XII

Waiting for Answers

After the court finally ended amid the glorious sound of all the Ainur singing, Frodo and Bilbo were ushered to a chamber where they could doff their ceremonial cloaks.  Refreshments had also been set out for them, and whichever of their friends and extended family wished to join them.  It was a merry little gathering, and when the hobbits were quite sated, Manwë gave them a better tour of Ilmarin, as he had promised he would, should Bilbo chance to visit.  Both Mortals were tired and ready for a bit of a nap when it was done.  While they slept, they were taken back to the mansion in Valmar, where it had been planned for them to spend the remainder of the week.

Frodo still wanted to see the rest of the bazaar outside the city, and Bilbo very much wished to see the works of the glass-crafters, which he had heard much about.  The fine weather continued to hold, and after the long hours spent in the more somber business of the various courts, both merchants and customers were eager to have another day or two for buying and selling and meeting with friends and distant kin before it was time to head back to their various homes, near and far.

Manwë and Varda had wanted to join the hobbits, but that turned out to be more difficult than they'd anticipated. One of the matters that had come up before all the Elven courts was the issue of a need for expansion, before there were more than stirrings of unrest from those who were feeling crowded, restless, and confined in the currently limited regions of Eldamar.  The two Valar found it necessary to remain at the mansion until their discussions with the various Elven representatives were concluded.

In their stead, Eönwë and Ilmarë came to accompany them.  Though the Herald was raven-haired and his sister honey blonde, they were both very tall.  The handmaiden was more slender than her warrior brother, but there was no mistaking their kinship in their elegant faces, for all that they were self-incarnate, not born of flesh and blood.

"I didn't truly have a chance to enjoy the bazaar the other day," Eönwë said after he'd explained why they had arrived in lieu of their lord and lady.  "When one is charged with the task of covertly gathering information and then coordinating the reports of others, it tends to diminish one's pleasure in the outing."

Ilmarë sniffed.  "At least you were able to go.  I was needed to attend at the gathering of the Valiër -- a pleasure of its own, but of a different kind."  She smiled brightly at the hobbits and Olórin.  "I also welcome a chance to discover if uncles and cousins are better company than nuisancy brothers."  

The rude face Eönwë gave her was priceless.  Ilmarë rolled her eyes in exaggerated exasperation.  "Typical."  The others laughed, recognizing the teasing banter as that of affection, not malice, and so they set out in a merry mood.

It was a beautiful day, bringing brisk business and a generally cheerful atmosphere.  Most folk were polite and deferential to them, but in some ways, it was much more relaxed than it had been two days before, no doubt because the Elves were more comfortable around the Maiar than they were the Valar.  Even Eönwë, whom many considered to be the highest ranking of all the Maiar, was less daunting to them than even the least of the Powers.

Bilbo was quite insistent that they make their first destination the pavilion of Alyasímar and Eärmírë, so that he could see the two great stained-glass windows that Frodo had described to him.  No one had mentioned the smaller pane Alyasímar had made for him, wanting to preserve the surprise, and he was indeed startled, and greatly moved, by the gift.  After he had thanked them profusely -- and spend more than a few minutes sniffling and dabbing at his eyes -- he was promised that the pane would be safely delivered to his apartment  in Tirion, where Elrond's craftspeople would see to its proper installation.

Afterwards, Bilbo felt the need for a bit of refreshment to recover from his unexpected episode of emotions.  Fortunately, they had enjoyed a large and satisfying breakfast just before setting out, so the stop at a nearby baker's pavilion for some fresh sweet buns and a cup of tea was comparatively brief.

Ilmarë knew that such enjoyment of food and drink was a trait of the hobbit people, and while this first-hand experience with it was a bit startling -- they were so small, after all! -- she found it oddly endearing.  When they asked the three Maiar to join them, a jovially generous invitation, she found their manners and light-hearted conversation most pleasant, and quickly came to understand why her Lady had so easily taken them into her heart.

When they resumed their exploration of the bazaar and all it had to offer, Bilbo happily entertained her with tales of the markets and fairs of the Shire, as well as the Hobbit customs of gift-giving, for all occasions.  Frodo was somewhat more focused on continuing the shopping he had begun the other day, looking for items to purchase as Yule gifts for the many friends he had made throughout Aman.  Olórin and Eönwë were happy to help him, both in locating appropriate vendors and by offering suggestions when the younger hobbit had difficulty deciding, especially if they were well acquainted with the intended recipient.

At the booth of a silversmith, even their combined advice couldn't help Frodo decide on a particular purchase.  The Vanyarin smith was talented in the making of any form of clasp, pin, brooch, or buckle, and there were several that Frodo thought would be most suitable as gifts.  One, however, was set with what he felt were inappropriate stones, so he and the crafter went aside to look over other gems that the smith had on hand, to see if any met with the Ringbearer's approval.

Bilbo and Ilmarë were lagging behind a bit, at the nearby pavilion of a stationer, where the elder hobbit wanted to see every single pen, paper, quill, inkwell, and whatever other items the merchant had brought to sell.  The stationer's wife was an illuminator, and in one corner of the pavilion, she was working on a commission, a beautiful rendering of a traditional verse that was to be a gift for a coming wedding in Alqualondë.  Ilmarë was fascinated by her skill, and enjoyed watching her work while Bilbo was busy examining scrolls of parchment, leaves of fine linen paper, and an assortment of exquisite silver-tipped quills.

Not wanting to intrude on either hobbit's business, Olórin and Eönwë found a place nearby where they could wait without impeding other potential customers.  The Herald watched the halflings, smiling.  "They take their bargaining seriously -- but they do enjoy it, don't they?"

Olórin nodded, remembering his many visits to all the places where hobbits had lived during his time as a Wizard.  "Very much so.  They are a generous people at heart, even if some of their gifts aren't new or costly.  Of all the Eruhíni, I believe they take the most joy in giving rather than receiving -- a trait that I hope they are able to teach to the other races of Middle-earth."

"And to us as well," the raven-haired warrior added with a knowing gleam in his eyes.  "If some of our own people were more concerned with what they are able to give and less with what they and others have or have not received, our current situation wouldn't exist."

Olórin inclined his head in agreement.  "Too true, alas.  It seems that no matter how many opportunities we have to learn things for the betterment of all, there will always be some too eager to choose the wrong lesson."

Eönwë chuckled.  "Well, perhaps the novelty of this coming opportunity will meet with greater success."  He paused as a group of eight youngsters came toward them, ogling and whispering at the sight of the tall Herald and the much shorter Istar.  From their appearance, they were mostly kin, with a few friends of similar age tagging along.  The two Maiar gave them pleasant smiles of greeting as they passed by, which further widened the eyes of the oglers.  A few giggles rose up amid the whispers as the Elves quickened their pace, then disappeared into a tailor's pavilion.

When they were gone, Eönwë sighed softly.  "Did you truly mean it when you said you envied me my reputation as Lord Manwë's son?  It's no more than that, after all, just a presumption on the part of the Elves, which has sometimes puzzled me.  I look more akin to Lady Varda, after all."

That was true, given that the Herald had Varda's dark hair, though his eyes were a vivid sky blue rather than the Valië's keen star-silver.  Olórin's answering laugh was merry.  "Yes, I suppose you do at that!  But to be honest, from the very beginning I envied anyone among our people who had kin, whether it was a brother, sister, or spouse. And when the Firstborn awakened and all their myriad kinds of kinship became known to us, I wanted it all the more."  

"If I had not had Ilmarë as my sister from our beginnings, I believe I would have felt much the same," Eönwë admitted.  "As it was, I often yearned for a brother whose kinship to me was not of the sword.  I have long regarded you as such, though I've not often spoken of it."

"I know, and I have appreciated it, more than I could say.  Finding that I have true kin does not change those feelings.  I hope we will forever be brothers in our hearts."

Eönwë chuckled softly even as he gave the shorter Maia a warm familial embrace.  "Are you saying that you've already grown tired of being an uncle?  After only a few short days?"

"Oh, not at all!" Olórin assured him after returning the brotherly hug.  "Being the only one among our people thus far, I have yet to explore all the possibilities it might present!  Still, it was a sibling I yearned for most all those long ages."

He dropped his voice to a confidential whisper that even Elven ears could not hear.  "I was so desperate, I would've been delighted to have Sauron as my brother, even after he had fallen, and even if it was only to be able to pester him with, 'You're the elder of us, you're supposed to be setting me a better example!'"

He said it in such a perfect imitation of a young, pesky, whining child, Eönwë threw back his head and roared with laughter, which Olórin joined a moment later.  Their reaction won many startled glances, and brought a few heads popping out from nearby tents and pavilions.  But such was the merriment in the sound of it, all who looked their way couldn't help but smile, sharing in their joy simply for the pleasure it brought to their hearts.

When they at last got the better of their mirth, the Herald clapped the smaller Maia's shoulder in a most companionable way.  "I can just see you doing it, too!  It's a shame you didn't know who your real brothers were long ago.  I have a feeling that you might have been able to annoy even Melkor into giving up his wicked ways.  Manwë is wise and powerful, but a whining pest he is not!"

Olórin mock-scowled as he elbowed his friend, an expression that quickly melted to wistful smile.  "I believe Bilbo would agree with you, given how I pestered him into going on an adventure he was quite set against -- so I would appreciate if you didn't mention this to him."

"Didn't mention what to whom?" Bilbo asked as he and Ilmarë approached, his arms laden with carefully wrapped packages.

Eönwë and Olórin traded wry glances at the hobbit's timing.  "Nothing for you to worry about," the latter assured him.  "Did you purchase at least one of every item Master Túrelio had to offer?"

"Oh, not at all," the hobbit said in such a breezy manner, one couldn't be quite sure if he was dismissing the teasing or simply hadn't noticed it.  "He has ever so many interesting wares, and I'd've happily spent the rest of the day with him -- he's such a pleasant fellow, and you know, he dabbles in writing poetry, too, and has a keen interest in lore.  But Mistress Órecalima finished what she'd been working on and insisted that it was high time her husband took a moment for luncheon, as he hadn't had a proper breakfast this morning...."

"Which of course made your stomach think it was high time for your own luncheon, since you haven't had a bite to eat in at least an hour," Olórin quipped.  When Bilbo tried to protest but couldn't because it was the truth, the Maia gave his shoulder a friendly pat.  "Since almost three hours have actually passed and both you and Frodo have been engaged in the hungry work of bargaining, it is time to give the matter due thought."

"Actually," Eönwë chimed in, "I've already considered it.  There's a pleasant inn nearby, the Wandering Willow. The keeper, who took ship from Mithlond a few years before your arrival, was friendly with the hobbits who lived in the westernmost parts of the Shire."

Both Bilbo's and Olórin's eyes widened.  "It sounds as if he was also friendly with the Ents!" the Istar observed.  "Or perhaps even the Entwives, if some managed to survive."

"Perhaps you should ask him," Eönwë suggested.  "From what I've heard, he had a fondness for Hobbit fare, and has attempted to incorporate parts of what he remembered best into his offerings.  I'm sure he would welcome a visit by you and Frodo, Bilbo."

"And I would welcome a chance to see if he's managed to do half as well as Nárënilda when it comes to making proper hobbit fare!"  He was about to head into the silversmith's pavilion to hurry Frodo along when one of the larger packages started to slip from his arms.  He almost dropped them all, but Ilmarë was quick to save them from falling.

"I can return these to your rooms at the mansion," she told the halfling, then sighed regretfully.  "I fear I must go back.  My lady Varda has summoned me, so I won't be able to join you at the inn."

"Oh, no!" Bilbo looked positively stricken, having much enjoyed her company.  "Would you rather we waited until you're free again?  I can't believe Lady Varda would keep you busy for all the rest of the day, not after she'd already released you from your duties for the day."

"Is it serious?" her brother asked, keeping his tone light even though his eyes had darkened with concern, as had Olórin's.

But Ilmarë's smile was also light.  "Naught to concern any of you," she assured them, explaining more fully to her fellow Maiar in their thoughts.  "A situation has come up that requires my presence, and while it could perhaps wait, it's best dealt with as soon as possible. I promise, I will join you as soon as I can," she told Bilbo, laying a soft kiss atop his curly head.

With her assurances accepted she waited until Frodo had joined them, then collected the hobbits' parcels and returned with them to the mansion in Valmar.  "It's a shame she can't come with us," Frodo said as he watched her leave, politely strolling off to a less public location rather than simply vanish into thin air.  "I hope it's nothing serious."

Olórin shook his head, gesturing for Eönwë to lead the way.  "It shouldn't be.  She gave us more of the details in osánwë.  As I'm sure you recall, the Valar each gave the privilege of selecting those to be honored at the end of Yule to their Maiar.  There was a disagreement among several of Lady Varda's people as to how that selection should be accomplished, and as she is chief among her fellows, it is Ilmarë's duty to help resolve the issue."

Bilbo winced.  "Bless me!  I hope it doesn't turn out the way some of the Baggins' family squabbles did!"

Frodo heartily agreed.  "Lobelia alone could take a minor disagreement and turn it into a ten-year feud, or worse."

Eönwë gave a short laugh.  "Which to us would seem but a few moments!  But you needn't worry, my friends.  My sister is not the chief of the Elentari's people for naught.  She can be as stern as she is beautiful, yet she is also a clever negotiator, and has handled many arguments of a much more serious kind with consummate skill.  In our early days, after we entered Eä but long before the Elves awakened, she successfully parlayed with Melkor himself on more than one occasion, and spared all of us many additional years of painful strife."

Both hobbits were suitably impressed.  "I don't doubt what you say, Eönwë," Bilbo added as they made their way from the crowded byways of the bazaar to the busy but less tightly-packed surrounding streets just off the main road.  "But I haven't heard any songs or even tales of her deeds.  Which seems to me to be a terrible lack of recognition -- worse, I think, than anything I heard complained about yesterday!"

"Perhaps because there were no Elves about to write them," Olórin pointed out while they waited for a cart loaded with fresh produce from the recent harvest to pass by.  "During the ages while we labored on the fashioning of Arda itself, spoken language was an art among us, not a necessity.  It was when we began to self-incarnate in preparation for the coming of the Firstborn that we began to record our history in words that the Elven scholars would later translate.  Ilmarë's deeds in the earliest years have not been forgotten, but she has somehow managed to avoid having most of them written into the songs and stories of the Eldar."

Eönwë's laugh came out as a sly snort.  "Which sounds like another Maia I know," he said, grinning, which Olórin blithely ignored.

Frodo was amused by their antics, but kept his reaction to a smile.  "Perhaps if you can find someone to tell you more of the details, you might write a ballad or two, Bilbo."

He had meant both the deeds of Ilmarë and Olórin, but Bilbo missed it.  "Oh, that's a splendid idea!  I've been thinking all day that I would like to find an appropriate Yule gift for Lady Ilmarë, especially after seeing how much she enjoyed the work of Mistress Órecalima.  I did hear her singing yesterday, you know, and she has such a magnificent voice, I'd thought perhaps I could ask if she has a favorite poem I might have illuminated for her -- but this is so much better!  Perhaps Master Onótilúvë would be willing to oblige me -- or you, Cousin Eönwë!  You are her brother, after all, so I suppose you'd know all about these things."

That brought an impish smirk to Olórin's face.  The Herald coughed.  "Ah... yes, I do -- but I can hardly be considered an unbiased source," he added hastily, relieved to have found an out.  "Such things can be beautifully descriptive and poetic, but they should also be accurate, don't you think?"

Eyes sparkling with mischief, Olórin mouthed the word coward at the taller Maia, even though he knew why Eönwë wished to avoid being the one to give Bilbo the details.  Ilmarë would probably make his life miserable for the next age of the Sun if she ever found out that her brother was the source, no matter how lovely a poem Bilbo composed.

"An excellent point," Frodo opined, carefully stepping over a mud clod that had fallen off one of the cart's wheels as they continued on their way.  "You know you have a tendency to wax a bit over-poetic at times, Bilbo.  I shouldn't want you to embarrass poor Ilmarë by embellishing events as they didn't happen."

It was the elder hobbit's turn to clear his throat, cheeks flushing.  "Well, yes, that's very true, I wouldn't want to do that, especially after she's been so kind to me today.  Is it much farther to this inn?" he asked in a hasty change of subject.

"Just around the next corner," Eönwë promised, equally glad for the diversion.

As promised, the Wandering Willow was only a short distance away.  It was not at all like a hobbit inn in design or structure, but it was an inviting-looking place that was all the more charming once one had entered the cosy interior.  The dark wooden tables and beams shone from careful and loving maintenance, reflecting the warm glow of the lamps and the fire on the large hearth opposite the main doors.  The deep green upholstery on the chairs and benches was an excellent complement to the intricately woven hangings of forests and fields that softened the look of the smooth-plastered walls.  A curved staircase to the left of the entrance led to the guest chambers; along the same wall was a tall counter where a fair-haired Elf woman was dealing with a pair of guests who were preparing to head back to their home while the fair autumn weather held.  All around were the sounds of cheerful customers and busy staff, and the air was laden with the delicious scents that wafted from the kitchens.

As he took it all in, a wistful expression filled Frodo's gaze.  "It reminds me a bit of The Prancing Pony in Bree."

"Will you be favoring us with a song after we've eaten, then?" Olórin asked drolly.  "I've always been rather sorry I missed that particular performance."

Frodo sniffed and refused to rise to the bait, knowing full well that his old friend was merely teasing.  They had talked about that episode long ago, and while at the time it had seemed the most foolish and dangerous thing the hobbit had done during his possession of the Ring, it had also been fortunate in how it had led him to meet Aragorn, whom he might not have trusted so readily had he not helped Frodo out of that perilously sticky situation.

The subject was easily dropped when a jovial auburn-haired Elf noted their presence and came to greet them.  "This is an unexpected pleasure, my lords!" he exclaimed with such expansive good cheer, there could be no doubt that he was the proprietor.  He bowed as he introduced himself.  "I am Olindar Tatharelion, and yonder is my wife, Nelladel."  He motioned to the woman behind the counter, who was still busy with the customers. "You are all most welcome to our house.  How may we serve you today?"

His outgoing manner quite reminded the hobbits of hostellers throughout the Shire, which instantly put them at ease.  "Lord Eönwë has heard that you were acquainted with our people back in Middle-earth," Frodo explained after returning the bow of welcome.   "As my uncle and I were ready for our luncheon, we wanted to see for ourselves if you do indeed boast Shire dishes on your bill of fare, as Eönwë claims."

Olindar answered with a broad smile that was also self-effacing.  "Ah, yes, I have attempted to duplicate some of what I so greatly enjoyed at an inn at the very edge of the westernmost parts of your homeland -- The Plough and Hammer, it was called.  Perhaps you know of it."

Bilbo lit up with delight.  "Of course I do!  It was a good day's walk on the Road west of Michel Delving, and was often visited by the Dwarves from the Blue Mountains in their travels.  Elmo Thornwhistle, the keeper, claimed that when his father was the proprietor, he was the last person of the Shire to see Isumbras Took before he went off to Sea.  He also mentioned that the Fair Folk sometimes stopped by to ask how the crops were faring in the Shire, but none ever visited whilst I was there."

The Elf's cheeks flushed.  "He was likely referring to me.  I used to own a farm that provided for Círdan's folk in Mithlond, and when I felt a desire to talk shop, so to speak, I found the Shire folk ever so much better to converse with on such subjects.  The Falathrim had little mind for aught but shipbuilding and fishing and the Sea, while the hobbits enjoyed the bounty of the earth.  I'm sorry we never had a chance to meet upon the Hither Shore, but I'm glad to have had the chance at last!  You're here for luncheon, you say?"  He glanced up to include the two Maiar along with the halflings.

Olórin's expression was mischievous.  "Unlike Bilbo, I have had the pleasure of meeting you in Endorë, Master Olindar..."  And for a moment, his appearance shifted from that of a shining Maia to the old gray wanderer he had been during the past age.

The innkeeper laughed, a bright, unexpectedly booming sound that drew the attention of all in the crowded main room, almost more than the presence of four such notable guests had already done.  "Of course, of course, Mithrandir!  How soon we forget what we knew but a few days ago!  Come, then, I have a small parlor free where you may all settle down in peace, away from the hustle and bustle -- and prying eyes! -- of the public hall.  Tinuwen," he called to a young elf woman who had just finished delivering a round of drinks to a group of travelers.

She excused herself from the customers and came over at Olindar's beckoning.  She was of an age the hobbits would have called in the tweens, of average height but slightly more plump than many Elves were wont to be, her simply plaited hair of a deep reddish blonde, her face pleasant, and her eyes a bright gray-green.  "This is my second daughter, Tinuwen," the keeper introduced.  "She will see you settled in the front parlor and acquaint you with the food and drink we have to offer.  And I will make sure our kitchen staff prepares everything precisely to your liking!"

Tinuwen turned out to be a cheerful young maid with fond memories of the Shire, as she had accompanied her father on several of his trips to the Plough and Hammer.  She had been more interested in meeting the locals and learning their songs and dances, and she was delighted to be given the privilege of waiting upon them now.  Unlike her father, she remembered that Olórin had once been Mithrandir, whom she recalled fondly from his visits to the west of Middle-earth, and she was not in the least bit intimidated by Eönwë, which the Herald found wonderfully refreshing.

The meal was a merry one, between the good food, good company, and the cheery attentions of  Olindar, his daughter, and his wife, who came to greet them when she had a free moment amid her other duties.  While the food wasn't precisely like Hobbit fare, it was very close and still delicious.  The drinks were more than passable, the wine even better than Old Winyards and the beer comparable to Butterbur's best.  If other guests peeked in every now and then, none of the four minded, and they spent the early part of the afternoon enjoying these unexpected pleasures.

When the meal was finally done, their hosts cleared away the dishes and brought another bottle of wine for them to enjoy with a platter of little nibblements for "filling in the corners," as the hobbits put it.   The three who had actually been to the Shire were telling Eönwë tales of the various Shire inns and innkeepers when yet another figure appeared in the doorway.  The Herald was about to suggest that they run along and satisfy their idle curiosity another time when he realized who was there, and nearly spilled his wine in his haste to jump to his feet.

His sudden and rather extreme reaction drew the attention of the others, wondering what had caused it.  It was debatable as to which surprised them more: the fact that it was Lord Námo standing at the door, or the fact that he was dressed in the simple -- and not somber --  everyday clothes of an average Elf, the breeches and tunic and other accoutrements in shades of brown and cream and a striking rusty red, the hue of bittersweet berries.  "Forgive me for interrupting," he apologized, motioning for them to remain seated.

For his part, Frodo waved away the apology.  He was glad to see the Vala again, and even more glad to see him not looking so terribly serious, save perhaps for the small crease on his brow.  "We were just finishing, so there's nothing to interrupt -- unless you count oft-told tales of the goings on in Shire pubs and inns!  Won't you join us?"  

When the others seconded the suggestion and Olórin produced a crystal goblet for Bilbo to fill from the half-full bottle on the table, Námo took the empty seat Eönwë offered him before the Maia settled back into his own.  "What brings you, my lord?" Olórin asked with amiable curiosity.  He had served in the Halls of Waiting from time to time, and he knew quite well that this particular Vala seldom appeared in such a public place without reason.

The question brought a surprisingly shy look to the Doomsman's face.  "Several reasons, not the least of which is a need to escape the... pandemonium for a time."

Four pairs of eyes widened with shock.  "Pandemonium?" Eönwë repeated.  "Has trouble broken out in Mandos?"  From the way he suddenly sat bolt upright, the captain of the hosts of the Valar was a moment away from fetching his sword.

But Námo shook his head, his smile small and rueful.  "Perhaps I used too strong a word -- although to me, the day has certainly felt as if chaos has descended on my Halls!  No, all is in order insofar as the fëar in my keeping are concerned.  The... commotion, such as it is, is among the Maiar in my service."

That did little to reassure his listeners.  Bilbo set down his wine glass, sighing heavily.  "Dear me, the revolt hasn't begun already, has it?  So soon?"

"It can't be that," Frodo declared, though he was not at all certain.  "I know that some of the Maiar have been upset for an impossibly long time, but they haven't even given this plan a chance to work!"

"I wouldn't have anticipated such a strong and immediate response from your people, my lord," Olórin said mildly, though there was a hard gleam in his eyes, as if he were already thinking of just which of those Maiar needed to be permanently changed into toads.

It was Námo's turn to react with wide-eyed surprise at their extreme and immediate reactions.  Then suddenly, he laughed, a very unexpected but not at all unwelcome sound of pure mirth.  "Peace, my friends," he told them when he was able to speak again, now smiling widely at their astonished faces.  Námo's laugh was not dark or forbidding, as many would have predicted, but was strangely refreshing, like the promise of spring after a long, bitterly cold winter.  "You misunderstand.  It seems that those disaffected members of my household were so taken with the idea of us adopting the Hobbit custom of Honor Day, they have quite given up on any notions of rebellion."

"So easily?"  Eönwë wanted to believe him, but after all their struggles with Melkor and his followers, it was difficult for him not to be skeptical.  Even the halflings appeared doubtful.

But the lord of Mandos shrugged.  "It seems unbelievable, but I know my people well enough to know that they were never truly rebellious.  Because of the tasks that fall upon them, they have always had difficulty finding the kind of acceptance they yearn for, even among our own kind.  Their acceptance -- or lack of it -- is even more disheartening among the Eruhíni."

A sigh of agreement came from Olórin.  "Sadly true, especially among many Mortals.  Sauron's corruption of Númenor and his deeds as the Necromancer instilled a terrible fear of death among many peoples of Endorë, and I have seen the taint even among the Elves here in Aman."

"Which, I have discovered, is why they have so eagerly embraced this plan of ours."  He turned to Frodo.  "When they heard you say that Yuletide celebrates the darkest time of year with the promise that it will not last forever, it delighted them.  For so long, they have wanted to find ways to make the incarnates understand that death is not an end but a release, a path to something even greater and more beautiful than life in the flesh.  Your traditions showed my people that perhaps their efforts were not in vain, and they now wish to know all they can of the holiday, no matter how minor the detail."

He rolled his eyes.  "They have been plaguing me with questions since the Court was dismissed, and though I cannot fault them for their enthusiasm, it was beginning to try my patience."

Eönwë grinned, knowing how he and Ilmarë had dealt with similar queries that morning.  "So you came here to avoid being pestered into insanity?"

A sheepish look returned to the Vala's face.  "It would be less than honest to say that wasn't one of my reasons for coming," he confessed.  "I promised them that if they would assemble a list of what they considered their most important questions, I would bring them to my new cousins myself.  I hope you don't object," he added, directing it to the hobbits.

Frodo took a sip of wine, then chuckled.  "Speaking for myself, I shan't mind answering their questions, if I can -- and if the list isn't too terribly long!  Bilbo is the family loremaster; he enjoys being closeted with his books for weeks on end, but I don't have quite his stamina for such things."

The elder hobbit clicked his tongue.  "You flatter me.  You've always been a good scholar, and Elrond's house is positively overflowing with true loremasters, so I'm a mere dabbler by comparison!  But perhaps we can divide whatever questions they have between us, if the list is too long or difficult."

"It shouldn't be," Námo felt certain.  "I reminded them that they are not the only ones who wish to know more about Yuletide.  It wouldn't be fair to the Maiar of the other houses to have their questions left unanswered because my people first overwhelmed you with a flood of petty inquiries."

"Very kind of you," Bilbo commended, then reached out to pat one of his nephew's hands.  "You may answer any of their questions about dancing, my lad.  That's one thing I no longer have the stamina to deal with!"

Námo understood their misgivings.  "You need only answer as much or as little as you wish to, my friends.  In fact, it may be best if you do not provide all the answers they want.  We are taking your tradition to make it our own, yet there should be aspects of it that are uniquely ours, as others will remain unique to your people.  We are all children of the One after our own fashions, but if He had wished all of us to be alike, He would have made us so."

Given the recent rumors about him being made a Maia, Frodo agreed completely. "Hear, hear!" he declared most fervently, lifting his glass, and the others raised theirs as well.

Bilbo sighed contentedly after taking a long, appreciative sip of the wine.  "Now," he said as he reached for a small tart on the tray of nibblements, "where's the list you promised to deliver?"

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