Author's Note:  I'm dreadfully sorry for how long it's taking me to continue, but it seems that as I go through the more intensive parts of therapy to work through my CPTSD, I'm also chipping away at the things that are the basis for my creative blocks.  In some ways, I consider this to be a very good thing, since perhaps it will mean I can finally find a way to prevent the inevitable blocks from becoming so permanent in the future.  I thank all of you who are still reading for your patience as well as your forbearance.  Now, on with the story!

XXI

Questions and Answers

The rain did not lighten as the pony cart made its slow way up the muddy road toward the nearby inn, and the wind grew stronger, driving a chill dampness into those in the cart.  "It's going to be a cold winter, I'm afraid," Dewi sighed as he pulled his own cloak more tightly about him.  "There's a smell of it in the wind."

Manwë grimaced at the mention of wind a part of his personal purview.  Though his borrowed cloak kept him quite warm, he was pricked by the oblique reminder of how he still could not use any but the least of his native powers.  It was a strange sensation, one he couldn't say he enjoyed, but he was both humble and wise enough to appreciate whatever he could learn from these experiences.  Even discomfort.  

Fortunately, he was spared the need for what might have felt like an embarrassing response when one of the cart's wheels hit an especially deep rut.  The sudden jolt jostled those in the back of the cart, who instinctively did what they could to make sure the unconscious Olórin suffered no new hurt.  Though it did no real damage, the hard and sudden bump elicited a soft groan from the Maia, who also shifted slightly, as a deep sleeper might in reaction to a brief but distressing dream.

Seeing this, Manwë touched him, brow furrowing as he again tried to assess his brother's condition.  His presence was still strong and steady, and though he did not respond to the windlord's silent query, Manwë felt nothing to indicate that he was in greater distress.  When the cart hit a second but less jarring bump, he mumbled, again as someone whose sleep had been disturbed.  The soft, "M'nwy?" came out breathy and slurred, but was sublime music to the Vala's ears.

"I'm here," he answered promptly, sending his brother what reassurance he could through osánwë, even if it was not perceived.  "We'll take better care of you very soon, I promise."

That seemed to reassure the injured Istar, who settled back again, the faintest of relieved smiles on his dirty face.

"That's a good sign," Dewi said even as some of the worry lines smoothed from Manwë's own face.  When the Vala looked up, his blue eyes full of puzzlement, the hobbit explained.  "Them as who've been very badly hurt from a blow to the head don't ever show signs of waking.  But he woke up enough to know it was you who answered his call — that's your name, I presume, Munwy?"  The vague sound the not-hobbit made was sufficient confirmation for Dewi.   "With luck, Olrin won't come around fully until we're off this rough road and inside where it's dry and warm.  He'd be spared waking to the full aches and pains he'll likely have while he's wet and shivering with cold."  

It was a shrewd observation, and one with which Manwë totally agreed.  He shifted a bit so that he could extend part of his cloak over Olórin, to provide a better shield from the elements.  As the wind was to his own back, it also served to help protect Dewi a bit more, for which the aging hobbit was grateful.

The new inn was indeed not far from the ruins of the old.  Very soon, they came around the bend in the road that had let it hide behind a copse of naked trees and the slope of a hill.  In his current position — crouched in the back of the cart with its slatted sides and the driver perched on the raised seat before him — Manwë couldn't see much of it, but the glow from its low windows was warm and inviting, especially on such a bleak and chilly night.  

What he heard more clearly was the sound of the Captain catching up with them.  The clop of his pony's hoofs was wet and muffled by the mud on the road, but even in the dimness, the beast was able to easily step over things the cart could not avoid.  The Captain had seen the cartwheels hit the deep rut; he slowed his pony long enough to ask if the injured passenger had taken further harm from it.  Assured by Dewi that all was well, he then trotted on to the inn, no doubt to warn the owners of their imminent arrival.  

"He has a good heart, our Captain Peregrin," the aging hobbit told Manwë as the cart plodded on.  "Oh, he was a rascal as a boy and even as a tween, but there was never any meanness in him.  Some say he shouldn't've gone off with his cousins just before the Troubles started here, but if you ask me, he learned a thing or two on his travels that did him good."

"Peregrin?"  The name was familiar to Manwë, even with his memories not as sharp as they would have ordinarily been.  He suddenly realized that he should've recognized the unusually tall young hobbit the others called Captain.  "Peregrin Took?  He's your Captain?"

Dewi nodded, smiling.  "That's what folks hereabouts took to calling him and Meriadoc Brandybuck, after they roused the Shire and led us in dealing with Lotho and Sharkey's Men.  I hope you're not thinking ill of him."  From his expression, he was ready to offer defense.

But the disguised Vala smiled back.  He knew much of Peregrin Took, of course, from his own observations as Eru's regent and the Elder King of all Arda, as well as from fond tales Olórin had told him.  He was surprised that he hadn't recognized Pippin sooner, but between distraction and disorientation, it was understandable. "No, not at all.  I've never met him before tonight, but everything I've heard of him has been good.  He appears to have been a lively and curious lad, and the follies of youth are easily forgiven, especially when one takes the lessons learned from them to heart."  

Dewi sighed for the truth of that, having had his own share of youthful follies.  The clouds chose that moment to let go their burden of heavy rain again, so they hunkered down under the shelter of Manwë's borrowed cloak, to keep themselves and Olórin as dry as they could until they reached the inn.

Happily, it was only a few minutes before they arrived.  The new establishment had the same general layout as the old.  The front half was a long, low building of traditional Hobbit style, with round windows, wide doors, and a well-thatched roof above; the rear half was built into the foot of the hill that rose up behind it.  A wide cobbled path led from the road to a covered breezeway on the south side of the inn, for the convenience of mounted customers or merchants bringing supplies in wagons.  The cart came to a stop in a spot well shielded from both wind and rain, and several people came out to assist.

One, carrying a lantern, was the owner of the inn, Caradoc Underwood, a ruddy-cheeked hobbit of middle years whose normally cheerful face was, for the moment, more sober.  Pippin was with him, as were four tweenaged hobbits who worked at the inn.  Two carried a litter — an unusual thing to have on hand at other Shire inns, but as Mistress Tansy was well known as the best healer between Waymeet and Longbottom, folk who had need of it were often brought to her.  "Come along, now, lads," he called to his helpers.  "Let's get Master Peregrin's friends out of this beastly night.  Is only the one hurt?"  He glanced between Pippin and those in the cart.

"Aye, Caradoc," Dewi replied as Manwë lifted away the cloak that had been giving them some shelter.  "Olrin here's been showing some signs of coming 'round soon, but he'll be wanting Tansy's gentle attention."

"Very gentle, from what the young master told me," Caradoc agreed.  "Careful, now!" he cautioned the lads who were helping Dewi and Manwë lift Olórin from the back of the cart and onto the litter.  "Don't jostle his head, and have a care with his shoulder, or my missus'll have your heads!"

The tweenagers followed his instructions, and in short order, the unconscious Maia had been moved from the cart onto the litter.  "You're both in good hands, now, Munwy," Dewi told the not-hobbit as he helped him out of the cart.  

Pippin's brow furrowed slightly at the sound of the unfamiliar name, but the innkeeper lifted his chin proudly.  "The best hands, Dewi Cotterill!  Easy, now, lads," he told the litter bearers while Dewi wrinkled his nose and laughed.  "Tansy's getting things ready in the largest guest room.  Nibs, run ahead and see if'n she needs something fetched.  And Burl, go to the kitchens and see to it that a proper hot dinner is sent to that parlor.  Andy's already seen to the hearth fires, and Alyssa should be finished with the linens...."

The innkeeper bustled off with his helpers and their burden, giving orders along the way.  Manwë followed, wondering how they'd gotten themselves in this situation, then wondering why Father clearly wanted them in it.  For he had no doubt that such was the case, else Olórin would have answered his touches in osánwë.  He didn't notice that Pippin had stayed back to have a few quick words with those in the cart, but he did notice when the young hobbit fell in step beside him as he followed Caradoc and the others down a long hall that led from the large common room to the guest quarters.

"I hope you don't mind, but I made arrangements for you and your brother to spend the night here, and for as long as you might need," Pippin said quietly.  "You said you hadn't made any arrangements for lodging tonight, and I thought it was the least I could do, after you got caught up in what should've been our trap."

When the others stopped at an open door, someone inside the room gave directions for those with the litter to be careful, maneuvering it through the doorway.  They had no sooner passed the jamb than a spate of new orders were given, in such a crisp, no-nonsense tone of voice that Caradoc signaled for the guests to hold back in the hallway for a moment.  As they waited, Manwë replied.  "It's kind of you to do so, Master Peregrin, though both of us were glad to be of help."

Pippin's smile was characteristically impish.  "Ah, so you know who I am.  Not surprising, I suppose.  Did I hear Dewi call you Munwy?  Not Munwy Broadfoot from Oatbarton, Rollo Broadfoot's grandfather?"  He didn't want to believe it, since if it was confirmed to be so, then his entire string of assumptions concerning at least one of these two strangers would be snipped to bits.  But the age of this fellow looked to be about right, and perhaps Bilbo had left behind his walking stick, after all.

But to his relieved delight, the not-hobbit shook his head.  "No.  Is he a friend of yours?"

Pippin waggled one hand.  "I'm acquainted with Rollo — our fathers have been friends since we were lads, and we've spent more than a few merry evenings visiting inns while they discussed such dull things as crop yields and cattle fodder — but I've never met his grandfather.  It was the name Munwy that struck me.  It's not a common one."

Manwë considered correcting the error in pronunciation, but Caradoc's helpers left the guest room just then.  As they bustled by, off to handle other duties, the innkeeper leaned out and gestured to the waiting pair.  "You can come make yourselves comfortable in the parlor.  Tansy's got your brother settled down now, Mister Munwy, and she's sent one of our lads to fetch some dry clothes for him an' you while she examines his hurts.  Won't do either of you any good to sit about, soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone, but Master Pippin didn't bring no luggage for you, only your walking sticks."

The not-hobbit hadn't known that, and gave Pippin a querulous glance as they followed Caradoc into the guest quarter's parlor.  The room was snug and comfortably furnished, with a good fire already blazing on the hearth.  The door to the connected sleeping room was closed, but no sounds of distress could be heard from the other side.  

Pippin was only too happy to take advantage of the fire's welcome warmth.  He doffed the wet cloak he'd borrowed from Manwë and spread it to dry over a chair near the hearth.  "They were found among the debris just before I left," he explained to the Vala while Caradoc frowned at him for putting the dripping cloth on good upholstery.  "If you had packs with you, they must've been buried when what was left of the roof collapsed.  I told those working there that if they're found, they should be brought here.  But I'm afraid it's more than likely that they won't be salvageable, between the crush of debris and the rain."  He gave the innkeeper a darkly pointed look.

Caradoc's frowned vanished.  "Now, now, Master Peregrin," he blustered as he moved the cloak off the chair and onto more appropriate hooks beside the fireplace.  "Let's not go 'round again about why I didn't rebuild at the old site, or why I didn't have the wreckage hauled away.  Your Da an' I have had butted heads about it, often enough.  Besides, from what you've already told me, it's naught but a total ruin, now, and getting it cleared away can wait until spring."

The younger hobbit relented with an amiable, if crooked, grin.  Caradoc turned to Manwë, gesturing for him to hand over his own borrowed cloak, so it could also be hung to dry.  "If I know my Tansy, it'll be a good half hour or more before she'll be finished checking Olrin.  She's gentle with her nursing, I promise you, but she's thorough.  She won't let you in sooner, unless she needs you or he asks for you.  Burl will be bringing your dinners soon, but if you'd prefer a hot bath beforehand...."

Ordinarily, Manwë would have politely declined both, but in this unusual hroä, the thought of a hot bath after being thoroughly chilled and soaked was appealing.  His new stomach, however, reacted first at the very mention of food, given that it had been denied the snack it had  anticipated with so much relish.  It growled loudly; he winced and blushed in chagrin, quite sure that the noise would be heard all the way back in Valinor.  

"Food first, capital idea!" Pippin approved as he plopped down onto the chair he'd used as a cloak hangar to stretch his cold feet before the fire.  Caradoc gave him a good-natured scowl while Manwë removed his very wet grey cloak.  If he moved slowly with the unfamiliar closure, the innkeeper took it to be hesitance, trying to decide if the needs of his stomach should take precedence over his concern for his brother.

In that moment, however, the Vala at last felt the touch of that brother's thoughts, reaching to him in osánwë.   My lord...?  

Inwardly, Manwë smiled, allowing him that slight lapse into old habits.  I am here, Olórin, he replied, his relief intense.  Are you well?

He could feel the snort that no one could hear.  As well as can be expected.  I felt the roof collapse only at the last second — too late to keep it from knocking me senseless, but soon enough to prevent it from breaking this body's neck.  I feared I hadn't acted soon enough, for it was difficult to collect myself sufficiently to finally respond to you.

Do not blame yourself for that, came the firm reassurance.  I have a very strong feeling that Father has had a hand in this, for His own purposes.  Have you wakened enough to determine how badly you are injured?

There came a ripple of emotion that was the equivalent of a chuckle.  I've wakened enough to startle my healer!  He added no further detail of what had happened as he paused to assess his hroä's condition.  The blow to the head wasn't severe, since I was able to deflect the worst of it.  Were I still a fully incarnate Wizard, I'm sure I would find it more of a problem, but this is merely a nuisance, not incapacitating.  My left shoulder actually took a harder blow, since it was struck after I became unconscious, but nothing is broken.  It was slightly disjointed, but it either slipped back of its own accord or the healer has realigned it.  There will be a considerable amount of bruising and swelling, if I remain in this form.

Manwë could feel the unspoken question, as to whether or not they should shed these bodies as soon as possible.  I think it would be best if we remain as we are for now.  We know from the wars we fought while in hroä that less of our native power is lost if we allow the wounded flesh, temporary though it may be, to begin its healing as it naturally would for one of the Eruhíni.  I can help to quicken the process and ease your discomfort, once I either gain more control of my powers or can shed this form for one less... solid.  But I believe that Father wishes for us to remain here, as we are, for a day or two.

There was no need for Olórin to think upon that.  He well remembered the wars the Ainur had fought against Melkor, and how they had affected those who had been injured while self-incarnate.  He also had felt as if a Power greater than either of them had been subtly at work in all that had occurred since their arrival in the Shire.  I agree, on both accounts.  But will Lady Varda not become concerned if you fail to return at the end of the day?

I have no doubt that she has at the very least watched us to make certain we do as she commanded, was the Vala's droll reply.  If she becomes concerned, she will contact me, or send help.  Laughter brightened his unspoken voice.  If I prove inadequate to help you heal, I'm certain we'll find Estë paying a visit, at Varda's request. 

Disguised as a Hobbit gammer, complete with a basketful of herbs and disgusting tonics, the Maia answered with equal amusement.  

But beneath the good humor, Manwë was able to detect the strain of weariness.  Rest for now, little brother, he recommended, the touch of his thoughts a gentle and compassionate caress.  Let the healer do what she can to make you well, while others see to my needs.  When she deems it proper, I will be with you.

Olórin did not argue.  Manwë felt him slip into genuine sleep rather than injured unconsciousness, and was grateful.  

He was also grateful for the speed with which osánwë occurred, allowing them to converse so swiftly that there was no unusual behavior on his part for the hobbits with him in the parlor to notice.   He gave Caradoc a small smile as he undid the clasp of his borrowed cloak and shrugged out of it.  "I'm sure my brother is in the best of hands.  And while I won't deny that a warm bath would be appreciated, I think it would be best if I first quieted this noisy stomach of mine!"

The innkeeper chuckled as he took the proffered cloak and hung it up to dry.  "Aye, we wouldn't want to risk making your poor brother's head ache even more with that kind of a racket, not when there's an easy solution at hand!  Now, you just make yourself comfortable near the fire, and I'll see what's keeping Burl." 

Just as he was bustling through the door to the hall, the young hobbit who'd been sent to fetch dry clothing returned.  He set one assortment of neatly folded items on a sideboard opposite the hearth, then slipped into the sleeping room to give the remainder to those within.  He was sent out promptly, either to take care of another errand or to return to his normal chores about the inn.  When he was gone and the hall door closed behind him, Pippin turned to Manwë, his air of cockiness gone.

"If you'd rather I didn't loiter about, I'll quite understand, Master Munwy."  The name still felt... wrong, somehow, but for now, he wouldn't question it.  "I have no brothers of my own -- none of blood, at any rate -- but I know how I should feel if one of my sisters or close friends were hurt."

But the disguised Vala shook his head as he settled in one of the comfortable chairs near the hearth.  The warmth of the fire felt uncommonly good, yet another appreciation of an incarnate life that he'd never before felt quite so fully.  "I have no objection to your company, Master Peregrin.  It's good of you to show such compassion toward strangers."

The hobbit somehow managed to hide his amused reaction to that remark.  Of course, he might yet be proven wrong his assumptions, although he highly doubted it.  "Strangers who fell into the trap we'd set for those rogues, and who might've been far more badly injured!  You did handle the situation better than many of our Shirrifs might've, but they at least had actually volunteered for the task.  If there's anything you or your brother want or need, just ask, and I'll see to it that you have it."

His generosity was touching.  "Are you planning to stay here until we leave, then?” he wondered.

Pippin smiled widely.  "If needs be.  I'll stay for tonight, at the very least; I've already made arrangements for my own lodgings."  His expression became abashed.  "To be honest, I wasn't looking forward to riding home after the weather turned so wet and blustery.  I've had quite enough of traveling in all the worst kinds of weather, thank you very much!  I'm glad for the excuse to spend the night here, or longer.  Caradoc keeps a fine house, and an even finer board, and cellar."

Manwë was well acquainted with the reasons behind the young hobbit's feelings.  Both Olórin and Frodo had given him many first-hand accounts of their travels, and even for an adventuresome Took, Pippin had been through more trials and hardships than even the oldest and most experienced of the little folk could claim, save for the other Companions.

The not-hobbit nodded, his smile soft.  "The longer and harder the journey, the more dear become the pleasures we took for granted when we left them behind."

Pippin's expression brightened.  "Yes, just so!  I'd never really been away from home — from the Shire, that is — before I joined my cousin Frodo on his... ah... adventure.  Then coming home to find all the inns closed, food in short supply, and the whole of the Shire in a sad state....  Well, I expect that made me grow up more than anything I'd encountered in all my travels!  Which is another reason why I want to be sure you and your brother are well cared for.  Having one's holiday spoilt by bad weather is a nuisance, but getting waylaid by ruffians who mightn't have been out on the road but for the fact we'd lured them there...!"

"No more than an unexpected twist of fate, as it's called," Manwë assured him, though he was personally quite sure fate had nothing to do with it.  "You and the others have apologized for it quite sufficiently, so perhaps we can put it behind us now and enjoy both the comfort and the company."

To that, Pippin readily and heartily agreed.  He wiggled his toes in the warmth of the fire as his thoughts ranged back over the remarkable events of the evening.  "You said you live far from here," he ventured, not wanting to pry but intensely curious as to the answer.  He didn't expect that his companion would up and say "We're from Valinor," but even the right evasion could be illuminating.

Manwë, however, forestalled any need to evade or lie.  "Yes, it's quite a way to the west and south.  I suppose we could've picked a more pleasant time of year to go tramping about, but my wife wanted us out of the house for a while.  When she's in that sort of mood, it doesn't do to argue with her."

The hobbit was taken aback by that unexpected response.  "Your wife threw you out of the house?"  He wasn't sure which surprised him more: the fact that this probably-not-a-hobbit had a wife, or that she would've behaved so very... normally.

The Vala laughed.  "It's not the first time, though she's usually not quite so insistent.  It's the time of year, I suppose."

Suddenly, Pippin felt he understood completely.  "With Yule coming?  Oh, yes indeed.  My own mother is always at her worst in the late fall, wanting to have every last inch of the Smials scrubbed and polished before Yuletide.  If a fellow doesn't want to be put to work, sweeping and mopping and hauling tubs of water in and out, he'd best stay out from underfoot!  But—”

He'd wanted to ask if they celebrated Yule in the West, figuring that he'd at least get some sort of answer that might provide him with evidence concerning the true identities of these two "strangers," when the door to the hallway opened again, this time letting in Caradoc and several of his young helpers.  The lads bore trays laden with dishes full of food, plates, cups, eating utensils, and napkins, while the innkeeper carried a pitcher of ale and a bottle of wine.

"I should've asked your preferences, Master Munwy," Caradoc said while younger hobbits set their burdens on the sideboard before drawing a table nearer to the hearth, so that the guests could eat where they were in comfort.  They made quick work of setting out the crockery and cutlery, then brought the bowls and plates and platters of food, all warm and giving off the most delicious scents.  "I know the tastes of our young Took, here, but if there's anything you prefer and we have it in the larder or the cellar, you've only to ask."

Given the time he had spent with both Frodo and Bilbo, enjoying their company while they enjoyed proper Shire meals, Manwë wasn't surprised by the amount and variety of victuals that was now set before him.  What did surprise him was the extremely loud reaction of his stomach, and the way his mouth began to water at all the delectable smells.  He had to swallow several times before he could reply without embarrassing himself further by drooling.  

"It all looks and smells quite delicious, Master Underwood," the incognito windlord assured him.  "Goodness, I haven't seen a table laden with so much bounty for some weeks!"

"Not since your wife started her frenzy of fall cleaning?" Pippin suggested with a grin and a wink.

Caradoc understood and laughed along with them.  "Aye, many's the time I've wished I could go on holiday while Tansy's turned the Rest inside out, wanting to make sure not one speck of dust escapes her!"  He cleared his throat, remembering that she was just on the other side of the bedroom door.  "But she's what makes this the most comfortable place for weary travelers in all the Westfarthing."

"And don't you ever be forgetting it, Cardi Underwood!" a lilting feminine voice agreed as the lady in question chose that moment to emerge from the sleeping chamber.  As she carefully closed the door behind her, Manwë saw that Tansy Underwood was a lovely complement to her husband: plump, bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked, with a ready smile and a calm competence in the way she carried herself.  She turned that smile to the one unfamiliar person in the room, guessing correctly that he was her patient's kin.

"You're Olrin's brother?" she asked as she came to stand beside the elderly not-hobbit's chair.  When he nodded, she patted his shoulder in a motherly gesture of comfort.  "Not to worry, then, he's going to be just fine.  The bump on his head will hurt a bit for a day or two, but it's not serious — nothing broken, nor are there any signs that he's taken more serious hurt from having his brains rattled so.  His left shoulder had been put out of joint a bit — just a bit, mind you, and when I slipped it back, he came around.  Nearly kicked me onto my backside before he woke, but he was thinking clear enough to tell me to lay off, poking and prodding at things that already hurt."

She laughed, a kind and merry sound that brought smiles to the others' faces and reassured those who worried that all would soon be well.  "I've gotten much worse from some I've tended, and I was glad to see that he has that sort of fight in him.  It's as good a sign as I could've hoped for to tell me that he's suffered nothing so serious that a bit of care and a few days' rest won't put to rights.  I've put a poultice on his head and shoulder to ease the swelling, and he'll want to keep from using that arm until it's had time to go down.  His right ankle was twisted a mite as well, so it shouldn't be too hard to convince him to stay here and rest for a while."

That Olórin hadn't apparently noticed this third injury startled Manwë, but only for a moment.  Yes, Father wanted them to stay here for a time, of that he was certain.  It was a pity that the means of persuasion came at the poor Maia's expense, but he was the one who had chosen to put himself into the position of danger — a habit, no doubt, acquired during the years when he had done what he could to help and protect the Hobbits, in another guise.

"Not in such a pleasant and comfortable house," he said, giving her a warm smile of appreciation.  "Is he awake now?  I should like to see him for a moment, to let him know I'm all right." He knew the answer, but he knew he would appear cold if he didn't ask.

Tansy chuckled.  "After he apologized for kicking me, he drifted off again — no doubt to avoid the embarrassment of having me and my girls wash away the dirt from the roof fall, then change him out of those wet things and into a clean and dry nightshirt.  He may sleep until morning, now, but when you've finished seeing to your own comfort and your supper, you may go sit with him.  If he wakes and is hungry, send to the kitchen for some hot broth and bread.  Best to go gently with food at first, just in case he took more hurt than it seems.  But he'll need proper nourishment to heal."

After more effusive thanks and assurances had been exchanged, Tansy took a final look at her patient, then gathered her things and her daughters.  Caradoc had already sent his own helpers back to their usual tasks, and remained only long enough to help carry out a heavy basin of water that had been used by those doing the nursing.  With a promise to check back and send in a hot bath if it was wanted, the innkeeper and his family bid them a good evening.

Pippin watched and listened all through the exchange, keen for any clues as to the origins of these visitors, or proof of their identities.  Frankly, he had no idea who Munwy might be, though since the mention of his wife, he had begun to think that perhaps he wasn't from the West at all.  Rather, he might have been someone from a distant part of the Shire who had been a friend of Gandalf's and might be willing to play the role of his brother so that the Wizard might more easily travel in Middle-earth, now that Gandalf was supposed to have departed forever.  As no family name had yet been mentioned, he'd begun to entertain fancies that perhaps Munwy was a descendant of one of his Took ancestors who'd gone off adventuring, many years ago.  What business Gandalf might have in the Shire now, in the guise of a Hobbit, he couldn't begin to guess, but Pippin was sure it had nothing to do with getting kicked out of the house for pre-Yule cleaning.

For his part, Manwë was marveling at the difference between eating when in an ordinary fana and doing so in this unique kind of hroä.  The savory stew, warm breads, mushroom soup, and other hearty fare had a depth of taste and scent that he was certain was unique to the true Incarnates.  The Ainur appreciated these things when they partook of them, but in ways that were unique to their own perceptions as primarily spiritual beings.   The next time he shared a meal with his Hobbit cousins in the West, he would be able to speak with more authority about the quality of the fare.

"You were quite right about the excellence of Master Underwood's board," he told Pippin after he'd finally managed to take the edge off his persistently gnawing hunger.  "Have you been here often?"

The young hobbit sighed, a wistful sound.  "Often enough, though not as often as I'd like.  I used to share a house in Crickhollow with my cousin Merry, and once I came of age, my father expected me to start learning the Thain's duties more seriously, so I had plenty of excuses to visit all the inns I liked best that were more or less along the way.  The Rest is the best along this road, and since my father spends as much time in Whitwell as he does in the Great Smials, I've managed to give Cardi — that's what folks in Tookland call Caradoc — plenty of my business.  But Merry's been spending more time away from Crickhollow, courting Estella Bolger, and I do suppose I've been enjoying Diamond's company more often of late, too...."

As hobbits were wont to do when talking of family and friends, Pippin happily regaled his companion with as many amusing tales and bits of gossip as he could think of, to keep a cheerful atmosphere while they finished their meals.  Given how amiably Munwy listened and provided a few brief tales of his own — when he wasn't eating, of course — Pippin grew more confident in his belief that he was a true Hobbit.  "Olrin," however.... He was equally sure that he'd heard Munwy call him Olórin more than once, and that he knew for a fact was no Hobbit name.

Moreover, from all he'd heard, any Hobbit would have been far more seriously hurt by that blow to his head — and then there was the matter of the walking stick.  If he hadn't had a chance to examine it more closely, he could've chalked up the appearance to mere coincidence, but seeing his own name carved into the very spot he'd remembered doing it....  Oh, no, he wasn't wrong about that!  He'd seen Bilbo use it while boarding the ship at the Havens, and only someone who was able to travel from the West could have returned it.  That road had been closed to the Elves since the fall of Numenor, which, by his calculations, left only one person who both knew Bilbo and could have brought it back.

Manwë was content with Pippin's amiable company, as well as his tales.  By the time he was finished with his own meal, he was astonished at both how much he'd eaten, and how many stories the young hobbit had to tell.  Spending time with Frodo and Bilbo had been educational, but he was beginning to think that perhaps it might be even more so if the other Valar took turns experiencing the life of the Little Folk as he was now.  It was a pity that he hadn't thought of it weeks ago, but perhaps there would be time enough for a few of them to do so before Yule.

He was given no opportunity to ponder the matter more deeply.  A familiar brush of thought in his mind told him that Olórin was waking.  Pippin saw his glance toward the bedroom door, and discerned at least a part of his intention.  "You should go and see how he's doing.  I'll have Cardi's lads come and clear away this mess.  If you want, I can have them prepare a bath for you as well."

Again, Manwë was initially inclined to say no, but after considering how much better he felt after a proper meal, he nodded.  "I would appreciate it.  Thank you for your company, Master Peregrin.  Perhaps someday, I'll have a chance to repay your kindness."

Pippin dismissed the need with the wave of one hand. He finished the last of the ale in his mug, then left to do as he had promised.

When he was gone, Manwë entered the sleeping chamber.  It was a cosy but well-appointed room.  A central hearth opposite the door was flanked by round windows; under each was a wash stand, a small dressing table with a chair, and a clothes press.  Perpendicular to the outer wall were two wide beds, each dressed with thick mattresses, full featherbeds, fluffy down pillows, and colorful quilts.  The foot of each bed was nearest to the hearth, so that the sleepers would be sure to have warm feet on cold nights.

Given the wet and chilly weather tonight, the fire was blazing cheerily and the shutters had been closed tightly.  Olórin had been settled in the bed to the right of the door; his damp clothes had been taken by one of Tansy's helpers, to be cleaned and repaired of any damage they had suffered in the accident.  The Maia himself had been well tended, his injuries bound with white linen bandages and a sling.  After he'd been cared for and cleaned, his clothes had been exchanged for a snowy woolen nightshirt, and he'd been tucked under a thick, warm quilt.  As Manwë entered, he looked up sleepily, a faint smile on his somewhat battered face.

"You look better than I'd half-expected you would," the Vala teased gently as he took a seat on one edge of the bed.  "How do you feel?"

Olórin snorted.  "As if a roof collapsed on me.  But to be truthful, I've felt much worse.  Dying, for instance.  Not an experience I could recommend, particularly in the way I did."  He paused to yawn, then winced slightly as the motion was not appreciated by the lump on the back of his head.  "Have I been asleep for long?"

Manwë chuckled.  "Long enough for me to finally get a proper meal to quieten my stomach!  I presume you were able to glean something of what happened and where you are the last time you roused?"

The answering nod was considerably more cautious than the yawn had been.  "Enough to satisfy my immediate curiosity.  It's absurd, that it didn't even occur to me that the Underwoods might've simply relocated the inn after I'd Sailed.  It had been a thriving business, and he had too large a family to support to simply give it up.  I should've checked the area more carefully before I led you off into the ruins."

Manwë dismissed the matter with a casual gesture.  "Then we've both made an error in judgment today, neither of which has resulted in lasting harm."

The Maia sighed.  "No lasting harm, though more than enough temporary discomfort.  A day or two of rest would be welcome, so long as our absence causes no difficulties at home."  He briefly closed his eyes as his expression turned sheepish.  "I neglected to tell Frodo that I was going to Ilmarin, you know."

The windlord patted his brother's uninjured arm where it lay on the coverlet.  "Varda will have let him know not to expect you.  She knows that you went with me, and she considers our little outing to be of immense importance."  His laugh was gentle, but merry.  "So does One other, it seems.  Though I have yet to grasp why Father wishes us to stay as we are, unless it is for my education.  I've found my experiences in this form thus far to be quite illuminating."

Before Olórin could ask for his own enlightenment on this matter, Manwë gave him a warm smile.  "Well, that can be discussed better when you are better.  Mistress Tansy instructed me to ask after your own state of hunger, should you wake before morning.  She insists that proper nourishment is necessary to proper healing, which I imagine is doubly so for the hroä of a Hobbit!"

The erstwhile Wizard chuckled.  "Oh, certainly.  But Tansy Underwood is a good healer, I remember that from my previous visits to the Shire.  Even though she hasn't the word for it, she knows to look for signs of a concussion in a patient with a head injury.  I was able to protect myself from that, thank Eru."  He paused to consult the state of his stomach.  "But I don't think I'm quite up to a typical Hobbit meal."

Manwë's laughter was full and bright.  "Having just partaken of my first such repast with complete and very intimate knowledge of what that means, I understand your hesitance!  But fear not, Mistress Tansy recommended much lighter fare for you."  He stood up, then bent to place a gentle kiss of relief and affection on the bandaged forehead.  "I thank Eru that you took no greater harm, my brother, swiftly though you may heal from it.  As soon as I am able, I will do what I can to help speed your recovery.  Rest now, while I see to having your meal brought."

Olórin offered no protest.  He closed his eyes again and settled more deeply into the comfort of the bed and pillows and soft covers that had been tucked around him.  Now that he was more fully awake, he turned his senses inward, to give his temporary body a more thorough examination.  Tansy and her daughters — whom she was training in herb-lore and healing arts, such as Hobbits knew them — had done their work well, even down to washing him and exchanging his wet and dirty clothing for fresh sleepwear.  He was able to ignore much of the pain from the swelling and bruising on his head and shoulder, and her poultices certainly helped to ease what he could not.

What startled him was the discovery that his right ankle was also bandaged and poulticed.  The throbbing that he could feel beneath the part of the pain he was able to shunt aside indicated that the injury was not severe, but enough to keep him from any desire to leave for at least a few days.  He almost laughed.  Very adroit of You, Father, to make use of my own willingness to help the Children to keep us here.  What is it that You want us to find, or witness...?

He did not receive an answer, and had not expected to, although he did feel as if he was being favored with an amused smile from Someone Who was not there, yet was always there.  He closed the fingers of right hand to rub the crystal ring on its third finger.  The now-familiar sensation of his Creator's Love flowed back to him, and eased the pains of both transient flesh and immortal spirit.  Caught up in that rapture, though he noticed sounds of increased activity in the parlor, he paid them no heed.

After some minutes had passed — little though he was aware of passage of time around him — the door opened; he heard the soft sound of hobbit footfalls and a quiet rattling, as of metal or ceramic against wood.  Manwë had no doubt returned with his food, but Olórin wasn't quite yet ready to open his eyes and end his blissful meditation, even though he knew his stomach was rumbling in reaction to the pleasant aromas.

The quiet laugh that answered the grumble made it clear that it had been embarrassingly audible.  "Ah, good," said a familiar voice near the right side of bed, accompanied by sounds of a heavy tray being set onto the small table. "I'm glad to hear that your appetite, at least, wasn't injured!  Munwy asked me to bring in your food, since Caradoc had his bath ready and he didn't want Cardi to have gone through all that effort, only to have it wasted."

Munwy?  The odd name caught Olórin's attention almost more than the strangely familiar voice.  

Was that an alias the Vala had given the locals?  Curious, he somewhat reluctantly pulled himself from his state of blissful relaxation.

The voice went on before he'd stirred enough to open his eyes.  "Mistress Tansy was concerned about that knock you took to your head, but really, I thought there was little reason to be overly worried.  From what I recall, you have one of the thickest heads in all the world.  It'd take much more than being struck by an old rotten timber to give you more than a lump or two!"

Now the Maia was more than merely curious.  Not only was the voice familiar, both in sound and its insouciant manner, but what it said plainly indicated that the speaker felt he knew the not-hobbit — which should have been impossible, in his current guise.  The need for an answer to this conundrum swiftly became more alluring than any restful meditation; Olórin opened his eyes.

They were welcomed by the sight of a friendly face he had last seen wearing a far less cheerful expression.  The memory of that final farewell on the quay of Mithlond came back to him as vividly as if it had happened only a few moments ago: the yearning for home, for the end to his long burdens, made bittersweet by the parting from dear friends.  "Peregrin Took," he said softly, for he could never have mistaken the beloved and exasperating young hobbit for any other, even though he himself was wearing an unfamiliar face.

Which made it all the more astonishing when Pippin's smile widened, and he said, "Hullo Gandalf — or, rather, Olórin.  This is a pleasant surprise!"

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Family and Friends