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No Greater Love, Part Two: Repercussions  by MJ

IX

Before the Dawn

After the Valar had given their messengers proper thanks for their help all that long day, they adjourned to another part of the mansion to discuss the details of their plans for the morrow.  Several of the Mentacolindor then also departed, having other plans for the remainder of the evening, while others had business to attend for their lord or lady.  The rest came to talk with the hobbits and Olórin, wanting to know more about the halfling's custom that would be adapted to help deal with the current problems among their people, or simply to become better acquainted with them.  Frodo and Bilbo readily told them all they wished to know -- particularly Bilbo, who always reveled in the chance to talk to such an appreciative audience -- and the remainder of the evening went quite merrily, especially when Nárënilda saw to it that refreshments were brought.

When at last Olórin and Ványalos noted signs of weariness in the Mortals, they subtly informed the others, who then bade them goodnight, thanking them for indulging their curiosity so splendidly.  As they escorted the hobbits to their rooms, Olórin also informed Manwë and Varda, who were there to bid them goodnight when they arrived.  Neither noticed that the two Maiar were humming softly while the Valar embraced them as they would kin; thus, neither felt sleep overtake them before they were released.

"Thank you," Manwë said softly, nodding to the pair as he lifted Frodo into his arms and his spouse did the same with Bilbo.  "Our skills in moving incarnates as we move may be greater than yours, but both of you have learned much of the ways of sleep from Irmo and Estë, more than we have, and you know more of hobbits than any of us.  Will you come with us, Ványalos, to watch over Bilbo's sleep?"  He did not need to ask Olórin, knowing full well that the Maia would come to do the same for Frodo, as he had done since his arrival in the West.  This time, it was not concern for the Ringbearer's sometimes troubling dreams, but rather a precaution, in case awakening in a different place proved troubling.

"It would be my pleasure," the redhead replied with a slight bow.  "He was concerned that the cooks in Ilmarin may not know what constitutes a proper Hobbit breakfast, and I told him I would do what I can to instruct them."  He said it with a wry tone and expression, since he knew very well that Nárënilda took care of such things in all residences of her lord and lady.  

The others laughed softly at his gentle teasing.  Then, after making certain that both mortals were deeply asleep, contentedly journeying on their own path of dreams, the two Valar took them on a very different kind of journey, slipping between the fabric of the physical world to travel from Valmar to Ilmarin at the speed of thought, the two Maiar following with equal ease and swiftness.

***********

When Frodo stirred toward wakefulness the next morning, he was unsure if the sound of singing he heard was reality or a dream.  He had awakened to such a sound many mornings in Lórien, either that of distant voices, from neighbors in the Hill Country going about their day, or, much nearer, Olórin singing for whatever reason had moved him.  Bilbo had once said that the Elves seemed to live on song more than food, but as much as they were fond of music, they could not compare to Ainur, whose very existence was intimately woven with song.  

The soft voice he heard in his half-dreaming state sounded like Olórin's, although he did not recognize the song at all.  It seemed to be wordless at the same time it had words he could not understand, and that puzzle tugged at his thoughts and finally caused him to awaken fully. 

As he opened his eyes, for a moment he expected to find himself at home in Lórien.  The half sleep-blurred sight of an unfamiliar ceiling above him reminded him that he and Bilbo were spending the rest of the week in Manwë and Varda's mansion in Valmar.  But his memory of that ceiling was one of a soft blue surface, so pale that it was almost white.  Here, he looked up at a higher ceiling that appeared slightly curved, like that of a shallow dome, with a texture of swirled blue and white, like clouds in a summer sky.  The air was also sharper when he inhaled, crisply clean with faint hints of fir and cedar and flowers that bloomed only high in the mountains.  Pallid light suggested that the hour was still quite early, likely before dawn.  There was the sound of a distant fountain, but more closely the voice, quietly singing.

Frodo closed his eyes again and relaxed into the soft comfort of the bed, smiling as he listened.  He was all but certain it was Olórin singing, as this would be far from the first time he had wakened to the sound of the Maia's voice, thanking Eru as he welcomed the day.  It was always a pleasant thing for him to hear, especially since for so many years, he had thought that the wizard was only a very old Man, not one of the spirits who had taken part in the very making of the world Frodo knew and loved.  The joy that suffused his clear light baritone was a delight to Frodo's ears, reminding him of the things in life for which he himself had reason to be joyful.

But today, though the soft singing was clear and as always held that note of rejoicing, there were definitely no words to the song, not that he could perceive.  That both puzzled and intrigued the hobbit, and at length, his curiosity grew more powerful than his desire to remain in the comfortable bed.  He opened his eyes again and sat up, not at all surprised to find that he was wearing his own nightshirt.  Nor was he entirely surprised by the sight that greeted his eyes.

The room was vaguely similar to the bedchamber he'd been using in Valmar, though the furnishings were clearly different.  There was a small window to the left of the bed, through which he could see the pre-dawn skies, still glittering with stars.  Several paces beyond the foot of the bed, in the same wall as the window, were a pair of glass doors that led to a small outer balcony.  Before the doors -- which were closed to keep out the night chill -- light shimmered, but it was more than the light of Varda'a stars, or even the coming dawn.  And Frodo recognized it at once.

Although he had suffered many horrible and lingering effects from the War of the Ring, one result that the former Ringbearer did not regret, once he'd grown accustomed to it, was a greater sight and perception of things which to other mortals normally went unseen and unfelt.  Here in Aman, there were a great many such things, and while he was certainly not aware of them all, those with which he often came into contact were now much more noticeable to him.  

In Lórien, for instance, he often knew when there were unclad Maiar about; he could sense their presence, and sometimes catch a brief, vague glimpse of their unseen Light, or catch a hint of their unique scents.  For those he knew well and saw on a near daily basis, he perceived them much more strongly and clearly.  Back in the Shire, some might have described them as ghosts -- which now made Frodo wonder if those incidents, usually attributed to overactive imaginations or being "touched," were actually moments in which the passing of an Ainu was caught.

Whatever the case, here in the West, Frodo no longer wondered.  Though he could not see all the unclad Maiar clearly, those with whom he shared his life were not hidden from his senses, even when they were disincarnate.  Olórin was as close to him as a brother, and he knew him now in all his forms.  To Frodo's eye, his Light reminded him of a precious opal, bright and clear yet shimmering with an inner fire of many hues, which could change with his mood as the color of the opal changed with the shifting of light. 

What Frodo saw now was Olórin's opalescent Light before the closed balcony doors, with a smaller but more intense light beside him, and the soft sound of the wordless song still continuing.  It took a moment or two more for the halfling to finally recognize it as a Song of Making, and that piqued his curiosity.  The Song was not a powerful one, but Frodo was reluctant to interrupt a potentially crucial moment in whatever the Maia was doing, so he waited and watched for a few minutes before gently clearing his throat.

That immediately caught Olórin's attention.  Although he remained unclad, the Song stopped, and the hobbit was aware of the concerned regard being turned toward him.  "I beg your pardon, Frodo, did I disturb you?"

At moments like this, Frodo was never quite sure if he heard the voice with his ears or in his thoughts, but he had ceased to puzzle over it some time ago.  He shook his head, noting that the other light near the Maia had suddenly dimmed.  "No, you didn't disturb me.  This is such a peaceful place, I don't think you could have even if you'd shouted into my ear!  But did I interrupt something important?  I think by now, I recognize the sound of your... ah... 'working' Songs."

He felt something in the shimmering Light that he knew was a smile, and an instant later, Olórin was standing beside the bed, now in his usual fána.   As he incarnated, Frodo caught the subtle fragrance that was uniquely his when he assumed his physical form.  It was a blend of several things: the fragrance of a hillside in the spring, redolent with the scents of new grass and apple blossoms; the pungent smell of the deep woods in autumn, heavy with a scent that only came from fallen leaves mixed with the sharp tang of evergreens; the rich odor of good pipeweed, not when it is burning, but when it is cured to perfection, ready for the pipe; the clean, crisp bite of brisk wind on a winter day, when the sun is bright, but one can smell the coming snow in the air.   This particular aspect of the Ainur was a complete mystery to Frodo -- how could a being without a true body have any smell at all? -- but he had come to accept it as a part of the vast world their Maker had fashioned for His own delight, and theirs.  If naught else, it made the Children of Eru's Thought seem more akin to His Children of the physical world than they often seemed.

As he sat down on the edge of the bed, Olórin held out his hands to Frodo, where the smaller light still glowed.  "What do you think?" he asked, cocking his head as he gave it his own appraisal.

Frodo leaned forward to get a better look.  Cupped in the Istar's hands was a sparkling wristlet, made of the same sort of crystal as the circlet he had been given for his healing.  "It's lovely," the hobbit opined, for it was indeed.  "Did you make this to complement the circlet Lord Eru made for you?  The style of it is much the same."

The Maia's long, fair hair brushed his broad shoulders as he shook his head.  "No.  When Manwë and I spoke with Father two days ago, He told me that I no longer need to wear His gift, as my healing is complete, and that if I wished, I could refashion it into a form I might find less... disagreeable."  He said the last word with a wry wrinkle of his nose, for they both knew how uncomfortable he had been, accepting the fact that he needed to wear a diadem to affect the healing he had so desperately needed after the two millennia he had spent laboring in Endorë.

Frodo chuckled, gently.  "That was kind of Him.  And I imagine He knew that it might be more agreeable to more than just you alone."  He was thinking of the disaffected Maiar who had wrongly taken the circlet to be a sign of unwarranted favor.  

He worried at his lower lip for a second or two before looking up at the Istar.  "Are the Valar planning to select the worst of the dissidents for the 'honor' of sharing our custom? I should think it would make the underlying intent much too obvious."

Olórin quite agreed.  "Just so, which is why Manwë and several of the others devised a variation on your custom, which they will present when the court is assembled later today."  The impish glint in his eye suggested that it would be truly devious, and potentially amusing.

Seeing that, the halfling sighed, half-laughing.  "Well, then, as it seems this will be an interesting surprise, I shan't press for details."  He looked back at the shining wristlet -- which was truly elegant and lovely in its design -- and found himself with another puzzle.  "I can see why you would rather not continue to wear the circlet, given the discomfort it caused both you and others, but I'm not quite certain why you don't just set it aside, as you did before you understood its purpose, which is no longer needed."

The Maia's smile grew brighter.  "Ah, yes, but there was another aspect of the gift that I'd failed to comprehend."  He focused his thought for a moment on the crystal band.  The flow of Love was strong to him, and was not, he deduced, beyond Frodo's ability to perceive as well, if he guided him.  He returned his attention to the hobbit.  "The circlet appeared to be made of crystal -- and after a fashion, it is -- but there is more to its substance than even the most brilliant of all the creations of all His children.  I can help you sense what it is, if you will permit me to be your guide."

Frodo did not hesitate.  "From the first day we met, you have been my guide in many things," he said with warm affection and trust.  "Yes, I would like to try.  What must I do?"

Olórin shifted the wristlet to one hand, so that he could place the other on the side of the hobbit's curly-haired head.  "Touch the crystal, then close your eyes.  I promise, there is nothing to fear, but if what you sense becomes unsettling, simply withdraw your hand."

That anything about a crystal wrist-cuff could be unsettling gave Frodo a moment's pause, and then piqued his curiosity.  He looked at the thing as he took several deep, calming breaths.  Given that it had been an instrument in healing a being of pure spirit, he supposed that it could possess qualities that would be overwhelming to a mortal.  But he did trust that Olórin would not encourage him to do anything that would risk his safety -- not now, not since he still felt sorely responsible for all that Frodo had suffered because of the Ring. 

Besides, this wouldn't be the first time he'd touched the crystal, and the hobbit had never felt anything at all from it, much less any danger.  Yes, both the circlet and the Ring were beautiful, but there was a profound difference in their attraction.  Both were simple in form, without elaborate ornamentation to hide the beauty of their simplicity -- but the difference was felt with senses beyond those of mere eyes.  The Ring drew one to it, with a pull like a that of a great maelstrom in the sea, an inward vortex in which one become trapped and ultimately destroyed.  Olórin's circlet had a more subtle draw to it, one that was merely part of a cycle, like the inward draw of one's breath, bringing life-giving air to the body before moving outward again.  No, Frodo did not fear this bit of crystal, and he was curious to know more about it, if he could.

When he had taken a few more steadying breaths, he did as Olórin had instructed.  He set the fingers of his restored hand on the cool, glassy surface of the refashioned crystal, then closed his eyes, waiting with perfect trust for his friend to guide him.

The Maia could feel that trust, and was deeply touched by it, especially from this hobbit, who had every reason in the world to distrust him, after all he had suffered.  He cherished it, and did his best to make certain it was not misplaced.  Before Frodo made contact with the physical aspect of the crystal, he made sure that his own power formed a firm barrier between him and its non-physical properties.  Then, keeping close watch over the mortal's condition, wary for any sign of distress or dismay, he slowly allowed the barrier to grow thinner, more permeable, so that some of the great Love that had been woven into this gift would seep through to touch Frodo -- touch him, Olórin hoped, not crash into him like a destructive wave of pure emotion.  But the Love of the One was so powerful and intense, anything was possible.

Fortunately, Frodo was neither destroyed nor unsettled.  In fact, the Istar was being so careful to shield him from harm, the halfling initially felt disappointment, suspecting that he was too dense somehow to sense what his friend was attempting to help him perceive.  Before long, however, he began to feel something -- naught that could be called truly unsettling, but rather a gentle and steadily growing warmth, like that of a slowly growing fire newly built in the hearth on a bitter cold night.

At first, Frodo thought that he was feeling something of Olórin's normal presence -- which seemed perfectly logical, as this gift had been made for him -- but suddenly, the quality of what he was sensing changed, causing it to expand into something far greater.  Yet while it seemed as dazzling as an exploding star, it was not so cataclysmic; rather, it grew into a brilliance that encompassed all but destroyed none, a benevolent Light that could easily nourish the deadest of ash back to flourishing life.

The awe that it awoke in Frodo was not frightening, but it was powerfully startling, so much so that he let out a gasp as he involuntarily pulled his hand away from the crystal.  Keeping careful watch, Olórin knew that he was unharmed; still, he reached out with his own Power to make certain his friend remained calm.  "A bit more than you were expecting?" he asked, smiling softly.

Frodo nodded even before he opened his eyes.  The lingering sense of what he had felt was one of pure Love, and he basked in that bliss for as long as the echoes of it remained.  When it had almost fully passed, he finally opened his eyes and looked up, his face full of wonder.  "I understand now why you don't wish to set aside this gift," he said in a quiet voice.  "Is... is this what it's like to be in the presence of the One, outside of this poor mortal world?"

Olórin gently ruffled the hobbit's dark curls before lowering his hand to waggle the fingers.  "A mere echo of it, but a very clear one.  Whatever awaits you after death, I'm sure it will hold greater joy than this, though I think perhaps you see now why it was so very difficult for me to choose to leave the Timeless Halls to return to Arda."

"More than ever," Frodo agreed.  "The memories you showed us were vivid, but not as...."  He hesitated, searching for the words to explain what he had perceived.  "Not as real, if you take my meaning."

The Maia's chuckle was a kind and joyful sound.  "I do.  As detailed as those visions were, they were but memories of what I had experienced, some years ago.  This, however, is a connection to something that is present now, not a mere recollection of our Father's love.  I had no more idea of this aspect of the crystal than you, until two days ago.  I knew that it was special, but not precisely how -- and now that I know, I cannot bear to be parted from it."

The halfling's dark eyes lowered to study the gleaming crystal that was more than mere crystal.  In his eyes, it had always had a certain ethereal quality to it, making it seem somehow unlike every stone and gem he had ever seen before -- and it truly was.  "I can certainly understand why!  Although I'd thought you planned to wear the circlet to court today."

"I did, and I still do.  But I wanted to see if it would be difficult to change the shape, and I had the time on my hands, so...."  He shrugged, smiling sheepishly as he returned the crystal to its original form.  "I'd thought I would be quiet enough not to disturb your sleep."

Frodo laughed as he patted the Maia's arm.  "So you were, I promise.  I was just ready to waken when I did, and I'm quite used to the sound of you singing being the first thing I hear in the morning."  

He watched as his friend returned the circlet to his head, with a habitual wince.  That unconscious expression of discomfort brought another matter to Frodo's thought, something he had been pondering for the last two days.  It took a moment or two for him to find a way to phrase those thoughts.  "I know that you're not... comfortable with the notion of some folk calling you a prince of the Maiar," he began in the politest of tones.

Olórin snorted.  "That would be a considerable understatement," he agreed, one corner of his mouth quirking wryly.

Frodo returned with a small smile of his own.  "Yes, indeed it would be.  But I've been thinking, and actually, I don't believe it's so inappropriate, after all."  

When the Maia's expression turned from wry to aghast, he hastened to explain.  "Not the prince, of course, but not all princes earn the title because they're of the blood royal.   How many people in Middle-earth called me and Merry and Pippin -- and even Sam! -- princes of the halflings?  We don't even have royalty, and never have, but after a time, even I learned to understand that they didn't call us that because we were noble by blood."

Olórin's horror mellowed somewhat, but did not wholly vanish.  The last thing he wanted was for the friend he lived with to start behaving differently toward him because of what had come to light in recent days.  "True, but many of those in Gondor who said such things presumed that you were -- indeed, that you must have been, else you would not have been a part of the Company of the Ring.  Boromir was the son of their ruling Steward, Aragon the King returned, Legolas a prince of Mirkwood, and Gimli a descendant of Dúrin.  In their minds, any others who were chosen for this quest would also have been of similar rank."

The hobbit couldn't suppress his impish amusement.  "Quite -- and wouldn't that include you as well, since you were our leader?"

His answer was a chastening scowl that would have been perfectly at home on the face of Gandalf the Grey.  "You know very well how the people of Middle-earth thought of me!  While a few granted that I had power and knowledge, being a wizard, none thought of me as being of lofty nobility.  That honor they gave to Saruman, and he was welcome to it -- at least until he started to believe it meant he deserved to rule Endorë.  And I don't see what this has to do with my position here in Aman."

The mischief faded from Frodo's face and manner.  "Ah, but you see, I wasn't thinking of either blood ties or rank. Sometimes, a person is called a prince not because of birth, but rather because of what they have done, and how their accomplishments and behavior show them to be the embodiment of things that are the best of their people -- indeed, what should be the best part of all peoples."

Olórin did not respond at once; instead, he looked off toward the nearest window, beyond which the skies were beginning to soften with the pale colors of the nearing dawn.  Before long, however, he turned back to the hobbit.  "You're very kind to say that of me," he said at last in all humility.  "Especially given how you suffered at least in part because of my misjudgments."

But Frodo dismissed that with an easy wave of one hand.  "What I suffered had naught to do with you, and everything to do with Sauron and his accursed Ring.  But don't you see?  In our awareness of our shortcomings and failures, we would both deny that we have earned such an accolade, and yet others insist that we deserve to be so honored.  And perhaps their sight in this is far clearer than ours.  I am no more the Prince of the Hobbits than Pippin or Merry or Sam, but in the eyes of those who wished to honor us, we were all princes of our people.  And so it is with you.  You are not the Prince of the Maiar, but you have very much been an example of some of what is best in your people, in both your deeds and your manner.  So has Eönwë, and Melian, and no doubt many, many others I cannot name.  Is it truly unacceptable to you, to know that others might wish to honor you so?"

For some moments, Frodo could not read the expression on Olórin's fair face, nor in his dark blue eyes. Then he focused fully on the hobbit, smiling softly.  "No, it isn't unacceptable to me.  I shan't ever be wholly comfortable with it, I fear -- but then, that may be for the best.  Without proper humility, such an honor could all too easily go to one's head!"

With that thought, he unconsciously touched the circlet with the tip of one finger, running it along the smooth surface that was at once cool with the early morning air and warm with infinite Love.  "I believe I shall mention this reasoning of yours to Manwë, if you don't mind.  It deserves deeper contemplation, especially by those who were given charge of Arda."

"I won't mind at all.” He laughed merrily.  "I know, this means I won't ever again be able to argue against those who wish to honor me in a similar fashion, but after due consideration, I believe it's just."

The Maia's eyes twinkled brightly.  "Ah, good!  Then you won't shy away and protest when Lady Vairë offers to dress you in princely raiment for Court?"

It was Frodo's turn to respond with horror, imagining what one of the queens of the Valar might consider appropriate for such an occasion.  "She -- she wouldn't!  Would she?"  The timorous query squeaked from his suddenly dry throat.

Olórin managed to hold back a merry chuckle for only a few moments.  "She did mention the possibility, but Lord Námo was good enough to point out to her that this is the first time any Mortal has attended a Court of our people, and that alone might be sufficiently overwhelming for you, without any the addition of discomfiting trappings."

Now, the halfling paled.  "Overwhelming?"  He hadn't considered this aspect of the day's events, and the possibilities made his head swim.  Even before he had made the decision to sail West, Frodo had known that it was said Mortals could not long survive in the presence of the Powers; the question of what would happen to them if they came to a large assembly of the Ainur was one that had never occurred to him.

But Olórin's impishness gentled to reassurance, perceiving his concerns.  "Not to fear, my dear hobbit!  Eru Ilúvatar granted both you and Bilbo the grace to live out your lives in Aman, unharmed by the deleterious effects ordinary Mortals might suffer.  I was merely thinking of your ability to see some of us unclad.  Many will be there in fána, but many more will remain in our natural state.  If you should grow distressed by this, know that Nienna and her brothers will be keeping watch, and will come to your aid by placing veils upon your senses, to lessen your perception of our myriad unclad brethren."

A long sigh of relief whistled past Frodo’s lips.  “Oh, thank goodness!  For a moment, I was having visions of being the moth slowly being burnt to ashes by the flame it can’t avoid!  But none of you would have asked us to come if that would happen, I’m sure.”

“Just so,” the Istar agreed, his face suddenly lit with rosy golden light as the first soft rays of dawn reached into the room.  He looked up into the light, hummed a brief welcome to the day, then gracefully rose from his seat on the edge of the bed.  “Well, now that your mind has been put at ease, it’s time for me to see about fetching your breakfast.  After which, a bath should be ready for you — and then we shall see whether Lady Vairë heeded her lord husband’s wisdom, or not!”

Next:  The Court of the Ainur Begins





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