XI

Ványalos had arrived just as Olórin was leaving to head for the Great Meadow. He had seen Shadowfax in the Máhanaxar and knew that he was now with the local horses who made their homes in the open grassland. Since the Istar was not planning any journeys that day, Ványalos bid him a pleasant walk to the meadow, and settled down to his business with Frodo.

Much of what they did was talk, about hobbits in general and of their various customs and practices and habits and preferences, which were many and remarkably varied, to the red-haired Maia's point of view. He in turn answered some of Frodo's questions about other local customs, not merely about food, its preparation and its acquisition, but other mundane matters, such as the cleaning of clothing and how they managed the remarkable miracle of bringing water — heated water in particular — directly into the house. Frodo was fascinated by the explanation of how certain springs naturally produced hot water rather than cold, and how Aulë and some of his more clever people had long ago devised methods to deliver it wherever they wished, largely for the convenience of the Elves, but also to build some of the magnificent fountains Frodo had seen not only in Lórien, but also in Valmar and Tirion. And Ványalos for his part was equally astonished by Frodo's descriptions of such things as hobbit birthday traditions, and particularly the complex schedule of meals that was a part of everyday hobbit life, seemingly vastly out of proportion to their diminutive size. In matters of actual preferences, there were a remarkable number of similarities between the tastes of residents of Aman and Endorë, although Frodo had already noted that meat was not a staple of the diet here.

The Maia explained that difference while they cleaned up the mess they had made of the kitchen so that Frodo could show his guest how the Bagginses made one of his favorite simple tea breads, using dried fruits and honey, a variety he had not seen thus far among local victuals. “When one can communicate with the lesser creatures,” Ványalos told him as he brushed the crumbs of their snack off the table at which they had eaten and the sideboard where they had made preparations, “one finds it quite difficult to take their lives for food. Not all our people are as skilled in such speech as others, but since we eat for pleasure and not out of necessity, we have generally avoided such things.”

Frodo considered that notion as he washed out the bowls and utensils that had been used in the cooking. He shivered. “No, I suppose it would be like killing a friend to eat them. I never could do such things for myself, and every now and again, I'd think about it while eating and lose my appetite. Bilbo said it was because I had too vivid an imagination, and I suppose he was right. But I don't think I'll miss it terribly; I certainly haven't thus far. But if what you say is true, I'm a bit confused. I certainly recall seeing Olórin eat meat from time to time when he was living as Gandalf in Middle-earth, although I don't believe he ever ate very much of it. If he feels the way you do — and I would imagine he does, given how I know for a fact that he understands quite a bit about the speech of many different animals, and did even when he lived among us — why would he do that?”

Ványalos shrugged. “Most likely because he was sent in the body of a living Man of flesh and blood, and though the notion may seem somewhat repugnant to us who do not need such things to sustain us, Lord Eru fashioned Men to require certain things to live. I am not sure, as I am not familiar with that portion of His thought, but I have suspected, at times, that He did not necessarily mean for them to be most easily obtained through the consumption of meat, but that it was a manifestation of Melkor's taint upon Arda that distorted and perverted the olvar and kelvar of Middle-earth so that it would become necessary for the Second-born to kill in order to live and thrive properly. The Eldar awoke during a time when Melkor's poisons had not spread so widely, so they were spared much of this. But it was decided that since the coming Age was to begin the ascendancy of Men, the Istari should be sent in that form, not as Elves, for the results of their work would most profoundly influence the world of mortals, not immortals. Their bodies were real, and thus so were their needs.”

He chuckled wryly as he tossed the crumbs out a nearby window for the birds to feast upon. “I can well imagine the quandary this must have caused for some of them, especially Aiwendil and Alatar! Of the Istari, they were ever the closest to the lesser creatures of the world, and discovering such a craving in their new forms, however mild it might be, must have come as a dreadful shock to them. Olórin doubtless was also disturbed by these conflicting urges, the needs of the mortal shell at odds with feelings that have so long been in his heart, he could not have entirely forgotten them, no matter how dimmed and confused his memories may have been.”

“That would explain a great deal,” Frodo said after reflecting on what the Maia had said and upon his own memories. “I suppose then that he simply accepted what food was offered to him out of politeness, or because he was hungry and had no other choice. He did tell me that unlike here, eating was not a choice for him and the other wizards in Middle-earth; it was as much a necessity for them as it was for us.”

Ványalos confirmed it. “And if your people took such great delight in the necessity that you devised as many different ways of fulfilling it as you've described to me, I believe I can understand why he would have sought out your land, above and beyond its resemblance to this part of fair Lórien.” He picked up the remains of the slice of bread he had been eating earlier, and held it up to study it as one might a work of fine art. “It's remarkable how you can take simple ingredients such as flour and milk and fruit and honey, and make something quite delectable of it. The Elves have wonderful foods of their own, and they are delicious and satisfying in their own ways, but I think there is a greater... earthiness, if you will, to those of your folk, if this is any sample.”

“Is that good or bad?” Frodo wondered.

“Oh, good, most definitely,” he was assured. “If naught else, it offers whole new areas of edible wonders to be explored and enjoyed. Even here in Aman, variety is appreciated — especially here, where change is very slow and all too infrequent.”

“It doesn't seem at all that way to me,” Frodo said as he removed the cleaned dishes from the sink and watched the small ripples on the surface of the remarkably warm water still inside the basin. “I feel as if so many things have changed in little more than the blink of an eye. Not just the way Olórin changed, but other things. Bilbo, for one. The last time I saw him in Rivendell, he spent most of his time sleeping, and he was much the same on the ride from the Shire to the Havens. It was the same for the first few days aboard the ship, then he suddenly seemed to wake up, as if he'd done enough sleeping and was ready to start doing things again. And after we arrived, he was much more the way I'd known him before he left the Shire.”

He looked up at the Maia, who had taken up the task of drying the just-washed items. “I wasn't really quite sure what to expect when we finally reached Aman. I knew that the others felt I would be able to find healing and rest that I couldn't in Middle-earth, but I hadn't thought I would begin to find it so quickly! Is it just the power of this place, or is there more to it, as you and Olórin deliberately helped me yesterday so I would not feel the horrible pain of my old wounds?”

“Some of both,” Ványalos said quite honestly. “The aid you need is more abundantly found here in Lórien, because of the presence of its Lord and Lady, and they are lending you support to help you prepare for your healing, much as Olórin and I did. Do not worry that they are suffering for your sake; such succor is a part of what they are and a portion of their purpose in this world. Olórin will doubtless continue to watch after you because of his affection for you, though I intend to make certain he does not neglect his own needs for recovery. And your own desire to be healed is helping you as well.”

The hobbit's dark eyes widened. “Really? I hadn't thought that possible, not after the last two years. I wanted to recover very badly, but nothing seemed to help.”

Ványalos smiled, sadly. “Another manifestation of Melkor's taint upon Endorë, I fear. All life there decays and fades, and even the strongest of spirits can be wounded too deeply for any cure to avail it. Aman is the only remnant of Arda unmarred by his evil, and here, the power and vigor of our hearts and our minds can work seeming miracles. Lord Irmo and Lady Estë are not familiar with the unique ways and frailties of mortal bodies and spirits, which is why they wish to speak with you before deciding upon which course of healing to take, and it is hoped that Olórin will be able to help them reach a better understanding more quickly, for of all our people who remain here in Aman, only he has actually lived as a mortal. Even Melian has no knowledge of this, for she took the form of an Elf to wed Elwë, and it was of her own choosing and making, not given to her by Lord Eru, as were the Istari's.”

“But Olórin was never mortal,” Frodo felt constrained to point out as he stepped back to the table to collect the plates and cups and other things they had used in sharing their snack. “No mortal has ever lived for two thousand years, and not changed appreciably in all that time.”

“Perhaps not, but still, it was a very different life than any of our kind have ever lived. We comprehend the ways in which your bodies function, and why they require certain things, such as food and sleep, but knowing it and actually experiencing it as you do, as the necessities of life, are wholly separate things. I know that you must eat things which provide you with sustenance, that you must drink water, breathe air, sleep, give work to your limbs and muscles to keep them fit — but I truly have not the slightest idea of how doing these things would make my life any different than if I did not do them. We do not grow sick, our fanar are not easily brought to any harm, we do not hunger or thirst or feel pain and exhaustion as you do, yet we desire very much to help you be healed of the hurts that were done to you. Who better to help us understand what you need to recover, and to help you understand what you yourself must do than someone who understands both our kind of life, and yours?”

“That's true. But I hardly feel as if I need healing, anymore. I suppose it's just the relief of knowing I didn't have to live through another horrible sixth of October, and finally being in a place where I don't have to worry about ruining other people's lives with my troubles. Although it does seem as if a good many people are putting themselves out for my sake....”

Ványalos laughed merrily. “Nonsense. If you listen to Lord Irmo and half of Lórien, I could do with being put out for the sake of others a bit more often, and in any case, it is why we came to Arda: to help it be shaped and grow and become the world of which we — and Lord Eru — sang. All of us, even the Valar, are here to serve, not only the will of Eru, but His children for whom the world was made. You are not a bother to any of us, Frodo. Your coming here has given us a purpose, and one, perhaps, that we can fulfill without making mistakes in our haste to do good.”

Frodo rinsed the last of the dishes just as Ványalos finished his task with the others; he paused to give the Maia a puzzled glance. “What do you mean?”

Ványalos began to explain, but was interrupted by noises from the clearing outside, the pounding of horse hoofs approaching at a dauntless pace. As that rolling thunder slowed, it was followed by a neigh that fairly shook the rafters of the kitchen. Ványalos smiled crookedly. “It sounds as if Olórin has finally returned, and that his desire for haste was not entirely appreciated.”

“Or perhaps the need to stop so soon,” Frodo speculated, amused. “I have only ridden on Shadowfax once, but it seems to me that he was born to run far and fast, and is a little disappointed when the journey is over.”

“I should like to meet this fine creature,” Ványalos said, putting away the last of the dishes as he finished drying it. “As I was serving in the Máhanaxar during the festival, I did not have the opportunity to more than glimpse him before other duties called me away, then and for the remainder of the day. Perhaps if we move swiftly, we may have a chance to do so before Olórin dismisses him and he goes off running again.”

Shadowfax, however, had not departed by the time they joined him in the clearing before the house; both hobbit and Maia were surprised to see that he was alone. Frodo was perplexed, Ványalos amused. “So, did you challenge your master to a race and arrive as the victor?” he asked the great gray horse, half-laughing. Shadowfax was restless, and when he answered with what could only be a shake of his great head, the smile faded from the Maia's face.

Frodo saw the motion as well, and knew it for the reply it was. “He understands what you say,” the halfling explained, “much more than any other horse or pony I have ever known. I was told this is one of the things that set the Mearas apart from others of their kind. Did Olórin send you, Shadowfax?” he asked politely, trying to find the answer to this riddle.

Again, the horse shook his head, then, carefully, lowered it to Frodo's arm and ever so gently caught a bit of the fabric of his sleeve in his teeth and tugged.

Ványalos saw what the horse was attempting to communicate. “I am not as skilled in understanding the speech of beasts as he is in understanding ours, but I believe he wishes for you to come with him — or both of us,” he amended when the Meara made motions with his head to both indicate the Maia's correct interpretation, and to include him in the request.

“Then we should go,” Frodo said when Shadowfax bent to indicate that he would carry them. “Olórin must have asked if he would be willing to do this for us, for I have never seen him bear anyone unless they were riding with his master.”

Concern furrowed Ványalos' brow for moment, disappearing quickly before Frodo could notice it. “Then we will go, of course. Such a rare opportunity should not be denied!”

Shadowfax stood still while the tall Maia lifted Frodo onto his back, then nimbly leapt into position behind him, showing no concern for the lack of saddle or bridle. No command needed to be given once they were settled; Shadowfax knew when they were securely in place, and started off, keeping a gentle pace until they cleared the woodland and were in the open fields beyond. He then made a sound that was a warning to those he carried, and now free to move more quickly, he sprang forward with the speed of a storm gale. The wind of his passage carried away any words Frodo or Ványalos might have exchanged, but both marveled at his swiftness, the Maia because he had never before ridden such a steed, and the hobbit because he had never seen the great horse in such apparent need of haste.

He did not have much time to wonder at the cause of it, for they soon reached the Meadow and had crossed it, at last slowing when they approached a copse of trees through which a fast and clear stream wound its way, softly singing. Amid the deepening shadows under the trees and the green of the lush grasses along the banks of the water, Olórin's pale garments and hair gleamed like a pool of light spilled into darkness. But to Frodo's eyes, that light was dimmer than it should have been, and he lay perfectly still, unmoving even as Shadowfax came to halt nearby to let those he carried climb down.

A thousand thoughts flashed through Frodo's mind like the wings of many panicked birds struggling to break free of a cage. One hopeful notion, that Olórin had chosen to rest here rather than at home, bubbled up amid the chaos, but its rise was quickly suppressed when he saw the expression on Ványalos' face as the Maia helped him down. “What happened?” he asked simply, taking what small relief he could find in the fact that no blood appeared to stain his old friend's white clothing.

Ványalos sighed. “If I better understood the speech of horses, I might be able to tell you for certain, for I suspect only Shadowfax was witness to it, and came to us as the only help he knew how to find in a strange new land. But we shall find out soon enough.”

Once Frodo was firmly on his feet, the tall Maia turned quickly, the tail of his braided copper hair whipping about him with the sudden motion. Quickly, he moved to his neighbor's side and knelt beside him. He laid one long-fingered hand across the too-pale brow, studied him intently for some moments with all the senses he possessed; at length, he sighed. “Oh, pityandil, what have you done?”

Something in the tenor of his words sent a chill through Frodo's blood. “Is he hurt or sick?” he asked, his worry deepening into fear for his unconscious friend.

“Not as you would think of such things,” Ványalos replied after another moment of study. “But you have heard many of us tell him that he also is in need of rest and healing, and I fear he may have ignored our warnings, or did not understand how seriously we meant them to be taken, and thus pushed himself beyond the limits of his endurance.”

The halfling swallowed nervously. Over the years of his acquaintance with Gandalf, he had seen him exhausted and occasionally injured, but never so gravely. It disturbed him to see him like this now, after he had been freed of his bonds to a mortal existence. “Is there anything we can do?”

Ványalos considered the question before answering. “I can help him, for now,” he said at last, “but I suspect he needs more than I can give.”

Still watching the unresponsive Istar with concern, Ványalos leaned over him, took his head in his hands, and gently raised it from the bed of grass. Closing his own eyes, he bent forward until their foreheads touched. He said nothing, but held very still for at least a full minute. Neither of the Maiar moved, but as he watched them, Frodo could feel something moving around and between them, a heaviness in the air that felt and tasted like the approach of a summer storm — almost like the crackling skies over Mount Doom, but of a far more wholesome mein. The hobbit could not tell how many minutes had passed before at last, Olórin stirred, inhaling so deeply, his back arched and a gasp escaped his lips. When he released the breath again, his eyes blinked open as he struggled to focus on the world around him.

“Ványalos,” he said faintly as the tall Maia released him and sat straight again, settling back on his heels. “How long have I been here?”

The redhead smiled impishly. “Long enough for Shadowfax to come looking for us to bring you home. A fine beast, Olórin, with far more sense than you seem to have, at the moment.”

“So I have already noticed,” the wizard admitted, still softly. He glanced about and noticed both the horse and Frodo standing nearby, each showing concern in his own way. He frowned. “I must have been asleep much longer than I anticipated, for all of you to be so worried.”

“Not quite long enough for us to have noticed you were overdue,” the hobbit admitted, relieved to see his friend awake again, but still concerned. “What happened?”

Olórin attempted to sit up, an effort that required a bit of assistance to be successfully achieved. “Foolishness on my part, I suspect. I spoke with Elrond and Bilbo in Tirion, and it took considerably longer than I had expected.”

Ványalos favored him with a stern glance. “I trust you did not attempt to actually go to Tirion.”

The fairer head shook. “No,” came the reply as Olórin rubbed his eyes. “I had considered it, but I know I would not have the strength to do so quite yet. I had no notion even this would be so exhausting.” He let his hand fall to his lap; Frodo, shocked, saw that it was trembling. The wizard looked up at Ványalos, his expression saying clearly that he would brook no dissembling. “There is something more wrong with me than the weariness of many years' labor in Middle-earth, Ványalos, and do not deny it. I was not suspicious of it the day we arrived, but as time passes, I can feel it more and more strongly. And I have begun to realize that your eager helpfulness is something more than neighborly concern for an old friend. You have been asked to watch me, haven't you?”

“Yes,” Ványalos confirmed, then hastily added, “but I am no more certain of what is troubling you than you are, pityandil. Lord Irmo asked me to watch over both of you—“ His gesture included Frodo. “—but he was not forthcoming with his reasons for wanting such observations. I have my own suspicions, but I would prefer not to speak of them until I have seen proof to support them. I think it would be best if you discussed this with Lord Irmo himself, and not here. Do you feel strong enough to stay on the back of your horse if I help you mount, and Frodo rides with you to help you remain steady? I would come, but I would prefer to go on ahead and summon Lord Irmo.”

Olórin's smile was as pale as the rest of his face. “Shadowfax will not let me fall, whether I ride alone or not. But I will welcome any company. This weariness is troubling me more with each passing moment, and I fear what might happen if I am left alone.”

Ványalos answered honestly, his normally merry face dark with worry. “So do I. Come now, let me assist you.”

Frodo wondered if the taller Maia would simply pick up his friend and place him on Shadowfax's back, but he had the grace to allow Olórin some semblance of dignity, assisting him first to his feet and then helping him mount the horse, who had moved as close as possible to make the process less difficult for his master. The Istar was quite pale by the time he was settled, and when Ványalos placed Frodo in front of him, the hobbit could feel Olórin trembling from fatigue. He began to mention his concerns, but decided against it before he had more than taken the breath to speak. He could sense somehow that his condition was troubling Olórin far more than he was willing to admit, and he would not add to his friend's discomfort by voicing his own worries. He had relied upon the wizard for support often enough in the past, and he was determined to repay the debt by providing any help Olórin might need now, even if it was merely to give him something to cling to on their way back to the house. When they were both settled, Shadowfax took them out of the glen and across the wide Meadow with such smooth speed, Frodo felt as if they were flying.