VII

Through a Glass, Brightly

When they were finally ready to continue on their way, Manwë saw to it that the proprietors and all their staff were suitably rewarded for their hard work, as well as the fine meal.  Glorfindel, Ecthelion, and Eönwë remained at the pavilion to talk with friends who had arrived only a few minutes earlier, while Finarfin, Olwë, and Ereinion joined the larger party.  Olwë was acquainted with Glorfindel's lady and her parents, and as he knew where they had set up shop in the bazaar, he led the others to it.

Outside the pavilion where the glasscrafters were displaying their wares, Amatírë had set up a booth from which she was selling a wide variety of the herb and spice concoctions that were her specialty.  Many were for culinary use, but there were also a large number of preparations that were used to provide pleasing scents for home and bath.  While Olórin assisted Frodo in looking over the cooking herbs and spices that were not available in Lórien, several of the Valar and the Elves continued on into the pavilion, while the rest approached Amatírë.  She was a lovely maid of medium height, with an expressive round face dominated by large gray-green eyes and waves of ash-blonde hair somewhat darker than was typical of many Teleri.  Those wide eyes widened all the more when she saw who had come to her booth.

Manwë smiled warmly as she gave him her obeisance.  "No need to stand on ceremony, my dear," he told her when she would have made a courtesy to each of them.  "We are here merely as customers today.  Varda made sure to tell me to visit you, as she is busy entertaining guests.  Do you have any of the sachets she favors?"

Amatírë nodded vigorously, and ducked behind one of her displays to find what the Vala had requested.  His disarming manner, as well as that of the others, soon put her at ease, and their business was conducted quite merrily.  Frodo had a few questions about some of the more unusual herbs and spices with which he was unfamiliar, and she answered them both expertly and eagerly, as she had met the hobbit and Olórin before, while visiting Glorfindel in Lórien.  Frodo quickly made his selections and paid for them, and was a bit surprised when Olórin made a purchase of his own, a bundle of sweet cinnamon sticks.

"For Ványalos," he explained.  "He's quite fond of cinnamon, but as the tree from which it comes does not grow in Lórien, he has few opportunities to enjoy it as often as he would like.  He takes his duty to Lord Irmo more seriously than many would think, so he seldom takes advantage of his travels to obtain such luxuries for himself.  He also never learned any skill to earn money or barter among the Elves — and when he does have either, he spends it on others."

Frodo instantly understood, and Irmo smiled.  "Aye, for all that he appears to be a rogue, my messenger is unfailingly generous.  You are kind to think of him, Olórin."

The Istar dismissed it with a casual gesture.  "No more so than the kindness he has shown me as a friend — and that you and Lady Estë have also shown, by allowing me to live in your realm all these many years."

Irmo's expression warmed as he settled one hand on the Maia's shoulder.  "That was no kindness, young brother.   It was a gift we gave to ourselves."

Olórin accepted the dream-master's compliment with a gracious nod.  Manwë then suggested that they continue on into the glassmakers' pavilion.  Most of it was open-air, as the works on display were best seen in bright light.  Sunbeams sparkled on the beautiful products of their craft. Tables draped with cushioning velvet cloth held many works of blown glass, from simple clear goblets to intricate multi-colored decorative sculptures.  Easels and display scaffolds bore works of stained glass, some small enough for Frodo to hold in one hand, others taller than he.  Everything was a marvel to him, but it was the largest of the displayed windows that caught his eye and held it.  It was round and stood half again as tall as the tallest of the Valar, and when a beam of sunlight fell through it, lighting the image and making it seem to come alive, he gasped.  

"Oh, Olórin, look!" he breathed in wonder, tugging lightly on the Maia's sleeve to get his attention.  The Istar turned his head to glance where the hobbit was pointing, and his own eyes widened.  The large round window was aglow with an idyllic scene of low green hills, wide fields ready for harvest, and lovely woodlands, which were just beginning to show the first traces of autumn color.  The cloud-flecked sky depicted was the same bright fall blue as that above them, and as one looked more closely, a road could be seen, winding its way between the hills, past shrubs and flowers and round doors and small windows.

"It's the Shire!" Frodo exclaimed in delight.  "I thought it was Lórien at first, but — oh my, it's Bagshot Row!"

Olórin nodded his agreement, smiling.  "It is, and the way it was before Saruman tried to ruin the Shire."  He looked up at Alyasímar, who had come to stand proudly beside this most unusual masterpiece.  The Teler was not as tall as many of his kindred and was darker haired than most, but he had a quick and gregarious manner that gave him considerable presence.  "How did you find such details?" he asked the crafter.  "I'm certain you've never been to the Shire...."

"Never, my lord," Alyasímar confirmed.  "But those who commissioned the work saw to it that I was provided with descriptions and drawings from those who knew it well.  Glorfindel was most helpful, as was Gildor Inglorion, and many who had been a part of his company in Endorë.  Lords Arafinwë and Olwë put several of their finest artists and draftspeople at my disposal to render the descriptions of those who were interviewed, and Lord Ereinion contributed detailed sketches of what he recalled of the trees and other flora of Eriador.  I was also given an opportunity to speak with the elder Master Baggins, though he did not know that it was this commission that sparked my interest in his former home."

At the second mention of a commission, Frodo managed to tear his eyes away from the window.  "But who in Aman would want such a thing?" he wondered.  "It's much too large for an ordinary house, and very few people here know anything at all about the Shire.  I should think they would want a depiction of the Hill Country in Lórien."

"I wanted it."  

When Frodo looked to see who had spoken, he was shocked to see Námo step forward.  The hobbit was so thunderstruck, he could not speak.  The Vala smiled gently, understanding his reaction.  "There is a place in my halls where those who have been reborn and are soon to be released gather to speak to one another of what has been, and what is to come.  They take comfort from one another, and from the tapestries my lady Vairë displays there, to remind them of the beauties of the world they are about to reenter, of its goodness rather than its evils.  I and my siblings have felt that if more light were to enter the room — the natural light of star and sun and moon — it would hearten those who come there, and further ease their adjustment.  I have long been familiar with the art of Alyasímar, and I wanted to commission him to make the largest of the windows that would be placed there, but I could not decide what subject I wished for him to depict, until you and Bilbo arrived in Aman."

Frodo blinked, startled by his choice.  "But wouldn't it have been more logical to show Lórien?  Many of the reborn come there for a time, I'm told, and all of them are Elves.  A few know of the Shire, but none have ever lived there."

"True," Námo agreed.  "Which is part of why I chose it.  Even though they are returned to innocence, some of the reborn might wonder why it is not their town or their country I chose for them to see, were I to have selected a place familiar to them, and they might take offense.  The Shire may not be known to them, but it has a beauty that brings peace and contentment to the hearts of those who look upon it.  And not a few of those Elves died in the long struggles against Sauron over the last two ages.  Though they are not told all the history of the world of the living since they left it, they have been informed of Sauron's defeat, and how it was brought about."

He lowered himself to one knee, not in homage, but to speak with the halfling face to face.  "That knowledge gives them relief, or joy, or hope — or all three.  And if they should ask what beautiful green land it is that they behold in this window, they will know that it is the land where their hope and joy was born.  For it was from the deep soil of the Shire that you and Bilbo and Samwise and your honored cousins sprang, and it will be remembered and honored as an emblem of hope and rebirth for as long as my halls stand."

Tears filled Frodo's eyes as he listened to the Vala.  "Thank you, Lord Námo," he said softly, afraid his voice would crack if he spoke any louder.  "I could never have expected such a tribute, but it touches me deeply.  Did you ask Alyasímar to bring it here for display, so that I might see it?"

Námo smiled. "Not precisely, although I am glad you had the opportunity.  Master Alyasímar brought it with the intent of delivering it to me, but also so that others who may never visit my halls would have a chance to see it before I take it there.  It is indeed a masterpiece of his art."

Frodo agreed.  "We must make sure Bilbo sees it before the bazaar is over, then, since he didn't know about this commission when Alyasímar spoke with him."

"That should be easily arranged," Olórin felt certain.  "As long as the weather remains fair, the bazaar should continue for at least several more days, and once he hears of this, Bilbo will no doubt suggest that he have a chance to see it."  He glanced in Manwë's direction.

The wind-lord chuckled.  "If Ulmo will cooperate, it can be managed.  I'm sure all our Elven guests, both the merchants and their customers as well as those who are traveling, will appreciate a week or two of reliably fine weather."

Ulmo nodded his agreement, grinning.  "Anything for our new cousins — and other kin, of course."

Eärmírë — who had the lithe build of many Telerin women and elaborately braided hair the color of honey — had been quietly listening to the conversation, and now stepped to stand beside her husband.  "Alyasímar has every right to be proud of this commission," she said, regarding the hobbit with kind eyes of the same gray-green as her daughter.  "It is one of the finest things he has ever wrought, though perhaps all the attention paid to it has made him forget his other recent works."  She gave her spouse a pointed look.

Alyasímar blinked in momentary confusion, then suddenly grasped her meaning.  "Oh, yes!" he said even as he moved toward one of the tables where their supplies were stored.  "Those who helped me work on the design provided a great number of drawings and other images," he said as he searched through the things that were stored behind the table.  "Many more than I could use in Lord Námo's commission, I'm afraid.  I hated to see it go to waste after the others had made such an effort to help me, and Amatírë had a suggestion that I was pleased to implement.  Lady Vairë provided this particular image; I could not have imagined it so clearly, from mere description."

He brought forth something of about Frodo's height, wrapped in sturdy canvas.  It was large and clearly heavy, but as he was used to handling the weight of glass and lead and other materials of his craft, Alyasímar made no bother of it.  As he brought it to one of the empty easels, he slipped the knot on the cord holding the cover in place and allowed the canvas to fall away to the ground. It was, of course, another of his glassworks, set in a frame of finely polished oak.  The sunlight fell through the glass, bringing its colorful image to life.

"This is for both of you," he told Frodo and Olórin as he placed it upon upon the easel's wooden crossbar, so that it would be at at comfortable height for viewing.  "My daughter and Glorfindel both felt you would appreciate it, and I am glad to make the gift, in return for having provided me with so much inspiration — even though you were unaware of it."

The glass was generally rectangular in shape, rounded at the top.  The scene it depicted was one of the evening, with the fading colors of sunset along the far horizon below the deep blue of the coming night flecked with the first stars.  High above gleamed the curve of the Valacirca, and Eärendil's star, the brightest of all, sparkled well above the edge of the sunset.  Beneath the display of the heavens was the Hill in Hobbiton, and atop it were two figures.  One, a young hobbit in his tweens, was seated on the grass dotted with summer flowers; the other, an old man robed in gray, stood behind him, one hand raised to point at the brilliant evening star, while the other hand held a faintly smoking pipe.

"I remember this," Frodo said, his voice soft with wonder, the memory coming clearly.  "It was a year after Bilbo adopted me as his heir.  You had just arrived that afternoon, Olórin, and Bilbo had something special planned for that evening.  He shooed us out of the house and told us not to come back until he called for us.  We walked up to the top of the Hill to watch the sun set, and when the stars began to come out, I asked you what you knew about them.  That was the first time I heard the story of Eärendil, and that the stars we Hobbits called the Plough were really the Sickle of the Valar.  I barely knew what any of it meant, then, but now...."

He looked up at the Maia, pleasure in his eyes at the long-forgotten memory, and was startled to see tears on his old friend's face.  "Olórin...?"

The Istar cleared his throat before responding.  "I remember it as well, Frodo.  It was a special moment, and a special day.  I am glad that Lady Vairë saw fit to share it with others."

He turned to Alyasímar and gave him a bow of deepest gratitude.  "This is a gift beyond measure, Master Alyasímar.  You have captured a moment I will treasure in my heart forever.  In later years, after my mortal friends have chosen to accept the Gift of the One, it will give to me a window to the past and a remembrance of the love and joy I was able to share with the most remarkable of Hobbits."

Frodo had not considered that aspect of the beautiful window, but hearing Olórin speak of it, he glanced at Námo.  The dark Vala returned his glance with a gleam in his eyes that told Frodo that this was no coincidence.  Vairë had given the glasscrafter this image, knowing it would inspire Alyasímar to do precisely what he had done, with these very results.  He inclined his head to the Vala, his own eyes shining, graciously acknowledging the part Námo and his wife had played in bringing this about.

"I have a feeling that Master Alyasímar was provided with more than just images to work with," Frodo remarked, casting his eye about the pavilion and noting that not only were all seven lords of the Valar present, but Eönwë and the Elves who had joined them for lunch as well.  "Given the shape of the work, I suspect he was provided with the precise dimensions of the window that overlooks the front porch of your house, Olórin.  Or am I mistaken?"

Both Eönwë and Glorfindel had the good grace to appear mildly abashed.  "Guilty as charged," the latter confirmed.  "Though I was only the decoy, and Ecthelion my accomplice.  Lord Aulë suggested that window as the most suitable for the purpose and told us the dimensions, but Alyasímar wanted to check them to make certain nothing had been changed since the house was first built.  Eönwë did the actual checking.  I simply made sure that both of you were out of the house while he did it."

Aulë snorted affably.  "You might've just taken my word for it and saved everyone the trouble."

Eönwë conceded the point with a grin.  "Aye, since Master Baggins could see it was a perfect fit without the need for measurements!  But the subterfuge was not entirely wasted; it did give me a chance to answer Master Alyasímar's question about which shade of wood would be best suited for the frame.  We hadn't thought to ask you about that, my lord."

"Just as well," the Smith admitted.  "I left the details of decoration and colors to Yavanna and the other ladies who helped in making the house.  They changed their minds a score of times, as I recall."

Some of the others laughed, but Olórin merely smiled as his gaze returned to the window.  He settled one hand on Frodo's shoulder.  "That would be the perfect place for it.  At the front of the house, it will catch the light most of the day, and all our guests will see it — except for Ványalos.  He seems to prefer coming in through the kitchen window." 

Frodo was not the only one to laugh at that observation, as the nature of Irmo's messenger was well known to more than the Ainur.  Finarfin, who was probably the least familiar with the roguish Maia, chuckled, then asked Alyasímar, "Did you finish work on the other piece in time to bring it as well?"

"Oh, aye, my lord," the crafter assured him even as he gestured to his wife, who went to fetch it.  "I would not have felt right about presenting this gift had the other not been ready.  This is for your kinsman," he told Frodo as Eärmírë brought a much smaller piece of stained glass.  "I could not have made any of these things without his aid, and this is but a small expression of my thanks."

The piece that Eärmírë held out for the hobbit's inspection was a circle little wider than her two spread hands, but of equally exquisite workmanship.  It depicted the western side of Bag End, where a window overlooked the garden.  By the varieties of flowers making a riotous bloom of color below and around the window, it was early autumn, when all the garden plants put forth their last display, but before the chilly nights caused the leaves to turn.  Bilbo and Gandalf were inside, standing at the sill to admire the beauty without.  

From the gentle smile that crossed his face, Olórin recognized this moment as well.  "This was the day I arrived in Hobbiton for Bilbo's Party," he said, lightly touching the image of the strangely un-aged halfling.  "Bilbo always said this was the last quiet moment he had before all the preparations became overwhelming.  And he was proud of his garden.  He will be very pleased with this gift, Master Alyasímar."

The crafter looked quite relieved.  "I had hoped so.  Lord Elrond told me that there is a window in his study where this could be hung without diminishing either the light or the view."

"Then if it can be arranged for Master Bilbo to come and see the other panes, we can present him with this at that time," Eärmírë suggested.

"An excellent idea," Manwë said, favoring her with a smile of approval.  "Today, he is closeted with  Onótilúvë, learning the earliest history of the Hobbits, and tomorrow is the day of court for all our peoples.  Perhaps a meeting with Bilbo can be arranged for the following day."

Though the Elves and Frodo readily agreed, there was a bit of hesitance among the Ainur.  "Provided we aren't in the middle of a civil war by then," Tulkas muttered to Oromë in Valarin, too quietly for any but the Ainur to hear.  Manwë, whose ears were among the sharpest in all of Eä, gently chided the Champion in ósanwë, but said nothing aloud.

Eärmírë and her spouse were pleased with the Elder King's suggestion.  "Obviously, my husband did not expect any of these things to be taken immediately, as they are quite large.  He had hoped to appease his vanity by showing them off for a time — which, for once, I agree is well deserved," she amended with a fond look for her mate.  Alyasímar flushed at her mention of his vanity, but though he was abashed, he did not deny it.

Eönwë stepped up behind Olórin and clapped him on the shoulder.  "So, Uncle," he said with cheeky cheer, "will you invite the rest of us to come and see the new window after it's been properly installed in your house?"

Though many of those in the pavilion smiled at the Herald's flippant remark, some of the customers were startled, and others were clearly scandalized.  If he noticed those negative reactions, Olórin feigned ignorance of them and responded in kind.  "Certainly, Nephew.  I shouldn't want you and your cohorts to be deprived of seeing the final fruits of your subterfuge."

Glorfindel pretended to take offense at that, his ill-disguised laughter contradicting his indignation.  Ulmo then suggested that they finish whatever business they might have with the glasscrafters and then move on, so that the potential customers who had gathered to see what so interested the dignitaries could have a chance to admire the wares and possibly make purchases of their own.  Before they departed, Frodo looked over the beautiful blown glassware Eärmírë had available, and purchased several small but artful flasks and goblets.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in much the same way, moving from one vendor to the next, occasionally pausing so that Frodo could refresh himself with light food and drink.  Olórin and Manwë remained with him throughout the day, and at least three of the other Valar were also with them at all times.  Various Elves and Maiar also joined them from time to time; most were persons of some note, as were even the Maiar the Valar called upon to periodically relieve them of their purchases and return them to the appropriate mansions.

Late in the afternoon, as the autumn sun was nearing the horizon, Frodo was intensely involved in his perusal of the goods of a Vanyarin weaver when he felt a light tap on his shoulder.  He looked up and saw Olórin smiling down at him.  "Isn't this beautiful?" the hobbit said, holding up a length of exquisite silk voile, done in subtle blues and greens with hints of purple and silver, the design clearly meant to suggest flower petals floating upon a stream.  "Mistress Mirimë is just as skilled in her craft, but she's told me she never bothers to weave silk this sheer, as her clients seldom want it, and the better fiber comes from other regions of Aman.  But I remember the way she looked at the light gowns Lady Celebrían wore when she and Lord Elrond visited Lórien this past summer."

"Hmm, yes, with the very warm spell we had at midsummer, there were many ladies who envied Celebrían her summer wardrobe.  Fine linen can be as light and cool, but not always so soft and pleasing to the touch, or to wear.  Are you thinking that Mirimë might fancy a bit of this as a Yule gift?" the Maia speculated, still smiling.

Frodo nodded.  "The colors are ones she favors, and the pattern is quite lovely.  I was just wondering if she mightn't consider it insulting, to be given a gift in her own craft."

"Never," Olórin said with utter certainty.  "She is a very sensible person, and can appreciate the skills of others, especially in her own arts.  The Vanyar may be most renowned for their more intellectual and artistic pursuits, but they also have craftspeople of the highest degree.  Calandil Narvinyion is widely known as one of the finest silk weavers in all of Aman; Mirimë would surely be delighted by a gift of his handiwork."

The hobbit loosed an expansive sigh of relief, glad that he would not offend the lady who had become a dear friend to him, and made his purchase.  "When you are finished," Olórin added while the cloth was being measured and cut, "we should return to the mansion.  You may not have noticed how tired you are getting, but I have, and we are expected home for supper."

Even Frodo noticed when several other customers, not to mention the helper who was cutting the cloth, looked askance at the Maia's offhand reference to the Elder King's mansion as "home."  Wisely, he kept his own opinion of their reactions hidden.  "Yes, of course," he said as mildly as possible.  "Will we be able to return to the bazaar tomorrow?  I don't think we've seen more than half of the vendors."

"Not tomorrow," Manwë told him as he finished a purchase of his own, which he intended to be a gift for one of Ingwë's daughters, in thanks for her assistance in procuring certain things they had wanted on hand for their hobbit guests.  "While the Elven kings hold court tomorrow, we will be holding our own, and your presence will be required there, Cousin Frodo.  The bazaar does not open while court is in session, but it continues the day after.  We may return then, if you like."

He had not raised his voice, but the Vala's words were quite audible to all nearby.  When Frodo completed his purchase, Olórin took the parcel for him, they bid farewell to the Elves still in their company, and headed back toward Valmar.

Next:

Dinner and Deviousness