VI

When he had closed the door behind him, Olórin stood for some long moments, leaning against it, his eyes closed as he felt Frodo drift off into sleep. Carefully, gently, he reached out with his own abilities, probing the old wound in the halfling's shoulder and the darkness that still lingered in it like bitter poison. He knew what day it was back in Middle-earth, and had been wary ever since the sunrise; all through the day, he had felt the growing presence of pain and darkness emanating from it. He could not simply take it away, but he could at least provide some temporary protection to shield Frodo against the memories that awakened every time the pain burned anew. He did not have the healing skills of Estë, but at least he could offer a temporary palliative to the hobbit's suffering. When he was as certain as he could be that Frodo would indeed sleep peacefully for a time, free of fear, the Maia opened his eyes and stepped away from the door.

“Lord Irmo?” he said softly, calling to the Lord of Lórien.

The Vala answered at once. “I hear you, Olórin,” he said, also quietly, a moment before his tall fana, clad in silver and dusky blue, appeared near the center of the hall. “And I have seen what you saw. Darkness and evil have left dreadful marks on this young halfling, more terrible than I had thought when first I heard of it. Mine are not the skills to heal his body, though Estë will be able to do much for him, given time. His mind and his spirit, however, can be strengthened and healed, and this, I deem, will make Estë's tasks easier, if he is strengthened in his resistance and can break such holds as the shadow has over him.”

The Maia was both relieved and reassured by the Vala's confidence. “Then you will help him?”

The master of dreams smiled. “I will, but through you.”

Olórin's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed, perplexed. “And let him suffer longer than is necessary? My skills are not as great as yours, my lord....”

“Perhaps,” was the reply, and the word was not one of doubt. “In many matters, my power is greater than yours, but not in all. Would I value your advice and wisdom as a counselor if all you had to offer was mere validation for what I already knew? The Maiar do not have the breadth of ability with which we of the Valar were gifted, but in some things, your skills exceed our own. Only Lord Eru is omnipotent, and He bestowed His gifts upon all of us in His own ways for His own reasons. That you are the wisest of our people seems fitting to me, for in the humility of your station, you are able to speak such wisdom and be heard and heeded because you neither have nor crave any great position of power among our people. What you offer comes not from any desire for mastery or lordship, but from humble honesty. Who better, then, to offer counsel, who has no greater purpose than the good of all and obedience to the will of Lord Eru? Yes, you made errors of judgment in Endorë, but that was by cause of the diminishment you suffered, not the fault of any weakness you possessed when you were unfettered by flesh, as you are now again.

“And this, Olórin, is why any help I might have to offer Frodo will be best passed on to him through you. Although my skills in such healing are greater, you have an intimate understanding of the frailties and peculiarities of life in true flesh, which no other Ainu in Aman possesses, not even Melian. You know through long and difficult experience things of which I have no knowledge, of how existence within such a body visits pains and fears and limitations upon the spirit that dwells within. You can aid me in comprehending the suffering of your small friend, and I in turn will instruct you in how to help him be healed. I have no doubt that your knowledge of a fully incarnate life will also prove invaluable to Estë. But it will all take time, I fear. He was wounded by a monstrous evil, and only patience and persistence will cleanse it from him.”

The Maia did not argue with Irmo, but he sighed at his last words, and nodded. “I am afraid you are right. The healing of such injuries will not come swiftly, much as we might wish it to be otherwise. But will it help Frodo to tell him he must remain here in Lórien? His cousin's heart lies with the Elves, and I suspect Bilbo will want to remain with them, in Tirion or on Eressëa, or wherever those he calls friends have chosen to settle. Frodo will not want to be separated from him for as long as his healing might require.”

“It will not be an easy decision for him,” Irmo agreed. “And whatever choice he makes, in the end, it will be difficult for you.”

When the Istar looked away, the Vala also sighed, gently. “I am sorry, Olórin, truly. We did not consider well enough all of what might come to pass when we sent you and the others to Middle-earth, tied to bodies as of Men. We knew what it would do to your abilities, but we could not anticipate what we did not know ourselves, what such a life might do to your hearts. We were aware, of course, that mortals live in Arda for what seems to us but a few seasons before passing on beyond the circles of the world, but never had any of us lived among them as one of them, growing to love them as friends and kindred, only to lose them forever, far too soon. We thought only that they needed help and guidance to stand against the evil of Sauron, and that through the embassy of the Istari, it might be done in a way that would redress wrongs we had made of old. We did not imagine until it was too late, until you had long since departed, what it might do to those we sent when they returned to Aman.”

“Perhaps not,” Olórin answered quietly, looking back at the dream master with an expression of sad resignation. “But I knew, even before I was sent. This was not my first journey to Endorë. Even though most of my work in the First Age was among the Eldar, I came to know the Atani as well. I saw the pain mortals suffer at the separation of death; I have felt it myself, time and again. I know what it means to grow fond of someone, only to watch them die and be lost until the End. I had no doubt that living as one of them in truth and not as an Ainu would be even more difficult, which is part of why I resisted taking on such a burden when Lord Manwë first asked it of me.”

He stepped away from the door to the room in which Frodo was sleeping and moved to one of the windows that overlooked the veranda and the garden beyond. The sun filtering down through the leaves was warm and bright, but there were shadows even it could not dispel. “It is difficult now,” the Maia admitted, “to have brought with me two of the dearest friends I have known among the Eruhíni, well aware that no matter the power and blessing of this land and those who dwell in it, it will never be enough to take from them the Gift of Men and spare me the grief of that inevitable parting. I do not look forward to it, but I will not allow my own fears of what will someday come to pass to diminish what is precious now. They are still my friends. They have both earned this healing, and I will do whatever I can to help them find it so that they at least will know some time of peace and joy before they must give up life and move on to whatever fate is theirs by Lord Eru's design.”

He looked back at Irmo and smiled, very sadly. “I am grateful for your sympathy, my lord, but do not regret this overmuch. I did what I felt was right when I finally agreed to accept Lord Manwë's charge, and I accept this fate as well. I have loved all the Children of Ilúvatar too well for my own good. I blame no one for what happened, not even Sauron. This was my choice. If immortals will take the risk of meddling in the affairs of mortals, they must be willing to endure the consequences. I am. My concern now is for Frodo, not for myself. Bilbo did not suffer under the weight of the Ring as did he, nor was he ever wounded so deeply by the minions of evil. Since the dawn this morning, I have done what I can to protect Frodo from the pain of the wound he suffered three years ago near Amon Sul, but I can only stand between him and it and suffer it myself so that he will not. It is a terrible pain, but not beyond my ability to endure — and to keep silent so that he will not know what I have done, for he would surely protest if he knew. Yet I cannot take it from him forever, and I would see him healed in a more lasting way than this.”

Irmo agreed. “And so we shall do all we can to see it come about. Nienna will also help in this, for your sake as well as Frodo's. He is not the only one to have suffered in the cause of destroying Sauron and his Ring. There are many griefs we cannot avoid because they come without warning, and even those we see approaching cannot all be diverted, only weathered. Manwë's choice in sending you was not precisely in error, for there are none of our people who share your depth of love and compassion for all the Eruhíni, but perhaps it would have been better to send someone who cared less deeply and thus would not be hurt as bitterly by such partings.”

“And if this had been done, where would Middle-earth now be, my lord? Reunited and flourishing once more under a king who will rule wisely and with great thought for its future benefit, or under the heel of Sauron — or worse, subject to a tyrant of their own kind, another Ar-Pharazôn with dreams of glory and power and conquest?”

The Vala acknowledged the point with a slight nod. “All too likely, I fear. Once he fell to the lure of power, Curumo would have deposed Sauron only to replace him, and without such wisdom as you knew even diminished, there would ever have been the danger that the guidance of the Istari might turn to that of puppet-masters, allowing the Eruhíni to rule but forever standing behind the throne and directing those upon it. Still, knowing how you will give your all for the sake of others, I would have spared you this pain. I will do what is within my power to make certain the time left to the halflings will not be visited ever and anon by suffering.”

He turned his own silver eyes toward the room where Frodo slept, his thoughts searching the hobbit's slumbering mind and weighing what he found in those dreams. Presently, he took a deep breath, then loosed it quietly. “I see he holds his own share of conflict, wishing to be with his kinsman, yet desiring to stay here in this land that is so much like his own, to ease the loss he felt in forever being parted from it. You know them better than I, Olórin. Do you think it possible that Bilbo might be persuaded to come here, too, at least for a while? It would do both of them good to know the healing of Lórien, and once that work is well begun, they need not tarry here if they wish to reside elsewhere in Aman.”

Olórin considered the matter for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I see your plan, and I am certain it could be done. Bilbo has been very happy living in Elrond's house in Rivendell, but he has also missed the Shire. He would come to Lórien, I have no doubt, and having seen this part of it, would stay as long as is needed, especially if he knew it would help Frodo. And there are Elves nearby as well, at least one with whom he is already well acquainted, Glorfindel. He might be quite pleased by the notion of spending time in a land so like the Shire that also has inhabitants he perhaps would like to know better.”

“And residing here for a while would help restore to him a greater measure of the strength and vigor he has lost to mortal age. Even Estë cannot mend it permanently, but it would be enough to help the old one enjoy his time in Aman as fully as he may.”

The Vala's eyes narrowed slightly as he concentrated again upon Frodo and his condition, and what Olórin had already done to shield him from it, at least for the day. At length, he turned away from the door to face the Maia. “You have done as much for Frodo as any could, but I sense that he would not be so pleased with it if he knew the full truth, that his pain and suffering cannot be erased yet, only diverted to another, as you have taken it upon yourself.”

“Which is why I have said nothing of it to him,” the Istar admitted. “Frodo lost track of the days during the crossing; he does not know that today is the sixth of October back in the Shire. He would indeed object if he knew that to spare him the pain, I must take it upon myself, but I could do no less. It was even more painful, knowing that I might have been able to help him thus back in Middle-earth, had I not been bound and restricted and hampered by the diminishment of mortal flesh. Now, free of it, I have the means to deal with such suffering that he does not, nor is this to me the reminder of a terrible moment of weakness that it is to him. But the physical pain is less to me than the emotional suffering, and I will be glad when the day is over, for it is difficult at times to hide this from him. My hope is that before this day comes round once more, he will be sufficiently healed so that there will be no need for him to bear any pain, ever again.”

Irmo's bright eyes studied the Maia carefully, on more than a physical level. Olórin did not forbid his curiosity, since he knew well that Irmo was seeking out all he could find about every aspect of Frodo's condition, and any information the dream master might learn from such a study would ultimately be for the hobbit's benefit. When he was finished, a trace of a smile touched the Vala's face, though his eyes were filled with pity. “It does you great credit to be so willing to do this in his behalf. It is an act of true friendship, but it will only make the time of final parting more difficult for you.”

Olórin's own expression remained studiously neutral. “As I have said, it is but another of the consequences I accept. As his friend, I can do no less. I have had my heart broken before, Lord Irmo, many times, and at least once far more grievously. I shall endure this not only because I must, but because I know that when it comes, it will be but a part of Lord Eru's greater Music, and not a cruel rejection. For today, it was forgivable to act surreptitiously, so that Frodo's first full day in the Blessed Lands would not be marred by darkness, but he must soon know all of what is planned to help him in his healing.”

“Estë and Nienna and I will take counsel for this tonight, and we will discuss it with both of you as soon as we may. The evil that was done to this poor mortal was terrible, and it would be cruel and unjust to devise in haste a cure that will be even more painful than the wounds.”

Olórin concurred. “Once this day is past, the shadow of darkness and pain will pass with it for a while. Unless you ponder the matter until the spring, there should be ways enough to lighten his heart and help him find at least some rest and healing until a permanent solution is found.”

“We will find an answer sooner than that,” the Vala assured him, though at the moment, he felt more concern for the Maia than for the hobbit. “I suggest you also find rest, while you may. Two thousand years of unceasing labor is difficult even for one of our kind, and a single day free from the burden of flesh but weighted instead with suffering borne for another is not lightly brushed aside. I cannot command you as your liege lord, Olórin, for you are my counselor, not my servant. But as one who values both your wisdom and your friendship, I ask you to keep in mind your own welfare. You cannot help Frodo or any other if you give away so much of your strength, you can no longer stand. I see in your thoughts the responsibility you feel for having been the one who presented Frodo with the choice to bear the Ring to its destruction, but remember that you were also but an instrument of a greater will at work. The task fell to you because only you held true to your mission, but in no fashion were you to blame for the existence of such a need. You have told Bilbo that starting is too great a claim for any, and that only a small part is played in great deeds by any hero. It was wise counsel, and applies to you as well. You did not choose Frodo to carry the Ring any more than you yourself forged it. Had you borne some responsibility for its making, then you might well feel guilt in what was necessary to achieve its unmaking, but you did not. I know, it is easier to say than to do, especially when the well-being of those we love is involved, but recrimination will not heal what was done. You must not punish yourself for that which was not your fault.”

The Istar had looked away when Irmo had begun to offer his advice, again staring out the window at the dappled sunshine that knew nothing of the cares of the world on which it fell. Presently, he sighed, his blue eyes turning back to the Vala's. “I am not punishing myself, my lord, though I can well imagine it would seem so. Yes, I do feel responsible for Frodo, because I am responsible for my own mistakes, and one of them allowed me to be taken prisoner at a time when my help was desperately needed elsewhere. Curumo's lust for power had begun to trouble me over a hundred years before Frodo was even born, and if I had but listened to my own heart rather than his sweetly deceptive assurances, I would never have been so easily lured into his trap. For that, Frodo suffered this very wound which is troubling him now, and for my part in it, I owe him greatly. I could do little for him in Middle-earth, and I have not the power to heal him fully even here, but I will do whatever I can, whatever I must to make certain he suffers as little as possible. I erred terribly during my mission to Endorë, but I have not lost all wisdom. I know that I cannot help him at all if I grow too weak and weary in struggling with this darkness. If needs be, I shall call upon others to help, should I be unable to bear it until the day is over. I am not so proud to think that I must do this alone, at any cost, when it is not necessary. I would have gladly accepted help in facing the Balrog, had any of our company been able to challenge it and survive. Circumstances worked against me then, but they are quite different now.”

“Yet how much will you take upon yourself before you ask for aid? I do not doubt your sincerity,” Irmo hastened to add when a frown darkened Olórin's face. “You would not lie, and I know it well. But it is plain to me that you do hold yourself to blame for all this halfling suffered after he took up the burden of the Ring, not only the matter of your delay caused by Curumo's betrayal. Your vision in this matter is not as clear as might be, not because of pride, but because of pity. You care, perhaps too much, what will become of him.”

“And what would you have me do otherwise?” the wizard answered, exasperation and frustration finally evident in his manner. He moved away from the window and strode across the room toward the hearth, unable to stand still. “When I was sent to Endorë, I was not told to leave behind my heart; indeed, if I had done so, all would have come to ruin! I have always cared deeply what will become of the Eruhíni; that was no secret when I was made a part of this embassy. I was, in fact, under the impression that it was because of my love for them that I was chosen to go. So I went, and I did what was required of me, and now, I cannot go back and undo any part of it. I was asked to give whatever I could to help save Middle-earth and her peoples, and so I have done. If you wish me to cease caring for those of Endorë who came with me and allow others to assume the full task of their healing, then you must send me away and give me other work to do, for I cannot leave this unfinished!”

“Not even if it will drain you of all strength and break your heart yet again?” the Vala asked softly, able to remain calm in spite of the agitation he was witnessing.

The look with which Olórin favored him was not defiant, but it was most definitely unyielding “I have been asked to suffer such things before, for less worthy causes. I will do it again, if needs be. I was made a steward of people who looked to me for guidance and protection. Should I abandon my charge before my task is fully completed?”

Irmo wanted to say yes, but he understood that such an answer would not be well received, even though he would have meant only that it should be given into the hands of others so that Olórin could finally rest. But he knew this Maia very well indeed, and was aware that he could not leave his appointed tasks for others to finish before he had given his all, no more than he could willingly turn to evil. His sense of responsibility and commitment ran too deep. Instead, the dream master sighed. “No. I know you far too well to even ask such a thing of you. But as you are Frodo's friend, so have I been yours. I ask only that you allow others to help so that you will not be hurt. You have said that Frodo would object if he knew what you are doing for him in silence, and rightly so, if you do thus to your own detriment. He would no more wish to see you come to harm than I, especially not for his sake. Is suggesting that you permit others who care for you to assist in this task truly too much to ask?”

The Maia's frown remained firmly in place for a minute or so, then at last began to fade. “No, my lord,” he said quietly, his irritation melting in the face of Irmo's placid reason. “I try very hard not to allow myself to be burdened with regrets, because I know well that the past cannot be changed. Yet of all the errors I made during my life, none have been so bitter to me as this one. Curumo insisted that the Ring was lost forever, that it would not trouble us again — and I should have known better than to let such reasoning persuade me to do what he wanted: nothing. So long as the Ring endured, even lost, Sauron would endure, and thus what purpose would be served by standing idle and waiting? All it did was allow the Enemy to gather greater strength, to renew himself and rebuild his machinery of war so that few could stand against him, whether or not he possessed the Ring. I was not the only one duped in this way, but I was supposedly Curumo's peer, one who had known him long. I should have also known him better , and that folly I regret deeply. Many suffered for it, and though I cannot help them all, I will at least try to make amends to the one who suffered most. I would not have anyone else share responsibility for my mistakes, even willingly, yet I know I cannot do this alone. I have reason to believe that some who live nearby will wish to visit this evening, and if it will ease your concerns, I shall ask those who have the skill to assist me, if they are willing. Will that suffice, or need I make a formal promise?”

The Vala shook his head and smiled. “No. You may be quite impossibly stubborn at times, but your wisdom has always been much greater than your obstinacy. It has never been necessary for you to make any kind of vow to bind you to your word, for what you say you do, unless some disaster prevents it, and thus it has always been. I understand why you need to do this. I would not press the issue if I could not see how badly you also need rest and healing, my friend. It was plain when you returned briefly two years ago, and it is all the more evident now. My servant Ványalos is your nearest neighbor, is he not?”

Olórin confirmed it. “Yes, and he is the first I expect to come visiting, since I saw him only briefly yesterday, serving in the Máhanaxar during the receiving ceremony, but not at all through the remainder of the celebration. He and I were good friends, though we were not in the same service, and I had expected to meet him at the festival.”

“Which you did not, undoubtedly, because he took it upon himself to make certain all was in order here before you arrived. If it will not offend you, I shall speak to him of this matter before I return to consult with Estë and Nienna. For all his seemingly impetuous nature, Ványalos has a good heart, and has ever been among my people one of those most skilled in discerning the emotions of those around him, and offering what help is most needed. Let him take on your task for a few hours so that you might rest for a while. It would do both of you good, since it is plain that you are weary, and Ványalos could benefit from learning more about the Second-born, as he has never visited Endorë.”

The Maia's first impulse was to refuse the idea, but it took no more than an instant for him to acknowledge the wisdom of it. “It will not offend me,” he said truthfully, “but let me ask the favor myself. He and the others did a splendid job of preparing this new home for me, but they neglected to provide it with food, and if I am to have even one hobbit as a guest for a time, it will be necessary to correct that oversight as soon as possible. Unless many things changed while I was gone, Ványalos knows how to acquire what is needed, and I will be able to attend to both matters at once.”

Had almost anyone else made such a suggestion, Irmo might have been suspicious of a deliberate attempt to manipulate circumstances to avoid following the Vala's advice as much as possible, but the dream master did indeed trust his counselor to do whatever he said both honestly and to the best of his ability. “An excellent idea,” he approved, smiling. “Ványalos could do with some exercise of all his abilities, even those more mundane.”

His smile dimmed. “Please understand, Olórin, that I do not ask these things because I do not trust you, or believe that you are not sufficient to the tasks at hand. My only concern is for your well-being. I need not worry about Frodo's, since you are clearly doing more than enough to make certain none of us fail in our attempts to aid him. But I cannot stand by and watch you come to harm for his sake or any other's, if it is within my power to prevent it. We have asked so much of you already — far more, I now see, than perhaps we should have. There was little we could do to help you in Endorë without violating the rules we ourselves had made. Let us make amends for our mistakes now, and do what we can, for both of you. For we also have bitter regrets.”

For a moment, Olórin said nothing; then he conceded. “I understand, my lord,” he said, “and I do appreciate your concern. If you would know the full truth, my obstinacy is not only due to guilt. I have been fond of the halflings ever since I first became aware of their existence, and the more I knew of them, the more I loved them, with all their faults and failings and unusual ways. They were dear to me long before I knew for certain that Lord Eru had fashioned in them a part of my song. I am grateful He did not confirm that suspicion to me before I entangled Frodo with the matter of the Ring, or I could not have done it. I would have looked for other ways, other people, some other method to take the Ring to Mordor and destroy it. I might have even been foolish enough to attempt it myself, and I know that would have ended in utter disaster, for myself and all of Arda. It was very difficult to leave Middle-earth because of my fondness for the Little Folk; being permitted to bring two of my friends made the separation more bearable. I know that inevitably, I will lose them, as well as all direct contact with their people still in Endorë, but I cannot begin grieving it now, or the time I do have will be wasted. I am greedy of every moment I will be given, and because of that, you may be assured that I will accept your help, and that of any other who can give Frodo relief from his suffering, be it temporary or lasting. They are as family to me, in ways I could not have understood before living an incarnate life among them. I want only what is best for them, as any parent does for their children. Can you not understand that?”

“Not quite in the same fashion as do you,” Irmo admitted, “for matters of parents and children are a gift Lord Eru gave to the Eruhíni, not to those of us who sprang from His thought. But I understand how you feel, and that is enough. I will not press the issue further. Ványalos will provide any assistance you need for now, and I am certain you know that you may call upon me or any of my servants at any time, should you require aid. In the meantime, I will do all I can to find the means of Frodo's healing as swiftly as possible.” He inclined his head graciously in a gesture of farewell, then vanished.

Olórin studied the place where Irmo had been for several moments, reflecting upon their conversation. He knew that he was behaving in the way that generally earned him the description of impossible, but more than on any other occasion, he felt that this time, he was justified in his behavior. He doubted that Frodo's welfare meant quite as much to any of the other Ainur, because none of them understood what it was like to actually live as one of the Eruhíni in the ways he now grasped it. He did not blame them for the lack, but so long as he knew it existed, he was determined to make up for it by whatever means were necessary.

But he also admitted that the dream master was right about not pushing himself so far, he could not help Frodo effectively, if at all. After taking a moment to assure himself that the hobbit was still serenely asleep and would remain so for a while, he went off to make good on his promise to find and enlist other aid.

**********

The dwellings in the hill country of Lórien were neither too near together nor absurdly far apart. The wooded glen and hillside where Olórin's home had been built were spacious, but the walk to the next nearest habitation was not long, taking perhaps ten minutes at most at an unhurried pace. Around a bend of the hill to the west, the woodland thinned and ended, and it was there in an open grassy sward bright with flowers where the home of Irmo's servant, Ványalos, was situated. Though the structure was not opulent or intrusive to the countryside, it was much larger than Olórin's home had been before others had taken it upon themselves to rebuild it for him.

Ványalos had no spouse or friends who lived with him, but he was an extremely social person, and often entertained many guests. He was, by everyone's admission, some reflection of the essence of merriment, but one that delighted in mild mischief from time to time, though his heart and spirit were true to the will of Eru and deeply compassionate when compassion was needed. He had an excellent sense for determining such occasions, but the timing of his humors was not quite as keen; thus, he spent his time in Aman, helping the whole of Arda by acting as a messenger and servant to Irmo and Estë among people who knew him well and would not be puzzled by his sometimes inappropriately mercurial behavior. To those who met them for the first time, Olórin and Ványalos appeared to be complete opposites, as the former generally seemed quiet and thoughtful while the latter appeared whimsical and quite unable to keep silent for more than a few moments, but those who came to know them better understood that they were more alike at heart. Olórin himself knew that he owed much to his neighbor, for long ago, in what had then felt like the very blackest part of his own life, it had been Ványalos who had helped him learn to laugh again.

As he walked to his neighbor's home, Olórin noted that the path between them, which he had thought would have been well overgrown during the years of his absence, was still quite well-trodden. That confused him for a bit, since the trail led nowhere but to his own home, until he remembered what Irmo had said about Ványalos taking it upon himself to see that the new house was in order. Doubtless there had been considerable coming and going, enough to keep the path open, at least in recent weeks, though he would not have been surprised to discover that Ványalos had been keeping an eye on his home for the past two thousand years, simply to prevent it from being overrun with woodland growth and turned into an oversized refuge for birds and other small creatures.

A pair of ancient elms shaded the path before the entrance to Ványalos' house; to Olórin's eye, very little about the place had changed during his many years of absence. The greatest difference, in fact, was how quiet it seemed, as deserted as his own home before he had returned. For the gregarious Ványalos, that was quite unusual, unless he was off on a journey for the Lord and Lady of Lórien. Briefly, he wondered if that were indeed the case, and he had chosen a poor time to visit, but he quickly realized that Irmo would not have suggested Olórin ask his servant for aid if he would be gone for any length of time. Perhaps—

“Olórin!”

The wizard's reflections were interrupted when, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, he was lifted up from behind and swung about, almost like a child caught up unawares by an adult appearing out of nowhere. That was not entirely impossible, he thought as he endured the surprise welcome, given the person he was coming to visit. He heard bright laughter accompany the startling embrace, and when he was set down again, he could not help but smile.

“After two thousand years, I might have expected to see some evidence of greater maturity,” Olórin said with mock sternness as he turned to face his neighbor. “But if you have changed at all, Ványalos, you have only grown more impertinent.”

The culprit laughed again, well aware that he was being teased. The Maia Olórin had come to visit was significantly taller than he, no matter what fana either of them chose to adopt. He had the height and typical build of an Elf, slender and graceful. His clothing was of deep blues and silver grays, the colors of the forest at midnight, but his hair was bright red-gold, caught up in a single long braid that fell down his back nearly to his waist. He had an almost impish look to his ruddy and sharply handsome features that was vaguely reminiscent of Pippin, as was the gleam in his gray eyes. Like many servants of the Valar, he was quite fair to look upon, and it took much to wipe the pleasant smile from his face. It was firmly in place at the moment as he gave his friend a second and more proper welcoming embrace. “I would say you are quite wrong, pityandil,” he answered merrily, “if I did not know it to be a lie. I'm afraid you may be right, but I hope it will not mean the end of our friendship.”

“Certainly not!” he was assured as the hug was returned. “After so many years of dealing with dark and evil matters, I am very grateful to return to a home even more joyful than the one I left. I hear that you put considerable effort into preparing it for me, so much so that you willingly gave up a time of festival to make certain all was in order.”

“I did my best,” Ványalos said with what, for him, was considerable humility. His eyes twinkled as he added, “Although I did not give it up entirely. I was there for a time yesterday — or did you not see me serving in the Máhanaxar?”

“I did indeed, and if you had allowed Frodo to slip or fall in helping him dismount, I assure you, you would have borne the wrath of all his friends, his uncle not the least!”

The tall Maia chuckled. “Yes, for all his apparent infirmity, the old one seemed to have considerable fire yet within him. But truly, he was half your size, my little friend, and thus no burden at all. Yet they are quite a remarkable people, from what I have seen and heard. I hope to be allowed to make their acquaintance better, soon, if I may.”

“You may — sooner than you may suspect.” Olórin then explained his primary reason for coming. As he spoke, his neighbor's manner grew less frivolous. Ványalos looked off in the direction of the Istar's house, and was silent for some moments after Olórin had finished speaking.

Presently, he sighed. “I see now why you value these friends so highly,” Ványalos said, completely in earnest. “I had not realized the full depth of what Sauron had done in Endorë, ‘til now. This little one has been burdened and wounded by an evil few of our own people have dared to face. It is a marvel to me that he survived this quest at all, far less having taken such comparatively little hurt from it! But I also see that his injuries run deep, terribly deep. I will do whatever I can to help you protect him from it, of course, until Lord Irmo and the others have found ways to heal him more thoroughly. Indeed, I will be glad to do so, for I have often regretted my lack of direct experience with the Second-born, and felt I should be able to find some way to do more on their behalf, and this may be my last opportunity.”

The wizard breathed a soft sigh of relief, even though he had expected nothing less from his old friend. “Then there is another way in which you can be of assistance. I have noticed that this house was uniquely prepared to accommodate visitors much smaller than we are wont to see in this part of Lórien, but while those who built and furnished it took into account hobbit size, they failed to account for hobbit appetites. I have never quite determined whether it was by Lord Eru's design or merely a quirk of their own choosing, but though others call them halflings, their hunger is astonishingly out of proportion to their size. Frodo is not gluttonous, even by ordinary standards among mortals, but he does need to eat, and there are no provisions in the house. Unless your fondness for food and drink has diminished over the years, I had hoped you would be able to find at least a few such things before Frodo wakes.”

Ványalos' bright smile returned. “It has not, and I easily can find whatever you or he might wish, so long as his people — hobbits, did you call them? — eat the same foods as the Eldar, and us.”

“For the most part, though they have tastes of their own that you might find interesting, should you be brave enough to discuss matters of food and cooking with any hobbit. Thank you, old friend, for all your help. If there is aught I can do in return....”

The tall Maia chuckled. “Yes, indeed there is! You can hie yourself back to your new house straightaway and spend some time becoming acquainted with the comforts of the bed that the Elvish craftsmen made for you. Lord Irmo was right when he said you need rest, at least as much as your small friend. I did not spend the night in revelry or the morning traveling across the wide country from Valmar, and I can attend to both of your requests at once with no trouble at all.”

A shadow of doubt touched Olórin's expression like thin clouds drifting over the noon sun, dimming it. “I do not want to risk Frodo's well-being....”

“And you will do so far less if you leave the matter to me for now than continue to take it upon yourself. I may not be as gifted in wisdom as you, pityandil, but what gifts were given me, I have not failed to learn to use as well as I am able. We knew each other well ere you accepted the final mission of the Istari. Humble you may have ever been, but never were you weak or frail. Yet I look upon you now, and though I see my friend of old, he seems to my eyes to be fragile, as if he were made anew from thin glass that though filled with light may yet shatter if too much weight is placed upon it. You are grown pale with exhaustion; you need time to regain your strength, and not even the power of Lórien can give you rest and healing if you will not avail yourself of it properly. I promise you, I will not let Frodo suffer, nor allow him to know what is being done to guard him until you deem the time appropriate. I am not familiar with the minds and hearts of the Second-born, but I am able to perceive that in their truest essence, they differ little from those of the Eldar — or even our folk. We are all Eru Ilúvatar's children, in our own fashions. If I feel myself unable to continue the task properly, I will be less hesitant to ask for help than you have been, for I have none of your feelings of personal responsibility for the hobbit's condition. Nusírilo and his spouse would gladly assist, as would Úrambo and Túrante, and if need be, I would not hesitate to call upon Lord Irmo himself. Since acquiring the provender your guest will need is a simple matter of asking the persons who can provide it, I will not be so distracted that I cannot keep watch over him at the same time, even at a distance.”

His fair face darkened with wistful sadness. “You used to trust my judgment in such matters, Olórin. Has your time in Endorë changed you so greatly that you cannot accept the word of an old friend without suspicion?”

The wizard looked away for a moment to hide a faint wince of remorse, then looked back again, apology in his expression. “I would prefer to believe it has not,” he confessed, “but perhaps the years I have spent in Middle-earth have left more of a mark upon me than I had thought. It was difficult, sometimes, struggling to achieve a goal that seemed forever beyond reach, hampered both by foes and by some I had thought were friends.”

Ványalos nodded soberly. “I have heard what became of Curumo. I never knew him well, since my tasks here in Aman seldom took me to the places where he worked and dwelt. I knew he was proud, but never would I have guessed that it would lead him to such incredible folly, to betray not only those whom he was charged to protect and serve, but to turn against his own brethren! Such treachery would make anyone suspicious for a time, especially when matters concern the safety of those one holds dear. I am not offended, and I promise I will do all I am able to ensure that Frodo comes to not a moment's harm or discomfort while he is in my care.”

“Then that is insurance enough, and I will be able to rest well. Thank you, Ványalos, and please extend my gratitude to anyone you choose to enlist in this effort. I know it is little compensation to offer, but I would be more than honored if you and my other friends who made this splendid new home for me joined me there this evening.”

The tall Maia's merry smile returned in full. “It is more than enough, especially since it includes an opportunity to meet and become better acquainted with your unusual young guest. Rest well, pityandil. All will be well.”

For once, Olórin did not doubt it. Thus, after genially enduring another exuberant farewell embrace, he returned home, to sleep for a time as he had not slept in almost two thousand years.