IX

“So, Ványalos, what is your opinion?”

“My opinion, Lord Irmo, is that I should not have agreed when you asked if I would perform this little ‘service' for you.” The Maia was at the dream master's home near the shores of Lake Lórellin, a shady and peaceful place built amid the golden groves and flowering gardens where the Vala took care of his own business during the days while Estë his wife rested in her island haven in the midst of the great lake. The sounds of many fountains and the song of small birds provided a constant, soothing music for those who came to visit the lord, and to those of his household servants who remained there to tend the waters and the lands and other living things of his modest mansion home. Ványalos, usually happily at ease here, was abnormally restless, not because he was uncomfortable with his surroundings, but because he was ill-at-ease with himself. “I have done many tasks for you and the Lady Estë, and I begrudge you none of them — save perhaps this one. I find that I do not enjoy spying upon others, not even in a good cause — especially not when the subject is anyone I have even the slightest reason to call my friend.”

Irmo, who was seated in a comfortable chair of silver and blue-gray near a quiet fountain that was one of his most favored, regarded his servant with a small smile of regret. “I understand your disquiet, but I would not have asked had I not felt it to be of utmost importance. So I will ask again: what is your opinion? Is the situation as serious as I had first perceived?”

Ványalos, aware that he would not be able to avoid tendering an answer, sighed as he paced along one side of the rectangular pool. Sometimes, when the waters were stilled by the command of the dream master, one could see visions reflected in its surface; now, it seemed as ill-at-ease as the visiting Maia. “More than I had thought, when you asked this of me. His strength is not what it should be, and I fear that not even a year of rest and healing here in Lórien will restore it. Too much was lost, and it may not be possible to regain it, not even if he cooperates fully with whatever cures you and the Ladies deem necessary. There is a shadow within his heart; I doubt if even the full light of Aman can cast it away.”

“Yet we must try. You may not be the most skilled of my servants in the gifts of healing, but you are able to perceive certain things others would not. Knowing what you now do, would you have any advice to offer concerning the situation?”

The Maia snorted gently, watching ripples swell up in the bottommost pool of the fountain as water from a higher level spilled into it with a soft whisper of sound. “The only advice I could think to offer, my lord, would be quite useless. This was a burden he should not have been made to carry, not for so long. When the final critical moment of decision came, he should have been allowed to return home — indeed, he should have been ordered to return home. Why he was allowed the choice to continue I will never understand, not after all he had already suffered. Could someone else not have completed the task?”

Irmo made a vague gesture. “Apparently not, since this was not of our choosing. We did what we could to guide matters from afar, but some of the most important moments of personal choice have ever been left in the hands of Lord Eru, and those to whom the choices are given. We Valar would, I fear, have influenced these decisions based primarily on our desires to avoid error, and in so doing would have caused it yet again. We did try to present such an option, but the One preferred otherwise. Regretting what was not within our power to alter or direct is surely useless, as you say. So there is no advice you can offer to enlighten us.”

Sighing this time, Ványalos took a seat on the low white marble kerb surrounding the pool. Several small birds from the nearby groves and gardens swooped low to drink from the waters; one settled on the Maia's shoulder for a moment, chirruped sweetly, then moved on to join the others of its flock. “I am not your counselor, my lord, only your messenger. I sense, somehow, that there might be a more lasting way to help him recover, but I cannot see it clearly. It seemed to me that his strength was greater when I first saw him yesterday than it was later in the evening, but whether this came about because of natural weariness or for some other reason I do not know. If you wish, I will continue to keep him under my watch, for I am also concerned, but I cannot promise that I will be able to see the answers for which you are searching.”

“Perhaps not, but mayhap in seeing what you have seen, we will understand it better. Will you be able to continue without being noticed?”

“I believe so. Young Frodo has agreed to teach me what he can of how his people took what was a necessity to sustain life and turned it into a pleasurable art, which, from what I have been told, will give me more than ample opportunities for observation, since it is not a lesson which can be taught in a single day. Some Eldar of the hill country tell me I have taken on a course of study I may never be able to finish, but the longer it takes, the better it will suit the purpose with which you have charged me. For I have certain suspicions, and would prefer to have seen solid proof of them ere I speak of it aloud.”

The Vala indicated his acquiescence with a graceful inclination of his head. “A wise course, so long as you do not take overlong before speaking. For I believe I know that which you suspect, and should it be true, we will not have the luxury of time to spend in long study of the problem ere we act.99 upon it, if action is indeed possible. Lord Eru has granted us great powers of help and healing, but there are ills in Ëa that not even all the might of the Valar can fully cure. Go now, and find whatever you can find, as swiftly as you are able.”

Ványalos rose as gracefully as he had seated himself, and bowed to his master. “As you wish, my lord.”

**********

While Ványalos was in conference with Irmo, Frodo woke and began his day. It was well after sunrise, he noted, and it was with some pleasure that he realized he was not only free from any pain or discomfort, but the dreadful anniversary of his wounding at Weathertop was now passed, and with it any need for others to suffer for his well-being. He had just sat up in bed when that fact occurred to him; a moment later, he noticed something more: the things he had brought with him from the Shire were now with him, the few small trunks that had been sent ahead to the Havens settled in a corner between the window and the larger furnishings that had been provided for more permanent storage. He was startled to see them, for they had not been here when he had gone to bed, and he had heard nothing while he slept. He was certain Olórin had some hand in this, though precisely how and to what extent, he did not know. He had mentioned his desire to obtain some of his belongings, especially his clothes, but though his host had said it would be done, he had not said how or when. Frodo was grateful, however, and intended to ask how this had been managed so quickly.

But an opportunity to do so did not immediately present itself. The day before, he had noticed that Olórin seemed to share a habit of his own, that of closing the door to his sleeping room when it was in use and leaving it ajar or fully open when it was not. When he emerged from his own room, the hobbit saw that the door in question was shut, and thus could only presume the Maia was either asleep, meditating, or for some other reason wished to have privacy. He made no attempt to interrupt him, not even to look in and see if he was asleep, for he had taken to heart the claims both Ványalos and Olórin himself had made concerning his own need for rest and healing, even though he had begun to understand that Maia notions of what constituted rest were nearer to those of the Elves than the mortals. Besides, he was rather looking forward to the thought of preparing breakfast on his own, as he had had little opportunity since Sam and Rose had moved into Bag End. If he was going to make good on his promise to instruct Ványalos in hobbit culinary arts, he felt he should at least make certain he hadn't grown too rusty to be an adequate teacher.

After he had bathed and finally changed into fresh clothing — reminding himself to ask after local laundering methods, since he was certain the number of days he would be staying here were likely to far exceed the changes of clothing he had brought — he searched the pantries to decide what he wanted for breakfast. His choices made, he set about preparing it, humming to himself one of the many new tunes he had heard the night before. He smiled at the memories it awakened.

When he had gone out to the porch to greet the gathering neighbors — who were, to him, a remarkable mixture of Elves and Maiar, some very strikingly different in appearance and form, others astonishingly similar — he had found them in the midst of preparing for the meal. It had reminded Frodo of his first meeting with Gildor and the Elves in the woods of the Shire: thick carpets of beautiful craft spread out over the grass for the participants to sit upon, containers of many lovely and unusual shapes and sizes and colors filled with food and drink of most delectable fragrance. Utensils were set at hand along with other necessities, and when they were done, he had stepped down to join them just as the sun touched the far horizon and swiftly began to sink beneath the hills.

That was when he had first heard the song, a melody that though strange sounded yet familiar. The Elves were the ones singing it, and though the tune was unknown to him, very quickly, he began to recognize the words:

A Elbereth Gilthoniel, silivren penna míriel...

They sang it once using the words with which Frodo was familiar, but to a melody very unlike that which he had heard time and again in Middle-earth: not in a somber key, filled with the Elven longing for the West from which they had been sundered, but in one of reverent remembrance for times that were now in their past. They then sang a new verse, still with reverence but with greater joy, the words too complex for Frodo to quite grasp fully, though he perceived that they sang of their love for the home they had regained, and their honor of the Valar who had granted their return.

As the colors of the sunset painted the skies with a palette of brilliant artistry, new voices took up another song, in words Frodo had not been able to understand at all. It was the strange tongue he had heard used by the Valar in the Máhanaxar; the blend of its peculiar sounds with the beauty of the voices singing it was almost too unearthly to bear. Frodo supposed that one could grow accustomed to it, given time, but it was not, he suspected, a language meant to be often heard by the ears of lesser beings. It was beauty of a sort so powerful that it was painful to those not meant to bear it, and it had not lasted for long. After a single brief verse, the song had shifted into the language of the Elves, and though Frodo could not understand all of it, he grasped enough to know that it was a paean of thanks and praise offered to Eru Ilúvatar by His servants, the Maiar. At length, as the swift sunset faded and the stars began to kindle in the skies, the Elves took up their song again while the Maiar continued their own, and the blending of the melodies was so perfect, it brought tears to the hobbit's eyes.

It was only as the music was drawing to a close that Frodo noticed that Olórin had joined them, and was singing with his people. Frodo had not been able to keep himself from staring, for though he had heard Gandalf sing from time to time, the voice he had as Olórin was not that of a Man, but a Maia, still deep and resonant, but without the gruffness or breathiness of mortal singing. He'd realized he had been gawking only when Olórin looked down at him and smiled, the brightness in his eyes expressing the laughter his voice could not, for the moment. It was not meant to mock, however, and had the effect of stirring Frodo from his startled state soon enough to join the Elves in singing the last line of their song, which he had heard repeated often enough to render accurately.

The sudden silence that followed was almost more stunning than the music; it lasted until the last glimmer of sunset was gone, and the skies were bright with stars. All the visitors had seemed to stir at once, then, talking, laughing, and kindling lamps to provide extra light for the clearing. Throughout the remainder of the evening, the others came and introduced themselves to Frodo, offering him many words of welcome as well as praise. The hobbit might have found it quite embarrassingly intolerable, had he been alone in receiving such attention, but Olórin had been made to share in it as well, as his friends and neighbors were equally eager to welcome him home after his long absence.

Somewhere during the course of things, Frodo had noticed that his old friend had chosen attire scarcely more elaborate than his sleep tunic, a robe of simple silver-gray linen belted with a plain blue cord; he had left the crystal circlet behind, and had chosen no other adornments. It did not seem at all out of place to Frodo, since the others who had gathered for the meal were by and large no more ostentatious in their dress, save for some who favored brighter colors. Even they did not feel wrong, for they were bright after the fashion of flowers in the fields and hues of the rainbow, not garish or in poor taste. What had actually surprised the hobbit were the many modes of dress these folk had chosen, some very Elven, some very Mannish, several almost Dwarvish, others in styles he could not place, even a few that appeared almost Hobbitish. He wondered at that for a little while, but at length decided it was nothing more than a reflection of Aman itself, a place that held in its vast length and breadth something of all the world, but unspoiled, unmarred. He gave it no further thought, and enjoyed as much as he could of the remaining evening, until weariness finally caught up with him and sent him off to sleep.

He remembered lying in his bed listening to the voices in the clearing, still talking and singing softly; he had no notion how long they continued, for he had fallen asleep to that pleasant murmur of beautiful voices, soothed rather than disturbed by it. Olórin had remained behind to see to the departure of his guests, and Frodo presumed that he had retired after they had gone. He had no notion of precisely when that might have been, but given how Ványalos and several of the other Maiar had treated the Istar during the evening, the hobbit was reasonably certain they would not have stayed much longer. They were all apparently of the opinion that a two-thousand year sojourn in a mortal body was not something from which one recovered in only a day, and had been quite diligent in making certain Olórin had no opportunity to tax himself and in reminding him that Frodo was not the only resident of this house in need of recuperative rest. They had all been ever so polite about it, but their behavior had elicited more than a few half-hidden laughs from the halfling, who remembered quite clearly how insistent and fussy a certain old wizard had been in seeing to the well-being of injured or exhausted friends.

He smiled again at the memories, both new and old, as he finished preparing his breakfast, still humming to himself. He had just arranged it on the table and was about to settle down to eat when the sound of a soft but merry chuckle interrupted. “I have heard it said by some of my people that the Elves wrote that particular tune with the express intent of designing a melody one simply cannot get out of one's mind. Legend has it that the composer was quite dismayed when he found that my people have no trouble at all dismissing it, and only his own folk were bothered in that fashion — so much so that they supposedly forbad him to write any new tunes for at least another Age. I have no notion if the tale is at all true, but it would seem that the song had its reputed effect on you. And good morning, Frodo, I trust you slept well.”

“Yes, very well, thank you,” the hobbit answered politely after recovering from his initial moment of surprise. Olórin was standing in the open arch between the kitchen and the central hall, hands busily plaiting a portion of his damp pale hair above and behind his right ear, as he had already done to the other side, to keep it back and out of his face. His garb was much like that of the previous evening, a plain robe of unadorned white homespun that fell half a foot short of his ankles, with a narrow gray belt and light shoes of matching hue. “And good morning to you, too. I must have been more distracted than I thought. I didn't hear any sound of water in the bathing room, and when I've used it, it seemed to echo rather noticeably.”

“You heard no noise from the room because I did not use it,” the Maia admitted. “You were already there when I woke, and the fall of the stream in the back is adequate for such things, if somewhat cool. A benefit this morning, to be truthful, since I was up somewhat longer than I had initially planned.”

As he took his seat at the table, Frodo glanced back at Olórin to study him more closely, and frowned at what he saw. Though weariness did not show on the Ainur in the same ways as it did on mortals, an odd translucence to his skin and a strange dullness to his ordinarily bright eyes betrayed him. “You said that you would rest after the guests had gone,” he reminded the wizard. “Surely you didn't deliberately delay them to avoid keeping your promise. I heard you admit more than once that you still need rest to recover from all you endured during these last two thousand years.”

“I did, and I still do admit it. I did not delay them, though a few seemed inclined to tarry for a bit. And I did intend to rest, but once I was alone, I found that I couldn't. I did not want to take any risk that you would suddenly waken to pain and terrible nightmares, so....” He shrugged, clearly chagrined.

Frodo was appalled. “You stayed awake until dawn? Olórin...!”

The Maia waved his hands to ward off the protest, finished dealing with his hair. “I know, I know, I did make a promise — and I also did mean to keep it, but I simply couldn't. I tried, but rest of any kind refused to come until I was absolutely certain any danger to you was passed. I was not wounded as you were, Frodo; my need for recovery is truly no more serious than you might require if you had had a great deal of very hard work to do with little or no chance to sleep and regain your strength. I did not consider one night of delaying my own healing too great a price to pay to make certain yours could progress and not be set back by the lingering poisons from the Enemy's blade. I am sorry if you feel I have violated your trust in me, but once the dawn had broken, I assure you I went straight into the deepest sleep possible. I do not enjoy reneging on any promise I make, however casual, but I would have felt far more guilty of betrayal had I fallen asleep and you suffered unpleasant consequences because of it.”

The hobbit considered what he had been told, weighing it against the honesty he could hear in Olórin's voice and see in his face; he relented with a nod. “I do understand, I would likely have done the same, in your position. When one is worried and cannot sleep, there isn't much to be done for it but wait until the worry passes and sleep comes. Will you at least try to rest later? Ványalos plans to visit.103 this afternoon to learn about hobbit customs of food and drink, and I daresay you can't be very interested in hearing or watching something you've seen and heard uncounted times before.”

Olórin laughed gently, fetching a second cup to share a bit of the tea Frodo had brewed, though he politely refused the offered meal. “Quite true,” he confessed as he settled into the chair opposite Frodo's. “My plans for the day are not overly strenuous, I assure you. I intend to check on Shadowfax to see how he is faring. He has spent his time since our arrival in the Great Meadow west of this part of the hill country, where other horses make their homes. The grass and water are sweet there, and there is plenty of open country for them to roam without straying too far from the homes of the friends who are their riders. Ványalos and some of the other messengers for the Valar have steeds there, and I'm sure Shadowfax will enjoy their company more than loitering about here in the woodland. But I would like him to know that I have not forgotten him! It is not far, and the walk will not tire me. After that, I plan to speak with Bilbo at Elrond's house in Tirion, to make arrangements for his visit, if he is willing to come. And from what Ványalos said before departing last night, there is a possibility Lord Irmo and Lady Estë may come to confer with you this evening.”

Frodo swallowed the piece of bread in his mouth before speaking, though his eyes widened before he could. “You plan to ride all the way to Tirion and back before this evening? Or were you intending to leave me to my own devices when the Lord and Lady visit?”

Olórin smiled over the rim of his cup. “They may indeed prefer that I do, but no, I had not. Riding from here to Tirion and back would take a full day, even at Shadowfax's best speed. There are ways in which I can speak with Bilbo without traveling so far on horseback. If my strength in general were greater, I would simply go there as my people do, but that, I fear, is not really wise for me, at the moment. One loses some strength each time one changes or sheds or adopts a fana, and for a time, I think I should remain as I am.”

The halfling suddenly made a connection he had failed to see before. “That's why the Valar did it for you the day we arrived, isn't it? Because they already knew you shouldn't?”

Olórin nodded. “I have little doubt. At times, they will do things for us out of kindness rather than order us or forbid us because they are aware of more than we ourselves are. I suspect that they deliberately chose to deal with me last of all our company because they were using skills of their own to assess my condition and determine what, if anything, needed to be done or not done in relinquishing the body I had been given and restoring me to my more typical form. And I am certain that is why Lord Manwë was so in favor of your desire to visit my home and stay here in Lórien for a time. After what we have been through together in recent years, he must have felt that you might be better able to persuade me to do things for my own good than my friends and neighbors of old.” He sighed, rather expansively. “I do fear that he was right.”

Frodo sniffed. “Not if last night is any indication. Sitting up until dawn....” He clicked his tongue and shook his head like a sententious old gaffer.

The Maia laughed. “And I accept your well-deserved rebuke, my dear hobbit! Ványalos told me he had chosen to continue to keep watch over you even after I had told him it was no longer necessary, to spare me the effort so I could rest more easily, but all the logic and common sense to the contrary could not stop me from worrying. Fortunately, unless you have been concealing your discomforts much more than you should, such a day should not come round again for several months, in which time the Lord and the Lady of Lórien will have undoubtedly found ways to at least begin more permanent healing for us both. And I will take the time to rest this afternoon, I give you my solemn word.” He grimaced. “I do not enjoy such feelings of weariness, especially now that I have been released from a kind of life that seemed unendingly wearisome.”

Frodo sighed. “I wish that my troubles could be so easily cured, but at least here, I have lost must of the sense of being weighted down and haunted by shadows that was forever troubling me in Middle-earth. Those feelings are still there, but sufficiently diminished so that I feel I can lead a reasonably normal life without too great an effort. Although I will be glad to eventually be rid of them, as much as is possible.”

“Completely, it is to be hoped. And should it turn out to be otherwise, you will ever have friends who will help you endure.”

“As you did yesterday,” the hobbit said quietly. “You and your friends. It astonishes me to think of how readily they accepted me.”

Olórin cocked one pale eyebrow, his smile wry. “And is that any less astonishing than how quickly you appear to have become accustomed to how I have changed?”

Frodo dismissed the difficulty of that effort with a gesture. “That was quite simple, actually, since you haven't really changed at all. You may look different and have a different name, but you're still the same friend I always knew, in all the ways that matter. Just as Aragorn was still the same friend I had come to trust after he was no longer Strider and was the king of Gondor. But your friends here had never before met me, and still they welcomed me and treated me as if I was just like you, a neighbor come home again.”

“Which they very much wanted you to be. So little that is new comes to these lands, the people are ready to greet it whenever it does, with generosity and open arms. If they offer friendship or food or help or anything at all, it is because they truly wish to. You have already begun to make good friends here, and Ványalos not the least of them. He agreed to help you yesterday out of friendship for me and curiosity about you, but it was for his your sake only that he continued to offer his aid. He can learn much about another person very quickly, and what he learned about you during your first conversation told him that he wished to number you among his friends. So have others decided; thus, you need not worry about confining yourself to this house if I am not able to guide you.”

“I had wondered if it would be better if I didn't wander about alone. This place is so much like the Shire, I feel as if I couldn't get lost if I tried, but I'm sure I would find out only too quickly how wrong that assumption is if I attempted to off alone. And I do want to have a chance to explore more of this place, without being a bother to you all the time.”

The Maia set down his empty cup. “You are never a bother, dear Frodo, of that you may rest assured. If you would like to begin your explorations sooner rather than later, you may come with me to the Meadow, if you wish.”

As the hobbit considered the offer, he glanced out the window to find the sun and estimate the time. It was clearly late morning, for the shadows were short and the light brilliant. He shook his head. “No, I'd better not. Ványalos said he'd be along after his appointment with Lord Irmo this morning, and he didn't expect to be long about it. After what he did for me yesterday, the least I can do is be here when he arrives. You won't mind if I don't come?”

“Not at all,” Olórin said, rising. “There will be time enough later, and while it might be entertaining for you to watch me attempt to chase after Shadowfax if he's in a playful mood, I would rather spare myself the public embarrassment!”