Author's Note:  So sorry that it literally took a year for me to finish this chapter, but it has been an incredibly difficult year.  I thank all who are reading this for their immense patience.  I'm keeping my hopes up that the next chapter won't take quite so long to finish (but I'm not holding my breath.  Severe depression can be SO unpredictable).  Many thanks to all, and I pray your year was much better than mine.

XXIII

A Merry Meeting

"Oh, dear."

"That was unexpected.  Not entirely surprising, given that it's Pippin, but unexpected nonetheless."

The two Ainur gazed on the young hobbit where he had fallen from his chair — yet hadn't quite struck the floor.  Seeing that the direction of Pippin's fall might easily bring his head into a potentially harmful collision with a sharp corner of the heavy wooden storage press, Olórin had instinctively reached out with his power to prevent it. 

Manwë reacted to the same prompting of instinct.  Though he was unable to exert his power as easily, in making the unconscious attempt, he was able to "see" what Olórin had done and just how he had done it from within this more solid form.  Inside him, it was as if a locked door had opened, not fully, but enough to allow him to reach within and touch some of what had been beyond his grasp since he'd assumed this hroä.  With a deep feeling of relief like a sigh to one who'd been holding his breath for too long, he caught both the dropped cup and the hot liquid that spilled from it before it could soak either Pippin or the floor.  With slightly more effort than was normally required, he returned the drink to the cup and set both safely on the table.

He then turned to the unconscious hobbit, whom Olórin had caught and then settled gently on the floor.  "Poor child," the Vala said with a sigh as he crouched beside him.  "If I'd known he'd take it so poorly...!"

Olórin chuckled.  "I doubt he'd say so.  He was particularly excitable as a child.  Sometimes, when he was at his happiest, he would faint out of sheer delight.  When he comes around, I'm certain you won't hear any complaints from him!"

Manwë bowed to his brother's greater wisdom in this matter.  "Still, it doesn't feel quite right to leave him lying on the floor like this."  Without another word, he scooped up the hobbit, lifting him in his arms and standing straight again with little effort.

The injured Maia smiled softly.  "I see you're becoming better acclimated to this hroä," he remarked, since an ordinary hobbit would not have been able to lift Pippin's dead weight so very easily.

"Just now," the Vala admitted as he settled Pippin in the chair at the bedside; he kept one hand on the hobbit's shoulder to make sure he remained in his seat until he awakened.  "I was able to perceive how you prevented him from being injured in his fall.  Had I been able to connect with my powers only a few moments earlier, I could have prevented this... episode entirely.  I saw that he was breathing much too quickly, and I am Lord of the Breath of Arda."

His droll remark made Olórin laugh — not loudly, but the merry sound of it reached through Pippin's swoon and caused him to stir.  "Ohhhhh..." he moaned, an expression of embarrassment, not pain.  "I haven't done that since I was boy...."

"Such a terribly long time ago," the Maia teased, with affection.  "How are you feeling?"

"Foolish," came the bluntly honest answer.

Manwë tightened his fingers where they rested on the young hobbit's shoulder.  "Nonsense," he said, his smile reassuring.  "You have just proven that you are no one's fool, my dear Peregrin."

"Pippin, please," he corrected without hesitation.  "How have I done that?  I just fainted — I did faint, didn't I?  I thought I felt myself falling off the chair...."

The Vala's smile widened.  "You did, but we were able to catch you.  And whether or not you fainted is hardly a measure of foolishness.  From very little evidence, you were able to discern Olórin's identity, and though the revelation of mine came as something of a shock to you, you haven't rejected it, as many would.  With meager proof, you have accepted us, primarily on faith, and that faith is not unfounded.  Indeed, it is well founded, on the basis of the most powerful force in all of Creation: love."

As Manwë spoke, the hobbit's eyes were drawn to his, and as he looked and listened, his entire face filled with wonder.  In those impossibly blue eyes, Pippin could both see and feel all of which the Elder King spoke, and knew it to be true.  When he said the final word, Pippin turned his gaze to Olórin; he saw not only his gentle nod and warm smile, but also the same things reflected in his own deep blue eyes.  He felt his cheeks flush, but he couldn't help but return the smile.

He cleared his throat, abashed.  "Well... yes, I've always liked you, Gandalf.  Even when you were upset or annoyed or angry with me, I knew it was because I'd done something I oughtn't have.  If it'd been my father who'd caught me at it, he wouldn't've just barked like you did.  And after I finished pouting, I always realized that you wouldn't have gotten upset to begin with if you hadn't cared.  Not just for the quest or the safety of the others, but for me."

"And you were correct," Olórin confirmed.  "I cared for all of you — not just the hobbits who were a part of the Company or those who were my friends, but all your people, even those whose greed and pride and foolishness caused far greater harm than ever you could.  I pitied them, and hoped that they would learn the error of their ways, and amend them.  But I never truly had such worries for you, Pippin.  You were young, and I knew that it was a lack of experience combined with the impulsive curiosity of youth that led to your foolish mistakes."  His expression softened into a kindly look Pippin remembered quite well, the gentle understanding that had always followed his personal experiences with the Wizard's wrath.  "How could I not forgive you when I had been forgiven for the very same things when I was young?"

"You were young?"  The words — and their incredulous tone — slipped off Pippin's tongue a fraction of a second before he realized how rude they sounded.  His look of surprise became one of mortification as he clapped a hand over his mouth and furtively glanced from one to the other of the not-hobbits, hoping against hope that they would forgive him.

He was unsure if he felt relieved or concerned by their easy laughter, until Manwë spoke.  "All created beings were once young, Cousin Pippin, even if that was an unimaginably long time ago.  I am the eldest remaining of the Ainur who were brought into being before the Great Music, and I well remember my own youth, and all its follies.  Olórin was the youngest of us during the days before Days, so it was only natural that he had his own share of mistakes and youthful foolishness.  But like you, his heart was steadfast and pure, and in time, he learned wisdom from his missteps."

"Which is what I had hoped you would do," the erstwhile Wizard added.  "Enthusiasm and curiosity are admirable traits, so long as they are tempered by prudence and do not lead one into disastrous pride or greed or malice.  Such has been the downfall of far too many, beginning with Melkor but — alas! — not ending with him."

Pippin nodded even as he accepted his mug of still-warm drink from Manwë, who had fetched it from the table.  His thoughts were too busy with other things to wonder how it had been saved when he'd fainted. Sipping the beverage helped calm him.  "I can see that now.  Some of my relatives worried that I'd be spoiled by the way my Mum fussed over me, being the only boy and the youngest.  It was probably touch and go with that for a long time, I admit.  Too much pampering and privilege....  That's what led Lotho to ruin, I'm sure."  After another sip, he gave the Maia a bashful smile.  "Thank you for caring about me enough to help me avoid that — no matter how much I tried your patience!"

Olórin raised his own cup in an amused salute to both his companions.  "No more than I tried the patience of my own elders, I do dare say."  He glanced at Manwë, one eyebrow lifted as if daring him to refute the truth.

The windlord didn't even try.  "That those who are younger can be a trial to their elders is a given," he said puckishly.  "After all, Melkor all too quickly found me to be a nuisance, and he in turn managed to strain the infinite patience of the One!  But even on those rare occasions when you tested the bounds of my tolerance, I still loved you, Olórin.  Nothing you have ever done could have changed that."

"And I eventually understood that it was the same between you and I, Gandalf," Pippin said with a wistful little smile.  "Oh, I never enjoyed it when you barked at me, but even when I did the most dreadfully foolish and even dangerous things, you never really bit.  Having seen you in battle, I know for certain that you could indeed bite — and very effectively!  But with me...."  

He paused to take another sip of his drink, then let out a sigh.  "You understood something about barking and biting that I wish some of my relatives had known:  that the whole point of it, especially with silly and headstrong youngsters, is correction, not punishment.  And looking into the palantír was its own punishment — nothing you could have said or done could have been worse than that!"

Olórin's answering smile was no less wistful than the hobbit's.  "I would gladly have spared you that ordeal, but you learned from it, far better than Saruman, who should have known better.  But for all your inexperience and impulsiveness, your heart has never been tainted by a desire for power, or destructive envy.  One could not say the same about Saruman, which proves that my faith in the strength of Hobbits was not unfounded.  Sadly," he added with a rueful chuckle, "my faith in the loyalty of certain other Wizards was."

Pippin made a sound of easy dismissal before Manwë could react.  "Hardly your fault!  Even before I read Frodo's book, I knew that you and the other Wizards had all been sent here for the same purpose; you told us that yourself.  It was a good purpose, but it wasn't one you were allowed to force on any of us, no matter how foolish or wicked we might be.  Please correct me if I'm wrong, but I think that applied to your fellow Wizards, too.  You couldn't make Saruman do anything he didn't want to do, and if the old villain managed to trick you — and everyone else, it seems — into trusting him when he was no longer trustworthy, it only proves that he'd truly gone bad while you hadn't."

The hand that held Olórin's cup halted before he could bring it to his lips.  His eyes lifted instead to regard the halfling with a look of not unwelcome surprise.  Manwë laughed, the sound full and merry.  "Thank you, Cousin, for stating the truth of the matter so boldly!  You have more than amply demonstrated the wisdom you've acquired with the passing years, since you see quite clearly in a matter which Olórin himself sometimes sees with less perfect sight."

The Maia in question sighed softly as he lowered his cup while Pippin regarded the windlord with wide eyes.  "I have always known that Curumo's downfall was of his own making, not mine," the Istar rebutted.  "Is it wrong for me to wish that I might have seen through his deceptions in time to prevent it?"

Pippin quickly recovered from his astonishment at Manwë's remarks and let out a tutting sound that came just shy of rudeness.  "No more wrong than it was for Frodo to wish he hadn't sold Bag End to Lobelia, and put her odious son in a position to bring ruin to the Shire.  The heart that can carry out the kinds of evil those two wrought was rotten long before anything you or Frodo did or didn't do that they merely turned to their advantage.  And don't you dare say otherwise!" the hobbit added, waggling one finger at the former Wizard.  "I saw how you treated with him at Orthanc, and out in the wilds as we traveled north after the war.  You and Frodo both gave him more chances to redeem himself than I'll wager he deserved, but he was the one who scorned them.  I'd have liked to have given him a taste of what he put Merry and I through at the hands of his beastly orcs!  No, I'd say that you gave Saruman as much help as he would ever have been willing to accept from you, before or after he turned traitor."

"Our young cousin is very wise," Manwë said in grave tones, though his eyes were as bright as his smile.  "Envy was a weakness of Curumo's long before these shores were here for any to set foot upon.  You know this as well as I, Olórin.  His fall saddens me, and yet, his spite has but proved what Eru Ilúvatar told us many ages ago:  in the end, all will show itself to be but a reflection of His glory.  The Shire was nearly destroyed, yet now, it is more beautiful than it could ever have been, but for Saruman's malice.  The designs of the One are fairer than anything we poor created beings could have planned, and we should rejoice in the beauty that is rather than regret what perhaps was never meant to be."

Olórin toyed with his cup as he considered all that had been said; he then took a long, slow drink of the cooling liquid, and finally nodded.  "Both of you are right, of course, and I do know it.  I've never been a good patient.  The greater the discomfort, the grumpier I fear I become."

That observation made Pippin suddenly forget the shock of being praised by the most powerful being in all of Arda.  "Ah!" he cried after quickly swallowing the beverage in his mouth.  "Now, that's something that's been puzzling me.  Not you being grumpy when you're hurt or sick, Gandalf, I knew that a long time ago.  But you're not 'Gandalf' anymore, and I rather suspect that neither of you naturally look like hobbits."

Both of the disguised Ainur chuckled.  "No, I think we've already established that fact," Olórin confirmed with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

"Which means your bodies aren't exactly real, not like the ones the Wizards had, at any rate.  You... I don't know if I quite understood all of this properly.  You make them yourselves, from your thoughts, and you can unmake them whenever you want."

Manwë waggled one hand.  "Not precisely, but that is close to the truth.  Through the powers we were given in our creation, we can fashion incarnate forms for ourselves.  Those that come wholly of our thoughts are illusions with no true substance, while those we make by manipulating the substances of which all Eä is composed are more substantial.  Unlike the bodies of the Istari — which were of true flesh, made so by the power of the One — both are under our control and can be dismissed or changed at will or at need, but sometimes at considerable cost to ourselves."

Pippin considered all this while he finished the last of his drink.  "Is this one of those times?" he finally asked.  "I mean, wouldn't it be better if Olórin didn't have to be hurt and uncomfortable?  Would it hurt him even more if he... changed his injured body for one that wasn't?"  As he spoke the words, his expression scrunched with distaste.  "That sounds perfectly horrible, doesn't it?"

The Maia laughed.  "Not as horrible as you think, my lad.  The answer to your first question is yes, it would be better for me, but only in some ways.  When the bodies we fashion are injured, we suffer a different kind of weakening if we abandon them while they are completely unhealed.  Sauron did just that more than once, and he eventually paid a terrible price.  The more severe the injury, the greater and more permanent the loss of native strength; more than once, he abandoned his assumed body when it was all but annihilated.  None of my injuries now are so serious, nor are we pressed for time, so it will be enough if I wait until I've let this body recover a bit, naturally."

"And I will be able to help speed his healing," Manwë added as he collected the empty cups and returned them to the tray.  "We will need to take care, even so.  Too many others have seen Olórin's injuries and have become involved in caring for him.  It would raise questions that cannot be properly answered if he leapt to his feet tomorrow morning, whole and sound again after nothing more than a good night's sleep."

"Goodness, no!" the halfling exclaimed upon hearing this previously unconsidered problem.  "Either someone would get the notion that Tansy has discovered a miraculous cure, or you'd be suspected of having exaggerated your condition to cheat your way into free lodgings, or to make yourself the center of more attention than you deserved.  Not that others haven't done just that, but I'd never expect it of you, Olórin.  It's not at all like you."

"It certainly is not," Manwë agreed, even as his brother thought that it was like some others of his kind.  The particular other Olórin had in mind, however, couldn't be fully explained by motives of attention-seeking, though heavens knew that Lintamacar was guilty of that as well.  He started to turn his thoughts to the other possible motives Pippin had mentioned when Manwë continued.  "We shall stay here for a few days, which should appease both Mistress Tansy and my lady wife."

"Then she really did kick you out of the house?"  He knew that he probably shouldn't, but the young hobbit couldn't help but grin at the very idea of the Elder King being told to vacate the premises because his spouse wanted to do a proper cleaning.

The disguised Vala smiled widely in return.  "Not for the reasons you suggested, but yes, Varda did indeed kick us out, as you say.  It was not even a full two months ago when Olórin and I first discovered that we are brothers; both of us have been extremely busy with our work since then, and she determined that it was well overdue that we spend some time together as ordinary siblings might."

Pippin's eyes widened.  "So you came to the Shire, disguised as traveling hobbits.  Is that what ordinary siblings of your people do for a lark?"

His unvarnished surprise made the two visitors laugh once again.  Olórin managed to regain his voice first.  "I suspect a number already have, though to be frank, I more than half-expected Manwë would choose for us to visit in the form of hedgehogs, to avoid drawing undue attention."

The very suggestion of such an image brought a peal of delighted laughter from the hobbit.  "It certainly would have done that, though at this time of year, most hedgehogs are settling in for the winter and not often seen out and about!  But even as you are, I doubt you would've drawn much notice if you hadn't stumbled into the Shirrifs' plan to catch those four ruffians.  You're no more richly dressed than a typical gentlehobbit, and the only striking thing about either of you is Olórin's hair, at least for a hobbit of his apparent age.  Many Shire babes have been born with golden hair since the end of the War, you know.  But even so, it's only uncommon among the older folk, not shockingly unusual."  

He chortled to himself for a few moments.  "Merry and I shock many more Shire folk these days, having grown so extraordinarily tall after our time with Treebeard and the Ents.  We're more puzzling to them than any hedgehog out in the wild in winter!  That they could explain — a disturbance in their nest, some other natural reason — but Tree Shepherds and ent-draughts?  Oh, no, things like that only exist in children's stories, or in one too many mugs of ale!"

"Or in the mad ramblings of adventure-prone Tooks and their kin," Olórin noted drolly as he settled back into a more comfortable position against the pillows, pulling up the thick blankets to better cover his upper body.  Having only one hand free to do so, it was more awkward than he liked.

Pippin quickly moved to help.  "It's getting colder," he said with a shiver while he tucked the covers about the Maia's injured shoulder.

Manwë went to draw the drapes across the shuttered windows, which were rattling as the winds outside strengthened.  "Master Dewi said he could smell it in the wind.  I was too distracted and disoriented at the time to notice it, but I fear he's right.  There is much colder weather on its way, very likely with ice and perhaps even early snow."

"Dewi Cotterill is known for his excellent weather-sense all through the Westfarthing," the hobbit confirmed.  Having finished tucking in the patient — who was smiling with fond amusement at the young fellow's cosseting — he went to add another log to the fire.  "I hope it won't be a heavy storm.  I haven't cared for those since we were nearly buried, trying to get through the pass on Caradhras."  

He paused in his selection from the woodbox to look up at Manwë.  "Isn't this something you can control?  I mean, aren't you the lord of... what did Bilbo's book call?  The breath of Arda?  Air, wind, clouds, things of that sort?"

Said windlord nodded as he pulled the last of the heavy curtains across the windows.  "I sang of such things in the Great Music, yes, and I do have greater ability to manipulate them than any of the other Ainur.  But I no longer use those abilities to influence the natural course of weather, especially here in Middle-earth.  Oh, I did so long ago, while Arda was still very young, but once the Children awakened, such interference often led to terrible disasters.  Now, I occasionally send a favorable wind or gentle rain in answer to the sincere supplications of Eruhíni in great need, but in general, I only use my powers to influence weather when I am directed to do so by Eru Ilúvatar."

Pippin sighed his mild disappointment as he turned back to the woodbox and chose a thick split log to add to the fire.  "Well, I suppose that's sensible.  Goodness knows we saw enough of what happens when people with power meddle with the natural way, first in Isengard and then near Mordor, and even here in the Shire!  But I do hope this weather doesn't last terribly long.  I've a fair bit of riding to do before Yule, and it's never pleasant in ice and snow."

"I myself never enjoyed it," Olórin said as he watched the hobbit place the wood on the fire, then use the iron poker to prod the coals beneath it.  Little tongues of flame licked up around the new log, though it didn't catch as quickly as Pippin would have liked; in fact, his prodding seemed to have the opposite effect, causing some of the coals to die.  

Sensing his friend's mounting frustration, the Maia whispered a single word.  In response, a small burst of green and blue flames streamed up from beneath the fire grate.  At their touch, the coals glowed more brightly, the already burning wood on the grate flared, and the new log caught, then burned merrily even when the unusually colored fire faded away.  

Pippin's gasp was one of both surprise and delight, although Manwë snorted softly.  "Show-off," he opined, though his expression was one of affectionate teasing.  

The young hobbit, however, clicked his tongue.  "Now, now, no harm done, and the warmth is very welcome!  Besides, Gandalf was so rarely a 'show-off' when he lived here in Middle-earth, there were many who thought that when called himself a Wizard, it was just a pose to frighten people, because he was actually a meddling beggar who knew a few simple tricks to earn himself free meals.  I never believed that, mind you, nor did any Took who was up on our family history, but others did.  It's actually rather nice to see him showing off for a change, and not because we're in danger of freezing to death!"

The timely reminder won a laugh from Olórin.  "By any Wizard's standards, the incident on Caradhras hardly qualified as 'showing off' — but I admit, at the time, it felt like the most egregious display of power possible."

"'Egregious' is not a word that any of our people could apply to you, my brother," was Manwë's amused response.  "True, as our messengers during the past age, the Istari had been enjoined against overt displays of power, but you seldom did so, even when it was warranted.  And either here or in Aman, your greater uses of power have always been to defend or inspire, to heal or delight, but never to put yourself forward."

"I thought as much," Pippin said, turning away from the hearth but still enjoying the renewed warmth.  "When I first met Denethor, he struck me as being more powerful in a wizardly sort of way — though only at first," he added, giving the Maia an apologetic little smile.  "I doubt that either he or Saruman could have ever made such splendid fireworks, or even appreciated them.  I don't think the people of Gondor ever went in for such things, but do they have fireworks in the West?"

Any answer he might have received was preempted by a sharp knock on the outer parlor door.  Both incognito Ainur sensed who had come; Manwë politely called for them to enter.  Tansy and three helpers came bustling in, two to remove the no longer needed tub from the parlor, and another to collect the trays and dishes from the bedroom.  She eyed the empty plates and cups as they were quickly gathered, then taken off to the kitchen.  "I'm glad to see you've an appetite, Master Olrin," Tansy said as she gently checked his injuries and her treatments.  "Unless this young scalawag helped himself to what was meant for you."  She gave Pippin a look that was both skeptical and good-natured.

Pippin grinned, knowing that she had fair reasons for her doubts.  "Not a crumb or a drop, I swear, even though it all smelled delicious."

Tansy's answering harrumph was entirely for show, since she was well aware that for all his youthful mischievousness, the young Took had never been a bald-faced liar.  "I'm glad to hear it.  There's been trouble enough here tonight."

All three of the males frowned.  "Rowdies in the common room?" asked the youngest of them.

The healer shook her head as she carefully adjusted the bandage on "Olrin's" head.  "No, thank goodness.  But the weather's taken a turn for the worse, and we've a sight more people to put up for the night than we'd expected.  Some of the travelers who'd stopped here for supper have decided not to move on tonight, and another group headed toward Waymeet came in looking for lodgings.  Can't say as I blame them, it's not fit weather for folk nor beasts to be on the road.  Cardi wouldn't turn anyone out, but they need to be made comfortable if we're to uphold our reputation, and we're short on room for so many."  

She saw "Munwy" begin to speak, and favored him with a stern look before he could do more than take a breath.  "Now, don't you even think of suggesting that you and your brother give up this room!" she scolded.  "Even if you hadn't done us a good turn by helping the Shirrifs catch those ruffians, we don't turn away anyone who comes to us, hurt and in need.  You've earned this, much more'n some who think they're important just on account of their family name, an' their own notions of being better than common folk who earn an honest living from honest work."

Pippin made a singularly disgruntled noise.  "Not Aldo Boffin again, I hope."

Olórin turned his head, his curiosity piqued by the young Took's comment.  Tansy turned it back again so that she could finish her adjustment of the bandage.  She shook her head.  "Not tonight, though he's been by often enough, looking for a free mug in exchange for the same old story about how he'd risked his life when you and Master Meriadoc roused the Shire to deal with Sharkey's Men."  She snorted indelicately.  "If he risked his hide, 'twas on account of him being afraid that he'd be considered a ruffian himself for what he'd done before you Travellers returned.  He'd not be out on a night like this, but other uppity folk are.  Cardi will deal with them, you can be sure, but we're still short on lodgings, for them and more decent folk who don't expect special treatment."

Manwë offered no argument.  "I might have suggested we take another room, were my brother uninjured, but I don't wish to ruin your good work, or his health, by moving him so soon.  What I was going to suggest is that rather than take rooms of his own, Master Peregrin might share ours.  Each of these beds are large enough for at least two, and I would be happy to share mine with him, if it would help make room for your other guests."

Tansy glanced from the disguised Vala to the Thain's heir.  From the almost shocked look on the latter's face, she wondered if he would be amenable to the idea, helpful though it would be to the inn's current predicament.  "Another free room with such accommodations would ease matters considerably, I won't deny it," she said.  "But young Master Took usually shares quarters only with his close friends or his kin."  She was clearly offering him a way to politely refuse the suggested arrangement if it was not to his liking, though her own expression showed that she hoped he would agree.

Pippin hastily closed his open mouth.  His reaction hadn't been one of revulsion; rather, he was shocked by the very idea that the most powerful of all the Powers in Arda would even consider such sleeping arrangements.  "Oh, it won't be a problem, Tansy," he finally managed to say.  "We've been talking, you see, about this and that, and it turns out we're distant cousins.  Easy to spot, actually, if you know to look for it.  Some of the Tooks are inclined to unusually fair hair, you know, as well as blue eyes, especially in the more distant branches of the family."  He didn't say it aloud, but his eyes twinkled merrily as he thought that this particular pair of "cousins" were perhaps as distant as any kind of relative could get.

Olórin needed no special powers to be able to read the thoughts behind that impish expression.  "I have no objection to the arrangement," he told Tansy, his smile droll.  "It not only will ease the crowding of the inn, but this young fellow can make himself useful, helping us as we might need it.  That will free you to see to the comfort of your other guests."

The future Thain bowed to the erstwhile Wizard in a manner that was not quite cheeky.  "During my travels, I learned well to respect and be of service to my elders, and I will happily do so now."  A slight emphasis on the word elders made clear that he had a fair idea of just how very much older than him was even the younger of the two not-hobbits.

Tansy let out the skeptical snort that the others restrained.  "Just don't be a nuisance to them, young master, and that'll be a great help to us all."

Her frank remark brought a blush to Pippin's cheeks, and a hearty laugh from Manwë.  "He has  already been both a great help and most pleasant company for us, Mistress Underwood.  Should that change, I'll be sure to let you know, although I'm certain it won't be necessary."

"I should say not!" Pippin declared, with all the severe dignity of a knight of Gondor who had borne a sore affront to his honor.  He then smiled impishly.  "And to prove it, let me help carry your things back to the storage closet, Tansy.  My usual room's not far from it, and if I collect the gear one of your lads took from me when I arrived, he'll be free to help with the extra guests rather than run errands I can easily manage myself."

The healer's skeptical sniff was clearly for show, since she readily accepted the offered assistance.  Pippin took the heavy hamper of assorted medicaments, leaving only a light basket with her other tools for Tansy to carry.  He was the very soul of courtly manners as he opened and held the door for her, then closed it behind them.

Manwë smiled softly as he watched them depart.  "If Father had no other reason for us to be detained here, this opportunity to meet young Peregrin would be worth it for me.  I have watched over him since you first met him as a babe, but this is much more rewarding.  He has a bright future before him."

Olórin sighed.  "One that I hope this meeting does not disrupt.  Ever since the disasters of the First Age and before, we have been very careful to not reveal ourselves to the Eruhíni.  Pippin may have guessed my identity correctly even before I saw him here, but perhaps I should not have confirmed it, or revealed you to him."

The Vala chuckled.  "And if we are correct in our belief that Father has had a hand in all that occurred to detain us here, then I suspect He also wished for you to waken at that precise moment, and react as you did.  An odd but more noble purpose, I think, for being struck senseless!"

Olórin could not help but laugh softly as well.  "Father's ways are often indeed a great mystery to us poor lesser creatures.  So small and simple a thing might in the end serve a far greater good."  He shifted, trying to settle his aching shoulder into a more comfortable position.

Seeing his brother's unease, Manwë came around to his injured side and sat lightly on the edge of the soft mattress.  As gently as he could, he laid a hand upon the bandaged shoulder, closed his eyes, and began to sing.  He kept his voice quiet, so that it would not carry beyond the bedchamber, as the words were in a tongue that had not been heard in Endórë since long before the awakening of the Elves.  

A loremaster of the Eldar had once described the spoken language of the Ainur as like to "the glitter of bright swords," but not all their words were so sharp, nor could any incarnate ears have fully heard all the subtle overtones and undertones and empathic vibrations that were a part of each syllable.  The song Manwë sang was ancient, a song of healing that had been made to comfort and heal those who had been wounded during the earliest wars with Melkor and his minions.  It could mend more than broken flesh or an injured fana; it brought healing to a wounded fëa or a damaged mind.  

Olórin was not so sorely hurt, but the song was soothing, almost as soothing as the knowledge that he was being offered this solace by one he had long loved, and now had the joyful right to love even more as true kin.  With a small sigh, he smiled and closed his eyes, allowing the comfort of both the well-made bed and the gentle singing to relieve his pains and ease him into healing sleep.

Manwë could sense when the Maia drifted off into slumber, but he continued to sing to the song's end, to give him as much relief and restoration as could while in this still-strange hröa.  He knew that he could have done more had he shed it, but he also knew that now was not the time.  Father meant for them to remain here for a while, and remain they would.  He carefully rose from the bed as he sang the last line of the song, then bent to lay a feather-light kiss upon the unbandaged part of the Maia's brow.  "Rest well, little brother," he whispered, pleased to see Olórin's smile widen ever so slightly.

Then he very nearly jumped as he heard a small sniffle behind him.  So intent had he been on bringing comfort to his younger sibling, he hadn't even heard the door open.  He quickly glanced over his shoulder toward the sound, and saw Pippin in the doorway, his pack in one hand and a look of wide-eyed wonder on his face.

"That was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard," he was finally able to say after several failed attempts to speak.  Even so, his voice was scarcely above a whisper.

Manwë almost laughed, but felt it might be misconstrued.  "Was it, now?" he said in the mildest of amused tones.  "There are many Eldar who find our language to be quite unpleasant to their ears."

The hobbit blinked, surprised.  "Really?  Well, I suppose there's no accounting for tastes — and to be perfectly honest, I don't know that I actually heard any of the words.  If I did, I certainly didn't understand them.  But your voice...!"  He shook his head, not in negation, but in awe.  "Even the most gifted singers I heard in Rivendell and Lothlórien couldn't compare.  I could sometimes see the things they sang of, but when you were singing, I could feel...  I'm not sure what, but it was very moving, very comforting.  Like when I was a babe, and my Mum would sing to me when I was sick or frightened."

The Vala moved away from Olórin's bed to the one he and Pippin would share.  "It was a song for healing," he said softly, so as not to disturb the sleeper.  "The Lady Estë made it long, long ago, to help those of our people who were injured.  Healing is her particular gift, and this song is one of the many ways she has shared it with us.  Do you know of her?"

Pippin nodded as he followed, then set his pack on a chair and opened it.  The pack itself was  large, not a mere day pack but one for longer travel.  Pippin had intended to ride north and then east to Bywater after his business with the Shirrifs was done, beginning a longer journey to the Northfarthing, but the turn of the weather and the unexpected meetings had changed his plans, at least for the night.  From the pack he brought out a nightshirt and a small brush.  The shirt he draped across the bedside chair and the brush he placed on the washstand, beside the bowl and pitcher.  "Estë was mentioned in the book Frodo gave me, but I don't recall if it said anything about such a song.  She lives with her husband in a place called Lórien, is that right?"

"It is.  Olórin also has a home in Lórien, which he has shared with Master Frodo ever since his arrival in Aman."

The hobbit's hands paused in the process of unbuttoning his shirt.  "He has?  Has he been happy there?  Frodo, I mean.  I knew that Gandalf was going home when he took ship at the Havens, but I've wondered how Frodo might feel once he arrived.  I knew that Bilbo would fit right in, as he did in Rivendell, but Frodo never quite had his appetite for adventure."

Manwë smiled widely as he folded down the bedcovers while Pippin resumed preparing for sleep.  "They are both quite happy, I assure you.  Bilbo has taken up residence in Elrond's house outside Tirion, and the part of Lórien where Frodo now lives is very much like this part of Shire."  He gestured with one hand, indicating the lands about them.  "They have been warmly welcomed — and deeply honored — wherever they go, but those two places are where they have come to feel quite comfortably at home."

A sound of relief whistled past Pippin's lips as he finished with his shirt and turned to pour water into the basin.  "I'm so glad to hear that, especially about Frodo.  It seemed terribly wrong that he was never properly honored here in the Shire, after all he had done, all he'd suffered.  I sometimes wanted to shake or slap or shout at people to make them understand, but it wouldn't have changed a thing.  Frodo wanted to be left alone, and most folks were perfectly pleased to do as he wished."

The disguised Ainu gave a small but very hobbitish snort,  "Olórin is much the same, which is no doubt why Frodo has come to think of him as kin.  But their friendship has been good for them both.  They have learned to better accept duly earned honor, and to understand why others offer it."

"I know that Frodo needed to learn that," Pippin agreed while he carefully washed his face and neck, then poured more water into a wide basin on the hearthstone, where he gave equally careful attention to his feet.  "And while I once wouldn't have said the same of Gandalf, during the war — and especially after it — I began to think otherwise.  Without him, I don't believe either Rohan or Gondor would have survived long enough to provide the diversion Frodo and Sam needed.  Yet it seemed that after the Ring was destroyed and Sauron with it, he gave all the credit to them, and Aragorn, and just about everyone else but himself."

"That has always been his nature," Manwë confirmed.  "Ever willing to help where it is needed, but not as willing to bask in adulation.  I fear that in his youth, he saw too many others fall to terrible evil from an excess of pride.  He chose to never risk following the same path."

"And still carries it too far, I'll warrant, like Frodo.  I suppose I can't blame him," the hobbit mused while he dried his feet and brushed the thick, damp hair.  A small shiver ran up his spine, despite the warmth of the fire on the hearth.  "I saw enough of what became of Saruman, and have read more than enough about Sauron and Morgoth and how they came to be so wicked.  Were I one of your kind, I should be just as afraid of turning out like them!  Lotho did horrible things to the Shire, but I don't think even he could've dreamed of doing as much harm as Saruman did, simply out of spite."

Manwë's answering sigh was sad.  "The greater the power, the more bitter the fall.  My elder brother taught all of my people that lesson even before we entered Eä."  His thoughts began to ruminate upon that distant past; before they could do so fully, he finished readying the bedcovers and turned to see Pippin meticulously brushing his wooly feet.  His eyebrows arched in surprise.  "I hadn't thought to do that after I bathed," he admitted.  "Is it necessary?"

The young Took gave him a broad smile.  "For those with particularly thick and curly hair, very necessary.  Mine isn't as thick as some — one of my Banks cousins had to brush his feet five or six times a day, just to keep the hair from knotting so badly he'd need to take a wire brush to it to smooth out the tangles, a rather painful affair and best avoided.  Which is why I like to give my own a good brushing morning and evening, when I can."

Manwë studied his own temporary feet with an appraising eye.  Pippin chuckled, noting his expression.  "However you came by it, you needn't worry about that happening to you.  Fair-haired hobbits tend to have finer and more loosely curled hair, much less apt to become snarled and matted."  The hobbit's hazel eyes twinkled impishly as he offered the brush.  "You can take care of it now, if you like.  I don't mind letting you use my brush, since I'm sure you didn't think to bring one with you."

The Vala's answer was an arch look, followed by a mischievous not-quite smirk.  Having reconnected with some of his native abilities, it took only a moment of concentration for him to coax the silvery hair on his new feet to "brush" itself.  Pippin gasped as he saw the disarrayed curls ripple, smooth out, and then lay neatly, all seemingly of their own accord.  A bark of laughter almost escaped him, but he quickly covered his mouth to contain it, not wishing to disturb Olorin's sleep.

"I wish I could've done that when I was a little lad," he whispered, his face lit with delight.  "It would've saved me ever so many scoldings from my Mum and sisters, not to mention my aunts!"

Manwë's own expression became a bit sheepish.  "I suppose I shouldn't have done that," he admitted.  "But even those of us you call the Powers find that once in a while, we simply can't help ourselves."

But Pippin waved that off with his brush as he set it aside to begin changing into his nightclothes.  "I shan't tell a soul, if that's what worries you," he promised.  "But... I'm glad you did it.  I'm afraid that earlier, I would've been rather uncomfortable, sharing a bed with the Elder King himself.  Now, I can see you aren't as far above my understanding as I feared — are you?"  He was almost certain, but there was still some room for doubt.

Manwë allayed his concerns.  "Not in the ways that are truly most important.  We are all Eru's children, Cousin, no matter how different we may seem to each other at first glance.  He created us for His joy, and for ours, and we should never disdain to share that joy with one another in any way we can."  

Seeing that the young Mortal was relieved, the Vala removed his borrowed house robe and hung it on a peg on the wall away from the hearth while Pippin pulled his own thick flannel nightshirt over his head.  Outside, the whistling wind blew strongly against the wall of the inn, rattling even the tightly closed shutters beyond the thick drapes.  When Manwë saw him shiver, he suggested that the halfling take the side of the big bed nearer the hearth.  "Though I feel the cold, I won't be harmed by it," he explained as he settled himself on the opposite side.  "And I doubt I'll even feel it much, once I'm under the covers."

Pippin offered no argument and happily climbed in under those covers, once his own things were left neatly folded atop the clothes press and the lamps had been snuffed for the night.  "I can't imagine why anyone would want to feel the cold, if they had a choice in the matter."  The shutters rattled again, this time with a wet, icy sound; the hobbit shuddered.  If Pippin had been sharing the bed with a friend or relative, he would have immediately moved closer to them for warmth, but he was still reluctant to show such familiarity with someone of Manwë's stature, even if he currently looked like an elderly hobbit.  "I'm glad I'm not out in that!  Is it true that when you were asked to sing for Ilúvatar, you sang about the wind?"

The Vala shrugged.  He was aware of the hobbit's shyness, and politely respected it.  "That was a part of what I sang, yes.  But it was my elder brother Melkor who sang of scorching heat and bitter cold, and winds so powerful that they would bring destruction.  My thoughts were of the ways the movement of the airs could benefit Arda and all that lived within it, not of controlling the inhabitants or bringing all to ruin." 

For some long moments, Pippin said nothing as he reflected on what he knew of the things Manwë spoke of, and the poignancy in his voice.  "I've always wanted a brother — I have nothing but sisters, you know — but I shouldn't want one who could have done such dreadful things.  He never truly repented of them, did he?"

The silvered head shook.  "No.  He pretended to do so, and to my everlasting regret, I believed him, in spite of others counseling me against it."

"Well, he was your brother," the hobbit observed, as if that was all the explanation needed.  "And now, you have another — a better one, I think."  He spoke with such utter sincerity, Manwë was startled by it.  Before he could frame a response, Pippin continued.  "Did he sing in the Great Music, too?  Olórin, I mean.  I know that Morgoth did, he was responsible for almost spoiling it, that was in Frodo's book.  It told about what the Valar sang, but it didn't say much about the songs of the Maiar, or if they even sang at all."

His innocent curiosity brought a smile to Manwë's face, and warmth to his heart.  It was a wonder to him, how the young hobbit could speak of the chaos Melkor had wrought, and yet forgive the windlord for giving his brother chances to redeem himself that he had not earned, all in the same long breath!  Some of his own kind had not yet done so.  Manwë was touched by his generous spirit, which he wished all of Eru's children, both of flesh and of thought, would share.  "All the Maiar sang," he answered softly.  "Olórin included.  His was a warm and joyful song, neither loud nor elaborate, but every bit as important to the harmony of the Music as songs that were more intricate."

"Really!"  Pippin was intrigued.  He shifted position to lie on his side, so he could see the Vala's face in the flickering light from the hearth.  "I don't know if I can quite imagine how it sounded, but I'm glad to know he was a part of it.  What did he sing of?  Fireworks?"

The windlord chuckled.  "No, nothing so flamboyant.  He sang of small things, none seemingly important, but all things from his very heart that would enrich or strengthen the greater songs made by others."

The expression of eager anticipation on Pippin's face turned thoughtful, then mildly disappointed.  "So it's not likely that I would ever see something he sang about and recognize it for what it is."

Manwë saw his change of mood, and regretted having dimmed it.  "Is it important to you?" he asked.  As Olórin had been concerned about revealing too much, so too did the Vala worry that what he might say could complicate the young incarnate's life.

Said young incarnate shrugged.  "Not important, no," he admitted.  "But now that I've met you, the wind will always remind me that I have cousins of a sort in the West.  It would be nice to have a similar reminder of Gandalf.  No one can make fireworks as splendid as his, not even the Dwarves."

His mention of the adopted Children of Eru reminded Manwë of their origins.  Along with the memory came an unexpected sensation of peace, a reassurance that he should not worry so.  Certain that it came from the One, he set aside his hesitance.  "I should like to see a display of this art, someday.  While it is true that most of the notes of Olórin's song are difficult to separate from the harmony they are part of, Eru Ilúvatar used the spirit of my young brother's music to fashion a part of Arda that you see clearly everyday."

Pippin's melancholy fled in an instant.  "Oh?  Is it as bright as the stars, or as beautiful as trees, or as strong as the sea?"  He mentioned those things, recalling how the tales of the Valar said that they were among the many things they treasured.

Manwë nodded.  "All those things, and more, much more.  The One heard Olórin's song and took the heart of it as the inspiration for His design when He created Hobbits."

For several moments, Pippin could only blink, as if he hadn't quite understood the meaning of Manwë's words.  Then, his eyes widened.  "Do you — do you mean to say that... that Gandalf sang the song that made all Hobbits?"

The Vala smiled kindly, seeing his shock.  "Not precisely.  For one, he was not called 'Gandalf' then.  Indeed, such names as we had in the days before days were not of a kind that could easily be translated into any language in Eä, as they were pure thought.  And Olórin himself had no idea that our Father would someday make use of what he sang in such a way.  If he had, I think he might well have refused to sing at all!  Not because he disliked Hobbits, mind you.  But Olórin has always felt an affinity for what is small and simple and humble, because he has always known that there are in such things a kind of beauty and strength and hope that might be long overlooked, yet in the end prove to have the greatest value of all.  Eru wished for your people to have these very traits, and so He wove Olórin's music into your making.  Whenever you see your own reflection, or look upon your friends and kin and neighbors, and even strangers of your kind, you are seeing a part of Olórin's song made manifest by the One."

As he listened to the Elder King's quiet explanation, a look of wonder suffused Pippin's face.  He glanced at the sleeping Maia all but buried under the thick, warm covers.  "He never said anything," he murmured, "not in all the years he lived here.  Or if he did, no one I knew ever spoke of it."

"They never spoke of it because you are right, he never mentioned it to them.  And that is because while he lived here, he didn't know, not for certain.  Being incarnated in true flesh, many of his memories were dimmed or even forgotten, especially those from times long, long past.  But even before he embarked on his mission as one of the Istari, he had never considered a direct relationship between the Hobbits and his Song.  In his heart, I believe he sensed that there was some connection between himself and your people, but I suspect that he attributed it to a personal fancy."

Pippin was quiet again for a time, taking in all he had been told.  Presently, he said, "I suppose both Frodo and Bilbo know this, now."  The statement was almost a sigh.

"They do," Manwë confirmed.  He heard the note of disappointment that had returned to the young hobbit's voice, and he hid the wider smile that was tugging at his lips.  He knew of no people, his own included, whose young did not take a certain pride in knowing secret things few others were aware of.  "But on this side of the Sea, only you have been so privileged.  Not even the Elves of Middle-earth know of this aspect of the origins of Hobbits."

It took only a moment or two for Pippin's crestfallen expression to vanish.  His hazel eyes were bright with both firelight and hope as he turned them to Manwë.  "Truly?"

"Truly," the windlord assured him, now smiling widely and warmly.  "He is very fond of you, Master Peregrin, though he may not have often told you.  I believe that I can say with certainty that he wouldn't mind sharing this secret with you, for he knows he can trust you to keep it safe."

Pippin blinked several times, then burst into a laugh, which he again quickly smothered.  His eyes were dancing with delight when he dared to speak again.  "I dare say he does, since he knows very well that even Merry and Sam would think I'd gone daft if I told them any of this!  But thank you for telling me, Lord Manwë.  I will do my very best to honor that trust.  And please, do call me Pippin.  When I'm among friends and family, the only time I hear 'Master Peregrin' is when I'm in for a lecture or scolding!"

Manwë chuckled as he nodded his acceptance of the request.  "As you wish.  In return, I would ask that you not call me 'my lord' or any such title.  The others here would not understand why I am anyone's lord, and while I will allow Olórin to do so when offering introductions or in his role as one in my service, I've made it clear that outside those bounds, I am only Manwë — or Munwy, as the others have dubbed me," he added with a twinkle in his eyes.

Pippin grinned merrily as he saw the point.  "Yes, that's probably best, when others are about.  I'm afraid most Hobbits wouldn't recognize your true name; they'd simply think it outlandish."  He wrinkled his nose.  "Unfortunately, that would be enough for some hobbits to dislike you, or at least be suspicious toward you."

The Vala patted his arm in a gesture of sympathy.  "Hobbits are not alone in that.  Many Elves and Men distrusted those who came from outside their own realms.  Even some Ainur have similar attitudes.  When you have suffered because of betrayal or oppression, anything that seems abnormal or unfamiliar can become suspect."

Outside, a strong gust of wind rattled the shutters and shrieked over the tops of the chimneys, creating an updraft that caused the fire on the hearth to flare and crackle.  A cold draft rustled the heavy curtains, and Pippin pulled the covers more snugly around him.  "Are you sure you couldn't do something to calm the winds, Cousin?" he asked, largely in jest.

"Not unless you want to have the storm stay where it is and bury this part of the Shire under ice and snow," was Manwë's puckish reply.

The hobbit shuddered dramatically, and entirely for show.  He remembered their earlier conversation, as well as Manwë's explanations.  Emboldened by the disguised Vala's gentle teasing, he dared to move closer to him for warmth.  When he was not rebuffed, he dared just a bit more, then sighed happily as he settled into the softness of the bed.  He was tired, but not yet sleepy; the excitement of the day was still racing through his mind, along with thousands of questions he wanted to ask, but wasn't quite bold enough to do so.  After a minute or two of comfortable silence, one question bubbled to the surface.

"Is Frodo truly happy, there in the West?  I know neither you or Gandalf would lie to me, but after all, he's a hobbit in land without hobbits.  I'm certain that Bilbo is perfectly content; sometimes, I think he's at least partly an Elf.  But Frodo had been through so much, and though he tried, he couldn't hide how unwell he was, toward the end...."  His voice hitched to a halt as a lump thickened in his throat.  It had been very difficult to watch Frodo seemingly fade while the rest of the Shire flourished after the War, and despite Olórin's earlier assurances, Pippin could not dismiss his worry that Frodo had indeed left so that he could spare his friends the awful sight of watching him die, bit by agonizing bit.

But Manwë had known this, even before the ship had sailed from the Havens, over five years ago.  His answer was soft but very kind.  "He is much better now, Cousin Pippin, I promise you.  He has made many new friends throughout the Undying Lands, and has fully healed of all his terrible hurts.  In fact, he is so much better now, he has done a great deal to introduce parts of Hobbit culture and traditions to all the folk who live there.  The High King of the Elves, Ingwë, considers him one of the finest cooks of his acquaintance, and even now, my fellow Valar are pressing him to teach him all he knows about the Shire customs of Yule."

"You don't celebrate Yule in the West?"  Pippin was aghast.  "But why wouldn't you?  It's one of the most splendid feasts in all the year!"

The Elder King shrugged.  "The traditions of the Eldar take precedence in our land, since only a handful of Mortals have ever lived there.  They have a celebration of sorts around the winter solstice, but to them, it has been considered a lesser holiday.  Even those who had lived here in Middle-earth and knew of Yule did not celebrate it."

The halfling snorted.  "Well, that's utterly barbaric!  That should be added to those old books, you know.  And some people think Elves are so superior.  Not celebrating Yuletide!  Simply scandalous!"

Manwë found his candor refreshingly amusing.  "I'm inclined to agree with you.  My people are attempting to rectify that oversight now, though I doubt all of the Eldar will, especially not after Frodo and Olórin introduced them to the Hobbit tradition of smoking pipeweed, last year."

Pippin was frankly surprised.  "They did?  With all the Elves living there?  However did they manage it?  All the Elves I've met have simply hated smoking!"

The Vala laughed.  "Those in Aman are much the same, save for a few who live in Lórien's hill country, near the house Frodo shares with Olórin."

Now, the hobbit regarded him with an eager sort of pleading.  "Would you tell me about it?" he asked, almost shyly.  "How they tried to introduce the people in the West to pipeweed.  It sounds like an interesting tale."

He was hungry, Manwë realized then, hungry for news of the friends he had thought he would never see nor hear of again.  It made his own heart ache, for the sundering of the world that had ultimately come about because of Melkor and those who had followed him into evil.  He wished that none of the Children would have been forced apart due to their poisons, just as he had long wished that Melkor had never chosen his path of madness, destroying the love that had once been between them, forever.  Looking into the terribly young, wide eyes, how could he refuse?

"Of course," he told Pippin.  He pulled up the thick feather-filled top quilt to tuck under the Mortal's chin, to protect him from the chilly drafts driven in by the still howling winds.  The fatherly gesture brought a happy smile to Pippin's face, and Manwë minded not a bit when he scooted just a smidge nearer.  He settled himself more comfortably against the soft bed pillows, then spoke, quietly but warmly.  "It all began in late spring, several years ago, with a gift of seedlings the Lady Yavanna sent to Frodo...."

Next: A Long Winter's Day