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No Greater Love, Part Two: Repercussions  by MJ

XVI

Curiouser and Curiouser

"He won't talk to you, you know," Ványalos told his neighbor late on the afternoon of his return to the hill country, as others were gathering to welcome them home and make preparations to share the evening meal.  While inside the house, Frodo was deep in a lively discussion with the Elven weaver, Mirimë, Olórin had taken the red-haired Maia aside to have a word with him concerning Nólaquen, since they served the same master.  Ványalos offered his advice with a look of uncomfortable apology.  "Not just you, though.  To be perfectly frank, he won't talk to anyone, these days — not even Lord Irmo."

The Istar's dark blue eyes widened with shock.  That any of the Maiar would refuse to speak to the Vala to whom they had given their allegiance was a very worrying thing — a potential sign of rebellion, especially in unsettled times.  "Has he told Manwë and the others of this?"

But Ványalos shook his head.  "No — not yet, at any rate. Lord Irmo hasn't insisted, since he feels that Nólaquen's mood is the result of temporary upset, not defiance or hatred."

"He above all would know, given his particular gifts and the many years he has spent as Nólaquen's master," Olórin allowed, well familiar with the master of dreams.  "I don't suppose I need ask why he is upset."

The tall Maia sighed.  "No, I don't suppose you do.  Most of us who have been in Irmo's service from the beginning have never questioned his choice when he asked you to be his counselor, but even before he did, among us, Nólaquen had a reputation for wisdom that few could equal.  I can only imagine that all the attention you've been given of late has served to stir up the old bitterness we'd long since thought he had put behind him."

Olórin had suspected as much, but there was more than that on his mind.  "Has anyone suggested his sister as another possible cause for his current mood?"

Now, Ványalos' silver-gray eyes widened.  "Laureára?  Or... what's the name she took when she chose to follow Melkor?"

"Rúcima.  Why anyone would wish to give others visions and dreams of fear and horror, I will never truly understand, but that was the dark path she chose, and she served her new master entirely too well.  Has Nólaquen said anything of her recently?"

Ványalos nibbled a corner of his lower lip as he contemplated the question and examined his memories.  "Not within my hearing, but a few of the reports and rumors I gathered for Lord Irmo several days before Court did mention her.  Some have always looked upon her as your antithesis, you know.  Or rather, what she became once she fell to the delusions of darkness.  Before then, she was as merry a person as one could hope to ever meet, and would never have dreamed of whispering images of terror and despair into the sleeping minds of the Children."  

He gave his smaller friend a sidelong glance.  "Do you think Nólaquen blames you for that as well?"

Olórin wanted to say no, but he could only shrug.  "He has never said so, nor have I ever caught anything in his words or attitude to support such a notion.  But it's not impossible — nor is it impossible that he bears other ill will toward me."  He then told Ványalos of his encounter with Turmanarmo, and the notions that had been aroused in him by the tale of what had happened to Olórin after his bodily death.

"I know it's not the case with all the dissidents," he concluded, "but it struck me as quite curious that both he and Nólaquen — as well as several the others — have siblings whose fates are unknown to us, since they gave their fealty to Melkor."

The redhead agreed.  "It's an interesting coincidence, but it's not universal.  Not all of the dissidents had kin who betrayed us."

"Of course not.  But a number of the others have siblings who were sorely hurt in our struggles against Melkor and his followers."

Ványalos cocked one eyebrow.  "Do you see some sort of pattern in this, pityandil?  If so, it eludes me.  Lintamacar, for instance, has no kin, nor was he himself injured by the Enemy during the conflicts."

Olórin sniffed softly.  "We were all injured by the Enemy, my old friend, whether we fought his forces directly or not."

The tall Maia sighed, nodding.  "True.  Not a one of us failed to feel the hurt of it, having never imagined such a thing as betrayal, much less evil of that magnitude."

For several moments, their thoughts ranged back to those earliest times, to the days before days, to the innocence and joy they had all known in their beginnings, and the terrible feelings that had followed when that innocence had been shattered, far too soon, and far too grievously.  

When at last his own thoughts returned to the present, Olórin looked out at the colors of bright fall flowers surrounding the still-unharvested little garden at the back of his house, just beyond the terrace where he and Ványalos had gone to talk.  He loosed a gentle sigh of his own.  "My heart tells me that there is a pattern, some common thread that lies beneath the unrest in our brethren.  If I knew all of them better, I would probably see it clearly, but I do not."

"The Valar could likely do so," Ványalos observed.  "We may not know all the Maiar here in Eä so intimately, but they each know their own people well."

"Certainly — but since they do, why haven't they already found the answer?  They've conferred often enough since this entire affair began."  The fair head shook, dismissing that path to an answer.  "No, I think this task is meant for me, not for them.  After all, I am the one who has been the recipient of what some are misinterpreting as enormous favors and gifts.  To find an easement for their pain would be a way for me to share a part of that bounty."

Irmo's messenger cocked his head as he considered what his friend had said; then he smiled crookedly.  "Perhaps, but you do realize that you were the greatest gift of all — or don't you?"  He added the question when Olórin favored him with a startled expression.  He grinned.  "No, I can see that hadn't occurred to you.  It's true, nonetheless.  You were ready long ago to know you had a brother, even though you would have had difficulty believing it could be the Elder King himself.  Manwë was not.  His grief over Melkor's betrayal was so deep, he was not ready for the knowledge that he had a second brother, for he would have feared a repetition of that pain.  The gift could only be given when he was ready to receive it, and that gift is you.  But I'll wager you've been thinking exactly the opposite, that you were the reason for the delay.  Am I right?"

As he listened, Olórin was reminded of the reasons why Ványalos had chosen to be numbered among the people of Irmo, and why the dream lord had gladly accepted him, as servant and ersatz son.  For all his sometimes flighty and frivolous outer demeanor, Ványalos was keenly aware of the moods and motives of others, and his insights could be profound.

He answered first with his own small, wry smile.  "You know me entirely too well," the Istar chuckled.  "Yes, that's just what I'd thought.  Oh, I knew better, but I had a hard time actually believing the truth.  This revelation came when the time was right, but what I am, I have always been in our Father's thought."

"And the timing was for Manwë's sake, not yours.  And perhaps for the sake of others who needed your support even more than he."  Ványalos nodded in the direction of the wide windows that looked back into the little house, where Frodo was showing Mirimë the beautiful ceremonial robe Vairë had made for him to wear at the court of the Ainur.

The sound Olórin made as he watched them through the glass was wistful.  "Yes, the needs of others, and all of Arda, had to come first.  No harm came of waiting, though much might have resulted had we known our kinship sooner, and Manwë had failed to send me as his emissary during this age just past.  I think perhaps that some of our disgruntled people have not truly grasped that small but very significant detail."

"But you don't believe that this... misunderstanding is the common thread they share."  It was a statement, not a question.

 Again, Olórin shook his head.  "I'm certain that some do, but not all.  You are better acquainted with Nólaquen than I.  Do you think he shares this misconception?"

Ványalos considered this, then gave another little sigh.  "No.  Given what I know of him and what we've been discussing, if I had to hazard a guess as to his motives, I would say he is driven by the desire to know the fate of his sister.  Like Turmanarmo, he wants to know if she was taken back to the Timeless Halls as you were, and if not, why."  He let loose a deeper, more whistling breath.  "If there is one thing these dissidents have in common, it appears to be jealousy.  Would that the One had spared us that particular failing!"

"An unhappy possibility stemming from the gift of free will," Olórin pointed out, not without his own measure of regret.  "Alas that it was the first such failing to cause strife among us!  But there is more to this than jealousy.  Turmanarmo desires to know the fate of his brother, yet he is not jealous of what happened to me.  His personality differs from Nólaquen, which may be the reason why.  One could ascribe Lintamacar's surliness to jealousy as well, but from things he has said — and the way he has said them — he has taken this to be a personal insult, as if Father Himself had conspired with Manwë and I to hurt him."

"Father would never be a part of such calumny," Ványalos insisted rather hotly.  "No more than you or Lord Manwë could be.  But I take your point.  There is something Lintamacar wants that he feels you were given — unjustly, to his mind.  Perhaps he wishes Lord Tulkas was his brother?"

Olórin shook his head.  "Lord Tulkas already looks upon him as a son, if a rather wayward one, much like Lord Ulmo considers Ossë, and I believe Lintamacar is aware of this.  But...."

Just then, a call came from within the house, asking Ványalos to come help with the meal preparations, as he had promised to do.  He gave Olórin a querulous glance, wanting to know if his friend needed him to remain, but the fair head shook as he answered with a small smile.  "Go.  There will be time enough for further discussion later, if needs be.  I'd like some time to think upon it, anyway, and Failon will never forgive you if you go back on your promise!"  They both laughed, as the Elven baker, while known for his generally affable nature, was also known for his fits of pique whenever he was in charge of the kitchen and things did not go according to plan.

Olórin watched his neighbor go, lingering behind to reflect on their conversation.  After due consideration, he concluded that Turmanarmo was indeed headed in the right direction, but was not on the right path to the desired destination.  The answer, he believed, lay not with those who had an obvious commonality, but with those who appeared to be exceptions to it.   Tonight was not the time to investigate, but soon, very soon, he would need to talk with several of those exceptions.

*********

Despite his determination, weeks passed, and Olórin was still unable to implement his plans.  The matter of opening the now-cleansed region of Avathar for settlement by the Elves had become of keen interest to the three Elven kings and their councillors.  As one of those who had been instrumental in the work done to restore the area to habitability, the Istar found himself being called upon quite frequently to provide information to all three courts, as well as the councils their representatives held with the Valar.

Frodo was busy as well during this time, corresponding with Bilbo to answer the lists of questions that had been given to them before leaving Valmar, and speaking with visiting Maiar who came with new inquiries, mostly from their own masters.  They kept those visits as brief and to the point as they could, so Frodo didn't object to indulging them.

The autumn progressed to its typical coolness in Lórien, very much like the season in the Shire, save for the trees that kept their golden leaves above the grasses, which had faded from the deep green of summer to a pale green-gold.  Here and there, swathes of flowers still swept across the meadows and hillsides, the dark purples and rusty hues of asters and fall mums and other flowers now unique to Aman that grew wild in these parts.  The woods that surrounded Lórellin and Murmuran turned to gold of many shades, from deep bronze to brilliant sunshine yellow, the colors the trees would wear until the coming of spring.  

With the help of Ványalos and other neighbors, Frodo collected and prepared the vegetables and herbs from their garden for storage during the months when all the plants would rest, for Olórin found almost all of his time consumed by the needs of the plans being made to open the southern lands for new settlements.  All three of the Elf kings were determined to be ready to begin as soon as possible, and though he might have wished for others to take on his tasks of guiding them so that he could pursue his personal goals, the Istar did not shirk his duties, much though he chafed under them.  Yule was coming more swiftly than he liked, and still he had not been able to find the answers he desired.

One day, late in the month the Hobbits called November, the Maia found himself with an unexpected afternoon to himself.  His immediate instinct was to go to his private place in the mountains of the southern Pelóri to spend part of that time meditating to clear his mind, but when he arrived there, unclad, he found the place already occupied and busy, with other Maiar and a group of Elven scouts who had been sent to survey the region before the first settlers were sent.  He thought himself away again, to another spot in the far west of Aman that was usually peaceful — but not today.  One by one, he went to all those places in which he reliably found soothing calm and quiet, and found that for one reason or another, all were abnormally crowded or hectic.  Frustrated, he spent several moments at a loss before heading back to his house. 

But once there, he discovered that Frodo had visitors, a group of musicians — mostly Elves, but also a few Maiar — to whom he was teaching some of the Hobbits' Yule songs.  Ordinarily, he would not have been bothered by this, but today, he was intensely annoyed and frustrated.  

He needed some time alone, some place where he knew he would be undisturbed.  To a being whose natural state was spiritual, it should have been quite simple, but here in the incarnate world within time, it was not always as easy as it seemed, even for one unclad.  Though his people generally respected each other's privacy, at times, especially stressful ones, they needed distance to find the inner peace that led to clearer thought and calmer emotions.  Olórin couldn't find that distance at any of his accustomed places, today.  He was about to give up — or at least go and have a good sulk — when the sound of another’s voice echoed in his memory.

"I had prayed that these would be my brother's chambers, a place for him to stay and find rest when he visited this house.  And now, it is my brother's, and shall always be his."

He knew then that no coincidence had led him to this realization, no more than coincidence had caused this seemingly impossible inability to find quiet privacy.  Ványalos was wrong — or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he wasn't entirely correct, as Olórin could now see that he himself had been only partially correct.  The gift of kinship may not have been revealed sooner because Manwë had not been ready to accept it, but until this moment, Olórin had not been ready to fully believe that he could call upon him and ask for his help — not as his king or his master, but as his brother.  And this task was not meant for him alone; it was meant for them.

He knew where he needed to go now, and thanking the Almighty Hand that had clearly guided him, with a thought, he went.

Next:

Unraveling Threads

*****

Author's Note:  So sorry this chapter took so long and is so short, but while I was in the midst of writing it, my Muse took several unexpected turns.  I hope that the one I chose is the right one, and that she stops being quite so unpredictable!





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