Author note:  Based on my story “Starship” (chapter 10), in which Frodo and Sam are still very much alive and well when Gimli and Legolas arrive in the West, and Gimli accepts the hobbits’ offer to live with them.

HEALING THE BLESSED ISLE

Chapter 1: Conferring With the Wise

"Put on a few eggs, there's a good fellow!" Gandalf called after him, as the hobbit stumped off to the pantries. "And just bring out the cold chicken and pickles!"

"Seems to know as much about the inside of my larders as I do myself!" thought Mr. Baggins, who was feeling positively flummoxed, and was beginning to wonder whether a most wretched adventure had not come right into his house.

‘An Unexpected Party’, The Hobbit

Frodo lifted the lid of the tureen, the delicious aroma of the thick, hot soup filling the kitchen.  Elrond grinned happily, while the eyes of Galadriel and Legolas lit up with delight.  Gandalf was already reaching for the bread.

“This can only be Bilbo’s famous vegetable soup,” Elrond told the other guests seated around the hobbits’ dining table.  “I am glad to taste it again.”  He smiled at Frodo and Sam, carrying in the tureen between them, who beamed back.  Their gardens were bursting with produce, and it was a pleasure for them to share Shire cooking with their friends – old and new.

After serving their guests, Frodo ladled out for himself and Sam a large helping of soup.  Elrond and Gandalf smiled in satisfaction; Frodo’s appetite was, if anything, more robust than ever.

“Where is Gimli this evening?” the Lady asked curiously.  “Has he already supped?”

“I hope so,” Frodo sighed.  “This morning he filled a pack, took his walking stick, and wandered off again.  He’s not been his usual cheery self.”

“He’s been eating less and less,” Sam added worriedly.

“Something weighs heavily on him,” Legolas agreed.  “He has reached 262 years; perhaps this melancholy can be blamed on his great age catching up to him?”

“The way he’s been trompin’ through the countryside?” Sam asked, shaking his head.  He flexed his knees under the table, and grimaced as he heard the familiar creak.  “If that’s what 262 is like, I hope to reach it meself, and in as good shape as Gimli.”

“I knew not that Gimli was distressed,” Elrond said with concern.  “Could he be regretting his choice to sail?”

“I think not,” Legolas said thoughtfully.  “In all our conversations aboard ship, I never sensed any remorse or grief in his words, or mien.  But recently, he has not been himself.”

“Maybe he’s just homesick,” Frodo offered.

“He assured me that all his tasks were done, all goodbyes said,” said Legolas. 

“Still, he could be homesick,” Sam mused.  “There are so many times I think of the Shire, dream of my family and gardens, wonder how the trees are doing...”

“As do I,” Frodo agreed.  “But we were ready to leave, and you say Gimli was too, Legolas.”

“Homesick...” the Lady murmured.  “Sea sick.  The Sea longing...”

“But Gimli never cared about the Sea,” Sam protested.

“Sea longing,” the Lady repeated, her eyes deep with wisdom.  “Why not stone longing?”

“I’ve never heard of that,” Frodo said.  “Besides, there’s plenty of stone here: boulders of vast size, rocky crags...”
 
“Stone longing,” Elrond said thoughtfully.  “Interesting.”

“But the whole island is one big rock,” Frodo said, still puzzled.

Gandalf sat up straighter.  “What purpose to a Dwarf’s life, in his own mind, without stone to cleave, gems to cut, caverns to explore or excavate, a means to forge or craft whatever they might desire for themeselves or others?”

Legolas frowned.  “I am still learning the ways of this place and its people, but I do not believe the residents of this isle would appreciate a Dwarf wandering about smashing boulders, delving caverns, or depleting the beaches of gems.  It is enough, and more than enough, for some, that one of the Naugrim dwells among them at all.”

“I would never suggest such an intrusion,” Gandalf said.  “A moment...”  He closed his eyes and bowed his head, and the others waited.  Frodo and Sam exchanged puzzled looks, but said nothing.  Suddenly the wizard opened his eyes, and smiled.  “Yes indeed, there could be a way to bring our friend renewed purpose.  But we must work together to see it done.”

Frodo felt a vast sense of relief wash over him.  By the way Gandalf was now murmuring to the other guests, something was definitely in the works.  He hadn’t wanted to mind Gimli’s business, but friends watched out for one another, and did what they could.

“So what do you think?” Gandalf asked the elves.

“A most interesting idea,” Legolas said, nodding thoughtfully. 

“The hobbits would need to initiate it, of course,” Elrond added, to which the wizard nodded.

“This island is indeed much like the hobbits,” the Lady mused.  “More beneath the surface than one would imagine.”

Frodo waved a hand in the air.  “Hullo?  ‘The hobbits’ are sitting right here, thank you very much.”

“Well of course you are,” Gandalf said.  “Frodo, Sam... you may have set something in motion that will bring Gimli great contentment in his new life here.”

“That’s good,” Sam said with satisfaction.  Leaving the details to those he considered wiser than himself, he occupied himself with deciding between apricot and pear preserves for his bread.

Frodo resumed eating with relish.  “I don’t suppose that much new or different happens very often on this island.  Do everyone good, I would think.  What’s your plan, Gandalf?”

The Lady laughed merrily, a sweet sound, as always, to the hobbits’ ears.

“Hobbits,’ Gandalf grumbled, his eyes twinkling with fondness.  “Such impertinent creatures.”  He fixed Frodo with a steady gaze.  “I might be persuaded to share my idea should there be peach cobbler for dessert.”

“There is!” Frodo grinned with delight.  “Bilbo used to say that you knew the contents of his larder without even a peek.  It must be true.”

“A bit of useful wizarding,” Gandalf said with a smile.  “It often comes in handy.”

** TBC ** 

HEALING THE BLESSED ISLE

Chapter 2:  Getting to the Point... Eventually   

'O Kheled-zâram fair and wonderful!' said Gimli. `There lies the Crown of Durin till he wakes. Farewell!' He bowed, and turned away, and hastened back up the green-sward to the road again. 

‘Lothlórien’, The Fellowship of the Ring

Gimli opened his eyes in his now-familiar room, noting with satisfaction that the window slats were still tightly closed.  The hobbits’ enjoyment of opening all the shutters every morning “to let in this fine day”, as Sam said, was pleasing for them, but he preferred waking up as any Dwarf would, in cool darkness.  His eyes adjusted more quickly to dimness than to bright sunshine, and although he had learned to tolerate each morning’s insistently cheerful birdsong well enough, a person needed to wake up some before appreciating it. 

His pack and walking stick lay in the corner where he had dropped them the previous night.  He had come home so late both hobbits had been asleep, and although they had left a plateful of scones out on the table, he had been too preoccupied and discouraged to sample them before falling into bed.  Had he been gone three days, or four this time?  Time seemed to pass in a distressingly elusive way on this island, not unlike he remembered from the land of Lórien.  As always, thinking about the Golden Wood, and the Lady, brought a smile to his face, and for a moment he felt the sober gloom which he had been experiencing of late lighten a bit.  He heard a merry tune being whistled from elsewhere in the house, and smelled something that made his stomach rumble with longing.  When had he last sat down to a proper meal?  Today, at least, he would do so; he knew how delighted the hobbits were to see him (or anyone, really) eat heartily, and often, bless them.

He stretched and sat up, looking around.  The small number of possessions he had brought with him from Middle-earth, most of them gifts and remembrances from the royal families of Erebor, Gondor, and Rohan, filled only a few of the shelves the hobbits had provided for him.  He had also brought two chests containing a selection of small tools, garments and personal items, and a leather folder that held the thick sheaf of notes and messages of farewell and gratitude from the people of Aglarond and his remaining kin in the North.

He washed, changed into a fresh tunic, and gave his beard a thorough combing.  The hobbits had been so welcoming, they didn’t deserve to find a dusty vagabond stumbling into their clean kitchen.  Their kitchen, he found himself musing.  Will I ever feel at home, as they seem to?  I wonder what they thought their life would be like here.  I thought only about the privilege of seeing the Lady once again, and avoiding the pain of watching Legolas sail off and leave me behind after Aragorn was gone.  I gave little thought to what would come after, assuming we ever reached these shores at all.

After untangling a final stubborn braid, he fastened at his waist the small pouch he had carried with him throughout the Quest and every day since.  It held an engraved runestone given to him in Rivendell by his father; a handful of dust from the tomb of his cousin Balin; and a stone from Kheled-zâram, where Durin himself had once stood.  He had felt very close to his longfathers that day, reinvigorated for the trials that lay ahead.

I am alone here, in a way the hobbits are not.  They seem to have all they need, while I search in vain for... what?  I barely know what I am searching for; I only know that I have not found it.

At last he flung open the shutters, knowing that it would please Sam, and followed his nose to the kitchen.

*~*~*~*~*

“He’s coming,” Sam whispered.  “Isn’t this exciting?”

“Dear Sam,” Frodo chuckled.  He had retrieved a pitcher of fresh-pressed apple juice from the cold room, and began filling three mugs.  “I just hope it works.”  He looked up and smiled brightly.  “Good morning, Gimli.  Did you sleep well?”

“I did, Frodo, thank you,” Gimli said, coming into the kitchen.

“How many eggs this morning?” Sam asked.

“Only three today,” Gimli responded, grateful that neither hobbit ever asked where he went, or why he felt the need to wander alone, as he scarcely knew himself.  “I do apologize again for not being able to contribute much in the way of cooking or baking.”

“But there’s no need to apologize,” Frodo said.  “You’ve done so much!  All the stone paths you’ve laid, that lovely wall, the sturdy coop for the chickens, the pond you’ve begun... why, seeing that you eat well is the least we can do!”

Gimli smiled.  “I am pleased to hear that, as my skills in the kitchen are barely...” About to sit down, he froze, staring at something sparkling on the windowsill directly opposite his usual seat.  He quickly skirted the round table and reached the sill, where he picked up a chunk of crystal.  “Where did you get this?” he asked urgently.  “This was not here a few days ago.”

“No, it’s wasn’t,” Frodo said, trying to hide his jubilation.

“Isn’t that a pretty one, Gimli?” Sam asked innocently.  “Ever since you taught us about fool’s gold on our journey, and showed us some small pieces, I’ve been trying to find a nice big one like that.”

“Fool’s gold?” Gimli whispered.  The large crystal was almost perfectly transparent, and beautifully faceted. A specimen like this was exceedingly rare, as delicately enlaced within it, and curled around the surface, was a thick swirl of yellow.  He gently scratched at it, and, to the hobbits’ surprise, even tasted it.

“My dear hobbits,” he informed them, “this is gold.  Pure gold.”

“Is it?”  Frodo asked casually.  “How can you tell the difference?"

“How can I tell?” Gimli sputtered.  “A Dwarf who cannot identify every precious gem and mineral blindfolded, with both hands bound, while hanging upside down from a tree, could never hold his head up amongst his kin!”  His face reddened alarmingly.

“Sit down,” Sam urged.  “Have some juice.  Here, see?  Your eggs are ready.  Are you sure you only want three?”

Gimli set the crystal back onto the windowsill and allowed himself to be led back to his chair.  Without quite knowing how, a mug appeared in one hand and a fork in the other.

“I would very much like to know where that came from,” he said eagerly.  “Was it a gift?”

“Eat first,” Sam insisted, and Gimli took a bite of eggs.  They were excellent, and he piled a larger portion on his fork.

“We found it yesterday,” Sam began.

“To be precise, you found it, Sam,” Frodo corrected.

“But you found the tunnel.  I just--”

“Where?” Gimli asked.

Frodo put slices of toasted bread on a plate. “Gandalf and Legolas came to take us for a ride.  Legolas has such a fine horse, hasn’t he, Sam?  She must be related to Shadowfax.”

“A ride...” Gimli urged.  Frodo passed him the bread, and sat silently until Gimli took a bite.

“Well then, we rode much farther north than we’d ever been able to explore on foot, out where the cliffs are highest,” Frodo continued.  He didn’t mention that Gandalf had chosen the direction, and guided them to a specific spot.  “It’s a strange place; the land is all cracked and broken there, and carpeted with plants we didn’t recognize.  Except for the athelas, of course. We saw quite a lot of it.”

“It’s a strange place, and no mistake,” Sam agreed.  “There’s something... unfinished about the whole area.  There’s a house up there too, but no one seemed to be home.”

“The crystal?” Gimli prodded.

“Right.  We’re lucky to have found it at all, now that I think it through.  Gandalf was being so distracting, walking about and muttering things like, ‘Yes, indeed’, and ‘I thought as much’, and ‘It will take time yet, but I doubt it not’.  You know how he gets sometimes.”

“Sam...”

“Yes?  Oh, well, just before we started back home, Frodo walked over to see a shrub Legolas was examining near the house, and darn near fell right into it.”

“The shrub?”

“The tunnel.  Oh, we forgot about the berries!”  Sam went to the sideboard and brought back a bowl brimming with raspberries.  “Do you want some, Gimli?”  The Dwarf shook his head, his fingers beginning to twitch impatiently on the table.  “Anyway, then I spotted the pretty rock just inside this tunnel, sitting in the dirt.  Gandalf said we could take it since it had already loosened – whatever that means – and we did.”

“`Pretty rock’,” Gimli murmured incredulously.  Even young Dwarves knew that crystals focused energy, and one of such a size and quality as this could only be part of a large and cohesive network.  It took immense forces to bring such a quantity of gold to the surface, and for the first time, he began to wonder about the history of this island, of which he knew nothing.    

“That’s right,” Frodo said.  “Say, we’re going back there tomorrow; Legolas said he wants to show Elrond the plants, and we asked to go with them.”  He smiled at the Dwarf.  “Would you like to come with us?”

Gimli took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.  “Yes, Frodo.  Very much.”  He felt much less gloomy all of a sudden, but whether it was from eagerness to examine an unexpected geological feature, or the beloved (albeit often maddening) banter of hobbits, he couldn't say.

“Sam...” With a chuckle, he held out his plate.  “I would love some of those berries.  And more eggs, if you please.  Are there any scones left?”

** TBC **

HEALING THE BLESSED ISLE

Chapter 3:  An Elf Out of Legend

As the sweet influence of the herb stole about the chamber it seemed to those who stood by that a keen wind blew through the window, and it bore no scent, but was an air wholly fresh and clean and young, as if it had not before been breathed by any living thing and came new-made from snowy mountains high beneath a dome of stars, or from shores of silver far away washed by seas of foam.

‘The Houses of Healing’, The Return of the King

If Gimli closed his eyes and concentrated solely on the horse beneath him, he could almost imagine himself back in Middle-earth, riding through Rohan or any of the other far-off lands he had seen from the back of Arod, the steed for which he had grown to feel great fondness.

“Just like old times, eh, Gimli?” Legolas’s voice broke through the Dwarf’s thoughts.  “Astar is not certain what to think of you.”

“She has voiced that to you, has she?”  Gimli, riding comfortably behind his friend, gently patted the flank of the horse.  “She surely must barely know I am here, sitting lightly as I am with neither mail nor helm, and my axe left behind across the great sea.”

“More lightly, but hardly weightless!” The Elf chuckled.  “A Dwarf you remain, my friend, until the end of your days, may they be long.”

“Aye,” Gimli murmured.  “A Dwarf I remain.”

They rode higher, and higher still, north along the cliffs, the glittering sea extending to the horizon in more shades of blue and green, purple and silver, than Gimli had imagined existed.  From this height, the many fishing and pleasure craft, encircled by sharp-eyed birds, seemed to the Dwarf’s eyes to be tiny indeed. 

Beside them rode Elrond, his horse easily carrying the elf-lord along with both hobbits. At intervals came Frodo and Sam’s voices singing loudly, interspersed with Elrond humming softly.

“This is the place!” Frodo cried out suddenly, and Elrond brought his mount to a halt.  He hopped lightly down before lifting Frodo and then Sam to the ground.  He then retrieved the hobbits’ walking sticks.

“Thank you for the ride, Baran,” Frodo said to the horse.  The proud steed lowered his head, and Frodo stroked the soft nose.

Legolas stopped as well, hoping Gandalf had been right to think that something in this place would ease Gimli’s heart, and lighten his spirit.  He unlaced the Dwarf’s walking stick from where it had been tied before helping his friend to dismount.

“Watch your step,” he admonished.

While Legolas led the horses to a pool of clear water, Gimli, relieved as always to be back on his own feet, looked around.  Whereas the cliffs near their home were rounded and weathered, sloping gently to white beaches or low valleys, here they were sharper, plummeting from a great height nearly straight down into the sea.  The land here was uneven, riddled with gaps and long, shallow fissures, but because low shrubs and plants grew in profusion, covering nearly every inch of ground in a verdant carpet, the cracks were difficult to see and needed to be circled carefully.

Several hundred yards away sat the house the hobbits had mentioned, of a sort the Elves here favored – adorned with small bells that chimed with the breeze, rounded archways, flowering shrubs of varying heights trimmed into pleasing shapes, and a garden overflowing with vegetables.  There were also a great number of cunning metal sculptures that swirled elegantly in the wind, and intricate wooden carvings.  Even from a distance, Gimli recognized that they had been wrought with exceptional skill.

Gimli wanted to ask the hobbits about the tunnel immediately, but paused, smiling at the sight of Frodo and Sam waving their arms above their heads.  They had retrieved bread or dried fish from one of the packs, and gulls were swooping low, expertly capturing the small pieces they threw aloft.  Both were laughing, their eyes alight with joy.

Legolas looked up, and called out in Elvish to the birds filling the air about them.

The cry of gulls plagues me no longer, he thought gratefully.  “I will find out if anyone is at home today.”  He walked swiftly to the dwelling and called out, but no one answered or came forth.

“I feel wonderful here,” Frodo announced.  “The air smells like...” He paused for a moment.  “Why, it reminds me of Tom and Goldberry’s garden!  Don’t you think so, Sam?”

“More like my Rosie’s kitchen,” Sam said, “with fresh-baked bread and gingerbread hobbits, and taters roasting in the oven.”

“Interesting,” Gimli said.  “I would have said that the air smells of good, rich ale.  Very satisfying.”

“It is all the athelas,” Elrond told them, motioning to the familiar plant.  “It is called asëa aranion here.”

“But how can a single herb smell different to everyone?” Sam asked.

“Intriguing, isn’t it?  Ever since we arrived in the West I have been studying the plants which were brought to Middle-earth.  You may be surprised to learn that athelas, growing here in its original, most potent form, has very little scent of its own.  It speaks to the heart, and awakens memories that bring calm and refreshment.” 

“What about you, sir?” Sam asked.

Elrond smiled gently.  “Honeysuckle and peach, the fragrance my lady uses in her hair.  Ever will that be a scent that brings my heart joy.”  He turned to Legolas, who was just returning.  “No one is there?”

Legolas shook his head.

Elrond motioned to the profusion of plants surrounding them.  “If this is what you brought me to see, I appreciate the opportunity.  There is much here I look forward to studying more closely.”

The elf nodded.  “I thought as much.”

“We should unpack the food for our picnic,” Sam said. 

“Are you hungry, Gimli?” Frodo asked. 

“Not just yet.  Frodo, Sam...” Gimli was trying to hide his impatience.  “Where did you find the crystal?”

Sam, who had been sniffing an athelas plant as high as his knees, pointed towards the house, beyond which a dense curtain of vegetation grew in profusion over a steep hill. 

“You can’t see the tunnel until you’re right next to it.  That’s why Frodo nearly...” Suddenly his eyes grew wide.  “Oh!  We have company.”

Emerging from behind the curtain of brambles and vines was an elf, but not one like any the group had seen before.  As he walked towards them, his footfalls sure and confident on the rough ground, he held up a hand in silent greeting.  He was red-haired, with a hint of a beard.  His upper arms were strongly muscled, and were encircled by engraved copper bands.  His tunic appeared not unlike Gimli’s own, heavy and serviceable, and clear, blue eyes surveyed each person keenly.

Elrond suddenly gasped, and took a hesitant step forward.

“Aulëndur,” he whispered.  “Is it you?”

“You recognize me, son of Eärendil?” the elf asked softly, “I knew not that name was still spoken across the Sea.  But I forgot, you are a scholar of the ancient tales.”

Elrond pressed a hand to his heart.  “I am honored,” he murmured.

“I am most pleased to meet you at last.”  The elf turned to Legolas and the hobbits.  “Son of the woodlands, children of the green hills and elf friends, I bid you welcome.  You may call me Mahtan; as such I am known.  I am a smith, and artist of modest skill.”

“At your service,” Frodo and Sam said together, and Legolas bowed deeply.

Gimli suddenly found himself caught by the elf’s steady gaze. 

“At your service,” he said.  “I am Gimli son of Gloín.”

“I welcome you,” Mahtan said. “The Master made it known to me to expect you.”

“The Master?”

“When you embarked upon the waters, son of Gloín, Lord Ulmo was aware of you, and gentled your way upon the Straight Road.  Word traveled from him to his brother, and in His name, I greet you.”  The elf’s eyes glowed with a sudden fire.  “I am the servant of Aulë.”

“Aulë?”  Gimli felt his heart beating rapidly, and his mouth grew dry.  “Then the Master you refer to is... Mahal.  He knows I am here?”

“He knows,” Mahtan said gently.  He turned to the rest of the group.  “My home is at your disposal.  Please take what bounty you desire from the gardens; you will also find foods within that I hope are pleasing.”

“You're very kind,” Frodo said.

Mahtan motioned toward where Sam had said the tunnel stood concealed, and extended his hand to Gimli. 

“While your companions refresh themselves, will you accompany me?  What I would show you is not far.  I sense you will appreciate what lies below us, and the Great Work of healing underway.”

As if in a dream, Gimli nodded, took up his stick, and accompanied the elf toward the hillside.  When they were out of earshot, Frodo, Sam, and Legolas looked expectantly at Elrond, who still had an awed look about him.

“Who was that?” Frodo blurted out.

“Do you think he’s the one Gandalf hoped Gimli would meet here?” Sam asked hopefully.

“Yes, without a doubt.”  Elrond glanced over at Legolas.  “Are you well, my friend?”

Legolas stared at him in wonder.  “Is it truly he?  The teacher of Fëanor?” 

Hearing the name, Frodo looked startled.

“At first, I could scarcely believe.... but yes, he can be no other,” Elrond said.  “He spoke of healing...” He looked down at the thick beds of athelas, and nodded.  “Above and below... yes, I begin to understand.”

“What’s happening here?  Will you tell us all about him?” Frodo asked eagerly.

“I will tell you what I can,” Elrond said, then he grinned.  “I suspect that by the time Gimli returns, he will know more than even I.”   

Sam was struck by a sudden thought.     

“But you never told us, Legolas.  What does the athelas here smell like to you?”

The hobbit’s question was so unexpected, Legolas burst into laughter.

"Remember you the Nimrodel, its sweet song and clean water, the blossoms and quiet trees, and cool grasses?" Legolas asked, and Sam nodded. "It was in that fair glade where we rested from the horrors of Moria, awash in sorrow over Gandalf's fall and the terror of the Balrog's dark malice, that I was able to forget my grief, for a time." He smiled down at both hobbits. "I saw your faces there, how your hearts were eased, your minds calmed." He took a deep breath of the invigorating air, redolent with salt and flowers and a tingling gladness.         

Legolas shook his head.  “I do not know if that answers your question, Sam.  I have no other words to speak it.”

Sam just smiled, and reached up to take his left hand just as Frodo clasped his right.  Stepping carefully, the hearts of all four calm and joyful, they started to make their way to the house to talk and take refreshment, and await Gimli’s return. 

** TBC **

Chapter 4: Healing Plants, Healing Stones

Then the Vanyar and the Noldor embarked upon that isle, and were drawn over the sea, and came at last to the long shores beneath the Mountains of Aman; and they entered Valinor and were welcomed to its bliss. But the eastern horn of the island, which was deep-grounded in the shoals off the mouths of Sirion, was broken asunder and remained behind.

‘Of Eldamar and the Princes of the Eldalië’, The Silmarillion

Sam and Frodo listened carefully to everything Elrond was telling them.

“So if you go way WAY back, to the time before there was even a sun and moon in the sky, Finwë was a common ancestor for both you and that Fëanor fellow,” Sam said.

Elrond smiled. “If you go way WAY back.”

“And Mahtan was the father of Fëanor’s wife, Nerdanel.”

“Correct.”

“Fëanor made the silmarils,” Frodo chimed in, “and your father wears one of them, and its light was caught by the Lady in my star-glass. Fëanor’s son, Maglor, raised you and your brother, and his grandson, Celebrimbor, created the Three elven rings.”

Elrond nodded.

“All right, then.” Frodo sat back, satisfied. “We’d love to hear the story now.”

Legolas, about to pop a large, ripe blackberry in his mouth, exchanged an amused look with Elrond. However ancient, accomplished, or legendary Mahtan might be, it had quickly become apparent that the most pressing concern of the hobbits was where he stood in Elrond’s family tree.

From a wild tangle of bushes near the garden Sam had gathered the berries, and he now sat comfortably with the others at a highly-polished wooden table in Mahtan's home.  They had found it arranged with six place settings, as well as fluted bottles of wine, carafes of sweet water, a number of cheeses on a platter, a bowl of juicy apples, another holding a variety of plums and pears, a dish of flat, sweet cakes plump with raisins, several long loaves of bread, and jars of honey the color of amber.

Legolas broke one of the loaves into pieces and passed them around, and Frodo sniffed his portion appreciatively.

“This is the herb bread that Lady Eärwen bakes.”

“And the honey tastes like it’s from Silqeléni’s bees,” Sam added.

“Mahtan must trade his work or skill for what he cannot produce himself,” Elrond mused, “as do many on this island. Anything wrought by his hand would carry great value.”

Mahtan’s house appeared small from the outside, but they found that the majority of the dwelling extended deeply into the hillside, not unlike a hobbit hole, with rooms and galleries leading off from the main living space. Artistically arranged on counters, tables and mantels were a multitude of sculptures, carvings, jewelry and ornaments in exquisite settings of gold and precious metals, miniature statues, and all manner of unique and lovely works. The sun shining through the windows reflected through small hanging crystals, causing them to flash and glitter in colors of every hue. One enormous crystal that amazed the hobbits was of a deep purple color; it stood just outside the entryway and was taller than even Elrond.

“He called himself an artist of modest skill,” Legolas murmured, looking around the dining area. “Never have I seen anything like this.”

Elrond sighed. “All of this craft, and more, he must have taught Fëanor, but the beauty of Fëanor’s creations was outstripped by his ambition, and need to possess.” His features grew grim. “If he had shared even one silmaril with Yavanna, or bent not his skill to fell weapons and armor, a very different destiny would doubtless have been laid before us all.”

“From the beginning, please,” Frodo begged.

“My apologies,” Elrond said with a smile. “Frodo, our host was – and apparently still is – the devoted apprentice of Aulë known by the Dwarves as Mahal, their father and creator. For any Dwarf to encounter such as he...” Elrond shook his head. “That alone would be enough to bring Gimli joy and wonder, but there is surely more to this day than a simple meeting.”

“I was taught little of Mahtan,” Legolas confessed, “other than rumor that he had been so horrified by Fëanor’s betrayal that he felt shamed for his part in what followed, although of course he could not have foreseen the Kinslaying, nor were he or his daughter part of what occurred.”

“Kinslaying?” Sam asked, aghast.

“The history of the elves is a noble one, with much courage, resilience, and wisdom,” Elrond said gravely. “However, it is not without its dark times, and cataclysmic decisions. Mahtan must have been delighted to have such an eager and gifted student, and shared with his son-in-law such a wealth of knowledge that I cannot even comprehend.  However, Fëanor initiated a great tumult and much death, whatever his motives at the beginning.”

“Could that be why Mahtan lives alone up here, and belittles his skill?” Frodo asked. “After all these millennia, could he possibly feel guilt for what Fëanor did?”

“Perhaps,” Elrond said slowly. “This Great Work of healing he mentioned... it may indeed not just be the island that has required it.”

“Why would an island need healing?” Frodo asked curiously. “What an odd notion!”

“Not altogether,” Sam reminded him. “The Shire needed healing, sure enough, and other lands, too.”

“Indeed,” Elrond said. “Sam, if you will pass another apple this way, and perhaps some of that cheese, I will tell you both more about Aulë, and why this island is here... and what I now believe is happening above and below this place.”

*~*~*~*~*

It was easy for Gimli to see why the hobbits had only discovered the tunnel in the hill by nearly falling right into the opening; it would be all too easy to lean against the curtain of tangled plants concealing its entrance and tumble through into nothingness. Mahtan held aside a portion of the foliage and led Gimli to the narrow opening in the hillside, then paused.

“I will go ahead and light the lamps,” the elf said. “If you will wait but a moment...”

“I would like to accompany you, if I may,” Gimli said respectfully. “Dwarves do not fear the darkness.”

“Of course,” Mahtan said with a smile. “I have been taught much about the Khazâd, son of Gloín, and should have remembered that.”

Mahtan’s utterance in Khuzdul surprised Gimli, and brought a matching smile to his face.

“Please call me Gimli. I do not recognize your name, Mahtan, and apologize for that, but am very glad we have met.”

“As am I,” Mahtan said. “I will answer all of your questions very soon. This way...” He led Gimli into the tunnel, and down a very gentle grade. The floor was smooth, and the walls glistened in a way that reminded Gimli of the outer chambers of the caverns of Aglarond in Rohan. Shattered bits of crystal, some quite large, lay scattered on the ground as they passed. As Mahtan led him farther in, and the passageway widened, the daylight from the entrance began to fade into dimness. Soon Mahtan’s steps slowed, then stopped, and Gimli sensed ahead of them a larger opening, although there was now only darkness about them.

“Your journey to the cliffside was a long one,” Mahtan said, and Gimli heard a faint echo of his voice from far-off walls. “I know you must be weary and as in need of food and drink as your companions; we need go no further this day. When you visit again, you may go as far as you like, with me or on your own, and explore whatever passageways call out to you.”

“But what is down here?” Gimli asked in confusion. “You spoke of a Great Work.”

“Watch,” Mahtan said softly. Withdrawing flint and steel from a pocket in his tunic, he produced a hot spark that he touched to something above his head. ‘Lamps’ he had said, but the hollow globe on a tall pedestal that burst suddenly into radiance was larger and more beautiful than any lamp Gimli had seen before, even those of ancient Dwarf-make. Mahtan kindled a second lamp, and then a third farther on, until pure, brilliant light flooded the space before them. Gimli stood rooted where he stood, trying to comprehend what his eyes were telling him.

They stood at the entrance to a cavern, and it was enormous – or would have been, had it not been nearly filled with giant crystals the size of which Gimli had never seen nor even imagined. They grew through the walls and floor like giant fingers in a mad profusion, nearly filling a vast space at least 200 feet deep. The gleam of gold could be seen everywhere, as well as sparkling patches of colored gems. The light seemed to ricochet from every direction, some of it being absorbed by the criss-crossing pillars of crystal in a way that made them appear to glow from within. It was stunning, incredible, a sight, Gimli was certain, beyond the experience of any Dwarf.

Mahtan returned to his side.

“Passageways, both large and narrow, lead in many directions from here,” the elf said, “and plunge deeply into the heart of this side of the island. Even I, after so many millennia, have not explored them all. For the most part, I merely visit to allow the energy and silence fill me, and gather those fragments which the earth has loosened from its grasp.” He turned to Gimli, and was surprised to see tears in the Dwarf’s eyes.

“The forces necessary to produce this...” Gimli could barely speak. “The natural energy of such large crystals, focused in one place...”

“But what of the gold?” Mahtan asked. “Would mining those veins not please you?”

Gimli stared at the elf in astonishment, then reached out to reverently touch the nearest crystalline pillar. “Many wonders have I seen, Mahtan, above ground and below, but this cavern surpasses them all. Nothing here would I touch. This place is...” He shook his head. “You said there was a healing underway. I believe you. What happened to this land, that such tremendous earth-forces should accumulate here?”

Mahtan touched one finger to Gimli’s brow for a moment. “You speak truth. Your heart does not ignite in the presence of this gold.”

Gimli frowned. “The lust for gold has brought more tragedy to my people than I can recount. The Dragon Sickness does not plague me.” He bowed his head in thanksgiving.

“So I have been told.” Mahtan said. “Forgive me for the testing, but I needed to find out for myself. Let us start back to the house, and I will tell you about what you have seen. The lamps will extinguish on their own, after a time.”

Gimli filled his eyes and mind with one more look at the incredible sight, then turned to follow Mahtan back to the surface.

“Saw you the cliffs above,” Mahtan asked as they walked, “how broken and unsettled? And yet over time, the land is calming under Yavanna Kementári's care; she has encouraged plants to grow that can best take root and ease the troubled ground.” His eyes grew distant. “There was once an island isolated in the vast sea, Gimli, which Lord Ulmo caused to travel near to Middle-earth. Upon it a multitude of elves embarked, to be carried across the waters to begin their lives in Valinor. But such stress of movement proved too much for the island, and as the journey westward began, a portion of land broke off and was left behind.  The majority of the island arrived here unhindered, and here it remains.  Understanding the hurt of such a profound disturbance to living rock, Lord Aulë in his compassion – Mahal, as you know him – caused forces within the heart of Arda to be released, bringing forth from the depths those minerals that would grow into crystals of a size to focus the greatest healing energy possible, and encourage this land to settle and find peace. Tol Eressëa this place is called, and it remains high in Mahal’s favor for its part in carrying the Firstborn to these shores. Someday the healing will be complete, and the sundering of old but a distant, gentled memory.”

Gimli shook his head in amazement. “I have never heard this tale, Mahtan. Mahal is first in our histories and our hearts, but to witness such a great work as I saw below, to know that his thoughts and love have been focused here...” He smiled broadly, a great weight lifting from his spirit. “I believe it is this for which I have been searching: to feel closer to the Master, here in the land where he dwells.”

“As this island has been re-rooted, so have you, Gimli,” Mahtan said softly. The tunnel grew brighter, then once again they stepped out into the late-afternoon sun. “I have workshops and a forge nearby. Would you like to see them after your luncheon?”

“Very much,” Gimli said eagerly.

“Would you like to use them?”

Gimli smiled ruefully. “I am honored, Mahtan, but at my age I no longer have the strength for wielding a smith’s hammer. I could bring little to your forge.”

“You could bring a great deal,” Mahtan corrected him. “I have been awaiting inspiration for new works, and am eager to spend time with someone who has traveled far, experienced so much, and shares my love for those things upon which Mahal has poured out his heart and vision. Will you share your tales, sing of your lands, and describe Mahal's wonders across the sea?  In return, here you may enjoy the smelting and fashioning of gold, the faceting and setting of gems, and the carving of soft stone and wood.  These things do not require strength, or youth, but passion, patience, and skill. Have you these things? Does your heart not yearn to bring forth beauty from the Master’s abundant earth?”

“More than you can imagine, and I thank you for this opportunity.” Gimli suddenly looked grave. “The years of our friendship will be brief, I deem. I am old, as my race measures time.”

Mahtan smiled softly. “What is time, to the earth and the stones? We are all but a blink to those who sang Arda into being, and hold us in their hearts.”

Gimli’s eyes glowed with joy, and he bowed deeply to the elf.

“Son of Gloín, all that I have, and all that I know, are yours for the learning, if you so desire it.” Mahtain motioned to the house. “Come.”

** TBC **

Chapter 5: Strawberry Pie

All hobbits, of course, can cook, for they begin to learn the art before their letters (which many never reach): but Sam was a good cook, even by hobbit reckoning.

‘Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit’, The Two Towers

The hobbits and Legolas heard Gimli before they saw him. His laughter, as he and Mahtan came through the entryway, was so unrestrained and boisterous, it set several of the fragile wind chimes tinkling as he passed.

“And there he is!” Gimli proclaimed, pointing to Legolas.

“Indeed!” Mahtan said, surveying Legolas closely. “Our woodland friend must have tales as unique as your own.”

“Just what have you been telling him, Gimli?” Legolas asked nervously. He had no wish to be embarrassed before such a legendary person.

“Mahtan was just asking me if I’d ever spent a prolonged period of time with an elf, seeing as I may soon be doing so again. ‘Prolonged’ doesn’t begin to describe our travels, does it, my friend?”

“It does not,” Legolas said with a grin.

“You’re going to be spending time with Mahtan?” Frodo asked with barely-restrained joy. “Then you liked the tunnel?”

“Frodo, the tunnel was very much to my liking,” Gimli said sincerely. “I cannot thank you enough for stumbling upon it.”

“Frodo Baggins,” Mahtan said, bowing slightly. “Sam Gamgee. Legolas, son of Thranduil. Gimli has told me your names, and I look forward to getting to know you better.”

“It’s our honor,” Frodo said, and Legolas touched his hand to his heart.

“The son of Eärendil is not here?” Mahtan asked as he and Gimli joined the others at the table.

“He’s seeing to the horses,” Sam said. “He said he also wanted to take another walk among the plants. This is such a lovely place, sir.”

“I am most pleased you appreciate it, Sam,” Mahtan said. “If I may be so bold as to say so, I am certain that Yavanna must also surely sense your kind regard.”

“Do you live here alone, Mahtan?” Frodo asked, unable to hide his concern that the ancient elf had been feeling millennia of guilt for something he couldn’t have anticipated, or stopped.  Why, just a few years of darkening thoughts had nearly been too much for him.

“Occasionally I do, Frodo, but for only a few moon cycles at a time to feel the healing energy, and keep my skills fresh in my workshops,” Mahtan said. “My wife and children, and much of my large family, live in Avallonë, but occasionally visit here as well.” He smiled gently. “My family’s troubles were long ago, my friend, and my life has been a good one. The slow but inexorable healing of this land has taught me patience, and hope, and the knowledge that even the greatest of hurts can be eased with time.” Frodo’s smile was a mirror of his own. “I see that you know something of this.”

Gimli surveyed the table with a critical eye. “I hope you have left a few crumbs for an old Dwarf and our esteemed host,” he said.

“More than a few,” Frodo assured him, uncovering the ample portions of food they had set aside.

“Are you finding the luncheon to your liking, my friends?” Mahtan asked.

“Very much so,” Frodo said, and Sam nodded enthusiastically.

“Thank you for your hospitality, sir,” Sam said to Mahtan. “We’ve enjoyed your food. I hope you don’t mind that we've added what we planned to use for our picnic.”

“You’ve lived a long time, Mahtan, but you’ve never tasted anything like Sam’s strawberry pie,” Frodo said confidently. “May I cut a slice for you?”

“Thank you, Frodo,” Mahtan said. Sam noticed that the elf seemed amused at the sight of a square pie.

“We didn’t have a proper round pan to use, sir, but I hope you’ll like it all the same,” he said.

Mahtan tasted the pie and heaped many compliments on Sam, but when the hobbit’s attention was elsewhere, he whispered a few words of Khuzdul to Gimli and looked pointedly at Sam. Suddenly, as if struck by a bolt of lightning, Gimli felt a blinding realization fill him.

I believed that the hobbits lacked nothing here, but they have just been making do with what they could find in the marketplace, or which has been gifted to them. I could easily craft more suitable baking pans, pie tins, and cutlery of a size and shape that would please them... fine cabinetry, more furniture, a bench set near the garden, a second within sight of the sea...

As sound swirled around him with conversation and laughter and the clatter of plates, his mind filled with new and exciting ideas.

Legolas’s dwelling is modest; he has taken little thought to it. I know that he would appreciate wind-driven chimes such as these, some finely wrought lamps, and perhaps new arrows to use in the archery competitions... Elrond has been writing a great deal; perhaps inkwells for him, clasps for his books, and a fine bracelet for his lady. Does a wizard need anything I could provide? The hobbits would know. And for Lady Galadriel...

A voice broke into his reflections.

“You’re looking happy again, Gimli, although you’re barely eating anything!” Sam said, torn between joy and concern.

Gimli looked around the table at four pairs of eyes smiling at him.

“I am happy, Sam,” Gimli said. To his surprise, he felt ravenously hungry. He pulled over the cheese platter and cut a hefty sample of each kind for himself. “Forgive a foolish old Dwarf whose mind tends to wander.”

“I think we can do that,” Legolas said teasingly.

When Elrond returned, the waves of joy emanating from each person seated around the table nearly overwhelmed him. Mahtan rose to greet him.

“Welcome to my home, Elrond. I have been speaking with your friends, and hope you will bring them to visit us in Avallonë. We have ponies to lend them, and my family will enjoy getting to know all of you.” He turned to wink at the hobbits. “There is also a recipe I would like my esteemed wife to learn, if Sam would be so kind as to share it with her.”

“We will come with pleasure, Aulëndur,” Elrond said, “and I hope you will have patience with me when we have time to converse; the questions I have for you may exceed the number of stars in the sky.”

“I hope you will patiently endure my questions, as well!” Mahtan said, clasping Elrond’s arms in friendship. “And if everyone has now eaten their fill...” He smiled at Gimli. “Think you that our friends would like to gaze upon the wonders Mahal has unleashed below us before you start for home?”

“You mean inside the tunnel?” Frodo asked eagerly. He scrambled to his feet. “What are we waiting for? Elves may have eternity to accomplish all they will, but hobbits have rather less time.”

As do Dwarves, Gimli mused. But I feel like a youngling again, about to apprentice to a master smith. I have been wallowing in my own petty problems, blind to the ways I can enrich the lives of those around me. In my time remaining, I may only be able to craft a fraction of those things I desire to gift to my friends.  But what I can do, I will do.

As they walked outside, with Frodo beside him, the final piece for which he had been searching slid into place.

I am needed here.

** TBC **

Chapter 6: Mahal’s Child

‘Have I not felt it? Even now my heart desires to test my will upon [the palantír], to see if I could not wrench it from him and turn it where I would - to look across the wide seas of water and of time to Tirion the Fair, and perceive the unimaginable hand and mind of Fëanor at their work, while both the White Tree and the Golden were in flower!' [Gandalf] sighed and fell silent.

‘The Palantír’, The Two Towers

In the months that followed, Gimli made many visits to Mahtan’s house, riding the pony he had been given.  He was always warmly welcomed. He spent his time there sharing tales and songs with the ancient elf, exploring, sketching, and gathering materials. Mahtan alloted him his own workshop, where his innate and considerable skills quickly returned, enhanced in new ways by his patient and tireless mentor. Before long, a wealth of lovingly-crafted objects, both beautiful and functional, began to pour forth in a continuous stream.

At first Frodo and Sam saw Gimli only rarely, but after emerging from long, satisfying periods of work, he would arrive at their home at unexpected times. Driving one of Mahtan’s carts, he always brought with him sacks bulging with gifts, or occasionally larger items such as pieces of indoor furniture or a matched pair of quite Shire-like benches. However, after a few days of talk and laughter with the hobbits, bounteous meals, and assisting them with outdoor projects beyond their strength, he would invariably grow restless, eager to return to his workshop. After he had gone, Frodo and Sam would quietly celebrate Gimli’s newfound joy and contentment, and delight in whatever he had brought them. Sam’s pies and cakes had never been so beautifully round, and Frodo’s new desk was as comfortable and well proportioned as Bilbo’s had ever been. As often as they could, when their gardens could spare them, the hobbits packed up quantities of baked goods for Mahtan and Gimli and rode up to the cliff on their own ponies, which they had named Fredegar and Butterbur. After their first, astonished, visit to the underground crystalline world, they had returned again and again, drawn as much by the unimaginable beauty as the subtle healing energy concentrated there.

Legolas, too, was a frequent visitor, as were Elrond and Celebrían – all of whom also invariably returned home with gifts of exquisite Dwarf-make. Over time, they also met Mahtan’s friends and family, many of whom debated endlessly about which sight was the more surprising – the halflings who had brought down Sauron and were so favored by the Powers, a Dwarf of great courtesy and skill now living in harmony with them on the island, or the ever-unfolding wonder that Aulë wrought beneath their feet.

On one visit to Gimli’s workshop, Legolas was presented with a pair of wind chimes for the tree outside his home.

“I will treasure these,” Legolas said, thanking his friend warmly. He held up the chimes to admire them. One was hung with tiny brass bells interspersed with leaves of crystal veined with gold, and the other was a cascade of blown-glass gulls in various colors. He looked about the crowded workshop and smiled teasingly. “Surely there can be little left to create! I see your work everywhere I go, and hear your name in many conversations, always with surprise... and admiration. The hobbits, Elrond, and I have been besieged with questions about you.”

“Little left to create?” Gimli asked in astonishment. “With all of these materials at hand, and so little time left to me?”

Legolas shook his head. “Nay, you appear twice the Dwarf you were but months ago, both in energy and joy in living. May you live long enough to empty your mind and spirit of all that Aulë and Mahtan have inspired in you.”

“May it be so,” Gimli said reverently. A confident satisfaction, as solid as stone, filled his heart. “I am forever a child of Mahal, and feel closer to him here than anywhere I have ever been.”

“How do you fare with the Lady’s gift?” Legolas asked curiously.

“Ah!” Gimli’s face lit up. “Come and see. There are many more questions I would ask you; ship-building is your skill, not mine.” He led Legolas to an inner room, where a single object sat on a table. There, yet unfinished, sat a miniature likeness of the swan-ship of Galadriel and Celeborn which had so captivated the Fellowship in Lothlórien. The hull was of a pure-white wood, painstakingly smoothed and molded, the beak was covered in incredibly thin sheets of gold leaf, the eyes were fashioned of tiny faceted crystals of deep brown, and the swans-neck prow was high and curved. Proud wings, barely begun, lay nearby.

“Carving all the feathers will take some time,” Gimli said, “and I have not yet considered rudder or paddles. Think you that this design will be light enough to float, and yet not tip sideways in a strong breeze? It is not too late to make structural changes, although I wish to finish it soon.” He smiled up at his friend. “A small craft such as this would be a pleasing plaything for a child, would it not? I have been thinking that Lord Celeborn will arrive someday. Perhaps...”

Legolas laughed with delight. “You envision more children for the Lord and Lady? And why not? There will be no shadow on their future here. And with the hobbits secretly wishing the same for Elrond and Celebrían... Your small ships must indeed sail smoothly, and endure the exuberance of children.” He was silent for a moment. “Your gifts are truly from the heart, my friend, and future generations will know your name.”

Although deeply moved, Gimli waved that off.

“A Dwarf is known by his work,” he insisted.

And by his comrades’ high regard, Legolas thought, but he said nothing, merely laying a hand gently on Gimli’s shoulder. Soon the two friends were poring over the small ship, sharing ideas, with Legolas advising in construction and design and Gimli alternating between stroking his beard in deep thought and taking copious notes.

*~*~*~*~*

One day, while Gimli was underground examining a room filled with crystalline outcroppings of an unusual rose pink, Mahtan looked up from where he was kneeling in his garden to see Gandalf striding towards him.

“Hail, Gandalf!” Mahtan smiled, pleased to see the Maia. He got to his feet. “I have been hoping you would come by.”

“And I have been longing to visit, but have had matters to attend to that kept me away,” Gandalf responded. His friends has grown used to his absences and sudden reappearances; whatever his tasks or responsibilities here in the West, they didn’t pry, and just enjoyed his company when he was among them. Although he retained his appearance as Gandalf the White, and would do so for as long as the hobbits lived, his beard was now neatly trimmed, and the cumbersome robe had been replaced by comfortable tunic and trousers.

“You have enough berries here to fill a hobbit’s larder,” Gandalf said, eyeing the many baskets around Mahtan’s feet.

“So I have been told!” Mahtan said. “I have learned much of our small friends in these months, and hope to learn more. Will you come inside, and take refreshment?”

Gandalf helped him carry the baskets inside. Mahtan brought out wine and a selection of small cakes, and invited the Maia to sit.

“Are these Sam’s cakes?” Gandalf asked with pleasure.

“They are indeed.” Mahtan served the cakes, then poured two glasses of wine. “If all hobbits are as gifted at baking, their Shire must be a place of great bounty and contentment.”

“It is a special land indeed, and you have met two of its most special hobbits,” Gandalf said fondly.

“Know you that Gimli has been showering his friends with gifts?”

Gandalf grinned. “I have heard little else, and what I have seen of his work is quite remarkable.”

“It is, and he has yet to reach his full potential. I sense amazing depths to his skill, and his connection to the Master is strong.” Mahtan took a sip of wine. “He hopes that you, also, will accept a modest gift in thanks for all you have done, and for your friendship; however, it is one I must convey on his behalf.”

Gandalf frowned. “I need no gifts.  Indeed, the debt is mine; if not for Gimli, another hobbit of which I am quite fond, Frodo’s cousin Peregrin, would have been lost in the battle against Sauron’s armies.”

Mahtan nodded. He set down his glass and gazed at the Maia. “Interesting that you should mention Peregrin.  When Gimli was puzzling over what a wizard might appreciate receiving, Frodo told him that Peregrin had traveled far with you, and learned of something that you desire.”

“I am quite intrigued!” Gandalf said with a laugh. “I cannot imagine what Peregrin might have gleaned from our conversations that he would have wished to share with his cousin.”

“To gaze upon Fëanor,” Mahtan said softly.

Gandalf’s mouth opened in surprise, and he bowed his head. After some time, he looked up with a soft smile.

“I cannot deny it,” he said at last. “I never dreamed Peregrin would remember such a thing, especially during such a desperate time.”

“Frodo also told Gimli that you were able to read his thoughts and memories during a deathly illness he suffered en route to Elrond’s sanctuary. Gandalf, my memories of my son-in-law are vivid, when I allow myself to re-live those times.”

“I would never dream of asking you to--”

“It would please Gimli greatly to allow you this experience,” Mahtan said softly. “The Kinstrife was long, long, ago, Gandalf, and whatever my son-in-law set in motion due to his hubris, I am at peace now in all ways.” He held out his hands. “Please. If you are able to see my memories, and if you wish it, you are welcome.”

Slowly, Gandalf reached out and took Mahtan’s hands in his own. He closed his eyes, concentrating deeply as the elf’s memories unfolded like flowers for his viewing, at last gazing in wonderment at a time and a craftsman long gone, and the sight of three silmarils hallowed and unsullied. And as Gandalf peered through the millennia, Mahtan fell into a gentle dream, aware of only warmth, and the glorious light of Two Trees, and Aulë’s approving smile.

*~*~*~*~*

In a secluded and fragrant garden, Yavanna walked with her spouse.

“You are pleased,” she observed.

“As are you. Your small gardener fares well, and his heart is at peace.”

“And your child has found a most unlooked-for life far from home and kin. The Song continues to unfold, does it not?”

“Indeed.” Aulë bent to pluck a leaf of athelas, which had sprouted beneath Yavanna’s feet, and studied it.

“A plant so humble,” he marvelled, “and unremarked by many, yet with its own admirable place in the unfolding of Arda.”

“The small ones were so pleased to find this growing here. What does it smell like to you?” Yavanna asked teasingly, remembering her beloved gardener’s questions.

“That which is most pleasing to me: the solid foundation of the world.” He smiled. “And you?”

“Every green thing that grows upon it.”

Aulë placed the leaf in Yavanna’s hand, and closed his own hand over hers. Of one mind, they stood together in the garden of Lórien and dreamed.  Upon the cliff where one island had long ago been sundered into two, the healing plants quivered, and dug deeper into the unsettled ground. Far below, crystals grew brighter, more focused, and the land was soothed.   

In a cavern deep beneath the Blessed Isle, Gimli stood motionless as he felt a powerful, surging current ripple all around him, and through him.  Without volition, he heard himself calling out words in the most ancient language of his people, and trembled to hear in response the fulfillment of his greatest desire -- the voice of Mahal, singing through the earth.  As his heart swelled with joy, he spied one tiny, perfect crystal in the wall beside him glowing softly in the darkness.  He touched it gently, whereupon it loosened and fell into his palm, a gift from the Maker to his child.  Gimli pressed it to his heart, and bowed his head in gratitude.  And when he finally left the cavern, eager to see his friends and return to his workshop, he was singing, and the earth echoed his song and magnified it until one would believe the depths were filled with a multitude of dwarves, all of one mind and one purpose, in a new and welcoming home across the Sea.

** END **