And the ship went out into the High Sea and passed into the West, until at last on a night of rain Frodo smelled a sweet fragrance on the air and heard the sound of singing that came over the water. And then it seemed to him that... the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.

Return of the King, “The Grey Havens”

I

He had dreamed again last night, as he seemed to have done every night since the voyage across the Sea had begun. But though most of those dreams had been nothing more than swift images that vanished like mist under the rising sun, forgotten a moment after he awoke, this time, he remembered. Not a great deal, but more than he had of all the others.

He was standing in a magnificent place, a beautiful hall of stone and crystal and shining metals that had no roof above it save a vaulted sky of brilliant blue. The hall was round, and high seats were set about it, a ring of thrones, each unique and beautiful, but less so than those who were seated upon them. They were not ordinary people, he was quickly able to see; each of the seven men and seven women had about them an immeasurable majesty and power that at once set them apart from all other beings to ever walk beneath the light of sun or moon or star. He was standing just within the ring with others he knew, friends and companions who had also come on the voyage, but his attention was not focused on any of them, nor even upon those beings seated upon the thrones. He was instead looking at someone standing at the center of the hall, a young, fair-haired, seemingly Elven male clad in strange white garb, who was smiling at him. He had never seen the man before, of that he was certain, but there was something undeniably familiar about him, especially in the way he smiled. He bowed gracefully....

....and the dream faded, washed away by cries from the deck above, calling out the sighting of land. Frodo sighed, wishing he could have remained asleep for a moment more, to perhaps finish the dream, but maybe the fact that he remembered even in part was a good sign. His sleep had not been as restful as he would have liked since they set out from the Grey Havens, but at least this past night, he had not been troubled with disturbing glimpses of darkness in his slumber. The music of rain falling on the deck above had been soothing, and now, along with the voices, the wind slipping through his tiny cabin window brought with it a pleasant scent of growing things and the sound of distant singing. Intrigued by it all, he forgot the dream, dressed quickly, and went to see what was exciting those who had set up the call.

The sun was just rising as he reached the deck and the rain just ending; the combined effects made it seem to Frodo that a great curtain was opening before them, revealing the hidden land which lay beyond. He saw it, as did all the others gathered to watch, and felt his breath taken away.

It was the most beautiful place Frodo had ever seen, despite the distance that still lay between the ship and the land for which it was bound: the Undying Lands. Amazement prompted him to step forward for a better look. Now, he stood at the ship's rail, wishing he was a little taller, so that it would not impede his view of the approaching land. One of the Elves who were also watching their approach saw the hobbit's plight and wordlessly led him to a place where he could stand atop a convenient bench and see without obstruction. Frodo realized, belatedly, that Bilbo was sitting on that bench, smiling as he looked out across the waters.

“I've heard many stories and songs about this place, living in Rivendell,” the old hobbit told his ersatz nephew, “but for once, I think even Elven words fell far short of doing it justice. It's grand, don't you think, my lad?”

“It's beautiful,” the younger sighed, still at a loss for better words. “I never thought I should have a chance to ever see something so wonderful, much less be able to live there. But I wonder if I shouldn't feel more out of place here than I did in the Shire, these past two years. You may be used to living with the Elves, Bilbo, but....”

Bilbo sniffed. “But nothing. Don't worry about things that haven't happened yet. I once thought that I would shrivel up and die in three seconds if I ever dared leave the Shire for more than a day or two. I saw some terrible places and some wonderful places on my journeys, and I may not have seen as much of the wide world that you have, but I think I know the sight of a safe haven when I see one. I know much of what you didn't tell me about your travels into Mordor, and after, and more than I, you deserve a chance to be and do some of things you couldn't, if you'd stayed in the Shire. You'll fit in just fine. You have friends among the Fair Folk, some great and powerful friends, make no mistake. And even old Gandalf thinks the world of you, though he might not say so out loud.”

The mention of the wizard reminded Frodo of the day he had awakened after being rescued from Mordor, of the conversation he and Gandalf had had, and had not spoken of since. He glanced at Bilbo, and wondered if the old hobbit knew the truth about the wizard, or if he merely presumed that he had been granted this journey as they had, because he, too, had been the bearer of a Ring. From the expression on Bilbo's face, he knew it was the latter. Bilbo had no clear notion that if anyone on the ship truly belonged to Aman, it was Gandalf.

Frodo then glanced around, wondering where the wizard might be. He spotted him sitting apart from all the others, at the back of the ship. Curious — since the wizard had not held himself aloof from the other passengers all through the voyage — he climbed down from the bench, left Bilbo to continue his watch with the Elves, and went to see if something was amiss.

Skirting along the rail at the starboard side of the ship, Frodo did his best to approach his old friend quietly, so as not to seem the busybody. If Gandalf noticed him, he made no sign. He seemed to be looking at the same sights as everyone else: the beautiful green land that glittered like a magnificent emerald amid the crystal blue of the sea, the white shores that skirted it, and beyond, the majestic purple of immensely tall mountains crowned with shining snow, the peaks rising high above the clouds, the tallest standing far above even the highest wisps of cloud, its pinnacle like the beacon of the greatest lighthouse ever built. The nearer green land was doubtless Tol Eressëa, Frodo knew from what he had studied of the place before they'd left Middle-earth, the home of the Eldar that had been made for them many years ago, in the dawn of the First Age. The mountains beyond were the eastern shores of Valinor itself, beyond which lay all the lands of Aman, west to the edge of the Encircling Sea and the Doors of Night. The wonderfully tall mountain was, if Frodo remembered correctly, Taniquetil, the watchtower atop which Manwë and Varda, the king and queen of all Arda, dwelt. From his readings of Elven lore, he knew that the proper name for the mountain was Oiolossë, Mount Everwhite, and that Taniquetil was merely the snow-capped peak upon which Ilmarin, the royal mansion, was situated, but a Noldorin loremaster in Rivendell had told him that Taniquetil had become the more commonly used name for the great mountain. Given that the sharp white horn of the peak so high above the plains of the world was its most striking feature, Frodo could see now why that name was preferred. He couldn't recall much about the lands they could not see beyond the mountains, but he had no doubt they were as beautiful as all they could see now.

And then it occurred to him just why Gandalf might have chosen to sit apart from all the others. Somewhere in this place was his home, had been his home since it had first been made and he had come with the other Ainur to inhabit it, long before even the Elves had first awakened in Middle-earth. In accepting the mission to help the peoples of Endorë oppose Sauron, he had willingly accepted his own diminishment. He had told Frodo that though he loved his home dearly and longed greatly to return to it, he could not remember it clearly because his acceptance had required him to be bound to living flesh that dimmed even an Ainu's mind and memories. He had been gone from it for nearly two thousand years, and though he had returned here very briefly after his death in Moria, he had not felt wholly a part of Aman even then, and afterward found that his memory of those days was quite blurred.

Now, what he had forgotten was before them in truth and not in a dream or a dim recollection, and as he drew nearer to where the wizard sat, learning against the rail, Frodo could sense that while the Elves were focused on green Eldamar, Gandalf was looking beyond it, to his own homeland. For a moment, he thought that perhaps it would be wiser to go back to Bilbo, but something told him to stay.

Rather than rudely stare at the wizard, he went back to watching the land they were nearing. Strangely, as time passed, they did not seem to be changing position, even though Frodo could clearly hear the sound of the ship plying its way through the waters, and the wind rustling in the sails. “Is this just an illusion?” he wondered aloud after a time, quite puzzled by the phenomenon.

Gandalf's soft chuckle drew his attention back to the wizard. “After a fashion. What you see is quite real, but the mountains of the Pelóri are much, much taller than any mountains of Middle-earth, and the isle of Eressëa is itself rather large. They seem very near, even from a great distance, and appear to remain ever beyond reach for a while. We came within sight of Aman during the night, though it was too distant even for Elven eyes to see it clearly without the light of star or moon, and it will not be much longer before this trick of distance ends. Then you will be able to judge the truth.”

The hobbit made a faint sound of relief. “Thank goodness! For a moment, I thought we were being held away, and wouldn't be permitted to land.”

“No, that is not an issue,” he was easily assured. “If this journey had not been allowed, we would not have come this far. Those who could have denied it are quite anxious to meet you, Frodo. They have never seen a hobbit before, nor met any creature who was able to resist such terrible evil for so long.”

It took but a moment for Frodo to realize that Gandalf was speaking of the Valar, and for a moment, the images of his dream flitted through his head. He had known, of course, that this was where they lived, but hadn't quite allowed himself to think of the possibility that he would actually meet them. He could scarcely run away from it now, so he tried not to think of it too deeply. “Of course they have,” he countered instead. “They know you, I should think, and I could never have done what I did if not for you. Bilbo was brave enough in his own way, but he never really understood the evil things in the world. You told me once that he took very little hurt from owning the Ring because of his pity, but after my own experiences, I think it may also be because he was innocent. He never knew what he bore, and because he didn't, it could never quite get a hold on him. I had to lose my own innocence that way in order to take the Ring to Mordor. If I hadn't, I could never have left the Shire. The first glimpse of a Black Rider would have frozen my heart, and all would have been lost. Because you helped me understand the danger of the Ring, I somehow found the strength to do it.”

“But that had nothing to do with my own resistance.”

“Oh yes, it did, it had very much to do with it. The day you came to Bag End and tested the Ring in the fire, and told me about it and its history and its horrible power, I was dreadfully frightened, and I did not have the heart to dare any danger at all. So I offered you the Ring — and that was when I truly began to understand the evil of it, and what needed to be done. I had never seen you frightened before — worried, uneasy, suspicious, angry, almost anything else, but not so full of real fear. I never thought anything could make you so afraid, but when you told me why you did not dare take the Ring, I began to understand. And later, after I had had more time to think about it, and after all the other things that happened later, I realized how hard it must have been for you to resist such powerful temptation. You and Galadriel both told me that the Rings give power to each bearer according to their measure. In time, the One became a sore temptation to me, yet I could not clearly see what it truly had to offer me. Its hold on me had little to do with power and more, I'm afraid, with greed. But I'm sure it offered you much, much more, yet you had the strength to refuse it, and never ask for it again. What you resisted was no less than I did; it was more, even if you will not admit it. If those who live here are anxious to see me because of what I did, they should be no less anxious to see you, since you succeeded where I failed.”

The wizard was quiet while he studied both the hobbit and his words; then, he smiled, gently. “I suppose you may be right, although as I've told you before, you did not fail. We each had tasks to accomplish, in whatever ways we could, and sometimes, we managed in spite of ourselves — and because of the help of others. But I expect no special welcome for myself. I simply did what I was sent to do, and now, I am coming home.”

He looked up at the tall mountains at last looming nearer before the ship. “Home,” he said again, softly, the word full of both joy and sadness.

The latter concerned Frodo. “Did you not wish to return?” he asked, not wanting to pry, but disturbed by what he heard in his friend's voice.

The wizard's dark eyes lingered on the approaching shores for a moment more, then shifted to the hobbit. “Oh, yes, very much, for a very long time. But while I have felt that yearning all the years I lived in Middle-earth, I simply cannot recall as much as I would like. My memories are still clouded, and even the sight of things that should be familiar cannot lift that veil.”

“And this will never change?” The very thought was disturbing. Frodo knew were he in such a position, he would not enjoy it.

Gandalf shrugged. “I suspect it will, but not until....” He hesitated, as if searching for different words. “Not until those who sent me are satisfied that my work is indeed done.”

Frodo thought back on everything he had seen the wizard do, or knew that he had done in the many years he had been in Middle-earth. He snorted softly. “And when will that be? When you've fallen on your own sword to prove you're willing to die again for the sake of others?”

He had meant it as a somewhat sarcastic jest, but Gandalf did not laugh. He merely looked away once again, and said nothing.

Frodo would have preferred any other response. This left him with a cold, sinking feeling that before all was at last said and done, he would lose this friend he had known all his life, forever.

**********

Before long, as Gandalf had promised, the illusion of forever moving without coming closer to land passed, and the mountains of Aman loomed taller and taller before them. The green of Eressëa also grew steadily nearer, but to Frodo's puzzlement, the ship was not bearing toward it. Instead, it was steering toward a wide cleft in the great wall of stone, through which the sea reached a broad arm between Taniquetil and another, lesser peak to the north, stretching west to the lands beyond. There was a name for this place, the hobbit knew, but he could not recall it, just as he could not remember the name of a port city that was dimly visible along the shore north of the bay. He had moved back to see how Bilbo was faring, and found the elder hobbit equally puzzled by their course.

“I should have thought we'd be headed for one of the port cities on Tol Eressëa,” Bilbo reflected as the ship continued on its westward tack. He looked up, not at Frodo, who had no more of an answer than he himself, but to the Elves who were standing nearby, Galadriel and Elrond in particular. “Or are there no facilities there for a ship such as this? The maps in Rivendell seemed rather incomplete, that way.”

“Undoubtedly because most of my household had never been here before, save Glorfindel,” Elrond replied. When Frodo looked up at the Elf lord, he noticed a most peculiar expression on his face, one that combined something of uneasiness with recognition. “Such charts were not needed by those heading into the West. If the ship was properly built and set out on the correct heading, it would reach this place without any further need to set a course. And it was unwise to dwell overlong on such things when it was not yet time for some of us to leave the shores of Middle-earth.”

“I was here, long ago,” Galadriel added quietly, her expression not unlike Elrond's but nevertheless not quite the same. “There are port cities on Eressëa — Avallónë to the south and east, Tavrobel to the north and west. And on the shores of Valinor itself lies Alqualondë, the Haven of the Swans.” She nodded toward the city distantly visible to the north, with great sadness in her eyes. “For myself, I am grateful we are not landing there. I was not a part of Fëanor's madness when he slew the Teleri to take their ships; indeed, I fought against him to defend the innocent. But much evil came of that tragedy, and it will be long ere I will be able to look upon that city again and not remember my own part in those dark days.”

Bilbo grumbled softly, as if this was very old news and therefore of less consequence than current events. His attitude was forgivable, since during the voyage, Frodo had realized his adoptive "uncle" knew more of the beautiful Elf lady than he actually knew her, having first met her when the parties from Rivendell and Lothlórien had met en route to the Havens. The old hobbit glanced at the city on the shores, then back toward the great island. “Perhaps we're just taking a more convenient route into the northwest port — Tavrobel, did you call it? I must confess I don't know much about sailing, even in ordinary waters. Would this be a reasonable course, in these waters? I've at least heard things about the dangers of unseen rocks and strange currents....”

“Not here,” the Elf woman said with complete certainty. “These waters were beloved of Ossë, and for all his fickle nature, he would not have suffered any harm to come to those who dwelt here. No, we are not headed for Eressëa. I believe we are following the path of Eärendil, to the Calacirya and Tirion the Fair.”

That explained Elrond's odd expression, Frodo realized. Elrond and his brother Elros had lost both their parents when the sons of Fëanor had ravaged their homeland, seeking the Silmaril in Elwing's keeping, and it was in following this path to plead for mercy from the Valar that Eärendil and Elwing had been permanently separated from their children. The passage of the mortal man into the Undying Lands had lowered the choice upon him, his wife, and their descendants, to which kindred they would irrevocably belong, and unless his sons eventually chose to be counted among the First-born, Elrond was now the last of his mother's Elven blood. It made sense that he would feel uneasy, taking the same path as his father, especially if this had been unexpected.

When he spoke, however, the Elf lord seemed remarkably calm. “It might well be so. I do not know where Celebrían planned to make her home in the West, but if she found greater comfort and healing in the city of her ancestors, I am sure she would have been welcomed there. You also had kin in Tirion, did you not?” he asked Galadriel.

She nodded. “My parents and brothers, and others of our family. Those who remained would certainly have welcomed my daughter when she came to Eldamar, and done all they could to aid her in her healing. But I do not know where it is customary for ships to land, when they arrive from Middle-earth. Much has doubtless changed since I first departed across the Sea.”

Bilbo snorted. “Well, someone must be steering the ship — or has Círdan simply left it to drift wherever the wind takes it?”

“Círdan is still guiding it,” a new voice said, joining the conversation. Frodo was relieved to see that Gandalf was no longer holding a lonely vigil away from the other passengers, though something in his face continued to disturb the hobbit. He could not say what, just as he could not quite define the odd timbre of the wizard's voice. “We are indeed bound for the port near Tirion, where Eärendil landed those many years ago. And like him, we are called to a destination beyond it. We are summoned to Valmar, and thence to the Máhanaxar.”

The last word was unfamiliar to Frodo, but the sound of it was unsettling. Galadriel, it seemed, found it no more pleasant than he. “So we are called to stand judgment in the Ring of Doom,” she said, her tone a blend of resignation and bitterness.

Gandalf, however, seemed unperturbed by the subject. “Perhaps so, but not all judgments are punishments, my dear Lady of the Golden Wood. If you had been allowed this voyage for the sole purpose of being called to stand trial and do penance for the errors of your past, I would have warned you ere we set sail from the Havens. Even Sauron was told what to expect if he returned to Aman with Eönwë, and he made his own choice by escaping so that he would not have to face it. I am not the herald of the Valar, but I am the last of their five messengers, and I will never believe they would have used me to carry tidings that concealed the truth. There was no contingency laid upon your permission to return. The last of the Ring-bearers are summoned so that the matter which began with their forging more than an age ago can be ended. I think you will find that the Valar are as pleased as any of us to know that this struggle is finally over.”

Galadriel conceded the issue with a polite bow of her head. Frodo was still caught on another part of the wizard's words. “Do you mean Bilbo and I are summoned, too?” he asked, uneasy. Memories of his dream returned once again, and he again found himself disturbed by the notion of actually meeting the great powers who he knew of only through Elven stories and songs. When Gandalf confirmed it, he shivered. The dream images were not frightening to him, but when weighed against what he knew he had done in his final test against the temptation of the Ring.... He tried not to let his uneasiness show on his face, but even he could hear it in his voice. “Must I go?” he asked, thinking even as he said it that he sounded far too much like a child who fears facing up to his own misdeeds.

The wizard shook his head. “If you do not wish, no. This is a request, not a command. But there is nothing to fear, Frodo. The name of the place does have an unsettling sound about it, I do grant, and I myself have felt such reluctance when I was called there. Yet what I told Galadriel holds true for you, as well. You are not asked to come to be sentenced for past crimes. Had we failed in our efforts and fled here to escape the results of our failure, then perhaps we might have cause to fear punishment. We did not, and this is but the closing of the final chapter in the very long book of the History of the Rings. If any one of us will be asked to give an account of our actions, it will be me, for I was sent expressly to carry out the wishes of my superiors, who may have uncomplimentary opinions of how well I did my work. Your participation was wholly voluntary, and you acquitted yourself well. They are anxious to meet you, as I told you earlier, but they are not angry. You need not come if the thought distresses you, but I think you will be pleasantly surprised, if you do. Valmar is a beautiful city, and for all its terrible name, the Máhanaxar is quite beautiful as well. Only those who have done evils worthy of harsh judgment need fear it.”

His words were meant to be reassuring, and to an extent they were, but Frodo could not entirely shake his feelings of trepidation, that if he went to this place, something dreadful would happen. Bilbo, however, spoke while he was still trying to form an answer. “Valmar — that's the same as Valimar, isn't it? Some of the things I translated mentioned it, how beautiful it was, with silver domes and golden gates and all manner of bells. It almost sounded like something out of a dream, to me. I should very much like to see it for myself, to see what a dream looks like.”

The elderly hobbit turned to his cousin. “Now, why wouldn't you want to see something like that with your own eyes, Frodo my lad? Gandalf's right when he says there's nothing to be afraid of. I know you have these odd notions that you didn't do your job with the Ring well enough, but it was a messy business right from the start, quite a good many years before either of us were even born, and whether or not things were finished up neatly isn't as important as the fact that they were finished, no matter who did the job. Let's not borrow trouble that isn't ours.”

“Rightly spoken,” Galadriel agreed, favoring the younger hobbit with a smile. “If the Valar have forgiven me the mistakes I made in the folly of pride, they certainly will welcome you gladly. For how could the tale of Ring be told in full without the presence of its last bearer? You have nothing to fear, Frodo.”

Since it was plain that he could not avoid this without, at the very least, disappointing his companions, Frodo capitulated. But he did not mention that his fear was not for himself, but for whatever Gandalf had left unsaid in their earlier conversation. Perhaps it was nothing more than an uneasy coincidence of words, but he could not shake the feeling that some final unpleasantry lay ahead of them, and whatever it was, it would be met in the Ring of Doom.