IV

Distraught, Frodo could not quite strangle the cry that rose up in his throat. Earlier, he had thought in sarcasm that his friend's tasks would not be finished until he had died indeed, yet it seemed now that the bitter jest was true. The white-garbed figure did not move.

But as tears sprang into Frodo's eyes and he heard a choked sound of shock and dismay from Bilbo's direction, along with other startled noises from some in their company, he saw something more peculiar, something unexpected. It seemed to him that the staff in Gandalf's hands began to glow, faintly at first, but then with ever-growing brilliance, rising from the wood as water rises to the surface of rain-wet soil. As it did so, a light sprang up around all his body, not like the fire of a funeral pyre, but a more unearthly radiance that merged with the light of the staff, then lifted away from the body until it was no longer a part of it. It hovered over the litter for a moment, a cloud of glowing white mist, then moved to one side of it -- not as mist drifts on the breeze, but with the purpose of one stepping away.

It then suddenly assumed a shape that Frodo realized with a start was not unlike the vision he had had of Glorfindel at the Ford of Bruinen — yet a sight that surpassed it by far. The Elf lord had been a bright light amid the darkness of the Nazgûl; this was a brilliant flame, a star of incomparable radiance even in the dazzling light of the late sun, not of any human-type form Frodo knew. He realized it was more than just a light, and that not everyone present could see it. His ordeal with the Ring had sharpened his awareness of things ordinarily unseen, and recalling that, he abruptly knew that he was looking on a Maia in his true form, a creature of thought and spirit and beauty of a kind that went far beyond anything physical. His old friend had ended his life as Gandalf, but was now himself once again, Olórin, whole and unfettered — and happy. Though there was no expression to be seen, Frodo could sense the joy in the newly released Maia, a feeling so intense and infectious, it brought fresh tears to the halfling's eyes, for he could not help but feel that same happiness in return.

“For the sake of our guests who have not the eyes to see us uncloaked, it is time to clothe yourself again, Olórin,” Manwë reminded him, adding, “but this fana and its raiment we will fashion for you, as our gift, so that you need expend no more of yourself in undoing what was imposed upon you by the necessity of your mission.”

“As you wish, my lord,” a voice said clearly, the sound of it familiar and ringing, yet not quite the sound of the wizard's old voice. The difference intrigued Frodo, for while it seemed strange, it also seemed perfectly right, especially the sounds of laughter and delight that filled it.

For a time, nothing happened; nothing appeared to change. Then a soft sound was heard, like that of a rising breeze, the rustle of long grass, the fall of rain, the faint rumble of distant thunder, the quiet song of bird voices before the dawn — all the music of the natural world rose up, quietly at first. As it slowly grew, it shifted into the song of voices, singing without words, a simple tune not at all elaborate in its melody, but intricate in its harmony as many voices joined together to create it. Frodo knew that though not many had seen what he saw, he was not the only one hearing this, not from the expressions on the faces of those around him. Some were pleasantly startled and a bit confused, others were smiling, clearly aware of what was occurring. It took some time before Frodo grasped it himself, but at last he realized that he was hearing the voices of the Valar at work, and perhaps some of the other Ainur as well, doing whatever they had meant to accomplish when they had spoken of undoing things that had been imposed. At times, the voices shifted into words that fell so strangely on the ear, they seemed almost unpleasant, but as Frodo grew accustomed to it, he perceived these sounds were as much a part of the music of the world as the more appealing melodies. It was some time before the hobbit noticed any indication of what purpose this magnificent song was serving, but at last, he saw it.

The brilliant figure of light slowly shifted like glittering smoke in the wind, taking on a more human-like shape. At length, it assumed the form of a male, neither young nor old, fair-skinned, and pale-haired. Frodo could not see him clearly, for his back was to the hobbit as he faced Manwë, but the clothing that took shape about him was flowing and elegant without encumbrance, combining aspects of many different kinds of garments without being clearly any single one. It was white, as pure as the white gowns worn by the Lady Varda, belted with silver and gold and crystal, with subtle designs woven into the pattern of the cloth and shaped into the links of the belt that reflected the many things beloved of all the Valar, beautiful yet simple.

When the work was completed and the unearthly light had largely faded, the bearers reappeared to carry away the bier and the now empty body upon it — What will happen to it? Frodo wondered — and Olórin bowed his thanks to each of the Valar in turn, speaking to them with words mortal ears could not hear. When he turned enough so that the hobbit could at last see his face, Frodo was startled, not because he now appeared utterly unfamiliar, nor because he looked precisely as he had before, but because Frodo still knew him, even changed as he was. The dream he had had the last night aboard the ship and had almost forgotten now came to him clearly, and it had been a vision of this very moment. Frodo could only think that he had heard so much from the Elves about the Uttermost West that his sleeping mind had imagined what it would be like to meet the Valar and their people, even then not clearly thinking that Gandalf was indeed one of them. As he watched him now, Frodo was startled, but not unpleasantly so.

The clothing the Valar had fashioned for their servant was beautiful, but no less so than the person wearing it. There was no sign of age upon him. His hair was long and fine and flowing, the palest gold of bright sunshine, so full of that radience that it was almost white. More surprising to the hobbit was the fact that he had no beard; thus, the features of the face Frodo had glimpsed in his dream were fully revealed. In shape, it was somewhere between Elf and Human, not as Elrond reflected that combination, but even more subtly, there being some other unique quality about it which Frodo couldn't quite define. It was, he thought, as if some infinitely talented sculptor had imagined a subject, first roughly, as a Man, then more carefully, as an Elf, and finally, refined and polished the full vision into the image of the being standing before him. The only thing that seemed to have changed very little, if at all, were the bright dark eyes full of wisdom and compassion and humor the hobbit had always known.

He did not know if this was how the wizard always looked here in his homeland, but it did not matter. Though the appearance was unfamiliar, Frodo still saw the face of a dear friend. As he felt the warmth of a smile meant for him, the hobbit recalled from some dim corner of his mind that the word Maia meant beautiful one, and he could not argue with that translation in the slightest. He returned the smile in full, knowing that no matter his changes in name or appearance, this person would forever be his friend. Olórin graciously bowed to him as well, and Frodo answered in kind, knowing somehow that he was being accorded such honor as an equal.

When Olórin had finished paying his respects to those he served and was again facing Manwë, the Elder King spoke. “This gesture is but the smallest token of our thanks for all you have done on behalf of Arda. For three ages of the world, we have tried as best we could to guide and protect what we loved from the ravages of those who sought to pervert or destroy it. You know as well as we do all the errors that were made, by us or for us, out of ignorance, out of the foolishness of pride, and even out of hate. We tried as best we were able to consider these failures before the outset of this last embassy. Though we knew this attempt might fail utterly, we never considered how the turns of Fate that brought it to complete ruin might, through a willing sacrifice, be then taken by Eru Ilúvatar and turned to an end that was at once both the same as our intent and much more than we had foreseen. We have sent others of your kindred forth to act on our behalf in great efforts, but we are humbled to at last understand that in this, you were not our servant, but a direct instrument of the One above us. What you achieved was something we could not, had we even dared to try, and though there was no moment of great personal triumph and glory in your achievement of the task, its successful conclusion has set you above all others of your people.

“Do not seek to deny this, Olórin,” he chided gently when the Maia would have protested the claim. “It is true, as it was for the halflings you helped guide on the paths that would at last free Endorë from the bondage and terror of Sauron. No might of arms or use of great power could destroy the Ring; nor could those things have fulfilled the goal of your embassy. It required patience, determination, and a willingness to forego both power and pride, and self. As you could not bear the Ring to destroy it, we could not direct the opposition to Sauron, nor could any of the Ainur who had not learned the hard lessons of self-denial in the cause of a greater good. Only you have suffered this utter diminishment of self of your own free will, and from it have learned what was needed in order to at last fulfill the tasks you were set. It delights as well as humbles us, but it is, I deem, for the good, for we have learned much from these events. Now, there is nothing we can offer you that is sufficient to express our gratitude, save, perhaps, to end the long and difficult labors, both secret and open, that you have undertaken.”

“That end has already come, my lord,” the Istar pointed out, a simple statement of truth. “The end of the Music as we knew it is upon us, and fate of Endorë is now in the hands of the Atani, as was intended before we Istari set out in hopes of assuring it. The Age of Men has begun, over which we will have no governance, yet were my help to be required again, I would gladly offer it, for I love Ëa no less than you, or all the rest of our people. But my greatest hope is that such aid will never again be needed. Still, Lord Eru alone knows the Fate of Men, what will be the final End of the Great Music, and how each of us shall come to it.”

“Truly spoken. What fate may be yours before that End I do not know, for Lord Eru's plan for Arda is no longer clear to me as it was during the Elder Days. But for a time, He wishes your greatest task to be no more than to rest and take joy in what you have helped bring about. It is well earned, and He has commanded that one last gift be given you in token of His approval.”

Another of the servants appeared on Manwë's right, carrying something wrapped in a cloth of gold and silver. The king stood as the servant opened the cloth and proffered whatever lay inside. As Manwë took it, Frodo saw the bright light of the setting sun glitter off the thing he held up, filling his hands with white flame. The hobbit recognized the object as a circlet similar in fashion to those worn by the High Elves, such as Elrond and Galadriel, much simpler in form yet of even more cunning art, having been crafted in fine intertwined strands of crystal rather than forged of metal. Each thread caught the smallest glimmer of light and transformed it into liquid radiance.

It was quite the most beautiful thing of its kind Frodo had ever seen, a narrow yet elegant circle seemingly fashioned from a delicate web of pure and living light. It seemed to him that his old friend thought so too, and he would have refused it, had such a thing been thinkable. No matter one's discomfort or humility, a gift from the One could not be denied with impunity. Instead, Olórin knelt, and humbly accepted. As Manwë set the crystal circlet upon his head, the rest of the Valar rose up, then as one bowed their thanks and respect.

When Olórin stood again, his voice was very soft. “Thank you, my lord,” said he, the words meant not only for the king and his assembled peers, but for the One Who was always listening.

Manwë smiled. “None are necessary. Welcome home, Olórin. We are glad to have you among us once again, as well as all your companions. Now that the long journey is over, it is time for celebration.

**********

The people of Valinor could have taught the hobbits a few things about the fine art of celebrating, Frodo decided later, after all had adjourned to a place of feasting and revelry that had been prepared for the festival, lit by the most glorious sunset he had ever beheld. Even though the Ainur did not need to eat and drink to sustain bodily life, they could appreciate such things in ways those who felt physical hunger and thirst could not. Thus, all they provided as refreshments were an utter delight to their guests, and a genuine pleasure to themselves. Aside from the food and drink, there was ceaseless music, wonderful laughter, and every kind of merriment the hobbit could imagine.

Frodo completely lost track of the time; he only knew that many hours passed because at length, the sunset faded and the stars opened in the skies above them, shedding marvelous brilliance over the city and the surrounding hills and plains, which was augmented by cleverly crafted lamps and other lights. He also found himself the focus of considerable attention, for many of the locals wanted very much to speak with him, including most of the Valar. Those of the latter who did not converse with him directly stood by and listened very attentively while he and the others spoke. The hobbit later learned this was because those persons — Lord Námo in particular — did not often speak openly at such gatherings, as it unsettled many of the Eldar. It seemed a shame to Frodo, for he saw genuine and deep interest in Námo's expression. He hoped there might be a few quiet moments when they could speak in private, away from the need for the Lord of Mandos to maintain this public persona. The other Elves and Maiar also greeted him warmly, and Frodo soon gave up trying to remember all the lovely but unusual names of the equally lovely but unusual people whom he met. When he needed to remember them he would, but for now, retaining them long enough to complete a conversation was sufficient.

He was flattered by everyone's interest in him, and thus did not realize until some folk began to depart for their own homes that he had not had a chance to speak to Gandalf. He had seen the wizard with others throughout the festivities; he was easily spotted, even though he was not as tall or impressive or powerful in appearance as many of those assembled, even some of the Elves. As darkness settled, his white garments still glimmered in it like moonlight over wind-rippled water, softly bright and clear but never cold, and the crystal of the circlet continued to catch and reflect even the smallest flickers of light. Frodo had not seen his old friend quite so uninhibitedly happy in all the years he had known him, and he could not bring himself to interrupt. These were his people, his friends whom he had not seen in an unimaginably long time, and the hobbit was unwilling to interfere with the joy of his homecoming in any way. There would be time enough for them to talk later; of that, he was now certain.

After a long but intriguing conversation with Lord Irmo and several others whose names Frodo could not recall, the halfling had found a quiet spot on a gentle hillside just beyond the place that had been appointed for the celebration, to sit and rest for a little while, away from the festive hubbub of music and dancing. It had startled Frodo to think of such lofty people as the Ainur dancing, but he was reminded that one of the Valier, Nessa, was tremendously fond of dance, and from her, others of lesser stature had learned the joy of it and turned it to an art all its own. As he sat himself on the thick and fragrant grass, he watched Bilbo — who had become more lively and animated as the feast progressed, the heaviness of age lifting from him the more he settled into this new world — talking with Elrond and Celebrían and some of the Elf lady's kin who dwelt in Tirion. He had just settled down when he heard the sound of a soft, familiar chuckle.

“I suspect this is a dream come true for Bilbo, finally having a chance to see some of the things and places and people he could only read about when he wrote his translations.”

Frodo looked up and saw Gandalf — Olórin, he corrected himself, making an effort to remember the Maia's proper name — standing nearby. He did not know whether the Istar had been able to approach unnoticed because Frodo was distracted or because such utter silence was possible for one of his kind, but he noted that his friend was, for once, alone. He was unsure if this was deliberate or accidental, so he said nothing of it. “Yes, I think Bilbo will be quite happy here. This is a magnificent place, what little I've seen of it, and I'm sure he will be inspired to write several new books of poetry in his excitement.”

“And will you be happy here?” Olórin wondered, the question undemanding, but his dark eyes full of concern. As he sat on the grass beside the hobbit, moving with remarkable grace utterly unencumbered by age or weariness, Frodo noticed things about him that he had not been able to see earlier, at a greater distance. His pale hair had been tucked back behind his ears, and they, he noted with surprise, were not perfectly human-round as they had been in Middle-earth. There was the slightest and most delicate hint of a point to them, suggesting not so much those of the Elves, but, to his astonishment, those of the hobbits.

He had never seen even so mild a semblance of such a thing on one of the Big Folk, and he wondered if, perhaps, this was indicative of some unusual connection between his people and the Maia. He also realized for the first time that the Istar's eyes were not a dark gray, as he had always presumed, but a deep, vibrant blue the color of an early night sky, washed clean of some veiling mist that had dulled their hidden brilliance. Had this always been so, or was it an aspect of his appearance only here in Valinor? Frodo swallowed the question as unimportant as he searched for an answer to the one he had just been asked.

He glanced away for a moment, then looked back at those eyes, and found that he could not lie. “In time, I think so, yes. For now.... I'm still tired, and a little frightened, Gandalf — I mean Olórin. There are so many changes to get used to, so many new things to remember, like you, and your name.”

The Maia smiled, his understanding full of gentle humor. “Those should be the least of your concerns, especially my name. It matters not what you call me, so long as it is spoken in friendship.”

“But your real name....”

“Does not exist, as you think of such things. Olórin is the name I was given by the first Elves who came to Aman, a word they felt described me in some fashion they could comprehend. Before that, during the earliest part of our lives in the Timeless Halls, names as such did not exist among us, for we had no need of a spoken language to communicate with each other. Indeed, even the concept of language was unknown to us, for our speech, if such it could be called, was that of thoughts, concepts and ideas and images."

Frodo was confused. "But... if you did not speak, how could you sing the Music?"

The Maia smiled as he considered his answer. "Where Lord Eru wills, all is possible. We did not have words as such, but there was sound, and we could fashion it according to our thoughts and wills. Thus we made Song, but of a sort that was unique to that place and state in which we existed.

"At any rate, our identities were each unique, but were images of thoughts, not words. We eventually made a language which we used after we came into Eä and took on forms akin to those of the Eruhíni, anticipating their awakening in the world, and some of us had names that were descriptive of our positions or functions, but many more of us did not. Manwë, for instance, was Manawenûz in our language, Blessed One, and it was one of the simpler names in Valarin. Oromë and Ulmo tried to teach it to the Elves, but its purest form was quite unacceptable to the ears of many of the Firstborn. Even when it was simplified so that it was less distressing to them, they preferred their own tongue, and that they used to give us names. Some, like Manwë, were fashioned after our words, others were based on theirs. These we accepted for their sake more than our own, just as our appearances are adopted for those whose eyes were meant to behold the physical world. I think you understand this better than you did before we arrived here.”

Frodo nodded, recalling what had happened earlier. “Yes. I could see you even after you... seemed to die. I thought at first that everyone could, but when I looked at those around me, I realized that it wasn't so. I'm very glad I could, even if I was only able to do so because of the injuries I suffered from the Enemy. I knew what I had read and what you had told me about your people, and how the wizards were sent in real bodies to help them better understand the people of Middle-earth, but it was difficult for me to imagine, until I saw it right before my eyes. Did it... hurt? Leaving your body, I mean.”

Olórin shook his head. “Not this time. I discovered how it feels to die a painful death in my battle with the Balrog, and now I know how it feels to willingly surrender the life of a true body and move on. Not in the way Men move beyond the circles of the world, but rather similar, I think. The only difference was that this time, I knew what lay beyond my choice, whereas Men do not have that certainty. But it is not an end, just a new beginning. Which is also my situation, I suspect. I am only a Maia, but my life here in Aman will never quite be the same, for I will never be the same person I was before I was sent on the mission to oppose Sauron.”

The hobbit smiled. “Well, if it's any consolation, the changes don't matter to me. I am as fond of Olórin the Maia as I was of my friend Gandalf the Wizard, and I was delighted to see you finally given the honor and respect that should have been yours long ago. It took many hard lessons for me to learn just how much you truly had done for all Middle-earth, and every time I was praised for having almost succeeded in my own task, I could not help but think that those same people should be praising you for completing your own. But you preferred to shrink into the background and deny such things, after the war was over. It was a reasonable choice, perhaps, given that you were not of Middle-earth and would not be staying for long, but when the Valar took such pains today to acknowledge me and Bilbo and the other Ring-bearers, yet seemed to ignore you, I thought it was terrible. They at least knew what you had done, all you had gone through, and it hurt to think that they might simply dismiss it as the work expected of any servant. I'm glad they didn't.”

Olórin chuckled softly, and the sound of his good spirits lifted the halfling's heart. It was something he had heard echoed dimly in his old friend's voice in Middle-earth, but until now, he had not fully realized how restrained and repressed it had been under the burdens and cares of an incarnate life. It was a joy to hear it unfettered at last. “I cannot help but feel it is still more than I deserve, but I haven't the courage to argue with Lord Eru's will! I simply have never been... comfortable being the recipient of so much attention, when I cannot see how I might have done anything to earn it.”

Frodo's eyes widened with surprise. “You can't? I may not know everything you did since you were sent to Middle-earth, but I know enough to realize that if not for you, all would very likely have been lost to Sauron, long ago.”

A shadow of sadness dimmed the Maia's face. “Perhaps. Yet because that might be true, I am shamed all the more. I once told you that you had a right to hear the full tale of how I came to be sent to Middle-earth, and now that my memory is restored to me — yes, it is, in full, so you need not concern yourself about it any longer — I can fulfill my promise. If that tale should start at its very beginning, then I must confess that I undertook the task only because Lord Manwë commanded it. I did not want to go. I was terribly afraid of Sauron, and I did not believe I had the strength to oppose him, in any way. I had been an adversary of Melkor during the First Age, it is true, but all I did then I did in secret, and I never was called upon to work openly or directly against him. Melkor had no knowledge of what I was doing to help the Elves and Men maintain hope and courage. Had it been known, my tasks would have failed, for he would have sought me out and done all he could to destroy me. I knew his strength, and his lieutenant Sauron's, well enough to know that I would have been utterly crushed.

“But the embassy of the Istari was not to be so secret, and without that protection, there was a great risk that we would eventually become the focus of Sauron's anger, once he knew that our sole purpose was to thwart him. That we were to be sent in real bodies, not fanar, increased that risk all the more. When Manwë first suggested this approach to the problem and asked for volunteers to take up the challenge, I said nothing. The very thought of going, especially in a diminished form, frightened me, more than I care to admit. If Manwë had not called upon me and insisted that I go as his emissary, I would have remained silent, and I would have stayed behind. Does that sound at all honorable, and worthy of praise?”

Frodo answered without hesitation. “Yes, as much as the beginning of my own quest was worthy of it. If I had known what Bilbo was giving to me when he left me the Ring, I should have refused to take it at all, and left the matter for others to deal with. Even when I had no choice, I longed for someone else to take away the burden — which you certainly know, since I begged you to take it instead. I did not want to bear the Ring, I did not want to go to Mordor, and I never truly believed I was strong enough or brave enough to find a way to the mountain of fire. As much success as I achieved, I managed only because I was never alone, and always had someone at my side to support me and urge me on, Sam especially. I could not give him the Ring to bear, but I could at least let him stand watch over me for a few minutes from time to time, so I could rest and try to regain my strength enough to go on.

"Who was there to stand watch over you? I bore the weight of the Ring, and you bore the weight of all Middle-earth, the responsibility of helping us find a way to defeat the Enemy and be free again. If either of us had failed utterly, all would have been lost, yet you were never allowed the comfort I had in the support of my friends, because your task was far too great. Maybe you had it before the other wizards fell or lost interest in your mission, but not when it was most important, when the final tests came. Even those of the Wise who were your friends, like Elrond and Galadriel, had their own cares, and could not help in more than very small ways. I cannot begin to imagine how you managed to carry on, when all you had were terrible worries and burdens, and very little of comfort or support. I never thought I would say such a thing, but I think you and I are very much alike, at least in this one way. We both had great tasks to fulfill, we did our best and somehow managed to achieve success, and now, we would rather run and hide than accept the praise we cannot believe we have earned. I think it quite odd, and quite amusing, to realize that we can easily accept it for one another, but only with great difficulty for ourselves.”

Olórin considered what Frodo said for a moment, then laughed, a bright sound with no hint of mockery. “Quite true,” he acknowledged. “A very worthy observation. At times, I believe Lord Eru weaves the threads of our lives into patterns such as this to remind us that in His eyes, our worthiness is not measured by stature or birth or what we perceive to be our abilities. Or perhaps He does such things to make us realize that we should not take ourselves too seriously. I have often been amazed by His humors.”

The hobbit blinked. “You've actually met Him?” It seemed beyond belief, since to most halflings, Eru Ilúvatar was, at best, a dim and distant figure of ancient legends they barely remembered, if they recognized the name at all. Frodo knew more than most because of his association with Bilbo and the Elves and Gandalf, but it was still difficult for him to imagine as a reality.

The Istar, however, was quite calm about it. “Of course — although you probably envision such a meeting in a very different way. The One brought all the Ainur into being before this physical world was imagined, and we were in His presence from that beginning until the moment He allowed some of us to enter Arda, to help realize the world of which we sang. I could not describe Him to you, for that is far beyond the ability of any words. Here in Arda, I have known His presence in my mind and heart, but never as we knew it in the Timeless Halls, beyond the circles of the world. We who chose to come here are bound to remain in Arda until its end.”

Frodo felt he understood. “So none of you can leave this place any more than a Man or a hobbit can leave Middle-earth, even though it isn't really your home.”

“It is our home, for now, and the only ones who have regretted the choice are those like Sauron and Melkor and Saruman, who could not be content with any will but their own, and wished to refashion the world to suit their own designs. Still, I did leave it, once, though not through any intent of my own.”

When the hobbit looked at him, puzzled, he explained. “I was bound to mortal flesh when I fought the Balrog, and I knew quite well that I had no chance of defeating it without losing my own life. That meant giving up the success of my own mission so that you might succeed in yours. I accepted my own failure to help ensure yours, because even though I knew of no one else who might have any hope of directing the resistance to Sauron, it was more important that you be able to carry on a task which I knew in my heart could not be achieved by another. It mattered little what became of me, so long as you had a chance to succeed. The Valar had not intended for us to die in that fashion. They had planned for us to return to Aman after our tasks were finished, and relinquish the mortal shell as you witnessed earlier. When my body died there atop Zirak-zigil, I was cast adrift from life in a manner I could not control. I was so weakened by the long battle and two thousand years of life trapped in a mortal body, I was unable to take form in a fana. I was lost, without direction of any kind. I did not remember it then, but now I know that Lord Eru saved me from becoming lost forever, because He approved of what I had done in sacrificing myself, and my pride, to save what was most important: the future of Middle-earth. For a while, I returned to the Timeless Halls and there was with Him again before He returned me to my home in Aman, to be sent back to Endorë to complete my tasks. I was in His presence only a brief time, but it was a magnificent gift, one I do not think any other of my people here in Arda have ever been given. I feel much nearer to Him now than I have since I first came to this world. There is no reward I could ever imagine that could equal this.”

“I should think not,” Frodo had to agree. “It's all quite incredible to me, but I don't doubt that what you say is true, merely beyond my imagination, at the moment. For now, it has been more than enough to see the reality of this place, and the people who live here. When I first read the tales Bilbo translated about the Great Powers in the West, I never dared to think that someday, I would actually find myself in their company! It all seems quite above me, but it has been both an honor and a delight.”

“I'm glad you have enjoyed it. You have not yet seen all there is to see of Aman, of course, and wherever you wish to go, you will be welcome. This is now your home as well, for as long as you choose to remain here, and few places will ever be forbidden to you.”

The hobbit's eyes sparkled with mild mischief. “Truly? If so, there is one place I would very much like to see, if I may.”

“Unless you wish to enter the Halls of Mandos or the private chambers of the Lord and Lady atop Taniquetil, you have only to ask.”

“Splendid! Then I should like to see your home.”

The Maia blinked, surprised by the request. “ My home? Why that, when there is so much else you might choose? My home, I fear, is far less impressive than even the smallest and simplest of hobbit holes.”

“Still, it is your home, and I would like to see it. Ever since you told me what you could of the truth about yourself, I have wondered what your home here might be like, since in Middle-earth, you had none.”

“But why?”

Frodo sighed. “Because all my life, especially after Bilbo took me in to care for me, I have known of you. I remember the first time you came to visit when I was living in Bag End, and in my young foolishness, I asked Bilbo if you were typical of the Big Folk or just especially rude, since when hobbits go visiting, they wear their very best, not old and worn rags. He scolded me for not thinking before speaking — though he was relieved I had spoken those words to him and not to you. He reminded me that I was living a life of privilege, and that others in the world needed to work very hard to provide the comforts we enjoyed, people who had very little and would never be wealthy, no matter how hard they labored. He told me that your work required you to travel almost constantly, all over the face of Middle-earth, through harsh and distant lands of which I knew nothing. He said that though I was then too young to understand it, someday, if I did not let my head swell too large with self-importance and filled it with learning rather than pride, I might eventually be able to see that you were more than just a dirty and ragged old man who occasionally came about looking for a place to rest for a few days.”

He remembered with faint shame his first arrogant reaction to his guardian's scolding, and how time had proved Bilbo's words. “He was right, I didn't understand it then, and at first, I was angry with Bilbo for treating me like a child. I was, of course, so it took a bit before I realized that he was only telling me the truth for my own good, so I wouldn't grow up to be like Lobelia or some of the other well-off hobbits everyone hated because of their snobbish attitudes. It was an unpleasant run-in with her that did the trick, in fact. I decided I wanted to be more like Bilbo than like her, so I did my best to grow up properly and become the kind of person who could see past the clothes a person wore. It took a long time — I don't think I truly finished growing up that way until I accepted the task of taking the Ring to Mordor — but at least by the next time you visited, I had learned enough to try to look beyond the appearance to the person. It was certainly worth the effort. I grew very fond of you very quickly after that, and when I asked you about yourself and you told me you had no home, only a few places here and there where you could spend a day or two as a welcome guest, I was terribly sad. I couldn't understand why. I still believed you were just a Man, and I thought perhaps your family had forced you to leave, disowned you, and that you were now so poor and outcast, you would need to spend the rest of your life depending on the mercy of strangers, or a few friends like Bilbo. That hardly seemed fair to me, because I could see no reason for anyone to dislike you so. You were always very kind to Bilbo and I, and I remember how patient you were with all my childish questions about the wide world. You knew so much and were really very seldom cross, and I couldn't understand why someone somewhere wasn't willing to at least bring you into their household as a teacher.

“I did ask Bilbo about that, and he told me that there were people who had made you such offers, but you could not accept them. You had work to do that would not permit you such a luxury, though he didn't fully understand it. I thought that even sadder. In the Shire, we're taught to respect our elders and give them such comforts and honor as we can in their old age. You seemed to me to be older than even the most ancient gaffer in Hobbiton, but still you would not end your work. Now, I know why, but then, I understood only how sad it seemed, that you would probably die somewhere in the wilderness, still doing your work, and no one would ever know what had happened to you, only that you went away and never returned.

“But now, I know a good deal more — I know the truth. And even if it is no more than a spot in the woods where you go to rest from time to time, I should like to see the place you call your home, if it's not too much to ask.”

“One could hardly call it that,” Olórin sighed, then smiled. “If that is what you wish, then I shan't object. I suppose there will be time enough for you to discover all the things of greater interest Aman has to offer. Truth be told, I am glad of the chance to share this part of my life with you, even though I would have much preferred had it come about in ways that caused you less pain. Not possible, I know, but I have regretted my own inadequacy ever since the day I first began to suspect the truth about Bilbo's Ring. You and he are my friends, and I have always loved you dearly, but I could not think of any way to bring about the Ring's destruction without involving you in dangers you should never have had to face. For that, I beg your forgiveness, though I know now that this fate was appointed for both of us, long ago.”

“And because it was, no forgiveness is necessary,” the hobbit assured his friend with a smile. “I've always known that you did try your best to find another way, but if we were meant to carry out the tasks we were given, there really wasn't anything you could have done to change my fate, was there?”

“No. Our paths were set by others, though I still regret that yours was so painful. I would have spared you that much, if I could.”

“I know. But I am content, really. It was sad to leave the Shire, but in time, I think I will feel quite happy here. If I had come all alone, I would have preferred to stay behind, come what may, but knowing I have friends here, and always will, helps a great deal.”

“It does indeed,” Olórin agreed. “I felt much the same when I was first sent to Middle-earth as an Istar. I felt quite alone at first, since the others had come before me and had gone off to follow their own paths. I eventually found familiar faces among the peoples I visited in my travels, which was a comfort, although they did not, and could not, recognize me. But this is your first night here. Would it not be easier for you to spend it in the company of those you know best?” He nodded toward Bilbo and Elrond and other Elves whom Frodo had met either in Middle-earth or on the ship during the crossing.

Frodo glanced at them, then shook his head. “As you said, there will be time enough for everything. Bilbo has always loved the Elves, and I know he will be happiest with them. For now, this is what I want, unless you feel I'm prying into your personal affairs.”

The Maia's smile became wry with amusement. “No, but I would not have your first day in the Blessed Realm end on a note of disappointment.”

“I'm sure it won't. Do you live very far away?”

“Far enough, though distance, you will find, may not always have great meaning here, as can also be said of time. Shadowfax will make little bother of it, but the dawn is not far off. If you are willing to wait a little longer, you will be able to see more of the lands between Valmar and Lórien than would be visible to you under the stars.”

The hobbit was startled when he gazed eastward and saw through the great pass in the mountains that the skies were indeed growing light, anticipating dawn. “I hadn't realized how much time had passed. It seems only a few hours at most. Is that what you meant by time having little meaning, here?”

“Not precisely,” Olórin admitted with a chuckle. “This I think was more a case of hobbit perception, never quite noticing the hours fly past when they are enjoying themselves. Which I trust you did.”

“Oh, yes, very much. Bilbo thought there might be some kind of grand party when we arrived, but I don't think even he quite had this in mind. It certainly has been a very full day.”

He paused to reflect on all that had happened since the ship had landed. “Gan—Olórin,” he corrected himself, adamantly shaking his head when he saw his friend begin to speak. “No, don't tell me it makes no difference what I call you. It may not matter to you, but it matters very much to me. Names are a very precious thing, and if it truly makes no difference to you, then let me choose which of yours I prefer. I know enough of other languages to understand something of what they mean. Mithrandir is a rather lovely sounding name, but you haven't been gray in several years, nor are you a pilgrim any longer. And though I used Gandalf out of the same habit as everyone else in the Shire, I think it just as silly to continue using a name that made the mistake of presuming you were some kind of Elf. What does Olórin mean?”

The Maia's expression was full of good humor. “That, I fear, is very difficult to translate properly. The most ancient of the Elvish tongues is quite complex, if also musical, and often its words can have many nuances of meaning, depending on how they are used. Were it to be translated as literally as possible into the Common Tongue, it would mean one of clear vision, but that does not accurately convey the intended meaning. Those who gave me the name were not referring to the vision of one's eyes, nor even the visions of one's dreams, but rather the kind of visions one beholds in the mind's eye when one is attempting to construct in their thoughts something they might wish to fashion in physical reality, as, for instance, a work of art or poetry, or the plans one lays before attempting to accomplish a particular deed. They were speaking of the vision of imagination and creativity and inspiration, so I was told, and I suppose that is fair enough, since much of what I have done in my time in Arda has been an effort to help guide and inspire those who wished to make this world a better place.”

He laughed. “When I told the person who first called me this that they might have chosen some name less ambiguous in its interpretation, he replied that I could simply think of it as meaning dreamer, if I preferred. Perhaps that is the best translation, after all.”

Frodo smiled broadly and chuckled. “Perhaps it is, though if you had told me this years ago, when you were in one of your more peevish tempers, I would have thought it most inappropriate. But now, I find it quite suitable, and Olórin is the name I would like to use. I think it says more about you, and who you are, than any of the others.”

“I suppose it does. It's certainly less ungainly than my Valarin name, with which I will not burden you, as it is seldom used now, even among the Ainur. And if that is what you prefer, then I shan't argue with your choice again. But I believe you were going to say something that had nothing to do with my names.”

Frodo chuckled, appreciating the fact that his old friend never seemed to miss a thing. “Yes, I was, wasn't I? I was just wondering what they were going to do with... with... well, with the body you left. If mortals don't ordinarily come here, or die here, I don't suppose there would be any use for a burial grounds. Do they just plan to throw it away or destroy it?”

It was an odd question, but it had been smoldering at the back of the hobbit's mind all evening long. Those who had taken away the litter had seemed to treat it and its burden with utmost respect, but the swiftness with which it had been whisked away made him wonder if such things made the people here feel so uncomfortable, they wanted to be rid of it as quickly as possible.

The Maia's expression softened as he considered his reply to the question. In his eyes, as Frodo looked more closely, he saw a sea of knowledge and compassion and terribly deep wisdom that gave life to so many things, Frodo was sure he would never be able to grasp the full depth of it. That this person still cared for him and loved him as a dear friend stirred a small shiver deep inside the hobbit, for he was beginning to see beyond the changes of name and appearance to the being who had lived a shuttered life inside the confinements and restrictions of flesh, to help save a world he loved that was not his own.

Perhaps Olórin heard the thoughts flitting through Frodo's mind just then, or perhaps he was simply wise enough to perceive the hobbit's feelings without the need for such confirmation. Whatever the case, he spoke gently when he replied. “They will not destroy it,” he said simply. “There is a strange fascination in many of my people for things of the physical world. Not in the fashion that dragons build up great hoards, but in the way that one can come to respect what has been done with or by something even after its purpose has been served.

"Of course, not all the Ainur are immune to that baser lust for possessions; it was much of what drove Melkor — and Sauron, and Saruman — into evil, for they were not content to share, only to have. In that, I am very unlike those of my people whom I have been required to oppose; I have never yearned to own anything for myself alone, and have always been satisfied in sharing with others. That is why I was never comfortable taking gifts from you or any of my other friends in Endorë. I did not wish to reject your generosity, but I was more than content to do so by sharing the ordinary hospitality you showed me as your guest. It was more than enough for me, and was to my way of thinking a truer expression of our friendship than any material gift. But I understood that to refuse utterly would be an insult to you, for hobbit ways were different, and I also understood that you would never quite comprehend why I would only accept the smallest and most insignificant of gifts.”

“I didn't when I was a child,” Frodo agreed, “but I did by the time we left Minas Tirith. Things are not so important as friends. The one weighs us down, and the other lightens our burdens.”

“Just so. Here in Valinor, my people do not have bodies of true flesh, and can generally change from one form to another with little effort, yet we still exist within a physical world. The mountains and grass and rocks and trees and waters here are as solid and real as those in Endorë; those things that live do not die or decay simply because they exist in the presence of immortal powers that hinder them from fading — and yet, the seasons change, much as they do in Middle-earth. My people are deathless, but this place has known death. Long ago, the Elves fought among themselves, and many were slain; Melkor conspired with Ungoliant to poison and kill the Two Trees that once gave Aman light. The bodies of the Elves were buried in Eldamar, and what is left of the Trees still remains on Ezellohar, a hill outside the western gates of the city, beyond the Máhanaxar. It was once a beautiful, green place, but the poisons of Ungoliant blackened it even as it killed the Trees. Yet what was left is still there, and much honored by my people, for it reminds us not only of the beauty that once was, but chastens us to remember how we must ever protect that which we love from the cruelty of evil. I was told that a place had been prepared there, to receive and preserve the bodies of the Istari when we returned and were at last allowed to resume our lives as unfettered Maiar. Only one place was needed, but there the body will stay until the next Change of the World, in memory of the Third Age and all that was sacrificed to bring about the dawn of the next. I suppose others might go there to look upon it from time to time, to know better that which they did not themselves experience, but for me, it is enough to know that the end of my mission was an honorable one.”

“It was. You don't suppose, do you, that the other Wizards might come back someday? You once told me there were five.”

Olórin nodded. “There were, but they will not return. Curumo — Saruman — gave up that privilege when he betrayed our mission, and refused time and again to repent of his wickedness. Aiwendil — Radagast — may, perhaps, change his mind someday and wish to return, but I do not think so. During the time after you returned to the Shire and before our departure from the Havens, there were a number of matters I attempted to settle, once and for all. Radagast the Brown was one of them. He has not forgotten that he is a Wizard, but he no longer remembers that he is also a Maia. To his mind, he is a part of Endorë and must remain there, much like Tom Bombadil. I doubt any harm will come of this, for his was never an evil spirit, but he has forgotten too much and fallen too far from our original purpose. Unless some great cataclysm awakens his memories of what he truly is, he will, I fear, never remember.”

“But what of the other two? Did the same thing happen to them?”

The Maia sighed. “No. Alatar and Pallando were lost to us long ago. They were appointed to tasks in the East, far from all the lands you know; the Men of those regions called them Morinehtar and Rómestámo, names which I suspect are completely unfamiliar to you. During the years when Sauron was gathering his strength and attempting to take shape again, his spirit found and slowly ate away at Pallando's heart. He had been a servant of Lord Námo here in Aman, and matters of death and sorrow fascinated him more than matters of life and joy. He went into a part of the far east of Middle-earth, where the people lived through bitter hardship because the lands were harsh, barely fertile enough to sustain life. At first, he took pity on them and tried to help them, but he was not wise in the ways he chose. Thus was Sauron's shadow able to creep into his heart, and slowly it infected his pity with impatience, tempting him toward goals other than that for which he had been sent. The means of his help began to change. He fancied that he would be able to serve these poor people not by teaching them how to improve their lives, but by using his abilities and knowledge to thwart death. He became a necromancer, telling the people that he would raise their dead again if they would but follow him and give him reverence. It did not last, for his power was not as great as he imagined it to be. Very soon, the people realized the lie in his words, for he could not grant true life, only animate dead flesh into an appearance of life that was but a bitter parody. Before long, the people of that land rose up against him, and Pallando was slain, but in the folly of his resistance, he swore terrible oaths against Eru Ilúvatar for denying him the power of true life-giving, and thus he was denied return to the Undying Lands when he fell. That in itself was tragic, but worse was the fact that from him, Sauron drew power and considerable knowledge of death, which he used to disguise himself in Dol Guldur, as a shadow of evil called the Necromancer.”

Frodo shuddered at the tale. “Could he rise again, as Sauron did, and threaten Middle-earth?”

Olórin shook his head. “No, have no fear of that. Pallando was never as powerful as Sauron, and the Dark Lord took much of his innate strength from him ere he died. Much the same happened to Saruman, and thus, neither of them will ever again be able to take shape and harm the peoples of Endorë. At most, they might be felt in dark places, as shapeless and nameless rumors of impotent fear. In many ways, Alatar fell more thoroughly than they. He was the messenger of Lord Oromë, and like Saruman, he stepped forward quickly when Lord Manwë asked who was willing to go. He knew much concerning the lands of the east, for Oromë had explored them thoroughly long before the Elves first awakened. If the west of Middle-earth fell, those lands would next fall under Sauron's eye, and the Valar were concerned that the peoples who lived there should not be forgotten and left defenseless, primitive though they were. Alatar was a great servant of Oromë, and had traveled to those regions before, in other guises, in the service of his master. He and Pallando had been friends since the earliest days, and when Alatar asked if they might travel together as companions in those empty lands, the request was easily granted.

“Whether it came about as a true desire of his own heart or yet another of Sauron's machinations, I do not know, but it was not long before Alatar began to see how easily the Easterners were influenced by even the simplest of his powers. At first, he thought this would make his task easy to accomplish, but very soon, he felt the temptations of their reverence. They called him a god, and rather than deny it, Alatar accepted it and encouraged it. He drew worshipers to himself, instructed them in rituals of dark sorcery, and utterly fell away from his true task. In his arrogance, he united some parts of those peoples under his own will, and corrupted them into rejecting both the Valar and Lord Eru, much as Sauron had done in Númenor. Before his own mistakes were made, Pallando saw this happening to his friend and fled out of fear, only to eventually fall in a pale mimicry of what Alatar had done. And Alatar himself was later trapped by minions of Sauron when the Dark Lord grew stronger. He would have been taken to the pits of Barad-dûr and either broken or enslaved to the Enemy's will, but in his fear and pride, he took his own life rather than risk death at Sauron's hands. It was a purely selfish act, not a sacrifice of self, and he too was denied return to the West. His spirit has faded even more than Sauron's, and though he will never again trouble the west of Middle-earth, his influence remains in the hideous cults he founded in the east. They, too, might dwindle and be forgotten someday, but for now, they deceive the minds of some Men into believing that they might order the world through arts of powerless sorcery.”

He sighed. “It is a strange tale, the fates of the Heren Istarion, one of which I knew only some details, until I was freed of my mortal body and was again my true self. And it is a sad story, I think, for so much that was good and held so much strength and wisdom and promise failed utterly.”

“But not all,” Frodo reminded him, smiling at his friend in reassurance. “It is a sad story in some ways, but the ending is a happy one, to my mind. Five went, but one did return. None might have returned at all, if you had not been wise enough to resist the temptation I foolishly offered you. And you made no mistake when you saved us from the Balrog. It broke my heart, but it also gave me greater resolve than I had had before, to see the quest through to the end. I couldn't bear to think that you might have died in vain, no matter how frightened I was of the road still ahead. Waking in Ithilien to find that you were alive again was the best reward I could have ever asked for, then or now. Not everything was lost, and some very special things were found again.”

“Indeed they were,” the Maia agreed, his expression full of warmth. “If you wish to see where my body was taken, I will lead you there, but for myself, I feel no need to look upon it again. It is enough to know that it will serve as a reminder to my people of a disaster that was very narrowly avoided, through the wisdom of Eru Ilúvatar, Who sent me back again.”

Frodo shook his head, looking off to the east, where, through the pass of the Calacirya, he could see the skies swiftly brightening with the beautiful pale colors of the coming dawn. “Perhaps someday, but not now. I was merely curious, because I couldn't imagine what the customs might be among a people who seldom, if ever, dealt with such things.”

He looked up at his friend, and was struck once again by the profound difference between his current appearance and that which Frodo had known for so long. He had thought at first that it would take a great deal of getting used to, but already, he was growing comfortable with it. Somehow, he had always known that under the trappings and guises of antiquity, there lay a spirit of great wisdom and compassion and joy, yearning to be freed from the fetters laid upon him by his mission. He had seen it in the wizard's eyes whenever he was faced with the need to watch a friend in sadness or grief or pain: the desire to do more than he was allowed to ease their suffering and give them more than just the kindling of hope. He had felt that compassion turned upon himself during the difficult journey between Rivendell and the Bridge, the sense that if the wizard could have done anything to relieve Frodo's burden without endangering all of Middle-earth, he would have, without hesitation. Only the knowledge that in taking the Ring, he would become more terrible a Ring-Lord than Sauron himself held him to the course he knew he must take, even though his heart ached for the pains he knew all too well Frodo would suffer before the task was finished.

Many who live deserve death. And some who die deserve life. Can you give it to them? After his escape from Moria, those words had been a bitter memory to the hobbit, who had wished with all his might that he could return life to the friend who had so bravely died for him. In the end, it was the memory of Gandalf's words and his willing sacrifice that had prevented Frodo from killing Gollum, which in turn had saved them all from ruin. Thus it was that ultimately, Middle-earth and all who lived there were saved from the oppression of evil by the compassion of one very loving being who was not even a part of the world he had come to protect. Looking at him now and realizing just how much of himself he had been forced to hide and suppress and deny in order to fulfill the requirements of the mission laid upon him, Frodo was overwhelmed with feelings of gratitude and respect and affection.

He suddenly turned his face away; tears filled his eyes. What had he done to deserve this friendship?

He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder, and through it the empathy of the one who had touched him, more than physically. “Are you all right, Frodo?” came the equally gentle question, full of concern. “Perhaps we should not have expected so much of you on your first day in a strange new land....”

The hobbit shuddered for more reasons than even he could understand. “Oh, no,” he gasped out shakily, doing his best to swallow his tears. “No, no, that's not it at all. Everyone has been wonderful to me, so kind and understanding — as you always were, and still are. It's just that I've finally realized everything you gave up to come help us foolish mortals, especially this foolish mortal. I thought myself lucky to count you as my friend when not even you knew the full truth about yourself. Now....”

He looked up at the Maia, dashing away the tears he could not contain. “I'm not sure I deserve your friendship, but I'm so very grateful for it, I can find no words to express it.”

Olórin smiled warmly. “None are needed, my dear hobbit. We've had this discussion before, after you awoke in Ithilien, and though some things have changed in appearance — myself most notably — nothing has changed in substance. We are what we were meant to be in Lord Eru's mind, and whatever purpose we serve, all are equally noble and worthy so long as we fulfill it with a good and honest heart. Varda kindled the stars, but what use would their light serve if there were no one to look upon it? Aulë raised up the mountains, but they would be naught but heaps of cold stone unless other hands worked it, or other creatures came to live among them. Yavanna brought forth the trees and plants and flowers, but if no bird nested in their branches and no creature ate of their fruit, they would be only weeds. The ocean is naught but a vast pool of water if no fish swims in it to make it home and no ship sails upon it to travel from land to land. The wind is nothing but noise and movement without living creatures to fly upon it and breathe its air for life. Even a dream is nothing if it cannot serve to ease burdens, offer small insight, or bring inspiration. The Powers may have wrought mighty things, but even the greatest creation needs to serve a purpose beyond its mere existence. Thus what seem to be small and humble things have equal use in the world; neither is greater or lesser than the other. We are what we are, and so long as we have done our best according to our abilities, we are equals. Do you not understand this even now, Frodo? I have naught but respect and admiration for your ability to do what I could not. If you see the same in what I did to fulfill my mission, which you could not have done, then we are the same. That you are called a hobbit and I am called a Maia matters not. As Eru Ilúvatar loves us both as His children, so we can love each other best by accepting each other as equals, in His eyes and one another's. That will never change.”

“And you would do well to remember these matters, Frodo Baggins,” a deep but quiet voice said nearby. “Wisest of our people Olórin may be, but he is also as stubborn as he is humble. He speaks truly to you, but you will find he has a tendency to forget that such wisdom applies to himself as well. We would be grateful if you would remind him of this from time to time, since you appear to have his ear better than we who have known him far longer.”

Frodo looked up to see the Elder King standing close by, smiling down at them with great good humor. As the hobbit quickly clambered to his feet, Olórin winced faintly, and sighed. “Lord Manwë....” he began.

But the Vala dismissed what he had been about to say with a gesture that might have been called imperious, under other circumstances. “Do not argue with me, Olórin,” he said, not angrily, but as an elder might, in good spirits, chide a stubborn youngster. His eyes sparkled with his humor, prompting Frodo to notice that they were the same intense shade of blue as Olórin's. “We have debated this issue often down the years, and this time, you will not win the quarrel, for Eru Ilúvatar agrees with me. You have done all that was asked of you, and more. The embassy of five was never meant to be fulfilled by one, and much though you might protest that it was Lord Eru's widening of our plans that enabled you to succeed, all that you accomplished could not have been done in the brief days between your return to life and the downfall of Sauron. The resistance of Endorë's people to the Dark Lord began long before his destruction, and all that time was needed to bring it about so that with or without your direct intervention, they could carry on to the conclusion, be that ending for good or ill. You make little of your own part in this, but it was in truth two thousand years of diligent work that bore the fruit of success in the end. Your humility does you credit and has, I deem, saved you from the folly of pride which might have proved your undoing in the temptation of the Ring, but do not be so humble that you insult those who would rightfully honor you. If all our works are of equal worth in the eyes of Lord Eru, as you say, then yours are as well, and we praise Him in acknowledging what you have done.”

The Maia sighed in surrender as he rose more gracefully to his feet. “I know, my lord, but as I once told Lord Eru, old habits take at least a little time to be overcome. If you wish me to change my ways so suddenly, then you run the risk that I will not know how to deal properly with such overwhelming praise, and might become quite consumed by it. Such things have happened before, have they not?”

Manwë chuckled. “Indeed, and I will gladly permit you this grace — so long as you do not use it as an excuse to move so slowly, the end result is the same as if you had made no effort at all. Do not let his humility deceive you, Frodo. As I said, this Maia is indeed the wisest of all our people, but he is also the most stubborn. He has long since found ways to get round us, because we often do not act quickly enough to perceive his cleverness in avoiding certain things. But he has not been as successful with the Eruhíni, because you must, by your nature, act and react in ways we would consider quite hasty. That seems both a puzzle and a blessing to us, and in this case, we would be indebted to you if you would keep watch over Olórin so that he might learn once and for all that there is no evil in accepting both the well-earned praise of others and the truth of one's own self.”

Olórin regarded Manwë in a faintly disgruntled fashion Frodo would not have dared. “I already know these things, my lord....”

The Vala was blithely unperturbed. “Then the watch will be an easy one, and you will spare your friend needless effort.”

He then smiled more broadly, settling his hands on the Maia's shoulders. “Come now, Olórin, I know it has been a long and trying time for you, these many years spent away from Aman as our messenger. What is true for Frodo is true for you as well. Let go of the burden as you let go of the body in which you were sent. Part of the joy we celebrate is on your behalf, and rightfully so, for you accomplished what no one else could, and did what we had tried to do so many times before, without ever fully succeeding. Whether you first went because you wished to go or because I commanded it does not matter — and yes, I know well that this is what weighs upon your heart and makes you unwilling to accept any honor. Though you are my servant, you might still have refused my command, as Frodo might have refused to bear the Ring, and things would now be quite different. I prodded you into taking the onus, but you chose to accept it, and did not allow the manner in which you came to bear it to hinder your fulfillment of the task. Indeed, that very unwillingness at the onset makes your final success all the more sweet, for there can be no doubt that you did what was asked of you solely out of your love for Middle-earth and the Eruhíni, and not for the glory of victory. Yet your heart still feels much of the pain and sadness you knew as an Istar. Go now and find anew the joy and peace which you lost.”

The Maia regarded the taller Vala for a moment, still and silent; then he smiled, in earnest. “If this is another command, my lord, I accept it gladly, for I very much want to know those things again, as I did before our enemies brought so much suffering to the world. But do not make Frodo responsible for my behavior, even in jest. He is here to find healing and rest from his own pains and burdens, not to take up another even more impossible task.”

Manwë laughed, a sound of pure happiness that could have made Frodo smile even in the darkest pits of Mordor. “Very good! I see you are regaining your perspective, as well as your unique sense of humor, for you know full well that there are those among us who have often called you impossible when you were at your most stubborn. Of course, I would not ask any such thing of our honored guest. But he wishes to see your home, and I think this a wise plan.” He turned his smile to Frodo. “For where else in all Valinor can such peace and healing be found as in the gardens of Lórien, where Estë the Healer also dwells?”

“I had thought the same thing,” Olórin admitted, the shadow of discomfort fading from him at last as he looked down at Frodo. “But I did not wish to seem as if I were forcing the notion upon you. In time, I knew you would want to see as much of Aman as you could, but if at first you felt most comfortable with people you knew and places that seemed more familiar, I did not want to hinder that choice with my own suggestions.”

Frodo laughed. “And other than you, is there anyone here whom I know better, besides Bilbo? I don't think he will miss me at all for several days at least, and while he becomes acquainted with the people and places he wishes to know, I see no reason why I should not take the opportunity to do the same. If he knows where I am, I'm sure he won't worry in the slightest.”

“Then so it shall be,” Manwë approved. “Whatever you wish to see or to have or to do, Frodo Baggins, you have only to ask. Neither the Valar nor the Maiar nor any of the Eldar who dwell in the Blessed Realm will refuse you, save in matters over which we have been given no authority. For though we tried time and again to repair the damage done to Arda by the malice of Melkor and his servants, it delights us to see the subtle power of the One at work, using the song Olórin sang so long ago to fashion an instrument that would prove the undoing of evil's might. Go in peace, and find as you may the healing and happiness and understanding you so richly deserve.” He laid his hand upon Frodo's head as he spoke his blessing, then smiled at both the halfling and the Maia before departing.

The first rays of the morning sun broke through the pass of the Calacirya and flooded the lands to the west of the great mountains with light. It was a beautiful sunrise, the most beautiful Frodo could recall. Yesterday, he had wondered if the dawn was bringing with it the beginnings of a day that might end less happily than it had begun. His negative anticipation had proved to be completely unfounded, and he was finding it possible to believe, at long last, that a better future lay before him, one without the horrible lingering pains that had plagued him since he had taken up the burden of the Ring. For a moment, as the memories of what had driven him from his beloved home welled up, a sharp pain lanced through his left shoulder, at once hot as fire and cold as ice. He closed his eyes, praying that he was not about to lapse back into that misery just when he was finally beginning to feel free of it; almost in answer, he felt a hand settle upon his shoulder, and the pain vanished. He opened his eyes and looked up at Olórin, whose hand still rested on his shoulder, but whose eyes were fixed on the rising sun.

Frodo then remembered something the Elder King had said. “What did Lord Manwë mean when he spoke of the song you sang?” he wondered, hoping the question was not impertinent. “I suppose I knew that you must have taken part in the Great Music Bilbo's books mentioned, at least after I understood what you truly are, but I never thought to wonder what you sang about.”

Amusement flickered across the Maia's face like glints of light on ripples of clear water before his glance shifted to Frodo. “Nothing as specific as those things Lord Manwë and the other Valar imagined in their songs. I was very young, back then, as were we all, and I felt myself to be quite the most insignificant of all the Ainur, the least of even the Maiar. I would look at all my kindred and then at myself, and wonder if what I was was nothing more than the smallest afterthought of Lord Eru's mind, a little thing fashioned from all the crumbs of half-formed thoughts left over after the others had sprung forth. I am not certain why, but I have long felt that I was the last of the Ainur to come into being, which made my other notions all the more plausible. If I was the youngest, the last, I was surely the least of all. I seemed to be just an echo of the others; I felt nothing unique to myself alone. I could see no special gift or quality in me that the others did not already possess, save perhaps insignificance. When Lord Eru commanded us to sing, I did not know what to do. Nothing would come to me but repetitions of what I heard from those around me. So for a while, I stayed silent and listened. But as I listened, I began to realize that in all the beautiful and glorious themes I heard, there was none that sang of the small and the simple, of the humble and the weak. Those were things I knew very well indeed, so that was what I sang of, very quietly and rather briefly, before the Music finally ended. I was certain no one had heard me, or if they had, they paid me no mind. What use was there, after all, in unimportance?”

He sighed at the memories of his own youthful naivete. “But Lord Eru hears everything, and He heard my song as clearly as He heard all the others. I had no notion that He would actually make use of it in His creation of the world, but when I saw the vision of it as the others did, I was moved to understand that what is simple and small can be a very lovely and important part of greater things, and that some of the most wonderful works are constructed of many lesser elements brought together from many different sources to create something far greater. In the minds of all the One's children, both the Ainur and the Eruhíni, that is the strength and the power of imagination, to make a paradise out of a barren wasteland, to make magnificent music from the emptiness of air. That was my gift, my portion of Lord Eru's thought: imagination and creativity as they are reflected in the clear visions of simplicity and generosity, not grandeur and possessiveness. Seeing that part of myself in Ëa, I loved it at once, and wanted to do all I could to help nurture it in reality. I came with the other Ainur for that purpose, and I have never regretted my choice. But it was not until I was sent to Middle-earth as an Istar that I saw a very unique way in which Lord Eru made use of my song in a time of great need. He used its spirit in fashioning the hobbits, which I always suspected but never knew for certain until He told me of it, after my death in Moria. Curious, is it not?”

Frodo had been listening in amazement, but growing comprehension as well. He laughed, delighted. “It is, but it explains so very much! I'd often wondered why you cared at all about the Shire and all the hobbits. None of the other Big People ever really seemed to, and though I asked, you never were able to give an answer I could fully grasp. I supposed you didn't quite understand why yourself, and now it seems I was right. But it makes perfect sense, in hindsight. Have you told this to Bilbo? I think he would be delighted to hear it!”

Olórin shook his head. “No, as I said, I had no real knowledge of the truth until after my return from death, and since then, there has been no opportunity, or reason, to speak of it to anyone. While we were still in Middle-earth, Bilbo would have been too weary to understand, and it will take time for him to regain his full strength here.” Mischief glittered in his eyes. “When the time is right, I think perhaps you should tell him. You haven't had many opportunities to teach him something he doesn't already know.”

Frodo laughed even more merrily as he glanced in the old hobbit's direction. “How very true! But you're right, now wouldn't be the proper time. I want to let him know where I'm going, if you don't mind. I suspect he wouldn't notice I'm missing for at least a week, but I shouldn't want him to worry, if he does.”

“I doubt that he will,” the Maia agreed, “though I'm sure he will appreciate such politeness, even if he does not always remember to return it. But we had best hurry, then, since it looks as if he is about to depart for Tirion without you!” That did indeed appear to be the case, so still laughing, Frodo hurried off to inform his kinsman of his plans, eager to begin what was already promising to be a wonderful new life. He did not notice how Olórin's gaze followed him, nor the shadow of concealed pain that had crept into his eyes.