VI

At the Faire

The next day, there was a considerable amount of activity among the messengers of the Valar.  After the by-now well known council of the night before, the activity of rumor among the other Maiar was also considerable.  When asked, the messengers said that they were unusually busy because it had been agreed during the council that all the Valar had a fair amount of neglected business they wished to be cleared away before the arrival of winter, which was absolutely true.  Certainly, the errands were all perfectly innocent, but there were some who felt that was merely a convenient cover for more significant business, of which the messengers probably knew little or nothing.  The messengers reported what they heard to Eönwë in ósanwë, and he relayed the information to the Valar.  To the relief of many, most of the rumors were innocuous and some quite amusing.  Those that were not were, fortunately, few and largely from expected sources.  

Before breakfast that morning, while Bilbo was seeing to his daily ablutions, Manwë paid a visit to Frodo, apprising him of plans made at the council, and asking his cooperation with several aspects in which he could be of assistance.  When he heard what the wind-lord had in mind, the hobbit was delighted to agree.

The first part of that agreement was something Frodo had rather hoped to be able to do during their stay in Valmar.  As many of the Elves remained in the vicinity so long as the autumn weather remained pleasant, it was common for those among them who were craftspeople and farmers to hold daily bazaars along the main road just outside the southern entrance to the city.  There, locals, guests at the inns, and those camped on the plains could come to buy or barter for a variety of goods and foodstuffs from all the inhabited regions of Aman.  Frodo had hoped to have an opportunity to visit the bazaar, thinking to acquire certain items for the kitchen as well as a few gifts for the coming Yule season.

He was not concerned about his ability to pay for the things he wanted.  He had never been trained in any craft, though like many gentlehobbits, he had dabbled in several, both for pleasure and to better understand them.  But since his arrival in the West, Frodo had found that a surprising number of Elves were very curious about the Hobbits, especially their culinary arts, so he had found himself teaching small classes about Hobbit cooking about once every three or four months.  Most often, he was given goods or services in thanks for his instruction, but from time to time, someone desiring unusually intensive teaching would come — usually, he found, cooks from one of the Elven noble houses — and these paid him in what had become the coin of the realm throughout Eldamar and Tol Eressëa.  

They were quite generous, and at first, Frodo had been embarrassed and hesitant to accept, until Olórin had pointed out to him that in all of the West, there were only three people who were truly familiar with the culinary arts of the Hobbits, and the two true experts were mortals who would not be among them forever.  Bilbo had no interest in undertaking such instruction, so those Elves who wished to learn these things to add novelty to their own tables had only Frodo to act as a teacher.  It was sound reasoning, the halfling had to admit, and thus accepted whatever payment his students saw fit to offer.  As he was treated by all of Aman as a most honored guest, he seldom needed to spend even one of the smallest silver and gold coins for his own needs, and he was delighted whenever he had an opportunity to spend them on special little things for the house he shared and for the many friends with whom he now shared his life.

When asked at breakfast, Bilbo declined to take part in the venture, as he had been told yesterday evening that Onótilúvë, a Maia historian, would be available that morning to begin telling him the long tale of Hobbit history.  Though Frodo was interested, he knew that Bilbo would take delight in retelling him all he had learned, and he did not want to deprive his kinsman of that pleasure.  When Olórin said he would join the younger halfling in his trip to the bazaar, Frodo expected that would be the extent of their party, until Manwë declared that he would come as well.

"Much of the necessary business of the day is already underway," the Vala explained when Frodo expressed his surprise, "and Varda invited the other Valiër to some mysterious gathering of their own later this morning.  Should anything needing attention arise, I am quite certain that seven queens will prove more than adequate to the task of dealing with it."

"Indeed, yes," Varda said with an air of feigned haughtiness.  "We, at least, are less prone to childish bickering than our mighty lords."

Manwë laughed at her little joke.  "Just so.  And it has been a long time since I have been free to attend the bazaar.  I enjoy seeing the myriad products of Elven craft and cleverness as much as they enjoy displaying them for our perusal, or purchase."

Bilbo's eyes widened with surprise.  "Do you purchase goods from the Elves?"  From his tone, he considered the very idea scandalous.

But Manwë laughed again, quite merrily.  "We do indeed, although more often than not, it is a matter of barter or trade rather than purchase.  What they generally ask for are certain things we make, such as miruvórë, and certain services we can perform to assist them that are not part of our ordinary duties yet do not go against our trust as guardians and teachers of the Eruhíni."  

His vivid blue eyes unfocused slightly, recalling a pleasant memory.  "Some years before you arrived, there was an item I wanted to give my lady as a gift for a special occasion, and the crafter who took the commission asked me to sing a particular song at his daughter's wedding, as payment.  He very much wanted this as a surprise for her — a lovely child, as I recall, and the tune was one peculiar to the Ainur, though the words had been translated to Elvish.  As he named the price, I was quite agreeable to the arrangement."

Varda, remembering the incident -- and how the bride had fainted from shock to hear the Elder King himself singing the song she dearly loved, so that Manwë had been obliged to start again when she had recovered -- smiled softly at her spouse.  Frodo chuckled.  "So here, it's not just a saying that one can buy something 'for a song.'  Although having heard the music of the Ainur almost every day since I came to Aman, I can understand why.  The privilege of hearing the voices of those who took part in singing the very world into existence truly is a gift."

Every Ainu within hearing was touched by the hobbit's praise.  And with that, they all finished their meal and continued the day.

The day was a beautiful one, cool but not cold, with bright sunshine and the sky the clearest blue of autumn.  Even though the bazaar was held without the city walls, there was a fair bit of traffic on the streets of Valmar itself, people coming and going from the various mansions.  Those they passed, both Maia and Elf, offered nods and bows of greeting, deferential to Manwë in particular, but also to those in his company.  As they passed the mansion of Aulë and Yavanna — an intriguing structure of elegantly hewn stone and cunningly crafted metals surrounded by lush gardens and many tall trees of nearly every variety possible in the climate — they were greeted by the Smith himself, arrayed in everyday garb of crimson and black, and Oromë, a contrast in subdued browns and greens.  

"Would you mind if we joined you?" Aulë asked cheerfully, his smile broad and his teeth gleaming white against the bronze skin of his face.  His query was obviously for all members of the trio, not Manwë alone.  "Varda's little gathering of the ladies has left us with time on our hands."

Oromë snorted genially.  "Which they made us promise we would not spend getting into mischief."

Although Frodo didn't know what to make of the Hunter's remark, both his companions smiled wryly.  "Is it safe to be seen with you at the bazaar, then?" Manwë wondered drolly.  "I seem to recall the pair of you 'getting into mischief' there not that many years ago.  I wouldn't want to be condemned by association."

But both Aulë and Oromë laughed.  "Which is why our ladies suggested we accompany you," the former admitted.  "They decided your presence would provide adequate deterrent — and if it didn't, we would both be loath to set a poor example in the company of the esteemed Ringbearer."  He bowed to the hobbit, who could see that he was teasing.

"They also suggested that we join Námo and Irmo as well," Oromë added.  "Even if Irmo could be persuaded to join in any 'mischief,' Námo would bully him out of it."

"Now, now," the Elder King chided as they continued on toward the southern gates.  "He doesn't bully.  He just makes good use of his Doomsman persona to keep some of us from looking foolish in front of the Children."

Olórin made a sound that begged to differ.  "Lord Irmo might not agree.  More than once, I've heard him sigh about the trials and tribulations of being the younger brother of an Aratar with... shall we say a 'stern' public image to uphold."

Oromë grinned while Aulë laughed outright, a heartily merry sound that rang up and down the wide street.  "Aye, and stern only begins to describe it!" the Smith opined.  "You should be glad, then, young brother, to have a sibling who has a more temperate nature! Ah, I see they are already awaiting us."

"Outside Irmo's front gate, thank the One," Oromë said in a near-mutter, his smile grown wry.  "I know it's all part of that public image, but I wish someone had been able to talk Námo into using a little less black in building his house.  It makes that part of the street so depressing!"

"Perhaps you should should've suggested to Vána that she bring it up with the other ladies, this afternoon," Manwë remarked, his tone and manner making it plain that this was a comfortable old matter that they spoke of in jest from time to time.

The Hunter sniffed.  "I did," he replied, so flatly, one could not tell whether or not he was serious.

Aulë clapped his shoulder in consolation.  "Well, take heart, then — it appears he set aside the color for the day."

Farther down the street, the two Valar under discussion emerged from the mithril and pewter gates of the mansion of Irmo and Estë.  Irmo, the shorter of the pair, was garbed in robes of dusk blue and silver gray, while Námo, half a head taller, had indeed traded his customary black robes for less formal ones of wine-dark purple, relieved by lovely silver embroidery on the hems and cuffs, and silver links in the belt.

Oromë grunted his opinion of the change.  "Almost as bad," he quipped, but he was smiling.  As they met with the Fëanturi, greetings were exchanged, and Frodo was almost shocked to see Námo smile.  He supposed that, given what others had told him about the lord of Mandos, the somber demeanor he displayed in public was for the edification of the Elves, who would have had difficulty reconciling the very weighty duties that were his burden with what they considered normal behavior.  Olórin had told him that the detachment Námo showed most often was a form of protection, a way for the Doomsman to keep the judgments he was duty-bound to speak from crushing his spirit, for he felt both the responsibility and the pain of his darker tasks quite keenly.  But Frodo had never had a chance to meet the Vala in private, and thus was surprised that he would allow the mask of his armor to slip here on a public street.

Irmo saw the hobbit's reaction to his brother's smile, and chuckled.  "Yes, Master Baggins, your eyes are not deceiving you.  I may not be able to convince him to eschew his somber clothing whenever he appears in public view, but contrary to common rumor, my brother the Doomsman is capable of smiling without having his head split asunder."

The glower with which said Doomsman favored Irmo was so deliberately dramatic, Frodo could not keep himself from laughing.  "Duly noted, Lord Irmo," he said with a sweeping bow as he regained his composure.  "Lord Námo, you may rely on my discretion to keep this secret in strictest confidence."

To the halfling's delight, Námo's scowl melted, and the smile returned.  It was a nice smile, Frodo decided, and instantly was sorry that the Vala felt he could seldom let it show more freely.  "I am most grateful, Master Baggins," he said in such excessively formal tones, Frodo knew it was a pose.  "But among kin, there are few secrets, and seldom need to keep them.  I am now honored to be able to count you among my larger family, here in Aman."

Frodo blinked, startled, but he could not object.  "The honor is mine," he replied, with a more proper bow of thanks.  "I was pleased to hear that Olórin has finally discovered the true kin he longed for, but I never expected others to include me as a part of his family, even after a fashion."

"There are many reasons we should do so, Ringbearer," Oromë declared, this time without jest, and with gentle warmth.  "By your efforts and sacrifices, you made possible the defeat of Sauron, a task that was beyond others of our own kind.  Námo, Aulë, and I have wanted to show our thanks for this ever since you arrived.  It was our three emissaries who failed their tasks most egregiously, and perhaps if they had remained true to their mission, your suffering would not have been necessary."

Frodo blushed.  "Perhaps, but I was more than adequately thanked when I was allowed to come here and be healed.  After all, when all is said and done, I am still only a Hobbit, not a Maia."

Námo regarded him with a most unusual expression, one that combined both gentility and deep sobriety.  "True," he said quietly, "but through your choices and sacrifices, you are perhaps more worthy of the name than some who were born so."

The other Ainur favored one another with the oddest glances.  The exchange happened so quickly that Frodo wondered if he had imagined it, for an instant later, Manwë was smiling at him, most benignly.  "Cousin Frodo does have a point, though.  With all the strange rumors flying about, we needn't add to it the absurd notion that a Mortal is to be made a Maia.  That would create an even greater furor than when the fates of Eärendil and Elwing and Tuor were decided.  Come, we should move on to the bazaar while the morning is still young."

They continued on toward the gates, the street now grown busier.  Oromë and Irmo were having a lively discussion about the trials of being a brother, although their perspectives varied, as Irmo was the younger and Oromë the elder to a sister, Nessa.  When Irmo sighed over the difficulty of being a younger brother, Olórin quipped that it could not be as difficult as being the youngest brother among all the Ainur in Eä.

"Aye, I would say that is as bothersome as being the last to arrive!" a deep, ringing voice declared, more than half-laughing.  Tulkas came striding up from behind them, his hair and the collar of his russet hued cloak shining gold in the bright autumn sun.

Olórin, whom he had addressed, regarded the Champion with an arch expression.  "Shall we wait here for a moment until Lord Ulmo arrives," he said drily, "or will he be joining us at the bazaar?"

The other six Ainur laughed at this, for it did indeed appear that this was to be an outing for all seven lords of the Valar.  "I have heard nothing to that effect," Tulkas replied with a confident grin, "but as he is not losing the company of a spouse for the day and thus might need to find diversions to fill the lonely void, I doubt he will make an appearance."

He was wrong.  Not far beyond the main gates of Valmar, the bazaar spread all along and about the road and between the buildings without the walls, a colorful panoply of stalls and tents and other temporary structures erected for the event.  The sound of music and voices and laughter was everywhere, along with the scents of many things, from the pleasant aromas of cooking foods and fresh produce and flowers and fine scented oils, to the less pleasing and more pungent odors of various animals and the acrid smells of the forge.  One of the pavilions nearest the gates belonged to a group of Telerin merchants.  Unlike the Teleri of Middle-earth, who often affected subtle colors so as to more easily avoid the notice of enemies, the Teleri of Aman favored bright colors and patterns as intricate as the nets they so skillfully made.  The merchants offered not only such things as fine netting and all manner of items crafted from the shells and jewels of the sea, but a wide array of delicacies that were only available to those who lived in the interior of Valinor when the sea folk brought them, freshly caught.  Ulmo was in the midst of a group of fishermen, praising them for the clever means that had been devised to keep a large catch chilled so that it could be brought to market, still fresh.

"It's not as difficult as it used to be," remarked one of the more prominent Teleri, the harbormaster of Alqualondë, Ciryator.  "When Alqualondë was the only harbor on the shore of the mainland, the distance was much greater.  "But since we now have Vorimalondë here just beyond the Calacirya, it's much less of a bother.  But the Noldor of Tirion considered the matter an interesting puzzle, and were most helpful in devising a method to help us achieve it."

"It was easier back in the days when nothing in Aman ever spoiled or faded," one of the eldest of the fishers, Halaner, observed with a snort.  "I recall the early days, just after we arrived from the Great Journey, when one could bring in a month's haul and leave it in tubs without a single small fry going bad before it was time to go out for another month's provisions.  I never understood why things had to change."

"Because, Master Halaner," Manwë said as they drew near the pavilion, "we discovered that while our people do not suffer as greatly for it, the Eruhíni become seriously afflicted by lives without change.  To be deathless is one thing, but to be stagnant is another.  Would you prefer it if we simply arranged to have the fish wash ashore so that you need not go out in your ships to fetch them?"

The aged Elf flushed, though Manwë had spoken kindly, with a smile.  "Well, no, my lord," he admitted.  "That would be... boring."

"That it would," Ulmo said most emphatically, though his amiable grin did not fade.  "Even for us, it's good to have things shaken up a bit, now and again."  He turned his grin to Olórin.  "You managed to do that for us at your final Reckoning, didn't you, youngster?"

The Maia was not bothered by the sea lord's remark.  "Not deliberately, Lord Ulmo," he replied innocently.  "If you wish to blame someone for that surprise, you will have to take it up with Lord Eru.  He, after all, was the one Who deliberately inhibited my memory — and couched His revelation in a rather cryptic message, at that."

Ulmo's grin widened.  "Well said, little brother, well said!  Never let a bully like me place blame on your head when it rightfully belongs elsewhere!"  

He shifted his regard to the six Valar, one seafoam-hued eyebrow lifted.  "So, your ladies have abandoned you for the day, eh?  And you decided to mitigate your loneliness by inflicting your company on these two innocent youngsters?"  His gesture indicated Olórin and Frodo.

Oromë snorted.  "As you inflicted your company on these poor Lindar?"

Though most of the listening Elves smiled at their remarks, well aware that the two were clearly jesting, a few appeared ready to leap to Ulmo's defense.  Irmo intervened before they spoke up.  "Come, now, brothers," he chided.  "I was told this was to be a pleasant outing with the newest members of our family.  Bickering in front of the Children is most unbecoming."

Tulkas let out a great guffaw.  "Oh, aye, but which children do you mean?" he joked, plainly including the "newest members" to which Irmo had referred as "children."

Smiling crookedly, Oromë cuffed the Champion's ear.  "The ones that include you, of course, you big lout."

Irmo frowned at this byplay, but many of the Elves laughed.  "Don't take it so personally, Lord Irmo," Ciryator suggested amiably.  "This kind of bickering is common among our families, and so long as it is done in good humor, there's no harm to it.  Indeed, it is reassuring to some of us to see that it happens in all families, not just ours."

"Sad, but true," Halaner said, smiling.  "Though if I wanted to spend the morning watching bickering, I'd go loiter about the Noldorin pavilions."

Snickers and chuckles rippled through the throng, and all smiled.  "I can think of much more pleasant things to do, I'm sure," Manwë declared.  "Were there specific things you wished to look for, Cousin Frodo?"

Frodo, who had been giving half his attention to one of the Telerin vendors' wares -- a display of beautiful items crafted from shell and pearl and sea-glass -- started slightly when his name was spoken.  His smile held only a hint of chagrin for his wandering attention.  "Yes, Cousin Manwë," he answered, his familiar address of the Elder King causing many widened eyes among the Elves.  "But I do want to see as much of the bazaar as possible, if I may.  I enjoyed the autumn market and the Free Fair in the Shire, before the burden of the Ring stole so much of my health and happiness.  I've been to other markets and fairs in various parts of Aman, but this is so much larger than any of those, I want to explore all of it!"

His enthusiasm touched all who heard it, Olórin more than any.  "Then we were wise to set out as soon as we could," the Maia observed.  "And if Mistress Marilla's fine wares have already caught your eye, perhaps we should begin here."

"An excellent suggestion," Manwë approved, turning to smile at the merchant.  

Marilla — a small Telerin lady with near-white hair that shimmered in the sunlight like the pearls after which she had been named — paled to find herself the subject of not only Frodo's attention, but that of his eight Ainu companions.  She had seen all of them at a distance, of course, but she had never met any of the Valar directly, and only spoke with some of the Maiar on rare occasion.  She had met Olórin once, before the death of the Trees, and was surprised that he still remembered her.  But he and Frodo went about their business in such a disarming manner, she soon found herself managing to discuss her goods with the Valar, a number of whom were interested in acquiring small gifts for their absent spouses.  It was all done in a relaxed and affable way, so that Marilla soon lost her timidity in speaking with them, and was able to bargain with them as respected customers rather than the governors and guardians of  Arda.  By the time they moved on, several purchases had been made, and Marilla was doing a brisk business with newly interested customers who had come to see what had so intrigued the distinguished party.

The day continued in much the same fashion.  From time to time, the group would split up, one or more of the members going off to see something that did not interest the others, or to take care of their duties, which could not be wholly neglected.  On and off, others would join them for a bit, sometimes Elves, sometimes Maiar who had no obligations to keep them from attending.  When they all gathered for the midday meal at a pavilion both Oromë and Ulmo had recommended — one being run by a group of Elves from all three kindreds, who operated one of the best inns on the road outside Valmar — their numbers had been increased by half a dozen.  Glorfindel and Ecthelion, both of whom were keen to discuss the finer points of single combat with a Balrog with Olórin, had brought with them Ereinion Gil-galad, who was himself most interested in speaking with the halfling who had made possible the defeat of the fallen Maia who had slain him at the end of the Second Age.   Finarfin and Olwë had joined them, for unstated reasons of their own, and Eönwë had also come.

It made for a surprisingly merry impromptu feast, even when Glorfindel waxed poetic on the rather grisly topic of which was worse, plummeting while in combat with a Balrog or simply engaging it in battle on solid ground.  He relented only when Olórin pointed out that some of his remarks were causing Frodo to turn a rather distressing shade of green, after which the Elf lord was most apologetic and solicitous toward their mortal dining companion.

The two Elven kings smiled at Glorfindel's attempts to make amends.  Finarfin was particularly amused.  "Did Amatírë tell you to go bother other folk for a while?" the Noldóran asked, the twinkle in his eyes belying the innocence in his tone.

Glorfindel blushed.  In the years since his return from Middle-earth, he had re-established his relationship with Amatírë, a very patient Elf-maid of the Teleri whom he had met after his rebirth in the Second Age.  Back then, they had talked of betrothal, but had postponed it when the plan for him to return to Endorë to assist the surviving son of Eärendil had been devised.  Amatírë was a remarkable person who felt pity rather than bitterness toward the Noldor for what had followed Feänor's dreadful Oath.  It had helped that Glorfindel, the son of a Noldorin mother and a Vanyarin father, had been quite young at the time of the Kinslaying and thus had taken no part in it, even though he and his parents had followed Turgon into exile, as his father had long been a devoted friend to Fingolfin's second son.

Amatírë's affection for Glorfindel was genuine, but she had also felt a sense of duty toward her mother, as her father had perished in a shipboard accident during the War of Wrath and had not been granted rebirth before Glorfindel was due to depart on his journey to help Elrond.  Rather than force Amatírë to choose between following him and abandoning her mother, they had decided to wait to make a formal declaration of their intentions until after Glorfindel returned.  Neither had anticipated that it would be a separation of several thousand years, and rebuilding their relationship since his return had had its shares of ups and downs.  Thus far, the worst of it had been some startlingly heated verbal exchanges, many of which ended with the very request Finarfin had mentioned.

Glorfindel cleared his throat.  "Ah... well, yes, though not in those precise words.  I tried to help her and her parents set out their wares before the bazaar opened. Eärmírë and Alyasímar are the finest glass crafters I have ever known, and I fear that in my eagerness to be of assistance, I nearly shattered several of their most valuable pieces.   Amatírë said I was being as helpful as a Balrog in a house of glass, and suggested I go find another place to get into mischief before I destroyed all of their goods."

"A wise suggestion," Olwë opined.  "We must see to it that you and Amatírë settle down together sooner rather than later.  If you wait until you no longer have these little spats, you will never wed!"

There was laughter all around; Aulë favored Glorfindel with a broad smile.  "Too true, alas," he sighed.  "Yavanna and I have never gotten over that habit, though our disagreements have become less heated and more comfortable, with time.  She has even come to think of them as charming overtures to more pleasant activities — once she recovers from her fits of pique, of course."

The others chuckled at that insightful estimation of the Earth Queen.  "It is long overdue," Olórin told his fellow Balrog-slayer.  "Have you gotten around to discussing where you will make your home, when the time finally comes?"

Glorfindel was relieved by this slight change of topic.  "We have.  She would like it if we could spend part of each year in Vorimalondë, as most of her kin moved there to help in building the harbor for Tirion, and stayed to found the adjacent city once the port was completed.  The rest of the year she would like to spend in Lórien.  I'm quite amenable to the notion, if Lord Irmo and Lady Estë are agreeable to having another Elf settle in their realm."

"We would consider it an honor," Irmo assured him.  "Amatírë is a sweet and gentle spirit, not to mention an exceptionally skilled herbarist.  Estë and I have long been fond of her, and would welcome her.  But have you no plans to spend any part of your year in your family's house, here in Valmar?"

The dimming of Glorfindel's face was like a cloud crossing the sun.  "Not until my kin return there.  I still cannot understand why it is that I was reborn more than five millennia ago, and yet they who died before me are still in Mandos."

Many eyes shifted to Námo, who regarded the Elf with a distant but sympathetic expression.  "It is complicated," he said quietly.  "This decision is not mine to make, nor Manwë's.   The rage that led some of your family to pursue a course of ill-considered and fatal revenge after the death of the Trees is not yet resolved in their hearts.  Others are waiting for them and have thus far refused to leave until those who remain obstinate are released.  For some, the proper time simply has not come.  But I promise you, Glorfindel, your family's house will not stand empty forever."

When Glorfindel did not appear much consoled by Námo's assurance, Ecthelion elbowed him.  "Come, come, now, old friend," he chided with a smile.  "The two of you have gone 'round on this so often, I've begun to think you've gone deaf.  You know Lord Námo can't give you a schedule of when and where your family will be coming back.  And you know that even if he does know, he isn't going to tell you until it's the right time, he's not allowed.  Don't spoil the day for the rest of us by sulking."

Manwë clicked his tongue, but only in the most gentle of rebukes.  "Perhaps Lord Glorfindel has earned the right to sulk for a minute or two," he said.  "It saddens us as well when we cannot tell these things to those who have waited many long years to be reunited with those they love.  But it is rare that we withhold that information when we do have reliable foreknowledge of the time it will come to pass.  There is much we know that you do not, it is true, but when the matter involves the free will choices of the Eruhíni, there is nothing of which we can be certain."

Námo nodded, the autumn sunshine gleaming on his smooth black hair.  "That is so.  I know that it is common belief among the Firstborn that I know all that is to come, but only Eru Ilúvatar is capable of holding so much knowledge in His mind.  I know what He reveals to me, when He chooses to do so, and sadly, that is not nearly as much nor as frequently as others -- or even I! -- often wish.  I know that it will not be long before some of your kin are restored to you, Glorfindel, but I cannot tell you when because I simply do not know.  That becomes certain only when each fëa entrusted to my care makes that decision for his or her own self.  Only then can we restore them to life in hröa, and can they take the final steps to return to the living.  You know this."

Glorfindel did indeed, as did the two other Reborn Elves sitting at the table.  "I do," he admitted.  "But I still dislike it."

Olórin, who was seated to his left, laid one hand on his arm in a gesture of sympathy.  "No one expects you to do otherwise, my friend," he said with great compassion.  "Accepting a thing never means that you have to take pleasure in it."

"Indeed," Irmo agreed, "and I beg your pardon for having mentioned the subject.  Our youngest brother has gently corrected me, and rightly so.  It was not my intent to distress you, Lord Glorfindel."

The Elda's entire demeanor softened, hearing the sincere regret in the Vala's voce.  "I know that, my lord, and you are forgiven.  I have heard that the Valar are saddened by the long emptiness of the House of the Golden Flower, no less than I.  But it would not seem right for me to take up residence there, for I was never the head of that House here in Aman.  Turgon bestowed such a title upon me in Gondolin to honor the memory of my parents, who were his friends and perished in the same tragedy that claimed his wife Elenwë.  But here in Aman, that honor rightfully belongs to my father, or grandfather.  I am content to wait until they return to claim it."

He spoke in earnest, and all accepted it.  Frodo, who was sitting across the table, looked up at him.  "I have often wondered about you, Glorfindel, about how you first came to Middle-earth, and to Gondolin.  Olórin has told me some things, but I can see now that he didn't tell me very much.  Perhaps you can tell me more, if you wish — but later.  For now, I think Lord Ecthelion is right, and we shouldn't spoil such a lovely day with dark thoughts about the past.  Did you say your lady's parents are Eärmírë and Alyasímar?  I've heard that Eärmírë is the most skilled glassblower in Eldamar, and that her husband fashions magnificent windows that are beautiful pictures made of tinted glass.  I would love to see their work."

The conversation then shifted to a discussion of the glassmaker's arts, and other less contentious topics.  Glorfindel favored Frodo with a smile of grateful relief for his timely remarks, and both Olórin and Manwë gave him nods of approval for his deftly handled diversion.  Aulë and Ulmo were soon having a lively debate over who were the most skilled in crafting glass, the Noldor or the Teleri, while Gil-galad, who was seated beside Frodo, asked him about the Shire, which until the establishment of Arnor had once been a part of his realm in Middle-earth, though long before the arrival of the first Hobbit settlers.  Manwë and Olórin were engaged in conversation with the two current Elven kings, and the attention of the others flitted back and forth to whichever discussion seemed most interesting to them at the moment.  

The spectacle of the large group of distinguished diners caught considerable attention of others as well, and long before they finished their meal and departed, the pavilion was overflowing with those who came to sate their appetites for food and drink and potential gossip.  The ever-shifting throng consisted of both Elves and Maiar, and the happenings at the tables where the Valar and their company were seated was of interest to all, and was surreptitiously noted by more than just the Elder King.

Next:

Through a Glass, Brightly