Author's Note:  I had wanted to have this ready to post on my birthday (which was on the 20th), but my Muse is still working slowly, and then got carried away!  Nonetheless, here is my gift to all of you; I hope you enjoy it!

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Chapter XVIII

Where Many Paths and Errands Meet

Although the Middle-earth that was their destination now lay in a wholly different dimension than the Aman from which they departed, their respective positions were the same on the near-identical globes.  So while it had still been midday atop Taniquetil, the sun was dropping toward sunset in Endórë, especially in the more northerly regions to which Manwë brought them.  This was the part of Middle-earth Olórin knew and loved the best, having walked or ridden across the length and breadth of it again and again as the Grey Pilgrim.  Autumn still touched lightly in the southernmost reaches of Gondor, while in the North Kingdom, winter was beginning to stretch its fingers across the land.  To the east, Greenwood the Great would have lost its autumn splendor, while on the western shores, the sea-Elves of Mithlond would be preparing their ships and homes to weather the winter storms to come.

And in the lands between the mountains, the residents of the Shire would have brought in the last of their harvests by mid-November, and now, the month was drawing to a close.  Even though some hardy trees still clung to their faded leaves of deep bronze and dark russet, the Hobbits who lived beneath their branches were already turning their thoughts and activities toward preparations for winter and, of course, Yule.

Given how that particular event was very much on the minds of their own people, it came as no real surprise to Olórin when they arrived at their destination, and he found himself once more in the Shire.  They were both yet unclad, so his smile was felt rather than seen, and Manwë returned it.  This region is well known to you, is it not? the Vala asked.

Olórin was about to reply that of course it was, all the lands of the Shire were quite familiar to him — but then he looked more carefully at their surroundings, and gave a small equivalent of a gasp.  Outside Tuckborough, near the Green Hills, he said, recognizing the part of the Shire that was echoed in the region of Lórien that was his home in Aman.  Not so terribly green, at the moment, he added with amusement, since the hillsides had turned to the tawny colors of autumn:  dried stubble or roughly tilled earth covering the fields where crops had been harvested, swathes of faded grass and withered flowers in the wild stretches between the neat farms.  The woodlands and hedges showed many bare branches, and those leaves that remained had lost the summer's suppleness along with the brighter hues of early fall. 

Were this Aman, we would be standing on the western verge of the woods near my home, Olórin said as he "gestured" in the appropriate direction.  Here, the trees were fewer than in Lórien, as the fields of a small Hobbit farm lay just beyond them.  Through the movement of bare and half-bare branches being stirred by the cool late autumn wind, the low wood-and-stone farmhouse and barns could be seen on the opposite side of a field of corn stubble.  The house is close to the spot where Lord Aulë and Lady Yavanna raised my new home.  A cosy place, I'm sure, but very different from anything in the West.  Were you thinking to go there?  The Maia had no idea who lived here, but knowing the peculiar gifts of some hobbits, he had no wish to disturb the owners if they were the sort who felt the unclad presence of their kind as "ghosts."

Manwë perceived his thoughts, and gave the equivalent of a smile.  No, I wouldn't wish to disturb the good folk who live there.  But I see why you were drawn to the reflection of this region in Aman.  Even in this season of fading, it has a simple beauty and peace that the grandest halls of Ilmarin lack.  I want to see more of the land and its people, though better clad than this.  The humor in his words conveyed the amusing but perfectly absurd image of him walking down the road beyond the farmhouse in his usual fana.

Olórin's own thoughts were bright with laughter.  I fear that would be more disturbing to the hobbits than a mere feeling that spirits were about!  Aside from their general leeriness toward Big Folk, few of them hold with wearing "outlandish dress," and even the simplest garb that we of the West favor would strike them as quite unseemly, at best.

Manwë's answer held an air of innocent smugness.  Then it's good that I have more suitable guise in mind.  Would the road that lies beyond the farm be a good place to begin a journey though the Shire?

Olórin considered it.  The road in question was the Stock Road, which ran between Tuckborough on the west and the town of Stock near the Bucklebury Ferry to the east.  If they followed this road in fana, the risk of encountering people it might be best if he avoided in any guise was too high for the Maia's comfort. Travelers were more common along the East Road, some miles to the north, but he felt it would be better for them to begin someplace more quiet.

However we choose to incarnate — unless it be as birds or squirrels! — I'm reluctant to go to places where those Hobbits I knew well as Gandalf still live, he told his brother after pondering the matter.  This road and the one farther to the north are major byways between their larger and more prosperous settlements, so while they might have greater points of interest along them, they would also go close to the homes of those very hobbits.

Manwë chuckled.  Then I leave it to you to choose a path that will offer little risk, of either accidental encounters or boredom — if you will allow me to choose the manner of our... ah... garb.

The wryness of his tone made Olórin wonder for a moment if the Vala did indeed plan for them to assume the forms of some animal.  While the guise of hawks or other swift birds was more likely to be the Elder King's preference, the image of strolling down even a quiet Shire backroad as a pair of chubby hedgehogs seeking a nice, warm den for their winter's nap struck him as all too amusing, so he happily conceded to whatever plans the elder Ainu had in mind.

With a thought, he led Manwë to a wild area beside the lesser road that ran through the western parts of Tookland, south to Longbottom and Sarn Ford, north to Waymeet and up through the parts of Westfarthing north of the Road.  Weeks earlier, when the harvest had been brought in and folk began laying in the supplies they would need to last through the coming winter, this road would have been busy, with carts and wagons taking the produce of summer to barns and markets, with people from the outlying countryside going to town to procure what necessary items they could not make on their own.  Now, travelers were few, especially on days like today, when the wind blew chill and the sky was thick with leaden clouds, heavy with the threat of cold rain, or perhaps even an early snow.  All of this was familiar to Olórin, who had walked this way many times during the Third Age, often under far less pleasant conditions than today.

This would be a good place to begin, the Maia decided after quickly scanning the area and finding only wildlife nearby.  Whitwell and Tookbank are just south of us; Waymeet is perhaps ten miles to the north.  This part of the road is more lightly traveled than some others, and though a different season might have made for a more pleasant journey, I think you won't find it to be a disappointment — or boring, he added wryly.

Manwë laughed, accepting the jibe.  We would arrive after full dark, but I have no objection to that.  There will be rain soon, however.

I don't mind the rain, Olórin assured him, though I might change my mind, once I know how you've chosen to clothe us.

His brother accepted the teasing hint with good humor.  Rather than explain, he again extended his power to encompass them both, and the Maia willingly surrendered control of himself to it.  He had always trusted Manwë, even when he was upset or angry or bewildered by him, a singular truth that had been the unshakable bedrock of his belief that they were somehow kin.  Knowing all that he now did, his surrender to that trust brought a warm feeling of profound joy to his innermost heart.

As he gave up control, Olórin also shared with the Vala all his experience in taking on incarnate forms that would not be easily detected as vessels disguising far greater power.  He knew that as the Elder King and the mightiest of the Ainur, Manwë knew more than he about the substances and energies of Eä, but his practical experience with this particular aspect of self-incarnation was limited.  By virtue of the many things he had done at his lord's behest in working among the Children, both in Aman and Endórë, Olórin had much more practice in perfecting this skill, which he now gladly shared.  There will be a number of profound differences between this type of incarnation and the kinds you have favored down the ages, the younger Ainu warned even as he gave his brother all he knew of it.  They aren't dangerous, but they can be disconcerting and limiting, until you grow accustomed to them.

For his own part, Manwë appreciated the gifted knowledge, and the warning.  While he knew the processes involved, Olórin had developed ways to greatly enhance the results — another example of a Maiarin gift for refining and giving added detail that had not occurred to the Valar in their designated tasks as the greater Powers within Eä.  He smiled to himself as this knowledge allowed him to fashion their new fanar in ways that would not only let them pass as ordinary Incarnates with question, but would also give greater depth to their own experiences within these temporary forms.

"Intriguing," the windlord said aloud after this new and different sort of fana — more akin to a hroä than was his wont — had settled about him.    "And this is how you clothe yourself when you've walked clad among the Children, at my behest?"  His voice was not as full and resonant as usual, not even to his own ears, which he surmised was another consequence of this unique type of incarnation.

Olórin had deliberately made sure his eyes would be closed when his new form had fully manifested, wanting to give himself a moment or two of anticipation before the surprise Manwë had clearly planned.  The changed sound of his brother's voice startled him, so much so that his eyes popped open, involuntarily.  Before he could answer the question, an equally involuntary laugh of pure delight escaped him when he saw the form in which the Vala now resided.

Manwë's chosen hroä was not that of a hedgehog, as the Maia had whimsically thought, but it would have been equally at home in comfort under a snug hill.  Rather than a less regal version of the Elven form that was his usual habit, the eldest of all the Ainur in Eä had elected to embody himself as a Hobbit.  The features of his face were still recognizable to Olórin, but had been imbued with a greater earthiness, as well as aspects that were very Mortal.  His hair -- on both head and feet -- was thickly curly, as was common to Hobbits; while he had kept the color he usually favored, the white was not quite so pure, and was mixed with darker streaks of silver and gray — much like Bilbo's hair had become, once he had escaped the influence of the Ring.  To go with the hues of age he had chosen, Manwë also allowed his face to show some of the lines and weathering that went with Mortal accumulation of years.  His eyes were still bright, however, of the same deep sapphire he preferred, and the rest of his hroä was fit and healthy, if not as fresh and supple as that of a youth, or an ageless immortal.

His garb was also suitable to his form and the season, proving that the Elder King had indeed paid close attention to the smallest of the Eruhíni since they first appeared in Middle-earth.  The trousers and coat were of sturdy dark green wool, the shirt beneath a heavy weave of cream-colored linen, and the thicker woolen hooded cloak over all of deep blue.  In one hand, he held a serviceable wooden walking stick, shod with steel.  At his brother's laugh, he cocked one eyebrow, not quite successfully hiding his own amusement.  "What, did I do something wrong?"

Olórin reined in his mirth.  "No, I'd say you did splendidly.  I just can't remember having ever seen you dressed quite so... plainly!  Oh, the fabrics are of excellent quality and the clothing well-made and very hobbitish, but I doubt that Lady Vairë would consider it suitable for one of your high station." He added the last with an impish smirk.

Manwë couldn't help but laugh.  "Then it's just as well she isn't here," he replied with a grin and a wink.  "Do you think I did as splendidly for you?"

In his surprise, the Maia had completely forgotten that he had yet to see his own temporary hroä.  He glanced down at himself, and saw that he was similarly, though not identically, attired, and that the curls of hair on his own feet were a light golden brown — not a common color among the halflings, but much more often seen than the pale blond he generally affected while in fana.  There was no hint of silver or white frosting those strands, so he assumed that Manwë had given him a more youthful appearance.  The image of himself that he was given in osánwë confirmed this, as did the Vala himself.

"You are my younger brother, after all," was the only explanation he gave.  A brief frown creased his brow as he noted a slight oversight on his part; with a thought, he produced a second walking stick, which he offered to the erstwhile Wizard, smiling again.  "Not as impressive as the staff you carried as my messenger, but better suited to the occasion."

"Much better," Olórin agreed, thinking how it resembled Bilbo's favorite walking stick, which he had used as he left the Shire on the night of eleventy-first birthday, and had kept with him even when he Sailed.  He could sense that Manwë had been well aware of this, and upon closer inspection, he saw that it was an exact duplicate, down to several scars the hard wood had taken when Bilbo had used it to take out his frustrations on a rock that had been foolish enough to place itself just so that he couldn't avoid stubbing his toes on it.  The Maia was touched by the thoughtfulness displayed in this seemingly insignificant detail.  He offered his thanks with a simple nod and a warm smile.  "Then shall we be on our way?"

***********

Though the wind was chilly, it was not yet icy, but in this more intricate form of fana, the sensations of it were more clearly felt as the Children felt them, if not as strongly as they would be experienced in a body of true flesh.  As Ainur in their natural forms, their senses would have been vastly more powerful, giving them information that none of the Eruhíni could hope to gain through their own, but there were compensations to be found, nonetheless.  Manwë found the coldness of the wind on his face fascinating, as he found other differences of the senses that were piqued as they walked along the quiet road to be equally intriguing.

"I can better understand now why you were often eager to do my bidding when I asked you to walk among the Eruhíni," the disguised Vala said as he lifted his face to feel the first drops of light rain fall from the heavy clouds above.  He'd scanned the clouds as they'd started out, and had predicted that the rain would be light, and end before sunset.  Since then, they had put several miles behind them, and with the exception of one farmer driving a pony-drawn wagon filled with barrels of cider and sacks of potatoes, they met only wildlife and an occasional farm cat.  Manwë had found every step fascinating, from the sensations of the hard-packed earth of the road under the leathery soles of Hobbit feet to the pungently thick scents of decaying leaves carried on the winds that whistled through a woods they passed on their way north. "There is a greater sense of... connection to Arda itself in this form — though not so great, I'm sure, as you knew more recently."

Olórin didn't need to ask to know that he was referring to his time in these lands as the Grey Pilgrim, when he was confined to a body of true flesh.  He sniffed softly as he pulled up his hood.  "This is a mere suggestion of that connection, by comparison.  It does have unique pleasures that we cannot fully share in our natural forms, but in that condition we are better shielded from being influenced by the poison Melkor poured into Arda, trying to claim it as his own."

Manwë nodded soberly, knowing to his own regret that his brother spoke from sad experience.  "I'm grateful that you have been fully healed from such poisoning," he said softly, nodding briefly to the ring on the Maia's right hand, which was a reshaped form of his crystal circlet, better suited to their current fanar.  "It should never have happened...."

"But it did," Olórin replied easily, "and in the end, it was a small price to pay for the greater lessons that were learned.  Now, I suggest you pull up your hood, before you become too intimately acquainted with the less pleasant sensations of cold rain running down the back of your neck!"

His suggestion was so congenially offered, the Vala knew that the anger and disillusionment of the past was well behind them.  He paused to tug up his hood, realizing when it was in place just how much of the chill dampness had already made its way under his collar and down his back.  "By any chance, is there an inn along the way, where we could rest while we dry off?"

Olórin shook his head.  "Not until we reach Waymeet.  There used to be a pleasant little inn halfway between Whitwell and the East Road, but it was closed when Lotho came under the influence of Saruman's ruffians.  They used it for their own comfort — badly, I'm afraid.  It burned to the ground in the aftermath of some drunken brawl among the brigands, and the family who'd once owned it decided not to have it rebuilt during the Restoration."

The heavy sigh that rushed past Manwë's lips was made all the more somber by the Mortal sound his current hroä lent to it.  "Of all Curumo's sins, this was perhaps the most grievous.  His betrayal of you and the cause you both should have had in common was bitter, but you at least were of his own kind and better able to defend yourself.  These simple folk should not have been made to suffer for his jealous pride and hatred."

The Maia shrugged.  "They acquitted themselves well enough in the end, and restored much of what had been destroyed, thanks to Galadriel's blessing — and Lady Yavanna's — but I agree.  If I let myself be lulled by Saruman's honeyed voice, it was my own fault, since I knew the peril of listening to him and taking his words to heart.  The Hobbits had no such experience, and had done nothing to merit his scorn, or such vile treatment at the hands of one who had been sent to help succor them against evil."

He loosed a sigh of his own, one of resignation rather than remorse.  "Well, the past is the past, and though some things might have ended more favorably, in general, most matters turned out for the best."

"As Father promised, long ago.  Now," Manwë continued, his tone and demeanor much more cheerful, clearly wanting to change both the subject and the mood, "tell me about the local inns.  I know the ones in Eldamar, and I'm aware that the proprietor of the Wandering Willow fashioned his establishment around pleasant memories he had of a particular Shire inn, but I suspect now that his perspective is somehow shaped by his own flawed recollections and Elven expectations."

Olórin chuckled.  "Very true.  Having been to both the Wandering Willow and the Plough and Hammer, I can see how something was lost in the translation between Hobbitish and Elvish!  Not that it doesn't have its own charms, but Master Olindar's experiences are seen through the eyes of an Elf, which have certain blind spots of interpretation when it comes to other races."  He grinned widely.  "Frodo and Bilbo were as amused as I by the... ah... distortions, shall we say, points where Olindar's memories were clearly in error.  But none of us were so crass as to tell him, or show our amusement to his face.  Our hobbit friends were touched by the simple fact that any Elf thought so highly of a Shire inn as to want to replicate it in Aman, and so was I."

They paused to watch a fat squirrel scamper across their path.  It was totally oblivious to the larger creatures, being focused on getting the large walnut in its mouth to some safe and secret place before winter made food more difficult to find.   While they watched, the rain began to fall more heavily, but not enough to turn the hard-packed dirt of the road to mud.

"I was quite pleased when Master Olindar opened his inn, years before even we knew for certain that Frodo would indeed take up the burden of the Ring," Manwë said as they continued on.  "The Eldar can be very resistant to change, especially when confronted with new things that make it impossible for them to ignore the fact that they are not the only Incarnates worthy of respect.  There was some concern that Olindar might have been seeking mere novelty rather than acting from genuine appreciation of the periannath, but our fears proved to be unfounded.  His love for the Little Folk is honest; indeed, it helped pave the way for our hobbit friends to be accepted as more than heroes when they arrived in the West."

"And to think that Frodo once worried that he would be accepted in Aman only if he was recognized as worthy because he had done great deeds!  Had we known that some of those in Eldamar would hold him in high esteem because of the excellence of Hobbit seedcakes and mushroom tarts and ale, he would've had no cause at all for concern over his reception!"

That thought made them both laugh, fondly, for they had known just how stubbornly Frodo had claimed that he'd done nothing at all heroic during the War of the Ring, and yet had willingly shared his culinary expertise, such as it was, with those of the West who wished to learned.  The sound of their merriment startled several partridges that had been under cover of the low brush between the road and a harvested grain field.  They flew up suddenly amid a great flurry of wings, then glided off across the field to another patch of shrubs where they would be less bothered by any passersby.

Manwë smiled benignly as he watched their flight.  "I used to believe that creatures such as those, which the Incarnates hunt or raise for food, were a sign of our elder brother's ruinous influence upon the Eruhíni, but I've come to realize that such is not so."

Olórin gave the Vala a look of almost shocked surprise.  He himself had come to rethink that particular belief, common among the Ainur, during the last two millennia of the Third Age, but he hadn't known that the Elder King had as well.  "Oh?  Whatever changed your mind?" 

"Several things," Manwë said as they continued on.  "Life lost to war or sickness or perfidy is, of course, something to be abhorred and greatly regretted.  But while we have helped to shape the kelvar and olvar, down to the smallest organisms, we did not give them their spark of true life, nor did we ordain what things they would need to sustain it.  That portion of the Song was Eru's, the harmony He gave to our Music that made all of it possible, here within Eä.  I began to consider this long ago, when Yavanna came to me with her complaints about the ways in which the Children — Aulë's in particular — would use the things that came of her Song.  When the Eldar came among us, I began to see that the matter was more complicated than I had realized, but the wars against Melkor and the struggles with Sauron put it from my mind until recently."

"What brought it back?" the Maia asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

He did.  "The week Frodo and Bilbo spent with us in Valmar, after Eruhantalë.  I have, of course, been to many feasts and celebrations among the Elves, but never have I lived among any of the Eruhíni, as family.  Seeing the joy and gratitude with which the hobbits took each meal, even the simplest, I could not believe that it was in any way a reflection of evil.  Oh, I know that some Incarnates make an evil of it by their gluttony and utter lack of appreciation for that which they consume, for the life given to sustain their own.  But I do not believe that Father meant it to be an aspect of darkness or corruption.  Eä was made to be shared by many kinds of life, each contributing to another in a great pattern that is the very rhythm of the Music."  

His smile was wry and almost bashful.  "I fear I allowed my thinking about death, for any reason, to be overly influenced by the nature of the Firstborn.  They were such a marvel, like and yet unlike anything we had anticipated, that I let myself come to believe that death perhaps should have been unnatural for all the lesser forms of life Father permitted us to guide into being.  I completely failed to take into account the nature of the Secondborn, and how it was and always had been the plan of Ilúvatar Himself that they would die, and their deaths be part of a greater plan that was not for us to truly understand.  All that we Sang of, all that we imagined in our hearts and brought forth with the gifts we were given were for Him to use as part of His designs, and it is an honor and a joy to so serve the One Who made us out of Love.”

Olórin nodded even as he watched a swirl of damp fallen leaves skitter across the road and over his bare feet.  "And there are many kinds of harvests in this universe, some of which seem wrong and evil to us because we cannot know Father's full purpose.  When I was embodied as your emissary and felt actual hunger for the first time, I was shocked by some of the foods I began to crave.  But as I grew accustomed to that condition and lived among Mortals as I never had before, I came to understand that the wickedness we perceived came not from the Children's need for meat, but from those who killed for the sake of killing, or showed no respect for the creatures who provided them with sustenance.  It was difficult for me to understand it fully until I had lived truly as one of them.  And of all the Children, even the Elves, the Hobbits have ever been the most grateful for the bounty of Arda, for theirs has been the most difficult rise from their primitive beginnings."

Manwë sighed.  "And they are the only ones who have never suffered for our interference with the natural course of their development.  I knew this long ago, of course, but it was only when our small friends came to visit and took us into their hearts that I saw it clearly, and fully understood.  How arrogant we were, to think that any of the Children could do better under our protection than that of the One!  Arrogant — and naive."  

He gave Olórin a rueful little smile.  "And now I also understand why I was not yet ready to know that we were brothers, until now.  I needed these past five years of lessoning under the gentle tutelage of our little cousins to see the fullness of my own failings, and to forgive myself for them, even as you and Father have forgiven me.  And in this, I have also come to a better understanding of my strengths, and how I can better use them for the benefit of not only Eä and the Children, but for our people as well."

Olórin considered all the Vala had said while they continued on for some minutes in companionable silence.  Their conversation had taken an unexpectedly serious turn, but he could sense that these were things Manwë had needed to speak of, and he was more than willing to offer a compassionate ear.   When he finally spoke, his words were sincere.  "I... hadn't  anticipated such a... confession, but I do sympathize.  I think far too many of us — and not only the Maiar — have believed that since you stand in Father's stead, you also know the parts of His mind that we have all been told none of us can know.  In our love and honor and awe of you, perhaps we have laid too great a burden on your shoulders — more, at any rate, than even the One ever intended for you to carry."

Manwë smiled warmly as he clasped the Maia's shoulder with his free hand.  "And since it was done out of love, I freely forgive the assumption.  Indeed, it is my hope that among our own people, this Yuletide tradition we plan to borrow will help us all better understand one another.  The world is changing, and we must learn to change with it, and lay aside misplaced pride and our mistaken notions of the past."

With that, Olórin fully agreed.  The cold rain was falling more heavily as the wind from the north strengthened, becoming sharp and biting.  The former Wizard looked up at the thick clouds, which showed no sign of thinning, and snorted softly.  "I think we should've checked the weather signs more closely before we started our walk.  This is not as unpleasant as it would feel in wholly true flesh, but this more complex sort of hroä makes it more uncomfortable than it would be in a simple fana.  I don't suppose you'd consider encouraging the clouds to pass?"  The question was asked with a mischievous little smirk.

As expected, the windlord shook his head.  "I doubt Father would approve for such a selfish reason, especially since this was my idea from the start.  No, I think it would be better if we simply sought shelter for a while.  You may have endured worse during the past age, but I fear this is quite the most discomfort of hroä I have ever experienced!"

"I did try to warn you," Olórin replied, laughing, and Manwë laughed as well.  As there were no farm buildings or hobbit holes in the immediate area, they quickened their pace.  The road curved to the east, bending around a wooded hill; once around it, they spotted a low, dilapidated building slightly to the west, where another slope of the gently rolling hills began. 

"That was the inn I mentioned, the one that had been destroyed by ruffians," the Maia said.  "The Hill's Foot Rest, as I recall.  Wild shrubs and weeds have overtaken much of the place, but you can still see the scorch marks on the surviving walls."

"And what little remains of the roof," Manwë added.  "Do you suppose enough of it remains to give us shelter until the rain passes?"

"Do you mean to say you haven't already checked?" 

The Vala wrinkled his nose at the teasing jest, but also smiled widely.  "That would be defeating the whole point of wanting to experience things as one of the Children, wouldn't it?  Besides, I find that I haven't quite adjusted to this... more solid form.  Using powers not native to it would require abandoning it completely, I fear."

That came as no surprise to Olórin.  "Yes, I found that to be true the first few times I attempted fashioning such a hroä.  Don't worry, it's not a permanent condition, such as we Istari knew when we were sent here to oppose Sauron.  You'll no doubt learn to allow for the differences more quickly than I did.  Well, since there seem to be no better options at hand, we should at least investigate.  Even a leaky roof and half a wall would be some improvement, in this wind."

Manwë made a quiet disgruntled sound as they picked their way through the wet tangle of brush and dead vines and grasses between the edge of the road and the fallen inn.  "I hope Varda is seeing to it that the others give us our privacy.  I'm afraid I'd never hear the end of it from certain quarters, if they knew that our little visit was being hampered by a blustery wind!"

"Tell them it was a valuable learning experience in self-restraint," the disguised Maia suggested with a chuckle.  "One that a few of them might benefit from, as well."

From his responding grunt, the Vala totally agreed.  After wading through several feet of dead plant tangles, they came across a narrow trail leading to the ruins.  It was impossible to tell if it had been made by the feet of hobbits or by wild creatures that used it for shelter, but it made an easier way than trudging through the underbrush.  The Shire was home to a number of animals that might have wanted such a den; most were small and thus presented no real danger, but they nonetheless moved with caution when the path led into an area where a corner of two half-tumbled walls and a third "wall" and "roof" of fallen beams still covered with old thatch created a hollow space remarkably well protected from the wind and rain.  The sheltered area was small by the standards of Big People, but in the hroär of hobbits, it was quite roomy.

"These two walls must have been part of an attached carriage house, a place where guests on pony-back or those in carts or wagons could dismount in comfort."  With his walking stick, Olórin tapped on the cobbles underfoot, which provided a solid but less comfortable floor than the wooden planks or smooth tiles hobbits preferred in their living areas.  Around the edges of the protected space, grasses and weeds had grown up between many of the displaced paver stones, but under the slanted remnant of the roof, they were still tightly fitted and smooth, if cluttered with bits of rubble and wind-blown dried leaves.

"Someone else has used this for shelter," Manwë noted as they moved farther in.  He indicated a ring of stones and broken bricks in the driest corner, where little of the wind and none of the rain could reach.  Within the circle, the stones and pavers were blackened with soot and the charred remains of old fires created a small, crumbling heap.  On three sides of it, roughly-hewn blocks were set as seats, cut from unburnt portions of the square beams that had completely fallen.  "Travelers like us, do you suppose?"

"Not quite like us," Olórin said, laughing as he looked about, "but certainly no four-footed wanderers laid those stones, or chopped those blocks of wood."  He nudged a scattering of rodent-gnawed nutshells with one foot, and pointed to an old bird's nest tucked into a convenient cleft between two fallen beams.  "Birds and beasts have been here, as well as hobbits, I think.  I saw no sign of boot-prints outside, such as Men or Dwarves would make, and a place like this would little appeal to Elves.  But it should be more than adequate for a hobbit's needs, and thus ours."

Beyond the walls and the rain-filled clouds, the sun was sinking low in the west.  Inside the makeshift shelter, the light was dim; though it was adequate for the moment, it soon would not be.  Rather than use his own powers to create light, Olórin looked about the many nooks and crannies of the collapsed inn to see if there might be any wood dry enough to use to make a small fire, while Manwë cleared away the old nut husks and shells and autumn leaves and small twigs that had been blown in drifts about the bases of the improvised seats.  The Vala gave a startled cry — a common oath most unbecoming the Elder King — when the thick soles of his adopted feet proved not quick thick enough to prevent a stab of sudden pain when he accidentally stepped on a sharp-edged bit of nutshell.  

"Throw those things into the fire-ring," Olórin told him, keeping his amusement over his brother's lapse in decorum to a hidden smile while he rummaged about those parts of the ruins where there was enough cover to hold out all but the worst rain, though the "ceiling" there was too low to provide a comfortable shelter for those on two feet.  "They'll do for kindling."

"If we can find anything dry enough to burn," came the grumbly reply.  "After this, I may be a bit more attentive when the Children pray for protection from storms."

The Istar snorted.  "If you consider this a storm, my lord, methinks you've spent too much time in Ilmarin, reveling in the Vanyar who sit at your feet while you listen to them sing your praises."

A well-gnawed walnut still more than half in its husk went sailing across the "room," accurately bouncing off the back of Olórin's still-hooded head.  But Manwë was grinning even as he rolled his eyes.  "Perhaps now that you're family, you'll spend more time in Ilmarin, and discover for yourself just how bloody boring it can be, having the Children worship the ground you walk on!  I'm very fond of Ingwë and his people, and there are indeed some gifted poets and musicians among them, but if they write one more couplet about me...!"

Olórin was laughing softly as he returned, his arms full of dry wood.  "Why do you think I used the first excuse I could find to move to Lórien?" he teased, eyes twinkling while he bent to arrange the wood and the kindling for a proper, if small, fire.  "I dearly love the Eldar, but I know that even Lady Varda was delighted when they built cities of their own and only came to visit Valmar or Ilmarin in small groups, and generally by invitation."

Manwë sighed even as he nodded.  "We were so eager to have the Children living among us, that we quite forgot to take into account how overwhelming the sheer numbers of them might be when they finally arrived in Aman.  It was as much a learning experience for us as it was for the Elves, I'm afraid, and I do believe they benefited from having cities of their own where they could be away from us even more than we benefited from the greater peace and quiet!"

"Do you suppose that's how Father felt when the lot of us came into Eä, and stopped pestering Him with all our questions, not to mention our nagging about when we would get to see the Music for real?"

The elder Ainu laughed merrily.  "Yes, I imagine it was — or would've been, if the One had had our failings!  Personally, the experience gave me great sympathy for those of the Elves with children of their own."  As he watched Olórin finish arranging the wood and kindling, he noticed something unusual.  "Some of that wood has been cut," he observed, recognizing the marks of an axe, used to chop and split larger logs.

"Yes," the Maia confirmed.  "And there's more than this, stowed under a conveniently placed piece of a broken table-top, where it would be protected from rain.  I believe that whoever arranged the stones and made those 'stools' has been using this place somewhat regularly.  Not within the last week, I think, but at least once within the past month."  From a pocket, he produced a small bit of flint and a piece of steel, what looked like a bent and otherwise useless harness buckle.  "I found this in the same place," he said as he expertly struck sparks into the dry leaf kindling, which quickly caught and spread to the small twigs and nutshells mixed with them.

Manwë frowned.  "It troubles me to think that some poor, homeless hobbit has been using this for a house...."

But Olórin was quick to discount that possibility.  "There's no evidence of that.  Even the poorest of hobbits would try to bring some homier touches to wherever they live.  And on the whole, the only hobbits who have ever found themselves homeless were those who had done evil and were shunned by all family and friends, like Sméagol.  No, I have a feeling that this is a secret hiding place for some of the local children, young farm folk who come here to play after chores, or to avoid them!  The fire would be used for cooking, most likely, roasting nuts or fruits or such.  There are a few old blackened pots and pans from the inn's kitchen stashed along with the wood, and hobbit children old enough to light a fire would certainly have the skill to cook such simple treats."

The Elder King's frown melted into a fond smile at the image Olórin's words conjured in his thoughts.  "I could see some of the elflings in Aman doing just that, if we had any convenient ramshackle ruins for them to lay claim to!  And yet, I can recall a few of our own people doing much the same, when we and Eä were all young, and there were too many fascinating new marvels to see and things to experience to divert us from our work."

Olórin remembered those times very well, as he recalled his own insatiable curiosity, which had been tempered to tolerability by his natural humility and his love for those he served.  "Even you?" he wondered as he coaxed the fire with one of the harder sticks so that it would properly catch on the larger pieces of wood.  "To me, you always appeared the very image of dignified leadership."

Manwë's laughter rang through what still remained of the crumbling inn.  "Oh, yes, even I was sorely tempted by such distractions, although it would seem that my attempts to conceal them were successful, if you believed otherwise.  I knew that I had grave responsibilities that could not be shirked, and when Melkor moved against us, I could not allow temptation to win out over duty.  But rest is a thing all living creatures require, and we are no exception.  During my rest periods, I could indulge myself in those distractions, and unless I was exhausted by battle or some particularly difficult and strenuous work, I often did.  Does that surprise you, my brother?"

The Maia was about to say yes, until the reminder of their relationship caused him to reconsider.  A slow smile spread across his face.  "No, not really," he admitted.  "You're right, all of us need time for rest and relaxation and play.  It was so even in the Timeless Halls."  He laughed softly as he thought back upon that part of his life, before the Music.  "The first time we met was soon after my Emergence.  I had exhausted myself with looking and exploring and asking Father countless questions about everything.  I believe He sang me to sleep right there at the foot of His throne, just to have a few moments' peace!  And when I wakened, you were there."

"Pestering Him with questions of my own," Manwë pointed out, remembering the incident with fondness.  "And after He introduced us, you said you wanted to hear the answer to my last question, since it had occurred to you as well, which brought up another question in your mind, which fed yet another in mine...."  He smiled and chuckled as he shook his head in wonder.  "We were so alike in thought even then, you and I.  How I failed to see right then that we were kin still astounds me!"

Olórin shrugged, though his own fond smile remained.  "It was as Father willed, and ultimately, as we ourselves needed it to be."  The fire was now merrily crackling and warming them; the little smoke it made went up into the angled space about eight feet above them, where there were sufficient cracks between stones and beams to allow the wind to carry it away.  

As he looked up to see that there was adequate ventilation, the Maia noticed that there was a plank with hooks and pegs mounted on the portion of the brick wall that still stood, no doubt a leftover from days when it would have been used to hang wet tack or cloaks.  "If you give me your cloak and hood," he told Manwë as he stood to remove his own, "I'll hang them here, to dry in the heat of the fire."

For a moment, the Vala hesitated, gauging whether or not their little shelter was warm enough, then did as he was bid when he decided it was.  "It still seems strange, not to be able to simply will the dampness and cold to vanish," he mused aloud.  "And you're certain this... incapacity will not last?"

Olórin nodded while he hung his own things across several pegs, spreading the fabric a bit to better expose it to the warmth.  "The first times I fashioned a more substantial hroä such as these, it took the better part of a day before I could easily use my powers without first shedding it.  It was very disturbing, until I decided to learn from the situation.  There is so much we take for granted, things the Children will never know.  To willingly set aside my own convenience was little enough to pay for the experience of having even a small taste of life as they know it."

"A small taste?"  The question was clearly skeptical.  "You have had more than a mere taste of life as they know it — especially as Mortals know it."

The former Wizard shrugged again as he took Manwë's damp things.  "Perhaps, though that is nothing unique.  The other Istari—"

"—did not die as you did.  And those whose bodies were slain did not lay down their lives for the sake of the Eruhíni.  It was a great sacrifice you made, Olórin, and a great risk that you took, for the love of the Children."

The Maia was glad his back was to his brother while he hung his cloak and hood to dry.  He wore a pensive look when he turned to face him again.  "It was the only choice I could make, and yet remain true to myself, and to all who had placed their trust in me.  From the moment the Balrog appeared, I was doomed to death — either physically, by engaging it in battle, or spiritually, by forsaking all I have ever believed is right and good simply to spare my own life."  He looked down at the fire, his eyes unfocused as the light of the flames flickered across his face while the light without grew dim.  

He looked up again when Manwë stepped nearer and set his hands on his shoulders.  "You did what I have always known was in your nature to do," he said with gentle compassion.  "Which is why I knew the mission of the Istari would fail without you.  I knew you would do whatever had to be done, because you loved the Children more than your own safety or pride."

Sharp sadness suddenly changed his expression, as the wind blows storm clouds to block the summer sun.  "I never anticipated the lengths to which you would go for that love.  None of us did.  When you died...."  

Manwë closed his eyes against the remembered pain in his own heart.  When he continued, his voice was soft with anguish.  "We could sense no trace of you.  Not in the way that you learned to guard yourself from detection; when you did that, we always knew that you still existed, if not where you were.  It was much the same when Alatar and Pallando were slain.  We knew that they continued to exist, somewhere, though even now, we know not where.  But when you died, you vanished utterly, and not even Námo could tell what had become of you.  To the best of our knowledge, you had ceased to exist.  We believed we had lost you forever, and never have I felt such terrible grief."

As Manwë spoke, quietly but with great feeling, his fingers tightening on his brother's shoulders, myriad things suddenly became clear to Olórin.  The Vala may not have discerned the truth about their kinship as swiftly as he had, but on some level he had always been aware of it.  And because he was the Elder King, some of what he had been compelled to ask of the Maia as his servant had been a great pain to him, made all the worse by that unrecognized awareness.  Neither of them could have done other than what it was in their nature to do, nor could they have neglected their duties, assumed out of love for the One and His Children.  Thus much of what had happened to them and between them over the long ages had been unavoidable.  Yet now, Olórin realized just how much of his own pains and sorrows Manwë had pushed aside, lest they hamper his ability to function in his assigned role as Eru's regent in Eä.

There were no words adequate to express the compassion he felt for his brother, now that the Vala was finally allowing himself to reveal more of his hidden heart.  So he did as any brother would do to offer comfort, and embraced him.  "So you do know something of what it is to be Mortal, or to befriend them," he murmured after a time, in tones of both soothing and pity.  "Losing someone you love to a death from which there is no return.  I came to know it only too well when I walked these lands, and I grieve that you ever had cause to experience it so intimately."

Manwë did not refuse the offered comfort, nor did he disdain to return it.  "I do not regret the experience of loss," he said when he at last moved back so that they could squarely gaze on one another.  "I learned much from it, most of all the understanding of what it truly means to face the uncertainty of death and loss, as Mortals do.  What I regret is that you bore the price for that lesson.  And yet, I cannot regret even that overmuch, at least in hindsight, for I know I would not have learned what was needed so well, had it been any other who was lost to me.  No, what I regret most is that I almost lost you a second time before I faced the fullness of my mistakes, accepted my blame, and grew from it."

"As we both did," Olórin admitted with a crooked little smile.  "Lady Varda told me, you know."

The Vala's brow creased with puzzlement.  "Oh?  What exactly did she tell you?"

"That you didn't take the reality of my death in Endórë terribly well at all.  From the way she described it, you rather lost your wits for a few days, until Father returned me to my house in Lórien."

Now, Manwë's eyes widened with shock.  "And when did she tell you this?" he wondered.

The Maia patted his shoulder before stepping back so that they could sit near the fire again.  "Not so very long ago.  The night before Frodo and I returned to Lórien in October.  She wanted to sit down and have a private sisterly talk with me, and at some point, she mentioned it.  She thought it important that I know, and that I not hear of it through rumor.  The One knows how many trials we've suffered of late because of that!"

The windlord snorted even as he took the seat beside Olórin's.  "Yes, rumors and gossip have ever been a source of trouble, the worse for the fact that the source is often elusive."

"And unreliable," the former Wizard agreed as he poked the fire with long pot-hook he'd found with the pans in the makeshift storage cache.  He rearranged the nicely-burning wood to make room for a somewhat larger piece that would last longer, since the sun was clearly setting and the rain showed no signs of letting up.

"Like my weather predictions, it would seem," Manwë sighed.  "I had no notion that such a substantial hroä, even a temporary one, would be so limiting."

"And both are but a minor inconvenience," he was assured.  "A month from now, the wind would be much colder, and we might have had ice or snow to contend with.  A much less pleasant situation, all around!"  He had leaned forward to settle the new log on the fire, and now settled back onto his seat.  The crackling of the burning wood was a pleasant harmony to the falling rain and even the whistling wind, neither of which importuned them in their snug little shelter.  As the newest log began to catch fire and send up its smoke, it gave the sweet smell of applewood, the fragrance mixed with the stronger scents of the rain and damp earth. 

"Is that why you wanted to know how to take on this kind of hroä, and one of Mortal-kind?" Olórin asked after they had sat for some minutes in companionable silence, enjoying the fire's warmth.  "Because you wanted greater understanding of Mortal death?"

The silver-curled head shook.  "Not death, but I did wish to know more of how the Mortals experience life.  I suppose it might've been more prudent to choose the form of an Elf, since this is my first time in such a confining body, and my direct experience with the Children has largely been with the Firstborn.  But much as I care for them, they are not family."  There was no need for him to elaborate; his brother understood what he meant, perfectly.

The Maia let another few minutes slip by before he spoke again.  "So I suppose you have no desire to shed these hroär so that we can move somewhere more comfortable.  Say, to a nice dry inn in Waymeet."

Manwë smiled at the droll comment.  "It would be convenient — but no.  This is quite sufficient for now, and totally unlike anything I had expected.  I see no harm in 'roughing it,' as I believe some call it.  And if we did as you suggest, I'd like as not need to start over in becoming acclimated to this condition.  I'd rather not, thank you."

Olórin smirked.  "You may change your mind once the Hobbit appetite wakes up.  We didn't bring along any food, and unless the squirrel we saw some miles back has family in this area, storing up food for the winter, we won't have a chance to find anything until we reach the town.  Not at this time of year, with all the harvest well in."

"Then I reserve the right to change my mind, if I find it too much to endure," the windlord replied, eyes twinkling merrily.  He thought that would be the end of the matter, until his adopted stomach growled.

Olórin didn't want to laugh at his brother's expense, but he couldn't help it.  "Lord Irmo has always said that the Eruhíni can be highly suggestible, especially when it comes to anything they deem important," he said when he got control of his mirth.  

Manwë was red-faced with embarrassment.  "Did anything like this ever happen to you?" he asked in an odd tone, a mixture of chagrin and affront that a temporary form he'd made himself could so betray him.

"Oh, much, much worse!" the younger Ainu promised.  "You have no reason to be dismayed, brother, truly.  Once you're able to connect with your native powers while in this kind of fana, such things won't be an issue.  But hunger is one of the the traits all the Eruhíni share, even those races that can survive longer without food."

"And I had just been saying how much I appreciated the Hobbits for their joy in the bounty the land has to offer.  I should heed my own wisdom!  Live and learn, as the Children say, and this is educational, if a bit embarrassing."  The half-smile he gave Olórin was shyly rueful.  "Are you sure there isn't anything edible in that cache you found?"

"Reasonably sure, but I can look again, if you like."  Without waiting for an answer, the Maia went back into the dark shambles of the former inn to investigate.  Being very accustomed to this kind of incarnation, he needed no light to see in the gloom, though he had decided to otherwise refrain from using his powers until his brother could do so as well.  That would help to mitigate Manwë's feelings of inadequacy, and would make the experience more valuable for him as well, as he had never before incarnated as a hobbit, even in a simple fana.  

He was just about to declare the search a failure when he stuck his hand into a pot and found a small rough cloth sack full of hard lumps.  It may have been nothing more than some child's collection of pebbles or jackstones, but a quick search revealed the lumps to be nuts, mostly walnuts and hazelnuts but also a few chestnuts, all husked and still in their shells.

As he made his way back through the rubble to the little shelter, he idly brought out a few of the nuts to see if they were still edible.  "There was something tucked away, after all," he announced as he came back into the firelight.  Manwë, he found, was checking the bottom of his foot in the now brighter light, to see if his misstep had somehow managed to do an injury to his temporary hroä.   Olórin saw what he was doing, and smiled.  "Although given how you were attacked by a nutshell, this might not be to your liking."  He jiggled the sack, rattling its contents

for emphasis.

The Vala chuckled and wriggled the toes of his abused foot.  "On the contrary!  I would consider it just retribution for the assault."  He set both feet on the ground and got up to find a stone suitable for use as a nutcracker.  Olórin set the sack on the third wooden seat and went back to fetch one of the pots to hold the shelled nuts.

So for the next little while, the brothers sat before their fire, the elder happily cracking nuts between two pieces of brick, the younger freeing the nutmeats from their shells, tossing the edible parts into the pot and the detritus into the fire.  Manwë hummed as he worked, and presently, Olórin started to sing a suitable Hobbit harvest-time song, light-hearted and amusing.  The Vala cheerfully joined in the refrain once he'd heard it sung through.  The song came to an end just as the last of the nuts was thrown into the pot.

"A pleasantly fitting tune," the windlord said as he set aside his improvised nutcracker.  "Shall we eat them as they are, or roast them?"

Olórin peered into the half-full pot, tossing the shells of the final nut into the fire.  "The chestnuts would be better, were they toasted, and warm food does tend to feel more filling in the belly.  Though we'll need to take care.  I can rig the pot-hook to suspend the pot above the flames and use a stick to stir the content, but we have no utensils for eating."

"I think I can survive until things have cooled enough to spare our fingers."  He studied said digits while his brother set up the long pot hook to accommodate the cooking.  "Would they actually be harmed, in this self-incarnation?" he wondered.  "The pain I felt in my foot was quite real, but there was no actual injury to the flesh.  And I cannot believe that this sort of hroä is so far removed from our more typical fanar that it could sustain true damage."

Olórin waggled one hand as he picked up the pot to hang it from the firmly braced hook.  "It can sustain more harm than you realize, although it would require very severe damage for us to sustain a permanent loss.  This is similar to the kinds of forms Melkor and Sauron took in their attempts to dominate and control Arda and all the Children, but not as thoroughly linked to very substances of the physical world.  Their forms required an investment of their native power that was quite draining and extremely difficult to reverse.  Ours are much less so, and any loss of strength we might experience will be easily remedied by rest, once we have shed these forms.  But as you've already discovered, these bodies react as those of real Hobbits.  We feel cold and hunger and pain, and were we dealt a sufficiently strong blow, the shock of it could be overwhelming for a time."

Manwë understood.  "So you're saying that it would be prudent to avoid injuries that might prove overwhelming — like a serious burn from handling hot metal without proper precautions."

"Exactly.  Once you've adjusted enough to easily access your powers again, you could use them to avoid any such discomforts, but as you've said, that would defeat the purpose of learning from the experience, even in its less agreeable aspects."

The Elder King's bright blue eyes unfocused as he reflected on this.  "I wonder if our brother and his lieutenant tried to insulate themselves in that manner?" he mused.  "I cannot imagine that one of us could feel pain as the Eruhíni do, and still feel no compassion for them."

The Maia snorted.  "One must have compassion in their heart in order to feel it.  By the time our fallen brethren had chosen this path to domination, I fear they'd quite lost that capacity."

Manwë could not but agree.  Rather than pursue what might become an unhappy conversation, he quietly watched the Istar tend to both the fire and the contents of the pot.  "Here, now, let me tend to the cooking while you see to the fire," he suggested cheerfully as he took charge of the stirring stick.  "After all, it's my stomach that's complaining!  And though some of the Valier — not to mention Nárënilda — might say otherwise, giving a pot an occasional stir isn't beyond my cooking skills."

Olórin gladly surrendered that part of the job, since he was doing his best to use ordinary means to keep the flames from burning too high under the kettle.  "I've heard Lady Yavanna and her sister claim that no male of any species can cook anything edible.  Lord Oromë begs to differ, but in the case of Lord Aulë, they may have a point."

The Vala laughed merrily.  "True, though have you ever had occasion to sample Námo's attempts in the kitchen?"

The younger Ainu nodded with mock gravity.  "I have.  And I would gladly take slightly singed or oddly spiced food over the taste of coal soot and shale oil."

They both laughed now, since they knew that Olórin's jesting exaggerations were not without a basis in reality.   Made more mindful of his own performance, Manwë gave the pot a careful stir, to be sure that the heated evenly and did not burn.  A delectable aroma rewarded his effort, to which his stomach responded with a gentle (and less embarrassing) reminder.

Olórin noticed, but made no comment upon it, save a small smile.  "It's a pity we didn't think to bring actual supplies with us.  I know a number of simple but delightful ways to roast nuts, given the proper ingredients."

Manwë waved off the matter with the hand that wasn't busy stirring.  "This will do quite nicely, until we can be on our way again.  They do smell delicious!  I'm sure I'll enjoy them—"

"Only if ya gets t' eat 'em, ya stinkin' rats."

The rough and unfamiliar voice startled both not-hobbits, prompting them to look up.  In the flickering firelight, two Men — as rough in dress and face as the one who'd spoken — pushed their way into the sheltered area.  Neither were overly tall, so they were able to stand under the slanted roof; both were wet with rain and smelled of too many unpleasant odors to catalogue.  They wore knives and carried heavy sticks that had clearly seen use as clubs.  From the feral light in both their eyes, they would gladly use them at the slightest provocation. 

While Olórin looked them over through narrowed eyes, Manwë gave them a bright smile.  "We'd be happy to share with you," he began, cut off by the sound of shifting debris and cursing from the other side.  The disguised Ainur looked up and saw two more Men push into the shelter, as rough and foul-smelling as the others.  One had used the axe he carried to chop away a part of the fallen thatch that had been providing something of a wind-block; the other gripped a heavy cudgel, reinforced with iron.  

The brothers exchanged glances, and knew they had reached the same conclusion:

They were trapped.

Next:  Expect the Unexpected