they do?”

Aránayel made a sound that said she felt this line of inquiry to be inappropriate, but Olórin laughed once again, kindly.  “No, I’m afraid not.  I grant that I’m not terribly tall, as my people are wont to be, but the Hobbits are much smaller than I, and generally quite a bit rounder.  You’ll see what I mean when we reach Lórien.  At the moment, I am sharing my house with one of the two Hobbits who came across the Sea with me.  And I suspect he will be pleased to have a few people about who are his size rather than mine.”

“I didn’t know halflings sailed West, like the Elves,” Lére noted, settling near the fire in a comfortable sprawl.  “I haven’t seen anyone that small since we arrived, except for a few children at the festivals in Valmar.”

“Elven families here in Aman tend to be small, these days,” Olórin confirmed, “and you have not traveled much in Eldamar.  But Hobbits ordinarily do not come to the West.  The two who accompanied me are extraordinary, and since they gave so much of their own lives to help defeat Sauron, the Valar agreed to allow them to come here, to rest and be healed.”

“Then they must be very special,” Melui agreed, rather distractedly.  She was standing near the fire, not far from where Olórin was still seated upon the ground.  She had continued to study him while he spoke about halflings.  “I’ve never seen anything quite like that,” she said, pointing to the narrow fillet of crystal about his head.  “It’s lovely.  May I see it?”  She reached out as if to take it from his head, and the Istar involuntarily recoiled from her touch.

Seeing the dismay in the child’s face, he hastened to clarify his unexpected behavior.  “I’m sorry, Melui, I didn’t mean to startle you.  I was told by Lord Eru not to remove it until He Himself instructed me to do so.  I think no harm would come of it if I did so for only a moment, but I do not wish to disobey Him in even the smallest way.”

Lére’s eyes widened.  “Eru Ilúvatar?” he said, amazed.  “He gave it to you?  Why?”

More than just the twins were interested in hearing his answer; Aránayel appeared keen to know it, though she hid it more cleverly.  Olórin smiled, wistfully.  “For many reasons, I suspect, but one in particular.  Your people do not become ill as the mortals do, but have either of you ever been injured?”

Both golden heads nodded as one.  “Oh, yes,” Melui said.  “We were both hurt in the shipwreck — not as badly as Mother and Father and the others, but it was many days before we recovered.  My leg and my arm were broken, and I think Lére was bruised all over.  It was perfectly dreadful, because it hurt so much and we were both so scared.”

“And with good reason.  You remember how I was in Middle-earth; I was still a Maia in spirit, but I was required to live in the body of a mortal.  I did not die or fall ill as they do, but I was able to be injured, in ways that neither they nor your people could be hurt.  When I returned to Aman, after all my tasks were done, I was already quite injured and weakened, but I did not know it, because living as a mortal had dimmed my memories and made me forget much of the life I had known before I was sent as one of the Istari.  My condition was not at all my fault, and Lord Eru apparently had wished that I never know how badly I had been hurt, so He gave this to Lord Manwë to give to me shortly after I surrendered my mortal body and returned to my life as a Maia.  Lord Eru made it to be a means by which I would be strengthened and slowly healed, so subtly that I would never notice the depth of my weakness.  But Lord Manwë had not understood this when he gave it to me; he only knew that it was Lord Eru’s gift, a token of His approval for a job well done.  I had no notion that I was meant to wear it for a long time, so when I returned to my home in Lórien, I resumed what I thought would be my ordinary life — and a thing such as this, beautiful as it is, was not suitable as everyday wear for one of my station, or so I thought.  So I took it off and put it away, and became weaker with each passing day, until I very nearly faded to nothing.  It was the cleverness of the Hobbit with whom I now share my home and the grace of Lord Eru that saved me.  Without their help, I would have dwindled to all but nothing, and lost all power and presence in this world.”

Both of the children paled.  “You mean, you couldn’t even have been saved like Lord Ulmo saved us?” Lére asked, incredulous and more than a bit horrified.  “No one would have helped you?”

“Oh, no,” they were instantly assured, “they did try, all the Valar, but what was wrong with me was something they had never seen before, and had no idea how to help, or heal.  Lord Eru would not have let me fade into nothingness — He said as much when He spoke to us about what had happened — but if the answer had not been found in time, I would have been forced to leave Arda, and all that I love here.  In the end, all was well, and the Valar learned a valuable lesson from it.”

Aránayel made a softly impolite sound.  “And this does not trouble you, that you were made the pawn in some wretched game so that the Valar might learn what they should have learned more than three ages ago?”

Olórin closed his eyes for a moment, sighing softly before replying.  “We are all pawns of one sort or another, Aránayel, whether we wish it or not.  We of the Maiar serve the Valar here in Arda, and all of us serve Lord Eru in our own fashions.  There is no disgrace in doing what we were created to do.  I wish with all my heart that the Valar had learned the lessons of looking beyond their immediate goals to what might result from their actions in some more distant future, for if they had done so long ago, many more people than I might have been spared a great deal of suffering.  What was not done by them when Melkor first began to wreak havoc with the formation of the world hurt every creature born thereafter, for his works could not be undone, nor the poisons of evil removed from the world.  We call Aman the last remnant of Arda Unmarred, but it is not wholly without blemish.  Blood has been spilled here, evil has been wrought here, and even the Undying Lands bear the mark of Melkor’s malice.  I do indeed wish the Valar had realized the dangers he presented when they might have dealt with him without posing a risk to the inhabitants and lands of Endorë.  Lord Eru was right when He said that they should have taken care of Melkor’s threat much sooner, and trusted Him to make certain no lasting harm would come to Arda because of their struggle.  Had they done so, the Eldar could have remained in Middle-earth, and it would never have been so deeply saturated by evil that it cannot be removed until the world is remade.  Melui and Lére would not have lost their parents and friends in an unfortunate shipwreck, for there would have been no War to drive them from their homes — indeed, there would have been no need at all for them to sail West, for all the Eldar would have remained in Endorë, as Lord Eru had intended from the first.  They would not have been secluded here, nor would those such as Fëanor have ever found need to revolt against the Valar, chafing under restrictions that would not have been.  So yes, Aránayel, it troubles me that the Valar did not learn these things until my own existence in Arda was threatened, but not because I am angry that their short-sightedness brought me harm.  It troubles me because of all the people who have suffered and died, and will yet suffer and die, because their blindness made of Arda something it should not have been.”

Aránayel favored him with a sidelong glance, her eyes glittering in the firelight.  At length, she sniffed.  “You are more forgiving than I would have been, but that has always been your way.”  From her timbre, it was not really a compliment.  “I heard the tales of what happened to you, early this spring.  It was obvious something had stirred up the Valar when Nienna was not seen in her house for many weeks.  I don’t care to imagine what such an affliction must feel like, but it seems to me that Lord Eru does not think very highly of you if He used such a feeble means to effect your cure.”

Olórin shrugged.  “I do not know precisely what He thinks of me, but He did offer to set matters right in an instant.  It was I who refused the favor.”

One auburn brow lifted.  “Why?  You spent two millennia in a fettered existence by the command of the Valar, who were told not to command anyone to take on that burden.  Why continue to live this way when it’s not necessary?”

“Because in a way, it is.  Every time I speak with any of the Valar and see their glance touch upon Lord Eru’s gift, I know they are remembering all the things they have done wrong, and all they have yet to learn.  And for myself, every day that I know His gift is there, I remember what it felt like to be so terribly weak and helpless.  It not only gives me greater compassion for those less fortunate than I, it also helps me to better appreciate all that I have and all that I am.  And it also reminds me to be more patient, for most things worth having do not come swiftly.  Is that truly so terrible?”

His eyes were fixed on Aránayel as he asked his question; the light of the softly flickering fire cast a sheen like strangely golden moonlight over their normally vivid blue.  The darker Maia’s own eyes narrowed, but not from anger or irritation.  She clearly did not know how to answer.  Fortunately, she was spared the need when Melui spoke instead.

“I shouldn’t think so,” the girl said, her own queries more than answered.  “I think it would be very nice to know that Lord Ilúvatar cares for you enough to not want you to ever know that you were hurt, even if things didn’t quite turn out as He’d planned.  Thank you for telling us about this, Mithrandir.  We’d both wondered why Lady Nienna had been gone for so long late in the winter, and no one ever thought to explain it to us.”

“Helyanwë would’ve,” Lére opined around an expansive yawn.  “If we hadn’t gotten back our voices at the same time Lady Nienna returned.  We spent so many days talking to everyone and telling them about ourselves after that, I don’t suppose they were much interested in anything else.”

“Perhaps so,” Olórin agreed.  “And now that you have heard that tale, and many others, I think it’s time for both of you to sleep.  Travel can be very tiring, especially when you have done very little of it.  It has been less than a year for me since I last made a long journey in this fashion, and already I feel dreadfully out of practice.”

Aránayel surrendered her ersatz couch so that the children could collect their bedding, her face still a picture of almost-concealed puzzlement.  Olórin left the ground cloths in place so that they would provide another layer of protection from the damp grass and cold earth; he was checking the fire to make certain it would last through the night when Aránayel made a sharply unpleasant sound.  “Were my bedclothes left behind?” she asked, noticing only now that the things she had been using as a seat belonged to the children.  “I do not see them or the pack in which I sent them.”

Before her temper could rise more than it had, Olórin tendered an answer.  “I suspect it is with the others outside, secured under cover with the riding gear.  I had no idea what was in your luggage, and since you made no mention of which things you wanted brought inside after we finished setting up the tent, I presumed you would find your rest in ways other than sleep.”

She sniffed, as if catching a whiff of a repulsive odor.  “I prefer to take my rest in comfort, not on hard ground or in cold rain.  I came prepared, since I expected you would not.  But I am not stepping out into that wretched storm to collect what should have been brought here in the first place.”

The Istar closed his eyes for an instant rather than succumb to a whim to make a far more eloquent expression of exasperation in front of the twins, who were pretending not to listen.  The rain was coming down heavily and the wind occasionally blew in stiff gusts, but by no means could the weather have been described as a storm.  He carefully refrained from sighing.  “Since the fault was apparently mine, I shall go fetch your things for you.”

Lére made a very soft sound that Olórin knew was his way of saying that he felt Aránayel should fetch her own things, since any blame was truly hers.  But he gave no further reaction, and Aránayel did not notice the boy’s brief expression of displeasure, being too busy giving her fellow Maia instructions as to which items should be brought inside.  When Olórin went to get them, he spared Lére a brief but pointed glance, warning him that sounds as well as words could prod the ill-tempered woman into anger.  The boy accepted the reminder as just, then settled down to help his sister with their bedding as Olórin slipped out of the tent, quickly, so as not to let either the chill wind or the rain inside.

Although it was quite dark beyond the light of their small fire, Olórin was not troubled by it, nor by the wind and rain.  For people to whom incarnate life was merely a temporary convenience rather than a necessity, senses such as sight were able to reach far beyond the ordinary vision of flesh and blood.  Even in the guise of a human during his recent mission in Middle-earth, his sight had been keener than that of ordinary Men, though not always as sharp as that of the Elves.  Here, even the Firstborn were blind by comparison, and he had no trouble at all making his way to the place where he had secured the rest of their gear.  The weather was a mild nuisance, nothing more, for even if he had not recently experienced two thousand years of living far less comfortably, he had never really minded the mercurial moods of the weather, finding in them different harmonies of the Great Music with which they had begun so long ago.  The horses, he noted, had found themselves a sheltered place on the lee side of a stand of hawthorn shrubs between the tent and the river, not far from the place where he had secured the tack and their remaining packs beneath a sturdy cloth designed to provide protection from the rain.

He soon found, however, that their steeds’ choice of that particular place had produced one drawback: one of the beasts had accidentally dislodged one of the pegs he had used to secure the cloth.  An entire corner of the securing rope had come loose, and the wind had pulled back a large section of the cloth, allowing the rain to fall unimpeded upon the gear that lay exposed.  Naturally, the packs with Aránayel’s things were at the top of that open area, off the muddy ground, but most vulnerable to the drenching rains.

Olórin groaned, not blaming either himself or the horses or even the weather for this turn of fortune, although he knew perfectly well how Aránayel would take it.  He removed the items she had requested and then covered the remaining gear as quickly and securely as possible.  As predicted, when he returned to the shelter, Aránayel was livid.

“Only a fool would leave his gear out in the elements when he knows a storm is coming,” she snapped as soon as she opened the leather satchel and found that the cloth inside had been thoroughly soaked.  She divided her furious glances equally between the waterlogged bedding and the equally waterlogged Istar, her expression showing considerably greater concern for the state of the cloth.  “I told you to take care with my things, and so you put them where they would be trampled by horses and ruined by the rain?”

Many years ago, Olórin would have been upset by her ire and perhaps blamed himself for it, but as others had observed over the past few days, he was no longer the naive youth he had been in that distant past.  “I did nothing of the sort,” he answered bluntly.  “I took as much care as was possible with all of our gear, and I most certainly did not leave it exposed to the elements, or where the horses would be apt to tread upon it if they sought shelter from the rain.  That they went where they did was mere coincidence, and by no means did they trample and ruin anything.  They dislodged one of the fastenings for the covering cloth completely by accident; what was exposed by the wind is merely wet, not ruined.”

Her smoldering glare was wholly for him, this time.  “And do you expect me to rest wrapped in blankets that are soaking wet?”

Olórin was generally a patient person, more so than his visible demeanor sometimes belied, but the one thing that could try his patience most quickly was foolishness, and Aránayel was giving a virtuoso performance.  “I expect that you would want to set a better example than this!” he snapped back, his voice low for the sake of the children, but nonetheless as intense as the fire reflected in his eyes.  “You may enjoy your pretentious manners, and your affectations of helplessness might win you a kind of attention that pleases you, but if you believe for a moment that I should feel great pity for these hardships you imagine you are suffering, you are sorely mistaken.  I spent the last two thousand years living as a mortal, Aránayel — not pretending to do so, but actually existing from moment to moment and day to day as they do, in a body of true flesh with all the pains and cares and troubles that are a part of their normal life.  I was so far diminished from what I truly am that I could only dimly remember what I had been here in Aman.  I lived without a home or a permanent shelter of any kind, committed to a seemingly endless task that would not permit me to settle anywhere for more than a few months, at best.  I was denied the use of all but the simplest of the abilities our people take for granted here in Aman, and I did not have the luxury of feigning to feel the discomfort of cold and rain and snow and hunger and weariness and injury, simply to invite the pity of others.  Any moment you wish, you are free to ignore such things, because an incarnate life is something you have assumed by choice.  If you have been foolish enough to revel in it to the point that you have forgotten how to use those powers with which you were gifted in your beginning, then I pity you for that, but not for this.

"Do not speak to me of such distress until you have spent ten times ten thousand nights sleeping upon the bracken in the wilds because you own no bed and literally have not the strength to take another step.  Do not complain to me of mere dampness until you have tried to sleep soaked to the bone in rain so cold it turns to ice upon your skin, because you did not have even the protection of a cloth roof above your head, nor the fuel to make a fire.  You know naught of what it feels like to have worn the soles of your feet as thin as tissue from endless days of walking, to have blisters and sores and bruises and wounds inflicted upon your body which you cannot dispel with a thought, nor have you lived with your flesh burned from the sun and wind, or known the pain of true hunger and thirst.  You have never felt what it is like to carry in you a heart and spirit weighed down from thousands of years of seeing the full depth of the harm the Enemy visited upon Endorë and all who live there.  When you have experienced all these things, and have at the last made some ordinary effort to repair this great tragedy that has befallen you tonight, then I will be interested in hearing your complaints — but not before!”

He had not planned to give so impassioned a response, but having said it, he did not regret it.  Not only was the look of shock and incredulity on Aránayel’s face worth it, he had realized that his patience with her selfishness was laudable only up to a point.  He would encourage the twins to show her kindness, and do so himself, but he would no longer stand by silent and allow her to take out her petty annoyance on him when he had done nothing wrong and the problem was not the disaster she was making of it.  Forbearance was commendable, but not if it allowed an innocent to be undermined at heart by the selfish posturing of another.

As Aránayel struggled to frame a response — an unusually difficult matter for one so typically glib, for she was greatly angered and genuinely taken aback by his unexpectedly thorough and heated reply — Olórin grasped one corner of the water-heavy cloth over which Aránayel was fretting, lifted it up, and spoke several words under his breath.  In answer, warmth rose from the ground below them, drawn from some place far below the surface where the blood of the world pulsed thick and hot.  It blew like a searing wind across the desert, dry and so intense, the air rippled with it, even as it moved about them in a small but swift whirlwind.  It touched all that was wet with rain and drew the dampness from it, sending it back down deep into the earth where it would return to the waters from which the world above drew nourishment.  The Istar closed his eyes as he concentrated on his task; the movement of the air wrung the moisture from his own clothes and hair, drawing the folds of cloth more tightly about him and splaying his pale hair into a cloud of fine strands about his head.  With his eyes shut, he did not notice the crystal of the circlet begin to glow and grow ever brighter as he worked, but as the others watched, they were forced to look away from the sudden brilliance lest they be blinded.

As abruptly as both heat and light flared, they faded.  The air ceased to move, the warmth dissipated, the light dimmed.  Only the crackle and flicker of the low fire remained; no trace of the rain-soaked wetness lingered.  Olórin returned the now dry cloth in his hand to Aránayel as he brushed aside the hair that had fallen across his face and into his eyes.  He said nothing more to her, did not even take note of the way in which she stared at him.  He turned to the twins, made certain they were properly settled in their bedrolls, then said goodnight to them and left the tent.

The rain was still falling heavily outside the canvas shelter, but Olórin preferred the company of the weather and the horses to that of his fellow Maia.  He found a place amid the brush beneath the trees near the river bank, not far from where the four steeds were huddled, but sufficiently distant so that he would not disturb them during the remainder of the night.  The rain did not fall so thickly among the sapling hawthorn branches, and their still-young thorns were less prickly than Aránayel’s temper.

Sighing, Olórin looked up toward the clouds high above, not minding the fall of rain upon his face.  He wondered not when the inclement weather would pass, but how he could defeat a Balrog, face the danger of Sauron’s dungeons in Dol Guldur, spend over five hundred years quietly working against the darkness of Melkor, confront so many deadly perils that he had long since lost count of them, and yet be unable to deal with Aránayel.  She was a riddle beyond his ability to solve.  He prayed instead that he could somehow find the strength to survive the remainder of their journey to Lórien, and weather whatever new storms of her making might lie ahead.

IX

Fortunately, the twins had not been overly upset by the brief but fairly explosive exchange between the two Maiar, and were actually more concerned that Olórin had spent a needlessly uncomfortable night out in the rain due to Aránayel’s fit of pique.  Discovering that he was neither discomfited nor still upset by the altercation restored their spirits considerably, as did a decent breakfast under sunny morning skies on a day much warmer than the one before.  Aránayel’s mood was withdrawn; she did not mention events of the previous night, but neither did she make any effort to engage her companions in conversation.  Whether she was sulking, brooding, or reflecting upon what she had been told was not clear to Olórin, although he privately wagered it was the first.  As she did not hinder their preparations for departure and did in fact offer some assistance, he said nothing, and was certain she preferred it that way.

At midday, they stopped so that the horses could rest and graze for a bit while the children had their noon meal, followed by lessons with Aránayel.  Melui resigned herself to their studies, but Lére was less pleased by it, having thought that they would be given a respite from them during their journey to Lórien.  Olórin did not interfere, and was in truth glad that Aránayel was not shirking her duties.  He could not tell if her diligence was a reflection of how she had changed over the years, or if she was attempting to prove to him that she had not spent that time idly, doing meaningless or ignoble tasks as part of her punishment while he was sent off upon missions of a more noteworthy sort.  He actually hoped it was the latter, for if she was willing to make an effort to defend her pride and her honor, then perhaps she might also be willing to behave less irritably and make the remainder of their trek less unpleasant.  The lessons did not continue too long for Lére’s patience to endure, and they continued on.

As evening drew nigh, they began to search for a suitable place to make camp.  Melui was puzzled that Olórin was looking for a spot on the open plain; now that they were much farther inland and away from the river they had been following, a forest had become visible ahead of them, to the south and east.  “Wouldn’t it be better to find shelter in the woods, if it’s going to rain again tonight?” the girl asked.  “Father said that trees are always kind to our people, because they know we care for them.  It’s not much farther to the forest, and I know there aren’t dangerous wild creatures here, like there were in Middle-earth.”

“In general, that is true,” Olórin agreed, “and I would not hesitate to seek shelter there for the night, were it possible.  The forest may seem to be very close, but I assure you, it is not.  That is the woodland of the Lady Yavanna, and only the forests of Lord Oromë can rival them in height.  Even if we were to ride as swiftly as our horses could carry us, we could not reach so much as its outermost eaves before the night is gone.  If we rise with the sun and ride on at a better pace, we will arrive there tomorrow at dusk, and then you will see the trick your eyes are playing upon you now.”

Lére frowned, squinting as he gazed at the distant woodland.  “I can’t see any trick,” he said after a moment.  “I can tell one bird from another half a league away, and I’m never wrong.”

His sister made a spluttering noise, having already accepted the Istar’s explanation.  “Oh, don’t lie, Lére, you’ve been wrong plenty of times.  And I remember the mountains we saw as we approached Aman, before everything went wrong and the ship was wrecked.  They looked very close from very far away because they were so terribly big, and even you thought they were nearer than they really were.  You said so the last time we went to Valmar, for the spring festival.  This is the same sort of thing, isn’t it, Mithrandir?”

“The very same,” he confirmed.  “But it is no fault of you or your eyesight that makes the Pelóri or the forest seem so near from afar, Lére,” he added when the boy scowled at his twin.  “Many who sailed West with me last autumn made the same mistake simply because they had never seen such a thing before.  When we reach Lórien, ask my friend Frodo what he thought of the Pelóri when he first saw them, and also ask Glorfindel, if you should chance to meet him while you are there.”

Lére blinked, all traces of his frown vanishing.  “Is that the same Glorfindel we’ve heard songs and stories about, the one who slew a Balrog?  I should like to meet him.  He must be the bravest warrior of all Elves, if he could kill such a terrible creature all by himself!”

Olórin laughed brightly.  “Perhaps he is, though sometimes, managing such an impossible feat requires more desperation than courage.”  He said no more than that, having at last spotted a good site for them to settle for the night, a nicely flat grassy sward near a grove of flowering trees and shrubs that had sprung up beside a small and clear stream that sang cheerfully as it ran its swift course. 

When they had dismounted and removed the horses’ packs and tack so they could refresh themselves, the twins once more went off in search of wood for the evening fire.  To their surprise as well as Olórin’s, Aránayel had volunteered to help set up the shelter, a task she had disdained the previous day.  The Istar briefly wondered if she had been thinking of some scathing rebuttal to the things he had said the night before, and wanted an opportunity to deliver it without the children about to hear it.  Yet when they were gone, she merely did what was required to erect the tent, and for a long time said nothing.  When at last she spoke, her words were not cruel or harsh.

“Why did you not tell them of your own encounter with a Balrog?” she wondered, the question more genuinely puzzled than Olórin could have anticipated.  “I have heard the tale often enough, and from sources I do not believe would lie or exaggerate.  You did the very thing Glorfindel did, and under more trying circumstances, for he was not denied the use of all his abilities.  You were limited to little more than that of an old mortal man — and considerably more hung in the balance in Moria.  Why do you not take credit for your own deeds when the praise of them is merited?”

“Because it is not in my nature,” he answered, sighing.  “Have you never understood this about me, Aránayel?  Certainly, I am pleased to know that what I do is appreciated by others, and I feel the warmth of praise and kind words as would anyone.  But I do not seek them out; that reward is not what moves me to any deed.  I desire only the happiness and well-being of others, not my own glory.  It was not bravery that made me stand against the Balrog of Moria, but concern for the lives of those with me, who could not have hoped to even flee from it unless something gave them enough time to escape.  I would rather have run with them, but if I had, I would have placed my own safety above theirs, and all of Middle-earth’s.  I was sent to Endorë as a servant of both the Valar and the Eruhíni whose world it is, and had I done aught but what I did, I would have failed utterly in that mission, though my own life be spared.  So I fought the Balrog to give the others time to escape and continue what was more important, and though it was a worthy deed, it was the only thing I could do in clear conscience, and keep faith with both my friends and those who had sent me.  But I know only that when I fought him, I felt naught but relentless determination, that this danger should trouble Middle-earth no longer.  Perhaps that is indeed what is called courage, but in hindsight, it seems to me that if it is, bravery is no more than doing what must be done, regardless of the cost to one’s self.  I did not do it for the sake of reverence and glory, and thus I have no desire for it now.  It is reward enough to know that what I did allowed the quest to continue, and that Lord Eru judged me worthy to continue my task to its end, even after my mortal body had been slain.”

“So you consider being given even more work to do a reward?” Aránayel made an impolite sound.  “I should consider it a punishment!”

Olórin chuckled very softly, shaking his head.  “Then you do not understand me at all.  It would have been far more painful to me to be forbidden to finish what I had started, to sit idle in Aman or even in the Timeless Halls while those whom I had tried to help and guide struggled on against ever increasing odds, and eventually foundered and failed.  Had I not returned when I did, Curumo would have had his way in Rohan.  Théoden and his people would have been destroyed, no help would have come to the aid of Gondor in its time of greatest need.  The Ents, perhaps, might have yet stormed Isengard, but could even they have stood against the armies of Saruman, had they not been engaged elsewhere in battle with the Rohirrim?  Ah, I see I am boring you with talk of places and policies with which you are unfamiliar.  Suffice it to say, then, that there was indeed a reason for me to return, and I did not look upon it as punishment.  To me, it was a gift to be given a second chance, and in no way do I regret it.  Lord Manwë commanded me to go to Endorë as one of the Istari, but when I might have come home and stayed, thus avoiding the most desperate hours of the war, it was I who chose to return.  Lord Eru saw fit to grant my desire, and that is all the reward I could have wanted.”

“He gave you more than that,” she said softly, in an oddly uninterpretable tone.

The Istar blinked, much as Lére had earlier, comprehension dawning as he followed the movement of her eyes.  “Does this disturb you?” he asked, touching the thin band of crystal about his head.  “It was not a prize Lord Eru gave me, Aránayel, but a crutch.  A very beautiful one, I grant, yet a crutch nonetheless.  If one of the Eldar had come to you with a broken arm and you gave him a splint to support the bone until it was healed, would that mean you had given him your special favor, or a mark of your approval for what he had done?”

“No,” she answered, still quietly, “but a splint is not a thing of such beauty, nor is it fashioned in the shape of something that has meaning as a symbol of rank and honor.  He could have easily made this crutch to resemble some other object of less import, and it would have been sufficient for your need.  He chose this appearance for a reason, and I think there is little doubt of what that reason might be.  He does approve of you, and you are in His favor, and He made this gift that you must wear in such a fashion so that others will also know of His approval.  And it was your choice to continue to wear it, when He might have rendered it unnecessary.”

Olórin suddenly saw why she was so disturbed by it.  “Do you think I refused His offer to heal me swiftly only so that I might have an excuse to flaunt the gift He had given me?”

Her eyes slid toward him in a piercing sidelong glance.  “And what other reasons would you have?”

“Those of which I spoke last evening.  Oh, Aránayel, the last thing I wished to gain from this is the attention and admiration of others!  If you cannot believe me, ask those who know me once we arrive in Lórien.  I did my best to try to hide this thing after I realized it was necessary for me to wear it, and finally gave up only because the more I tried, the more obvious it became.  I wear it not because I look upon it as a badge of Lord Eru’s favor that others can see and admire, but because He commanded me to do so for my own welfare.  The knowledge that it came from His hands also aids me, for it allows me to feel closer to Him every moment I wear it.  I admit that I am glad to know that He looks upon me with favor rather than with disappointment, for I often feel that I have done much to merit the latter, but in no way do I believe that He holds me in any higher regard than He does all His children.  I would take it off if the sight of it offends you, so that we might be more at ease during the remainder of our journey, but I cannot.  I am not yet healed enough to sustain myself for long without it upon me.  But if its presence is an annoyance to you, I am sorry.  There is nothing that can be done for it, and I would remedy the situation, if I could.”

A half-smile tugged at one corner of his mouth as a possible solution occurred to him.  “Perhaps when we have reached the halls of Lady Yavanna, I can ask if she has something appropriate I might borrow to cover my head so you might avoid further discomfort.  There is nothing to spare among our gear to refashion for such a purpose, but she may be willing to supply what is needed.”

She grumbled as she returned to the task of lashing a corner of the canvas shelter to a stake that would hold it secure through the night.  “You are mocking me,” she sniffed, very nearly pouting.

“Not at all,” she was readily assured.  “It’s something I had already considered weeks ago, since my other efforts at concealment met with unqualified failure.  I grew accustomed to wearing such things in Middle-earth by necessity; it would not trouble me to do so again, for a time.  Although I suppose that if my failed attempts at concealment were the result of Lord Eru’s wish that His gift be seen, I would find that no hat or hood would stay for long upon my head!”

Aránayel did not answer, and for the remainder of the evening, she seemed unusually introspective.  Olórin had no idea what was going through her thoughts, and he was not about to pry, either openly or surreptitiously.  That there was no cause for a repeat performance of yesterday’s argument was enough, and he saw no reason to question that good fortune.  There was also no need for him to leave the tent for the night, which pleased the twins and encouraged them to settle down to sleep earlier than they might have had they been upset.  Since they were to make an early start the next morning, that was also for the good.

**********

Around mid-afternoon of the following day, they finally drew close enough to the seemingly ever-distant and ever-near forest for the illusion to at last fail, even to young Elvish eyes.  As it did so, Lére’s skepticism quickly vanished as his awe grew.  As in the east of Aman, the mountains of the Pelóri soared into the heavens to an incredible height almost too great for the minds of the Eruhíni to conceive, here farther west, between the shores of Nienna’s home and the more central lands of Lórien, Yavanna’s forest grew in stately magnificence, a vast wall of living things that reached as high as the low clouds that scuttled across the midday skies.  Far to the south, Oromë’s woodlands spread over a much wider range, but no trees in Valinor grew greater than those tended by Yavanna Kementári, the queen of the earth.  She did not make her sole residence here, for she shared a home with her husband Aulë both in Valmar and in the mountains where the Smith did much of his work.  Yet she came to this forest often, to instruct her servants and to attend her beloved kelvar and olvar.  When the specific route between Nienna’s house and Lórien had been planned, an overnight stop in this great woodland had been chosen both so that the twins might see their spectacular beauty, and also because Yavanna was currently in residence, and would be delighted to have two youngsters descended of the Elves of Lothlórien as her guests.

The children were indeed suitably impressed as they rode ever closer to the forest.  Early in the afternoon, following their midday meal, they came to the first true road they had seen upon their journey, not a heavily paved thoroughfare of the great cities, but a broad, flat, and clear byway of well-packed earth that led directly into the heart of the wood.  As they at last approached the forest itself, they saw other riders and travelers headed in the opposite direction, who greeted them cheerfully as they passed by on foot or on horseback.  Many of those who hailed them were Elves, but of a kind that seemed oddly unfamiliar to the twins, neither like the folk of Lórien nor of Mithlond.  When the children asked about them, to their surprise — and Olórin’s — it was Aránayel who provided the answer.

“They are Silvan Elves,” she said.  “Elves of the woodlands of Endorë who did not come west in the Great Migration, akin to the Eldar yet not the same.  I am told that as a rule, they do not have the longing to leave their homes and sail into the West, yet should they be slain, their spirits come to the Halls of Mandos as do all of Elven-kind.  Some who wish to be freed are permitted to leave the Halls, but they are not allowed to return to Endorë, and so they seek places in Aman where they feel they can belong.  I have noticed in my work with Lord Námo and Lady Nienna that of those who do leave the Halls of Waiting, many prefer the deepest woodlands as their home in the Blessed Realm, and Lady Yavanna and Lord Oromë are willing hosts to them, for they love the trees of their own realms as dearly as these Elves who lived among the forests of Endorë.”

Melui peered at the thick woodland ahead, up at the towering trees and into the shadows beneath the canopy of branches.  The sun was nearing the western horizon, and though the face of the forest was still lit by the last rays peeking through the thickening clouds to the west, the shade was growing ever deeper.  “I think trees are very beautiful,” she said, “but I shouldn’t want to live in such a dark place all the time.  The forest seems very gloomy, not bright like the woods of Lothlórien, as Father described it to us.”

“Many things appear quite different, depending on when and how they are seen,” Olórin reminded her, “just as this forest did not seem uninviting to you yesterday, when you saw it only at a distance.  Wait, and perhaps you will discover that what seems intimidating from afar is more amiable that you suspect.”

Behind the clouds, the sun began to set and light rain started to fall just as the four riders passed beneath the outermost edges of the forest canopy.  Though the trees at the very fringes appeared of ordinary size, those not far beyond them soared to immense height, their woven branches so thick, the world below seemed a great cavern, through which no rain could fall.  Light came from many sources, dwellings and halls both on the ground and in the trees.  In its glow they could see that while some of the trees had bark as smooth as glass, others were unusually textured.  Their outer skin rose to form deep channels that stretched from the uppermost branches down to the very roots, thus providing a path for the rains to reach the forest floor and nourish all the growing things that needed its moisture to thrive, while preventing the rain from falling upon the people who dwelt in the sheltered land below.

Yet for all that the branches and leaves high above created a great protective roof, that which it covered was not barren, its life choked out by darkness.  Many plants there were, not only the trees but lush grasses, thickets of flowering shrubs, beds of fragrant herbs, climbing vines that twisted about the taller growth and bore shining blossoms of soft colors that hung like living lanterns, casting their pale radiance throughout the woodland.  Paths of smooth stone had been cleverly laid to give easy passage to both visitors and residents without harming the beautiful flora.  Lesser kelvar made their homes both high in the forest and on its floor, while the Elves and Maiar who made this place their home had dwellings very much like Olórin’s home in Lórien, which seemed to have grown from the earth itself.  Lére and Melui drank in the sights, wide-eyed and so struck by awe, they could not ask questions about all they beheld.  It was nothing like their father’s tales of Lothlórien, and they looked upon it with surprise and wonder.

At length, the road took them to the greatest tree of all, whose roots began far above the ground as a tremendous tangle of woody cords, each thicker than the body of a full grown man.  They twined in what seemed like a randomly artful manner, but they shaped the walls of a great house, in which light shone brightly like the cheer of spring sunshine after a long, dark winter.   Here, a thick root rose up like a steadfast pillar, offering staunch support; there, another arched gracefully, forming a doorway of unique artistry; there, two or three more slender roots wove about in a shapely dance and formed a window, small and subtle or wide and glorious.  An entire phalanx lay one upon the other and formed broad steps leading to the entrance of the great house, their bark covered by soft green moss, the balustrade formed by a more intricate and delicate lattice of root tendrils.  An arbor of woven roots arched above the stairway, graced with vines of many sorts, some full of long and glossy leaves, others sprouting a tangle of smaller vines lush with soft mossy fronds; some were laden with fruit, others bore glowing clustered blossoms like lanterns that softly lit the path below. 

The newcomers came to halt at the foot of the stairs and there dismounted; as they did so, others came to greet them and see to the disposition of their horses and their things.  At the landing at the top of the stairs, two tall figures waited; one beckoned them with a gesture.  Though the twins were still wide-eyed with wonder, and Aránayel viewed the invitation warily, Olórin smiled in answer and bade the children come as he started up the stairs.

As they neared the top, the couple awaiting them stepped forward, and were more clearly seen.  The pale light was brighter here, and they themselves had a golden sheen about them, like a forest in autumn, a meadow of flowers in the summer’s heat, or well burnished gold.  The lady was tall and slim but not fragile, strong as an ancient tree that has weathered countless storms; she was clad in a gown of rich green and deep earthy browns, her plaited hair shimmering with red and gold, graced with fragrant white blossoms.  Her deep green eyes shone like beryls, and touched each of their guests with a glance that missed nothing.  Beside her, the lord stood like a pillar of dark stone, taller than the lady and much broader.  He was a figure of great power, but that of a craftsman, not a warrior; beneath his bronze skin lay the sinews with the strength to shape the very bones of Arda, and he covered that power with simple garb the color of deep red wine.  His only adornment was an intricate belt fashioned of all the metals and jewels of the earth.  His gleaming black hair was pulled back from his face in a serviceable fashion, as his beard was cropped short so as not to be a hindrance in his work.  His dark eyes were bright and intelligent, though not shrewdly piercing in their gaze.  He smiled readily upon all their guests as the newcomers  joined them at the top of the staircase and paid their respects to their hosts after their own customs.

The lady then smiled openly.  “I see you are as punctual as ever, Olórin,” she said, a soft chuckle in her mellow voice as she accepted their gestures of welcome and deference.  “I was told that you and your party would arrive shortly after dusk, and here you are before the last light of the sun has faded.  I have long suspected that those rare occasions on which you were late came by design rather than by accident.”

The Istar inclined his head in such a way that one could not tell if it was mere acknowledgment of the remark or admission of its truth.  “I am well aware of your preference in such matters, Lady Yavanna, and as we were to presume upon your hospitality to provide lodging for the night, I felt it best to arrive in an appropriately timely fashion.  I had been told you were in residence, but not that Lord Aulë was here as well.”  He bowed to the Smith in polite, if mildly puzzled, greeting.

Aulë’s smile broadened.  “I myself did not know that I would be here, until this morning,” he admitted genially.  His voice was much deeper than the Istar's, if somewhat less melodious, similar to the voices of the Dwarves.  “I have been in my halls in the deep mountains for some while, and I had had it in mind to come here for midsummer, to enjoy the realm of growing things above the earth for a time.  The festival is yet some weeks away, but I decided to come early, both to see my wife again, and to be here when you and your companions arrived.  It has occurred to me,” he added with some chagrin, “that we have not properly offered our personal apologies to you, Olórin, for the failure of our servants who were sent as part of your Istari brotherhood.  I know,” he continued swiftly, brushing aside the Maia's imminent response with a friendly wave of one hand, “you will say as ever that none are needed, but this is more for my sake than for yours, I fear.  Not only did Curumo fail most egregiously in his leadership, if not for the wickedness of one who had once been of my own people, who learned from me the very arts that enabled him to forge his dreadful Ring, none of you would have been required to undertake that mission at all.”

Yavanna agreed, her own smile turned wistful.  “And I bear my own share of regret for the acts of Aiwendil, who abandoned his greater mission at the worst possible time, and left you with no help whatsoever in your darkest hours.  We cannot make reparations for what is in the past, but we can offer you the hospitality of my house in a befitting fashion, if only for this one night.  A feast has been prepared, to welcome your companions who have never visited this land, and to honor you for that which you have done for the sake of all Arda, and were made to endure because of the faithlessness of our servants.”

Although the children were delighted by the prospect of a feast after days of long riding and trail rations, it was difficult to tell which of the two Maiar was more shocked by the announcement.  Olórin tried to speak and found his throat too dry to make sound; he swallowed fitfully for a moment, then tried again.  “My lady, I am truly flattered, but there is no need for either of you to feel any remorse over paths Curumo and Aiwendil chose of their own free wills.  I had thought any fuss over this particular matter to be done with months ago, when I was at last healed of the injuries I had suffered from my life as a mortal.  Had I merely fallen ill to no good purpose, perhaps then you might have some cause to continue to feel remorse, but such is not the case.  I will gladly share what hospitality you have prepared for all of us, but I have earned no more than that.”

“Rubbish,” Aulë said succinctly, even as he laughed.  “Ah, Olórin, whatever befell you these past two thousand years and however you might have grown from your experiences, you remain unchanged in one thing: you are the most obstinate Maia in existence.  Yavanna, perhaps, has no call to ask your forgiveness, for she did not question the truth of what you reported to us before you were sent back after your struggle with the Balrog to finish the task you and your brother wizards should have completed together.  I did, and I confess that my questions were initially asked out of pride, my own unwillingness to believe yet another of my servants had fallen into Shadow and betrayed his own people.  I knew that it would not sit well with you to be offered such apologies at a more public event, such as one of the festivals, so I offer them here, in the privacy of my lady’s house.  If you truly cannot bear the honor we offer you, then of course you may refuse it, but I admit that I had hoped you would accept so that I might at last feel unburdened of the guilt I bore after I recognized and accepted the truth of what Curumo had done.  A selfish reason, perhaps, and unworthy of one of my supposedly exalted station, but there it is.”

His remorse was genuine, as were his words, and Olórin had not the heart to gainsay him.  In fact, as he listened to the Smith’s earnest explanation, he could not help but recall the discomfort between himself and his own master, awakening a sudden and unanticipated realization: During the days after Moria in which he had returned to Aman, placed there by Eru Himself so that the Valar would know that the choice to return was Olórin’s own, he had neither seen nor heard from Manwë.  The Elder King spent much of his time at work in his home atop Taniquetil, yet on the fateful day in which they had taken counsel to select those who would become the Istari, Manwë had come to Valmar, and had made the ill-chosen decision to order Olórin to go as his emissary, disregarding the counsel of Eru Himself.  And when at last his servant had been given a chance to remain home and let others bear the burden of the final fate of Middle-earth, when Olórin had chosen to return even though many of the Valar felt he should stay, Manwë had not been there; indeed, he had said nothing.  Varda had stood in his place, or so he had presumed, and until just now, when Aulë reminded him of that council and the way in which the Smith had questioned Olórin’s judgment concerning Saruman’s treachery, the Istar had thought nothing of Manwë’s absence.  At the time, he had been focused completely on his need to return to Endorë and finish his tasks.  But as he listened now, he felt the sting of injustice, and  realized that it sprang not from anything Aulë had done on that day over three years ago, but from what Manwë had not.

He was attempting to determine the reasons why such a thing caused him to react thus when he was interrupted by Yavanna’s gentle laughter.  “If my husband’s unusual eloquence has left you totally speechless, then may we presume that you have agreed to accept our hospitality?”

The amused remark startled Olórin out of his thoughts and prompted a more suitable response.  “Yes, my lady, of course.  I beg your pardon, and Lord Aulë’s, if I have seemed ungrateful, and ungracious.  I have never sought renown for the tasks I undertake, yet it would appear that this time, I shall not be able to avoid it in any way.  Which is doubtless a new lesson in humility Lord Eru has set for me: to understand better when it is time to accept honor, and not carry modesty so far that it becomes vanity itself.”

“A wise observation,” Aulë agreed, raising one arm to encourage the children to come forward.  “Let us then go and see what the servants and friends of our household have prepared for us.”

**********

The halls within were no less marvelous than the forest without.  Above them, the living wood of the great tree arched in a high vaulted roof; the shadows in those hollows were lit by cleverly wrought lamps suspended from the tendrils of woody vines.  The wooden walls shone with the gloss of good health, as did the smooth floors.  Curtains and hangings and carpets were woven of delicate leaves and petals that did not decay; all about them pulsed with life, the beauty and vigor of the wild forest.  The lord and lady led the way to a large chamber at the center.  Here, all had indeed been prepared for a feast, furnishings of wood and stone arranged in a broad circle, with a high table clearly meant for the lord and lady and other important guests on a raised area opposite the main entrance, a vantage from which one could see all within the hall.  Garlands of twined ivy and trailing flowers adorned the tables and chairs, while the floors had been liberally strewn with pungent herbs and sweet-smelling blossoms. The tables were set with fine utensils of gold and silver, plates of polished stone, goblets of clear crystal; lamps of many colors cast a festive light upon all.

Others were entering the hall even as they arrived, taking their places at the lesser tables and awaiting the pleasure of the lord and lady before they were seated.  Olórin did not come to this part of Aman often enough to know the Elven population, which shifted far more frequently than that of the Ainur; thus he did not recognize the Elves he saw who were there as Yavanna’s guests.  But he did know many of the Maiar, people of the Lady who had been in her service since their beginnings in Arda, and had served her faithfully.  He graciously acknowledged their nods of greeting as he followed their mistress.  He knew some of these folk well, if not as intimately as the servants of Manwë and Irmo and Nienna, and one he recognized with faint discomfort.  The Maia who had elicited that reaction was tall and thin, and bore a strong resemblance to Aiwendil — not surprisingly, for he was the brown Istar’s younger brother, Ornedil, a worthy servant of Yavanna who bore great love for the trees of Arda, but had not been quite as knowledgeable of other matters as his sibling.  There was no anger in his expression as he silently greeted Olórin, but there was nonetheless sadness in his dark eyes.

Fortunately, there was no opportunity for them to converse, as Olórin did not yet know what he might say to him.  He had been on friendly terms with both brothers before he and the elder had been chosen for the mission to Endorë, and he certainly bore no ill will toward Aiwendil.  He knew only too well how difficult it had been to maintain a balance between involvement with the affairs of Middle-earth and the distance that would allow him to retain his sense of self, as a Maia and not a mortal.  How he had managed to succeed while Aiwendil failed was something of a mystery to him, for he had loved the inhabitants of Middle-earth no less deeply than Radagast had loved its birds and beasts.  Ornedil, he was certain, would not hold him accountable for what had become of his brother, but it seemed to Olórin that it would be unwise to begin a celebration by stirring too many memories of such sadness. 

It was difficult to tell if Aulë also grasped this — for the Smith was generally not so quick to perceive the feelings of those around him — but regardless, the timing of his next comment was gratifyingly opportune, even though it was directed to the twins.  “It has occurred to us that you might prefer to spend the meal in the company of your own people, since we have been told that you have spent much of the past five years in the company of ours.  As you are our guests, it would be customary for you to be seated with us, but we will leave this choice to your discretion.”

Lére gaped up at the Smith, still as much in awe of him as they had been of the great trees; Melui nudged him to prompt him to close his mouth even as she replied.  “Oh, no, we wouldn’t mind sitting with you at all, Lord Aulë!  We only met a Dwarf once before we left Middle-earth, and he said all of his people are like you, because you made them.  Lére’s been wanting to see just how much you’re really like a Dwarf, but we never had a chance to see you this close at the festivals in Valmar.”

Her brother quite promptly turned a vivid red and elbowed the girl hard to shush her, but Aulë laughed, a great booming sound that was cheerful, not chagrined.  “My pride was great in attempting to fashion a people of my own, I do admit that, little ones, but even I was not so proud as to try to make them in my own likeness.  But if you wish, I will tell you what I can of them, for I have tried to look after them as best I might, since Eru Ilúvatar adopted them.  Not many in Aman are interested in such tales, and it would please me to share them with you.”

As the Smith lengthened his stride and moved on to show the youngsters to the places that had been prepared for them, Olórin suddenly slowed his own pace.  Yavanna noted his hesitance, asking after its cause with a curious glance.  I am not attempting to refuse your kindness, he whispered to her through osánwë, the speech of their thoughts, so that they might converse quickly, and none would overhear. But before we sit down to these festivities, I must ask, my lady, how Ornedil has taken the news of what befell his brother.  I have had no chance to speak with him since my return to Aman, and I fear I would make a very poor celebrant if I knew, or suspected, that I was breaking bread with someone to whom I might represent a cause for great sorrow, not celebration.  I do not wish to tarnish the honor you offer me by being a needlessly somber guest.

Yavanna smiled sympathetically, understanding his reticence.  He mourns what he has lost, she answered in that same swift and private manner, but perhaps not in the fashion you may think.  Ornedil would not have opposed me openly, but I know well enough that he never favored the idea of sending his brother to Endorë as one of the Istari.  Much as he loved Aiwendil, he feared for his safety in the mortal lands, for he knew, perhaps better than I, how his brother could become too involved with the task at hand and wholly lose sight of greater issues.  Yet Aiwendil was also the most learned of my servants in understanding the ways of both the kelvar and olvar, and he shared my concern that those in Endorë might suffer terrible harm in the potential conflicts to come if no one dedicated to their interests was sent to look after their welfare.  He wished to go as much as I wished for him to go, and perhaps in our mutual eagerness, we did not consider well enough whether or not it was wise for him to go.  Ornedil offered his counsel, but Aiwendil was determined, and I fear I did naught to discourage him, for I remembered too well how that part of Arda which is under my care suffered during the wars of other ages.  Aiwendil chose this task entirely of his own free will, and in the end he fell as others of my people had fallen before him, becoming enamored of that region of Endorë which they loved best, and turning their back upon the rest.  Ornedil bears no ill will toward you because his brother would not listen, and while he is saddened by what happened, he has not yet surrendered to grief.  For although there are those among the Valar who have said that Aiwendil is lost to us, he who is his closest kin still believes that he might one day remember who he is and from whence he came, and return to us.

Her smile brightened.  Indeed, I asked Ornedil to come this evening because one of your many gifts which you share most freely with others is that of hope, and he knows it well. What was Aiwendil’s mood, when last you saw him?  Was he in despair, or sorrowful?

The Istar shook his head ever so slightly.  No, not at all.  In fact, he was quite happy, since the end of Sauron’s threat had lifted the shadow from many places and creatures he held dear, and he was glad to see them able to thrive freely once again.  He did not remember what he had been here in Aman before he became Radagast the Brown, nor could I stir those memories for him, but he was in good spirits, and eager to go about his work in Middle-earth.

Then Ornedil will be pleased to hear this, and know that perhaps there is indeed reason for him to continue to hope for his brother’s sake.  So there is no cause for you to be somber, Olórin.  Let this be a time of joy, and it will lift the spirits of many, myself and my lord not the least.

It was with a considerable — and quite genuine — sense of relief that Olórin accepted her encouragement, and complied when she motioned for him to precede her, to join Aulë and the twins at their table.  Yavanna began to follow the Istar, then herself hesitated, to glance back over one shoulder.  “Aránayel, come,” she said aloud to the Maia, who had been several paces behind them and had not noticed more than a brief moment of hesitance when they had paused to exchange their thoughts.  There was a distinct reluctance in her step, as if she were loathe to move a step nearer to the high table.  “There is no need for you to hang back so.  A place at our table has been prepared for you as well.”

The auburn-haired Maia’s eyes widened with surprise.  “My lady, I am not of your people, nor of the Firstborn who dwell here.  I freely admit that I know little of you, nor have I made the acquaintance of the Lord Aulë.  I expect no special treatment in your house.  I have been waiting only to be shown to my proper place.”

Yavanna sniffed, faintly amused by her attitude, which she more than half suspected was a show of false humility, a means for Aránayel to save face, should she be sent off to a seat among the lesser guests.  “Which is with the rest of your traveling companions.  I am aware that many things have been said of you during the ages of our residence here in Arda, and that few of them were flattering, but if Olórin has found it in his heart to forgive you those ancient transgressions, then we will do no less, for his sake.  He is our honored guest this night, and as you are one of his companions, it is only proper for you to share in some part of that honor.  You would do well to remember that there are many in Aman who will look favorably upon the fact that Olórin is willing to keep company with you, for he has earned great respect since his youth, and the days when things went awry between you.  Come now, make haste, before my husband grows impatient with our dallying.  I would not have his genial mood fade too soon, and spoil our evening!”

The Valië moved on to join the others without so much as a backward glance to confirm whether or not Aránayel was following.  Thus she did not see the expression that flickered across the Maia’s face, a strange look of pleasure that matched the glitter in her dark eyes, the delight of a cunning hunting beast who has at last inadvertently been shown the perfect way to corner a hated and long elusive enemy — and kill it.

X

There were fates worse than death.

If Olórin had ever doubted that, the remaining days of their journey to Lórien very clearly proved it to him.  During his time in Arda as an emissary of the Valar, he had been sent on many perilous journeys. Some lasted but a brief time, others spanned hundreds, even thousands, of years as they were counted in the mortal world.  He had helped in the great effort of shaping the physical world, had undertaken tasks too menial or repugnant for many others to feel them worthy of their time.  He had seen the first terrors Melkor had inflicted upon Arda, had trembled in fear of them, yet had somehow found within him enough courage to aid those who desperately wished to put an end to the Great Enemy’s plans of destruction because he wished it, too.  He did not think there was any kind of pain he had not witnessed, no fear he had not felt, no sorrow he had not experienced.  He had given all that was in him to help see the full vision of the ancient Music made real, and he had lived through and suffered much to achieve his part in it.  He even knew what it was to know death as the mortals experienced it, and to fear it, not because of the uncertainty that lay beyond, but because of how final an end it made to any plans and hopes and dreams one might have had in life.

Yet there were far worse fates one could suffer.  He knew that now beyond question.

He had thought a surly, sulky, peevish, and petulant Aránayel would be difficult to bear, but predictably tolerable.  He had not stopped to consider how much worse it could be if she suddenly and unexpectedly turned solicitous.

The change had not come about in a matter of moments; indeed, if there had been any change at all in her behavior during the feast in Yavanna’s halls, he had been blissfully unaware of it.  From what he had noticed, she had been remarkably quiet through the evening, speaking if spoken to, but otherwise remaining unobtrusive, sitting back to observe and enjoy the celebration.  The following evening when they set up camp — the last time they would need to spend the night out of doors before reaching Lórien — he noticed that she was unusually helpful, even bordering on cheerful, but he had supposed it was nothing more than a pleasant aftereffect of their time in Yavanna’s home.  The Valië was a very sensible person, and while she did not brook bad manners among her servants, she was also quick to recognize honest effort.  Aránayel’s behavior had been exemplary that night, better than it had been during the farewell feast in Nienna’s house, for there had been much music and other entertainment for the guests, of the kind she had always loved so well before her exile from Ilmarin.  Olórin presumed that her improved spirits were the result of both the rather large social gathering and some word of approval from Yavanna, so he had simply accepted her improved temperament, and her willing assistance, with polite gratitude.

The next night, two days before they were to arrive in Lórien, they came to a settlement in a hilly area of wide fields, small streams, and scattered but graceful trees.  This was the land where dwelt many of the servants of Vána the Ever-Young, Yavanna’s sister.  Although she made her usual dwelling with her husband Oromë in the forests and windswept plains of southernmost Valinor, there was a special grace to the clime and the earth in this region that favored the growth of many flowers.  They were her especial province and love, and here, her people tended them with great care, encouraging them to ever more beautiful shape and color.  From afar, they shone like a glimmering rainbow spread as a veil across the green earth; the wind carried their sun-warmed fragrance to the travelers as they approached, headed for the village where the local Maiar and a small enclave of Eldar made their homes, and where they were expected for the night.  Through Melian and his own occasional dealings with Vána herself, Olórin was well acquainted with a number of these folk, who came out to greet the riders as they entered the small but pleasant town.  Aránayel was again helpful when it was time to unburden the horses, and if she made her helpfulness somewhat more obvious, he suspected it was an attempt to make a positive first impression upon the residents, with whom she was not acquainted.

It was only after the twins had gone to sleep, when the Maiar remained in the airy hall where they had supped to converse with their hosts that the Istar began to feel strangely disquieted by Aránayel’s politeness.  He could not yet place a finger on the reason, but the sensation did not abate as the night grew older.  He might have chosen to remain with their hosts and talk until the children woke and they were ready to move on, but they had been warned that he was still recovering from his long illness and should be encouraged to rest if he showed any signs of weariness.  Not long after midnight, he did, and he could not deny that the sleep would be welcome.  He was not exhausted from the rigors of travel, but from chasing after the uneasiness inside him, a stress that was more wearying than running a hundred leagues across inhospitable country.  Fortunately, Aránayel did not follow when he was shown where he could rest, and for that, he was intensely grateful.  She was up to something, and his heart whispered with utter certainty that this was not a turn for the better.

During the remaining two days of the journey, that certainty deepened.  Experience had taught him many things, and among them was how to recognize the signs of duplicity.  He had failed that particular test on one exceptionally notable occasion, failing to see beyond Curumo’s skillful misdirection that had coaxed others to pay heed to his lies.  But his own folly, exacerbated by an all too mortal confusion, had combined with Saruman’s tricks to prevent him from acting upon what he had known deep in his heart long before his fellow wizard’s treachery had been made plain to him.  If anything, that incident had sharpened his awareness of such things, for what had followed had been a bitter and painful lesson in learning to trust his own instincts.  He was not about to make that same mistake with Aránayel, whose hostility toward him was of even longer standing than Curumo’s.  When they were once again in the wilds, he noted that she became less overt in her civility, though it did not entirely abate.  When they reached their next destination — a settlement along a river that they would follow into the heart of Lórien and thence to the hill country — her pleasantries again became more pronounced.

Had he witnessed such behavior in anyone else of a sour mien, Olórin would have been gratified by the improved temperament, but in Aránayel, it made him suspicious.  The changes had come too suddenly and were too obvious to be unintended.  Moreover, every time she treated him with unusual politeness, he could sense something about her that left him feeling disquiet rather than pleasure.  It was true that before the beginning of this journey, he had not seen her for many years, but from what others had told him of her, much of the person he had known all those centuries ago remained the same.  Flattery and kindness and civility were tools to Aránayel, things to be used in her dealings with others for express purposes that would be to her profit in the end.  Knowing this, he could not help but feel that she was definitely up to something — but he could not decide if it would be wiser to question her about it or remain silent.

He finally chose the latter course of action, deciding that there was far too great a danger that she might take poorly any questioning of her motives, to the undoing of whatever good might come of the situation.  He was being suspicious, perhaps far more than he had any right to be.  Instinct had never betrayed him, though he had sometimes betrayed it by not heeding its warnings, and though he knew there was something more to Aránayel’s behavior than could be easily perceived, the precise nature of it continued to elude him, as moonlight evades the hand that would seek to capture it.  Nonetheless, her strange politeness toward him continued to disturb him, for reasons he could not clearly see.

On the morning of the final day of their journey — which would bring them to Lórien’s hill country late in the afternoon — the obscuring mists at last began to lift.  They had spent their final night of travel in a village alongside the falls of a great river that fed many of the streams and pools of Lórien to the south and east.  Both Eldar and Maiar made their homes here, the latter primarily people of Ulmo, who delighted in the waters of the magnificent river and falls.  By comparison, they made Rauros and the Anduin seem as small and insignificant as the trickle of a half-dry stream over a precipice of pebbles.  The twins had been entranced by it, as they had never seen anything like it, but Olórin had fully expected Aránayel to complain about the natural humidity of the region, as she had complained of the dampness brought by the rains during the nights they made camp in the wilds.  But she did not, and though the Istar was glad that they were being spared her complaints, he could not help but feel that there was some ulterior motive, even to this.  One — especially one such as Aránayel — did not have such a complete change of heart in a matter of mere days.

Their horses had been allowed to run free in the grasslands along the riverbank while the travelers rested; the following morning, Olórin called the beasts together so that they could be prepared for the last leg of their journey, while his traveling companions collected their other gear and had their breakfast.  He had just finished fitting them with the tack and was checking one of the saddlebags to be certain that a gift Lady Yavanna had sent for Frodo was still intact and unharmed when Melui joined him, her own pack in hand and a deeply perplexed look on her face.

“Mithrandir,” she said as she handed him the satchel, to be secured on the back of her steed, “are we to make a permanent home in Lórien, once we arrive?  Did Lady Nienna send us away so that we would no longer be a nuisance in her house?”

A puzzled frown creased the Maia’s brow as he took the pack from the child, pausing before he secured it with the others already attached to the saddle of her horse.  “I cannot say where you will make your permanent home in the end,” he said, “but I can assure you that Lady Nienna did not send you away for any reason, least of all because she considered you a nuisance.  Wherever did you acquire such notions?”

Melui flushed with chagrin, but only faintly.  “By listening — but not on purpose,” she added quickly, lest he think ill of her.  “I was in the room where we’d slept during the night, making ready to leave when I accidentally spilled some of the things from my pack.  When I knelt down to pick them up, Aránayel and some of the people who live here went by.  They were talking, and I heard Aránayel tell someone — Celussëmel, I think, the very pretty lady who lives under the waterfall — that we wouldn’t be coming back because we were going to be staying in Lórien.  I thought at first she meant that she just didn’t know how long we’d be there, but when Celussëmel said the same thing, Aránayel said no, it wouldn’t be temporary.  Arrangements had been made for all of us to stay in your house, though she expected Lére and I would be sent to join the Elves in Lórien before long.  Is that true, Mithrandir?  Are you going to send us off to live with people we don’t even know, and will we never have a chance to see Helyanwë again?”

Her expression was stricken.  Olórin paused before answering, first collecting his thoughts, then setting down the pack before he crouched to speak with her more directly.  “I shan’t lie and say that I know for certain what the future holds for you, Melui, for I do not.  But I do know several things, and you may take them as truths: Helyanwë is as fond of you as you are of her, and no matter what home you may eventually find, she will forever be your friend.  It is true that she is a servant of Lady Nienna, but her mistress knows of her affection for you, and I do not think she would ever insist that you be parted simply because Helyanwë is in her service.  I myself am a servant of Lord Manwë, yet he does not insist that I make my home in Ilmarin.  The very things that make Lady Nienna so patient and compassionate would not allow her to keep Helyanwë from going to you, if that is best for your happiness, and hers.”

It was Melui’s turn to frown. “But Aránayel sounded quite certain....”

A soft sigh whistled past his lips.  “I have no doubt that she did, as she herself wishes very much not to return to Lady Nienna’s house.  But she spoke without full knowledge, I believe.  Arrangements have been made for all of you to stay in Lórien, but my house is not large enough for all of you to be my guests at the once, especially since there is already another who resides there with me, awaiting our arrival.  I had sent word to him that you and Lére would be joining us for a time, since I felt you would be most comfortable in my home, but one of my neighbors will provide accommodations for Aránayel.  As you have doubtless noticed, she and I are not on the best of terms, and I have no desire to make you, your brother, or Frodo — or even Aránayel — ill at ease by exposing you to the friction between us, both day and night.”

An odd wryness crept into the girl’s expression.  “I don’t think that’s what she wants, Mithrandir,” she said softly, wary of being heard by the wrong ears.  “She hasn’t been arguing or complaining or saying nasty things, ever since we left Lady Yavanna’s house.  I think she wants to stay in your house, because... well, not because she likes you, exactly, but....”  She paused, then shook her head.  “I’m not sure, but I think she wants people to think you like her.  I heard her say something like that to Celussëmel, just a few minutes ago.  That years ago, you told her you loved her when she couldn’t stand the sight of you, but now, things are different, and maybe could be the way you’d wanted.”

It took several moments for Melui’s observations to fully register; when they had, Olórin paled.  He had considered that Aránayel’s improved manners might be an effort to impress upon others how she had changed by being the soul of politeness toward someone whom she had long despised.  He had not considered that she might take this attempt a step farther and try to use the common knowledge of what had happened between them so long ago as the means to make others believe there was more to their improved relationship than met the eye, all for the sake of gaining the freedom she so desperately craved.  He suddenly understood why he had been so uneasy in Aránayel’s presence these past few days, but for Melui’s sake, he swallowed the groan that began to rise in his throat; he schooled his expression to one of polite curiosity rather than overt discomfort. 

“Did she?” he said mildly, forcing a faint smile.  “Well, then, perhaps I need to discuss the situation with Aránayel, to make certain there are no unfortunate misunderstandings between us.  I am not the same person I was in that long ago time, but she has seen very little of me since, and may not realize all that has changed for me.  Thank you for mentioning this, Melui.  I shan’t tell Aránayel that you told me of it, for she would surely accuse you of eavesdropping.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she vowed, afraid that he would disapprove.

Instead, he smiled, a bit more earnestly.  “I know.  But I think it was good that I heard of it, before it causes any unpleasantry.  I offered you and your brother the hospitality of my house for as long as you might wish it, and I will not allow anyone to send you away without my leave — which I assure you will be quite difficult to obtain, unless I have not the slightest doubt that such a departure would be best for your well-being and happiness.  And you have only to ask my friends in Lórien just how stubborn I can be when my mind is made up.”

Reassured, Melui smiled back.  “Helyanwë said as much the night before we left Lady Nienna’s house, when she took us to our rooms to sleep.  Lére’s never liked Aránayel at all, and he was afraid she might be able to convince you to send us off to Eldamar before we even had a chance to see Lórien.  I don’t think he remembers you as well as I do.  Helyanwë said you wouldn’t have invited us to come if you didn’t really want us there, and if you did, nothing Aránayel could say would make you change your mind.  Do you think Helyanwë might come to see us in Lórien, once she’s finished her errands for Lady Nienna?”

“I think she might,” he answered, relieved by the change of subject.  “I don’t know the specifics of her tasks for Lady Nienna, but when we spoke before she left, it seemed to me that she did not expect them to be exceptionally difficult.  If she is right, I have no doubt at all that she will wish to join you in Lórien, and she will certainly be welcome.  With both her and I to defend you, none will dare send you to any place you do not wish to go.”

She sighed, pleased.  “I thought as much, but I’m very glad to hear you say it.  Now I can tell Lére he’s just imagining things, and there’s nothing to worry about at all.  Thank you, Mithrandir.” 

Impulsively, she embraced him.  Olórin smiled, returned the affectionate gesture, and sent her on her way.  He watched her go, then turned back to the task of securing the pack she had brought to the saddle of her horse.  He nearly dropped it again as he lifted it from the ground and an unexpected voice spoke, uncomfortably near.

“It would seem that you have more skill with such young ones than I had heard you felt was within your capacity,” Aránayel said, her tone droll.  “Is there any resident of Aman whom you cannot befriend so easily?”

The Istar snorted softly as he took firmer hold of Melui’s pack to fasten it to the saddle.  “Without a doubt.  Curumo and I were never particularly close, nor was I especially well-liked by many of the Noldor who supported Fëanor.  I fell out of his favor well before he led his revolt, and I have often suspected Lindarinë bears me some ill-will because I could not help him as he once helped me.  Even among our own people, I know I am not universally loved, for one reason or another.  I have been a friend of Aulë, if not as close as some, and I have met with a fair amount of friction and distrust among his servants — possibly because I have always had unusual gifts in regard to the beneficial aspects of fire, and some view it as a claim upon their purview which they themselves have difficulty mastering.  Also, unless there have been changes of which you have not informed me, when last I looked, we were not friends by even a very loose definition of the term.  In coming to understand the truth I would not see in my youth, I came to know that we never had been friends.  It was but a fantasy of my overactive imagination.”

She did not respond defensively or angrily, for which Olórin was grateful, but that she also did not agree with his assessment of the situation disturbed him.  “Much has changed since that time,” she said simply, in a tone that might be described as studiously neutral.  “Would you prefer that our relationship remain unfriendly?”

His eyes slipped toward her in a sidelong glance.  “If it is not based in honesty, yes.  I have not failed to note that you have been treating me somewhat more... charitably since our departure from Lady Yavanna’s house,” he added, deciding to throw caution to the wind and speak openly.  “If more than ten thousand years of separation was not enough to temper your disposition toward me, what could have happened to change it in one night?”

She glanced away as she considered her response.  “Realization, perhaps, one I could not reach so long as I remained in an isolation not of my choosing.  A bird that is kept caged may cease to sing and be silent for many years, and yet regain its voice in one day after it is released and allowed to be free again.  There were things Lady Yavanna said to me that gave me such hope.  Should I continue to sabotage my own chances for freedom by maintaining a demeanor that will only prejudice others against me?”

Olórin considered her reply.  What she said was in keeping with some of his own suppositions, that Yavanna had somehow complimented Aránayel for her good behavior during the feast three nights ago, and the Maia had taken it as encouragement.  For that he could not fault her — but neither could he dismiss the persistent feeling that this was not the whole of the truth.  “And you would not, of course, resort to exaggeration to enhance a positive perception among others?”

“Of course not.  I am not a fool, Olórin.  Whatever I do now is bound to be weighed and judged sternly.  I have no desire to return to a life of exile, and exaggeration once won me harsh punishment that made my life even more unbearable.  If I am making an honest effort to improve relations between us, would you begrudge me that because of what happened in the past?”

“No,” he admitted, “so long as it is honest.  For all that you have been known to have a quick temper, you have not been mercurial in your habits, apt to change your ways at a moment’s notice.  As far as I am aware, I have done nothing to warrant such a change of heart.”

“Perhaps not.  But I have been told by many that showing kindness is more apt to win the approval of others than nurturing bitterness, and as it is approval I require in order to be freed of my long punishment, I have realized that the best place to begin changing that attitude is with you.  Though I still believe I did not act wrongly those many years ago, I now begin to see why you have so many staunch defenders.  You seem to attract the trust and respect of others without much effort.  I do not quite see what it is about you that they find so very admirable, but I can see how, feeling as they do, they would not understand why I do not share their attitudes.  If I cannot change their minds or open their eyes to my point of view, then my only option is to attempt to understand theirs.  Do you find this intolerable?”

He hesitated, almost imperceptibly, then shook his head.  “I do admit that I did not understand you those long years ago; I did not even understand myself.  Lady Nienna did not speak clearly of why she chose you to accompany the children to Lórien, but I have suspected that some part of her intent was to deliberately place us in such close proximity that friction between us could not be avoided, and thus would have to be dealt with more directly for the sake of the youngsters with us, so that we might derive some mutual benefit from it.  It would seem that you have better availed yourself of this education than I.  Forgive me if I have been overly suspicious.”

A wry smile tugged at one corner of her lips, though its warmth did not extend to her eyes.  “If you had acquired that trait before your ill-advised confession, it might never have come to pass, nor any of the grief that has since come between us.  I should be angered that you waited so long to learn such common sense, since I have suffered for it longer than you, but instead, I will give you the forgiveness you have requested.  I am not, after all, incapable of showing tolerance, or offering a conciliatory gesture for the sake of making peace that is perhaps long overdue.”

Something in her words made the Istar uneasy, but as it seemed to him that it had less to do with Aránayel and more to do with his delayed forgiveness of Lord Manwë, he said nothing of it.  Aránayel set about preparing her own steed for departure, and Olórin was glad, for it put an end to their strained conversation.  The children returned with the remainder of their things, and they were soon on their way.

**********

They rode easily, following the meandering river until at last it reached the northwest outskirts of Lórien.  There its main course took a turn to the east, while a smaller branch and the travelers continued in a generally southward direction.  “This land has changed little since last I saw it,” Aránayel remarked when they paused to water the horses before venturing away from the stream toward Lórien’s wooded heart, which shimmered like a golden haze on a not too distant horizon.

Olórin did not hide his surprise.  “I was unaware that you had ever seen it.  In all the years I have made it my home, you have not visited — or was this hidden from me as another ploy of well-meaning friends?”

She shook her head, her hair shining in the midday sun like dark copper leaves in autumn, dancing on the wind.  “No, I have not visited since you settled here.  In years before, when I still served as a handmaid to Lady Varda, I was sent twice or thrice as her messenger to Lady Estë.  If Estë has not mentioned this to you, then I suppose she does not remember me, or thinks ill of me, as so many others do.”

“She thinks ill of no one,” Olórin said with confidence, “although she is perhaps more able to forget than many others of the Ainur.  She is well familiar with all the blessings of sleep and rest and healing, and often, forgetfulness can help one to heal more quickly by lightening the burdens on one’s heart and soul.  Lady Estë and Lord Irmo do not bear grudges, which bodes well for your time here.  You should be able to begin your stay with a clean slate in the eyes of both the Lord and the Lady, and if they have a good report for Lady Nienna, it will carry considerable weight when she pleads your case to Lord Manwë and Lady Varda.  She has great faith in the opinion of her brother.”

Aránayel sniffed softly, as if she doubted that such trust would extend to her, but she said nothing more.  The horses were soon ready to continue their journey, and they moved on.

The creek widened as they neared the central wood, and before long, the lake of Lórellin became clearly visible, sparkling brightly like a diamond amid the greens and golds of the woodland.  This was not so great a forest as Yavanna’s, the trees tall but not as incredibly high; what lay beneath the canopy was dappled with both sunlight and shadows, which flickered and shifted like images in a dream as the winds blew through the graceful branches above.  The path they had been following broadened as they passed beneath the trees; it was lined on either side by myriad shrubs and flowers of many shapes and colors and sizes.  Here and there, placid pools and beautiful fountains graced and cooled the land.  It was a place of great peace and stillness, and even the birds that sang amid the trees kept their songs to a soft sweetness that pleased the ear without disturbing the sense of calm and quiet.

It did not seem that any homes had been built here, yet from time to time, they would spy someone who smiled and waved at the passersby.  The twins glanced all about, looking for places they could identify as residences, but saw nothing.  “I don’t understand,” Lére finally admitted.  “You told us that this part of Lórien was much like our father’s home, but it doesn’t look at all like he described it.  He said there were great houses built up in the branches of the trees, not like the houses in Mithlond, but simpler and more open to the sky and the wind. I don’t see anything at all, not on the ground or up above us.  Are we in the right place?  Lady Yavanna’s forest seemed much closer to what Father spoke of, and it wasn’t really like that at all.”

Olórin chuckled.  “I’m sure your father knew his homeland well, and that he was also well acquainted with the tales which told of the Lórien that is here in Aman.  But he had never seen this place with his own eyes, nor had your mother or any of their kin in Middle-earth.  The realm of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel was indeed a remarkable attempt to capture what Galadriel had loved best of this place, which she knew from her childhood and youth, but though their power combined with that of Nenya could slow the decay of the mortal world, not all the power of the Elves could have stopped it entirely, nor purged more than the smallest corner of Endorë of the worst evils of Melkor.  They did their best, and their skills were considerable, yet even the greatest of their craftsmen did not have the skills of some of my people, who have lived here since long before the first of the Eldar awoke at Cuiviénen.”

He drew his horse to a halt when the boy’s expression told him that he was saying too much.  He laughed at his own long-windedness.  “I beg your pardon, I’m sure that wasn’t the answer you were seeking.  See there?” he said when the others had also come to a halt.  He gestured toward three women who were walking in the glade a short distance to the right of the road.  They soon reached a spot where there grew several well-grown trees with smooth silver bark and broad branches that spread close to the ground.  They were situated near one another, and their lower limbs overlapped as they often do in the thicker regions of a wood.  But as they watched, the women stepped lightly upon those low-slung branches and used them as one would a flight of stairs, following a path that led up and around and between the trees, until at last they reached an open platform high above the ground.  The talan had been so cunningly fashioned, it was almost impossible to discern it from the natural growth of trees all around, unless one could see the persons upon it.

Thus given a clue as to the nature of the local dwellings, the twins now glanced all about, finally able to see what they had missed before.  “Oh, that’s so terribly clever!” Melui exclaimed, unabashedly delighted by all there was to see, if one knew what to look for.  “Is this the same as Lóthlorien, Mithrandir?”

“Similar,” Olórin replied.  “This is less obvious than the city that was built amid the trees of the Golden Wood, but both have their own beauty.  Each place reflects the ways and the arts of the people who inhabit it, and as my folk walk upon the world unseen if we do not choose to clothe ourselves in a fana, so too are the homes of the Maiar who dwell in Lórien simple and unobtrusive.  Their art is in the tending of those things which grow here, as the art of the Elves of Lóthlorien was in the shaping of what the natural world provided them as material with which to ply their crafts.  Lord Irmo’s home on the shores of Lake Lórellin is very similar in its artistry to the Elven dwellings in Lóthlorien, as is the house of Lady Estë on the isle at the center of the lake.”

“Will we pass near them?” Lére wondered.

The Istar smiled.  “Very near.  Few visitors are allowed upon the isle, but we will stop at Lord Irmo’s home before we continue on to mine, so that he and his lady may welcome you to their land.  Then, I think, you will be able to better imagine Lóthlorien as your father described it to you.”

The twins were both delighted and mildly apprehensive, and asked many questions about the lord and lady and how they should behave toward them as they continued along the road toward the great lake.  Aránayel said nothing, but appeared to be listening with interest.  The inquisition ended when at last Irmo’s home, known as Murmuran, came into view.

For a time, the youngsters were struck with wonder by the graceful beauty of the place.  More than any of the other settlements they had visited while in Aman, this spoke of the craftsmanship of the Elves, even though it was home to a lord and lady of the Valar.  It was as if a world of trees and water had been brought into the land of dreams and there shaped into something that grew and flowed as they did.   The whisper of the wind, the rustle of leaves, the soft song of water flowing over glass and stone all spoke of healing and visions that are seen only in the night, during the hours of sleep. 

Yet there was no lethargy about the great hall; it held power and strength as well, that of life and spirit and dreams renewed by well-earned rest.  The house was not lifted up among the branches like Caras Galadhon, nor was it beneath the roots of the forest, like Yavanna’s hall.  It stood at the edge of the lake, sheltered by trees on one side and open to the sun and moon and stars upon the other.  It flowed between the trees like the carven, winding stairs of Lothlórien, the trusses of its roof bowed in the fashion of Elven arches that imitated the arms of spreading elms.  Water lapped against its southern wall as rain caresses the roots of tall mallorns; and the silver voices of fountains mingled with the song of birds and wind in a tune of peace and joy.  The children drank in the beautiful sights around them, and for a moment felt nearer to their father than they had in all the years since his death.

At last, they came to a halt where the forest road ended before a broad plaza of silvery stones, artfully laid before what was clearly the main entrance to Irmo’s mansion.  They had just stopped and had not yet begun to dismount when someone emerged from the shadows of the entranceway, a tall fellow garbed in dusky blues and silver with long plaited hair that shone like fiery copper in the midday sun.  He chuckled as he strode forth to meet them.

“Well, now,” he declared in tones as bright as the sunshine, “here I had begun to think that for once, I might win a wager with Lord Irmo because you had chosen to tarry on the way, or had gotten a late start on the day, but truly, I should have known better.  Your reputation for punctuality continues to remain unblemished, pityandil, but for those few occasions on which you arrived late by design rather than poor planning.  And are these the young Elven guests whom my lord and lady have been anticipating with such great delight?”  He bowed deeply to the youngsters.

The children laughed at his manner; Aránayel favored him with an expression that doubted the motives of such expansive good cheer; and Olórin simply smiled.  “They are indeed, Ványalos, and you know it well, as you also know that Lord Irmo and Lady Estë are already acquainted with Melui and Lére, so you need not go to such great lengths to appear ingratiating.”

“Not on their behalf,” Ványalos agreed cheerfully as he assisted them in dismounting.  “But though they have met my master and mistress before, it was not here in their home, nor have they had the opportunity to converse with them, as their voices were still lost when last they were together.  That is what they are anticipating so eagerly, to hear the fair Elven voices that could not speak during their other meetings.”  Melui laughed as she accepted his assistance; her brother did so less willingly, believing himself quite capable of dismounting on his own, though he allowed it when Ványalos did not presume to help more than was necessary to retain his dignity.

“Are you a friend of Mithrandir’s?” Lére asked as Ványalos subtly helped him make a steady final step to the ground.

The tall Maia lifted one eyebrow at the boy’s use of the Elven name, but made nothing more of it.  “Alas, yes, we have been acquainted for many long years, during which he has patiently suffered my presence as his nearest neighbor in the hill country.”

His words piqued Melui’s interest.  “Oh, then are you the one who has lodgings prepared for—“

”Melui, did you remember to bring the flowers you gathered at our last stop along the riverbank?” Olórin asked, his tone casual but his glance toward the girl pointed.  “I believe you said you wanted to make a gift of them to Lady Estë.”

Melui’s answering glance was puzzled, but she quickly understood the meaning of the Istar’s interruption when his eyes briefly flicked toward Aránayel.  Abruptly understanding that she was about to mention something better left for others to discuss, she accepted the change of subject without complaint.  “Oh, yes, I’d almost forgotten.  I wrapped them in a damp cloth and put them in the outer pocket of my pack, there.”  She pointed to the place, too high for her to reach from the ground.  “I didn’t want them to get crushed or wilted in the sun.”

Ványalos, who was closest of the three adults, easily reached into the pocket in question and withdrew them, a fistful of small blue-white blossoms that looked much like the elanor of Lothlórien, but for their color.  Ványalos smiled as he inhaled their fragrance before handing them to the child.  “Ah, eliminyar.   That is what your people call them, first stars, because as the stars they resemble do in the evening skies, they are the first flowers to open in the morning, and the last to close at night.  Did Olórin tell you that giving them to another is a custom of welcome to a guest among the Eldar of Lórien?”

Melui shook her head.  “No, I didn’t know.  Would it be wrong for me to give them to Lady Estë, if they’re supposed to be given to a guest?”

“Not at all,” she was assured.  “They are a much-prized flower, for they do not grow in all parts of Lórien, and here beneath the trees of its heart, they are seen only when others bring them as gifts.  Lady Estë is quite fond of them, and she will be pleased to accept them, I’m sure.”

Having relieved the girl’s concern, Ványalos turned his attention back to his neighbor.  “I will see to the comfort of your horses while you visit the Lord and Lady.  And I will make certain Frodo knows that he may expect you at the time you anticipated.  He was surprised at first to hear that you would be returning from the north with guests, but he is delighted by the chance to welcome them.  His people truly are the most hospitable I have ever known.”

“They are indeed, and I think there is much that the people of Aman might learn from the hobbits, while they are with us.  I am relieved to hear that he did not take the news poorly.  He has not been long in the West, and his time thus far has been filled with many difficulties not of his making.”

“Which are all well in the past, and behind him, as you know.  May I assist you, my lady?” the redhead asked Aránayel ever so graciously, noting that she had not yet dismounted.  “Seven days of travel across the open country can be wearying, even for the most experienced rider, and the lands in that part of the west never quite seem to lose all of winter’s chill.”

Aránayel gave him a measuring glance, attempting to gauge his sincerity.  Ványalos was wearing his most ingenuous expression and had spoken politely, so that not even she could tell if he was in any way dissembling.  After considering this for a moment, she accepted his offer with a brisk nod.  “So you are Olórin’s neighbor, of whom we have heard so many colorful tales,” she said neutrally.

Ványalos laughed.  “Have you?  Then I am justly rebuked for all the many colorful tales I have told of others.  I trust you did not find these stories too boring.”

She sniffed.  “Too fantastic, perhaps, but I am not well acquainted with any of the people of the Master of Dreams.  I only know of him through his lady sister, and from what I have heard, they are not similar in their habits.”

“On the surface, no, I believe you are quite correct.  In any case, he and the Lady Estë are awaiting all their guests, and so you may soon judge for yourself how he and his sister are unique.”

Something in his words appeared to please her, but Olórin spoke before she could say a word.  “In which case, we should not keep them waiting.  Aránayel, would you mind taking the children into the hall?  I require a moment to make certain Ványalos properly sees to the needs of our horses.  His skill with beasts is pitifully meager compared to his skill with words, and I would not wish to have our hosts wait to meet their honored guests.  They know me entirely too well, and will not suffer for a minute or two of my absence.”

Aránayel cocked her head as one might when studying some unexpected curiosity; there was a hint of displeasure in her face.  “I had expected you to properly introduce us to our hosts.  Or is it not the custom here for the guest who is best known to present those who have not yet visited the house?”

Her reaction seemed strange to Ványalos; he cast Olórin a questioning glance once his back was to Aránayel.  The Istar did not respond to him openly, but Ványalos noted something in his tone of voice that seemed oddly disquieted.  “It is, but I shan’t be long.  No doubt I will rejoin you before you reach the place where the Lord and Lady are wont to receive visitors.”

A shadow of doubt flickered across her face, but Aránayel offered no further protest.  When she and the twins were gone, Ványalos turned to his neighbor.  “I can see now why you once tricked yourself into believing that she might harbor some interest in you, pityandil.  There are few who can boast of such beauty even among our people — yet I can also understand why you were warned to stay away from her.  She could stand for a century in the full heat of the heart of the sun and still show no sign of warmth.  But has there been some change in the climate between you?  I had expected her to wish some other person to present her to my Lord and Lady, not you.”

The breath Olórin loosed was nearly a groan.  “So had I.  My feelings toward her have not changed, Ványalos, and I suspect that she likes me no more than she did on the day of my unfortunate confession, all those years ago.  But it would seem that she is not above manipulating how others perceive the current situation, if it will be to her benefit.”

“How so?”

The Istar ran his fingers through his pale hair before answering; as they brushed against the narrow band of crystal, he knew that his suspicions were not mistaken.  “The fact that I once believed myself to be in love with her and actually wished for her love in return is something I have never attempted to hide, even after I realized that it was a fantasy that had no basis whatsoever in reality.  The pain I felt over my own foolishness was longer-lived than the affection I imagined I held for her.  And I know beyond doubt that she is aware of this, for I spoke of it quite plainly before we left Nienna’s house, so that she would not fear that I might still harbor some hope of kindling such a relationship.  She seemed pleased to hear it, because indeed, she was no more fond of me than she had ever been — less, if anything.”

The explanation did nothing to relieve Ványalos’ confusion.  “Then why would she prefer that you be the one to present her to Irmo and Estë?  Would she not rather they viewed her as a governess of these Elven children than claim any connection with you?”

This time, Olórin did groan as he shook his head.  “Apparently not.  Over the course of our journey here, she came to realize several things, most importantly that I am not the same naive person she remembers from our youth, that I have at the very least gained some respect from those whom we all serve, and in particular that I have managed to win the approval of Lord Eru.  She desperately wishes to be free of her exile in the north, and for that I do not blame her, but I fear that from all that has happened during our travels, she has decided that the best way to achieve that goal is through me.  She has been unusually solicitous toward me ever since we left Yavanna’s house, and Melui has overheard certain remarks that seem to indicate that Aránayel has been fostering the notion among others that our relationship may be developing in the ways I had once desired, and she had once refused.”

Ványalos’ mobile face suddenly went still.  “You cannot be serious...!”

“I wish I weren’t, but I’m afraid I am, quite serious.  There was never any reason to discuss the particulars of the lodgings which had been arranged for her and the children here in Lórien.  She has developed a notion that she will make some kind of long-term residence in my house, and will send the twins off to live among the Eldar, as soon as may be.  What she intends to do with Frodo, I have no idea.”

The redhead grimaced.  “And you have done naught to disabuse her of this nonsense?  I have not relished the thought of having her as even a temporary guest, but I like even less the thought of having her in my home, displeased with her lodgings because she had not been told that her presumption of where she was to stay was in error!”

“I realize that, but I discovered this particular detail only this morning, when Melui mentioned things she had overheard to me.  Since then, there has been no opportunity to take Aránayel aside to discuss it privately, and I did not want the children to witness her fury if she took such news poorly.  They have already seen more of her ill temper than I would wish on anyone, especially a child.”

Ványalos’ annoyance vanished as quickly as it had risen.  “Then I forgive you for not warning me sooner, since you have had little warning of your own.  She may think her ploy a clever one, but you know as well as I that here of all places, it will not avail her.  You are well known to every resident of Lórien, especially to those in the hill country, and whatever she says of your relationship, unless it is confirmed by you, they will know it for a lie.”

Olórin grimaced, irritably pushing errant windblown strands of hair out of his eyes.  “I know, I know, and if this were nothing more than a case of Aránayel telling falsehoods to garner sympathy for herself and undermine my reputation, I would dismiss it without a second thought — as I would have many years ago, when the rest of you conspired to keep the knowledge of certain words she spoke at an autumn festival from ever reaching my ears.”

The taller Maia cleared his throat, unsuccessful in suppressing the color from rising in his cheeks.  “I admit I have been a party to that secrecy, but it truly was done as gesture of compassion, Olórin, and for no other reason.  You were not yet recovered from the abuse you had suffered under her tongue, and since we did not have the power to silence her utterly, we were determined to make certain she never injured you again, even through gossip.”

“For which I am grateful, not angry.  I am no longer so fragile, but I shan’t deny that I am not yet fully healed of my more recent hurts.  And that is why I wished to speak with you, before privacy may become difficult to obtain.  Aránayel has tried to be subtle in her machinations, most likely to prevent me from interfering before she has gained at least a portion of the result she wishes, and so long as she does nothing overtly dishonest or harmful, I will let her be as solicitous as she likes.  If I neither encourage nor hinder her, when others see through her ploys, she will have no one but herself to blame, and thus might learn from the experience.”

Ványalos snorted as he took the reins of horses.  “I may not know her as well as you, but from the little I have seen and heard, I think you may be asking for something beyond her ability.”

“Perhaps, but I see no harm in allowing her such a chance.  Yet over the last three days, I have sensed something more to her behavior, something I cannot lay my finger upon.  When Melui told me of what she had overheard this morning, for a time, I thought this might be the cause of my anxiety, but my heart insists it is not.  Before we parted company, Helyanwë warned me that Aránayel’s anger toward me has not diminished, that she would attempt to harm me if she could.  I felt she was mistaken at the time, but the more this feeling of disquiet persists, the more I cannot help but suspect that she may be right.  I want to help these children as best I am able, but if I must remain wary for new treachery from Aránayel....”

“It would be quite impossible,” Ványalos finished for him, suddenly smiling.  “Worry not, my old friend, this at least is a matter we have considered, and taken steps to help remedy.  Until now, I had no notion of the full nature of the difficulties you were facing, but we have been given warning that there may be greater trouble ahead.”

Olórin did not hide his surprise.  “By whom?  Helyanwë?  Lady Nienna?”

The tall Maia shook his head, his long queue dancing with the motion; his grin was impish.  “No, though I have discussed the situation with both of them since the message was received.  The warning came from one of Lady Yavanna’s people, Ornedil.”

The Istar’s eyes widened at this even more unexpected revelation.  “Ornedil?  But... why?  I did speak with him for a time at the feast in Yavanna’s house, but not of Aránayel.  To be truthful, I was more concerned about how he had been affected by what became of his brother.  Why would he have warned you of any difficulties I might face with Aránayel?”

“Because he is more perceptive than most folk would believe.  Aiwendil had greater knowledge of Yavanna’s birds and beasts, but much like yourself, Ornedil has quietly studied things that generally do not interest others of his people.  You forget that he and I are also friends, as we have both long served our masters as a favored messenger.  Not the most prestigious of orders, I do grant, but one that serves a useful purpose.  In truth, I have often thought that you and he have a great deal in common, though his interests are less broad and his wisdom far less deep.  That was why he worried for his brother’s safety as one of the Istari in Endorë, and why he noticed certain things at Lady Yavanna’s feast which you did not.  Ornedil saw and heard things that you were too busy to see, and he told me of them so that I might warn you.  He considers it a small repayment on behalf of his brother, who became a disappointment rather than a supporter of your mutual mission.”

After taking a few moments to digest this, Olórin sighed, his faint smile rueful.  “Someday, I must make myself better acquainted with Ornedil — and sooner than that, I must thank him for this.  But I still do not know precisely what may happen.  What preparations have you made to deal with this situation?”

Ványalos’ own smile broadened as they brought the horses to the water’s edge, removing their reins so that they could graze freely on the lush grasses that grew between the path and the lake.  “One you have already seen.  Originally, I had not planned to be here to greet you, and if you had not attempted to draw me aside to speak, I would have asked for a moment alone to confer with you.  Frodo is well prepared to deal with any trouble Aránayel might attempt to cause in your household, while I am prepared to debase myself in whatever ways are necessary to prevent her from harassing you.”

“I sincerely hope you are not speaking literally,” the Istar said, reacting to his peculiar choice of the word debase.

Ványalos laughed.  “Not if it can be avoided.  Others have said that I can ingratiate myself to anyone, given the opportunity, and I will do my best with her, for your sake.  If she can at least come to accept my hospitality because I flatter her vanity or some such, then it will make matters easier for you.  In my own house, it will be much less difficult to watch her for signs of trouble or treachery, and it is no bother at all for me, since she and I have no distressing history between us.  Also, there are other plans already set in motion that should shorten all our trials, but I think it best if I tell you no more than that.  You cannot be blamed for what you do not know — or, rather, you might be blamed by her, but she will tarnish her own image in so doing, not yours, for you will remain innocent.  If it is acceptable to you, I will accompany your party on the remainder of your journey to the hill country, to begin in earnest my part of these designs.”

Olórin hesitated, not certain he wished any of his friends to become ensnared with Aránayel and her scheming tempers, until he realized that they were already involved.  “I suppose that there truly is no other option, since I had already agreed to allow the children to come as my guests before I was told who was to accompany them as their tutor.  I still do not quite grasp the full wisdom of Lady Nienna’s choice, but I am grateful for your help.”

“And how could any of us refuse to give it?  Our aid is as much a means of assuaging our curiosity as it is a means to assist you in a difficult situation — mine in particular.  After all, I have long been told that my greatest gift is in making mischief, yet you have always dismissed my taunts and teasing with ease, while the effect of Aránayel’s misbehavior has been vastly more permanent.  I have often felt that my efforts are but the trifles of an apprentice, and I would very much like to see a true master at work.”

XI

As their guests arrived at mid-day after a long morning of travel, refreshment had been prepared for them, which the Lord and Lady of Lórien shared with them as their way of greeting, especially to the young Elves.  Olórin and Ványalos had joined the other travelers just as they arrived in the hall where Irmo and Estë waited to receive them.  As their servant, Ványalos took upon himself the task of presenting Melui and Lére, who were already known to the two Valar, as well as Aránayel.  The female Maia came very close to taking offense at his presumption, but Ványalos was quite lavishly gracious, after his usual manner, and startled Aránayel by mentioning the fact that she was no stranger to these halls, having come to the Lady Estë in the service of  Lady Varda, many years before.  Even Olórin was mildly surprised by that part of his commentary, as it was unexpected, for he had not mentioned this to Ványalos, but he also knew that his neighbor had served Irmo and Estë since their first entrance into Arda, and had a memory for things others would consider inconsequential.  He may never have seen Aránayel before this day, but as Irmo’s favored messenger, he was aware of all who came and went to Irmo’s house, especially other messengers.  If she had been here before, Ványalos would know of it and remember, whether or not he had ever set eyes on her.

Moreover, he had a true gift for sensing the moods of others and how to make the best of bad situations.  Before Aránayel’s ire had more than begun to rise, Ványalos’ adroit reminder of her past visits to Lady Estë prompted an unexpectedly warm response from the Valië, which swiftly quelled Aránayel’s burgeoning upset.  Olórin was grateful to him, not just for averting her anger and sparing him the need to perform the courtesy, but also for turning her interest elsewhere, for the time being.

When it was time for them to move on, Aránayel continued to show at least some minor interest in conversing with the red-haired Maia, which, the Istar perceived, was his part of the greater plot he intended to work upon during the remainder of their journey to the hill country.  Once outside the mansion, Olórin whistled for the horses; Lére’s face creased with thought as he watched them run up from the grassy sward at the water’s edge.  “If Ványalos is coming with us,” he reflected aloud, “should Melui and I share one horse?  There are five of us now, and only four of them.  We’ve ridden together before, you know.”

“I’m certain you have,” Olórin replied as they waited for the horses to join them.  “But I’m also certain those occasions were with gear that was meant to accommodate two riders, not one.  It was a generous thought, but I think such an offer will not be necessary.  We brought four mounts for the sake of the things that needed to be carried with us from Nienna’s house.  It will not trouble me to walk the remaining distance.  I have done so many times be—“

A rather solid nudge from behind curtailed his remark and nearly knocked him off his feet.  He stumbled forward in surprise, managing nonetheless to keep his balance; when he pivoted to see who had so rudely interrupted, he was nudged again, more gently.  He laughed.

“Shadowfax!  Did you come with Ványalos, and were hiding all this time?”

A ponderous sigh escaped the Maia in question, even as the grey horse shook his head.  “I fear not,” Ványalos said with considerable regret.  “It would seem that during your absence, I made one too many jests about the errors you made that irritated your equine friend, and he has turned his scorn to me as well.  I had wondered if he had yet forgiven you, but it seems I now have my answer.”

There was little doubt of that, as Shadowfax did indeed appear quite happy to see his master again.  The children watched in wonder as Olórin, still laughing, accepted his gentle demonstrations of welcome.  “Is he your horse, Mithrandir?” Melui asked from where she already sat astride her own steed, quite amazed by the size and noble bearing of the creature.  “He’s beautiful!  Has he been waiting here in Aman all these years, while you were in Middle-earth?”

“No, of course not, he was born there, just like you,” the Istar said, softly stroking the stallion’s proud head when he was finally finished offering his greetings.  “He was the greatest of all the horses in the kingdom of Rohan, the greatest to have been sired since Oromë first brought his ancestors to the plains of Middle-earth.  Théoden King made a gift of him to me for the help I gave to him and all of Rohan during the recent wars, though Shadowfax and I were friends before that time, and have been ever since.  It is difficult for me to think of owning a friend.”

“It is said that Lord Oromë greatly covets this beast, or so I have heard in the idle talk of his servants in Nienna’s house,” Aránayel noted, her expression a subtle blend of surprise and envy.  “How is it he remains attached to you?  Have you not heard of Oromë’s desire and offered the beast to him freely, or do you wish to keep him for yourself in Oromë’s despite?”

The sound Olórin made was remarkably similar to the one Shadowfax made in the same moment.  “As difficult as it is for me to think of owning Shadowfax, it is far more difficult for me to even consider forcing him to go where he does not wish to go.  He remains with me by his own choice, not by my command.  Should he choose to leave me and become a servant of Lord Oromë, I will not hinder him, unless I believe the choice was imposed upon him and not a decision made of his own free will.  And take care how you speak of him in his presence, Aránayel.  Shadowfax understands full well our speech, not only a few commands as ordinary horses perceive it.  Is that not so, my old friend?”

There was no doubt that the answering sound and motion was a very strong affirmative.  The silver horse’s dark eyes seemed to hold a glint of suspicion as he turned his head to regard Aránayel.  She frowned to be the focus of such a baleful glare, and might have been stung to make some defensive remark had Ványalos not chosen that moment to speak, and break the uneasy mood.

“Alas, he does indeed,” the redhead said quite mournfully as he gave Lére a leg up onto his own mount.  “And because I was foolish enough to forget this, I also forgot to choose my words more carefully in his presence while you were gone.  I am not as experienced a rider as you, but I know that neither am I so poor that I cannot stay upon the back of whatever steed deigns to carry me.  I had intended to ride here with Shadowfax this morning, but he overheard my parting words with Frodo, and carried me only far enough so that there could be no doubt in my mind that I had been deliberately thrown off because he no longer wished to carry me.  My words were in jest,” he added hastily when the stallion snorted loudly, “but I admit I have earned the rebuke.  I confess I have been less kind than was seemly, Olórin, taking too much amusement from the manner in which you inadvertently offended him by seeming to forget him once you were no longer forbidden to travel as our people are able.  Neither of us meant to give offense, but we both went too far before we understood our mistakes.”

Olórin regarded Shadowfax with a measuring glance.  “Hmm, then do I also need fear being tossed to the side of the road like a spoiled apple, to be taught my lesson in humility?”

Aware that his worry was feigned, Shadowfax shook his head, imperiously butting his master with his nose as he sidled up alongside him.  Olórin recognized this as a sign of the horse’s agreement to bear him, and chuckled softly as he followed orders.  Once settled upon the stallion's back, he reached forward to scratch lightly between the horse’s ears, an affectionate gesture Shadowfax had long enjoyed.   “Then let us go, my friend, but not too swiftly.  Your cousins who were kind enough to carry us from the north are strong and sturdy, but they have brought us a long distance these past seven days, and there is no need to hurry to our journey’s end.  Come, show our guests the fairest path between here and our home.  They are new to Lórien, and will appreciate a knowledgeable guide.”

During the months of Olórin’s illness, Shadowfax had had many opportunities to become acquainted with every trail and byway between the heart of Lórien and his master’s home in the hill country, as the Maia had been forbidden to use any extraordinary means of travel, and he and Frodo had often been summoned to Murmuran so that the Dream Master and his wife could aid both of them with their healing.  There was one path for which both the horse and his rider had a particular fondness, and he now led the others upon it, so that they might enjoy it, too.

As they rode at an easy pace, Olórin listened to Ványalos tell Aránayel and the twins of all they passed and everything they saw, regaling them with such tales of awe and amusement, even Aránayel’s laughter was occasionally heard.  The Istar was grateful, both to Ványalos for his attempts to engage her interest, and to Shadowfax for forgiving him and thus allowing such exchanges to occur.  He closed his eyes and felt the clean wind of their movement stream over his face and through his hair, taking with it some of the tension he had not been able to fully dismiss since he had first laid eyes on Aránayel in Nienna’s house.  Now, if only Frodo were as well-prepared to deal with her and any unpleasantries which might evolve while she was in Lórien, he felt certain all would soon be well.

  **********

Frodo, on the other hand, had his doubts as to whether or not such a thing would be possible while Aránayel remained in Lórien.  When Ványalos had given him the news that Olórin would be returning with guests, the hobbit had been delighted, a feeling which had faded quickly when he was told who to expect.  He remembered Olórin's admonishment, given when they had first discussed that part of his past, to keep an open mind about the Maia woman even though the tales he had heard of her were not at all evocative of pity.  What further enlightenment Ványalos and their other neighbors were able to provide had not been encouraging.  That they and the other Maiar who knew Olórin had conspired for thousands of years to make certain he remained ignorant of Aránayel’s other misdeeds toward him had startled the hobbit, though he couldn’t decide if he was more surprised by their actions or the simple fact that they had succeeded in keeping the Istar in the dark.  Fortunately, they had time to prepare as best they might, and when additional news had come to them from Ornedil, their best course of action became much clearer.  Frodo regretted that there was no way in which they could implement all of their plans before the guests arrived, but knowing that things had been set in motion was a comfort to him.

Pausing for a moment from his chores in the kitchen, he peered out the windows which looked west, and saw the shadows between the rays of sunlight lengthening as the afternoon grew late.  Sunset was not due for several hours, but the first clouds that would bring the evening rain had begun to stream in on the winds from the west, dimming the skies from blue to gray.  The others would arrive soon, if all had gone as planned.  As he returned to finish preparing a late tea for the travelers, Frodo realized that he was listening for the sound of approaching footsteps, and why.  It had been a long time since he had settled down upon a quiet evening in the Shire, wondering if he might have an unexpected visitor, one who so often came in the gray shadows of dusk.  He was far removed from that time and place, but the old habit was still there.  For many years, he had paused to listen most every evening, hoping to catch the soft sound of those footfalls on the path that wound its way up the Hill.  Gandalf had visited Bag End quite regularly after Bilbo had left the Shire, and he always departed with the assurance that he would return when he could.  Frodo had grown used to his visits before they had stopped for nine years.  He had just about given up hope that the wizard would ever return when he suddenly appeared again, bringing with him grim news about the Ring.

Frodo sighed as he thought back to that particular day.  From time to time, he had thought that perhaps he would have preferred to never see Gandalf again rather than hear the news he had brought that night, and live through all that had followed.  He had once been certain he could have given up anything if it would have spared him the ordeal of his journey to Mordor, the dreadful injuries he had sustained, and all he had lost because of the wounds of body and spirit that could not be healed in Middle-earth.  Even now, there were days when he thought of Sam and Rose, of little Elanor, of Merry and Pippin and all the dear friends he had left behind, and wondered if there might not have been some other way.  Aman was beautiful, its people kind, and the hills of Lórien so like the Shire, he more than half-expected to walk around a corner someday and find hobbits in the marketplace, or a merry old inn full of laughter and song.  Before Bilbo had gone back to Tirion to settle into his place in Elrond’s house, those fantasies had crept upon him more often than he liked, which was why he had encouraged Olórin to go off on the errand with Helyanwë.  He needed to know how comfortable he could be here on his own, so that he would understand whether or not these pangs of homesickness would diminish once he had a chance to make a place for himself without Bilbo or Olórin always there.

He had doubted that a week would be time enough to take such a measure, until just now.  Naturally, he looked forward to his friend’s return, but seven days ago, when the first news of how and when that would happen had reached him, he had been mildly irritated, believing that surely this was not time enough for him to achieve any semblance of personal settling in to his life here in Lórien.  But when he found himself listening for any sounds of Olórin’s return, he had suddenly felt not as if he were in a strange house in a foreign land, trying to find ways to feel at home.  He had felt at home, completely and utterly, as comfortable as he ever had in the kitchen at Bag End, preparing himself a spot of tea to tide himself over until supper on a rainy evening.  And his mind did not conjure up memories of those bygone days when he had welcomed a weary gray wizard into his home.  He knew precisely what and who he was expecting, and he anticipated it with pleasure, not discomfort.  It felt like the days of his youth, when he had welcomed Bilbo back from one of his long tramps about the Shire, a feeling that had always brought Frodo both joy and contentment.  Bilbo would be here in Aman for a long time, of that he was certain, and whenever they wished to visit each other, arrangements would be made.

But somehow, Frodo knew that Bilbo was likely to come to Lórien more often than he would go to Tirion, for the old hobbit recognized the treasure they had both been given in finding a part of the West that so closely resembled the land of their birth.  And for Frodo, there was a unique and special joy in having the privilege of sharing his life here with an old friend who had at last been set free of the shackles of human existence to live the life to which he had been born, a life of which the hobbit had truly known all but nothing, prior to their landing on the white shores of eastern Valinor.  From Frodo’s point of view, it was as if coming to Aman had somehow allowed time to turn back, so that he could have the miraculous chance to know Olórin as he had been in his youth only after first having known him in his old age.  Like so many things in the West, it was both strange and wondrous, and very precious.

He had not, however, expected that he would come face to face with this specific and unpleasant part of Olórin’s youth quite so soon after his initial discovery of its existence.  Yet even that had had a positive aspect to it: it had given him a reason to speak at length with many more of the residents in this part of the hill country than he might have sought out had he been given no reason to visit them during this past week.  When Ványalos told him of the guests who were to return with Olórin, Frodo had not hesitated to ask both him and others what they knew of Aránayel when they gathered to share the evening meal at the tall Maia’s home.  No one had rebuked him for prying, nor had they refused to answer his questions, and over the following days, in which they helped him prepare for the anticipated guests, Frodo developed his own friendly relations with more than a few of their neighbors.  They told him of many things besides Aránayel, and were curious to know him better in return, an exchange to which the hobbit gladly agreed.

Strange, he mused, how often things that seemed unfortunate or unpleasant could in the end bring about results of quite the opposite nature.  He hoped that such would continue to hold true, until this visit was over and Aránayel returned to... wherever she called home.  Until that moment, it had not occurred to Frodo that he knew of no particular name for Nienna’s house, or the land in which it was located.  For that matter, he was not certain he knew if such names existed for most of the homes of the Valar.  Murmuran he knew, as well as Mandos and Ilmarin; Ulmo made his home in the depths of the Encircling Sea, and the Valar also had mansions in the great city of Valmar, but he had no idea if those halls had names of their own, or any of the others in which the Valar dwelt throughout Aman.  It was another question to add to the already long list of questions he had been accumulating during the months since his arrival in the West.  Not for the first time, he was grateful for Lord Eru’s grace, which would allow him and Bilbo to remain in Aman, untroubled by the weariness of the world until they were ready to move on, for he was quite certain it would take many years before the questions he already had could be adequately answered.

The rattling of the kettle he had set above the kitchen fire interrupted his reverie and told him the water was ready to brew tea.  As he poured it into the ceramic pot he had already prepared, he tried to recall what Mirimë had told him of beverages often preferred by Elven children.  He had just begun to consider the options he was able to remember when a noise from outside the house caught his attention.  The sudden thunder of horses’ hoofs alerted him to the arrival of those he was expecting, a mildly surprising sound, since he hadn’t thought they would be in so great a rush.  Setting aside the kettle and leaving the tea to steep, he hurried to the front of the house and the clearing before it, where riders were best able to approach.  His surprise deepened when he stepped out onto the porch and saw only a single rider.  Shadowfax was drawing to a halt; still on his back, Olórin appeared torn between amusement and annoyance, laughing even as he ran his fingers through his seriously disarrayed hair, which had bits of leaves and twigs tangled in it, the circlet set upon it skewed slightly to one side.  There was not another horse to be seen or heard.

“Where are the others?” Frodo asked, startled by this unexpected and hasty arrival.

Shadowfax made an odd sound half-echoed by his master as he slipped down from the horse’s back, landing lightly on the grass and packed earth of the clearing.  “Still several miles behind us, I should think,” the Istar replied.  “We had just come to the place where the stream that runs beside the western meadow branches off from the river to the east, when Shadowfax took it into his head to race the others the rest of the way.  Never mind that this great brute knew full well he could outrun all but the swiftest of Lord Oromë’s steeds, and those we borrowed from Lady Nienna were just come from a week’s journey and know nothing of this region.  Not that he appears to remember it as well as he ought, given that he nearly tore my head off, jumping the hedge on the far side of the woods without leaving quite enough room for my hair to clear the vines growing above it.  And it’s good to be back again, thank you for asking.”

The hobbit blushed, but smiled.  “I’m sorry, that was rather rude of me, Olórin, and I beg your pardon.  I am glad you’re home.  If I have an excuse at all for my poor manners, it’s only that I’m surprised to see you arrive alone.  It’s not what I expected.”

“Nor I, so I forgive you your momentary lapse.  I had fully intended to come with the others, although I do admit I had thought it might be advantageous to arrive slightly ahead of them, to speak with you in private.”  The Maia’s eyes darkened and narrowed as they slipped toward Shadowfax, who had moved to drink from the small stream that ran near the house.  “Did you overhear my discussion with Ványalos, before he and I went in to meet Lord Irmo and Lady Estë?”

The silver horse raised his head enough to clearly nod his confirmation.  Olórin sniffed.  “That explains it, then.  I hadn’t realized it until this morning, but Aránayel has acquired some notions I have not had a chance to correct, and which might have uncomfortable results for all of us, yourself included.”  Quickly, he told Frodo the things he had told Ványalos a short time ago.  Frodo listened politely without interrupting, but his eyes grew steadily wider with all he heard.  When Olórin was finished, it took but a moment for him to react.

“And if she’s already laid plans to oust your other guests before they’ve even arrived, what plans does she have laid for me?  Is she thinking of sending me off to live with Bilbo in Tirion, or shipping me back to Middle-earth?”

The Maia sighed and winced as he tugged a particularly tangled clump of twigs and leaves from his hair, tearing out a largish knot of the hair itself in the process.  “I thought precisely the same thing when I realized what she was planning.  You needn’t worry on that account.  I assure you, if she so much as breathes a word of such a notion, she’ll find herself back where she came from before she finishes the sentence.  Lady Nienna may have sent her for some greater purpose, but I cannot believe it would involve allowing my friends to be hurt or insulted without reason.  I believe she seeks concrete proof that Aránayel has at last fulfilled the terms of her punishment, and if she would attempt such a thing, I suspect it would be more than adequate evidence that she has not.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Frodo agreed.  “There isn’t any chance, is there, that you might have accidentally given Aránayel the impression that you did still want such a relationship with her?”

Olórin shook his head emphatically, both in firm rejection of such a possibility, and to shake the last of the leafy debris from his hair.  “I’ve looked back over everything I have done and said since we met again, and if I did such a thing unintentionally, I cannot see how.  Ványalos told me that you had been warned that she might bear watching after her arrival here, but he did not mention the precise nature of Ornedil’s warning.”

“Undoubtedly because his warning wasn’t terribly precise.  I didn’t hear his exact message, of course, but Ványalos told me Ornedil had seen and heard things from Aránayel during the evening you spent in Lady Yavanna’s house that led him to believe she intended to cause some kind of mischief, should things not go to her liking during her time in Lórien.  We discussed it as best we could, and consulted anyone who was more familiar with her, and finally decided that the best way to deal with any trouble she might cause would be by preventing it. We—“

The Istar held up one hand, stilling Frodo’s explanation as he straightened the crooked circlet with the other hand.  “Ványalos spoke of this to me, and he felt that it would be better if I knew as little of your plans as possible, so that Aránayel could not lay the blame upon me, should she be angered by whatever comes of it.  You needn’t say more.  I believe I know all that is necessary.  I have been more concerned that you feel adequately forewarned.  She has... a strong personality, and can be fierce in dealing with those she considers her enemies.  In my youth, I was too blind and foolish to see it, but by simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time, you could easily win that distinction.”

Frodo wrinkled his nose, not at Olórin’s words, but at the memories they stirred.  “One that I’ve lived with before, if you recall.  I did nothing more than allow Bilbo to show me kindness by adopting me after my parents were killed, and I immediately won the scorn of the Sackville-Bagginses.  Bilbo did try to protect me from their cruelty as much as he could, but he could only do so much.  I’ve given this some thought while you were away, and I’ve decided that if I take the same kinds of precautions around Aránayel as I would have around Lobelia, I should be able to deal with her.”  He laughed ruefully.  “It’s much the same situation, after all.  Lobelia wanted me out of Bag End so she could have it for herself, and it sounds as if Aránayel has much the same intent — though Lobelia wanted Bilbo out, too, and from what you just told me, it seems that Aránayel would rather you stayed.”

The Maia shuddered at the very thought.  “Yes, and given a choice, I would have preferred enforced company with Lobelia.”  He exhaled, the sound of his released breath halfway between a moan and a sigh. “There is no question that any love I might once have imagined I held for Aránayel is well and truly gone, but neither can I hate her or be angry with her for what happened so long ago.  Yet in making it clear to her that I held her blameless for my past errors, it would appear that I have erred once again.  In her mind, I believe she sees kindness and pity as either signs of weakness or opportunities for manipulation — manipulation of a sort I would prefer not to contemplate.”

It took but a moment for the hobbit to see his point.  “Do you think she might actually attempt to...”  He cleared his throat, then spoke more quietly, just in case his words might be considered inappropriate or rude.  “...seduce you?”  It rather embarrassed him to realize that back in the Shire, such a thought would not have even occurred to him, but there was no denying that the person Olórin was here in his homeland was astonishingly unlike the weary and careworn old man he had appeared to be in Middle-earth.  From Frodo’s observations, among those still faithful to the Valar and Eru, there was no such thing as an ugly Maia, and in expressing his simplicity, Olórin’s fana held a quiet but nonetheless striking grace.

Olórin grimaced.  “Ordinarily, I would say no.  Our people are not like the Eruhíni.  While our fanar can be precisely like your bodies in form and in basic functions, none of the things you require to sustain or enhance your physical life are needed by us.  We are capable of experiencing most things that are natural to one born in flesh, but our reactions to them are quite different on very fundamental levels.  That is why it was necessary for Melian to take on a body of flesh when she wished to bear Elwë a child.  It could not be done otherwise, for we do not have children among ourselves, even when we remain in our self-incarnate forms.  Among the Ainur, spouses relate to one another in ways that are quite unlike those of the Eruhíni; a desire for offspring is normally not a part of this love.  A greater tie to physical existence is required to kindle it, and then the spouse must be chosen from among the beings Lord Eru created as naturally incarnate, or....”

He shook his head, curtailing his unintended lecture.  “Well, that is a tale for another time, I think.  Suffice it to say that I now have a much better understanding of what both the Eldar and the Atani experience in their incarnate lives since I spent so many years in the body of one of the Second-born.  What it means to be male or female is not the same for us as it is for you.  All of Eru’s living beings, I think, wish to have family in our own fashions, but the desires that arise from the need to give birth to children are unique to the creatures born of Arda and quite beyond the reckoning of any Ainu who has not lived in true flesh.  Aránayel has never experienced such a life, of that I am certain.”

Frodo saw his point.  “Then there’s no chance that she would even think of attempting such... coercion,” he said, relieved.

That feeling faded a moment later when the Maia made an indecisive gesture.  “I would not expect that such a means of ingratiation would readily occur to her.  But I may be mistaken; I have misjudged her before, to my regret.  She has spent many years working among the Elves who are freed from the Halls of Waiting and their kin; she has witnessed their ways far more closely than she could have in her service to Lord Manwë and Lady Varda.  She may have some curiosity about those customs and habits which are not ours; she might think that I would share such an interest because of the many years I have just recently spent in the flesh of a mortal, and because of my acknowledged love for all the Eruhíni.  Also, she has also developed an... attachment, if you will, to certain things of the physical world, her fana apparently not the least among them.  If she grasps no other aspect of humane existence, she knows vanity quite well indeed.  My suspicion is that she would not demean herself by using such blandishments upon me, but if she has witnessed such behavior among the newly released Elves who have been reunited with their spouses and loved ones....”

Frodo winced, sympathetic.  “What will you do if she does try?”

Olórin shrugged.  In the distance, he could hear the approach of the other horses, though they were yet too far for Frodo to catch the sound.  “Deal with it when and if it happens.  My hope is that it will not, which is why I am grateful to Ornedil for warning you that Aránayel may attempt to cause trouble, and that you and Ványalos have already taken steps to prevent it.  Whatever measures you have begun, if they at all involve keeping close watch over her, I doubt she will ever find an opportunity for this particular kind of mischief.  I intend to avoid being alone with her, so long as she remains in Lórien.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help, of course, if you wish.  I must admit that I hadn’t even considered this possibility, until just now.  I know your people aren’t like mine, but I often forget how very different we are.  When you speak about siblings and spouses among the Valar and your own people, I cannot imagine them without thinking in terms of how such things are among my own kind.  I don’t believe I will ever quite understand how there can be brothers and sisters and husbands and wives, yet no mothers and fathers or children.  All of you have the same parent, yet you are not all related.  It’s quite incomprehensible to me.”

The Maia smiled wryly.  “I understand, better than you may know.  In my own way, I was just as baffled by those differences when I came to Middle-earth two thousand years ago, but I have learned.  Perhaps that is why I have come to look upon the Hobbits as my family, especially you and Bilbo.  I had no kin by birth, and none by blood, but some I have found in spirit, in you and your people.  That is more precious to me than the kinship I had once imagined I might share with Aránayel.  Which is why I will not let her spoil the happiness and peace you are finally coming to know here in Lórien.  Too many of the months since your arrival have been spent in dealing with my troubles.  I have no wish for you to suffer one moment more because of my errors and inadequacies.”

Frodo harrumphed softly.  “I don’t consider helping a friend to be suffering, much less one who is more family than mere friend.  But....”  He glanced at that friend, who was watching Shadowfax nibbling on the grass near the stream.  His earlier thoughts concerning the obvious changes in the Istar bubbled up in the hobbit’s mind, and to his chagrin,  a sudden laugh escaped him.  When Olórin gave him a sharp glance that was painfully near to taking insult, Frodo did his best to suppress his unseemly mirth.  “Forgive me, I don’t mean to imply that I consider what Aránayel has done, and might yet do, to be humorous.  But....”

He paused, then began again.  “Look at it this way, if you will.  I can easily understand why this whole situation concerns you deeply, because Aránayel has done you considerable harm in the past.  But I’ve only known you as you are now for... eight or nine months, isn’t it?  I grew accustomed to your changed appearance much more quickly than I would have expected, but even so, it did take some getting used to.  Yet before then, I knew you as a very old man for all my life, more than fifty years.  I beg your pardon if my reaction seems rude, but I cannot help but think that back in Middle-earth, I couldn’t have even begun to imagine that something of this sort would ever worry you.  Realizing that it does...!”

Olórin had no trouble grasping the explanation behind this unseemly laughter.  His offended expression turned to a rueful, crooked smile.  “I suppose from that perspective, you’re quite right, and the whole notion is utterly absurd.  To be frank, I never would have expected to find myself in such a predicament, either.  I have loved a great many people in my life with a deep and earnest passion, but I have never desired anyone as the Eruhíni do, not even when I lived as one of you.  What I wanted of Aránayel all those centuries ago was not the attention of a lover, even as ourkind knows them; I wanted to experience the sort of deep love of heart and spirit I saw between my lord and his lady.  In my ignorance, I did delude myself into doing something I should not have done, because only recently have I grown enough to understand that this particular path is one not meant for me, not in this world.  It does not make me bitter; indeed, the clarity of that enlightenment has been an immense relief.”

He sighed softly.  “But that is why I am so greatly troubled by the direction in which Aránayel’s attentions appear to be progressing.  She doesn’t truly understand me; she knows only what I was in my foolish youth, and now sees how she could turn what she believes I might still desire to her advantage.  If she reacted with such powerful rage when all I did was speak to her of love, how do you think she will react if now, when the tables are turned, I reject her?  Do you imagine she will believe such a refusal can be aught but a long delayed and completely deliberate revenge?”

Frodo shook his head, his laughter gone.  “No, I suspect that’s precisely what she’ll do.  And truly, I do see why such advances might be particularly uncomfortable and distasteful to you, especially now.  After Bilbo left the Shire and I inherited all he had left behind, I reaped an unwanted bounty of feminine admirers, looking to marry into a life of comfort.  Some of them were complete strangers, others lasses I hadn’t spoken to in years, still others young women who wouldn’t have given me time of day when I was in my tweens and Bilbo was the master of Bag End.  A few had been quite unkind, then, repeating Lobelia’s nonsense about me not being a true Baggins at all, unworthy to be the heir to Bilbo’s so-called fortune – until it was my fortune, and they wanted it for themselves.  It doesn’t surprise me at all that Aránayel might change her tune toward you, if she saw something in it for herself, and that she would be quite offended by rejection.  To be wanted for something you have or are that others wish to possess — be it wealth or beauty or power or influence — is quite demeaning.  I despised it for myself, and I fully understand why it troubles you now.”

Olórin leaned against the balustrade near the place where Frodo stood upon the porch, his breath whistling through his teeth as he exhaled, pondering long-buried memories.  “I’d forgotten your troubles with the young ladies of Hobbiton after Bilbo’s departure — but then, whenever I visited you during those years, the matter of the Ring nagged at me more and more, and I seldom saw anyone but you or whatever friends and neighbors you allowed into your home while I was there.  If I regret anything about that time, it was how estranged I became from the rest of the Shire.  It felt much like becoming an unwanted outsider to my own family.”

The hobbit smiled wanly.  “Perhaps it was for the best, in the end.  Even if I had not needed to come here for my own well-being, you would not have been allowed to stay in Middle-earth, would you?”

The fair head shook.  “No.  Aiwendil and some others of my kind remain because they have lost their memories of Aman, and believe themselves to be a part of Endorë.  To stay, I would have had to become like them, and much as I love Middle-earth, I missed my home and my life here, and wanted to return to both.  I admit that there was a goodly measure of selfishness in my actions when I asked the Valar if you and Bilbo might be permitted to sail with us.  Even though the request was for your well-being and happiness, not mine, I did feel less torn when the time came to depart, knowing that the best part of what I had known in Endorë would be coming with me, if only briefly.  I am relieved that I was never faced with a need to persuade you to come.  That you chose of your own free will eases my heart considerably, especially since I know that your decision left you bereft of a part of your life that you hold most dear.  Now, I can only hope you will not regret your choice so soon, because of Aránayel.”

Frodo chuckled, almost deviously.  “Oh, I don’t think so.  Given all you’ve told me, I think what we’ve planned to thwart her will turn out better than we could have expected.  Although we’ll have to find ways for you to survive a day or so, until everything falls into place.  Do you think you can manage that?”

Olórin made a face of good-natured exasperation, standing straight again as the sounds of the other travelers approaching finally became clearly audible to both of them.  “I will manage for as long as is necessary, if it will prevent Aránayel from nurturing these... disturbing schemes any more than she already has.  Speaking of nurturing, that reminds me: Lady Yavanna sent a gift for you, and she made me promise to make certain it came into your hands directly upon our arrival.”

Frodo blinked, startled, as Shadowfax ambled back to the front of the house.  The stallion's entire posture radiated a sense that it was about time the others joined them.  “A gift for me?  Why?  I spoke with her for a time during the welcoming feast in Valmar, and she was a very kind and pleasant person, not at all terrible or frightening, but I’ve seen very little of her since.  We discussed gardens and growing things, and she seemed rather pleased that Hobbits have such a fondness for both, though we spoke of nothing more important than that.”

“It was significant to her.  She was aware that your people loved the plant life of Endorë, but she had never before met a Hobbit, and apparently, your conversation in Valmar delighted her greatly.  When she heard that you had chosen to reside here in Lórien, in the house that she and others made for me, she regretted not having provided it with anything considered special by Hobbit-kind, and she wished to remedy that situation.  If Ványalos has not destroyed the things I brought with me from the North, I shall make certain her gift is delivered promptly.”

“That is an unfair accusation, pityandil,” the redhead remarked as the four horses entered the clearing and brought them within easy earshot of those before the porch.  “I have admitted that I am not the most skilled of riders, but neither am I that poor!  Indeed, if Shadowfax hadn’t gone galloping off and prompted the others to try to keep pace with him, I would not have so much as jostled a thing.  If some item you have in your packs has been damaged, you may lay the blame on your own horse, not this gentle fellow.”  He patted the neck of the dappled gray stallion that had borne the Istar all the long way from Nienna’s house to Irmo’s.  “Indeed, he and his friends would have exhausted themselves completely, if our two young Elven companions had not used their charms to calm them into a more reasonable gait.  Whyever did you bolt off in such haste?”

“It was none of my doing,” Olórin assured his neighbor as he reached into one of the packs after Ványalos had dismounted and gone to assist the others.  “Shadowfax was eager for home, I suppose, and had become restless.  And no harm done, I see,” he added with a smile, lifting something from the top of the uppermost pack.  “Lady Yavanna will be pleased, especially if this meets with your approval, Frodo.”

The hobbit’s brow creased with curiosity as Olórin brought a cloth-wrapped something to him, and held it so that he could uncover it.  Frodo did so carefully, mindful that what lay beneath might be fragile.  Removing the cloth revealed a soil-filled pot with a number of seedlings in it; they were not yet large, but they were strong and healthy.  Frodo made a sound of delighted surprise as he recognized the plants.  “Pipeweed!” he exclaimed, familiar with both the sight and the scent of it, even in this tender young state.  “I had no idea it grew here in the West!”

“Not in Lórien, and not with that name.  But it is well known in some of the regions we passed through on our journey, where it is called sweet galenas and is grown for its fragrant flowers, not its leaf.  There were many such blossoms gracing the hall in which Lady Yavanna held her feast, and when I mentioned to her how the Hobbits had found a unique and delightful use for the leaves of the herb, which you and Bilbo had enjoyed during your lives in the Shire, she proclaimed that it must be added to your garden, straightaway.  She sent seeds as well, so that you might grow as much as you wish, but she wanted to be certain that you had plants for your use as soon as possible.  The climate of Lórien is not unsuitable for them, and with the Lady’s blessing upon them, they will grow swiftly, once they have been properly set in the soil.”

Frodo laughed as he accepted the gift.  “And I don’t suppose you bothered to mention that you enjoyed using ‘the herb’ every bit as much as Bilbo and I?”

Olórin cleared his throat, lightly, and shrugged.  “Perhaps not in so many words,” he admitted.  “I was telling her of the arts of the Little Folk, after all, not my own habits.  The gift was meant for you, but if we do share it, I will also share in the task of tending it properly.  That is, of course, if you wish to have it in the garden at all.”

The hobbit smiled.  “When I first arrived, I might have thought not, but now, I believe it will be very pleasant to see.  Does it need to be set immediately?  I have tea prepared for you and the others.”

“It can wait.  Permit me to introduce them....”

“Oh, I think that’s quite unnecessary,” Frodo said cheerfully, placing the potted plants to one side of the porch, then stepping down to the woodland floor to meet the travelers.  “Several of those who live hereabouts were familiar with the people you told Ványalos would be returning with you, and their descriptions were so remarkably clear, I believe I would know any of them on sight. 

“Let me see,” he said as he drew near to where the last of the visitors had just dismounted, turning from one to the next as he addressed them.  “You would be young Master Lére, of course, and Miss Melui, his sister, and the Lady Aránayel.  Frodo Baggins, at your service,” he added with a proper Hobbitish bow for each of them.  “Unless, of course, I have insulted you by confusing your names, in which case I sincerely beg your pardon.”

Melui giggled at his look of feigned concern; Lére, however, blinked, startled.  “Why, you are no taller than I am!” he exclaimed.  “Mithrandir told me so even before we left, but I didn’t really believe him.  I thought he was teasing, because I’d said he was short.”

“All a matter of perspective, I imagine, since to me, everyone in this land seems quite impossibly tall, even Mithrandir.  Which, no doubt, is why the Big Folk insist on calling us halflings, even though we Hobbits have a perfectly good name for ourselves.  I can see you’ve never met one of my people before.”

Both twins shook their heads.  “Father did,” Melui said.  “He told us about the times he traveled through your country, but he never had a chance to take us there before...”  Her expression dimmed.  “Well, before we sailed West.”

Frodo’s nod was sympathetic.  “I’ve been told the tale of your voyage to Aman, and I’m very sorry about what happened.  I was a bit older than both of you when I lost my parents in an accident on the river, but for a time, I thought I would spend the rest of my life alone, among strangers or relatives I scarcely knew.”

The children’s eyes widened.  “Mithrandir talked about you during our journey, but he didn’t tell us you’d lost your parents, too,” Lére said.  “Was it a long time ago?  You don’t look terribly old, but I’m afraid I don’t know how to tell with mortals.  You are a mortal, aren’t you?”

Frodo laughed, kindly.  “My, but I can see you have a lot of questions.  I can try to answer some of them for you over tea, if you’d like.”  He cast a questioning glance at the three Maiar, not certain if he should proceed if Aránayel was apt to balk at the suggestion.

Fortunately, Ványalos intervened.  “Ah, tea!  This is a splendid custom of the Little Folk that should not be refused when offered!” he said with great enthusiasm, gesturing broadly to both the twins and Aránayel.  “Come, now, I have learned from experience that this is something best appreciated if it is not delayed.”

The children eagerly followed Frodo as the hobbit turned to enter the house; Ványalos went in their wake, but Aránayel did not.  “Pleasure should not come before duty,” she said, a bit stiffly, as if she disapproved of Ványalos’ wish to be off so quickly when Olórin had turned instead to relieve the horses of their burdens.  “We should see to the comfort of our steeds, first.  They have brought us a long way, without complaint.”

“I will attend to it,” the Istar assured her quickly, seeing that the very circumstances he had hoped to avoid were in danger of coming to pass.  “Ványalos can assist me before sharing whatever is left of tea by the time we are done.  You and the children are guests here, and as a member of this household, Frodo is offering welcome in the way of his people.  I would not see his traditions ignored when I’m sure he has gone to considerable effort to arrange this, and Ványalos and I know where all the things we have brought are to be taken.  Go, enjoy yourself, Aránayel.  That is your only duty for the moment, as a guest.”

From her expression, she appeared inclined to argue.  Frodo noticed it at once, and acted to forestall her.  “I would consider it a great honor if you would join us, Lady Aránayel,” he said deferentially, but not overly so.  “I have heard a good deal about you since the day I arrived in Aman, and I must admit, I have been quite curious.”

She favored him with a look that might have been easily called snobbish, but which the hobbit ignored.  “To know if the ugly tales are true?”

Frodo smiled as he gestured for her and the twins to follow him into the house.  “I am curious to know the truth, yes,” he admitted, “but I shouldn’t call it ugly.  I have heard, for instance, that you sing with a voice second only to the Lady Melian’s, and I have heard her from time to time, during my stay here in Lórien, so I know this is a great compliment to you.  The folk hereabouts are positively smitten with music, somewhat more, I have noticed, than seems typical of other places in Aman — although I must be honest with you, I have seen very little of the country.  I’m afraid I slept a good deal of the time during the ride between here and Valmar, and I’ve not had much opportunity to travel far since.  I’m also very curious about the lands of the North, where you have been living for many years.  Is it true that summer never truly comes there, and it’s cold all the year ‘round...?”  His comments and queries seemed but a babble, yet they had the desired effect:  Aránayel went with him into the house, and began to answer some of his questions along the way.

When the door had closed and they were well inside, Olórin breathed a sigh of relief, which was echoed by Ványalos.  “I told you he was prepared,” the redhead said as they set about taking care of the horses and their gear.  “His wits are very quick.  She won’t get ‘round Frodo easily, because he has both your welfare and his own firmly in mind.  You were also right to make me stay and help with this.  If her things are settled into my house before she even knows where they have been taken, she will have less reason to complain of her lodgings and may even accustom herself to the fact that they will not be in your house.  Now, if you will only tell me that you had Shadowfax bring you here ahead of us because you have devised a way to tell her this news without inciting her anger and required Frodo’s aid....”

“Unfortunately, no,” Olórin grumbled as he removed the packs and tack from the horse Ványalos had borrowed for the trip, while his neighbor set about collecting Aránayel’s things from her steed.  “I told you precisely what happened, and if I had been inspired with a solution to this problem, I would have bespoken you in osánwë during the ride from Murmuran.  The simplest answer to this would be for me surrender my own private corner of this house to her and take up residence in yours until all is resolved.  But in the end, that might solve nothing.  If her designs are to somehow attach herself to me so as to enhance the opinions of those who have come to look upon me with favor, she would certainly follow — and under your roof, there is more than enough space to shelter half the residents of Lórien.”

Ványalos grimaced.  “And even if she did not follow, the young ones would be left alone with her, defenseless.  Ornedil did not speak so directly, but I am certain that a part of what he fears is that she would seek to be avenged against you by harming these children for whom you care, who cannot protect themselves.”

“Helyanwë had much the same concern, though she was worried for my welfare, not the twins’ — yet I fear much more for them.  Besides, prepared though he may be, I cannot abandon Frodo to her mercy, only for the sake of my personal comfort.  I told him that he would be welcome in my house for as long as he wished to stay, and that is the same promise I gave to Melui just this morning.  I invited her and her brother to return with me before I knew Aránayel was to accompany us, and I cannot go back on my word to any of them simply to spare myself yet another siege of her anger.  I will weather the storms of her displeasure, as I have done before.  And since I suspect that you and Frodo have arranged for our other neighbors to come this evening and welcome these new guests to the hill country, I sincerely hope that whatever merriment they provide will be enough to lighten Aránayel’s spirits so that when the time comes to inform her of her erroneous assumption, she will look upon it as a mere irritating inconvenience rather than the first strike of open war!”

XII

The twins were so fascinated by their first meeting with a Hobbit, they scarcely noticed the passing time.  They seemed to have a unending stream of questions for him, from everything concerning where the Hobbits had come from to why they wore nothing on their oddly furry feet.  Frodo happily indulged their curiosity as best he could, for it seemed that Aránayel shared it.  She listened to their conversation quite raptly, and occasionally joined it with questions of her own.  Not wanting to give her a reason to turn her interest where it might cause trouble, he was reluctant to end their chat to clear away the remains of tea and see to other preparations for the evening.  Fortunately, Olórin and Ványalos had joined them well before Frodo felt it was time to clean up, and when he would have risen to tend to such matters, the two Maiar anticipated him and offered to take care of such things so that he could continue entertaining their guests.

Preparing for the evening was not an issue, as Frodo had taken the liberty of inviting the closest of their neighbors to come welcome the new arrivals as he himself had been welcomed on his first day in Lórien.  Over the past two days, all was made ready, and now that the time had come, he had but to wait for those invited to arrive, each bringing with them some portion of the evening meal or refreshment as their gifts to the newcomers.  Frodo had gone out of his way to make certain there would be things especially favored by young Elves.  He had extended invitations those of the local Eldar he knew best, who could provide Elven delicacies for the twins, items with which Frodo was not terribly familiar.  Ványalos had seen to the matter of inviting those of the local Maiar who were curious enough to meet Aránayel and either might somehow appeal to her or were willing to risk exposing themselves to her noted tempers for the sake of their friends.

“I still don’t quite understand where Hobbits came from,” Lére said after Frodo had indicated that they should remove themselves from the kitchen so that the others could clean up the remains of tea and ready things for the evening ahead.  “Father and Mother taught us about the beginnings of the world even before we left Mithlond, and since we went to stay in Lady Nienna’s house, Helyanwë and Aránayel have taught us things I don’t think any of the Elves in Middle-earth really knew — not with so many details, at least.  They’re Maiar, you know, so they were there when all the tales happened, and didn’t have to hear about them in other ways.”

Frodo chuckled at the boy’s still rather wide-eyed awe over the notion of what so many of the people in Aman really were, much more than they appeared to be on the surface.  “Yes, I know, and some days, I have a bit of trouble grasping that, too — probably even more than you, since I’m a mortal.  But I’ve told you as much as anyone in the Shire knows about where our people came from.  It wasn’t until quite recently that they started keeping records about such things, so all we know about the history of our people is what’s left in a few very old stories and songs.”

Lére frowned.  “But the oldest stories — like the one about the Great Music — they talk about where the Elves and Men and even the Dwarves came from.  Why don’t they say anything about the Hobbits?  Were they made like Lord Aulë made the Dwarves?  Weren’t they part of the Music, too?”

Frodo abruptly understood what the boy was asking.  He realized that he did actually know the answer after a fashion, but he also realized that he had no idea if this particular little detail of how Hobbits had come to be was something Aránayel knew.  If she did not, he doubted it would be wise to mention it, at least now, when there might not be time for a full explanation. 

Surreptitiously, he glanced into the kitchen, and saw Olórin looking back at them, his expression dark.  With a querulous look, Frodo asked the question on his mind, and the Istar shook his head, a quick but clear answer.  The hobbit inclined his head ever so slightly, taking the hint.  “I should think they were, somewhere,” he said smoothly, with such amused confidence that Aránayel did not notice his moment of hesitance.  “But we’re a very small people, and since it seems that great benefit came from the fact that no one really noticed our presence for a very long time, I suspect Lord Eru may have wanted us to stay a sort of secret.  Going unnoticed by the Big Folk for many, many years turned out to be a good thing, especially when it led some dreadfully evil people to think that because we were small and insignificant, we couldn’t possibly do anything they considered important.  And they were wrong.”

Lére didn’t seem entirely appeased by that answer, but it was more than enough for Melui.  “Oh, yes, that is true.  We’d heard horrible stories about the Dark Lord in Mordor and how he wanted to rule all of Middle-earth, even when we were very small.  Lord Círdan had fought him and his people in great wars, and though some folk thought we shouldn’t hear such stories, he said it was better for us to know about that kind of evil, so we couldn’t be tricked by it and could learn to resist it and defend ourselves against it.  You learned that, too, didn’t you?  Mithrandir told us you’d gone to Mordor on a great journey, almost all by yourself, to destroy the Dark Lord’s Ring.  That’s terribly brave,” she added, with considerable awe.

Frodo smiled wryly as he straightened the cushions on one of the most comfortable chairs near the central hearth in the large great room, and gestured for Aránayel to sit herself there.  “So many people have said.  I suppose it was, but I have to admit, I didn’t feel very brave when I was doing it.  If I hadn’t been so afraid of failing, spoiling the world for everyone else and disappointing all the folk who had put their trust in me, I don’t think I would have made it beyond Lothlórien.  It was very difficult to go even that far, after....”

The hobbit felt his throat suddenly close, stealing his voice.  During the first months of his residence in Aman, he had thought a great deal about the war and the quest and all that had happened afterward.  At first, his memories had centered largely on his own wounds and suffering, but when he had realized that he was not the only former Ring-bearer in Valinor who had taken great and lasting harm from the evils that had besieged Middle-earth — indeed, that the worst of his own injury was in the past, while that of the last of the Istari had only then been discovered — his worries had turned elsewhere.  He had then thought a great deal about all Olórin had suffered during his many years in Middle-earth, forgetting in his worry his own troubles, and that profound concern for his old friend had in turn allowed his own wounds to heal. 

In the weeks since Olórin had regained his life and his strength through the grace of Lord Eru — a blessing he had been given twice now, the hobbit realized — Frodo had been grateful to put all of those terrible memories behind him.  Yet just now, thinking of the quest and the land where he had stopped for a time after escaping Moria, once the home of the twins’ father, he could not help but recall his days there, and how all the peace and healing Lothlórien had to offer had not been able to take away the grief he had felt.  There was no reason for him to experience it again, since the friend he had lost in Moria was now quite alive and well, but he hadn’t realized how much he remembered Lothlórien not as a place of beauty and rest, but of sorrow.  And of a sudden, he realized that he did not want the children to know of those unhappy memories.

Fortunately, he was saved from the need to devise a diversion by a rather loud snort from Lére, who plopped himself down on the bench beneath the window overlooking the garden.  “I think everyone in the whole world has been to Lothlórien, except us!” he declared, annoyed.

Frodo was grateful to him for the interruption, although he did glance once more into the kitchen, simply to reassure himself that the friend he had almost lost twice was indeed very much alive.  He was, in fact, spared the need to answer at all by a mildly petulant voice from that same direction.  “Not everyone,” Ványalos told the boy.  “I haven’t once been permitted to leave Aman in all the years since it was made, and there is naught in Middle-earth that I have seen with my own eyes.  Others have told me that this land of Lórien is much like that of Endorë, but they have also said that the resemblance is but slight, and that Lórien is more closely akin to other parts of the eastern lands.  And still others have said that both are true, and neither.  Who am I to believe?”

“All of them,” Frodo said with a laugh.  “I have not seen much of Aman yet, but I am at least familiar with Lórien, now, and I saw more of Middle-earth than I ever though I would, in the years before I left.  I have been to both the woods of Lothlórien and those around Lake Lórellin; I have walked through all the hills and dales of the Shire, and those of the Hill Country; I have crossed many rivers of Middle-earth, and ridden beside all the streams of Lórien; and I have looked across both the great grasslands to the south, and the plains of Rohan.  All the things that are here are also in Middle-earth, but not in one place, nor even in places very near to each other.  Although I do admit, I’m glad I have had a chance to see all of them.  I could not have appreciated how very beautiful the Blessed Realm is if I had never seen more than just a tiny corner of Middle-earth.”

“I wish we had been able to go traveling, before we sailed West,” Melui said with a sigh.  “Father promised we would, but we never had a chance to go farther than the White Towers, not even into the land of the halflings — I mean Hobbits, and the Shire,” she corrected herself, smiling apologetically at their small host.  “I don’t ever remember hearing anyone in Mithlond call your country the Shire, Master Frodo.  Do you know why?”

The hobbit shrugged.  “I don’t know for certain, but it doesn’t seem that many of the Big Folk called it that, save for those in Bree, or people like Olórin, who visited from time to time and stayed long enough to get to know us.  To be honest, I don’t believe I’d ever heard of anyone who knew we existed who hadn’t at least met a Hobbit once or twice, as Lord Elrond met Bilbo when he traveled east with the Dwarves.  We only saw Elves passing through on their way to the Havens, and Dwarves and Men would go by on their way to other destinations, but Olórin was really the only Big Person I’d ever heard of who was interested enough to want to know more about us, and stayed to learn.”

“He has always been intrigued by small things that interest few others,” Aránayel said in a tone that for her was meant to be good-humored.  “I have never understood why, but it does seems that from time to time, his interest gleans things of some value that went overlooked.”

Even though he understood that she did not intend her words to be taken negatively, Frodo felt the prickle of irritation on his friend’s behalf, and his own.  Somehow, he found the wherewithal to remain polite.  “As a friend of mine once told me, it is not always a bad thing, to be overlooked.  If my people had not been overlooked by Sauron as too small and weak to be a threat to him, I could never have fled the Shire, or taken the Ring into Mordor to be destroyed.  He dismissed us as insignificant, an annoyance, at best — but Gandalf — Olórin — did not.  I used to wonder why he bothered with us Hobbits, but I don’t anymore.  We’re much the same, after all.  Sauron overlooked him, too — to his own ruin.”

Aránayel’s expression was one of skepticism, but the smile she pasted over it artfully concealed  her disdain — whether it was for the Istar or Hobbits or both, Frodo could not tell.  “So I have heard,” she said mildly.  “Sauron knew the use of power, but not as much of patience, and I have come to see that in that regard, I have also long underestimated Olórin.  Being in the service of Lord Námo and Lady Nienna has taught me more of the value of patience than I grasped, long ago.  Swiftness and efficiency are commendable in many things, but some matters cannot be hurried so, and haste will ruin them, as even the finest wine is harsh and bitter if tasted too soon.”

She sounded quite sincere.  Frodo was uncertain how he should respond, since he did not know if what seemed earnestly spoken was the truth or a contortion of it designed to beguile those who listened.  Once again, interruption spared him, this time the arrival of the first of the evening’s guests.  Relieved, Frodo glanced out a window and saw that a gray sunset was approaching, along with the rising wind and coming rain.  Over the past week, he had begun to notice the signs of it, as the other residents of Lórien somehow seemed to know precisely the right moment, without fail.  There was somewhat more than a quarter hour before the time arrived, and those who had been invited were promptly on schedule, neither too soon to make ready, nor too late.

This first group were Elves from nearby, ones whom Frodo knew quite well.  They knew their way around the house and needed no assistance, other than to be introduced to the newcomers.  The remainder of the guests appeared in a steady stream over the next ten minutes, and shortly before the sun set, all were present, had given greeting to the visitors, and were ready to begin their traditional welcome of the night.

The custom was now familiar to the twins and Aránayel, as they had heard the songs on each of the evenings when they had camped in the wild, but there was a world of difference between hearing it sung by one voice, and hearing it sung by many.  The children were entranced by all the fair voices, blending and weaving together in glorious harmonies that pierced the heart, too caught up in it to take part, even though they knew the tunes and the Elven words.  Aránayel also listened, but did not participate.  Frodo wondered at this, since she had not been at all chary when it came to speaking of her singing ability in reply to the hobbit’s inquiries.  He had thought that she would surely want to demonstrate how beautifully she could sing, better than all the others assembled, but she did not so much as open her mouth.

He was half-tempted to ask why she had kept silent, but as the song drew to its close, the answer came to him.  She would not sing in chorus with others, only alone, so that all attention would be on her singing, and all the praise her own.  That was the way of the wind, to sing its own tune above all others, and carry on, heedless of the world about it.  He had long known that the tale Ványalos had once told him about Aránayel being the voice of the wind was not meant to be taken literally, but even without having heard her sing one note, the Frodo understood how such a comparison had come to be.  His curiosity appeased, he turned back to sing with the others, marveling as always how every day could end in such beauty.

As the last notes were sung and the echoes of the voices faded, the rain began to fall, nature’s music taking up the song, for the time being.  Several of the guests laughed at the appropriate timing of the rain, and all then turned to break bread together.

Though he remained alert for signs of trouble, as the evening progressed, Frodo saw none.  He did note that Aránayel’s behavior toward Olórin was vastly more congenial than he would have expected, given their past history — which the hobbit had no reason to doubt was every bit as bad as he had been told — but the Istar had his own methods of keeping her at a safe distance, largely by using the refuge of his harp.  The love of music that was so prevalent in Lórien won immediate approval from the twins, who happily listened and participated in all they could.  Lére was eager to demonstrate his skill with his pipe, especially to Failon the baker, who shared his love of such instruments and had cheerfully praised the boy after he had played along with a song he knew.  Melui was fascinated by the beautiful voices of all the Maiar, as well as Olórin’s harp, which she had been told had somehow come to him through their cousin in Alqualondë.  Frodo noted that particular interest with mild amusement.

“I’ve loved it since the first time I heard it, too,” the hobbit admitted some hours later, after she mentioned how much she enjoyed the sound of the tall harp.  “I’m sure that someday, you’ll be able to master such an instrument, if you like, but I’m afraid I’ve grown as tall as I ever will, and I could no more learn to play such a thing than I could sprout wings and fly.  But I think I’d like to try to learn to use a smaller one.  I feel quite useless most evenings here in Lórien, since I haven’t much of a voice by local standards, and I never was taught the proper use of any instrument at all.  I’d never really seen a harp until I left the Shire, though Bilbo told me all about the ones he’d seen and heard during his travels with the Dwarves.  I heard many different sorts when I visited Rivendell and Lothlórien and the great cities of the south, in Gondor and Rohan.  I thought they made the most beautiful sounds I’d ever heard, and that is what I would choose to learn to play, if I could.”

Olórin, who had overheard his remarks, looked at his old friend with surprise.  “I had no idea you were interested in such a thing, Frodo.  Why didn’t you mention it before?”

Frodo’s smile quirked crookedly.  “Actually, I have mentioned it before, most recently at the gathering here the night before you went to Lady Nienna’s house.  I suppose you didn’t hear — not surprising, since I don’t believe I ever spoke of it to you directly.  I didn’t want you to think I was asking to impose on your kindness for this.  You’ve done so very much for me already.”

The Istar dismissed that claim with a soft snort and a broad gesture.  “Hardly anything, in my opinion.  And this certainly would be no imposition.  Other people ask far more difficult things of me, with less claim upon my favor, and if I do not turn them away, I surely wouldn’t refuse you, my dear old friend.  If this poses any difficulty at all, it might be in finding a suitable instrument for your use, since while I am able to play well enough, I have never crafted such a thing.”

“Well, perhaps in time, we’ll find something appropriate.  There’s no need to hurry, after all.  I was expressing an interest, not making a demand.  I have plenty of other things to keep me occupied, and I’m sure when the time is right, a solution will present itself.  It always seems to, doesn’t it?”

Olórin laughed at the drollness in his tone.  “Yes, it does at that.  And when the time comes, I would be more than happy to teach you.  But I do admit, I never had the slightest inkling that such things were of interest to you.  Were you always inclined this way, or is it a more recent development?”

Frodo grinned in return.  “More recent, I should say.  Singing with my friends in the Shire was one thing; hearing the Elves in Rivendell and Lórien, and the minstrels in Gondor, was quite another.  I was content to listen in those places because I knew that I was only a temporary guest, and would soon be going back to my own country.  Here, this is my country, or it has come to be, and I’ve begun to feel somewhat backward and inadequate because I can’t participate in what is such an important part of everyday life as everyone else does, certainly not as well, even as a singer.  After giving it some thought, I’ve decided that I would like to learn the use of some instrument, so that even if I can’t contribute as beautifully as everyone else in Lórien, I can at least contribute more.”

“You have contributed more than your share, Master Frodo,” was Failon’s opinion, offered as he allowed to more closely inspect his silver flute.  “Aside from the gracious hospitality you have shown us, which your people have raised to an art not even the highest of the Elves can match, you’ve provided us with songs of your people, which are new and a great delight to those of us who have had no chance to meet any of your folk — which, I would say, would be all of Lórien, save Olórin and Glorfindel, and Glorfindel has admitted that his familiarity with hobbits is quite limited.  Of course, I suspect that Olórin knew your people well enough before first he met you, seeing how you are, after a fashion, his Song made manifest.”

Both Maia and Hobbit favored him with sharp looks, disturbed by the casual way he had mentioned that particular matter.  It was common knowledge among the residents of Lórien, or had been since not long after Olórin had returned and Frodo had decided to make Lórien his home for now, but they did not know how far it had spread beyond this part of Aman. 

Before either of them could change the subject, Melui pursued it.  “Is that true, Mithrandir?” she asked.  “I thought Lord Eru sang about Elves and mortals all by Himself.  Did you try to do what Lord Aulë did when he made the Dwarves?”

“Not at all,” Olórin said, glad that it was her inquiry he could answer and not Aránayel’s, for he knew by the burning sensation of the latter's eyes boring into the back of his head that she had heard Failon’s comment.  “I certainly could not have dreamed of attempting such a thing as Lord Aulë did, nor could I have conceived of any of the Eruhíni when I sang my part in the Great Music.  I was so young and ignorant, I could barely comprehend any part of my own existence, much less imagine something as wonderful as Lord Eru’s children of Arda.  There is something of my song in the nature of the Hobbits, for it seemed that He wished for them to be a small and humble people who loved a simple life and had strength that could only be seen in times of great difficulty.  My song was about such things, not about Hobbits in particular.  It was Lord Eru’s choice to use that part of what I sang in fashioning them, and truly, I knew nothing of it until I went to Endorë on my mission as one of the Istari.  Even then, for many years, my only thought was that I loved the Little Folk because they reminded me of certain aspects of myself, and their home was much like the one I had left behind here in Aman.  I didn’t know the truth until the One Himself told me, when I was sent back after death to finish my work.  It is a great delight to me, but no more significant than that.  The choice, and the creation, was Lord Eru’s, not mine.”

“Even so, it is a unique circumstance,” Eäron noted.  The servant of the lord of the waters had been bringing refreshment to those seated nearby, and had heard the conversation.  “The Eruhíni are wholly the One’s creation — but for this single exception.  Oh, I know, He did not make the Hobbits because of what you sang, Olórin, but there must have been something in your Song that pleased or delighted Him in a singular fashion, for Him to have used it in the making of His children.”

“I have always thought so,” Eäron’s spouse, Lantara, agreed.  “I have heard the jests some have made about our Father having a special fondness for you because you are the youngest of us, Olórin, and though I have laughed with them as you do, in my heart, I believe they are right.”

When he turned his head toward Lantara, the Istar saw from the corner of one eye how intently Aránayel was following the conversation.  Though he successfully hid the reaction, inside he winced, wishing this had not come up in her presence.  “And I have laughed at such things because I’m quite certain it is no more than a whimsey of my overactive imagination.  I don’t deny that I have long felt it to be so, that I was the last of our kind to be born, but Lord Eru has never confirmed it as truth.”

Ványalos, who had missed the early part of the discussion while fetching refreshment for his hosts, clicked his tongue in scolding.  “Not so, pityandil.  I was there when He visited this house to heal you, and you know as well as any of us that He would not have called you His littlest one if this is not what He had meant, for you are far from the smallest of our people in size.  We know for a fact that all of us did not spring forth from the One’s thought in the same instant.  If Melkor came first, someone had to come last.  Melkor knew that he had been the first, so why should you not know that you were the last?  For you have always felt this, have you not?”

Olórin did not even try to deny what he knew to be true, but while he was trying to find a way to change the subject, Lantara continued.  “Just so,” she said, inclining her head to Ványalos in thanks for his support.  “I have watched the offspring of the Eldar who live here in Lórien, and though the parents do not attempt to force the choices of their children, they all hope that their young ones will grow to do great things.  They are disappointed to watch them fail, and take great joy in seeing their successes.  And they have a way of sensing potential in them that their children cannot see in themselves.  You were a different person before we entered Arda, and you have changed and grown a great deal since, more than most of our folk, who are content to fulfill the one purpose for which they came to Arda.  If Lord Eru saw that quality in you more than in any of the rest of us, and was pleased by it, why should He not wish to give such qualities to His children of this incarnate world?  You are what you are, Olórin, as are all of us, and what you are is no more than the potential the One placed in you when He created you.  You did nothing more than live up to it, which seems to be very much the same potential He gave to His halfling children.  For you are also humble and simple, but have great strength that lays quiet until needed.”

“And what of it?” the Istar said distractedly, appearing to take great interest in tuning his harp.  “It is also said that Melian taught the nightingales to sing, yet was she responsible for the beauty of their voices?  Of course not.  She is their friend, that much is true, but she did not make them as they are.  If we are all a part of Lord Eru’s thought, each unique unto ourselves, why should we not occasionally see the ways in which the things we are were reflected in His making of Arda?”

“A reasonable point,” Eäron agreed.  “Forgive us if we have been annoying you with this, Olórin, but since we have had a chance to meet two of the Little People, we Maiar of Lórien have felt a certain... pride, I suppose you might say, in seeing with our own eyes and senses the One’s hand at work.  Much of what Arda is is the handiwork of the Valar, beyond any doubt.  The stars, the skies, the seas, the mountains, the birds and beasts and trees and plains and the wind....  These were their parts of the Music, the great themes, for which we Maiar but provided embellishments and refinements.  Ossë and Uinen stir and calm the tides and storms of the seas, but the waters are still Ulmo’s.  Arien and Tilion guided the sun and the moon in their courses until the world was bent, but they did not make them; that was the work of Yavanna and Nienna and Aulë.  Melian’s song is echoed by the nightingales, but she did not give them voices, only a sound to imitate, even as the echo of Aránayel’s voice is in the wind. 

"We are servants, assistants to the great artists, not artists ourselves, and not even the Valar had a hand in the making of the Eruhíni, save for what Aulë did by mistake that Lord Eru preserved and gave true life out of pity.  Yet here are the Hobbits, a folk we had never met during the ages in which we walked abroad in Endorë, come but lately to the notice of the world to shake the towers of the mighty not with power and battle but with steadfast persistence, and hope.  From afar, we marveled at this, and our wonder did but grow all the more once we had met them.  Does it not strike you as a splendid irony, Olórin, that of all that has been done in the past three ages to conquer Sauron, the one plan that at last achieved success did not do so through the Eldar who had been tutored by our own people, nor the Atani who had been their students, nor even the Dwarves who came about through the impatience of Aulë?  Victory came from the hands of a quiet little people whose nature was drawn from the Song of a mere Maia — and he the youngest of us all, at that.  You may dismiss this as a coincidence, but none of the rest of us believe it.  It was, as you say, our Father’s whim to do this, but it seems to us quite satisfying to know that He gave as much heed to one of our Songs as He did to those of the mighty.  Does it offend you that others of your people take some pleasure from this?”

Olórin tried not to grimace, unwilling to explain his real reason for wishing this conversation would end: that he did not want such things discussed in front of Aránayel, who was listening intently and far too likely to misinterpret such attention.  All this apparent support and approval given him because of what seemed to be special favor on Lord Eru’s part would do nothing to discourage her manipulative ways.  “No, it doesn’t offend me,” he said mildly.  “I do realize that much of what our people have done and yet do for Arda goes unnoticed by the Eruhíni.  The songs and tales of the Eldar speak much of what the Valar have done, but little of the Maiar, and among the Atani, even the memory of what was done by the greatest of the Ainur has begun to fade.  Few of them are even aware that the Maiar exist.  I can understand why Lord Eru saw fit to use a part of what I sang in making the Hobbits, and I am no less amazed by it than anyone, but His work is what is worthy of notice, not my song, for it was but an echo of the music of His thought within me.  Take pleasure in that if you will, but do not give me credit for a vision that was truly His, not mine.”

“A very sensible suggestion,” Frodo agreed, favoring Eäron in particular with a scolding glance.  “I must say, if we were back in Hobbiton and I was the master of this house, I would have to ask you to leave straightaway.  Is it customary in Aman for guests to badger their host about matters that clearly are not comfortable subjects for public discussion?  We call such things ‘airing the dirty laundry,’ and while this could hardly be called dirty, we consider it simple politeness to abide with our host’s wishes.”

Both Eäron and his spouse accepted the just rebuke, as did Failon.  “Then I beg your pardon for being the one to bring it up,” the Elf said to both the hobbit and the Istar.  “I’m afraid that I have been spending rather too much time in the company of Ványalos of late, and have acquired bad habits that would likely have kept me here in the West, even if I had wished to return to Endorë.”

Ványalos snorted indignantly.  “If you acquire bad habits, blame them on yourself and not the company you choose to keep, Failon.  Your choices are your own, not mine.  And I have lately done my best to improve my behavior, so I can scarcely be held accountable for such a thing.”

Frodo laughed.  “He is telling the truth, you know,” he told the Elven baker.  “I thought he was quite the most terrible rogue I had ever met when I first came to Lórien, but ever since the day Lord Eru appeared looking like him, Ványalos has been more... I hesitate to say dignified, since I don’t believe he knows the meaning of the word, but definitely better mannered.  Which is undoubtedly for the best, since he spends as much time here of late than he does in his own house or in service to Lord Irmo.  I for one wouldn’t want to see him teaching such things to two youngsters.”

“There are indeed more important things for them to learn,” Aránayel said, speaking for the first time since the conversation had begun.  “The hour grows late, the day has been long, and even the children of the Eldar require proper rest.  I was sent to be of assistance in caring for them, and I think perhaps they have had enough merriment for one evening.”

Melui made a face of disappointment, while her brother grimaced outright.  “It’s not that late,” he protested.  “And Mithrandir promised he would teach us a new song that I could play on my pipe and Melui can sing, without needing weeks of practice.  Everything I’ve heard tonight is either too hard to learn so quickly, or I’ve known it since I was a babe.”

“There will be time for that another day,” Aránayel said, unmoved by his words.

The boy frowned at her.  “There’s always time for everything ‘another day’,” he grumbled, making it quite clear that this was something he had heard from Aránayel before, never to his liking, and often with the promise conveniently forgotten.

Olórin sighed, understanding both sides.  Aránayel had never taken well to having her authority questioned, but he sympathized with Lére’s feelings of betrayal, receiving promises that were never kept, or easily forgotten or broken.  “I shouldn’t wish to go back on my word,” he told both of them, “and I gave it in good faith.  If I do this now and not another day, Lére, will you go along to bed, without further fuss?  Both of you?” he added, his glance including Melui.

The twins nodded solemnly.  Aránayel’s expression grew tight, and an unpleasant light gleamed in her eyes, but she said nothing.  Olórin was content with that reaction, since he knew far better how to deal with her ill temper than her solicitousness.

He put her out of his mind and focused on the children instead.  “This is a song I’m quite sure you don’t know, as I believe it has never been sung outside the Blessed Realm, and even here, not often outside Lórien.  The tune is simple enough, and there are sufficient verses so that you should be able to learn it quickly.  There’s no reason you need have it mastered and memorized tonight, so once you’ve heard it, you may go over it in your dreams and work on it again in the morning.”

They accepted his stipulations without protest, causing Frodo to marvel at their apparent maturity.  Hobbit children of a similar age could be much less cooperative, from what he had seen of the youngsters in both Buckland and in Hobbiton, and from what he recalled of himself as a child.  Not that Hobbit lads and lasses were ill-mannered; quite the opposite, in general.  But most were high-spirited, full of a rather un-Elven kind of energy.  Also, perhaps because bargaining in the marketplace was something many Hobbits enjoyed almost as a kind of game or sport, their children often learned the skill at quite a young age.  They were likely to attempt it upon their elders, cajoling or complaining until they were allowed whatever the adults about them had not wanted to permit.  Of course, Frodo had been told that while Elven children grew more slowly in body, their minds developed much more quickly, and he supposed that this pair had also experienced quite enough in their short lives to make them more mature and better behaved than most.

As Frodo reflected on this intriguing difference between the two races, the twins disposed themselves to listen, eagerly, as Olórin began to sing.  He sang at first without accompaniment, his baritone resonant and clear, so that the youngsters could hear the melody alone and thus learn it more easily.  Soon, after the children had picked up enough to hum or play with the tune, he had all manner of accompaniment, as the other guests who had been listening joined in, creating intricate harmonies of voice and instrument to a song they all knew, both well and with fondness:

Before the light of Sun or Moon
Or silver star-shine gleamed on high,
Before the Firstborn children woke,
And ere the eldest of them spoke,
Two Lamps did grace the sky.

The ancient Smith put forth his craft
To fashion orbs of wondrous sight
That She who lit the stars would bless
And take their crystal comeliness
To fill with radiant light.

Two pillars tall the Smith then raised
Amid the deep and boundless sea
So that the Lamps, once settled there,
Would shine throughout the lofty air
Upon the world still free. 

The Elder King spoke clear the words
To hallow both ere they were placed.
Thus lifted high upon the stone,
Both Illuin and Ormal shone
And all of Arda graced. 

Yet as the springtime blossomed bright,
Not all who saw the Lamps were gay.
The anger of the Dark One grew;
His heart burned hot, until he knew:
That light he must betray. 

Then from the shadows where he hid,
He crept forth so to bend his might
To topple both the pillars high,
To hurl the Lamps down from the sky,
To quench their sacred light. 

Thus came the Spring of Arda’s end,
As darkness swallowed all the land.
The broken orbs lay shattered, still,
Their beauty marred by Evil’s will.
The Lamps no more would stand. 

Yet in the shadow hope survived,
In greater works yet to be made.
In time, the Kindler stood on high
To cast her blossoms o’er the sky;
New netted stars she laid. 

And when the Firstborn stirred at last,
They saw not darkness, but the glow
Of brightest stars.  Their light did fall
Upon the Eldar, fair and tall;
Such beauty did they know. 

Now in these days of Sun and Moon,
The mem’ries of that time we keep
When lamps we kindle in the night
To guide us home with gentle light,
To guard us as we sleep. 

“Very appropriate,” Aránayel said with a small, inscrutable smile as the last of the music faded.  Again, she had not participated, though she had listened.  “Since sleep is what you two youngsters promised to do when the song was finished.  I take it a place has been prepared.”  She looked to Olórin for an answer.

He in turn glanced at Frodo, who nodded.  “Yes, of course.  I hope it’s not inappropriate for them to share a room.  There was more than enough space for two beds in the room Bilbo used when he was here, but not enough rooms to provide private quarters for each of them.”

“That’s all right, Master Frodo,” Melui assured him as they climbed to their feet again.  “We shared a room in Lady Nienna’s house, because we felt more comfortable that way.  We did back in Mithlond, too.  I don’t think we’ve ever had rooms of our own.”

“Just as long as we don’t have to share the bed,” Lére said with a snort.  “Melui steals the covers, and she can’t stay still.”

She wrinkled her nose.  “That’s because you kick like a mule.”

“I do not!”

“You certainly do...!”

Frodo clicked his tongue, interrupting the beginnings of what looked to be a delaying-tactic quarrel.  “And here I was just thinking how mature Elven children can be,” he chided, rolling his eyes most expressively.  “What a disappointment to discover I was wrong!”

A ripple of subdued laughter echoed about the room, coming largely from the various Elven guests, but also from a few Maiar who were well acquainted with youngsters of the Eldar.  Both of the twins winced and flushed over having so embarrassed themselves; Olórin, smiling, came to their rescue as he set aside his harp and rose to his feet.  “No more than the disappointment I felt when a certain hobbit once told me of an intelligent and well-mannered lad who just happened to be his nephew.  And the very first time I met him, he had all sorts of rude and impudent questions to ask that were, quite frankly, none of his business.  But I gave him a second chance, because he seemed like a lad with promise, and in the end, I was quite glad I did.  Come now,” he said to the twins while Frodo’s cheeks reddened at the Istar's apt anecdote, “I fulfilled my promise, and it is time for you to fulfill yours.  I daresay you needn’t worry about missing much, for if I know my friends and neighbors, it won’t be long before they start suggesting that I go off to rest as well.”

Both reassured and grateful that their potentially rude behavior had been forgiven, the youngsters went in the direction he indicated, toward the side of the house that held the sleeping rooms.  As he followed them, Olórin noticed that Aránayel was following him.  He threw her a questioning glance over one shoulder.

She provided an answer before he could speak.  “I was sent to be the children’s tutor as well as to assist in their care, since you told Lady Nienna you felt you would need such help.  If I cannot do the tasks for which I was sent, how am I ever to show her that I have done what is required of me?”

For a moment, Olórin said nothing, but merely looked at her with an unreadable expression; then, to Frodo’s surprise, he nodded.  “You’re right, it would be unfair to keep you from the duties you were given.  Come, then, I will show all three of you where Melui and Lére are to stay while they are my guests. My house is not large, but none of you have had a chance to become familiar with it.”

Aránayel followed the twins.  When the Istar happened to look back in his direction, Frodo favored him with a deeply puzzled frown.  But Olórin did not answer his unspoken query, his eyes merely flicking to Ványalos for an instant before he continued on after the guests.

When they were gone, and the others had returned to their own conversation or singing, the tall Maia spoke, smiling impishly.  “Do not worry, Frodo, he knows what he is doing.  What he feared was being left alone with Aránayel, and that he will not be, not with the children present and in so small a house with so many guests.  She may have ulterior motives, but they will come to naught, at least for the moment.  If there is any real concern still ahead this evening, it will be how Aránayel reacts when she is told that there is no room for her beneath this roof.  Had I been Olórin, I would have made certain she knew of this as soon as possible.  But then, when we first spoke of such things, he had every reason to believe Aránayel would prefer to stay anywhere but in his house.”  He snorted softly.  “It still puzzles me, how much she has taken on the physical needs of the Eruhíni, and seemingly has forgotten how to set them aside as she sees fit.  I should think that she would not want any discomfort or inconvenience to be a part of her life.”

Frodo sighed as he settled onto the chair at Olórin’s harp, one finger tracing the elaborate leaf designs carved into the highly polished and artfully gilt wood of the gracefully bowed neck.  “Oh, I believe I understand that, easily enough.  If you have no needs, you receive no attention, and I fear we lesser folk have a whole panoply of needs because of the requirements of our bodies.  I have seen very little of what I would call vanity among your people; pride, yes, arrogance and other unpleasant weaknesses of personality, definitely.  But most of you place surprisingly little importance on physical things; if you wear beautiful clothes, you do so because they reflect something of your nature, or because you appreciate the beauty of the fabric and the design, not merely because they flatter you.  The same seems to hold true of your homes; they reflect your personalities and the things you love in the world more than they display a need to have people admire you for the elegance or value of it.  You can change your appearance — and many other things, it seems — as you like, so why would it be otherwise?  No, I understand why she is this way, quite well.  I imagine that in all the time she’s spent serving Lady Nienna and Lord Námo by helping the Elves who have come from the Halls of Waiting, Aránayel has seen and learned a good deal about how to use physical need to win sympathy, if nothing else.  But I suppose I’m worrying more than I really should.  It just seems that in the time since he returned home, Olórin has spent more time managing troubles than getting the rest and pleasure he has earned.”

Failon — who was still sitting nearby, polishing his flute before putting it away in the soft cloth sleeve in which he stored it — overheard Frodo’s remarks, and chuckled.  “I do not know how matters went while he was in Middle-earth, but from what I have heard, Olórin’s time there was spent much as it was here.  I cannot say that he seeks out trouble, but it certainly seems to find him, whether he wishes it or no.  Some say it happens because he enjoys it, but I have always thought it was simply that he has never been able to refuse to help when help is needed, unless he is expressly forbidden to do so.  If it is the will of Eru Ilúvatar that he find peace and rest for a time, he will.  But perhaps not immediately.”

The hobbit sighed, carefully plucking one of the smaller silver strings, just to hear its sweet sound.  “Perhaps not.  It took several years before I was able to begin to find such things after the war was over, and Olórin wasn’t able to go home as quickly as I.  That was a lovely song he taught the children,” he noted, determined to change the subject.  “Everyone but they and I seemed to know it.  Is it an old tune?”

Ványalos provided the answer.  “As you measure such things, yes.  After Lindarinë was slain in the rebellion, it was the first thing Olórin ever played upon the harp he had given him.  It was a dark and terrible time, when blood was spilled in Eldamar and death came to Aman, both of the Teleri in Alqualondë and of the Two Trees that were poisoned by Melkor and Ungoliant.  We Maiar were quite dismayed by the darkness of those days, for we could not see a way in which light could ever again be brought into this world, clear and untainted by evil.  The first rising of the Moon and the Sun of Arda were a great joy and wonder to us; we knew that they would be the permanent lights of the world, but we did not know when that would come to pass.  How they came to be reminded Olórin of the making of the Lamps that lit the world before the Eldar first awoke, and how though Melkor cast them down and destroyed them, he did not destroy hope.  Light came again, in the new stars made by Lady Varda.  And so it was again with the last fruit and flower of Laurelin and Telperion: hope brought forth new light into the world.  Seeing the first rising of the Moon and later the first dawn of the Sun moved him to make that song.  Lady Varda is especially fond of it, and it is said that whenever it is sung, she pauses to listen, and smiles upon those who sing it.”

Frodo reflected on the tale before answering with a wry smile.  “I might be inclined to think this is just another of your colorful and entertaining stories, if I didn’t feel in my heart that you are telling the truth.  Somehow, the tune sounds like Olórin, simple and both joyful and sad, but never without hope.  I think there is a little of him in my friend Samwise, for he was very much the same, and never gave up hope, no matter how dark the road became.”

Ványalos nodded.  “Perhaps you are right, as there seems to be more than a little of Olórin’s Song in you as well.  Do you still miss all you left behind?”

The hobbit shrugged.  “Sometimes, but not as much as I did when we first set sail.  I had so much doubt that I would ever be well again, much less find new friends in a strange and distant land.  I truly thought I had been allowed to come here so that I could die peacefully in a place where my friends and kin in Middle-earth could not see me fade and wither before their eyes.  I’m happy to have been proved wrong, though I have found so much of wonder here, I do wish I could share it with all of my friends, both new and old.  But I encouraged Olórin to go with Helyanwë because I wanted to find out if I could feel at home here on my own, when neither he nor Bilbo nor any of the others I had known in Middle-earth were here.  I do, and that eases my heart greatly.  And Sam may yet sail to these shores.  Until then, I think I will have more than enough to keep myself occupied.  Are Lére and Melui typical of Elven children?  Really, they seem remarkably intelligent and well-mannered, even when I remember that they are actually older than they look, for children of the Big Folk.”

“Oh, they’re quite exceptional,” Eäron remarked rather diffidently, “if Failon’s sons were typical of the young of the Eldar.  Be glad you arrived here well after they were grown and gone off to other parts of Aman that better suited their interests, and those of their spouses.  Lórien was hard pressed to remain a place of peace and healing when those two rogues were among us.  I should say that they were most responsible for the rest of us who live here learning to appreciate that by comparison, Ványalos is quite a charming nuisance.”

The tall Elf favored him with an utterly affronted glance, which was also utterly feigned.  “Nárello and Aranin are the souls of decorum, beside this rascal.  You simply never learned to properly appreciate their high spirits and energy.  Of course, what more can be expected of someone who spends half his days moving like a wraith through waters, simply to keep them clean?  I understand there are words for the fish and other sea creatures that perform such menial tasks....”

Frodo winced, aware of the uncomplimentary names those who fished the waters of the Brandywine had devised for such creatures, which they considered ugly and quite useless because they were not good eating.  He was about to intervene with whatever change of subject first came to mind when he was spared the need by the return of Olórin, Aránayel not far behind.  Ványalos, also sensitive to the temper of the conversation, was as eager as Frodo to divert it.  “Did they cooperate, or did they try to delay overmuch?” the redhead asked.

“Not overmuch,” the Istar replied with a small smile.  “The excitement of the day and the long journey has taken a greater toll than they claimed, and I think they were more than half asleep before their heads even touched the pillows.  And thank you for preparing the room for them,” he said, including both his neighbor and Frodo in his nod of gratitude.  “Am I mistaken, or is the extra cot the one you kept tucked away in the room of your house that overlooks the fountain in the flower gardens?”

“Yes,” said Ványalos, “I thought it would suit their needs, and as I had it mind to use that place for other purposes, I would have had to move it, in any case.  Pardon my impertinence if I am speaking out of turn, pityandil, but it looks to my eye as if the young ones are not the only persons who have resisted their needed rest longer than perhaps they should.”

Olórin’s smile widened, the light of the hearth fire glittering in his eyes.  “You are always impertinent, but you are telling the truth.  I shan’t even attempt to deny that I am tired.  Lord Eru’s gift is slowly healing me, but He designed it to do its work at a pace that I’m quite sure was meant to ensure that I rest as is needed, and do not overtax myself.  The rest of you may continue as you will, of course.  It certainly is not your fault that I have done too much these past days, and your pleasure should not be cut short simply to accommodate me.”

“Nonsense,” was Frodo’s opinion, offered as he climbed down from the harp stool.  “I cannot stay awake from one dawn to the next.  I rose with the sun this morning, preparing to receive guests, and as you have pointed out before, we hobbits know perfectly well when it’s time to say goodnight to our guests.  It’s been a very pleasant evening, but more than enough for weary travelers — and hobbits — who need their rest.”

As he set about demonstrating how a well-mannered hobbit informed visitors that it was time to leave, Aránayel spoke up.  “I would appreciate a time of rest as well, but I have not seen where my things were taken.  I trust they were not left out in the rain again.”

There was an edge to her voice and an emphasis on the last word that spoke volumes, even to those who had not journeyed with her over the past week.  The smile fled Olórin’s face; Ványalos was about to speak up when the Istar motioned for him to remain quiet for the moment.  “Of course not.  I know better than to make the same mistake twice.  They were taken to Ványalos’ home, just to the west of the wood.  My house simply does not have the room to accommodate more than a very few guests,” he explained when he saw her eyes widen in an expression that might not have been outrage, but was its near kin.  “For the time being, this is Frodo’s home as well; I will not have him put out for the convenience of someone else, not even if he is willing to go.  He is a mortal, and has requirements that we do not.  No other place in Lórien is suited to provide for those needs.  I invited Melui and Lére before I knew that anyone would be coming with us to assist in their care, and I will not renege on the promise I gave them.  And while I could offer you the use of my private room, I have already seen enough evidence to understand that doing so would win me the displeasure of many others, quite possibly Lord Irmo and Lady Estë among them.  This house was made with the knowledge that for a time, I would require regular periods of quiet and rest to recover from the injury I sustained during my life in Endorë.  Ványalos understood this and immediately offered the hospitality of his house — which, I might add, is far more spacious and comfortable than my humble home.  It is so near, you will not be overly inconvenienced, and will certainly find it much more to your liking.”

One could almost see the frost limning her face, the gleam in her eyes, as of cold winter sunlight upon ice.  “Why was I not told of this straightaway?” she asked, her voice low but tight, as chill as her expression.  “If this arrangement was made for my benefit, why not speak of it sooner?”

“Because it did not occur to me sooner that it would matter.  I have not seen you in thousands of years, Aránayel.  Most of our folk do not become so... deeply attached to the forms we adopt to be a visible part of this world.  When I knew you last, such matters as daily rest and refreshment were of small consequence to you, or so I thought.  Perhaps this was yet another mistake I made in my foolish youth, but in any case, Ványalos is far better able to provide such things than I.  Why would you choose the meager amenities of my little house when you are welcome to share the far greater comforts of another?”

Time seemed to stand still for the long moment in which her face remained frozen, her eyes bright like a sea of ice under which a raging fire was but for a brief time restrained.  The intake of her breath seemed unnaturally loud, as if there were no other sound to be heard in all the world.  But just as Olórin was sure she was about to lash out and prepared himself to bear the onslaught, her eyes flicked to the faces of those who were watching, and she abruptly released the breath and the fire behind her eyes went out like a single candle snuffed by the gale of a mighty storm.  “There is no reason at all why I should,” she said mildly.  “If there is not room in this house, I am grateful to your neighbor for opening his doors to me.  If someone will show me the way, then I will bid you goodnight, and return in the morning to attend my duties with the children.”

Frodo had paused to listen when he heard Aránayel ask her question; now, he was not the only one stunned speechless by her answer to Olórin’s response.  He had very seldom seen the Istar without some reply at the ready, but Olórin was as dumbstruck as the hobbit.  Ványalos, in fact, was first to recover his voice.  “Of course, if you are ready to retire now, I will happily show you the way, unless my help is still required here...?”  His glance moved from Olórin to Frodo then back, clearly seeking some explanation for this unexpected turn.

There was nothing Frodo could think of to say, but Olórin was at less of a loss.  The hobbit could see their eyes meet for an instant, and he was certain some unspoken communication passed swiftly between the two Maiar.  “No, you have done more than your share to help, Ványalos, and thank you.  I am certainly not so exhausted that I cannot bid farewell to my own guests.  Goodnight, then, to both of you.”

The sentiment was echoed by others; Frodo was not so shocked that he could not remember his manners in time to bid them good night.  The others departed soon after, all taking care to make certain they left behind nothing that their hosts would be required to clean up once they were gone, a custom peculiar to the Maiar, for whom such things were a matter of a few moments’ thought.  After the last had said their goodbyes and the place was quiet again, Frodo turned back to Olórin, who was looking into the remains of the hearth fire, his mind clearly not involved with the last glowing embers.

“Did something happen that I don’t know of?” he asked.  “Did you need to scold Aránayel into behaving herself while you were out of the room?”

The Maia shook his head, both his pale hair and the crystal circlet reflecting glints of the firelight.  “We said nothing to one another, only to the children.  Her response to hearing the news about her lodgings is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you.  I have never seen her restrain her temper in that fashion — for I have no doubt she had initially intended to take me to task for such an insult, and the fact that it was announced in front of all our guests.  But then again, until a week ago, I had not seen her in well over ten thousand years.  Her behavior on our journey would not incline me to think that she has learned much about forbearance, but perhaps I was wrong.”

The hobbit wrinkled his nose, a skeptical look in his eye.  “I doubt it.  You’re a better judge of character than that.  More likely she grew angry because she didn’t like what she was hearing, nor the fact that everyone else was hearing it, too.  It occurred to her that treating you badly in front of an audience would win disapproval from your friends, and that she would gain more by going with Ványalos of her own free will, even if she didn’t like it.”

“And she would also win a point, startling me by doing precisely what I would least expect.”  The frown smoothed away from the Maia’s brow as he smiled wryly.  “A very good observation, Frodo. You will soon surpass me in measuring the character of others, if you continue to show such excellent judgment.”

Frodo allowed himself a moment to luxuriate in the praise.  “So do you think this means we’ve been misinterpreting her motives, because of what we heard from Ornedil?”

Again, Olórin shook his head.  “No.  That was merely one weight on the scale, hardly enough to have tipped it.  Before I left the North, I knew she had it in mind to avenge herself against me, even though she had agreed to set aside our differences.  Others who know her far better than Ornedil or even I warned me, and I trust their judgment.  No, I think she is simply biding her time, looking for what she considers the right way to go about this.  If she cannot harm me or shame me, then she will try to use me to her own ends, as well as those around me.  We must be patient.  Aránayel can be subtle in her manipulations, but sooner or later, she will grow tired of all the thrust and parry and act more directly.  Given what we just witnessed, it is likely to come from an unexpected quarter, so we must be wary.  For if she has one true talent that few others possess, it is knowing how to find the place where her enemies are most vulnerable in their hearts, and deftly deliver a lethal strike before her victim realizes the blow is about to fall.  Even Sauron could have learned much about battle strategy from her."

Author's Note:  The tune for "The Song of the Lamps" can be heard on my website here.  It is a MIDI file, and thus should be listened to only on a computer with a halfway decent soundcard.  (I've tried it on my iPad; it stinks.  Use a computer.)

XIII

The next morning, when Aránayel returned, she found that not only had the others eaten breakfast without her (although Frodo had thoughtfully set aside what he considered quite generous portions of everything so that she would not have cause to feel slighted), but that all four of them were in the garden behind Olórin’s house, planting the seedlings Lady Yavanna had sent for the hobbit.

Frodo admitted that he was not as well versed in herb-lore as his cousin Meriadoc, but he had nonetheless learned quite a bit during his years in the Shire, first from his parents and other kin in Buckland, and then from the Gamgees in Hobbiton.  The soil of Lórien was rich enough to grow anything, but pipeweed was particular in other ways, about the amount of full sun it received each day, the drainage of the soil, and other such matters.  Frodo had selected a long strip well to the back of the garden patch, since it best suited all those needs, but as the rain had not stopped until just before dawn and the hour was early, the ground was still quite damp when they set about preparing it to receive the new plants. 

Olórin had been able to use his skills in manipulating heat and air to drive some of the excess moisture from the soil, but not until after all four of them were liberally covered with mud.  The twins found the situation terribly amusing, as the rocky country of Mithlond had not given them many opportunities for such play, and they had made great sport out of seeing who could get the muddiest before they went a bit too far and were chided by the elders for their behavior.  They had immediately apologized, and did their best to help once things had been dried enough to make the ground more manageable, but when Aránayel arrived and saw the four of them just finishing their work and thoroughly splattered with half-dried mud, it was evident that she did not approve of such games.  Though she held her tongue, her scowl was black and her eyes flashing with disapproval.  The twins had recoiled from her as small birds might flee a snake about to strike; the harshness of her expression even made Frodo flinch, recalling days from his youth when he had angered elder hobbits who did not approve of childish pranks.   As the children scurried off to make themselves more presentable, Frodo followed to help them, as much to escape Aránayel’s glower as to assist the youngsters and do his own tidying up.

Olórin turned to the fuming Aránayel with an exasperated look of his own. His mild tone belied the spark of annoyance in his eyes.  “Since our people were not blessed with a childhood such as the Eruhíni know and you have had few opportunities to become acquainted with their young and all their particular needs, I now understand why Melui and Lére are uncomfortable in your company.  Children of all the races I have met have an energy about them that needs to be expressed in ways of laughter and lightheartedness, preferably shared with others, and not merely other children.  They cannot thrive properly without it, as plants wither without sun or water, especially young seedlings.  You need not play with them, Aránayel, but at the very least do not attempt to entirely deny them that need.  They must learn discipline and gain knowledge, of course, but all these things are important to their well-being.  They became carried away by their game and we indulged them, but they have already been properly chided for going farther than our indulgence allowed.  Your disapproval came like a second — and unwarranted —  punishment.  You might have asked what happened before assuming the worst.  Or is it your belief that Frodo and I would allow them to behave in any way they choose, no matter how inappropriate it might be?”

The scowl vanished from Aránayel’s face so quickly, one might almost have thought the expression a mere trick of light that passed as a cloud moved overhead.  “Master Baggins does seem exceptionally well versed in the needs of the young,” she said in a strangely reflective tone.  “And that is as it should be, for all of the Eruhíni appear to have similar needs during this part of their lives, be they mortal or immortal.  I do not need you to instruct me, Olórin.  Not only have I had these children in my care far longer than you, but it would seem to me that if there is true wisdom to be found in the learning of a thing, it will come from one who has genuine experience in the matter, not merely one who has observed it from a distance.  You may have lived the life of a mortal Man, but you were never a child of any people.  In this, Master Baggins has much greater experience and more profound understanding, and I shall take my inquiries in such matters to him.  And since you did not have the good sense to make certain they were presentable in time for their lessons, I will go assist him, so that we can begin as soon as possible.”  With not another word, she turned and headed off in the direction of Frodo and the twins.

For a very long moment, Olórin remained where he was, the look on his face lost between astonishment and annoyance: the natural annoyance anyone might have felt upon being so clearly and summarily dismissed as unneeded, and astonished to realize that after nearly a full week of unnervingly obsequious behavior toward him, Aránayel had suddenly and apparently changed her tune.  He briefly considered following her in an attempt to discern some reason for her behavior — for she never did anything that she did not believe was ultimately to her own benefit — but he quickly decided that his answer would not be found with her.  What he would see now would be the face and the acts she wished him to see, and if he was going to begin hunting for the truth, he suspected he would find it more easily elsewhere.  He remained in the house long enough to clean himself of the mud and make certain all was well with the twins and Frodo, then went to meet with Ványalos.

The previous day, it had occurred to Olórin that Aránayel might be offended by his presence during her first lessons with the children under his roof.  She was apt to consider any observation as some kind of judgment of her work, and her worthiness, but in such a small house, it was nearly impossible to avoid.  To forestall this, he had made arrangements to accompany Ványalos on his daily rounds, collecting the various things he shared with his neighbors in the way of supplies for their meals.  Frodo often went with him, now that he was more comfortable with the residents of the hill country, but today was his laundering day, and he spent those mornings collecting things that needed to be taken to the Elves who assisted him with such matters.  That fortunate coincidence meant that Olórin could leave the house without worrying how Aránayel would treat the hobbit, who did not have the long association with her that both the Istar and the twins supposedly enjoyed.

He had cause to reconsider that fortune, however, when he met Ványalos in his neighbor’s spacious kitchen, where he was nursing a cup of steaming tea as if it were the only lifeline between him and the abyss.  Olórin had seen such faces on humans who had sat up through the night against their will, generally spending the time in an argument or some other odious discussion.  Though their people did not require sleep as the Eruhíni did, those who chose to embody themselves in fanar akin to their bodies tended to live their lives as the Children did, out of respect for the form they inhabited.  Ványalos had a number of remarkably mortal traits, a fondness for sleep second only to his liking for food and drink.  No doubt a taste acquired from his long years of serving Estë; and he could be as irritable as the grumpiest sleep-deprived mortal when he spent a night awake for reasons not of his choosing.

“I had expected her to simply take herself off to the place I’d prepared for her, then promptly ignore me, but she didn’t,” Ványalos explained as he waved his guest into a chair at the round table near the cooking hearth, where he himself was seated.  The room was large and comfortable, with wide windows overlooking a flowering garden, at the center of which stood a beautiful fountain.  The sound of the rising and falling water was like clear music, and had often brought cheer to Olórin’s heart.  But it was plainly having no such effect on Ványalos.  “I’d also expected that if she did not spend the night sulking, Aránayel would spend it attempting to bend my ear with every complaint she has ever had about you — and me, for that matter, since I was obviously part of the conspiracy to get her out of your house.  Or I had imagined she might try to pry from me any information about you that she might use in her campaign of ingratiation.  Instead, she spent the entire night pressing me for every detail I know about Hobbits.”

Olórin’s eyes widened with genuine surprise.  “Hobbits?” he echoed.  “Whyever was she so interested in Hobbits?”

Ványalos sighed.  “I supposed at first that she was curious because she had never met one of the Little People before, but she seemed more interested in Frodo in particular than in Hobbits in general.  I thought that might be because you are so clearly fond of him, and she apparently wants to get closer to you for her own self-serving reasons, but she asked nothing about your relationship with him, beyond inquiring how it was you came to know each other in Middle-earth.”

“What did you tell her?”

“What little I know,” the redhead said with a shrug.  “You were familiar with his elder kin, and he came of what his people considered a respectable family.  She seemed rather surprised to learn that he was not some sort of royalty — perhaps she’d thought that only a mortal of such high rank would have been permitted to dwell here in Aman.”

The Istar snorted softly.  “I can well imagine.  Such things have always been of value to her — largely, I think, because she herself covets similarly high position.”  He tapped the circlet about his head.  “I tried to explain to her that I was given this as nothing more than an instrument of healing, but she didn’t believe me.  I suppose there is some truth to her notion that Lord Eru meant it to be a visible mark of His favor as well — He did tell me as much on the day He explained its purpose to me — but not in the way she imagines.  My position among our people has not changed; I am no more or less than I have always been, Lord Manwë’s vassal and a servant of all those to whom I can offer help.  I am honored to know that I have earned our Father's approval, that I did not fail the trust that had been placed in me, but I do not believe He ever meant for anyone to look upon this as a sign that I am anything more than I have ever been.”

“Perhaps not,” Ványalos said, “but though you have not changed at heart, I do not think you will ever again be able to slip into the shadows of others and remain unnoticed.  You are the only one of a very few who were sent to oppose Sauron who carried out his tasks and returned. If even one of the other Istari had remained true to your mutual mission and returned with you, things might be different now, but I suspect not.  You took this impossible task upon yourself not once but twice, and sacrificed much in carrying out those onerous duties, alone.  Whether you wish it or not, your position has changed, and it would seem that Aránayel is more keenly aware of the scope of that change than you.  She has even seen how it encompasses your friends, such as Frodo.”

For a considerable time, Olórin said nothing, his gaze fixed on the garden fountain and the glitter of sunlight on the rising and falling waters.  Ványalos followed his glance, and allowed him his long moment of silence while he finished his tea, then took the cup to the kitchen basin to rinse it clean.  When he was done, he looked back at the Istar.  “Have I offended you, my friend?” he asked, genuinely concerned.  "That was not my intent, but I have noticed that since your return from Endorë, you seem far more sensitive toward matters that touch upon praise and attention, and it puzzles me that it should be so.  You have always been humble, but never so self-depricating, so unwilling to accept the well-earned recognition of your efforts offered by those who love you."

After another moment, Olórin shook his head, and sighed.  "I fear that that is a result of so many years lived as a Mortal.  The poisons of evil that harm their spirits often prey upon their confidence and feelings of self-worth, either inflating them excessively or dreadfully undermining them, confusing them in their hearts so that they are uncertain of their merit, and of their unique place in creation.  I suffered from the latter, I think, and it is proving to be the most stubborn of my injuries to heal.  But I am not offended.  I am not so foolish as to deny the truth, only to wish that it might be otherwise.  When I chose to return from death to complete my unfinished tasks, I suspected that if I were to somehow succeed, I would never be the same person in the eyes of our people.  Rightly so, perhaps, for all that I have endured in these past two thousand years has changed me.  Had any of the others returned with me, they too would have been altered by our lives as Mortal Men — which may well be a part of why I am saddened that they failed.  If even one of them had come back, I would share the curiosity and attention and praise of others with them, and I would feel considerably less discomfited.  But they did not, and I must bear this change in my life as well as I can, until my spirit is fully healed.”

He shifted his gaze to favor Ványalos with a curious expression.  “Why are you asking this?  Were the answers I gave last evening unclear, or insufficient?  You have never questioned my aversion to such attention before.”

“Nor am I questioning it now,” he was assured. “We have known one another so long and so well, I knew you would not return to us quite as you had been before, but I also knew that naught could ever change your heart.  You will always be humble, and given my own tendencies toward audacity, I have long found your humility and your dislike of excessive adulation both calming and educational.   But as your position is now unique among our people, so too is Frodo’s, being a mortal permitted to dwell in Aman, praised by the Valar and blessed by Eru Ilúvatar Himself.  He is not utterly unique, I know,” Ványalos added when Olórin began to correct him.  “But there are several reasons I can see for why Aránayel would have no interest in Bilbo: he was not so profoundly involved in the matter of the Ring, and thus was not as highly praised for his part in it; and he lives with the Elves in Tirion, not here with you — and the blessing he received from the One was neither so dramatic nor obvious as the healing of Frodo’s hand.  Aránayel put on the appearance of being interested in Hobbits for their own sake, but it was clear to me that her interest was in Frodo alone.  She asked of his likes and dislikes, his daily habits, and such things as one might want to know of someone whose favor they wish to curry, or whose vanity they might seek to flatter.  It occurs to me that after seeing the friendly and sociable ways of the Hobbits yesterday, she decided that it might be equally effective, and altogether more pleasant for her, if she attempted to influence you by befriending one who is close and dear to you.”

He shook his head, sighing yet again as he stepped across the room to open a small storage closet near the door that led from the kitchen to the garden.  From inside, he fetched the baskets he used to carry the provender he collected on his rounds.  Olórin joined him, and took the things Ványalos handed to him while the taller Maia continued his speculation.  “I have often wondered, given what I have heard of her over the years, what aspects of Aránayel are reflected in Arda, or vice versa.  What did she see in this world to be that drew her to want to be a part of its shaping?  After being interrogated by her last night, I feel fairly certain that I have identified one trait at least.  We recognize rank among our own people, but not to the degree or in the same fashions that such things are honored among the Eruhíni — especially among the mortals, from what I have learned.  I had never truly grasped the concept of heirs before I met Frodo and he told me the tale of his life in Middle-earth, how he had been the heir of Bilbo, and how he had designated his friend Samwise to be his when he came West.  He told me of the Man who had become king of what remained of the Númenórean realms, and though I suppose it is a logical arrangement, to pass things from parent to child, it seemed quite peculiar to me at first.”

“As it did to me,” Olórin admitted.  "I do not believe I truly understood the feelings of the Atani in this matter until after I had grown close to some of them, then stood by helpless and watched them die. Even though I know it is a gift to those who pass beyond, I also understand the pain it can be to those who are left behind.  The matter of heirs is the only means they have to give a sense of stability to a time which for them can be one of great sorrow and despair.”

“So I have come to understand.  The Elves are not the same, and I was quite confused by the mortal matter of inheritance, until it occurred to me that it was only natural for them to desire such things because they are not immortal.  In general, our people do not overly concern themselves with status and rank because we each have known some measure of the place we hold in our Father’s thought, and how we are meant to fit into His designs for this world.  Not as clearly as we might wish, perhaps, but we do know, and when we hold true to our purposes, we know that no other could take the place appointed for us.  The desire for power or dominance beyond that which was given us in our beginnings has generally been a trait common only among those who have followed Melkor.  Aránayel is not of that sort; her craving for higher rank and greater recognition is not evil in and of itself, or so it seems.  From what I have heard and seen from afar, traits such as hers are quite common among the Eruhíni, in particular the Atani.  Ever do they struggle to reach above that place where they began, to improve their lot in life, for themselves and those who will come after them.  Some do so for the benefit of their kin and descendants, or all their people, to increase their knowledge and wisdom and skill so that they might make their world a better place — as you have grown and learned from your experiences here in Arda, and have shared your growth with all.  Others seek such increase for base reasons: greed, a craving to dominate others, self-serving pride.  And still others do so for reasons that are neither noble nor utterly ignoble.  Like Aránayel, theirs were gifts that gave them, for a time, the recognition and adulation of their peers, and by that, they came to gauge how others viewed them and approved of them.  Rank to her is not a means to power; it is the only means by which she knows how to be certain she is loved.  That is doubtless why she rejected you so long ago, Olórin.  You offered her your heart, but you could not offer her an increase of status that was her only understanding of love. Indeed, she saw no wrong in refusing you, and that she should suffer diminishment for speaking the truth that was in her own heart is to her worse than a puzzle; it is a terrible injustice.”

The Istar’s brows arched with surprise as he followed Ványalos out of the house to begin his errands.  “And you have deduced all this from one night in her company?  I know you are neither a fool nor ignorant, Ványalos, but you have never struck me as one who spends long hours contemplating the lives and woes of others — in particular others with whom you have no acquaintance.”

The redhead shrugged, smiling crookedly.  “I shan’t say that you have underestimated me, for in general, what you say is true.  It is not that have no regard for others, but rather that my nature is not capable of bearing so many cares and concerns, as you often have done.  But when those others are friends who have been as dear and as close to me as kin, then their joys and woes are part of my life as well, and what concerns them concerns me.  When I first met you soon after your arrival in Lórien long ago, I knew at once that we would share such friendship and kinship, until the end of days and beyond.  You came to this land in pain, and I wished ever after to understand what had caused it, so that if it lay within my power, you would never suffer so again.”

Olórin acknowledged his effort with a gracious nod.  “And as much as you were able, you have done exceedingly well.  Even when you irritated me, I always knew that your heart and your intent were good.  But I have long since put my past history with Aránayel behind me.  It sounds to me as if you have not.”

“Also true, to a certain extent.  I had not met Aránayel until yesterday, but I have gathered what information about her that I could, and I have spent much time thinking upon it, so that I could winnow the truth from gossip and hearsay.  Remarkable, I know, since I have a reputation as one of the greatest carriers of tales in Aman!  If it surprises you to know that I have done this for more noble reasons, then I am pleased, for I never wanted you to think that I was prying into private matters or attempting to protect you when you were well able to protect yourself.  I am not allowed to leave Aman — a just restriction, I must admit, for the more I hear of life in Endorë, the more I understand that I am not well-equipped to deal with such an existence.  Still, I have not ignored the world beyond the West.  I have done what I can to see and understand what transpires across the Sundering Sea, and though I had never met a one of the Secondborn until the Hobbits came among us, I have noted their lives and their history with interest.  And a good deal of what I have heard about Aránayel struck me as quite similar to the struggles for stature among the Children, especially the Atani.”

“Quite so,” the Istar said, his eyes slightly distant as he pondered all Ványalos had said.  “I have seen many facets of ambition among the Eruhíni, and though I often found the more selfish aspects to be an unpleasant expression of avarice or pride, at times, I was moved to pity when I saw such ambitions risen from a want of love that could be understood only in such puzzling ways.  Neither rank nor wealth of worldly possessions are a true measure of affection, but to some, that is all they were given by those who should have given them the love of their hearts.  And it is a double-sided coin, for some only understand the giving by such means, as others only comprehend the receiving through the same things.  I have known children who loved their parents dearly, but were given no affection unless they worked and behaved according to the high standards of those parents, who found only achievement and success to be worthy of their love.  And I have seen cold-hearted husbands shower their wives with wealth and gifts in abundance, thinking it to be the greatest expression of love when their ladies wished only to be closer to them in their hearts, but the very things that provided the wealth stood between them. They could only see the outer appearances; they had no perception of the greater treasure that lay within.”

“And that is what I see in Aránayel, Olórin.  I have seen it before, in both my distant observations of the Atani and of the Eldar here in Valinor.  Seeking a means to share rank and honor through association rather than personal merit, they make the sounds and gestures of friendship, but they are false.  They love not the person, but the position, and the love that appears to come with adulation and honor.  They delude themselves, of course, for love needs neither praise nor exaltation; it is often at its most noble when it is humble. But like Aránayel, they knew too much of affection given in reward before they learned of it as something given for its own sake.  She wishes to gather to her people of some importance, so that she might eventually become close to the even greater persons she sees in their acquaintance, and thus herself become beloved by all.  I do not know why she has taken this turn, but there it is.  It was not enough that you offered her your heart when you were young.  You needed to offer her the hearts of others, but she could see only your humility, which made you in her eyes the most lowly of all.  And now things have changed, as you have changed.”

Olórin continued to reflect upon his neighbor’s conclusions, then suddenly groaned and laughed at the once, shaking his head not in disbelief but at the clarity of his own past opacity.  “Yes, now I seem to have the blessings of the Highest of All, along with the friendship of persons who have status and renown unique throughout all of Arda!  I believe you are right, Ványalos, though I could not have understood this all those years ago.  I can only suppose that I have not realized this sooner because I have been deliberately steered away from Aránayel’s company and thus had only very old memories to guide me.”

“You are certainly not to blame, whatever the case,” Ványalos agreed.  “I do not know that I would have understood this myself, had I not endured her interrogation last night.  Until I started to wonder why she was so keen to know more about Frodo, I had only pieces of a picture that did not seem to belong together.  Last night, she provided the key to assemble them into a whole.  She had no desire to be near you again until she saw that your status had changed, no longer a small and eager servant of Lord Manwë, but one who had accomplished an impossible task against near-insurmountable odds, a task you should have shared with four others of our people, but were forced to complete alone.  You have been praised by all the Valar, who themselves labored long to help save you from a terrible fate; during your journey from the North, you were shown hospitality and honor Aránayel could not have imagined you would merit from what she knew of you long ago.  You wear a token of our Father’s grace, and brought her to a house gifted to you by those who love you, many of high station.  In that house waited a friend and companion who though small and seemingly weak achieved the downfall of Sauron himself, and his respect and affection for you is plain enough, even for her to see — as she also sees that he has your affection as well, in full measure.  She wishes very much to be a part of this, to have it for herself.  If she cannot make such a life on her own, she will try to do what others have done to achieve it — thus her curiosity concerning Frodo — and failing that, she will attempt to take what she desires from those who have it.  I am not the greatest servant of Lord Irmo and Lady Estë, but I have learned much from them about the hearts and minds and dreams and motives of others.  And I tell you, I looked upon Aránayel as she spoke with me last night, and I saw the heart of someone who wishes to reawaken a part of your past so that she might share in your future, to be freed from a life she despises.”

The Istar grimaced.  “I would gladly release her from it, since I believe it was more harsh a punishment than she deserved, but I cannot go back and be again the person I was.  There is a saying among the Atani, that there is no fury greater than that of a woman scorned.  If she is seeking a relationship with me that cannot be, then I fear she will attempt some dreadful retribution.”

“Which, perhaps, is why Ornedil attempted to warn us.  If she perceives that she has been made to lose face again because what she wishes of you is denied, she will not take it kindly.  I am now all but certain Ornedil felt that if she cannot hurt you, she will attempt to hurt the children placed in your care.  She surely will not take your rejection as well as you took hers.”

Olórin’s laugh was rueful.  “You are exaggerating, old friend, if you believe I took it well, but I know you speak from kindness.  There is another possibility you have not considered, however.”  When the redhead blinked at him with curiosity, he explained.  “She may have already contemplated that if she attempted to ingratiate herself to me, I would rebuff her.  Though her reasoning may differ from yours, that conclusion is sound.  It is possible she has already deduced this, and knowing that wrath would be expected as her reaction, she plans to demonstrate how she has earned release from her penance by deliberately arranging the circumstances to encourage my rejection, and then accept it graciously rather than become angered by it.  It would be considerably more to her benefit, would it not?”

Ványalos wrinkled his nose.  “Oh, certainly — which is why I doubt very much that she will choose such a path.  In the past she could have simply spoken of you more kindly in your absence to win her pardon; she chose to spread falsehoods and malice instead.  Who in Aman would believe her now, especially since she has already behaved in ways that have recently made others question her motives?”

Olórin conceded the point.  “Few, I’m afraid.  She has done little to make matters easier on herself.”

“Just so.  You are very wise, pityandil, and ordinarily I would not dream of disagreeing with your wisdom, but unlikely as it seems, there is one area in which I have greater experience than you.  You counsel Lord Irmo, and very well indeed, but I have served him for far longer than you have been his advisor.  It is not without reason that he has been called The Desirer, for he understands much of that aspect of the living heart, and from him I have learned to recognize those things that have earned him that name.  As she spoke to me last night, I looked upon her and saw in her little but her desire.  It has nothing to do with love, unless that love be of herself.  I have never seen a more terrible longing of any kind.  I do not believe there is any act she would consider too heinous if it will gain for her what she longs to have: not only her freedom, but the high position she once enjoyed.  She has no affection for you; you are but a stepping stone that lies between her and her goal, and if you attempt to block her path, she will but bring down her foot upon you with all her might.  If that means using others to make you cooperate with her schemes, then she will do so without hesitation.”

“I fear you are right,” Olórin said, sighing softly.  “I could offer to intercede for her with those who hold her fate in their hands, but I know it would do little to help.  She must win this through her own choices and actions, as she won her punishment in the same fashion.  Were I the only one who would be affected by her malice and manipulation, I could bear it, but it troubles me deeply that she will use the children and Frodo as pawns, the young ones because they are vulnerable, and Frodo because he is the only other person at hand whom she would regard as sufficiently prominent to be worthy of her attention.”

To his surprise, Ványalos suddenly grinned.  “Happily, that situation should not continue for long.”

“You’ve said that before, or words to that effect,” Olórin pointed out.  He measured his companion’s apparent good humor with a keen glance.  “What have you and Frodo concocted in my absence?”

“Nothing to trouble you, I assure you.  You and he are not the only persons in Lórien who have won renown, after all.”

The Istar considered this for a moment.  “Certainly not — but who have you coerced into participating with your plans?  Aránayel has already met the Lord and Lady of Lórien, and seemed singularly unimpressed by them, as they are not among the most powerful and influential of the Valar.  Melian has notoriety, but in general she leads a solitary life; I have seen her less than a handful of times since my return, and I would not ask her to suffer Aránayel’s company simply as a diversion for my sake.  Glorfindel might have been convinced to take on such a task, but he returned with Bilbo to Tirion two weeks ago, and has duties to discharge there before he feels he can return to his home here, permanently.”

“Very true,” Ványalos replied, his long queue bobbing across his back as he nodded his head.  “But Glorfindel’s home is not far from here, and there are many important travelers who come to Lórien.  Some will be arriving soon — perhaps today or tomorrow — and he has offered those travelers the use of his home during their stay.  I would venture to say that there is at least one among them whose favor Aránayel might covet — more than Frodo’s, certainly.  If her attention is diverted to such activities, it may give you time enough to find a permanent home for the twins.  In the safekeeping of their own people, they would be well protected.  And with the matter of their immediate future settled, Aránayel would have little reason to remain here.  Indeed, if during her time in Lórien she shows that she is capable of treating others with respect, she might at last win the parole she seeks.”

“If there is sufficient time,” Olórin agreed after another moment of reflection.  “It sounds like a viable plan, but who have you jollied into taking on such a monumental — and potentially unpleasant — task?”

The tall Maia’s expression turned impish.  “Ah, now that would be telling you more than you want to know, and it shouldn’t be long before you have your answer. Besides, there was no need to persuade anyone.  It was by a remarkably happy coincidence that while we were attempting to devise a method of dealing with Aránayel’s potentially troublesome nature, we were told that certain noteworthy persons had already been planning a visit to Lórien.  No coercion was required; we had but to mention our situation, and help was offered.  You have a great many friends, Olórin, and I cannot think of a one who would not willingly do anything on your behalf.  There is much to be said for humility and generosity.  People remember those sterling qualities and forget instead your occasional fits of temper and stubbornness.”

Olórin chuckled.  “And it would seem that while you have a good grasp of generosity, humility will forever elude you.  Well, we are what we were made to be, my friend, even Aránayel.  If there will be an opportunity for us to keep her occupied so that no one will need to fully suffer her attentions while the fate of the children is settled, then we should avail ourselves of it and hope that there will be time enough for it to succeed.”

Ványalos’ mischievous expression faded to wistfulness as they came to the first of their destinations, the house of Failon, the Elven baker.  “Thatis the greatest if in our plan, alas.  For if there is one thing I have seen in common among persons with such tremendous desires, it is that they can be both as immutable and unpredictable as Time itself.”

As the sun approached midday, they finished with the last of Ványalos’ many appointed stops, and Olórin marveled at the sheer volume of items they had collected.  “I cannot believe that you and Frodo and I could possibly consume this much food and drink in a single day!” he declared, since their baskets had long since been filled with a wide variety of things, and their final stop had added another three very large and full baskets to the total.  “I hope you didn’t plan to have me whistle for Shadowfax to carry all of this back for us.  He has never taken kindly to being asked to act as a mere pack animal.”

Ványalos laughed.  “Truthfully, that hadn’t even occurred to me, but never fear, we will manage.  Mirimë’s house is not far, and Frodo expected he would be finished with his business there by now — and here he comes, punctual as always.  With his help, we should manage nicely.”

The Istar’s expression was wry.  “Perhaps so, but I still cannot understand why there is so much of everything!  Have you secretly taken to gluttony, Ványalos?”

His neighbor shook his head as he laughed once more.  “No, although having the example of a Hobbit to follow, I have greater reason than ever to enjoy such simple delights.  I have collected more than usual because I am now providing for more than usual.  Or have you forgotten that you now have two additional young mouths to feed under your roof?  The Eldar may not need sustenance as much as the Atani do, but they still must eat, and soon, there will be other guests in our company who will doubtless appreciate refreshment.”

Olórin snorted expressively.  “An army or two, from the look of it.”

Ványalos clicked his tongue.  “Now, then, don’t exaggerate, unless you wish to set a bad example and encourage my habits in that way.  To be honest, I have no idea how many we might expect, but I felt it was better to make adequate preparations, since they will be coming soon.”

“And sooner than we expected,” Frodo said as he joined them on the porch of the house where they had just obtained an assortment of fresh fruits that did not grow in their glen to the east.  He took the baskets and sacks that Ványalos handed to him while he explained.  “Mirimë just told me that a party of riders from Eldamar was spotted crossing the river into Lórien, perhaps an hour ago.”

“They made very good time, then,” the redhead opined as he shouldered his own burden, once Frodo had his things well in hand.  “But we should have more than enough time of our own to return home and put away our provender before they arrive.”

Olórin harrumphed.  “Now that they are practically on our doorstep, would you be so kind as to tell me who these guests might be?”

Frodo smiled crookedly, glancing up at his old friend with a touch of sheepishness.  “Well, in all honesty, we’re not entirely sure.  We spoke — or rather, Ványalos did; I haven’t any ability at all for speaking with people over great distances, much less going to and fro in the blink of an eye.  Much of what we know came through Glorfindel, and that simply by accident.  I’d wondered how his trip with Bilbo to Tirion had fared, and when Ványalos was kind enough to find out for me, it came up that others would be traveling here, and would use Glorfindel’s house during their stay.  A number of names were mentioned, but the plans weren’t definite, and we weren’t sent final word as to who would be in the party.  I suspect someone wanted to keep this a surprise for all of us, not just for you and Aránayel.”

Olórin reflected on this for a moment while he settled the burden in his arms, then sighed softly.  “Then I do hope no one in Eldamar has decided this would be a good time to start toying with unpleasant surprises.  I eventually came to tolerate the tradition of so-called practical jokes among the mortals in Middle-earth, but I never understood why some people took such great delight in them.”

Frodo knew he was referring to Pippin, and as they headed toward home, he delighted in recalling some of his young cousin’s more outrageous pranks.  It felt good to him to be able to remember the joys of his past life in the Shire, before the Ring and all the terrible events that had injured him so deeply.  He still missed the people he loved, but here in Aman, the memories he held of them remained sharp and bright as sunlight on clear water, never dulling with time or weariness.  The clarity of his memories was a comfort to him, for he knew that as long as he remained here in this land that gave him healing and peace, the friends he had left behind would remain forever young, full of laughter and joy and boundless energy.  That was a great comfort to him, to be able to close his eyes, summon up a memory of one he missed, and recall a time of happiness with them that was so vivid, he could hear their voice, smell their scent, and know that somehow, they were there with him again.

When they arrived at Olórin’s cottage, the twins were seated near the wide windows at the back of the central gathering room, working upon a lesson in scribing that Aránayel had set them, as she was of the opinion their penmanship left much to be desired.  They were quietly hard at work at a table set by the windows overlooking the back verandah, where the streaming rays of the noon sun provided more than adequate light for their work.  She followed the others into the kitchen, her expression one of faint annoyance.

“I had not been told I would be left completely to my own devices on my first full day in Lórien,” she told her host, the same hint of annoyance in her voice.

Olórin shrugged as he began removing things from the parcels they had settled on the table, handing them to Ványalos and Frodo, who put them away.  “It was only for a few hours,” he pointed out, “and it was not as if you had nothing else to do with the time.  I thought you would prefer to have some privacy while you attended to the children’s lessons, rather than put up with me loitering about.  I had no desire to give the impression that I was spying on you.”

For some time, Aránayel did not answer, but only stood by and watched as the others continued their tasks.  It was plain upon her face that she was torn between the knowledge that she would have done just that, admitting it was so, and realizing that Olórin knew what she would not acknowledge.  Finally, she appeared to reach some decision, and rather than speak, she returned to see if the children had completed the work she had set them.

When she was gone, Frodo caught Olórin’s eye, his own expression full of relief, but he said nothing, not wanting to risk being overheard by sensitive ears only a short distance away.  Ványalos, however, said aloud what he had not dared, albeit softly.  “So, it would seem we missed seeing a display of Aránayel’s legendary temper by the skin of our teeth, as they say.  Do you suppose she is finally coming to understand the cage she made for herself, and in which she has been trapped for many long years?”

Olórin snorted.  “If you mean is she beginning to see that she has only herself to blame for both her exile from Ilmarin and the disapproval she continues to encounter from others, then perhaps she is.  She has never been a dullard, only lacking in vision beyond the narrow confines of the world as she would have it.  But there is nothing surprising in this.  As I told you, she has spent much of the past week on a campaign of ingratiation, and our arrival here only gave her new reasons to continue.”

“What reasons?” Frodo wondered, but his question went unanswered, interrupted by the cry of a horn.  It was still some distance from the glen surrounding the cottage, but near enough for the notes to be clearly heard.  Olórin looked up from his task toward the eastward windows, his dark eyes widening with surprise.

“I know that call!” said he, astonished.  He listened to the notes as they were repeated.  “Yes, definitely.  It has literally been ages since last I heard it, but I remember it well.”

Both Ványalos and Frodo frowned, puzzled.  “Who is it?” the tall Maia asked, mildly annoyed to realize that Olórin already knew more about who was coming than he.

But Olórin did not answer.  Instead, he set aside the things he had been about to hand to Frodo and headed for the front door of the house.  “Who is it?” Ványalos repeated more insistently as he and the hobbit hurried after Olórin, winning themselves a scowl from Aránayel and curious glances from the twins as they passed through the common room to follow the Istar.

When they reached the wide front porch, they found Olórin at the outer rail, looking off to the east.  There, just now coming into sight beneath the shadows of the trees, was a mounted party of travelers.  There was perhaps a score of riders in the group, and they moved without hurry.  The dappled sunshine beneath the woodland leaves made the colors of their rich clothing glow in clear gem-like hues; here and there, glints of gold and silver and even mithril caught the bright light like twinkling on wind-rippled water.  Their voices and laughter declared their merry spirits, a counterpoint to the ever-present birdsong in the wood.  One of the riders toward the front of the party bore a long golden staff, from which a silken banner fluttered in the breeze.

Ványalos did not recognize the device upon the banner, nor any of the riders he could see; he frowned much as Aránayel had only moments before.  “Olórin,” he said somewhat stiffly, “it’s wonderful that you still remember things you knew long ago, but would you please enlighten those of us who haven’t your memories to draw upon?  What call did you recognize?”

Frodo did not speak, but it was plain that he also was keen to know the answer, as was the petulant Aránayel, who just then emerged from the house, seeking an explanation for all the commotion, Melui and Lére discreetly following in her wake.

“A very old one,” Olórin said as he continued to watch the riders move through the woods toward his house.  “We have never met in the flesh, but I saw him often long ago, when I walked unseen among the peoples of Middle-earth in the First Age.  I heard the call of his horns and saw the brightness of his banners on days both joyful and tragic.  His land is long vanished from the earth, and it warms my heart to see and hear his tokens again.  I had thought I never would.”

“But who, Olórin?” Frodo finally asked, his curiosity piqued by his old friend’s remarks.  “Who is it?”

The Istar did not answer immediately; he watched the newcomers moving into pool of sunlight on the far side of the clearing, his smile small and wistful.  The cloth of the fluttering banner was blazoned with an emblem he knew well.  As he gazed across the clearing, Olórin saw not only the approaching riders, but a time and a world long gone, a place he had visited in utmost secrecy, walking among the people unseen to kindle hope in hearts growing cold with despair.  He had seen that land many times in his travels long ago, and the sound of the horn and the sight of the banner woke the memories to sharp clarity.  The name of the one whose device was woven and stitched into the fine-crafted silk left his lips in a slightly startled manner as he saw the man himself, for this was, perhaps, the last person Olórin would have expected to visit his house so unexpectedly:

“Turgon!"

Author's Note:  I want very much to thank all those who have been reading and reviewing this story.  I'm not quite up to the point where the  block set in (and I want to assure everyone that I'm beginning to get ideas for how to break through it), but I haven't been as good at replying to reviews as I'd like.  Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), I caught a nice little case of intestinal flu that was kind enough to hold off until the night of Christmas Day before making itself known. Between aches and pains and exhaustion and spending entirely too much time in the bathroom, I've been husbanding my energy (when I have it) into editing the chapters that I have completed, and pondering just how I might get the writing going again.  I want everyone to know that I am recovering -- not quite as quickly as I'd like, but happily, my husband is off from work and able to take care of me, bless him.  I just want folks to know what's going on and why I haven't been responding to the reviews as I should.  You are all certainly not forgotten, nor unappreciated!  And I thank all of you for your patience.

XIV

As the riders came to a halt in the clearing before Olórin’s house, the wind ruffled the leaves of the beeches and mallorns above them, allowing the bright noontime sunlight to glitter upon the company of Elves as a light shining upon a handful of brightly colored gems.  Still standing at the rail of the porch, Frodo marveled at the beauty of the Fair Folk, many of whom, he suspected, had been born in the Bliss of Valinor as Galadriel had been, for they carried about them the same ineffable light and grace.  To the best of his knowledge, he had never seen Turgon, the king of Gondolin, nor any depiction of him, but he had no trouble discerning who he was as he dismounted his golden horse. 

Once High King of the Noldor in Middle-earth, the younger son of Fingolfin was tall and strong, dark-haired and keen-eyed, with a glance that missed little.  Pride had been his doom during the First Age, his unwillingness to abandon Gondolin despite the warnings of Ulmo.  But though his pride had brought about his end and the fall of Gondolin, it had also brought about the situation that had allowed Tuor and Idril to come together, wed, and bear a son: Eärendil, who would be the salvation of both kindreds in Middle-earth.  Apparently, Turgon had repented of his folly and learned enough from it to win his release from Mandos — no doubt in great part for the sake of his wife Elenwë, who, like her husband, had not supported Fëanor or the Noldorin revolt, but had faithfully gone into exile with Turgon and his Noldorin kin, and had died in the crossing of the Helcaraxë.  Still, Turgon’s personal pride had not completely vanished.  His clothing was rich and his bearing one of great dignity, that of one born to command, and even as he left his mount in the care of one of his companions, he came to the foot of the porch stairs, his fair face wearing a wry smile that was neither proud nor humble.

When his deep gray eyes glanced upon Frodo and his smile broadened for a moment, the hobbit started, wondering if Turgon had ever before seen one of the Little Folk.  But after Frodo had bowed in greeting, his glance moved on, taking in the awe-struck twins, who had the sense to bow graciously, then Aránayel, who followed the example of the children with some hesitance, and Ványalos, who was much more conscious of Elven propriety than she, and finally to Olórin.  Before his host could follow the example of the others, Turgon startled him by bowing deeply, more graciously than any guest would ordinarily greet their prospective host.  Before Olórin could speak, the Elf lord straightened again and faced him with a bright smile.

“So you are the Istar of whom I have heard so many tales from my kin and their folk in fair Tirion,” he said, his voice deep and rich.  “My greetings, Lord Olórin, to yourself and those of your house.  I trust that my companions and I have not arrived at an inconvenient hour, wholly unannounced?”

“Not wholly unannounced,” Olórin replied after shaking off his surprise to offer a polite response, “and your arrival could never be an inconvenience, Lord Turgon.  Though we have never before met, I have long hoped that such an opportunity would arise, in a time and place where we could do so in peace and safety.  You and your companions are welcome to my house — but might I ask, what brings you to Lórien?”

“Several things, errands for kin not least among them."  His eyes returned to Frodo, again with a smile.  “I bear tidings from Tirion for a number of Lórien’s residents, sent with me as I was sent at Elenwë’s behest.  Elenwë wishes to spend the coming festival with her kin who live in Calanomë, upon the slopes of Taniquetil.  A gift she wished to take to them was to have been brought to Tirion with Glorfindel when he returned with the Master Baggins of my great-grandson’s household.  He returned without Elenwë’s gift, and when I spoke to her of my desire to pay a brief visit to Lórien to attend neglected business of my own, she asked me to fetch her forgotten gift.”

Recovered from his own feelings of awe and surprise, Frodo returned Turgon’s smile.  “Is that why you stopped here, to bring a letter from Bilbo?”

The tall Elf laughed kindly.  “Among other reasons.  Though most in my party have other destinations, there were others who traveled with us who will come later today, with more important business.   For now, if we may pause here to refresh ourselves, we would be grateful.”

No further request was needed.  “Oh, certainly!” Frodo replied with sudden enthusiasm.  “We’d been expecting guests, and were just about to prepare luncheon.  I’m afraid it’s going to be more Hobbitish than Elven, but if you don’t mind....”

“Not at all,” he was assured.  “I have seen your kinsman Bilbo quite frequently in my great-grandson’s house in Tirion, and while he seems perfectly happy to consume any meal so long as he is not troubled to prepare it, the tales he has told of your people’s love for the joys of plate and cup have both fascinated and amused me.  I learned to fend for myself in the kitchen many years ago, and if you require assistance, I would be pleased to offer it....”

Frodo and Ványalos immediately declined his gracious offer; the twins’ eyes widened to hear it, having never imagined the legendary king of Gondolin at work, preparing his own meals.  They were so surprised by this, they made not a single peep of protest when Aránayel volunteered them to help with the preparations.  They followed their elders back into the kitchen while Aránayel returned to the central hall to clear away the things from their morning’s lessons.  Turgon’s companions saw to the comfort of the horses before joining them.  Olórin sensed that the Elf lord was pleased by the turn of circumstances, wanting some time to speak with his host, and so the Istar led him to the more comfortable surroundings indoors.  Before they entered the house, Turgon paused to speak briefly with one of his traveling companions, then followed Olórin to the central hall.

“The elder Master Baggins is full of many intriguing tales, not merely concerning his own folk,” the Elf said when he and Olórin settled down to talk while the others went about their tasks.  “He has told me much of you, and I might have been inclined to doubt some of his tales, had they not been corroborated by Elrond and others of our folk who are lately come from Middle-earth.  From what they have told me — Elrond and Glorfindel in particular — I have come to understand that the old perian does not exaggerate.”

Olórin’s smile was wry.  “If you believe that of Bilbo’s tales, then I think perhaps you do not perceive how clever Hobbits can be in spinning fanciful stories to entertain or impress others.  Bilbo is particularly gifted, that way.”

Turgon chuckled.  “That I have noticed, but some of what you might consider the most fanciful tales did not come from him.  Indeed, they could not have, since the events they told occurred centuries before his birth.  Glorfindel has told me much of your involvement in the struggles against the accursed king of Angmar who became Sauron’s right hand; Círdan has spoken of deeds you have undertaken in aiding the Shire folk, for he sees far and clear, and the halflings dwelt near to his own home; and I cannot begin to count the words of praise I have heard from Elrond and his wife and virtually every member of their household, my cousin Galadriel included.  Should I believe that all of them exaggerate when they say that in the end, you became the chief director of the efforts against Sauron, and that it was by your plans and your faith in the Free Peoples that victory was ultimately achieved?”

“So long as they did not neglect to mention that my plans and direction would have come to naught but for the steadfast efforts of many others — Frodo and themselves not least among them — then I will not say that they exaggerate.  But I did not set out with the intention of achieving that position, my lord.  I did not want power over others, nor did I ever seek status to bring myself renown.  Had the others of my order remained true to our purpose in Middle-earth, I would have been but one of a number trying to guide the peoples of Endorë toward a goal that would benefit them all.  Curumo — Saruman, as he came to be known — was the greatest of the Istari, and even now, I grieve that he allowed his desire for power and fame to corrupt him into becoming a shadow and a puppet of Sauron.  I did not want his position in our ranks, and I would have refused it, had it not been deemed necessary by powers far greater than either of us.”

The Elf nodded, his long dark hair shining in a shaft of sunlight filtering down from the vents in the vaulted ceiling above.  “I have been told these things as well — truthfully, I knew of them before I heard any tale of your deeds as the Grey Messenger.  We have never met before this day, but I had heard of you long ago, before I followed Fëanor and the others to Middle-earth." 

When the Maia's eyes widened with surprise bordering on shock, Turgon explained, his small smile rather mischievous.  "Elenwë, as you know, is of the Vanyar, and in her youth, she lived in Vanyanórë with her kin.  When she was a child, she heard tales of one of Lord Manwë’s servants who, it was said, often walked unseen among the Eldar, giving guidance and inspiration unlooked-for.  She thought this a most wondrous thing, that one of the Ainur would bring our people such good and yet do so in a way that asked for and allowed no payment for his gifts. It was only by chance that she discovered his name — how, I cannot tell you, for rebirth faded many of the memories of her youth — but I recall that she told me of him in that time long past, when we lived in fair Tirion under the light of the Two Trees.  I know now that you are the person of whom she spoke, though I did not realize at once that you were also the Istar of whom many tales have been told by those who came over Sea in the darker days of this age just past.  When I made that connection at last, I began to feel that I must meet you, face to face.  The more I heard from those who returned with you, the more I came to know that it was more than idle curiosity that prompted this desire.”

Olórin’s eyes now narrowed, darkening with puzzlement at the Elf-lord's words.  The servant with whom Turgon had spoken before entering the house came to him just then, and brought with him a large, flat bundle, covered with a silver cloth.  Turgon accepted the thing with a word of thanks, and the servant politely withdrew.  “I fear I am at a loss to understand why you would wish this,” the Maia said when they were again alone, save for the distant presence of Aránayel on the opposite side of the hall, clearing away the things from the children’s lessons.  “I admit that I did visit Gondolin on occasion during the First Age as I visited the Eldar here in Aman before the terrible days of the Kinslaying, but I did not think that I had acted so obviously as to be noticed by you or your people.  My task then was to help counteract the darkness of Morgoth’s evil in the hearts of those he sought to destroy, and to guide those who would resist him onto paths of wisdom rather than reckless folly.  You did not need my help, even if you would have taken it, for you already had the aid and support of Lord Ulmo.”

Turgon sighed as he lightly ran his hands over the silky silver cloth covering the object on his lap.  “True, though perhaps it would not have hurt for you to lend me the benefit of your wisdom, which I am told is great, for I had grown too complacent in my power and pride and did not listen to Ulmo.  Since I was allowed to return to bodily life — mostly for Elenwë’s sake, I deem, for she was wholly innocent of any wrongdoing, and would have suffered had I not been allowed to return with her — I have thought long and deep over matters as I perceived them then, and as I now know they were indeed.  My pride in the achievement of Gondolin robbed me of the strength and wisdom to let it go, but another, wiser power moved my daughter to prepare a secret escape from Tumladen, despite my confidence that it would remain safe and secure.  Was that Lord Ulmo’s doing, or your own?”

The Maia’s pale cheeks colored slightly.  “Mine, and Idril’s.  She saw the wisdom in Ulmo’s warning that you would not, and when she felt a desire to do something that might yet bring hope should worse come to worst, she could not devise a means of achieving this without feeling that she would betray you.  So I offered to her the vision of a secret passage to escape Gondolin, as you had devised a secret way that had been its only entrance.  It was only a nudge to help her remember something she already knew, so that she could be prepared should disaster strike.  When you would not heed Lord Ulmo, I fear I had more faith in Morgoth’s tenacity and hatred of you and your people than I did in your ability to keep Gondolin from harm.  I apologize if this offends you....”

But Turgon shook his head, refusing the offered regret.  “Perhaps it would have at the time, but no more.  You acted from prudent wisdom and I from reckless pride.  Your actions ultimately saved many more than I could have, while mine bore naught but bitter fruit.  And even if you did no more than you say, I am glad to meet the one who nudged my daughter’s feet onto the proper path.  Much good has come of it — the saving of all my people, and Middle-earth as well.  Without my grandson’s intercession, Morgoth would surely have been the victor, and we would not have this chance to sit and talk in peace.  And,” he added, laying the palms of both hands atop whatever lay beneath the silver cloth on his lap, “it is because of matters of peace that I have come, to return this.”  One hand then grasped the cloth and drew it aside as the other grasped the thing beneath, bringing it into view.

Olórin’s eyes widened even as a soft gasp escaped him.  “Glamdring?” he said, recognizing at once the sword he had borne for the better part of a century.  His eyes then shifted from the gleaming blade to the erstwhile Elven king.  “My lord, I asked Elrond if he would be so kind as to return it to you, because I knew he would likely see you before I had the pleasure, and it was he who confirmed that it is rightfully yours.  I had the good fortune to find it, and Elrond was gracious enough to permit me the use of it, even though it is an heirloom of his house, but it is not mine, and I make no claim to it.”

A wry smile danced across the Elf’s fair face.  “Yes, he told me that I could expect such a reaction.  From all the tales I have heard of you, I had anticipated it as well.  But, my Lord Olórin, those very tales — one in particular — are what convinced me that this was the path I should take.”

Olórin’s brow furrowed, puzzlement mixed with certainty.  “And which tale is that?” he asked, expecting to hear an account of his confrontation with the Balrog.

Turgon’s smile broadened as he settled the gleaming sword across his knees.  “I have, of course, heard many concerning your defeat of a Balrog,” he began, seemingly about to confirm the Maia’s expectations, “and while that is a tremendous feat, it is not the first such tale of valor I have heard.  The stories of the feats of Glorfindel and Ecthelion are much the same, and who can say which struggle held more hanging in the balance of the outcome?  It was not the account of a battle that stirred my feelings in this matter; it was comments, quite casually offered, by my nephew, Ereinion.”

“Gil-galad?” For several moments, Olórin could only blink, his mind reaching back to recall all the times he and the last High King of the Noldor of Middle-earth had met.  They had been few.  Gil-galad had greeted the Ringbearers when they arrived in Aman and had been present during their meeting with the Valar, and he had attended the feast that followed in Valmar.  Since then, Olórin could recall seeing him only once in Elrond’s house, when he had gone there to bring Bilbo letters from Frodo, and Gil-galad had been visiting his cousin.  They had never had any long conversations, although Olórin hoped that someday they would have a chance to better know one another.  “We are barely acquainted, my lord.  What could he have said to have prompted this?”

“Little,” Turgon confirmed, “but enough.  I have come to realize that it was not merely a matter of good fortune or chance that led my nephew to a reign vastly longer than any other High King of our people in Middle-earth.  He has, of course, argued that the defeat of Morgoth and the support of the Men of the West were largely responsible for it, but I am not alone in believing he is wrong.  Any of us who ruled before him would have fared poorly, even without the curse of the Silmarils upon us.  Pride would have led us to folly in our dealings with Sauron; of those of us who came into Exile, only my kinswoman Galadriel had both pride and yet wisdom enough to avoid the temptation to use her Ring to confront Sauron directly.  Others of us would not have been so prudent, to our defeat and that of our people.  Ereinion has eyes that see far, and a mind that thinks deeply, and a heart that is able to hold in it concern for the welfare of more than just his subjects, or even his own kind.  He knew that it would be through cooperation with the other inhabitants of Middle-earth that Sauron would be defeated.  That one of his allies did not share the depth of his wisdom and the courage of his convictions did not change the truth of his conclusion. 

"One day, when he and I were both in Tirion and had spent a goodly time discussing many things with Elrond, something was said that led Ereinion to mention his first meeting with you, at the newly-built harbor upon the white shores of Aman.  He said that though few words were spoken, he looked into your eyes and saw a spirit much like his own. Both of you had accepted a heavy burden of duty you did not desire, both of you had studied the situations with which you had to deal, and had concluded that cooperation with many others was the only path to success — but that care needed to be taken to discern friend from foe, lest your foes deceive you.  You both were offered, and accepted, the power of a Great Ring to aid you in your tasks, and you used that power sparingly and wisely.  In the end, you fulfilled your parts in the greater efforts, but it was reliance upon the acts of an ally that would determine whether or not those efforts met with success.  His did not, for Isildur lacked the strength to destroy the Ring; he did not even try, and when Ereinion perished, he could do no more to guide matters to their necessary conclusion.  You succeeded in reaching that conclusion at long last because the Hobbit in whom your trust was placed did not fail of it.”

The Elf lord sighed, a sound full of sadness and regret.  “Ereinion realized during your brief conversation upon the docks that it was more than the fact that you are a Maia and he an Elda that brought your similar efforts to different conclusions. He had been raised and bred in war, and lived in constant war.  He had never known a time of true and lasting peace; always there was some threat to his people, large or small, against which he felt duty-bound to defend them.  You came of a people he felt he could scarcely begin to imagine, of times that knew strife but also knew great peace and joy of a sort he could not truly comprehend, but longed to know.  He could only look upon a sword such as this as an instrument of combat, a means to defeat an enemy.  He had never had an opportunity to learn to appreciate the art of the smith that fashioned from metal a thing of beauty, only the craft of the weapons-maker that gave him what was needed to combat those who would threaten his people.  His efforts as a commander were directed toward achieving victory over an enemy, and only that, because he could not do more than hope that if he survived the seemingly endless struggles, he might someday have a chance to know a better world.  Yours, he perceived in those brief moments of your meeting, had been aimed toward regaining and establishing a lasting peace such as the world had once known, not merely ensuring temporary safety.  You were willing to give — and indeed did give — your life for that cause, and risked it again by going back into the fray of war when you might have remained here in a land of bliss.”

Turgon paused, his gray gaze taking in the length of the shining blade in his hand before turning back to his host.  “And I understood all that he meant.  My own efforts as High King had been focused upon protecting and preserving Gondolin, my kingdom.  In the Halls, I came to understand, admit, and regret that I had been less concerned with the inhabitants of my kingdom as people, and more concerned with them as my subjects, the existence of whom gave me a kingdom to rule, for a king must have others to command, direct, and protect or he is nothing.  I wielded Glamdring for the glory and defense of what I had built, to preserve my pride and my power.  You wielded it as a tool to protect those in need, whoever they were — Elda, Atani, Dwarf, Hobbit, it mattered not who or what, only that you desired justice to be done, and the innocent to be defended.  I fought beside my allies and knew them through selfish ties; your allies were any good people who wished to drive back the Shadow.  I am certain we both knew Glamdring’s potential as a weapon of war, but I fear only you saw its beauty and potential as an instrument of peace.  In my house, it stands as a relic of a bloody past, a trophy and emblem of failure that came to be because I could not let go of my desire to keep what I had made with my own hands, just as Fëanor could not let go the jewels which his hands had wrought.  In your house, Glamdring would know a better and more noble rest, for her power to bring about peace would shine forth, and not be hidden by memory only of the blood that has stained her edges.  That is why I wish to return her to you, my Lord Olórin.  Not as a reminder of the conquests you made and the foes you defeated with her, but as an instrument with which you helped to bring about cooperation and peace in Middle-earth that neither I nor my nephew nor any of our ancestors and kin were able to achieve.  Please accept her, I beg you.  Here in your humble abode, she can be appreciated as a thing of beauty.  In my house, she can only be a reminder of wrongful pride and wars of folly.”

For what seemed a very long while, Olórin studied the blade Turgon offered, not hearing the sounds of cheerful voices at work in the kitchen, nor noticing the intense scrutiny of Aránayel as she watched and listened from across the hall.  The sword had been a useful tool, that he acknowledged, but he had also always appreciated its beauty, the skill of the hand that had designed and crafted it.  He had not witnessed the forging of Glamdring, but Elrond had told him it had been made by Maeglin, the son of Turgon’s sister who though blessed with great gifts of mind and hand had not the wisdom to turn aside from his wicked desire for his cousin Idril, and had betrayed Gondolin to Morgoth to save his own life.  That his betrayal had ultimately destroyed him was no comfort, for too many had paid the price of it — yet Glamdring and Orcrist and other weapons of surpassing excellence had come from the hand of Maeglin during the days before his heart grew fully poisoned by his lust for Idril, his anger with Tuor, and his yearning to depose Turgon and succeed him.  He had made it when the defense of Gondolin and her people was true within his heart, and the purity of his intent had guided his hands well.  There was a great deal of history wrapped around this ancient blade, some full of sorrow and folly, but much full of hope and courage and the dreams of creating a world free of war, in which she could rest and no longer be needed.  Though he was not foolish enough to believe that any peace would last forever in Arda Marred, Olórin’s one hope for the outcome of his mission to Endorë had been to see its people freed from the yoke of Sauron and his minions, to have a time without the strife of danger and war in which they might have a chance to choose to begin down a path of greater understanding and wisdom.  He had not deluded himself into believing that it would be a path without pitfalls, but he knew that achieving a better and more lasting peace could not be done if that road was blocked and could not be taken.  His efforts had been focused upon removing the greatest blockage so the path could be seen, and subtly encouraging those who remained to begin down it, and teach their children to continue in that same direction.

Finally, he looked up, his dark blue eyes connecting with Turgon’s gray gaze; a flicker of understanding passed between them.  “I will accept your gift, and all you have said, my lord, with one condition.”

Curiosity touched the Elda’s expression.  “You have but to name it.”

“You have other obligations to attend soon, as you have mentioned — and as I am certain is true for your nephew, this being a season of festival for your people — but I would be honored if you and Ereinion would return to this house, at your convenience, so that we all might have a chance to become better acquainted.  Although I was able to walk through your kingdom unseen or unnoticed, I could not make myself known to you, and my duties demanded much of me.  During the Second Age, I was not permitted to return to Middle-earth, for I was needed elsewhere, and saw only glimpses of Ereinion’s life and the struggles of Endorë’s peoples from afar.  Elrond and Glorfindel and Círdan and Galadriel have told me much of him, and of you, but in truth I know very little of the man who first wielded this sword, and he whose hand first bore Narya.  My duties now are very light, and at my discretion, so I can now have the luxury to do things I could not when the world was younger.  I would like very much to know both of you better, unless you would prefer otherwise.”

Turgon’s face remained still for a moment, then broke into a broad smile, and he laughed. “Shall I also ask my brother and our father if they would care to join us?  It sounds to me as if you have it in mind to become acquainted with all who served our people as High King in the days of Morgoth.  Perhaps such curiosity is fitting for one who serves the king of all Arda.  Alas, there are some of our kings who remain in Mandos’ keeping, and are unlikely to return to us soon.”

Olórin smiled in return, chuckling softly.  “So I have been told.  No, I will be content if you will agree to my request and naught more.”

Turgon spent but a moment considering this, then nodded.  “I would like this as well, and I know the same is true for my nephew.  We have spoken of it.  In the early days after your return from Endorë, we did not think it wise to intrude upon your life, for all of Aman heard of the terrible grief that had befallen you and we did not wish to risk interfering with more important matters upon which your very existence relied. We have waited, and the tales we have heard in Eldamar have done naught but whet our curiosity.  So I accept your terms, my Lord Olórin, and gladly.  It will please me to see Glamdring given a home where she can be properly honored, and the price you ask is a gift in disguise.” 

Bowing his head with great deference, he lifted the sword with both hands as he rose, only to kneel and offer Glamdring to his host.  Olórin accepted the gift graciously, feeling the familiar weight of the ancient blade in this hand that had never before touched it; he had surrendered the sword into Elrond’s keeping during the voyage from Middle-earth.  An errant bit of light flickering down from the vent at the peak of the vaulted ceiling glittered along the bright silver of its still-sharp edge,  and he smiled at the rise of memories it brought, not all of which were grim.  “I shall happily give her the home you desire, but let us hope that never again will either of us see her shine as a warning of enemies drawing near.”

The Elf heartily agreed with him as he returned to his chair.  An odd expression danced across his face.  “A useful ability, but a rather distressing one at times.  I had not been told that such a property had been discovered by the metal smiths when I commissioned Maeglin to fashion new arms for myself and my household, and I have often suspected that he was pleased to see the shock I felt the first time we carried these weapons into battle against Morgoth’s minions.  He claimed that he only wished for my arms to be the best he could possibly make, and that he had thought I knew of this discovery.”  He snorted.  “Would that the blades he forged had shone thus in his own presence, wretched traitor!  Yet I have forgiven him.  He brought about his own end through his betrayal, and did I do better when I let my own pride and desire lead to the destruction of Gondolin?”

Olórin’s smile softened as he lowered the sword.  “Then, perhaps not, but you have done better since, for I do not think Lord Manwë would have agreed to your release from Mandos had you not found forgiveness in your heart, and the wisdom to understand your mistakes.  Maeglin, I fear, may never win his freedom, for his heart seemed to me to be as hardened with bitterness as Fëanor’s.  It saddens me to think that two with such great talent and skill will be confined to the dark halls until the End, but they alone chose their paths and refuse to stray from them.”

He lightly ran one finger along the flat of the blade, pausing when his touch encountered something unfamiliar.  He peered at what he had felt, frowning ever so slightly.  There was a new inscription on the blade, above the point of the original inscriptions that Elrond had once read to identify the sword.  “This was not here before,” he said as he tilted the blade so that the letters could better catch the light.  When they did, he gasped softly, his glance snapping to Turgon.  “This is in Valarin!”

“As I requested,” Turgon confirmed.  “A most unusual language, but I felt that it best suited what I wished to have written on the blade before surrendering it to you.  Though I must confess, I can read not a word of what is written.  I fear I have always been one who stopped my ears rather than listen to the language of the Ainur.”

A gentle laugh was heard in response to that remark, Frodo emerging from the kitchen bearing a tray of goblets filled with drink for the guests.  He had not been eavesdropping, precisely, since the conversation had been clearly audible in those parts of the house not behind closed doors.  “I’ve had the same reaction to it, Lord Turgon,” the hobbit said as he proffered the tray, offering him refreshment and careful to remember what he had heard about the Elves who had once been High Kings in Middle-earth preferring to leave those titles behind after their returns from Mandos.  “I have been trying to at least grow more accustomed to the sound of it, so that I can avoid wincing when I hear it, but I suspect my progress in that attempt has been rather poor.  What does it say, Olórin?” he asked the Maia.

One corner of the Istar’s mouth twitched in a wry smile as he read the words, first in Quenya, then in Westron, to spare his guests’ sensitive ears.  “Nóna sé ohta, colla na sérë, senda sé alcar.  Born in war, borne to peace, at rest in glory.”  Olórin’s gaze lingered for a moment on the inscription, then turned to Turgon, still bright with his smile.  “Thank you, my lord, it is an apt description of Glamdring’s history.  I know not how glorious she will find this house, but you may rest assured that it will ever be one of peace.”

That seemed to be contradicted a moment later when the others of Turgon’s company entered, and either availed themselves of the refreshment Frodo offered, or headed into the kitchen to help bring out more beverages and the light meal that Ványalos and the children had just finished preparing.  Olórin withdrew from the happy chaos for a moment to reverently settle Glamdring on a high shelf where the sword would be safe until he decided upon a more permanent home for the honored blade.  He did not notice the way Aránayel watched him through intense and narrowed eyes; he might have when he turned back to face the rest of the hall, had not a sudden, delighted cry from the children drawn his attention elsewhere.

“Helyanwë!” they cried in joyful unison, all but dropping the things they’d been carrying in their eagerness to rush to greet their beloved caretaker, who was just then entering through the door at the front of the house.  If not for the deftness of Ványalos and one of Turgon’s companions, the tray and bowl would have missed the table toward which they were fairly thrown.

“You did come!” Lére added, unabashedly exuberant as he pelted toward the entrance to be the first to give her a happy hug.

The silver-haired Maia laughed no less joyfully than the twins.  “Did I not say that I would do so as soon as I could?”

“Yes, but we were afraid that might be a very long time!” Melui explained as she joined her brother in offering the welcoming embrace.  “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming today?”

Helyanwë smiled as she returned their hug.  “Because I did not know it would be today, until we arrived.  We made better time than we anticipated.”

“‘We’?” Aránayel echoed, her face still and her voice even, but her eyes bright with a blue-green fire that was not the warmth of pleasure.

Helyanwë graciously ignored Aránayel’s barely hidden contempt.  “Yes, myself and one who was finally convinced of the need to make this journey for the right reasons.”  She turned toward the door, which was still open behind her, speaking to someone who remained in the shadows of the outer porch.  “Come,” she said gently.  “It is time to let go of the past and greet both the present and the future.”

Even as she said the words, Olórin’s heart missed a beat, knowing somehow who it was who waited beyond the door, but unable to believe it until he had the proof of his eyes.  As a tall and slender figure stepped onto the threshold and into the fuller light, he felt his face break into a smile as surprised and delighted as the twins’. 

“Lindarinë!” he said, the name both a greeting and a blessing.  He had not seen his old friend since the day the Istar’s ship had set sail from Alqualondë to take him to Middle-earth in the guise of an old man.  Even then, he had seen him only from afar, as the Elf had been trying to hide himself from the pain of living, hard at work mending the sails of a ship that had been caught in a storm in the Shadowy Seas while ferrying new arrivals from Endorë.  His face seemed more pale than it had been before his death in the Kinslaying, as if even a brief stay in the darkness of those silent Halls had drained the blood from his spirit.  And since his return from Mandos, his dark hair had become streaked with silver, perhaps reflecting an aging of his spirit, as the dimming of his once bright gray eyes reflected the dullness in his empty heart.

Now, hearing his name spoken, Lindarinë looked toward his host, and there was suddenly a glimmer in his eyes that was not joy nor laughter, but a strange and unfamiliar sorrow.  “Olórin,” he answered softly, as if to speak any more loudly would cause his once musical voice to break.  For what seemed a moment that had no end, the Elf looked upon the friend he had avoided for so many years, afraid to see in him a painful reminder of happier times that seemed forever beyond his ability to regain, even briefly.  The sadness in his eyes blurred, as night’s mist is stirred by the first winds of dawn — and then suddenly, as if he had found a resolve he feared losing if he hesitated, he crossed the distance between them in a few long strides to embrace the Maia, who gladly returned the gesture of affection. 

“Forgive me!” the Teler all but whispered, his voice hoarse and full of the sorrow in his eyes, which overbrimmed as he dissolved into tears.

XV

“I had not intended to come here,” Lindarinë said some time later, after Olórin and Helyanwë had led him to the privacy of the currently empty verandah at the back of the cottage.  Others, Ványalos and the twins in particular, had reacted with concern when the Elf had greeted his host with such unexpected tears, but they had not interfered. Olórin had suggested that his old friend might wish a place of greater privacy where he could take a few moments to compose himself, and Helyanwë had firmly supported the suggestion.  The Istar noted with some interest the solicitous manner with which Helyanwë insisted on ensuring the sea-elf’s comfort before excusing herself to reassure the others and fetch refreshment for her traveling companion.  The verandah was peaceful, warm with the midday sun filtered through wind-stirred leaves; soft fragrances of blooming flowers, lush grasses, and freshly-turned earth were a pleasant presence on the breeze, as were the gentle sounds of the nearby stream and the rustling branches overhead.  Elf and Maia sat together, taking what pleasure they could from their surroundings; Lindarinë was clearly reticent, but Olórin had learned enough of patience to refrain from pressing him, glad though he was to see his old friend.  Long minutes passed before Lindarinë was finally able to bring himself to speak, and as he did so, he only glanced at his host from time to time, seemingly reluctant to meet his perceptive but compassionate gaze. 

“I think that you know as well as anyone my mood of these past years, since my release from Mandos,” the Elf said, sparing Olórin one of those few glances.  “What was the purpose of returning to life, if it was to be an empty life?  I blamed many, you know.  The Valar, for not warning me that I would come back and find myself without kin.  Fëanor and his sons for caring more about benighted jewels than they did about the lives of others who had done them no wrong.  The Noldor in general, for following him and causing so much pain and grief both here in Aman and also in Endorë.  Even you and Ványalos and all of my friends who still lived, for showing me compassion and caring rather than joining me in anger against those who had harmed me and so many of my kin.  I did not think Lord Manwë and Lord Námo would have allowed me to leave the Halls had I not conquered such feelings, but I realized the error of that assumption shortly after I was allowed to return to Eldamar.  I could not understand why they had permitted this.  I would rather have remained in the silence of the dark halls than return to life when all I could feel was pain and bitterness.”

“The ways of the Valar are often difficult to comprehend,” Olórin answered gently.  “Lord Námo in particular acts upon the prompting of things he knows of which not even Lord Manwë is aware.  Yet if they agreed that the time had come for you to be brought back into the realm of the living, they did so because they believed it was not only warranted, but that this was written to be your fate.  You did no wrong when Fëanor and his followers spilled blood in Alqualondë.  I know you, Lindarinë, and I know that you could not have so much as lifted a hand to hurt another, even if it meant that your own life would be forfeit.  Unless you have thoroughly hidden some darker truth of the matter, you died in innocence, treacherously slain by a blow struck from behind while you were attempting to guide others to safety.  The deaths of so many who shared your fate has long brought deep sorrow to all the Valar, and when they could, I know they wished to repair the great damage that was done to the families of the Teleri who were so betrayed.  They certainly must have known that your kin would not be with you if you returned to life, but they must have believed that your strong friendships with others would support you in the days to come.  I am sure they did not intend for you to suffer.”

“The Halls are not a place of full healing for all who enter,” another voice agreed, that of Turgon as he emerged from the house, bearing a tray with the refreshment Helyanwë had prepared for Lindarinë.  As he set it on the low table near the sea-elf’s seat, the former king favored the newest guest with a grave but compassionate expression.  “I myself did not truly understand this until long after I had been allowed to leave.  I know many others who have gone to Mandos and returned, and for each, it seems the experience is different.  We are restored to innocence, but we are not forever shriven of our memories, and they can tarnish that innocence.  The time we spend in Mandos, if time it can be called, gives us a chance to reflect upon the life from which we had been sundered, and to gain wisdom, if we may, from reflecting upon all that we have done in a place where there is naught to distract us.  I had much to reflect upon, as did most all the others I know who have returned.   Elenwë had less to contemplate, for like you, she never raised hand nor word against another.  Her stay would also have been brief, had she not wished to wait for me to return to Aman, in whatever manner was to be my fate.  Yet even she was not as innocent as you; she made the choice to follow me into exile, as I followed my kin out of loyalty to them, though I would not swear Fëanor’s abominable oath.  You did nothing, and so there was naught for you to ponder as you waited.”

Lindarinë snorted softly; his tone was mild rather than harsh when he spoke.  “Was there not?  I do not think the bitterness in my heart was caused by nothing.”

“Perhaps not,” Olórin said, able to sense that there would not be friction between the two of the type so typical between the returned Noldorin Exiles and the Teleri of Aman who had suffered in the Kinslaying.  He was relieved by it.  “But for some, the answers to the pains of life do not lie in Lord Námo’s halls.  If he and Lord Manwë agreed that the time had come for you to be released, it was likely because they both saw that your healing would be found here in the world of the living, not in isolation among the dead.  I have tried to help you find such a cure, as have so many others who knew and loved you before that tragic day.  It has long grieved me that you would not allow me to give you what aid I could, as you yourself once aided me in finding the path I needed to return to life and joy.”

A small, bemused frown creased the Maia’s fair face.  “And yet, when you arrived just now, you asked me to forgive you.  For what?  I pray that you are not about to tell me that you have utterly despaired of life....”

To his relief, Lindarinë shook his head, the silver in his dark braids glinting like mithril in the leaf-dappled sun.  He looked up at Turgon for a moment, and gestured for the Noldo to join them, since he seemed reluctant to leave.  “No,” he said with a sigh as Turgon found a seat on a nearby bench.  “But not because I found life worth living, I am ashamed to admit.  Unbearable  though many days have seemed since my release, none were so black that I wished to return to the dark halls.  Had I felt closer to the kin I lost in Mandos, I might have chosen to go back, once I realized that they would not be here to greet me.  I have heard others, such as Turgon, speak of the choices they were offered before they left Mandos.  I cannot recall having been given such options, and I fear that is much of the reason I rejected the counsel and comfort you and Ványalos and others of my friends offered to me after my release.  It felt to me as if I had been cast out as a thing unwanted, not granted release, and it has taken long for me to understand that I was indeed given a choice.  I could not remember it, for I chose swiftly and with the certainty that what I wished to find when I was returned to life would be waiting for me when I came forth.  I have regretted my haste, far too often.  But,” he added, taking another deep breath and releasing it slowly, “though I have lived too much of this new life I was given with my eyes and ears closed to all around me, my eyes, at least, have again been opened.”

His gray-green eyes flicked once more toward Turgon, who answered with a crooked smile.  “You know that we did not ask you to travel with us, intending such a thing to happen,” the Noldo said, his chiding gentle.  “If you must blame someone for this, turn to Elenwë, for it was her suggestion that we ask you to join us on our journey when she found that you and Helyanwë were passing through Tirion at the same time we were about to depart.”

“I blame no one,” said Lindarinë, “least of all your lady wife, who has never treated me with aught but kindness.  Helyanwë also wished us to travel together, though it was your lady who was responsible for leading me to this revelation, for which I am grateful.”

Olórin listened to their exchange with interest.  “Do my ears deceive me, or does it sound as if you are better acquainted with one another than I would have guessed?”

“They do not deceive you,” Turgon was first to confirm.  “I have never quite understood it, being that she is of the Vanyar, but for some reason,  Elenwë enjoys the sea.  Before the port of Tirion was built, we often visited Alqualondë so that she might indulge her strange fondness for the deep waters and the shores.  For some even more peculiar reason, she has enjoyed Lindarinë’s company ever since she first met him while walking along the quay, watching the mariners at work mending nets and sails.  She has surpassing skill with needle and thread, and she has said that only among the sail-makers of the Teleri has she seen a male capable of handling a needle with deftness equal to that of even a clumsy female.  I could scarcely refute her claim, since I have no skill at all with such things, but it pleased me that she was able to find friends among the Teleri who would not hold my Noldorin blood against me — or who would come to forgive me my unfortunate heritage for the sake of my fair wife.”

“She is a great treasure,” Lindarinë said most graciously.  “She has been one of very few who were able to stir me from my ceaseless misery, simply by knowing how to distract my thoughts with familiar everyday matters.  And through her, I began to understand that I could not hold all the Noldor to blame for what was driven by the madness of a few.  You drew no blade against my people; indeed, none of those who wantonly slew my kin have been released from the Halls, or lived to return when the Ban was lifted.  It was not Noldorin blood that caused tragedy so long ago; it was individuals armed with sword and pride and anger who committed the crime.  We of the Teleri were not the only ones who suffered; those such as Lady Elenwë died as well, for no greater crime than showing loyalty to those whom they loved.  And even the greatest of crimes can be forgiven, when a just price has been paid.”

Olórin’s eyes widened with gentle surprise.  “Wisely spoken, old friend.  I hope others of the Teleri have also gained such wisdom with the passing years.”

Lindarinë cleared his throat before tendering a reply.  “Others more than I, I am sure,” he admitted.  “Although I have known Lord Turgon and Lady Elenwë for some time, I was not so eager to extend my forgiveness to others of the Exiles returned.  My lord Olwë has not been especially forgiving, and his bitterness has been shared by many, myself included.  It has only been since your ship came to us this past autumn that I have heard another Telerin voice from the ancient times speak eloquently on behalf of the Noldor, and their suffering.  I had heard of the one called Círdan from those who have come West from the Havens of Mithlond, but though I had seen the great beauty and craft of the ships he built and sent into the West, I had not believed that any Elf who had refused the Great Journey could truly be wise.”

The Maia smiled, rather impishly.  “Then you certainly did not know Círdan, who he was and from whence he came.  The age you see upon him is the weight of many thousands of years of living, and surviving in a world where evil saps the strength of even the strongest.  All he has experienced has given him great wisdom, though he has never flaunted it.  It was his own choice to remain in Middle-earth when Ulmo asked it of him.  For more than three long ages, he has endured far more than Olwë or Elwë — and yet his heart is more easily moved to pity and forgiveness.  He has known sorrow because of the deeds of some of the Noldor, but never has he held all their people accountable for the acts of a few.  Was it he who finally persuaded you to come here with Helyanwë?”

But Lindarinë shook his head.  “Not precisely.  I had heard him speak of some of the things you have mentioned, not attempting to lecture those of us who have never left Aman, but simply telling tales of what befell the Teleri of his acquaintance who did not come West.  I do understand that I had made presumptions that were not true.  When he heard of my young cousins and their predicament, he did not chastize me for being hesitant to come to their aid, even though he had known them and their parents far better than I, when they dwelt together at the Havens in the East.  He told me, in fact, that though he had fostered the children of others in Middle-earth, he had always been uneasy at the outset, fearing that he had lived alone too long to be suitable as a guardian.  Although things turned out well, he felt that his success was more the result of blessings from above than any particular skill on his own part.  And even though his foster son Ereinion had been released from Mandos before he arrived here, he had never truly forgiven himself for failing to defend him adequately during the wars with Sauron. After listening to his honesty, I felt I should at least attempt to be certain that I would make the proper choice."

He loosed a sigh of remorse.  "Helyanwë had pointed out, quite rightly, that I should make the effort to meet with my young cousins again at some neutral place, where I could at least feel that I was surrounded by friends who would have no reason to pressure me to become their guardian simply because of the traditions and customs of my people.  I left Alqualondë with what I felt were good intentions, but I began to have misgivings shortly after we passed through Tirion and met with Turgon’s company.  It seemed too convenient to me that so many people were saying that I should be free to make my own choice, uncoerced, yet were taking such great pains to arrange for this supposedly neutral meeting.  I soon decided that when we had passed through the Calacirya, I would tell Helyanwë that I wished to return home.  The errand she and others had devised to lend additional persuasion to bring me here was a trivial matter that could have been accomplished by anyone; my presence was not required, and I had begun to resent the feelings that I was being manipulated for the purposes of others.”

Olórin sighed, the sound full of sympathy.  “I am well acquainted with such feelings,” he said, thinking back upon the forced company of Aránayel.  “Yet you are here.  What changed your heart?”

Lindarinë looked away for a time, as if debating whether or not he wished to respond; then he turned his face back to the Maia, his eyes full of self-recrimination.  “Our brief stop outside Valmar.  It is apparently the Lady Elenwë’s custom to visit Ezellohar at times of festival.”

“It is,” Turgon confirmed.  “She greatly mourned the loss of the Trees, and after our return from Mandos, she made it a tradition to go to the place where once they stood, at the times of year when we offer thanks to Eru Ilúvatar for the beauties and bounties of this world He made for us.  She gives thanks for such things every day, of course, but she is moved to make greater gestures of respect during times of festival, to remember what has gone before, both in joy and in sadness.  I have never objected to her wishes in this matter, for I feel moved in very similar ways.  Yet this was not the first time Lindarinë had come with us on such a journey.”

When Olórin’s curious glance turned to the sea-elf, he explained.  “Twice or thrice before, Lady Elenwë convinced me to join them in their memorial.  I have long suspected that she hoped to draw me into the more pleasant aspects of the festivals, but she never succeeded.  The last time I accompanied them was several years ago, before my young kin arrived.  When Lady Elenwë asked if I would join her in this memorial, I agreed more out of appreciation for her past kindness to me than because of any desire to see the place where the events that had brought ruin to my life had begun.  I...."

He hesitated, glancing down at his hands.  He spoke more softly.  “I did not know that Ezellohar is no longer the same.”

Olórin did not understand what he meant until the Elf looked up again, his gaze steady, but his eyes bright with unshed tears.  “Until then, I had not seen the body you surrendered, the one in which you had been sent in disguise to Endorë.  Yet I had heard many tales of your mission there, and how you went only because Lord Manwë insisted you go.  You were afraid, and still you went, and suffered greatly for it.”

“As was my duty, Lindarinë,” the Istar reminded him.  “There were many more who lived in Middle-earth who had even greater reason than I to fear Sauron.  It was their world and their lives that he threatened, and I would have been abandoning my purpose here in Eä to refuse to help them, no matter how frightened I was.”

“I know.  And I also know that you almost paid a terrible price in following the command of your lord and in the final fulfillment of your duty.  But even if you had gone full willing from the start, and there had been no dreadful repercussions from Lord Manwë’s command, it would not have changed the fact that you faced enemies and great dangers and bitter betrayals, the worst of which came from your own kind.  You would not have needed to go on such a mission if Sauron had not betrayed all your people by joining with Morgoth, then attempted to take his place as the Dark Lord after he was defeated.  You would not have been forced to carry on your mission alone if the four others who had been sent with you had stayed true to your appointed tasks, and had not fallen into folly, either of misguided purpose or selfish greed.  And you would not have ever known death if not for the wickedness of yet another fallen Maia.  You did no wrong to any of them, and yet they all turned against you, abandoning you in your time of need, or bringing you direct harm to further their own ends.  Is this so different a fate from the one I suffered in Alqualondë, those many centuries ago?”

It was not difficult for Olórin to follow his reasoning; the fair head shook.  “No, it is not so different.  I knew that I had gone to Middle-earth to face enemies, but I did not expect to face enemies who had begun as my allies.  We were not intended to contest Sauron directly, but to help the people whose world it was to defeat the evil that sought to destroy them.  I certainly did not anticipate what would become of my fellow Istari, Curumo’s betrayal least of all.  And though I had suspicions that the evil in Moria might be one of Morgoth’s servants who had escaped his defeat, I had long thought it might be a dragon or some other fell creature he had bred, for those who knew the truth had chosen to conceal it, no doubt prompted by a terrible fear.  It would have been easier for us to face Glaurung himself.  But what choice did I have?  The Balrog was there, and I was duty and honor bound to protect those I had been sent to help.  My life was of little consequence beside their need, and the need for hope to survive long enough to win Sauron’s defeat.”

Lindarinë’s nod was heavy with regret.  “I have heard the tales of what befell you during your long labors in Endorë, and I have found that at heart, none are exaggerated.  Whether it was out of duty or honor or love, you took up a heavy burden — and I had not truly understood how heavy it was until I saw the empty hröa that had been yours, preserved there between the remains of the Trees on Ezellohar.  I have never seen a Man with my own eyes, nor the ways in which time and the cares of the world weigh upon their flesh.  The death of the body is not the same for an Elf as it is for a mortal, nor is the aging.  I was surprised by Círdan’s appearance when I first met him, yet even as ancient and weary as he seemed before the healing of Aman gave him back some measure of what he had lost, it was not the same as what I saw when I looked upon that empty shell upon the once-green hill.  You were asked to do impossible deeds with so little, at terrible risk to yourself, to your very soul, but when you accepted the burden, you did not set it aside, despite the difficulties you surely must have faced in that form you were required to wear.  When I saw it, I felt shame so great, I knew I could not return home as I had planned.”

“Shame?” Olórin echoed.  “Why?  You did not send me in that guise, nor did you create the evil that made it necessary for me to go....”

“No.  But in the years before your departure, after I had been released from Mandos, you reached out the hand of friendship to me time and again, offering the light to help me find a way out of my inner darkness, and I shunned it.  All the things I had expected to find when I returned from the Halls of Waiting were here indeed — not embodied in my kin, but in my friends who would have done or given anything for me, if I had but accepted the love they offered.  I have wallowed in self-pity for two ages of the world, and my misery was ultimately of my own making.  I could not let go of my anger and my pride long enough to remember that you offered your help not for glory or gain or even vengeance, but simply because you cared for my well-being and wanted to see me happy again — as I had once wanted for you, when you first came to Lórien.  That is why I asked for your forgiveness a short time ago.  You tried to give me what I clearly needed, and I did not trust in our friendship enough to accept that gift.  Such pride is inexcusable — as inexcusable as my stubborn refusal to succor my young cousins, who have no other living kin.  Helyanwë wanted me to come here to meet with them again because she felt that in a neutral place, with friends about who would not try to sway my decision, I might come to know them better — more honestly, at least.  I must confess that I agreed mostly because I have grown fond of her and did not wish to utterly disappoint her.  I never planned to do more than play out the charade, until we went to Valmar, and my eyes were opened.  I could see then how others, like you, had made many sacrifices, for others and for me, and that I had been incredibly selfish in turning my back on my cousins.  I cannot promise that I will make a good guardian for them, not after the life I have lived since that dreadful day in Alqualondë, but I understand that I should try, at the very least.”

Turgon spoke up, his tone both gentle and sympathetic.  “You should not be too hard on yourself, my friend.  I know how difficult it can be to carry on when you feel as if you have lost your entire world.  If my daughter and our people had not needed me to lead them across the treacherous ice, I would have returned to Valinor after Elenwë died during the crossing of the Helcaraxë.  There have been many times when I have looked back on my decision to follow Fëanor, and even now, I cannot say why I chose to do it.  I have always felt that his desire to reclaim the Silmarils was wrong, and that his Oath was sheer madness, and why I pressed on even after the journey had cost me my beloved wife....”

He shook his head.  “In hindsight, it would have been wiser to lead those who followed me back to their homes in Aman, but also in hindsight, had I done so, I might well have sealed the doom of the Noldor, and Middle-earth, forever, condemning those who went into exile to life under the hand of Morgoth with no hope of ever finding pardon and aid from the Valar.  For there would have been no Eärendil to come hither and plead for both his parent kindreds had my daughter Idril never wed Tuor of the Edain.  It is far too easy to blame ourselves for things we cannot change, and it always more difficult to move forward than to look back.  But we cannot do the one if we spend too much time indulging in the other.”

“Truly spoken,” Olórin commended. “The choices I myself made were never easy, Lindarinë, but I have tried to not allow myself to be overly burdened by the past.  Perhaps to you, it seems that I had only to make the decision to board a ship and sail from Aman to Endorë, but it was never so.  When first I went, I had to choose to give up much of what I am in order to abide by the will of Valar, and when I returned after my death in Moria, it began not as a voyage from Mandos or these blessed shores, but from the Timeless Halls and the presence of Eru Ilúvatar.”

His voice fell as he remembered, more clearly than ever, the moment when that choice had been laid before him, and the bitter stab of pain he had felt in knowing the inevitable decision, far worse than any misgivings he had experienced in conceding to Manwë’s command that he go as one of the Istari. There was no comfort in knowing that he could not have done otherwise; the intense feeling of loss was greater than any he had ever known, before or since.  Even the memory of that ache took his breath away, and he needed a moment to collect himself to continue.  “It was the most difficult decision I had ever made — indeed, I suspect I will never be asked to make a choice more painful.  To give the aid I knew was still sorely needed in Middle-earth, I was required to choose to leave behind the place all the Ainur of Eä long to be, and of my own free will be again trapped and hindered by mortal flesh, to fight enemies of my own kind not to help my own people, but to help peoples who would never fully understand and appreciate all I had done and all I had given up for their sake.  I do not believe anyone truly comprehends how terrible a choice this was, and that if I had never been pressed to take up a task I did not want, I would not have been faced with that awful decision.”

Even as he said the words, a light of new understanding began to dawn in Olórin’s thought, a gleam of a connection to other troubling matters, but he did not have time to ponder his own affairs, as Lindarinë spoke once again.  “I doubt it not,” the Elf said quietly.  “And that is why seeing the hröa that had been imposed upon you touched me so deeply.  I did not know the specifics of all you had done and had been required to do, but I knew enough to feel ashamed by my own reluctance to help my young kin.  I have never had children under my care, but I remember sufficient of my own childhood to know that it is not necessarily a burden — indeed, that it can have many joys, certainly far more than you were assured of when you went to Middle-earth, and when you tried to help me recover from the despair that clung to me after my return from Mandos.  And that is why I asked your forgiveness.  You have always been my friend, and have had my happiness and my best interests at heart even when I treated you as if you were my enemy.  I denied you and your good intentions out of bitter self-pity, thinking only of myself and how I had been so terribly wronged, no other could possibly understand my pain.  But you did understand — you have always understood.”

“Not as clearly as I do now,” the Maia admitted.

Lindarinë  shrugged.  “Perhaps, but that is not the issue.  Your kindness and caring toward me has always been sincere, and motivated by the love of a friend, not the love of self.  I was so deeply mired in my own pity, I did not want to remember this.  For that, I am sorely ashamed, and it is for that which I ask your forgiveness.  My eyes were opened upon Ezellohar, and though I cannot bring back the years I lost to the darkness of my spirit any more than the Valar were able to bring back the light of the poisoned Trees, I can at least hope to salvage what I can of our friendship that might have been.”

The brightness of Olórin’s answering smile was like the parting of clouds on a gloomy day, bringing the rays of the sun into a world too long bereft of light.  “Our friendship is no less now than it was in the years before the sun and moon,” he said, his own elation bright in his voice.  “The clouds of past misfortunes may have brought sadness between us, but never have you done or said anything to make me love you any the less.  And there is no doubt in my heart that even those sorrows and troubles will but strengthen our friendship, for now, we both have known death, and rebirth, and have become wiser for it.”

Lindarinë began to refute that claim, but when the Istar rose to embrace him, a gesture of both forgiveness and joy, he had not the heart to gainsay him.   Turgon, who had anticipated this reconciliation, looked on with a silent smile for a time, then sighed, a sound of contentment rather than frustration.  “Elenwë will be pleased to hear of this,” he said, “if I may speak of it to her, Lindarinë.  She has prayed that you would let go of the bitterness of the past, for she could see the unhappiness it brought you, and she has also wished that your heart would change toward your young cousins.  She and I have had only one child, and she has told me that her greatest regret in dying during the crossing of the Helcaraxë was the knowledge that she might forever be separated from Idril, and never have a chance to see her wed, or begin a family of her own.  There are few orphans in this land, but she would take in every one of them, if she could.  Had you continued to refuse to become the guardian of these twins, Elenwë would have offered to take them into our home, but she knows as well as I that it is far better for them to be with kin.”

The sea-elf took a deep breath, having been only marginally successful in holding back the tears of his confused emotions.  “She may yet have that chance, if I prove to be an unsuitable guardian, but I will try my best, I promise.”

“You will do well, I think,” Olórin assured him.  “You know that you will have whatever help I can offer, and I am certain many others will lend the same support.  Círdan may speak of his doubts over such matters, but he was an excellent foster father to many youngsters in need of such aid.  I daresay he may also prove to be a fount of valuable advice when it comes to raising children alone, without the help and influence of a spouse.”

To the Maia’s surprise, Lindarinë suddenly flushed and looked away; his puzzlement was answered by a new voice.  “Mayhap that will be advice less needed than it seems,” Helyanwë said as she stepped out onto the verandah to join them.  She moved to stand beside Lindarinë; when she laid her hand upon his shoulder, he covered it with one of his own in a gesture of clear affection.

Olórin blinked as his thoughts suddenly put together the scattered pieces of a puzzle he had not even realized existed.  A moment later, he grinned and laughed, kindly.  “Ah, so it was not only your experience in Valmar that persuaded you to this course,” he said to the Teler.  “Even before I went to the house of Nienna to meet the twins, it seemed to me that Helyanwë spoke of you with greater warmth than was her wont, but I mistakenly presumed that was because of her feelings toward your young cousins.”

“We have been acquainted far longer,” Lindarinë admitted.  “Helyanwë was appointed to aid me during the days I spent in the house of Lady Nienna after my release from Mandos.  She bore the brunt of my grief and anger, which you saw only after it had had some years to temper, when you returned from your tasks in Endorë at the end of the First Age.  She has often encouraged me to renew the friendship of those I had known in Lórien, and in all the years since my release, she has returned to counsel me when I began to despair of life.  I know that at first, it was naught but a part of her duty, but it has become more.”

“It is no surprise that we did not meet together, all three, until now,” Helyanwë added.  “The times in which I counseled Lindarinë were often after his hope for life could not be stirred by his friends who loved him, and you have had many other duties that have taken you far from these shores, Olórin.  The affection that has grown between us began long before the arrival of his young cousins.”

Olórin’s glance turned to the silver-haired Maia.  “Does Lady Nienna know of this — wait, do not answer,” he said quickly, gesturing to curtail her reply.  “Of course she does.  She does nothing without full knowledge of her purpose, and she would not have sent you to counsel Lindarinë time and again if she did not know of your feelings, and approved of them.   No doubt she counted upon them as a means to succor the young twins.  And I shall not ask for any details of your relationship, save to wish you happiness.”

Helyanwë smiled.  “Thank you, Olórin, I had no doubt that you would be pleased.  We have Lord Turgon to thank as well, for he recognized what we had been attempting so hard to hide from each other, and persuaded us to end such foolishness.  There are some things in life too precious to waste, even for a moment.  That we are immortal does not change that wisdom.”  She inclined her head toward the erstwhile king in thanks.

“Indeed,” Turgon agreed, also smiling broadly.  “I regret every moment of the years I was parted from Elenwë, and though we were reunited, I cannot help but feel that had she been at my side during the years of Exile, things might have gone quite differently, for the better.”

“And I did not agree to come only because Helyanwë asked and I did not wish to disappoint her,” Lindarinë said, only a mild note of defensiveness in his voice.  “As I have told you, there were other matters to persuade me, one that involved your perian companion.”

The Istar’s eyes widened.  “Frodo?  You have not mentioned him before.  What business could you have with him?”

A long-missed smile crept across Lindarinë’s face while Helyanwë’s smile evolved into a silvery laugh.  “All in good time, old friend.  Our business with Frodo was, I must admit, a bit of a ruse to persuade Lindarinë to at least begin the journey to Lórien, but Master Baggins was full willing to participate, and the ruse was not without a greater leavening of truth.  Perhaps it is time we dealt with these matters.  Come, the others await.”

XVI

Those inside the house had settled down to enjoy the refreshment their hosts had prepared; as the day was still fair, many of Turgon’s party had moved to the pleasant surroundings of the porch and lawn before the cottage.  With the willing assistance of Ványalos and the twins and even Aránayel, Frodo happily saw to the comfort of the guests, although most showed him great deference, knowing that through him, Sauron’s defeat had at last been achieved.  When those who had sought quiet on the verandah returned to join the others, Lindarinë was most insistent that Frodo take at least a few moments from his tasks to sit with them.  “I see no one here who is not capable of attending their own needs,” the Teler said as he cajoled the hobbit into taking a seat near the central hearth.  “And while I have been told that the Hobbits are most gracious and generous hosts, I would like to have a chance to show that we of the Elves can be equally gracious and generous guests.”

When Frodo was seated, with a small but curious audience gathered nearby, Lindarinë settled into a chair beside which an oddly shaped cloth-wrapped item had been placed.  He lifted the largish thing into his lap, still smiling at Frodo while he carefully undid the cords that fastened the cloth.  “I should remind you, Master Baggins, that it was by your request that others persuaded me to return to Lórien.  There were other reasons, I grant, but it was yours that began the sequence of events which led me here.  I have not forgotten it, and I think now that I am most grateful for it.  Something was needed to stir my heart, and while other matters have done so more profoundly since I left Alqualondë, none have touched me in quite the same fashion.  For that, I thank you, and offer this gift.”

As the Elf pulled aside the now-loosened dark canvas, Frodo was the not the only one to gasp at what was revealed.  In his arms, Lindarinë cradled a small lap harp of an Elven style that was distinctly Telerin.  It had been carved of polished silver mallornwood; its pillar and neck had been embellished with intriguing designs like the swirling waves of the sea; the sounding board was set with pearl inlay in the shapes of many finely detailed shells, and it had been strung with wires of gleaming silver.  Though the colors and designs were different, the work was clearly that of the same artist who had made Olórin’s harp.  Lindarinë plucked a single chord, and the sweet sound shivered in the air for a long, lovely moment. 

A hesitant smile touched Lindarinë’s face.  “When I was told that you were interested in pursuing an education in music and were in need of some instrument on which you might learn, I knew this was the perfect answer to your need, and I give it to you gladly.  This harp was mine when I was quite young,” he explained, both to Frodo and the others gathered 'round them. “It was given to me by Caladar, a woodcrafter of high renown who was the elder brother of my mother, Cualle.  His primary work was in shipbuilding, but for pleasure, he made many other things and gifted them wherever he felt they would be most appreciated.  It was he who fashioned the harp I gave Olórin many years ago, which I understand he has not forgotten how to play.”

As the Maia smiled brightly at his old friend, Frodo remembered the story Olórin had told him about his harp’s origins, and the Elf who had seemingly lost the joy of living. Seeing him now, in the flesh and not merely as described by others, he could sense that Lindarinë still held an air of sadness about him, but that he was at last beginning to understand the need to let it go.  Given his own past and its lingering pains, he was glad to see the Teler taking the first steps toward his own healing.  “No, he hasn’t,” the hobbit  agreed, “and your uncle’s handiwork is extremely beautiful.  Olórin and Ványalos have both told me of your love of music, and my only thought was that you might be willing to help a poor hobbit by loaning some old castoff you had lying about.  I could never hope to repay you for such a gift...!”

Lindarinë’s smile became a bit brighter, less tenuous.  “If you learn to use it as well as you are able, that will be payment enough.  Olórin paid him no more than that when he was given his own harp, and my uncle wished for nothing more.  Caladar made this for me when I was a youth no taller than you, and doubtless less skillful of hand, as children are. I have not used it in many, many years, both because I had moved on to learn other instruments I preferred, and because I had lost the heart to make music after the tragedy which struck down so many of my kin.  I should like to see this played again and not sit idle, gathering dust; it would please me very much if you used it to learn upon.  Knowing its voice is singing once more would bring to mind the fairer days I have too long forgotten, and perhaps help me to forget the darkness instead, as you have done.  For that is part of why you wished me to come to Lórien, is it not?”

Frodo inclined his head in gracious acceptance of his gentle rebuke.  “It is.  Forgive me if I presume too much, but I take it your uncle was also lost.”

The sea-elf nodded, sadness again touching his fair face.  “Yes, he remains in Mandos, but not because he has been denied release, or has despaired of life.  He remains in the hope that he will be allowed to speak to those of my kin who have remained obstinate and will not repent of their evils; so Lord Manwë told me on the day I returned to the living.  He did not say that it was a vain hope, so good may yet come of it.  But all things happen at their appointed times, especially in the realm of Lord Námo.”

“And did you come today only because you wanted to bring this?  Did others have to trick you into seeing us again?”

The unexpectedly bitter questions came from Lére.  Helyanwë began to chide him for his rudeness, but Lindarinë stayed her with a touch of his hand.  “His questions are not unjust,” the Teler said with regret.  He turned to face the boy and his sister.  Melui also wore an expression of concern, though she had held her tongue.  Lindarinë sighed.  “At first, yes, I’m afraid what you say was true.  I saw no point in meeting with you again — not because I dislike you, but because I did not think it wise for me to bring children into my house.  It is an empty and lonely place, full of the grief and darkness of all the long years I have spent mourning the past and those who are lost to me.  I would have been a cheerless guardian, and I had no wish to make you suffer in my care.  Chill and gray as the halls of the Lady Nienna might be, they are warmer and more inviting to those who wish to enjoy life than my home.  I thought that by refusing to be your guardian, I would spare all of us considerable unpleasantness.”

“But you never asked if that’s what we wanted,” Melui pointed out.  “No one ever asked or cared about what we thought, except for Helyanwë and Mithrandir.”

Puzzlement over the unfamiliar name creased Lindarinë’s brow; Helyanwë provided an answer for the child.  “Olórin cares because that is his nature, as he cared for you even before you came to these shores.  For myself, I know that I grew more fond of you than perhaps was wise, for I knew that it would be best for you to live among your own people, not mine.  But because they did not ask such things in words you could hear does not mean that others were not concerned for your welfare, and your happiness.  Lady Nienna is quite fond of you indeed, and has had naught but your good in mind in all she has done for you.  Aránayel is not so demonstrative as I, but I cannot believe she has tutored you only because she was commanded to do so.”

When she glanced at the auburn haired Maia who was standing beside the door to the kitchen, near enough to hear but not so close as to seem intrusive, Aránayel pressed her lips together, as if biting back a response she realized would be taken poorly.  She hesitated for a moment to compose herself, then adopted a more genial expression.  “It would not be truthful to say that I would have volunteered my services in this manner,” she admitted, her glance flicking from Helyanwë to Olórin before returning to the children.  “I have never been close to the children of the Eldar, of any of the kindreds, and I had no experience in instructing them.  But it would also be untruthful to say that I have not taken some pleasure from the task.  If I have seemed harsh and unfeeling at times, no doubt it has been the result of unfamiliarity, both with you and the work I had been asked to do.  I was charged to do what was best for you, but I did not always know what that might be.”

“Nor did I,” Lindarinë said, his words directed to the twins.  “I have lived too long, alone and aloof from others.  I did not begin this journey with your welfare in mind, but much has happened along the way to make me reconsider my rash rejection of you, who are my kin.  If you are willing to forgive my past rudeness toward you, I will do my best to make a place for you in my heart and in my home.”

“In Alqualondë?” Lére asked, frowning.  “We don’t know anyone in Alqualondë.”

“We don’t really know anyone in Eldamar,” Melui added, wistfully.

Olórin, however, favored them with a compassionate smile.  “Ah, but that is not true, Melui.  I for one will not forget you, and wherever you live, I shall be more than happy to visit, as often as I may.  And am I mistaken, or do you not know Lord Círdan quite well indeed?  From what I recall, he was as another father to your mother after her own father was slain in battle, and from what I saw during my last visits to the Havens, Círdan was as dear as a grandfather to both of you.”

Lére blinked, eyes wide.  “I didn’t know he was here,” he admitted.  “When did he arrive?  Why weren’t we told?”

“For the same reasons you did not know Olórin had come West,” Helyanwë answered.  “He and Círdan came aboard the same ship, during the time when you still were not able to speak or tell us anything of yourself.  Even after you were able to tell us of yourselves, Círdan certainly had his own reasons for encouraging Lindarinë to accept the responsibility —  but had Lindarinë continued to refuse, Círdan himself would have taken you into his household.  He simply felt it best that you have a chance to live with your true blood kin before he made such an offer.  Rest assured, he has not forgotten you, and if you come to live with Lindarinë, you will see enough of Círdan to feel as if he is living in the same house.  And he will not be the only familiar face you will see in Alqualondë.  I myself have grown very fond of both the city and your cousin, and I have asked Lady Nienna’s permission to make my dwelling there.”

That announcement won immediate reactions of joy from the twins; their squeals of delight won broad smiles from most of the adults, as well as a few winces at the piercing sound.  “Will you live close by?” Melui asked when she had contained her excitement enough to speak at a more appropriate volume.  “Will we see you as often as we did in Lady Nienna’s house?”

“More often, perhaps,” Lindarinë said with his own wry grin.  “Your governess and I have grown quite dear to each other since my release from the Halls, and if those above us will grant us their blessing, we would like to be wed at the coming festival.  It marks the beginning of the new year among the Eldar, and I can think of no more appropriate time to begin a new life with one whom I love, and two whom I hope to love as well.”

This new announcement elicited sounds of delight and many words of congratulations from all the folk gathered 'round.  “That’s wonderful!” Frodo said, setting aside the harp and standing to bow to the couple in the Hobbit fashion.  “Weddings among my people are some of our happiest occasions.  I never expected that such a thing would occur while I was here, and I wish you both all the best.”

“If it is allowed,” Aránayel pointed out, her expression an indecipherable combination of many emotions — mostly negative, it seemed.  “As I recall, there was considerable disagreement among the Valar concerning Melian’s joining with one of the Eldar.  Had that never occurred, much of the grief that happened in the First Age might have been avoided.”

“Unlikely,” Olórin reflected after offering his own congratulatory embraces to both his friends.  “The troubles of the First Age stemmed largely from the actions of Melkor and Fëanor, and both had their roots here in Aman.  Had there been no kingdom of Doriath to stand against the darkness, matters would likely have grown worse, not better.  Elwë made mistakes, but even they served a purpose, ultimately saving one of the Silmarils for Eärendil to bear in the heavens and be a light to all of Arda in times of greater darkness.  Evil will have been good to have been, as others have said.  And there is certainly no evil that can come of this joy.”

Aránayel frowned at Helyanwë.  “And do you believe Lady Nienna will free you from her service simply to become the spouse of one of the Children?”

“She already has,” Helyanwë replied, blithely ignoring the scornful undercurrent in the question.  “She has known of the affection between us since it first began, and she has always encouraged it.  It is not her approval we seek, but that of Lord Manwë.  We do not wish to bear children of our own blood; thus, there will be no need to pursue the special conditions Melian required in her marriage to Elwë.  We will abide by Lord Manwë’s decision, but whether or not he approves, it will not change our feelings for one another.”

“And you believe that Lord Manwë would set aside thousands of years of custom, and give approval simply because you ask it?”

“I cannot imagine he would refuse!” was Ványalos’ exuberant opinion, completely overwhelming the effects of Aránayel’s bitter remark.  “It would be a blessing for many, and could bring only healing, not harm.  If Manwë could even imagine refusing, I know my Lord and Lady would intercede, and have him reconsider his decision.  There is no greater healing in all the world than love.  I now understand why you turned away our help when your life was so dark, old friend,” he said to Lindarinë, grinning impishly as he glanced from the Elf to Helyanwë.  “You were waiting for a brighter light, and a greater joy.”

Lindarinë flushed as the Maia embraced him and then Helyanwë, but his smile did not deny that Ványalos spoke the truth.  Turgon, grinning broadly, declared that a more proper celebration was in order, an idea that was heartily approved by all.

Or nearly all.  While others went to fetch wine to toast the couple, the twins babbled at them with excitement, wanting to know everything they could tell about Alqualondë and Lindarinë’s house and all the people they would meet in Eldamar.  While Olórin smiled to see his old friends so happy, and Lindarinë at last comfortable with the notion of fostering his young cousins, behind him, unseen, Aránayel slipped into the shadows of an out of the way corner.  Outside the circle of activity and merriment, she watched, her eyes following and measuring everything said and done with frightening intensity.  When the news had spread to the other members of Turgon’s party, she remained in her quiet detachment while they came to offer their good wishes and share in the celebration.  Before long, word had reached other residents of the hill country, folk who had once been friends and neighbors of Lindarinë, and soon many more were arriving to add their voices to the gladness, happy indeed to see the Elf who had once made his home in Lórien at last returning to a life of joy.  Aránayel remained carefully aloof, and when the time came to drink to the health of the couple, she was nowhere to be found.

**********

As evening approached and the clouds of the currently predictable rain came as herald to it, there were so many gathered to celebrate the joyful news that Olórin’s house could not possibly contain them all.  Unwilling to be deprived of such a unique reason to make merry, Mirimë and those of her household brought bright silks to make pavilions in the clearing before the cottage, so that all could gather to give praise for such a wondrous day as it drew to its close, despite the rain.  Food and drink was also brought, a feast more lavish than even a Hobbit could have prepared on such short notice, for all wished to make merry on behalf of Lindarinë and Helyanwë and the twins, who surely were looking forward to a joyful life together. 

The sudden influx of people and bustle of activity flustered Frodo, who had not anticipated such an unexpected throng.  Laughing, Olórin said that he reminded him of Bilbo and his reaction to the unexpected party of Dwarves that had descended upon Bag End, long ago.  Mention of that incident brought a fond smile to the hobbit's face, and a remark from the Istar that this time, it would be wiser if the Baggins of the house did not rush about in an attempt to accommodate so many.  Their neighbors had come prepared to arrange their own feast, and were well able to manage on their own, with a little direction from Ványalos, who took delight in overseeing such things. 

Instead, Olórin drew Frodo aside to the quiet of the verandah, so that they could have a better look at Lindarinë’s gift, for which the Maia promised he would provide instruction.  The sounds of Frodo’s first tentative plucking at the strings roused the interest of the twins and Lindarinë; the former came to admire the beautiful little harp, the latter to tell Frodo more of its history, and its little quirks, which were common to any instrument.  Helyanwë had lingered with them for a time, but soon went to meet with other guests and help with the preparations for the evening meal, delighted to see her beloved and his cousins interacting with growing ease, a sign that boded well for their future together.

The hill country had seldom seen a celebration of the evening as lovely as the one that gathered in and about Olórin’s house that day, despite the rain.  Along with canopies fashioned of Mirimë’s beautiful weavings were mingled the banners and pavilions of Turgon and his companions, the dark and vibrant jewel colors of Noldorin craft offset by the vivid hues of sea and shore that Mirimë had chosen in honor of their Telerin guests, in especial Lindarinë and the twins.  Ribbons made in all the colors of the rainbow were used to fasten and decorate the corners of the cloth roof and were also woven with many scented flowers, to honor Helyanwë.  Lanterns of delicate glass, fashioned by local Elven artisans, were hung inside the pavilions and filled with light by several of the Maiar in attendance, providing ample radiance without the danger of flame to burn the colorful canopies.  The carpets spread on the damp grass were lush and beautiful, the intricate designs of Mirimë and her weavers complementing the bolder patterns of those brought by Turgon’s companions.  Cushions and low tables were added both to hold the feast and for the comfort of the participants.  All was in order before the sunset; without a summons, all began to gather in the pavilions to sing praise for the day and the welcome of the night.

Having promised Frodo that he would find a suitable place to store the little harp, Olórin had remained behind for a few minutes while the hobbit led their guests outside, to join the others.  When the harp was safely in its new home, near the Istar’s own instrument, Olórin began to hurry out, thinking the house already empty.  As he passed the entrance to the kitchen, however, Ványalos emerged from the shadows and touched his arm to stay him.  Olórin did not protest, as he expected his neighbor to ask his help in carrying out some items for the feast, but the only thing the tall redhead bore was a look of profound concern.

“Have you seen Aránayel?” he asked softly, clearly fearing that she might be within earshot, but out of sight.  “I did not see her when Lord Turgon bid us drink to the future of our old friends, nor have I seen any trace of her since.”

“No, I must confess, my mind was otherwise occupied,” Olórin answered, also in subdued tones.  “I would say that it seems most unlike her to absent herself from such a large and festive gathering, but then, the circumstances are not what they once were.  She came here as a governess to two special children who were the subject of much concern to the Valar; now, her position has become meaningless, for her charges will go into the care of their cousin, and he will have Helyanwë to help him, as more than a servant in the household.  I do not believe she would simply flee, for her dislike of life in the north is genuine, and to run from her duties before being given formal release from them would not reflect well upon her.  I suspect she has found a place to be alone, away from this reminder that she is no longer needed here.  Have you returned to your own home since our friends made their happy announcement?”

The copper haired head shook.  “No, there has been much to do here.  Her things are still there, and I told her that the rooms I offered in my home would be hers for as long as she remained in Lórien. You are probably right, she is there sulking, and I am worrying over naught.  But as you know Aránayel better than I, I am better acquainted with Ornedil.  I cannot believe he would have warned us so strongly if he had not seen or heard something truly worthy of great concern.”

“Even the greatest of us sometimes make mistakes.  It may be that those of us who knew Aránayel in bygone days have had our vision clouded by mists of the past, and too long a separation.  So many years have fled since she was exiled to the north, can any of us who have not seen her in all that time truly know all the ways in which she might have grown and learned from her penance?”

A wry smiled twitched at one corner of Ványalos’s mouth.  “Ah, pityandil, you at the very least have not changed.  You are able to speak words of great wisdom and great naiveté in the same breath.  Was that not what led to your first difficulties with Aránayel?”

Olórin’s answering smile was also crooked.  “Being young and foolish and innocent and ignorant... aye, that was what led me into folly, but I hope that my wisdom at least has grown greater in the ages since.  I have no illusion that she is a wholly different person, for I have seen enough during this past week to know that much of the pride and anger that she turned on me long ago is still there.  But I have also seen that she is making a greater effort to temper it, and that should not be ignored.  Whatever means she is using, she is attempting to win her freedom from a long and overly harsh sentence, and I think she is at last coming to realize that bitterness and anger will only result in a continuation of her exile.  I cannot say if this new understanding is strong enough to win out over her bitterness, and her sincerity is certainly subject to doubt, but I will not judge her until I have seen more conclusive proof.”

Ványalos snorted softly.  “Then you would not mind if she took it into her head to seduce you?  That would certainly be proof of a great change in her attitude!”

But the Istar dismissed that with a wave of one hand.  “Only her methods, I fear, not her attitude. There is no true affection toward me involved in her recent schemes and posturing, and I believe she knows that I am aware of this.”

“Perhaps,” Ványalos allowed, without much conviction.  “I know it is not in your nature to harbor unreasonable suspicion against any, even your enemies, yet my heart warns me that Aránayel is still a danger to you. Please, Olórin, beware.”

The fairer Maia smiled earnestly.  “I have never doubted your heart, my old friend, and I owe too much to you for the healing of my own to disregard your advice.  I will be careful, I promise.  Now let us join the others before we offend our honored guests by causing them to harbor notions that we have disdained the celebration.”

**********

Frodo had indeed begun to wonder where the two neighbors had gone when the other visitors began to gather to sing their thanks for the day.  Despite the light rain, the hobbit could almost see the beauty of the sunsets of Aman in the colorful cloths raised as their roof, glowing in the light of many lamps.  He was about to return to the cottage when he saw the two Maiar heading out the front door, unbothered by the thickening mists of the evening.  The Elves had just begun their song in their usual manner when the pair joined their guests.  Aware of the reason Ványalos had remained behind, Frodo glanced at him, a question in his gaze, but he received no more than an indefinite shrug in reply.  Olórin, however, was smiling quite serenely; thus, the hobbit could only suppose that he had not been troubled by anything Ványalos had mentioned of his concerns.  When the assembled Maiar began their portion of the daily benediction, both Olórin and Ványalos raised their voices without hesitation...

...until they reached a passage in which the melody rose to a higher pitch, and a single voice soared to much greater heights, lifting up a descant of such intense and ethereal beauty, many of the other voices faltered in surprise.  Even those that did not turned to see the source of such wondrous sound, as did Frodo and the gathered Elves.  The hobbit gasped to see that Aránayel had arrived and had for once joined in the singing, but in such a fashion that no one could have failed to notice her magnificent voice.  She had emerged from the cottage shielded beneath a large shawl of plain gray fabric; once under the protection of the canopies, she let it fall aside, to reveal how she had carefully arrayed herself in elegant splendor to equal that of her voice.  Though Frodo had already perceived that she was fastidious, it was plain that this evening, she had prepared herself to make an impression upon any and all who laid eyes upon her.  Every aspect of her appearance had been arranged to take the greatest advantage of her every feature, so that none could look upon her and not admire her beauty, as the timing of her entrance drew the greatest attention to her singing.

After the first few moments of surprise had passed, neither of these things went unnoticed by Frodo, whose dealings with pretentious persons such as Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had long ago sharpened his perception for deliberate artifice.  Yet he was not as certain of Aránayel’s motives as he had been of Lobelia’s.  Was it her intent to take advantage of such an unusually large audience to impress them with herself and the ways in which she had changed?  Had she been offended by the way in which everyone’s attention had suddenly focused on the twins and their new guardians, and was determined to win back her share of their notice?  Did she have some even less obvious but potentially more nefarious goal in mind?

Frodo did not know, but when he looked to Olórin, seeking some sort of answer to this puzzle, he was struck by the strange expression on his face, and the fact that his skin had paled almost to the color of his white-blond hair.  His eyes held more than a suggestion of panic; they were filled with reflected memories, of times that could not be recalled without pain.  And seeing this, Frodo suddenly understood.  Aránayel had looked as she did now once before, on a day Olórin did not remember with fondness.  Then, he had been the one who asked and the one who was rejected, and now, it appeared that history was about to repeat itself, in reverse.

Frodo winced.  In spite of the rain, he had been looking forward to the feast, but now, it seemed as if storm clouds were rolling in, boding ill for the evening ahead.