XII

Frodo did not look back to see what had happened to Ványalos, but by the time Shadowfax delivered them to the porch of the house in the wood, he was waiting for them, in the company of three others, a man and two women. In his concern, Frodo merely noted their presence and not their identities until both he and Olórin had been aided in dismounting. One of the two women stepped forward to help the Istar into his house; the touch of her hand on his arm was enough to steady him more than whatever Ványalos had done to waken him.

Relieved to see his friend able to move normally again, Frodo took a moment to look more closely at the three guests. He recognized them as three of the Valar he had met on the day of their arrival, Irmo, Estë, and Nienna. He was surprised by the presence of the two women, as it was yet daylight and he had been told Estë typically slept by day, and that Nienna left her home in the far west of Aman only on occasions of great importance. That they had come so quickly in answer to whatever summons Ványalos had made told the hobbit a great deal about their feelings for this Maia who had been their counselor, pupil, and friend. Quietly, he followed, careful to stay out of the way, but also needing to know whatever they determined about this unexpected situation.

“I have told you all that happened, all that I did,” Olórin said somewhat testily a short time later, after he had been settled in a comfortable seat in the central hall and had recounted recent events for their visitors. Estë had asked Frodo to bring a cup, and had filled it with a clear fragrant liquid much like a beverage that had been served at the festival in Valmar, yet even more appealing and wholesome; she had then given it to Olórin to drink, and would not allow him to speak until he had drained the glass. He soon appeared less pallid than he had before, and the tremors were gone, though to Frodo's eyes, he still seemed somehow dimmed in ways the hobbit could not describe. “I am quite certain I did nothing so extraordinary as to cause this degree of exhaustion, yet I have no other explanation for it. When I woke, I was suspicious that something more unusual was at fault; now, seeing all three of you here on a moment's notice, I know it must be so. You will forgive my peevish temper, my ladies and my lord, but the last time I can recall being treated so... gingerly was many thousands of years ago, after the incident with Aránayel. You were not so solicitous when I returned after the conflicts with Melkor, nor when Lord Eru returned me here after I was slain by the Balrog. I cannot believe you came now simply because I fainted from weariness!”

“And then slept for much of the afternoon, so deeply you could not waken on your own,” Nienna said gently, her voice as ever full of compassion. “Your Shadowfax is as attentive as he is loyal; I learned enough from him to understand his concern, as well as that of your friends.”

The Istar snorted softly. “For which I am indeed grateful, my lady — yet none of this answers my question, which is: why is this happening to me? I have spent many years in Middle-earth before, if never so many at once, and the work I did then was as difficult as any I have done more recently. Yet on all those occasions, when I returned home, my strength was restored with the passage of time; it did not diminish, as would seem to be the case now. Something is amiss, and if you have any better a notion of what that might be, please do not continue to hide it from me, for I am the one being thus affected, and I would know the truth of what is wrong with me.”

Irmo glanced at Ványalos, who responded with an ambiguous gesture; after several long moments, his silver eyes slipped to his wife and sister. Some unspoken communication passed between all four of them, Frodo suspected, and at length, the Lady of Lórien sighed, her voice as soft as the breath of the night wind. “We would tell you that truth, Olórin, if we ourselves knew it for certain. Since the time when you were sent to us by Lord Eru after the death of your body in Endorë, Irmo has had misgivings about the mission of the Istari and your part in it. He has spoken of them to us, as he has to you, but it was not possible to gain a full measure of understanding until your tasks were completed and you returned to us, freed from the restrictions of that embassy. As you have kept watch over your small friend, so we have kept watch over both of you. Frodo and his kinsman have begun to find healing in the power of Aman, yet you who have long been a part of it have not. With each new use of your Maia abilities, you seem to slip farther into an abyss of weakness, from which rest can only partially restore you. This should not be so, and we are at a loss to understand what must be done to cure it.”

“I cannot enlighten you,” Olórin said after pondering Estë's words. “I know only that something is not right within me, and I cannot live as I lived before.” A shadow of fear darkened his face, though he did not let even a trace of it enter his voice. “Have I spent so many years tied to mortal flesh that I have indeed become mortal?”

“No,” Irmo said, his confidence in his answer absolute. “You know as well as any of us that only Lord Eru can cause such a change, altering the very nature of a being from one kind to another, and that He did not do when He agreed to fashion the bodies in which you and your brethren Istari were sent to Middle-earth, nor did He do so when he returned you after your fall. The bodies were those of Men, but your spirits remained Maia, and not even a hundred thousand years spent tied to them could change that. Yet such a union caused far-reaching results which none of us had anticipated. I fear we did a terrible wrong in how we chose to send you to Endorë, a mistake that may not allow you to fully regain the strength you knew before you were sent on this mission. As binding themselves to a single fana for so many centuries depleted the strength of Melkor and his minions, so being bound to a mortal shell may have done the same for those of your order, even though we had attempted to make certain our methods would prevent all of you from being permanently harmed by it. You were sent in forms untouched by evil, but as a cloth laid too long upon blood takes up its color and can never be wholly cleansed of it, so too in time did the poisons of Melkor which mar Endorë stain your mortal bodies and touch your spirits within them. You are still a Maia, but the ordinary means of healing available to us seemingly cannot correct the damage that such a life in flesh has done to you. Even freed of it, you no longer have the power you once knew, and as yet, we do not know how to restore it to you.”

“But why?” Frodo asked from the corner in which he had been sitting, unwilling to risk getting in the way of these great beings, but too horrified by what he was hearing to keep silent. “Why did you do this? If you knew that your people were weakened by living in the same body for too long, why did you send the wizards that way, in real ones? Didn't you stop to think that they might be hurt by it?”

Olórin would have spoken in the Valar's defense, but Nienna, who was standing nearest him, laid a hand on his shoulder to still him. “We did consider that very question,” she said gently, “especially those of us whose gifts lie in matters of hurt and healing, both of the body and the heart. We debated the matter among ourselves before we brought it to full council with our servants to seek volunteers, for they would be the ones who would go forth thus as our messengers. Manwë sought Lord Eru's counsel in this, for only He could fashion the bodies in which our emissaries were to be bound. He gave His sanction, and He told us such a method would imperil those we sent in this manner, but He did not warn us of this possibility, nor did we think of it until it was too late. Yet we should have foreseen it. Of all the peoples of Middle-earth, it is Men, who are bound most closely with its fate and yet have their own destiny beyond the world, who have borne the greatest burden of Melkor's taint in their flesh. They fall prey to illness and hunger and weariness much more quickly than the Eldar or even the Dwarves, and that poison touches their spirits even when their hearts are true and pure, bringing them great sorrow and frustration and even anger. As they are exposed to it throughout their lives, the evil settles within their flesh and their hearts like a shadow, either pulling them down into corruption, or weighing them heavily with the cares of the mortal world, until they can bear them no longer and thus take to themselves the blessing of the Gift of the One, to be freed of both the burden and the evils Melkor wrought in Arda.

“Do you not know this from your own experience, Frodo? Your people are not Men, yet you are indeed a part of the Second-born. It was those same poisons of the Enemy that lay upon the blade that pierced your shoulder, and now lingers in your body and spirit, causing you pain and grief far beyond the time when you were wounded. Our five servants who were sent to Middle-earth were among the most noble spirits of their kind, and their strength of will and mind and heart was great, as great as Sauron's, though they were forbidden to use all but the least of the powers that sprang of their Maia birth. We felt certain that their strength of spirit and their purity of purpose would be more than enough to protect them from the evils that haunt Men. But as the years passed and they remained bound to these human bodies, those same poisons crept into their flesh, for it was real and not feigned, and at length, evil reached into their very hearts.”

Frodo was appalled by what she seemed to be saying. “Olórin is not evil...!”

Nienna's sigh was full of compassion and deep regret. “I did not say this was so; well do we know he is not, and never shall be. You yourself are not evil, yet you bear its mark, and it steals from you the joy of life that should be yours. Thus it is for Olórin. Evil touched him deeply, for he was bound by his mission to confront it often, and lived constantly in its presence, as it lies deep in all the lands Melkor marred. It did not injure his body as it did yours, but it scarred his spirit, for he was often called upon to contend with the Enemy in such ways. As years of hard labor wear down mortal flesh, so too can long work of this kind weary and wound a spirit, and we are creatures of spirit. When he was severed from life in Endorë by the death of his body, Olórin came not to us, but went into the hands of Lord Eru, for he had given up his life as a sacrifice to save the only true hope remaining for Middle-earth. The One accepted him and blessed him, giving back to him his life and his strength, yet even so hallowed and enhanced, the scar of evil — not evil itself — remained upon his spirit, and in time, even he wearied of life in the mortal world and yearned to be freed of its cares and burdens.”

“So were all the Istari affected, Frodo,” Irmo said. “Some were not strong enough to resist, and fell utterly. Alatar and Pallando succumbed all too quickly, as they yearned for the power and reverence they had been forbidden to seek. It touched Aiwendil by corrupting his memory, causing his knowledge of his true origins to fade and decay until he strayed from his mission and any desire to return to his home and his former life. Curumo resisted at first, but then saw what had seduced Sauron and so many others long ago; he embraced the darkness and desired to become a Power within it. Only Olórin remained strong enough to keep true to his tasks and return to us. We knew the threats of evil and darkness that linger in Endorë, and we had thought that when our servants returned and were shed of those mortal shells, with them they would shed all the shadows that had tried to cling to them.”

“But always, it seems, we underestimate evil's reach,” said Estë. “As the Morgul knife left a mark upon you that will not heal, so too were our messengers wounded by many years of a life unceasingly exposed to the poisons of our Enemies. Such a scar upon their souls casts a shadow between them and the light of Eru, a harmful thing, for we Ainur are a part of His very thought, and our strength and power and life comes of Him. It is not without reason that those of our kind who defy Him eventually expend and weaken themselves until they are all but nothing; as they choose to remove themselves from His light, they remove themselves from the source of our very life. The shadow that now dims Olórin's strength comes of many wounds wrought by evil, and of his long mortal life in Endorë. As with your injury, his grows no worse, yet the shadow remains, and it hinders him from recovering fully, requiring him to expend himself without allowing him to regain in full measure what he loses each time he puts forth his strength. The diminishment has hastened now as it did not in Endorë, for here, he is no longer restrained from the full use of his abilities, and has indeed made significant use of them since his return, more than he had in Middle-earth since his return from death. This we did not anticipate, and there are no words to tell how greatly we rue our shortsightedness in all this matter, for Olórin has long been beloved of all the Valar, and it grieves us to see him harmed in any fashion.”

The wizard listened to their explanations, still and silent, showing no sign of how those words might be affecting him, but Frodo's horror was plain. “So you had no idea that this plan of yours would hurt them, but if you'd chosen some other way to send them — if you'd just trusted them to abide by your rules and restrictions and hadn't insisted on tying them into real human bodies — none of this would've happened. They wouldn't have had to deal with the weight of the tasks you set them and the problems all of us mortals face when we're confronted by evil, and they might've all carried out their work and come home safe and sound. But you didn't trust them enough to do it, and now Olórin is paying the price.”

Nienna closed her eyes, touched by the hobbit's indignation and loyalty. Estë looked away in sorrow; Irmo regarded the halfling, his gaze steady but sad. “I fear you are right,” he admitted regretfully. “We gambled with our servants' well-being in what amounted to an untested trial, and though the ultimate goal was achieved, the cost was too high. I can see your worry that Olórin will die, and though I can assure you he will not, I cannot tell you how or when or even if we will find a cure for what has happened to him. It is beyond our experience, and if no solution is found, he will very likely continue to fade and lose strength, to what end I do not know. None of our people whose spirits were scarred in this fashion ever returned to Valinor; they chose diminishment and exile over repentance. The power of Aman can preserve and sustain, but it would seem now that some works of evil are too great even for the might of all the Ainur to heal.”

Estë turned her face back toward the hobbit. “But do not lose hope, Frodo. I do not yet know how these matters will end, but I believe that your fate and Olórin's are bound together in this matter. It is the same evil that has touched and injured both of you, and if we can find healing for one, both of you will benefit from it.”

Frodo swallowed with some difficulty; his throat felt as dry as the ash of Mordor. “If ?” he echoed. “Is this something else you aren't sure about? Was the hope for healing I was offered nothing more than that, just a hope?”

“Hope can bring about more healing than you know, Frodo Baggins,” Nienna said, her voice soft but as unshakable as foundations of ancient stone. “It was naught but the thinnest thread of hope that carried you across all the miles between your home and the mountain of fire in Mordor, a thread that held only so long as neither you nor your companion surrendered your belief in the strength of pity. We can heal you of the physical injuries you have suffered, more thoroughly than any in Endorë were able. Whether or not your heart and spirit are able to heal as well and drive out the shadows within you is your decision alone.”

The hobbit winced at the Lady's tone, which reminded him of times when Gandalf had chided him over the same subjects. He suddenly could see very clearly from whom the wizard had learned such things. “I'm sorry if I sound ungrateful,” he said, hesitantly meeting Nienna's gray eyes, then glancing to her companions. “I'm not, but I am worried — more for Olórin than for myself, I think. I knew I was not well when I came here to Aman. I had no idea he was unwell, too.”

“None of us did for certain, until you came to us in the Máhanaxar, and we were able to judge for ourselves,” Irmo replied, his manner graciously accepting of the apology. “When he was here briefly after his fall in Moria, he kept himself apart from us while he waited to be told whether or not he would be permitted to return. I did speak with him one day, and even then I could sense that something was amiss, but I was not able to find the reason for my feelings before he departed again. We did what we could to help him, then, as we have since he was freed of his mortal form, but we had hoped there would be more time to study the problem and search for answers before matters turned serious.”

He turned to the Istar, who had been listening, impassive and silent. “Perhaps if we had told you of this directly upon your arrival, the current situation would have been avoided, but as you wished for Frodo's first days in Aman to be without care, so did we wish for you. Once again, it would seem we have erred gravely in our effort to do good.”

“No more so than I, my lord,” Olórin said with a faint sigh. “I heard all the warnings I have been given to rest and refrain from expending my energy more than is necessary. Every friend and neighbor who came to visit last evening made a point to remind me of it, as did the three of you and Lord Manwë on the day of the festival. If I had not been stubborn then, I might have found other help for Frodo and not even risked exhausting myself when I already knew that I was weary. I cannot hold any of you to blame for this, not even in the fact that you chose the manner of our sending without knowing for certain how such a life would affect us, if too greatly prolonged. What needed to be done was done, as we must work to determine the best way to proceed now.”

Estë smiled softly. “I am pleased to hear you say that, Olórin, for then I may now presume that you will offer no objections to any support given to you and Master Frodo in the time to come, by our peoples or the Eldar. And I expect that you will take to heart my advice that work is one thing that you should avoid as much as possible.”

The wizard made an exquisitely disgruntled sound. “I cannot sit idle from dawn to dusk and in all the hours between, my lady....”

“Indeed not,” Irmo agreed affably, “for Lórien already boasts one resident who seems to have made that his lifelong goal, and one Ványalos in all Aman is more than enough. Two thousand years of difficult labor have doubtless made the desire for activity a habit, but I think it should not be too hard to find ways to keep yourself occupied. From what you told us, you have guests due to arrive in several days, and unless you cannot restrain yourself from doing things you know will cause you harm, I see no reason why your plans should be altered. It will provide both you and Frodo with many diversions, and give us time to study this matter more closely and work upon a viable solution.”

An odd expression twitched across Olórin's face. “So in other words, I am to conduct my life as a mortal, until I have been told I may do otherwise.”

The three Valar nodded; Frodo's opinion of that verdict was not as accepting as his old friend's. “That certainly does not seem fair to me,” he said, his tone stiff with irritation.

Olórin, however, was less disturbed. “Perhaps not, but it is at least convenient in its timing. I have not yet had a chance to forget how to do so; indeed, I have had moments since my return when I needed to consciously remind myself that I am a Maia and no longer bound to mortal flesh.”

He looked to their guests. “Very well, I shall do as you suggest. I suppose I truly have no other choice, for if I do not cooperate, I will be the one to suffer for it.”

Nienna spoke with a compassion beyond any Frodo had ever heard before. “It is hoped that suffering will no longer be a part of your life, Olórin, or of Frodo's. Both of you have given far more than could ever have been asked of you to complete work that should never have become your burdens. Yet there is always a time in any healing when the light that awaits at the end cannot be clearly seen, only the long dark journey ahead. We and those who are your friends among us will do whatever we can to ease that journey, and make it as brief as possible.”

With that, they said their farewells and departed to begin the tasks ahead of them. When they had gone, Olórin sighed yet again, a note of genial exasperation in his voice. “I presume, then, that this means we will be put through the trial of suffering your presence more than usual, Ványalos.”

The tall Maia grinned impudently. “I could not allow an old friend and neighbor to endure such restrictions without doing all I can to help, pityandil. It would be rude and selfish, not to mention in direct defiance of what my Lord and Lady have already asked me to do.”

“I thought as much. Well, so long as you do not insist I remain housebound and idle, I will do my best to abide by the advice I was given, and keep my complaints to myself. I may not be pleased to find myself in this predicament, but I do understand that all of your intentions are good.”

“Then you have my promise that I will not to attempt to keep you confined for my own convenience.” Ványalos took his leave then, able to sense that his continued presence might be a cause for discomfort, for the time being.

Frodo watched him go, then turned his attention back to the wizard, who remained seated in the chair from which he had not moved since their return from the Meadow. “Would you like me to leave, too?” he asked, aware that his friend might need some time alone to come to terms with how his life had suddenly changed for the worse.

But Olórin shook his head. “No, not unless you feel ill at ease, loitering about when there is so much more of this new world for you to see.”

The hobbit moved closer, taking a seat on a wooden bench beneath the window near the Maia. “I had rather hoped you would be the one to show it to me,” he said.

“So had I,” was the regretful reply, “but it seems that is not to be for now, if ever it shall be.”

Frodo closed his eyes against the ache in those words. He suddenly felt as if he wanted to scream, against the injustice of the world, the accursed persistence of evil that reached even here into the most blessed of living lands to tear apart if not life then the happiness it should have had. He felt the burn of a growing rage toward that injustice, and at last could keep silent no longer. “Aren't you angry with them, Olórin?” he wanted to know, unable to comprehend how he could take this so calmly. “Don't you feel the least bit... cheated, that they sent you to do their work for them in a way they didn't even know would be safe? That they made a mistake and you now have to pay for it?”

The Istar did not answer immediately, but when he did, it was with the same calm. “No. How can I blame them for making a mistake, when I myself have made so many? They did not willfully cause me harm or force me to undertake a mission they knew beyond doubt would have negative personal repercussions; they acted upon the best of the knowledge they had at the time. I came to Arda as a servant of the Valar, Frodo, and though I have not always agreed with their decisions, they have done nothing to lose my loyalty. There is never any guarantee that what we do in the struggle against evil will be safe; our personal security is not as important as the goals we work to achieve. We Maiar have been called the hands of the Valar, for they cannot be everywhere at once, and when they must be elsewhere or the task is one they dare not undertake themselves, we their servants must carry on for them. I knew this even before I first left the Timeless Halls, that I would be entering into a world where my life would be dedicated to work not always of my own choosing. Lord Manwë felt that I possessed unique abilities which would enable the mission of the Istari to succeed, and though I believed he was mistaken, time and events have proved that he was indeed right. There was never any doubt in my mind that this task would be a dangerous one, full of perils of all kinds. That I did not anticipate this particular one is ultimately unimportant. Even if I had known then what I know now, I would not have chosen differently.”

Frodo's outrage cooled considerably before that placid explanation. He reflected upon it, then sighed. “Just as I would not have changed my mind about taking the Ring to Mordor, even had I known how things would end for me. But aren't you the least bit frightened by this? It's even worse than having to leave your home forever, as I did.”

Olórin looked out the window, a reflection of light off the falling waters flickering across his face and for a moment making it appear as if he himself were trembling on the brink of light and dark, life and death. “Yes, of course I'm frightened,” he said at length, the illusion dissipating as he turned back to Frodo. The hobbit could see in his eyes that his words were not empty; there was genuine disquiet and worry filling them. “I am neither so strong nor so foolish as to be beyond fear when what is at risk is my very existence. I shudder to think that in time, I could dwindle and be left adrift in the world, powerless and without shape or purpose. If this cannot be avoided, I would have been better off taking Aiwendil's path and remain in Middle-earth rather than follow the yearning of my heart to return home. And I cannot help but feel some guilt for bringing you here only so that you could witness this.”

He leaned forward, setting his hands on the halfling's knees as he gazed directly into the dark eyes. “But I also have faith, Frodo, not only in the skills of the Valar but in Lord Eru as well. I cannot believe that He would have sent me back to Middle-earth, strengthened and revived, if I was doomed to end like this. I believe with all my heart that He has some other plan in mind, and though I cannot say what that might be, I am willing to face my fears and continue on as best I may, until I have found that destiny. And I will pray that I find the strength and the courage to endure until that time comes. But in my heart, I have no doubt that it will.”

Frodo was so moved by both his friend's words and his clearly unwavering belief and trust in a power greater than himself, for a time, he could not speak. When he found his voice again, it came in little more than a whisper. “I wish I had your confidence. I think I found the courage to go to Mordor only because I was afraid of failing you, and proving myself to be unworthy of all the trust others had put in me. That would have been more difficult to bear than the Ring itself. But if you believe there is hope yet to be found for both of us, then I will try my best to believe with you, even though I have none of your experience with Lord Eru.”

Olórin smiled wanly. “You have experience of a different sort, not direct interaction as I have had, but at times you have been guided by a greater will, and it was neither mine nor the Ring's nor that of the Valar. Manwë chose me to be his messenger in Middle-earth because of things he saw in me that I did not; perhaps Lord Eru chose you to bear the Ring for much the same reasons. Whatever the case, I cannot help but feel He was the one Who guided me to Bilbo, and you, for I could not have chosen so well on my own.”

The hobbit returned the smile, somewhat sheepishly. “I think you could have, but I suspect you are right, and all of us were playing parts we didn't even know we'd been assigned. If I have a part to play now, and it can be of my own choosing, then I want to help you in any way I can, to repay the debt I owe you for all the years of guidance and support you gave to me. If a cure can be found, for both of us, I am not going to give up hope or give up trying until we find it. I can promise you that.”

Olórin chuckled. “Then I shall rest more easily, knowing as I do that a hobbit is easily my match for stubbornness and tenacity!”

Frodo's smile became stern. “I meant what I said, Olórin, every word of it. I may not have had the strength to hold out against the burden and the pressures of the Ring, but this time, I am not going to give up. We hobbits are stubborn creatures, and if all the powers of the West cannot find a cure to the affliction of mortals and immortals meddling in each others' affairs, then perhaps a headstrong hobbit or two will be able to manage it. And if I can help, then I will feel better, knowing that my coming here served some purpose beyond granting me a privilege I still feel I have not fully earned.” His frown faded back into a wry half-smile. “Perhaps that's also a part of Lord Eru's plans.”

“Perhaps it is. In all the years since I was sent as one of the Istari, I did not feel this shadow creeping upon me, as they described to us. If this is how evil first works its way into the hearts of Men, then I have sorely misunderstood them, even as I pitied them.”

“That's something I don't understand. If this happened to you because you'd been trapped in a mortal body for too long, why didn't it pass away when your body did? And why did Lord Eru not heal you completely when He sent you back?”

Olórin's eyes filled with distance as he pondered the question. When he focused again on Frodo's face, there was sadness in his small smile. “For we of the Ainur, changes that come upon our spirits remain with us even after we are separated from our incarnate forms, permanent or temporary. When I returned after Moria, I had not completed my mission; my test was yet unfinished. Lord Eru did a great deal for me, but that He did not heal me in this way convinces me all the more that there is some greater reason behind it, some purpose yet to be served by it.”

Frodo half-sighed, half-grumbled. “It would seem so, but I still think it's dreadfully unfair. You've already done so much. Would it have been too much to ask to take that burden from you even before you realized you had it?”

The Maia's reply was completely in earnest. “Yes, it would have been. Were you given such an advantage after you were wounded by the Nazgûl, yet resisted their evil long enough to bring the Ring safely to Rivendell? When Shelob poisoned you, were you blessed with complete health and strength again so that you could complete the quest more easily? No, my dear Frodo, Lord Eru's decision was perfectly fair. If we expect Him to take away all our cares and burdens simply because we feel we have earned the respite, we would never learn many of our most important lessons. I would not be the person I am today but for the cruelty of Aránayel, the treachery of Saruman, and the evils of the Enemy. Nor would I have the heart to carry on if I had not experienced the joys of discovery, the love of friends, and the loyalty of those who stood beside me in a just cause. This is the root of all life, mortal and immortal, both the sweet and the bitter. I do not believe that Lord Eru means for me to fade and diminish to naught simply because I spent too long a time in a body of true mortal flesh to carry out a task for the good of all, but if even that should be my fate, I will accept it, so long as I know that it is somehow a part of the greater Music yet to come.”

His unwavering faith both touched and shook the hobbit, who found himself without a single word to offer in response. Instead, he leaned forward and embraced his old friend, glad that they had been seated close together, so that the height of the bench made the motion simple, despite their differing heights. Olórin respected both his silence and his almost tangible emotions. Resisting the impulse to offer comfort in the non-physical way of his people, he instead did what he could after the fashion of mortals and returned the gesture of affection, thanking the One for having given him such a friend and allowing him to still be a part of his life at such a time. The road ahead did indeed look dark, all the more so because the other immortals of Aman could not truly grasp the mortal frailties they had never — and could never — experience. Yet in the darkness, there was one great consolation: the knowledge that they would not walk this long and bleak path alone.

But as he closed his eyes to look down that metaphorical road into the future, the only light he could see at its end was faint and red and flickering, like the fires of Orodruin awaiting the conclusion of the Quest. Olórin did not know what such an image might mean in this situation, and for the time being, he put it out of his thoughts and did not speak of it to Frodo, or to anyone else.