Author's Note: It appears inspiration has struck again for me!

For Frodo and Bilbo on their birthdays...

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The Elves occupied their nights during the voyage Westward with feasting, singing and dancing as they celebrated their imminent homecoming to Valinor. Normally, if one were looking for the wizard Gandalf, then you’d do well to seek him among the Elves on most nights, for he too had much cause to celebrate. After all he too was going home, victorious in his mission, after an extended absence for more than two thousand years!

On the same night the ship was to pass the Remnants of Númenór, a singer of Lothlórien was in the middle of a hymn praising Elbereth when in his mind he experienced a sudden flash of a long forgotten memory. In his mind he saw the face of a young woman, smiling as gloriously as the rays of Anor herself!

It was the sound of applause that finally brought Gandalf out of his memory, and back to the present. He briefly added his own applause before rising to make is way out of the galley, and stepping out into the starry night he walked towards the ship’s bow. He only halted when he made other two forms, one an Elf and the other clearly a hobbit, illuminated by the light of Eärendil.

He was too far away to make out their words, but Gandalf recognized the voices as belonging to Elrond and Bilbo. Pulling out his pipe from his belt, he decided to walk to the stern of the ship, and enjoy a smoke there as he did not want to disturb the friends’ conversation. The wizard was very aware that once his supply of pipeweed ran out, that as they say would be that. So he now only indulged in only a small way, adding only a pinch or two of precious Old Toby into the bowl before lighting it.

Bathed in Ithil’s light, Gandalf puffed on his pipe, sending various shapes and colors into the night sky. His mind began to wonder again, turning towards their destination, and suddenly the face of the young woman was in his mind again.

And this time he experience more than a flash of memory...

The Eve of the Departure of the Istari

In a secluded cove on the shores of Valinor, a ship laid anchored, preparing for departure to Middle-earth ere Anor’s rays touched the Eastern horizon. Bathing the white beaches in its pail light, working in concert with Varda’s stars, casting the beach in rich hues of deep royal blue, indigo, and black. The stars twinkled like diamonds in the heavens above reflected off the Sea, as dolphins leapt playfully from the water.

Nearby on the white sands of the beach, her feet unshod, her gaze locked on Eärendil as he entered the final phase of his eternal nocturnal journey. She savored the sensation having recently taken on physical form, releasing a squeal of surprise when the waves splashed her feet after she ventured a little too close. As the waves splashed her feet again, she quickly covered her mouth with her hand in an attempt to stifle the giggle that had half escaped her deep red lips already.

“Aearhyalma?” a deep, beloved voice called from a little ways up the beach.

“I’m here,” the woman called with an add squeal the water splash again.

“Limidhren, are you all right?” her husband asked, sitting up on the blanket where he slept until just a few moments ago.

“Aye, Olórin, I am,” she replied, rejoining him on the blanket, “It’s just I’ve never experienced the touch of water in such a way.”

Her spouse released a riotous bark of laughter, for which he found himself at his wife’s mercy as she pinned him down with her legs and began to relentlessly seek her revenge against him. She had learned, with some great amusement, had learned since he took physical form that several areas on it were what the mortals and Elves referred to as ticklish.

After a few moments she asked, “Do you yield, my lord?” She paused in her assault momentarily, and with a breathless nod, her spouse half whispered, “Yessss!”

“Yes what?” Limidhren asked playfully, threatening to continue the tickling.

Drawing in a huge breath, he added, “Yes, my lady!”

With one final tickle, Limidhren settled again onto the blanket beside him, smiling still as her husband huffed and puffed before at last he caught his breath. It had been quite an experience for them both, adjusting to physical bodies, especially for Olórin, who had started out with a mortal’s youthful body but was now slowly aging as those journeying to the lands of the Eldar and Secondborn would be seen as old men.

Olórin had started out with the ever youthful appearance of an Elven lord with long golden locks and eyes as blue as the mid-morning skies. Now his eyes had darkened to a sea grey while a beard had begun to grow, covering the new wrinkles that now marred that was once as smooth as any Elf’s. It was a sight Limidhren found disconcerting, and she could not allow herself to adjust enough to grow accustom to it. Even now as she caressed her husband’s face, and kissed him, she longed to see his youthful features returned to him even as she knew it was impossible until his work in the Eastern lands was completed.

Olórin had laid down again, opening his arms to his wife, “Come, we have but a little time left before Anor’s rising. Let us enjoy the quiet while we may.” Wordlessly, Limidhren snuggled into his arms, “I am sorry that I fell asleep, aearhyalma, but I feel after such exquisite meal, I could no longer keep my eyes opened.” He caressed her silver hair, seeking to look into the sea grey eyes, but she kept them closed. “What is it, Limidhren? Why will you not look at me?”

“I want to hear the sound of your voice over that of the ocean,” she replied, “I want to hear it over gazing at a face I no longer truly recognize as that belonging to my husband. Please, melethnîn, let us just speak for a little while.”

Olórin nodded, “Very well.”

They did nothing else but talk for the next hour, enjoying the pleasure their physical bodies afforded them when they were moved beyond mere words to loving touches and caresses. They remained this way until Olórin heard soft footsteps approaching them further up the beach, which stopped several feet just short of them, a deep voice calling out, “Olórin, Lord Manwë bids you to prepare for departure.”

Eönwë, Herald of the Lord of the Breathe of Arda, did not immediately receive the response he had anticipated but instead heard muffled giggles, “Olórin?” The Herald swung his lantern in the direction of the giggles to see the two Maia, who suddenly remembered their dignity, were rising from a blanket, both bowing to the Maia before them.

Olórin grasped his wife’s hand, saying, “Very well, my lord, I shall be along shortly.”

Eönwë eyes them suspiciously but said only, “See that you are, Olórin, as Anor will grace the heavens in a short time from now and your ship must be cast off before then.” Casting them one last look, the Herald turned and began his walk back towards the waiting ship.

A few moments later, Limidhren was held tightly by her sister, as they watched their husbands board the ship that would take them East along with the other three members of their order. Olórin and Curunír assumed a place by the bow of the ship, watching their wives as orders where given for the moorings to be loosen. Then as the ship slowly began to move forward they both raised their hands in farewell, and did so until the pier where their wives stood disappeared.

Saelinucalad turned to leave, grasping her sister’s hand, she wiped away a tear from Limidhren’s face, “Lord Ulmo will give them a safe journey to the Eastern Lands, and we must trust Ilúvatar to return them to us when their work is accomplished.”

Limidhren whispered, “Yes.”

“They will return to us,” Saelinucalad repeated, “Have faith.”

Gandalf was so caught up in the memory that he did sense or hear the approach of hobbit feet slowly padding along the deck, and he visibly jumped when he heard an exclamation of “Bless my soul, is that Old Toby I smell?”

Gandalf looked down sharply at the hobbit, “Why, Bilbo-dear, I see that hobbits are as stealthy as ever! You have positively given me a fright!”

“I gave you a fright?” Bilbo echoed, “Why, my dear Gandalf, I believe in all the time since we’ve known one another I’ve managed to sneak up on you, and I was not even trying to!”

Gandalf smiled, “I am sorry, Bilbo, but my mind was elsewhere just now with my memories, my dreams of home.”

“Dreams of home, eh?” Bilbo asked, stepping up to the rail beside him, “I never thought about it but you...the wizards were sent to Middle-earth by the Valar weren’t you?”

Gandalf nodded, taking a puff on his pipe only to discover it had burned out, “Sticklebacks!” He pulled out his pouch, first offering some of the weed to Bilbo who politely refused, and then refilled his pipe, lighting it before saying, “Yes, indeed, those of my Order were sent to Middle-earth by order of the Valar and by Ilúvatar’s will.”

Bilbo watched the various colors and shapes in smoke rings his friend blew before saying, “You were sent to help all the Free Folk fight Sauron, weren’t you?”

“Indeed,” the wizard replied.

“Gandalf,” Bilbo began, “What are the Undying Lands like?”

“More beautiful and peaceful than you can imagine, my friend,” Gandalf lowered his pipe, “You’re worried that Frodo won’t find healing there, aren’t you?”

Bilbo nodded, “I am.”

Placing a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder, “I promise you, Bilbo Baggins, Frodo will be healed and that you will share many happy years there with him.”

“Many years, eh?”

“Yes, my friend, many years,” Gandalf confirmed.

Bilbo laughed, “What a ridiculous thing to promise a hobbit my age!”

“Ai, but can you not already feel the effects of the Blessed Realm, my friend?”

Bilbo thought for a moment, “If by effects you mean feeling almost like a tweenager instead of my one hundred and thirty years?” Gandalf nodded. “Well then I suppose I am feeling the effects of the Blessed Realm and if it can help an old bachelor like me feel ninety-seven years younger, then I have hope it can help Frodo find healing.”

“Speaking of Frodo, how is he?”

“Frodo is faring somewhat better,” Elrond said, joining them, “Forgive the intrusion but I thought you would wish to know that Frodo had returned to bed.”

“Is he all right?”

The Elf lord nodded, “I think he is just overtired. There is no need to be overly concerned for him.”

“None the less, I think I shall sit with Frodo a little while before seeking my own bed.”

Tamping out the bowl of his pipe, Gandalf raised a hand to halt Bilbo, “You should go on to bed, old friend. I will stay with Frodo for a few hours.”

“If you are certain?”

Gandalf nodded, “I am. Go to bed.”

“Very well,” Bilbo said, “Goodnight, Gandalf, Master Elrond.”

“Goodnight.”

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Please note, the character of Limidhren is an originally created character I introduced in my story entitled “From the Sea”in which I introduced the idea that when Gandalf journeyed to Middle-earth he left behind a wife in the West.

Please do not use Limidhren in a story without my prior knowledge or consent...

Also the word aearhyalma is the closest I could get to “sea turtle” but it is not an exact translation as more accurately translated it means ”sea, shell or conch”...