For all of my Jewish friends in particular, and especially for Jeannette, John, Rebecca Ann, Dave, Kathy, Mark, and Renea. 

A Festival of Lights

And Let There Be Light!

            It is too dark my beloved, the Lady communicated to her Lord.  Ëa needs Light!  So saying, she began to sing and dance throughout the firmament, and where her foot fell, great spheres were left in her wake.  And to those she sang over, the Imperishable Flame came and set them burning.  She took them into her holy hands and set each in its place, some in great patterns, some scattered as bright jewels as if they formed a carpet fit for their company to tread.

            A few of this number her Lord’s brother Melkor took, giving them great density that darkened their fire, leaving each to serve as a focus for nebulae and galaxies, a place to which the stars might come at the end of the time for each.  Where Vána followed her sister some burst into full flower, becoming the nurseries for more stars to follow.  Aulë took many of the smaller spheres that did not burn into his keeping, making each rich with minerals, and set them spinning about such stars as pleased him.  Yavanna crooned to a few of these that were of a size that pleased her, and to them was given life of various sorts.

            Vairë and Nessa were soon putting many of those that blazed into even more intricate patterns, while Ulmo visited many of those that were solid, gifting them with water.  Irmo sang and invoked Atar’s will upon them, granting many the ability to impart dreams and possibly wisdom, and his brother Námo followed and read Atar’s messages shown forth in these and so learned much.  Tulkas laughed and roared with delight, and Nienna wept great tears of joy as they saw this universe begin taking the shape that Atar’s other children would know.  Estë watched all with interest, already foreseeing that from time to time her gift of healing might well be needed by each and all; and Oromë vowed to guard them all from whatever evil might seek to devour them.

            At last all was set into readiness, and the Lady offered all to Atar for His blessing.

            You have done well, my children.  All is almost ready for my other Children to know and love.

            He bent His will upon one of the smaller spheres that Aulë and Yavanna had both blessed, spinning about a yellow star, a silvery orb dancing about it.  Ah, this will do.  But for now we shall hide the star, that the Children not be affrighted or discomforted by its light.  Melkor, this shall be your task for now, to reduce this star and darken its fire—for a time.  And for now I shall hide also this other orb, perhaps out here between this smaller world and this great gas giant, in the same orbit as this iron-rich sphere I see Aulë has set his mark upon.  There will come a time when each will be needed as you set them, but that time is not yet.  Yes, that is right.  You have done well.  Now, enter into this world that you may see the wonders I shall work here.

            Manwë was the last to take a form fitting to this world, and before he did so, he breathed upon it and upon all of Ëa as directed by Atar, and so blessed it to the Creator’s will and usage.  And condensing himself, he joined the others of his sort upon the chosen world, curious to see just how his beloved consort’s creations should be used by their Father.

Ah, Elbereth Gilthoniel!  How great thy gift of Light to the Children of the Creator!

The Light Darkened and then Restored

            For a second time Melkor stood at bay before the company of the rest of the Valar.  A dark figure, he, seemingly the darker due to the empty socket in his iron crown from which one of the three Silmarilli had been cut.

            “You can do nothing to me!  For, behold!  Did not Atar Himself give me power to condense and darken the Light?  Did He not give me rule over the Darkness of Ëa?”

            Yea, Manwë answered him, so He did indeed, and none will question His wisdom in doing so.  But He did not give you the right to hoard all Light to yourself, or to deny it to the Children.  He did not give you the right to impose your will always upon them, or to turn them from the Light He set at the heart of all Creation to your own worship.  Dark was intended as a frame for Light, not as a curtain to hide it from all else!

            He turned his attention to Aulë, Oromë, and Tulkas, who among them held Angainor in readiness.  Let him be bound once more, and this time he shall be thrust beyond the Doors of Night, out into the Void, that he might no longer seek to darken all of Arda.  The Doors are of his own making, and now must hold him away from that he would seal solely to his own purposes.

            He shuddered as the crown was lifted from his brow by Varda, and as it fell to nothing in her hands, leaving merely the two remaining jewels that had burned him so in his taking of them.  He had thought that in taking them he would have been granted the beauty of their purity, but instead they had burned his hands black.  He hissed in pain as Angainor was again fastened upon him, holding him in the shape he’d taken so long ago to himself, and he found his hands again burned him past bearing.  Ah!  To be held apart from the Light he’d so coveted!  Why were these others granted such authority over him, to deny him the Light he could not create of himself?

            And then he was being thrust out of his own Doors, out into the Void!  He quailed the more, for having Sung them into being he knew that their pattern was now set, and what he’d intended to use against the others now held him away until the End of Time from the Light he so coveted.  And as the Doors closed him out, he saw that Light was being restored to those heedless, helpless lesser Children, and he wept, beating on them.  For it was dark, here in the Void….

Intended to be the Light-bearer, he fell instead.  His own Darkness filled him rather than enhancing the beauty of the Light he was to have shown forth.

The Light Shadowed

            At least come with me and listen to him! Mairon insisted of his brother in the Thought of Ilúvatar.

            “No.”  Olórin, who had taken the form of one of the Children that the Valar had drawn so closely to their presence, shook his head.  “I have no interest in hearing the words of Melkor.”

            But he is the Master of Light!

            “He is intended to be the Lord of the peace of Darkness, my brother, not of Light itself.  He encourages our kind to impatience and to cruelty, to destruction rather than nurturance.  You would do better to return to your friendship with Lord Aulë.”

            Pah!  What does he know of Light?

            “But he has ever taught you to use your affiance for Fire well!”

            As does Melkor!

            “And it pleases you to take the form of a Urushigasaz?  To have your form burn whatever you touch to ash?”

            You, too, could take this form.  You, too, are more of Fire than any of the other elements.

            “But I would prefer to be the Fire that warms and protects rather than the Fire that destroys!”

            Losing his patience, Mairon departed, throwing over his fiery shoulder, The more fool you! as he went.

            But he did not confine himself to only the form of one of the Burning Ones as did some of their order who followed Melkor openly.  He could dissemble, after all, and feared to lose his great intelligence to the lust for simple destruction, as did some who were even then being reduced by holding such a shape for too long.  Mostly he took a shape beautiful to the eyes of the Children, and he did return for a time to the service of the Lord of Forges and the Earth, seeking to learn more mastery of power.  It was possible, after all, to focus power through such a construct as a Ring….

 *******

            Fire could cleanse, and through his use of it he could capture the life force of those whose bloody bodies were consumed by it.  At first he tried to capture enough of this strength to force open the Doors of Night and to restore his former Master.  But, when he realized this plan was in vain, he still found he could harvest such strength for himself, and so make himself more powerful.  Why return to Aman when he could take over his Master’s place as the all-powerful Lord of the Mortal Lands?  But first he would complete his destruction of the land the fool Pharazôn so loved, as well as leading the Valar themselves to see to the destruction of Pharazôn and his horde, borne Westward in the vain hope of wresting immortal life from the Undying Lands.  He laughed to know he had so gulled the seemingly all-wise King of Númenor.  Not so powerful or wise had he proved as he fell to sudden age and was imprisoned beneath Aman with his Men, all of them insensible, until Time at last forsook Ëa.  And he was laughing still when the waves broke over the dome of his temple and all sank in ruins into the Sea.

            But his laugher stilled when he realized he’d held the beautiful shape of Annatar too long, and that with the destruction of the Star Isle he’d be unable to take that form ever again!

            It was as a shade, as a shadow, that he fled back to Middle Earth in search of his hidden Ring.  But even with It in hand he could not take again a proper corporeal form other than that of a mere werewolf or a vampire bat.  It did not displease him that he was now revealed as Shadow, but galled him that in order to be seen by most of those he would rule he must surround himself by fire—until he realized that the appearance of being a great Eye struck them with even more terror and awe!

And so he was blinded by the false Light of apparent power.

The Spirit of Fire Answers the Lord of Darkness

            Thy amillë named thee well when she called thee Fëanáro, the Spirit of Fire.  In none other of the Children have I seen the Imperishable Flame burn so brightly. Wilt thou burn for me, Fëanáro?

            “And why should any seek to live but for thee, Lord Melkor?  Ilúvatar gave into this world many of thy kind, and countless more of the Maiar.  Yea, I will agree ye all are most worthy of honor; but none other demands our worship as dost thou.”

            The ellon’s words stung the Vala, but there was nothing he could do in retribution, not here at the door of Aulë’s forge.  The Smith of the Valar suspected their dark brother of continuing to foster plans not approved by all of their number, so Melkor dissembled here.  But who was this mere Child to offer him, greatest of the Valar, such disapproval?  He would teach the creature the lesson due him….

 *******

            With the aid of his Maiar followers Melkor had toppled the pillars of the first Great Lights.  There were fewer now who would openly follow him than there had been before, but Ungoliant would do his will.  Oh, she had ever done his will, had she not, tying her shape at his behest to that of the greatest of Spiders, devouring all of the liquid light she could come upon, leaving her own darkness ever in her wake?  Those Trees created by his fellows—they were an affront to his eyes, for he had not taken part in their crafting.  Yea, he would see them felled, and would take the children of the blooming of their flowers, the Silmarilli crafted by Fëanáro, for his own.  Let this land of peace and harmony reverberate to the discord that was within his own soul, and let the Burning Elf  know the vengeance due him for spurning the advances of Melkor, greatest of the Children of Eru’s own Thought!

 *******

            Holding a blazing torch in hand, he looked in its flickering light down on the handiwork of Melkor, now named anew by himself Moringotto, the Black Enemy, and felt the fire of his own fëa burning darkly within him.  The gates of his stronghold thrown down, and his own father dead, the marks of Melkor’s spear and dark flames upon him.  And the doors of his treasury riven, bent as if they’d been crafted of paper rather than the finest of steel, and his greatest treasures, the finest works of his own hands, the jewels he’d refused the rest of the Valar and all of the world—taken as if they were mere diamonds and pearls! 

            “You wished once that I should burn for you,” he muttered darkly.  “And indeed I shall—but not for your pleasure.  Nay, if I burn for you, it is for your utter destruction, as you have dealt to me!  I will set the whole of Aman ablaze with hatred for the works of the Dark Vala, the Marrer, who has sought to deny us all that is light and beautiful!  And your brethren shall find themselves unable to stand in the face of the holy flame of vengeance I shall unleash upon you, and in the end will be consumed by the same fire, dark as it has now become!”

 And indeed he did fire all of the world with hatred for the Black Enemy.          

Estel Comes with the Rising of a Star

            Eärendil looked upon his wife with amazement and disbelief.  A moment before he’d been comforting what had appeared to be a white albatross, obviously blown by winds far beyond the reach of land and utterly exhausted by battling the storms that had ever beat his own ship back toward the Mortal Lands; now he held Elwing herself, the great Nauglamír set with the shining Silmaril upon her breast casting a cleansing light over the deck of the ship, lighting even the darkness beyond the door of its cabin.

            He wrapped her within his cloak and took her up in his arms, bearing her to the bench near the water barrel lashed to the side of the cabin.  One benefit of the storms was that the rain of them sheeting over the cabin’s roof had kept the barrel more than full.  He gave her to drink, and slowly she came to herself, seeming as amazed to find herself with him as he was.  “I found you,” she finally murmured, shaking her head to the dipper he still held out in offer to her.

            “Yea, that you did,” he agreed.  “But I know not how or why.”

            She straightened her body within his arms.  “Once your ship was well upon the seas, the Fëanorians again sent threats, insisting that I should surrender the Nauglamír to them that they might once again possess their father’s treasure.  Almost I thought to send it to them, but a dream came to me that indicated that doing so would utterly destroy them—not merely their bodies, but their souls as well.  I could not do that, even at the cost of our own people, so I sent word in return that I was forbidden to do as they asked, and that if they valued their wholeness they should offer Sirion no threat.

            “But they came by night, and broke through the defenses of the city, and assailed us within the tower.  I believe that only Maglor and Maedhros are left now of the seven of them, for as I circled the tower ere I flew in search of thee I saw two bodies lying amidst the carnage that I swear were of the youngest of the sons of Fëanor.  I was wearing the Nauglamir, as I’d taken to doing after my dream; and when they broke into the tower room where we’d taken refuge with the children and threatened even our sons if I did not give up the Silmaril to them, I heard in my heart the command of Ulmo himself that I must flee them to save Elrond and Elros and to spare those remaining the shedding of more royal blood—that my apparent sacrifice of myself would shock them back to reason and awareness of the evil they’d just wrought.  So, trusting the Lord of Seas, I leapt from the window and called upon the power I inherited from my great-mother.  With Ulmo’s blessing I emerged from the water in the shape of a great sea bird, and with knowledge of which direction I must fly in order to bring the Silmaril to your hand, for the dream also told that you must have it upon you in order to achieve your own quest.”

            “I must bear the Silmaril in order to find the Undying Lands and so bring our petition before the Belain?” he responded.

            “Yea—so the Lord of Waters has allowed my heart to know.” 

            She sought to lift the necklace in which the stone was set from about her neck, but had not strength to do so.  In the end he must do this for her, and with shaking hands set the jeweled pectoral about his own shoulders, feeling the warmth of the shining Silmaril against the center of his own breast, over his heart.  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and focused his attention on the stone, keeping in mind his goal.  “I do not do this for my own glory, but for the safety of the remnant of Men and Elves and Dwarves within the Mortal Lands who seek ever to remain true to our covenant with one another and the Earth itself to do all we can to nurture this world,” he whispered.  “I wish only to find the way that I might lay my petition before the feet of the Powers myself.  Then the Creator may do as He wishes with me.  But my sons remain behind, and I would not have them die betimes of the evil inflicted upon all who oppose him by the Marrer.  Already too many have died, and too many more must do so ere they fully taste the joys of life if the Belain do not come against their own brother!”

            The Silmaril blazed not only upon his breast, but throughout his whole body and spirit.  It was an experience such as he had never previously known.  He gritted his teeth, agony and ecstasy warring within him as he felt the hallowed stone’s power work through him.  And then he knew which way he must go—where he must steer his ship.  He left his beloved resting upon the bench and returned to the tiller, untied it and took it into his hand, set his course by the light of the Silmaril….

 *******

            He taught Elwing how to properly handle the tiller, and when he must rest he would surrender the Nauglamír to her to wear and leave her to follow the course Westward, guided ever by the great jewel.  Turn and turn about they took, until at last she came to him with word that a brilliant land could be seen ahead of them. 

            As she leaned over him to waken him, she saw how the voyage had worn upon him.  Little enough remained of the ship’s stores he’d taken with him when he set out alone upon his quest, and not even the fresh fish that were taken daily could answer the full needs of their bodies.  He’d grown painfully thin, and his face was now etched deeply with permanent lines about the eyes from sailing into the light of the setting Sun daily.  His hands were marred from handling wet lines, his sides bruised when storms had thrown him against the rails, benches, or cabin of the ship.  But she seemed to see a pure, mithril gleam to him, as if the Silmaril he’d worn so often now shone beneath his skin.

            He is dying, she realized.  He never desired to be more than the mortal his father was, and now he shall follow his father’s people beyond the bounds of the Circles of Arda once his quest is accomplished.  He has spent himself utterly to bring himself here.

            Her heart wept within her, but her love for him grew the more, even accepting that she now stood to lose him once his message was delivered.  “Beloved,” she murmured, pressing her lips to his.  He awoke, his face at peace but somewhat distant, as if he already readied himself for the transition from this life he must know once he’d knelt in supplication before the Powers.

 *******

            She remained upon the decks of the ship until a shining figure came to her.  I am named Olórin, and am of the people of Manwë, he communicated to her.  Fear not, beloved daughter, but come.  For, lo—thy beloved’s message has been delivered and is answered.  Yea, even the Valar themselves will now join the battle against he who was their brother ere he foreswore his allegiance to Creator and all who breathe the breath of life and who carry within them the sacred Hidden Flame.  But the air within these lands will be the death of what remains of the mortal within thy husband, and he much needs thy council, for a choice is laid before the both of ye.

            Bitter in many ways did the choice prove, for with his mortality burned away as had happened by means of both the enriched air of Aman and the action of the Silmaril upon him, Eärendil could not look to return to the Mortal Lands and survive, not even to embrace his sons one last time.  And, although she realized it not at the time, the same was true for Elwing as was true for her beloved husband.  Mortal or Eldar?  She had ever considered herself an Elf, having been Princess within Doriath ere the slaying of her parents and brothers.  It was easy for her to choose now.  But, if he were to choose mortality, she would accompany him beyond the Bounds of Arda rather than be separated from him now.  And, seeing her determination to continue following him wherever he might lead, Eärendil bowed his head and accepted the life of the Eldar—and was amazed when he was granted the duty to steer the Star of Hope upon the Seas of Night.  Still he would bear the Silmaril in hope, but now it was an estel he would share with all who looked upon its—and his—own light above them in the heavens.

Hail Eärendil, brightest of Stars!

The Servant of the Secret Flame

            He’d ever been considered one of the people of Manwë, although he had served each of the Valar in his time, even in the earliest of times before the final shaping of Arda itself his sworn Lord’s brother in the Thought of Ilúvatar.  Since the Valar had taken lordship of this world at Atar’s Word, he’d spent time in Aulë’s forge, in Irmo’s gardens, on Estë’s island, and working on Vairë’s looms.  He’d ridden on hunts with Oromë, danced with Vána, studied compassion with Nienna, and wrestled with Tulkas.  He’d danced among the waves with Uinen and swum with Ulmo’s subjects among the deeps.  He’d helped Yavanna and Nessa to harvest the fruits of the earth and to prop up limbs so heavy with fruit that they might otherwise have broken under the weight of their own fecundity.  He’d bowed before Námo and learned to read signs and portents under his tutelage.

            On occasions he’d even journeyed to Middle Earth, in the earliest of times in Oromë’s train in search of word of the wakening of the promised Children, and later sometimes in the guise of trader or wandering bard to help plant the seeds that one day might bring those who’d chosen exile Home.  He often served as an escort to Eonwë when their Lord sent his Herald out upon the Valar’s business, although he’d as often remained within the halls of his Lord and Lady where he’d seen to the wiping away of dust and stain, rejoicing ever to be of service, no matter how humble or great it might seem to be.

            His love of and compassion for the Children was noted, however.  Unbidden, he had taken upon himself the seeming of an Elf and joined the lines of those who’d chosen to answer the call of the Valar to come to Aman, offering them comfort and encouragement when the way seemed most tedious or dangerous.  He’d lifted up children and gone out with the hunters, had aided the young wives and mothers, had counseled their leaders.  He’d remained among them when they must trust the Valar most, when Ulmo and his people had carefully broken away the tongue of land that was to be used to ferry those who’d come this far into the waters surrounding the Undying Lands, inspiring those frightened by the changes they sensed in the land under their feet to stand firm and not flee back to where they might be taken in the nets of the Black Hunter.

            And now he was sent back to Middle Earth once more at his Lord’s request.  He could have supplanted his brother Curumo as the White, but had refused to do so.  What need had he of lordship?  It was not lordship that the Men, Elves, Dwarves, and other creatures of Middle Earth needed now—it was counsel and inspiration to stand fast against Sauron’s evil that they required.  So, grasping the staff that held that of his power and memories he had no immediate need for, he set himself to walk these lands, the Ring entrusted to him on his arrival burning redly if invisibly upon his hand.

            Olórin he was no longer.  Gandalf they called him, the Man with the Staff.  Mithrandir—the Grey Pilgrim.  Tharkûn.  And other names less pleasant also they had for him.  Almost he forgot Olórin amidst the cares and griefs he observed and helped comfort.  But with Narya upon his hand he remained the servant of the Imperishable Flame, the warmth of the kiss of his sister Arien ever fresh in his heart, the blessing of his brother Tilion cool upon his head, the power of his Lord and Lady responsive to his hand upon his staff. 

            Few saw him unveiled—not until the final battles, at least.  But never did he forget his commission as did Curumo.  And when he was sent back as the White, with the mandate to take leadership from Saruman and to intervene directly if it should prove necessary, he’d done as he’d been ordered.  Not even the Úlairi had been able to withstand his Light; and his fallen brother’s herald had quailed before him when Gandalf had taken from his hands the lying tokens Sauron had bade be shown him to inspire despair.  Not despair, but hope did he know as his quick mind divined that the Enemy no longer held the living hostage from whom these tokens had been taken.  He does not realize that not one but two Hobbits entered his lands—possibly even three if, as has been indicated, Sméagol accompanied Frodo and Sam!  And so it was that in the darkest moments known within Middle Earth since his arrival here as an Istar, his own flame burned brightest with hope, a hope that was answered as Frodo, Sam, and Sméagol entered the Sammath Naur undetected, and at the last moment, even as the Ring took Frodo Baggins, the whole world was redeemed, if apparently by treachery.  Sméagol took It from Frodo, not to claim It but merely to hold It one last time, not fearing even as he plunged with It to his own death, merely rejoicing to feel apparently complete one last time….

            And now he was ready to return home and give over the identity he’d known as Mithrandir or Gandalf.  His hands rested on the shoulders of two worthy Hobbits, both of whose Lights had been brightly polished by the Ring that had sought to tarnish them instead.  He offered up a prayer of praise to the Creator, that Atto had so blessed him to know such ones during his long years of service in an old Man’s guise.  And he prayed that those who remained behind should indeed each fulfill his or her promise to lead the Mortal Lands once more to peace and wisdom.

            And as the ship on which the Ringbearers sailed flashed brightly to show it had found the Straight Path at the last, the Lights of all aboard the ship flared in answer, a brilliance that answered the beauty of Varda’s own stars!

Alas that they are gone from us, but together they have found a new Home where their Lights shine in harmony!

The Light of the King Returned

            Aragorn took the Winged Crown into his own hands and held it up, and all expected to see him set it upon his own head.  So the crowning of the King had been ever done, as each heir had taken it from the hands of he who had worn it before him.

            But this time the claimant had vowed he would not enter the White City as a conqueror, climbing to the Hallows in the heights of Minas Tirith to enter the House of the Kings to take what was his due.  Nay, instead he had said that he would accept the Crown and Throne only if the people of Gondor itself would accept and proclaim him as such, for it was the people he would lead he would have affirm him in his office.  Nay, no conqueror he, though claimant of the Kingship he might be.  His claim came from the lineage of Isildur rather than Anárion, the elder rather than the younger line of Kings.  Oh, he did hold the lineage of Anárion within himself as well, but it was from the distaff side.  Pelendur had refused to accept the claim of Arvedui and Fíriel; it was the duty of the populace of Gondor to negate Pelendur’s deed and return the Kingship after a millennium of rule by the Stewards of the land.

            “Will you have him as your King?” demanded the Steward.

            “Yea!” responded the people gathered to witness this moment.

            And he did not crown himself in token of his might, but knelt humbly, asking the Servant of the Valar to take the Crown from the hands of a simple—or rather, not so simple—Hobbit and to set it upon his head.  In the end he did not take the Kingship, but instead accepted it as a sacred trust.

            And as he rose all saw the shining mantle of rule round about him, for he shone with Eärendil’s own Light, though it was day.  His childhood name of Estel now fulfilled upon him, Aragorn son of Arathorn, once the mere Chieftain of the secret remnant of Númenor’s might in the North, became Elessar, the Elfstone, the Healer and the Renewer. 

            And through the eyes of what appeared to be merely a Wizard the Valar and the rest of their servants watched in awe, for indeed Atar had wrought a miracle here, bringing Peace and Order once more out of Discord, bringing Light out of apparently overpowering Shadow.

            Not in pride but in humility had this King been crowned, recognizing that all had brought this day to be, that great and small had together worked to bring about the Return of the King.

He crowned not himself, but accepted what was granted him by all who witnessed this coronation, rejoicing to accept the weight of Rule and willing to Rule well.  And in the glow of his Light, all prospered.

The Glory of Simple Loves

            Hidden from the eyes of most, the Suruli often danced in the glory of the light of Aman, and also among the dark places of the Undying Lands, glimmering in the light of stars, Moon, and Sun upon the waves of the Sea, the tumbling of water in streams, river, brooks, and falls, and the fluttering of leaves in the forests and fields.  They peered from under the wings of birds and insects, and from the glimmer of eyes of animals and the flash of fish in water.  And thus they added to the light known by those who dwelt in Aman proper and upon Tol Eressëa, many of whom were unaware of these small spirits of light that peopled the air of the place and who brightened the small darknesses one might perceive.

            Two  of the Children stood in the shadows of the great mellyrn in which refugees from Lothlórien in Middle Earth had made their homes, looking out at a glade in which almost transparent butterflies and Suruli had been pleased to dance in the midst of the Light and Breath, and who all seemed to be drawn about an equally shining form, apparently small and delicate, that knelt there, watching their dance with entranced pleasure.

            He is almost as a Suruli himself, communicated the taller and brighter of the two.

            “Sauron’s slaves had sought to capture him by means of a cursed wound, and so draw them into the very darkness in which they dwelt,” answered that one’s more corporeal son who stood by him.  “I was able at last to remove the sliver of the cursed Morgul blade from his shoulder and turn the intent of the spell from darkness to Light once more.  But as happened with you, he has become increasingly transparent, with his inner Light of Being, the Imperishable Flame that is at the heart of his fëa being evermore made manifest.  He does not as yet appreciate that this is the change he was beginning to perceive in himself ere we sailed here together, and that he is indeed, as Gandalf once perceived of him, becoming as a vessel of Light to be seen only by those with eyes to see that can.  He and the one mortal who has been truly as a very son to me are both so filled with the Light beyond what I’ve seen in any other mortal I have ever known since my own brother left me.”

            And he is a pherian?

            “Their name for themselves is Hobbit.  Theirs are simple loves, such as for the land that sustains them and into which they delve their burrow-like homes, for food and drink and family and fellowship.”

            Eärendil nodded his shining head.  Never undervalue the worth of simple loves, my beloved son, for such bring us the greatest joy and bring us to our finest acts of protection.  Now, lead me to him, for I would embrace this one who has shared with me the Becoming, one who still holds the mortality that I foreswore when I accepted the duty to bear aloft the Silmaril that was the brideprice of Lúthien the Fair.  Let me honor this Frodo son of Drogo and Bilbo as is worthy of one of the Children of my Spirit.

            And as peredhel and the bearer of the remaining Silmaril stepped out in the glory of the glade, the Suruli shone the brighter with their pleasure and satisfaction, and Frodo Baggins rose to bow with awe and wonder in his eyes, filled with surprise to know himself greeted as a son by the one who served as the Star of Hope.

“I will not say that Day is done, nor bid the Stars farewell!”