THE PATH TO HEALING

Chapter 6  -- A Gift of Time

Now fair and marvellous was that vessel made, and it was filled with a wavering flame, pure and bright; and Eärendil the Mariner sat at the helm, glistening with dust of elven-gems, and the Silmaril was bound upon his brow.  Far he journeyed in that ship, even into the starless voids; but most often was he seen at morning or at evening, glimmering in sunrise or sunset, as he came back to Valinor from voyages beyond the confines of the world.

On those journeys Elwing did not go, for she might not endure the cold and the pathless voids, and she loved rather the earth and the sweet winds that blow on sea and hill.  Therefore there was built for her a white tower northward upon the borders of the Sundering Seas; and thither at times all the sea-birds of the earth repaired.  And it is said that Elwing learned the tongue of birds, who herself had once worn their shape; and they taught her the craft of flight, and her wings were of white and silver-grey.  And at times, when Eärendil returning drew near again to Arda, she would fly to meet him, even as she had flown long ago, when she was rescued from the sea.  Then the far-sighted among the Elves that dwelt in the Lonely Isle would see her like a white bird, shining, rose-stained in the sunset, as she soared in joy to greet the coming of Vingilot to haven.  ‘Of the Voyage of Eärendil’, The Silmarillion

When Celebrimbor left without giving an exact time or date for the ‘special meeting’ he had mentioned, neither Frodo nor Bilbo thought anything of it; they had already begun adapting to the very fluid concept of time held by the Elves of Tol Eressëa.  The only mechanical timepiece on the island was Bilbo’s own pocket-watch, which they gradually consulted less and less... until it was finally put away in a drawer.  Both hobbits learned to rely, instead, on Frodo’s uncanny ability to sense when something unusual was about to happen, or when they would be receiving guests for whom they needed to prepare.  Bilbo knew that his nephew had spent years dreaming of the Sea, and had envisioned their new home before ever reaching it.  Frodo’s abilities had been greatly heightened, apparently, by the journey West and his long healing sleep. 

As for Bilbo, he was far from young -- but neither did he feel as weary and infirm as he had before sailing.  He slept less, walked more, and felt positively inspired by the tales and songs of the noble folk with whom he and Frodo were surrounded.    He was well content with his decision to spend his last years in a new land with his beloved Elves, and was delighted that Frodo had made the best decision for himself, as well.  Frodo sang and hummed more and more often, not unlike the Elves with whom they spent so much time; he was happy and busy, exactly as he had foretold that Sam would be in the Shire.

Their days were as full as they wished, whether spent talking, writing, visiting, gardening, baking, gathering fruit or berries, or practicing Quenya with their friends.  The hobbits had been delighted to learn that the Elves held fairs and festivals not unlike those in the Shire.  Special occasions and remembrances were celebrated with great feasts, during which there was much singing, dancing, and rejoicing in bounty from land and sea.

And of course, there was Mellon.  She and Frodo travelled a great deal, together discovering caves, waterfalls, and ancient trails.  One day, drawn by he knew not what instinct, Frodo urged the dog toward a secluded valley about halfway between their home and the small city of Avallonë.  There, they found one of the descendants of Celeborn, the island’s original White Tree, scion of Galathilion of Valinor.  A seedling still, this young tree grew straight and proud, surrounded by sheltering mallorns near a small, perfectly round lake.  Frodo espied faint paths in the grass in that valley, made by Elves coming to visit this place.  He wondered if this young tree had a name yet, and how many others like it now grew on the island; he hoped someday to discover them all.

Frodo fell asleep under the mallorns, lying comfortably amidst the yellow and white flowers dotting the soft grass.  That day, for the first time since sailing West, he dreamed about Middle-earth.  He soared high above it, and everywhere he looked, there were lands fertile and renewed... a Shire at peace, Ithilien in bloom, and Gondor flourishing.

It was worth it, was Frodo's first thought upon waking.  All of it.  I wouldn’t change a thing.

He found by his right hand a soft, new blossom that the white tree had let fall.  He brought it home to Bilbo, who had never seen the Tree that bloomed in the courtyard of Minas Tirith.  Bilbo chuckled, and plucked several more flowers from where they had settled themselves in Frodo’s curls.  Holding the blossoms in their hands, the hobbits found themselves sharing their memories of Aragorn and Arwen.  They speculated on what type of kingdom the two were building together, and what their children might be like.  Bilbo told Frodo about the joy he had seen in Aragorn’s eyes whenever his friend spoke about Arwen and the future they hoped to share someday.  And Frodo told Bilbo more about the wedding, when Arwen slid the ring of Barahir back onto her beloved’s finger and Aragorn had gifted her with a sparkling ring, woven of mithril and diamonds, that had belonged to his mother.  Frodo had Bilbo laughing when the old hobbit learned about the look of pure astonishment on Rose Cotton’s face – indeed on the faces of her entire family – when, at their wedding, Sam surprised her with a delicate ring wrought of the gold Bilbo himself had given him in Rivendell.  They spoke of rings, and family, and the many wondrous things they had seen in their lives... but lightly, with laughter and fond memories.

And so the gentle days passed, during which Frodo and Bilbo talked about many things, cherishing their time together.  But late one night, Frodo felt strangely restless.  He went outside, and curled up with Mellon under the trees, his head pillowed on the dog’s warm body.

Without explaining why, Celebrimbor had left Gandalf’s ring, Narya, with him, and Frodo pulled it from his pocket and held it up.  Eärendil’s star glittered bright and clear, neither low in the east nor west, but nearly overhead -- a rare sight.   Frodo peered at it through Narya’s ruby, and the light from the brilliant star – itself an ancient gem – sparkled and danced in colors of red, orange, and gold not unlike Gandalf’s fireworks.

Narya was neither as delicate to behold as Nenya or Vilya, but to Frodo, it was the most truly beautiful of the three.  Its deceptively simple appearance had hidden great power and subtlety, like Gandalf himself.  The golden band appeared heavy, but felt, strangely, almost weightless when held.  Frodo found it comforting to have a ring in his pocket once again, and because it had been Gandalf’s, felt a special bond with this ring. 

As Frodo gazed up at the glittering stars, he found himself thinking about the gems set into each of the Three.  He wondered how long it had taken Celebrimbor to make the rings, and how he could possibly bear to give them up twice.  And with a sudden realization, he knew without a doubt that the time had come for Celebrimbor to return.

“I should be nervous,” Frodo whispered to Mellon.  “He was terribly mysterious about what he and Gandalf were planning.  But I feel that something marvelous is about to happen.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

Two days later, in the late afternoon, Frodo reflected on the company with whom he travelled.  This short journey reminded him of when he, Sam, and Bilbo, had ridden with the Elves from the Shire to the Grey Havens.  But this time the group was very small, the distance short, and although Frodo had been told where they were going, he was uncertain what would happen when they arrived.  Elrond, Galadriel, and Celebrimbor each rode a beautiful horse, Bilbo seated in front of Elrond.

Frodo couldn’t remember ever seeing Elrond so excited.  As a matter of fact, he couldn’t remember ever seeing Elrond excited, or in less than perfect control of his emotions.  But the Elf Lord was so joyous this evening, he kept bursting into song, his voice pure and vibrant.  Bilbo was, as always, excited by another new experience.  Celebrimbor seemed solemn, and Galadriel serene.

It was nearly dark when, after a few hours’ gentle ride, they arrived at the top of the cliff a thousand feet above the hobbits’ home – one of the highest points on Tol Eressëa.  And here was another remembrance of the Havens, for Gandalf was there to greet them.  He stood alone with Shadowfax near one of the few trees growing on this high expanse, his eyes shining as brightly as the stars.

The view from the hobbits’ home was truly beautiful, but from this high up... Frodo slid off Mellon’s back while the others dismounted, and looked east, dazzled.  The Sea reflected the deep blues and greens of twilight, punctuated by small, white-sailed ships bobbing gently.  Many of the ships glowed with lanterns hung high in the rigging, making the water appear as a firmament of softly-glowing stars.

The cliff was so high, and the air so clear, Frodo felt he could see farther than he ever had before.  He found himself wondering if this was how the world always appeared to the Elves, their keen sight bringing them far, clear vistas wherever they looked.  After awhile, he realized that everyone was grouped together next to Gandalf, and he joined them.

“Ringbearers, all,” Galadriel said softly.  She motioned to the whole group.  “Guardians, all.”

“Frodo,” Gandalf asked gently, “do you know why we are here?”

Frodo looked up at him.  “I think so.  Celebrimbor said he wishes to return the Three to the air, water, and fire.  He believes it will be healing for him... and for me.”  He looked around.  “Have we come here to do this?”

Gandalf nodded.  “There is power in making and unmaking something; but there is also power – and great wisdom – in knowing when it is time to let go and release that which we hold dear.  True guardians know when to step back, and allow what they have nurtured to move on without them.”

Frodo smiled.  Wasn’t that what Bilbo had done for him?  Gandalf had also stepped back, allowing the hobbits to “set the Shire to rights” and find their own way.  And Sam – somehow – had found the strength to let him go, allowing him to come here for healing, and a new life.

He suddenly became aware that Elrond was gazing north, his expression hopeful and filled with longing.

“She comes,” Elrond whispered.

Frodo followed his gaze, but at first saw nothing.  Then, a small white speck appeared in the sky, growing closer and larger.  At last he could see that it was a bird, white as snow and graceful in its flight.

** TBC **