VII

The sun was falling to the west, sending a stream of brilliance through the window in Frodo's room when the hobbit finally awoke. He was surprised to find that so much time had passed — it appeared to be late afternoon, at the very least, possibly six hours since he had retired — but his sleep had been sound and peaceful, more refreshing than any rest he had taken for a very long time. He wondered if Olórin had intended to wake him or had planned to let him sleep himself out. The house was quiet, the only sounds that of birdsong out in the trees, the distant babble and rush of falling water cascading over stones, and a soft, musical chiming from the back of the house. The latter was erratic, rising and falling with the rustling of the breeze, so Frodo could only suppose it was some sort of wind-bells that he had not noticed before.

A gentle answering rumble in his stomach told him that he would need to find some nourishment soon, but not immediately. He did not recall seeing any food in the kitchen, however, and he had no idea how one went about obtaining such things here. The Elves needed to eat, he knew, but though the Ainur did from time to time, it was not required for them. Well, if he wanted the question answered, he supposed he would have to find Olórin to ask it. He slipped from the bed and was about to dress in his dusty traveling clothes when he decided that for the moment, there would be no harm in moving about the house in the white silk nightshirt. Its style was not unlike many garments he had seen on others here, and if he was going to stay here for a few days, he really wanted to ask if there was a way to fetch some of his own things before he put on the old clothes once again.

The central hall, he quickly saw, was empty, but as he entered it, he heard low, very soft humming coming from the kitchen. That caught his attention at once, and he headed in its direction. “Olórin?” he began as he stepped across the hall and through the open arch between the two rooms, expecting to find his friend. Instead, he found a startlingly tall stranger dressed in dusky blue, red-haired, bright-eyed, with a fair face filled with merriment. He was in the process of taking things from a number of baskets and putting them in their appropriate places in the pantry cupboards; he paused when Frodo arrived, looked up, and smiled.

“Olórin is asleep, at the moment,” the fellow said, his tones respectful of that fact and clearly unwilling to cause a disturbance. “As he needs the rest very much and we who prepared the house neglected to provide it with food and drink, not knowing precisely when he would return to it, he asked if I might help in that matter. I am Ványalos, Olórin's nearest neighbor; my house is just outside the wood, in the meadow to the west. You would be Master Frodo, of course.”

The hobbit nodded, surprised to find that he was not at all disturbed by the presence of this stranger. But then, he realized the fellow wasn't quite a stranger at all. “Yes, at your service,” he answered with a proper bow of greeting. “I remember you! You were in the city yesterday, and helped me off the pony.”

“Guilty on all counts,” Ványalos said with a chuckle as he resumed setting the things he had brought where they belonged. “I am a servant of Lord Irmo and Lady Estë, and since they have never been able to find appropriate tasks for me in the lands beyond Aman, I serve as well as I am able here in the Blessed Realm.”

“Does that include going to market for other servants?”

The Maia laughed. “Sometimes, although this was no command, merely a favor for an old friend. Olórin and I are not of the same people. He is a servant of Lord Manwë.”

Frodo blinked, feeling a bit confused. As he slipped into a chair at a table that was neither too high for him nor too low for taller folk, he tried to work things out. “Then why does he live here?” he wondered aloud. “This is rather far from Taniquetil.”

“Very true,” Ványalos agreed. Finished with the task of putting things away, he reached into one of the baskets and brought out a linen cloth, which he opened and offered to Frodo. In it were a number of small white biscuits, still warm from the oven with a delightfully sweet fragrance. “Olórin mentioned that your folk enjoyed the pleasures of food and drink as much as I,” he explained as he set them on the table after Frodo had taken one, then fetched goblets and a bottle of some pale golden drink, the color of sunshine. “Which was why, I am sure, he asked me to take care of this for him, since I am well acquainted with every source for such things throughout the length and breadth of Aman. A minor benefit of serving as a messenger for so many years. There will be a more substantial meal later, of course, but from what I know of the Eruhíni, it is best not to eat too heavily immediately upon awakening. Have you enjoyed your stay here, thus far?”

“Yes, indeed,” Frodo replied, politely waiting for Ványalos to finish pouring the beverage and join him at the table before sampling the biscuits. They tasted even better than they smelled, and indeed sat very nicely inside, quieting his rumbling belly. “Although I've spent most of my time here in Lórien sleeping. And I must admit, I'm still rather puzzled. Where I come from, servants usually live near the people they serve. Why does Olórin live here, and not closer to Lord Manwë's home?”

The tall Maia smiled at he settled into one of the other chairs and took one of the biscuits to nibble. “Distance is not so great an issue for our kind,” he explained. “We can speak to each other when we are very far apart, through our minds, and if needs be, we can move from one place to another in the blink of an eye, if we are not within a fana or are willing to shed it. It is also possible for us to stay in one place and send a reflection of ourselves to another, to watch and listen. The messages I carry for my lord and lady are generally sent thus out of courtesy, or because some item needs to be sent with it. We may move ourselves about with ease, but we cannot do the same with things; they must be carried.”

“Very interesting,” the hobbit admitted. “I hadn't thought that you might move about that way, but considering some of the things Olórin's told me, it makes perfectly good sense. So I suppose it doesn't really matter much where you choose to live, if you can be called and go wherever you need to go at a literal moment's notice.”

“Quite so, though most of us Maiar do tend to choose permanent dwellings near the Vala we serve, and visit other places from time to time, as we need or desire. Olórin's situation is... unusual.”

Frodo looked up at Ványalos from over the rim of his glass as he took a sip of what tasted like refreshingly light wine. He was quiet for a moment after he set down the goblet. “I'm not sure if that sounds good or bad. He wasn't... forced to live somewhere else, was he?” From what he had seen of the Elder King and his relationship with Olórin, the hobbit could not imagine what the wizard could possibly have done that would have warranted the punishment of exile.

Ványalos chuckled. “No, he chose to live here, and Lord Manwë gave his permission. Most of the Valar host servants of the others in their lands, to act as emissaries and messengers on their behalf. Olórin is Lord Irmo's favorite counselor, and he often visits the Lady Nienna as well, but Lord Manwë did not appoint him as his emissary to Lórien; he asked to be allowed to dwell here, and it was granted.” He sighed softly when he perceived that his explanation did little to lighten Frodo's puzzlement. “I see that I am not providing a sufficient answer. I have no doubt that you are Olórin's friend, but it would seem that he has not told you much about himself and his past.”

“He hasn't,” Frodo confirmed, “but mostly because he couldn't, I think. Until yesterday, he found it very difficult to remember what his life had been like before he came to Middle-earth; there was much he was not allowed to remember, and things he could not recall because he was living like one of us, in a mortal body. After he was freed of it.... Well, there simply hasn't been much time to talk about it. However, I don't mean to pry....”

The Maia dismissed that worry with a casual wave of one hand. “If you were asking after secrets, I would consider it so, but curiosity over what is common knowledge is not prying. If you like, I will answer your questions, but with one condition.”

Frodo felt he understood. “That I not tell Olórin?”

To his surprise, Ványalos shook his head. “No, quite the opposite. I want you to tell him that you heard this from me. Should I have unintentionally made an error, then he will know who is to blame, and can correct me. But I hope you do not mind listening to rather lengthy tales, for this story is not a brief one.”

Frodo laughed. “You undoubtedly do not know hobbits very well, Master Ványalos. After food and drink, we love stories and songs nearly as well, and so long as we are provided with the first two, we will happily go on listening to the latter until we fall asleep from weariness. Which, if the teller or singer is good, seldom happens. I have wanted to know more about Gandalf — that is what my people called Olórin in Middle-earth — for a very long time, and if you think he will not object, I will be very happy to listen to the tale from you, and for once spare him my curiosity.”

Ványalos chuckled softly as he took another sip of wine, his eyes fixed on Frodo. Though they were bright with good humor, for a moment, the halfling sensed something deeper in the Maia's gaze, as he sometimes had after the war, when he caught Gandalf watching him. Usually, the wizard had been concerned for Frodo's well-being and was looking for signs that he was unwell, though he found it difficult to imagine the same worries were prompting this glance from Ványalos. He felt perfectly fit, without a care in the world, and if he was seeking some sign that the hobbit was ill, Frodo felt certain he would find none. The moment passed quickly, however, when the Maia smiled.

“Then I will start at the beginning,” Ványalos said, “for you must know of that to understand the end. Do your people know of how the world began, of the Great Music sung before it was made?”

The hobbit nodded. “Yes — well, that is, I know, because Bilbo, my cousin, translated some of the great books of the Elves and encouraged me to read them when I was young. I know about the Ainulindalë and those who sang it, in the way the Elves recorded what they knew of it. And only yesterday, Olórin told me about the things he had sung as his part in it.”

“Then you know he is not a prideful sort at heart. When Lord Eru told the Valar that those who wished might come into Arda to help shape it into the vision they had been given of the Song made manifest, He told them they could bring with them those of our Maia people who were also willing to come, to be their helpers and servants. Like many of us, Olórin wanted very much to be a part of this effort, but he did not think any of the greater Powers would be inclined to invite him to join them, since he had little to offer in their service, being gifted mostly in matters that deal with the small and seemingly insignificant. So it was that when the time came and all was made ready for the host to pass on into the physical world, Manwë saw that Olórin was not with them, that he had remained behind. ‘Do you not wish to come and be a part of this great work?' the king asked him, and Olórin said yes, he did, but as none of the Powers had invited him, he could only think that he was not wanted, or welcome. Manwë laughed at that, but kindly. ‘Little one,' he told him, ‘we did not ask because we knew there was no need. We had no doubt you wished to come, and we could not decide which of us should have the honor of counting you among our people.' So Manwë asked him to be numbered among his servants, which Olórin accepted gladly, and came into Arda with the rest of us.

“But because of his very nature, though he looked to Manwë as his lord, he would offer his service to any who needed it, a generosity of which the king approved most highly. At some time or other, Olórin has done service for all of the Valar — save the Nameless One, whom he would not serve, no matter what power or wealth was offered him. Melkor hated him terribly, for there was in Olórin's gifts an ability to help others counter the fear and despair which were Melkor's chief weapons. Had the Nameless One known that Olórin went to Endorë during the First Age to work against him thus in secret, he would have bent his will to find and destroy him. But as Olórin acted in silence, unmarked or unseen, Melkor supposed, as did others, that he did not have the courage to leave the safety of Aman. They were wrong, of course, but Olórin wished the mistaken notion to remain, so that if his help was needed again, he would be free to give it.”

“But he told me that he was afraid to come to Middle-earth when the Valar sent him as one of the wizards,” Frodo pointed out. “What you say makes it sound as if he should not have been.”

Ványalos nodded as he added more liquid to their glasses. “Perhaps so, but though the Istari were to be sent in disguise, they could not be secret, not as he had been during the conflicts with Melkor. When Manwë proposed sending him on this errand, I think he feared that whatever guise he adopted, it would not be enough to hide his true identity from Sauron. Melkor never learned that Olórin was the one responsible for some of what had been done to thwart him during his reign of terror, but ere the end of it, Sauron knew. He became aware that another of his own folk was working against his master, and though he made the discovery too late for it to be of use to Melkor, he uncovered the identity of that opponent.

"But Olórin knew Sauron better than Sauron knew him, for he had had ample opportunity to watch Melkor's lieutenant openly at work, while Sauron and he never met face-to-face. When he was sent as one of the Istari, Olórin's fears were not unwarranted, for indeed, if Sauron had recognized him, he would have done his best to seek vengeance. One might have argued that this too could have worked in favor of their mission, giving the Dark Lord a target to seek other than the people of Middle-earth, but Olórin's premonitions were correct. Had he not been able to work quietly, for the most part beneath Sauron's notice, all would have come to ruin, in the end. At any rate, I suspect you know more of this part of the tale than I, and I am letting the story get far ahead of itself.”

Frodo smiled sheepishly. “I beg your pardon, I didn't mean to interrupt.”

Again, the Maia dismissed the apology without a second thought. “Think nothing of it, since I interrupted myself, going off and discussing Melkor. To come back to where I left off: After we entered into Arda and saw all the work that lay ahead of us, giving shape to the vision Lord Eru had shown us, Olórin was one of the busiest of us, for though he had no notions of doing great deeds and making grand things, he was forever a help to all who needed it, in whatever small ways he was able to give it. He sought neither praise nor reward, and always said the joy of seeing a task well finished was more than reward enough for him. Thus he earned the respect of all the Valar, whether he craved it or no, and many of the Maiar as well. Strangely enough, it was among our own people that he encountered the most adversity, for though Lord Eru gifted us with many abilities and special skills, He did not make us free from emotional failings, such as jealousy. And this was what brings us to the part of the tale that will answer your original question.

“In the many thousands of years before the awakening of the Eldar, much needed to be done to shape the world into the vision we had beheld, and each of the Valar took upon themselves some portion of that task. They and their Maia servants worked long and hard to complete it; some had greater roles, some lesser, others labored more diligently while some were less eager, having been disappointed to discover that Ëa was not fully formed when they first arrived. Lord Manwë's appointed work concerned matters of the air and the skies, of the breath that would sustain life in the physical world and the creatures who would live within the sky. Olórin had no specific larger role in his service to this project, but he helped all of Lord Manwë's servants as they needed or asked for it.

“There was one who used his assistance rather more often than the others: Aránayel, one of the lesser handmaidens of Lady Varda. She had a glorious voice, as beautiful as Melian's but more haunting. Upon hearing it, Lord Manwë chose her voice to be the sound of the wind, for he wished it to have music it to it, as Ulmo had given music to the sounds of the sea. Aránayel was ever appointed to accomplish what to her seemed great tasks, and she took considerable pride in this distinction. She chose for herself a fana of exquisite beauty, to rival her voice, and thus she won for herself the admiration of many. Olórin was no less affected by her charms than any other of our people, and he was glad that she would accept his help as often as she did. He became quite fond of her, and in time he fell in love with her, for to him it seemed that she took pleasure in his company, as she often accepted his aid to help with matters she might easily have accomplished on her own.”

Frodo could not help but smile. “I would never have imagined that,” he admitted, “not back in Middle-earth, at any rate. When we never know a person as anything but old, it's very hard for us mortals to think of them as ever having been young, much less capable of things that only young people are supposed to do. The wizard I knew always seemed much too practical and sensible.”

Ványalos laughed softly. “Having seen him as you knew him until he was freed to be himself again, I can understand how you feel. I did not know Olórin when he fell in love, but from what I have been told, even those who were his friends then thought he was acting rashly, and making a grave mistake. Aránayel was beautiful, yes, and she had talents few others could hope to match, but she also loved herself above all else. She was vain and self-serving, and to others, it seemed that the attention she gave to Olórin came not from affection but from selfishness. He would do anything for her; she was well aware of it, and so she took advantage of it. They warned him against her, but he would not listen. He knew her better, he told them; he had worked with her too closely and for too long to be mistaken about this. Besides, he said, he did not expect her to love him in return; he knew only that he loved her, and wished for her to know it. His friends felt it unwise for him to speak of it, and for a time, they managed to persuade him to hold his peace. But being simple in his own heart and still young, as we all were, he did not fully understand their warnings; thus, he did not heed their advice forever. He felt certain of his love and even more certain that no harm could possibly come from revealing it, and so, though it took some time before he was able to find the courage to speak of it to her, at last he did.”

He sighed. “One day, when they had both been summoned to Ilmarin to perform some service for the Lord and Lady, Olórin told Aránayel all that was in his heart, honestly and with no expectation that his love would be returned. She listened — and then laughed at him, not as one laughs when they are surprised, or when they hear a jest, but very cruelly, knowing full well he had spoken in earnest, and how her words would affect him. She demanded to know how he could be so presumptuous, since she was a handmaid of the queen, the very voice of the wind, and he nothing but a lowly worm that burrows through the soil so that her song could enter there. She had accepted his help because he was so pitifully eager to give it, and she saw no reason not to take advantage of it so that she could spend her own time and effort on worthier matters, not because she found him in any way desirable or worthy of her attention. She said many other things, much less kind, caring not who heard her or how their witness of it might further humiliate Olórin; quite likely, she wished for it, since she felt he had acted in unconscionable impudence. And after he had listened to her berate and belittle him without uttering a single word of protest — for there was nothing at all he could think of to say, so shocked was he — she called him the weakest of cowards, since he would not even try to defend himself. She did not understand him in the slightest, nor had she comprehended the value of the gift he had offered her, and her arrogant vanity utterly crushed Olórin's heart.

“He fled her then, and would have sought some place to hide in shame, had not Eönwë met him as he was about to leave Ilmarin. Lord Manwë was in need of a messenger to go to the house of Nienna and bring back some item she had for the king; he had asked Eönwë to find someone to make the journey, so the herald, not knowing that anything untoward had happened, asked if Olórin would be willing to go. He was indeed, for he knew Aránayel would not come there, as she disdained all places she considered dark and bleak, and there at least he would be able to avoid her for a time.

“Lady Nienna knew Olórin from those times when he had given his help to her and her people, as did all the Valar. When he arrived, she had but to look upon him to understand all that had happened, so plain was it writ upon his mind and his heart. She was greatly disturbed by it, and so she told Olórin that there would be a delay before she could send him back to Ilmarin, as another matter required attending first. He was glad of it, for he had no wish to return quickly, fearing that someone who had overheard Aránayel's words might have told others of his terrible foolishness, taking delight in such unkind mockery. What he did not know was that Nienna went to bespeak Lord Manwë, asking him if Olórin had come to her house as the expected messenger or as one in need of her aid. When Manwë answered that he did not understand, she showed to him all that she had perceived in Olórin's thoughts and feelings, his memories of what had happened to him not long before.”

Ványalos took a deep draught of his wine before continuing; his fair face hardened. “The king of the Valar is not easily moved to wrath; his anger is slow to kindle, but terrible to behold when at last it comes. It has been said that nothing, not even the betrayal of his own brother Melkor, has ever enraged Manwë so swiftly as the things Nienna showed him in that hour. It was not merely his fondness for Olórin that so moved him, but the outrage he felt in discovering that one of his own people could act so cruelly toward another, especially to one who had given so much to help her through the years. Manwë asked Nienna to tell Olórin that he wished for him to remain in her house for a time, to serve her on behalf of his people. Olórin accepted the assignment without hesitation, and Lord Manwë then turned to find and deal with Aránayel.

“She came before the king, completely unaware of his wrath, and was genuinely surprised by it. To her mind, she had done nothing wrong. She had never pretended to hold any love for Olórin, and she was under no obligation to accept it, or return it. If she had feigned to have sympathy for him, she would only have been coddling him with a lie, she deemed, because she felt nothing for him. When Manwë asked if she felt even the slightest bit of gratitude for all Olórin had done to help her in her work, she said no. She had first been required to work with him because such had been commanded by the king, and after, she allowed him to continue to assist her as he would because it was easier to let him have his way, and convenient for her to allow him to do such menial tasks for her. She had never told him aught but the truth, and if he could not bear to hear it spoken plainly, she was not to blame.

“Lord Manwë was wroth, for he had not realized how cold Aránayel could be, for all her beauty, how she so loved herself above all else, there was no room within her for even a bare trace of pity for another. She was punished, not because she had refused Olórin's love, but because she had treated him with cruelty unbefitting one of her supposedly lofty station. That, it is said, is why there is often hollow sorrow in the voice of the wind, a melancholy that weeps for itself but not for others, as Aránayel pitied her punishment but not what she had done to Olórin. ”

“That's dreadful,” Frodo said, feeling terrible sadness for what his friend had once endured, trying to imagine how anyone could reject another so callously, especially someone he knew to be very caring and generous of heart and spirit. Even hearing the story brought tears to his eyes. “How could she do such a thing?”

“She has a will of her own, as do all Lord Eru's children,” Ványalos said simply. “Her heart was full of herself alone, her pride, her arrogance, her own self-interest. She was not evil, not as Melkor and Sauron and others were evil, but she was cold, like a sculpture of great beauty carved from ice that cannot melt. She could not begin to understand how another person could so freely give of himself yet ask nothing in return, and because Olórin could do so with apparent ease, she was certain that what he offered was worth nothing, not even a polite refusal. She was not wise, she never has been. Many of the Maiar have made foolish choices, and follow paths of self-destruction. Aránayel's has not been as bad as others', and she still serves in her own way, but she will never truly understand what she loses every time she rejects something out of pride or vanity. In that, she has been a good lesson to others, a warning not to follow a similar path, but I fear she will never change.”

The hobbit's eyes widened. “You mean, she's still here? She wasn't sent back to wherever you came from?”

The Maia's smile was wistful. “If it could have been done, I suspect Lord Manwë would have exiled her, as you say. But we are confined to Arda until the End of the World; only Melkor has been cast out into the Void, and none are allowed to return to the Timeless Halls. She is seldom seen abroad, however, since she was cast from the service of the Lord and the Lady, and now serves Lord Námo and Lady Nienna in what ways she is able, in the hopes that she will learn something from witnessing the sorrow and pain of others. All of this happened very long ago. After passing judgment on Aránayel, Lord Manwë chose to have Olórin remain with Lady Nienna for a time because he knew that there he would find healing from the hurt he had suffered. He became a great pupil and friend of Nienna, and ever after would visit her from time to time, both to offer her his service and to learn from her. It was she who sent him here to Lórien to complete his healing, and he so learned to love this place, he had already begun to think of Lórien as home before Lord Irmo asked Manwë if Olórin might be permitted to dwell here, for Irmo had come to value him greatly as a counselor.

“And none of this might have come about, but for the cruelty of Aránayel. She begrudges the changes that came upon her life as the result of her actions, but Olórin is quite different. When she hurt him, he did not blame her; he blamed his own folly for speaking his heart when he had misjudged hers so badly. He might have chosen to be bitter or vengeful, but in finding relief from his sorrow, he learned instead to pity her and forgive her all she had done. In many ways, she did him a favor neither of them could have understood at the time. She pushed him away, and sent him stumbling down a road that would lead to greatness of a kind she would never comprehend, for in learning pity and forgiveness and patience in the house of Nienna, he learned how to love even his enemies more fully than he had before. It gave him great wisdom, and he has continued to grow in all the ages since. Had he not lived through this, he would not be the friend you and I now know.”

“Yes, I suppose that's quite true,” Frodo agreed after taking a moment to consider it. “Whenever I thought about where Gandalf might have come from, and what his life had been like when he was young — if I could even imagine him as young! — I never thought of things such as this, not even after he told me that he was really a Maia. I didn't have much of a notion of what that meant, to be honest, but I thought only mortals were foolish enough to fall in love with the wrong people and have their hearts broken because of it.”

Ványalos' smile became wry. “Such failings, I'm afraid, are common to all Ilúvatar's children, both those of Aman and Endorë and beyond. I first met Olórin when he came to Lórien to seek healing from Lord Irmo and Lady Estë, and though he seemed then to be quite wise and sad, I saw that the sadness was covering a great joy he had almost forgotten how to feel. I knew that with help, he could find it again, and since I lived so near to the place where he had chosen to settle, I took it upon myself to give him that help. At first, I was quite the nuisance to him, for I would not let him forget the importance of happiness, and I often enlisted the assistance of one of the visiting Elves, Lindarinë, in continuing the effort. Olórin was quite stubborn, but he was also wise enough to understand that we meant him only good, and in the end, it turned out well.”

“Not for Lindarinë,” the hobbit said softly, recalling the tale he had been told about the Elf. “Olórin told me what happened to him.”

The Maia's expression softened with remembered sadness. “Yes, that was a turn of fate any of us who were Lindarinë's friends would have changed or avoided, if we could. But do not grieve overmuch for this, young Frodo. Olórin may have told you that tale, but he likely forgot to mention how long it took for he himself to recover from the injury that turned his own life about. Each person heals in their own time, according to the depths of the wounds they suffered, and as Olórin's time came, so too will Lindarinë's. As will yours, if I might be so bold as to point out. The swiftness with which you will be healed will be directly connected to your desire to be cured, as well as the amount of effort you are willing to give to it. It may not be easy, but you will be given as much help and support as you may need or want. For now, do not trouble yourself about it. Rest from your journey and find whatever place suits you in Aman. The matter of your recovery from the Shadow is already in the hands of the Lord and Lady of Lórien, as well as very much in the thoughts of those who are your friends of old.”

A small smile crept back into Frodo's eyes. “Yes, that much I know. When I spoke with Lord Irmo yesterday, I felt as if I was visiting an exceptionally clever healer who was collecting information about my condition, whether I intended to tell him about it or not. And I know Olórin cares for me a great deal. Before we arrived, I was worried that I might never find peace here, but now, I could not doubt it if I wanted.”

Again, a strange shadow flickered across Ványalos' face, but it passed too quickly to be more than noticed. “I am glad to hear it,” he said simply, rising. “It is our custom for those who partake of such things to share the evening meal at the hour of sunset. Olórin told me that your people are quite fond of food and drink, and also enjoy preparing it. Tomorrow, perhaps, I should very much like to learn the ways in which you have refined the arts that might be unknown to us foreign folk. But for today, others will do that work and bring the meal here, as this is also a part of our customs of welcome. It is now but two hours before the setting of the sun, and I should see how those who are making the preparations are faring. If you are uncomfortable being alone, I will stay, of course, but it will not be long, I think, ere Olórin wakes.”

“Then go, by all means,” the hobbit said, also rising to bow in farewell. “I shall be fine, and I must have taken up quite enough of your time already. But thank you for bringing the food, and answering my questions. I shan't forget to uphold my end of the bargain.”

Ványalos grinned in return, and offered his own gesture of parting. “Then I will look forward to seeing you again this evening. If I have neglected to bring anything you might wish in the way of provisions, let me know then, and I will see to it that all is taken care of on the morrow.”

“That's very kind and generous of you. Thank you, Master Ványalos.”

“You're quite welcome. And since I suspect we may become friends ere you depart from Lórien, you may call me just Ványalos, if you please. I have never been certain what, if anything, I am a master of.”

Frodo laughed at his self-effacing light-heartedness, but the Maia was gone before the hobbit could say another word.