VI

Although meals were not necessary for the Ainur, they were for their young Elven guests, and sensitive to their feelings and Helyanwë’s, Nienna planned a farewell meal for that evening.  The others who had taken part in caring for the twins during their stay in her house had been invited as well, as had Olórin.  He made the most of the time not only to observe the children and come to know them better, but also to watch Aránayel and glean what he could of her current moods and habits that might be of use in dealing with her during the coming weeks.  He had no notion at all how long she and the children might remain in Lórien, and because of that, he had sent word to Frodo through Ványalos, warning the hobbit of the guests who would be returning with him so that he could prepare in whatever ways he deemed necessary. 

He had considered going directly back to Lórien to deliver the message, since such a journey was no hindrance to him now that his strength had returned, but it had been less than a day since his departure, and he knew that Frodo did indeed wish to have some time without him always about, to become better settled into the new life he had chosen.  If he appeared abruptly on the same evening of the day he had left, it might look as if he was checking on Frodo’s progress, and even though Olórin was certain the impression would pass quickly in light of the truth, he saw no need to startle his small friend when it was not necessary.  If Frodo had questions or concerns that Ványalos could not answer, then the Istar would return home, but so long as his presence was neither required nor requested, he decided this was the best approach.

Since he received no frantic reply in response to his message, Olórin did his best to enjoy the evening meal.  He knew all the other Maiar who were in attendance, and having a chance to converse with them and the children was quite pleasant.  Aránayel was notably quiet, speaking only in answer to direct questions and then briefly.  Olórin was not foolish enough to try to engage in her in even the lightest conversation, but he noted quickly that her manner was unusually reserved.  Clearly, she was trying her best to avoid doing anything that might result in her assignment being revoked, thus forcing her to remain here in the desolate wilds of the western shores.  He respected her attempts at self-restraint, and did not interfere with them.

Yet as the meal continued, he became aware that she was not entirely ignoring him.  Subliminally at first, he sensed that she was watching him from time to time.  Knowing what he did of her, he carefully looked elsewhere whenever she glanced toward him, lest she take offense or feel embarrassed by having her notice be noted.  It was clear to him that there was no real warmth in her regard, but the fact that she was bothering to look at him at all made him wonder what purpose might lie behind it.  That she was having a change of heart was a notion that he dismissed as quickly as the thought arose.  He had spoken the truth to Helyanwë: Aránayel remained what she was, even as he did in heart.  There was no reason whatsoever for her feelings toward him to alter in a positive direction; at best, she might be searching for some way to endure his presence during this coming assignment so that she could prove that she had changed, and had at last earned the right to resume a lifestyle she preferred.

After the meal was over, the children asked if they might present a song or two for the friends they would be leaving behind, the only gift they had to give.  Nienna graciously granted it, though she knew it as a youthful ploy to delay going to their rest for the evening.  Mature Elves needed remarkably little sleep, but their young required it as much as human children, to help provide energy for their growing bodies.  While he listened to their song and felt Aránayel’s glance upon him yet again, it occurred to Olórin that there was something he might be able to do to help his companion-to-be accept the necessary evil of his presence.  When the first song was finished and she asked leave to go and make her own preparations for the morrow’s journey, he excused himself and followed her out of the hall.  He caught up with her in a quiet corridor well away from any who might accidentally overhear, and called to her, softly.

“Aránayel?”

She continued on for several paces before slowing her step; after several paces more, she stopped, but did not immediately turn toward the Istar.  He knew why without asking: she was deciding whether or not she wanted to acknowledge his presence, much less his attempt at communication.  Finally, without turning, she sighed.  “Is it not enough that I must participate in this... farce?  I know it for what it is, a poor attempt of Nienna’s to make a jest at my expense, to prove that I am fit only to endure age after long age of exile in these barren lands.  What other mockery must you add to my unending misery?”

“None,” he replied, a note of faint puzzlement in his voice.  “I have never mocked you, Aránayel, intentionally or otherwise, for any reason.  What compelled Lady Nienna to choose you for this task I cannot say, but I promise you, I had naught to do with it.”

She snorted, a sound somewhere between derision and amusement.  “No, I daresay you would not.  Have you ever in your life been less than a model of perfect patience and tolerance, Olórin?”

He knew that she meant it less kindly than it sounded, but he answered with honesty.  “Oh, yes, quite often.  If you do not believe me, you have only to ask my friends and neighbors once we reach Lórien.  There are many things I do not bear well, nor tolerate without chafing.  I am far from a model of any kind of perfection, and I know it.  Which is why I wished to speak with you now.  During the meal, it occurred to me that I have been remiss in certain matters, and since I am aware that this particular mission is important to you — if for no other reason than to prove that you have more than earned an end to the judgments that were lowered upon you long ago — I want to make certain there is as little friction between us as possible before we set out tomorrow.”

Her head turned slightly, but not enough so that Olórin could see her face.  “And did you come to offer me forgiveness?”

“No,” he said simply.  “What is there to forgive?  Long ago, I might have felt that you were to blame for the upset I felt over what happened between us, but through many years of difficult experience, I have come to realize that if any apology needs to be offered, it is mine.  You never lied to me, telling me untruths to coerce my assistance when I did not wish to give it.  I offered it of my own free will, and if I received no consideration for my deeds, I have no one to blame but myself for asking naught in return.  Had I done so, I’m certain you would have been equally honest with me, and put an end to the illusions and fantasies I had allowed to flourish in my mind.  You did not put them there, nor did you encourage their growth; both deeds were mine.  If they were ill-considered, then the fault is also mine, for not opening my eyes to the truth.  I am sorry, Aránayel, for all you have suffered because of my mistake.  I have never spoken a single word against you, and if I had but known how severely you had been restricted all these years, I would have done whatever I could to persuade those who imposed those bonds to remove them.  I know that you are far more social a creature than I, and it is not fair that you should have been made to endure such a cheerless exile on my account.”

Again, there was a long silence.  At length, Aránayel turned halfway about, her face swiveling toward the Istar, eyes narrowed.  “And I suppose you will also tell me that you know nothing of the incident that occurred somewhat after our... misunderstanding which led to my imprisonment in these forsaken regions.”

“If you are referring to what happened during the festival several months later, then the answer is both yes and no.  I know of it, but until earlier today, I had never heard of it.  That I should remain ignorant for so long is as difficult for me to believe as it is for you, I swear.  Yet it is the truth.  There was apparently some sort of unspoken agreement among our people to keep this matter from ever reaching my ears, and I would not have known of it at all had I not been informed today.”

Aránayel’s expression tightened, as one will upon smelling a bitter odor.  “And so they told you... for what reason?  To prejudice you against me so that I cannot help but fail on this mission?”

The pale head shook.  “Had that been the intent, it would not have succeeded.  I have never judged anyone solely on the reports and opinions of others.  I do not know the specifics of whatever it was you said that day; even if I did, it would not make me hate you or seek revenge against you.  You acted out of upset, and understandably so, for you had already been punished quite severely for having told me the truth rather than lie and pretend to have feelings you did not in order to manipulate me to your liking.”

She made a sharp sound of disbelief.  “So are you saying that you approve of how I treated you when I spoke that truth to you?”

A hint of a wry smile flickered across Olórin’s face.  “No, since you might have been kinder in how you expressed yourself, and refrained from making me feel worse than I already felt in my embarrassment and regret.  Even so, I do not hold it against you.  I was hurt, yes, and you could have spared me some of that pain had you wished, but I never considered it a crime.  Had I not been lost to reason because of my own confusion and self-pity, I would have spoken in your defense at the time, and asked Lord Manwë and Lady Varda not to punish you so sternly over a situation that would not have come to pass but for my blindness.  And so I now offer my deepest regrets, for if I had not been such an ignorant fool, none of this would have happened.”

Aránayel finally turned to face him, her arms folded across her chest even as she lowered a piercing glance upon him.  “And are you telling me this now in order to curry my favor, and persuade me to have a change of heart toward you?  If the words you spoke those many years ago could not win me, have you decided that a different tactic might succeed where once you failed?”

Olórin’s answer was unhesitant.  “I would not dare to be so presumptuous a second time.  Whatever unkindness you might have given me then, you did speak truly when you said there was no love between us.  I was far too naive for my own good, bedazzled by the beauty of the love between my Lord and his Lady, tricked by my own overactive imagination into believing you loved me when you did not, and mistaking my own infatuation for something far greater.  I may yet be a fool in some ways, but not in this.  There is no one for whom my heart holds that kind of singular affection, and I do not believe it is something I was intended to have, not in this life.  Perhaps someday, when the world is remade and we are no longer bound to the circles of Arda, I might find it, but I have learned much during the years since I made that mistake.  I am content with my life as it has grown, and as I have grown.  I am offering my apologies because I believe it is a debt I owe you, and for no other reason.  As it is Lady Nienna’s wish that we undertake the care of these orphaned children together, I wish only to do what I can to mend the broken bridges between us so that we need not do this constantly at odds or avoiding one another.  I am sorry if my attempt has offended you, but I truly meant no harm.”

She sniffed.  “You never do.  If this was your entire purpose in speaking to me now, apologizing for the errors you made so many years ago, why did you not simply say it plainly back in the hall, where others might hear it?”

The wryness in his expression became more pronounced.  “Because I am somewhat less of a fool than I was in my youth.  Had I attempted to speak with you in the presence of others, you would have rebuffed me, or ignored me, as has been your habit since we met again in the garden.  And if by some miracle you had not, I had no way of knowing if you would take what I had to say well or poorly.  For all I could know, because there were others about, you might have chosen to interpret it as an attempt at persuasion, not penitence, and there we would have been again, trapped once more in a sorry situation where my words offended you, and angered you.  I already bear enough guilt for my part in all the unpleasantry that happened ages ago, Aránayel.  I did not want to add to it the guilt of provoking your anger in the presence of Lady Nienna, who would certainly have looked upon it as an indication that you are not ready to be released from your bonds of service to her.  I will admit that I was thinking somewhat of my own feelings as well, for I do not enjoy having them bruised, but I was far more concerned for yours.  If I was to receive an angry response, I wanted there to be no risk that you would suffer for having shown it before the wrong persons.  And if this attempt to be considerate offends you, then I’m afraid I have no defense for it.  It was your welfare I had in mind, not my own.”

Her nose twitched again, with perhaps a fraction less bitterness than before.  Olórin was not ignorant enough to take it as a sure sign that perhaps she might be ready to allow her frostiness toward him to thaw, if not into friendship then at least into a better tolerance than she had showed him in thousands of years.  “And yet my welfare would have been better served, I think, if others were made aware of this.”

He shrugged.  “I will go back to the hall and repeat what I have said to them, if that will please you, but I suspect it would not, in the end.  Lady Nienna is quite well aware of my attitudes and opinions on this particular subject, and has been since before you came here in her service.  If I were to make such a public apology to appease you, she would likely view it as evidence that you have not grown in the ways Lady Varda wishes, for it would seem that you are giving more thought to your personal image than to the apology itself.  Such things are better made in private, especially where matters of the heart are concerned.”

Aránayel’s blue-green eyes narrowed for a moment; then she finally sighed, heavily, with a clear trace of exasperation.  “Perhaps so.  I have often heard it said that you have grown quite wise, Olórin, and I suppose I must acknowledge that the rumors appear to have been not entirely groundless.  I would indeed prefer that others hear this from you and not from me, so that they might cease to think ill of me and know that this was not something I fabricated, but in the wrong ears, such words are as apt to turn against me, no matter who speaks them.”

“Just so.  I’m sure there will come a time when I may do so with impunity, but first, I think it would be best if you gave them such proofs in ways that none will be able to deny were your achievement, not my less meaningful attempt at assistance.”

“True.  I shall not lie and say that I am looking forward to this journey, but at least I will admit that you are not the same naive person I knew in ages past.  I do not know if I find it a change for the better or not, but that you were willing to admit that the error was yours and not mine gives me some hope that this task before me will not be as intolerable as I had feared.”

The Istar's smile shifted from wryness to one more genuine.  “I would expect no more than that.  You have changed as well, Aránayel, and from what I have seen and heard, it is for the better.  For your sake, I am glad, for I know well what it feels like to be an exile from lands and friends you love.  I was not made to endure it as long as you, but I learned much from the experience.”

“More than the others, it would seem,” she allowed as graciously as she was able.  “That Aiwendil and Pallando failed does not surprise me, nor is it difficult for me to believe that Alatar could not have succeeded.  Why Aiwendil was even sent, I cannot fathom, for I cannot imagine anyone could have believed he had the ability to deal with Sauron and not wither under the first assault like a handful of fallen leaves thrown upon a blazing fire.  And Alatar and Pallando were always more full of words than deeds, eager to speak of great glories but forever the last to join the attempt.  If aught startles me, it is that they were willing to step forward at all.”

Olórin snorted softly.  “And you would not include me in their number?  I was under the impression you considered me to be the worst of cowards.”

“I did,” she said frankly, “and I continued to believe so, until I learned of things you did in the resistance against Melkor.  I would not have thought you to have the courage to stand upon the same continent with him, much less do aught in direct opposition to him.  Not that I consider actions taken in deepest secrecy to be particularly praiseworthy, but at least you did not wholly shrink from the task, as those three were far too often wont to do.”

“So it may seem to others, but I think you underestimate them.  Alatar was ever too proud for his own good, and Pallando too willing to follow his lead out of friendship, but their ambition was considerable — which, perhaps, is what ultimately led to their fall.  And for all that they appeared to be stronger and more capable than Aiwendil, they fell away from their mission long before he did, and they succumbed utterly to the Darkness, while he did not.  Aiwendil was of great help in our embassy for many years; it was only toward the end that the power of the Enemy grew too great for him to withstand, and even then, he did not surrender to.  He ran from it instead, and there he tripped and fell, for to do so successfully, he ran from his own memories of what and who he truly was.  I pity all of them, but my heart is most sorely pained for Aiwendil, who fell not because he embraced evil, but because he broke faith with the mission he was sworn to see to its end, be it sweet or bitter.”

An expression of mild boredom and disdain crept across Aránayel’s artfully delicate features as she listened.  When he was finished, she dismissed the matter with a gesture.  “It was still weakness, no matter what prompted it.  I fully expected Aiwendil would never return, and I would have wagered the same for Alatar and Pallando, given what I knew of them and their habits.  That Curumo failed does surprise me, for he was Sauron’s successor in Lord Aulë’s favor, and no weakling would have been shown such approval by so great a lord of the Valar.  But then, perhaps there was no better choice to be had.  Curumo never was Sauron’s match in any way, so it may be that his failure was as inevitable as the others’.”

“Perhaps,” was all Olórin would say on the subject.  A memory of Frodo’s comments about the former head of the Istari stirred as he listened to her commentary, but he did not feel this was either the time or the place to reflect upon them, silently or aloud.  He shifted the subject away from the fallen wizard.  “I note that you have expressed no opinion of my participation in this effort.”

She was characteristically blunt.  “I did not think you would return, either,” she said without preamble.  “If any of the five who were sent had any hope of succeeding, I felt certain it would be Curumo.  Do you need to hear me say that I was wrong?”

He answered her bluntness with gentler honesty.  “No.  I expected you would feel thus.  I suppose what I was most curious to know was whether or not my failure to fail disappointed you.  You need not answer!” he said quickly, holding up his hands to still her before she spoke.  “In reflection, I find that I do not wish to know. Such matters belong to the past, and are not important to the present.  I did return, we both have a task to undertake on the morrow, and if either of us still have old wounds in need of healing, I think it best to leave them be and concentrate on what must be done now.  Can we not at least agree upon this, for the sake of the young ones who will be in our care?”

Aránayel tilted her head in such a way that the subdued light in the corridor struck her eyes and made them glow like those of a hunting cat measuring its prey.  Olórin remained impassive, wanting her to see nothing in his expression, neither anxiety nor eagerness, both of which she had been known to take poorly, especially from him.  At length, and to his great relief, the hardness in her eyes and face softened — slightly, but positively.  “We can.  No matter what others may have said of me, or what you might yet recall from your ignorant youth, I am not an unreasonable person.  I take my duties and my tasks seriously, and prefer to spare little time for those who would hinder them with foolishness.  I had anticipated that this particular task would be intolerable because I would forever be required to avoid you so as to escape such hindrance, but you have indeed changed more than I had realized.  If it will enable me to carry out my appointed task well, then I will make such an agreement.”

Olórin politely refrained from pointing out her less than altruistic motives, not to mention her possibly unintentional but more likely deliberate insult, and instead answered graciously.  “Then I will look forward to beginning our journey in the morning.  Thank you, Aránayel, for accepting my terribly belated apology.”

She smiled, her mouth tight and the expression crooked rather than warm.  “I did not say that I accepted it — but I do, if it will make this task less onerous.  You have changed, and that is not without merit.  Perhaps something beneficial can be made of our relationship, after all.”

He did not argue with her evaluation of the situation.  He acknowledged her response and bid her farewell for the night with a small bow.  As he turned and headed back to the dining hall, allowing Aránayel to continue on toward her original destination, Olórin felt relief that their conversation had gone as well as it had.  Aránayel’s attitudes toward him had not altered as greatly as they might have, but that they had done so at all gave him hope that she was ultimately on the right path, bound for a promising new life as she grew into a better person among the citizenry of Aman.  For her sake far more than his own, he was pleased, as he would have been for anyone who had wandered too long on unhappy paths of self-destruction, and had at last turned their steps onto a more favorable road.

But he might have felt quite differently if he had only taken a moment to consider all the implications of her final remark — and how those words might be not an omen for a brighter future, but a warning that shadows and darkness loomed ahead.