XIV

Bilbo's reaction to his first visit to Lórien was very much as predicted: astonishment to discover that any part of Aman so closely resembled the Shire, delight over the prospect of being able to spend as much time here as he wished, still among the various fair folk who inhabited the land, and genial annoyance with both Frodo and Olórin for not telling him about this beforehand. Although Olórin's house was not a hobbit hole, it seemed quite pleasant and homey to Bilbo, who quickly grew comfortable there. By the end of that first day, he was willing to admit he would be quite happy to stay for as long as was necessary and even a bit longer.

During his leisurely trip with Elrond and Celebrían, he had quickly admitted that any fears and misgivings he might have had had been quickly dispelled. The lands of Valinor beyond Eldamar and the city of the Valar were breathtakingly beautiful in many different ways, but in none that Bilbo could not comprehend. It made perfect sense, he had realized, for Aman to be so. It was, after all, the last remaining part of Arda that had not been spoiled by Melkor's hate and madness; in it were all the things of which the Ainur had sung, and that they had labored long to make manifest for the Children of Ilúvatar whose world it was to be. Melkor had tried to destroy them beyond recognition in Middle-earth, but he had not succeeded. Though things were different here, there was nothing Bilbo saw during their journey to Lórien that struck him as wholly unfamiliar. It pleased him, in fact, to know that he had been given the privilege to see even a small portion of the world as it had been meant to be, had evil not tainted and twisted it. And though he was mildly miffed at Olórin — whom he continued to insist upon calling Gandalf, declaring that he was too old to break this lifelong habit — for not being more specific when he had asked him to come, it passed swiftly, as he was too delighted by what he had unexpectedly discovered to remain cross for more than a minute. Several days later, when Elrond and Celebrían continued on to visit Celebrían's friends in other parts of the land, the old hobbit had not even a glimmer of a second thought about staying. Between the familiarity of the countryside, the friendliness of its inhabitants, and no lack of food and drink and song and other creature comforts, Bilbo could not have asked for more to convince him to stay.

Time passed. Frodo tried to keep count of the days, but soon realized that in Aman, there were no schedules kept for work or business that required careful attention to what day of the week it happened to be. The people who lived here were attuned to the rhythms of the land in which they lived, and allowed life to continue at that same pace. By some instinct, they knew when certain days arrived and when it was time for things to be done; other than that, they followed the courses of the sun and the moon, and worried not at all about the count of weeks and months and years. That, Frodo supposed, was one of the distinctions between mortals and immortals, though even those who did not die held each day as a precious gift.

Several months passed by Frodo's count, through what would have been the fall and winter in the Shire, though here, the weather remained comfortable, the only difference in the season being that some of the plants went into a sort of resting phase, in which they stored up strength for the spring, when they would blossom and bear fruit yet again. Their leaves did not fall, nor did the grass fade and the flowers die; new blooms arose in the meadows and woodland floors suited to this season, and the birds did not fly off for the winter. During those months, he became very well acquainted with Estë and Irmo, as he and Olórin were often summoned to their mansions, or were on occasion visited by them. Frodo noticed his own condition slowly improving with the help of the Lord and Lady, and also of Olórin, who had greater knowledge than they of mortal existence and suffering, and was currently very well suited to explain to them the difficulties of leading a mortal life, on many different levels. Irmo's original plan to have the Istar be the one to directly assist Frodo in this healing had been abandoned when it became plain that Olórin's own difficulties were not improving, and were gradually growing worse.

The Maia did not attempt to hide those troubles, nor did he make an issue of them, but on occasion, his frustration, and his fear, was plain to Frodo. A sharp word, an expression of distress, a moment of distant silence — the younger hobbit needed no more than that to understand. Bilbo was not quite so perceptive of such things, but then, his younger cousin had always been more thoughtful and contemplative, as well as more sensitive to those around him. His experience with the Ring had heightened those sensitivities, as for Bilbo it had stretched out his life; Frodo had thought he would never be able to look upon this change as anything but a curse, but now, he was grateful for it. It not only aided him in enduring what was necessary for his own healing, but it helped him to grasp how and when he could best help Olórin to prevent his condition from deteriorating more quickly. He was developing a fine instinct for knowing when was a good time to encourage Bilbo to chatter about things he had discussed with the other residents he met during the evening meals or at the local gathering place during the days, when it would be best to draw the Istar into their conversations or activities, and when it was wise to let him be for a time and allow him privacy.

Bilbo was not wholly unaware of Frodo's machinations, and when he was not too distracted by excitement to pick up on his cousin's cues, he was rather adept in doing what was needed to assist. Life in Lórien had been very kind to the old hobbit, giving him back a considerable amount of his more youthful energy and ability. By no means was he even as fit as he had been when he had left the Shire for good, but he was far more alert and capable than he had been since he had given up the Ring. He was not able to go tramping over hill and field as he had in his younger days, but he was quite up to walking about the most settled part of the hill country, exploring it and getting to know its many fascinating residents — and doing whatever Frodo thought was needed at a particular moment to help their host through this rather trying period.

Olórin was well aware of what both hobbits were doing on his behalf, and neither attempted to thwart it nor begrudged it. He was, in truth, quite grateful for it, as it did what he had hoped and helped him fall back into the patterns of mortal life he had been forced to follow in Middle-earth. From time to time, he acknowledged that he chafed under his restrictions and longed to simply be himself again, but he supposed that life as a Man was now a part of what he was, for he would never be able to forget the two thousand years he had spent in that guise. Even so, the hobbits did not let him completely forget what he had been before that sojourn in Endorë, but they managed to find ways of doing so that did not violate the necessities of his current condition. Bilbo's fascination with songs had not diminished over the years; as he was restored to a more lively state, once he saw the harp and realized that his old friend supposedly knew how to play it, he had pestered him with doubts that he could until Olórin gave up and proved it. In that, the hobbit reminded the wizard of Lindarinë and how he had come to own the harp in the first place. Frodo, who was not quite so insistent but nonetheless supported his ersatz uncle in this curiosity, adroitly played the role Ványalos had taken so many years ago, and thus reminded the Maia that no matter how much his life had changed, some things would forever be the same. His friends would be concerned about his well-being and happiness just as he was concerned for theirs, and he was glad of it.

Even so, all the concern and watchfulness had not improved his declining condition. Though he studiously avoided the use of any abilities that would expend power he could not afford to lose, the simple maintenance of a physical body was enough to cause a slow but steady deterioration. Each day, he tired more easily, each morning he woke apparently restored to full vigor, but it slipped away a bit more quickly as the day wore on. Several months after their arrival, shortly after the time the hobbits would have called Yule back in the Shire, the turning of the year, no solution to the wizard's problem had yet been found, though one discovery was made that concerned not only his condition, but Frodo's as well.

“There was not a simple means to examine this matter,” Irmo told them one day after they had been visited by the dream master and his spouse, the latter of whom had departed to rest after aiding Frodo through another phase of his physical recovery. “You have both been injured by evil, yet you did not confront it in the same fashions, and there appeared, at first glance, to be no commonality between your experiences, unless it be the source of that evil, Sauron and the lingering poisons of Melkor in Endorë. There was one other matter, which I initially dismissed, but as I have pondered and examined the situation, I have come to see that it had more bearing upon these circumstances than I had thought. Why is it, Olórin, that you were able to successfully resist the lure of evil throughout your tenure in Middle-earth, even the lesser lure which Aiwendil felt, that led him astray from his mission and rendered him ineffectual against the enemy he had been sent to oppose?”

The wizard smiled crookedly from where he stood near one of the windows in the central hall, a vantage that looked out over the gardens beyond the veranda. “I have often wondered that myself, my lord,” he admitted. “I know that we were chosen in part because of our different natures and abilities, but also in part because we were deemed to be peers of Sauron, though I have never felt myself to be so. The only explanation for this I have ever been able to devise is that I somehow managed to make fewer mistakes than the others, when it came to errors of judgment, choices that would lead to good or to evil. I have never thought that it was because I was better than the others, or somehow blessed in a way they were not.”

Irmo — who was seated in a most comfortable chair near the cold central hearth, having been fussed over by Bilbo, who could not bear the thought of entertaining such exalted guests without offering them more than an average measure of hobbit hospitality — answered with his own small smile, eyes full of a knowing gleam. “Perhaps you did not, but both were true, in their own ways. Of the others, only you and Aiwendil never held notions of personal gain from your work here in Arda, and worthy though he was, he lacked a certain strength of character which you possess, and which helped you greatly throughout your embassy. And though you did not ask for it, nor did any of us perceive the fullness of its meaning until recently, you were indeed blessed in a way they were not, a way that we now believe had much to do in sparing you a part of the injuries of evil from which the others suffered more greatly.”

Bilbo, sitting near the entrance to the kitchen, seemed puzzled by the Vala's remarks, but after a moment, Frodo, who had taken a seat nearer the back windows, made a soft sound of understanding. “The Elven Ring,” he said, seeing the connection. “Narya. None of the other wizards were given such a thing, were they?”

Irmo shook his head. “They were not. It was not planned for Círdan to make such a gift to any of our messengers, yet he was moved to do so when he first met Olórin, despite the fact that he seemed to be the least of all who came. Though the Elven rings of power were not at all akin to Sauron's Ring in nature and effect, they were nonetheless precious and potent things, capable of a great deal within their natural limits, while their power endured. When we thought to examine this aspect of similarity between the two of you, we spoke with Círdan, to discover, if we could, why he was so moved to surrender his ring to a complete stranger. He said that he had lived long and seen much, and was sometimes able to see farther and deeper into the true heart of another than most people. He is indeed one of the First Born, awakened at Cuiviénen when the world was still in twilight, and his sight is keener than some who were born here in the Bliss of Aman. Yet he also admits that he felt strangely moved in his own heart when he first saw the Gray Messenger, as he did at times when he knew he was being given guidance by Ulmo, lord of the waters. But Ulmo denies any part in this; it was not he who gave such inspiration to Círdan, nor did any other of the Valar. We knew of these rings, of course, and of their purported abilities, but our concern was wholly with the One, that presented great danger to all of Arda. The others were the business of those who owned them, and their fates for their bearers to choose. That Círdan made such a choice was no mere whim, for its giving had far greater results than any of us anticipated.”

Olórin paced toward the hearth, momentarily lost in thought. “He offered it to me for support and comfort, or so he said when he surrendered it,” the Maia said. “It did indeed provide that, if not in the ways and measures I might have wished at times. I often felt as if the power it possessed helped to lighten the burdens I was doomed to carry, so that I would not be crushed beneath their ceaseless weight. That alone gave me hope that my mission would not be in vain. Without it, I fear I would have lost heart as the struggle dragged on. I would not have given up, but I would have felt it more keenly.”

“And there you see the blessing you were given, and the common thread of experience you and Frodo shared. Each of you bore a Ring of Power. Its effect upon a mortal body and spirit was after the nature of the One; it stretched out his life even as it tormented him with its weight and malice. It is the gift of his people to have remarkable resistance to such evils, which allowed him to carry out his task, but he was not unharmed by it. And you, who carried one of the Three unsullied by evil, were by its nature protected from it, not enough to keep evil from ever touching and injuring you as our people are affected by it, but enough to slow the poisons and prevent them from consuming you or subverting your mind and your purposes as they did your fellow Istari. Without Narya, you may yet have returned to us, for your heart and your dedication to the will of Lord Eru is powerful, more so than your fellows, but you would have come back to us far more injured and diminished than you are even now.”

Frodo brightened. “Then would it help if we brought Narya from Valmar?” The ring had not been removed from the body Olórin had left behind, and rested with it still.

But Olórin already knew the answer to that. “No. Its power was all but gone by the time we reached these shores, Frodo. By now, it would have faded completely. It was never meant to be a part of Aman, just as the One Ring was a product and problem of Middle-earth, and was fated to meet its end there.”

“Just so,” Irmo agreed. “We here in Aman were aware of the both the power and potential inherent in these seemingly innocuous creations, but as the Eruhíni were meant to be the inhabitants and governors of Endorë, so too had Sauron bound himself and his own fate to that land, following in the path and desires of his own teacher, Melkor. Had one of these things been sent here while it still wielded power, it would have been refused, for they were all enmeshed in the history, and the future, of Middle-earth and its peoples. Yet Círdan chose to surrender his ring to one who was sent as an emissary of the Valar, moved, I now deem, both by his own heart and the hope — but not the control — of a will greater than his own. For though we wished to protect our messengers however we might, the plans we set into motion did not allow us to interfere so directly. We might turn our thoughts to those who sought our guidance and so aid them, or we might make known to those in critical positions a choice they might consider for the betterment of all. We did not even contemplate showing Círdan the notion that he might choose to offer his ring to one of our servants, yet someone did, or so it now seems. And if it was not one of us, there is but one Will that might have done so.”

Olórin stopped his slow pacing to glance sharply at the dream master. “You believe this was prompted by Lord Eru? Why?”

Irmo's smile became wistfully wry. “Need you ask? You have been in His favor ever since you chose to sacrifice yourself for the sake of your company and its greater mission. This you know, but it would appear that He had some interest in your welfare long ago, and that an interest above and beyond the love He shows to all of us, both of the Ainur and Eruhíni. I cannot say why He did this, or why He chose you and not one of the other Istari. Perhaps there is a destiny awaiting you that none of us can see. Perhaps He wished to be certain that this embassy did not fail, and so gave at least one of your number the possibility of some blessing to help ensure it. Or perhaps your amusing notion that you are the youngest of us is not so amusing after all, but is the truth, for Eru Ilúvatar is the Father of us all, and oft times parents have a special place in their hearts for the last of their children. We are not as the Eruhíni; there will be no more of us than those who were made before the beginning of the world. Thus, it is not unthinkable that if you were indeed the last child of His thought to be born, He holds you dear in a way He does not look upon the rest of us. But I truthfully do not know why. All I know is that it was the power of the ring you were given that helped protect you from even greater injury of the spirit.”

The wizard frowned. “Then I was given an advantage, and the others were not....”

“Perhaps so,” the Vala quickly interrupted. “But I do not think it was given because you were deemed less able to carry out your tasks and thus in need of aid. I believe, actually, that this was done more for Círdan's sake than your own. He had lived many years isolated on the western shores of Endorë. He governed his people well and sent aid when it was needed, but seldom did he himself set foot outside his land after the war with Sauron at the end of the Second Age. He was becoming distant from his brethren in Middle-earth, and needed, I suspect, to begin thinking again of the world that lay beyond the Havens. Your coming moved him to do so, and in giving you Narya, he gave to himself a reason to pay closer attention to the rest of Middle-earth and the events that were threatening to tear it apart. There is much he did after your coming that he might not have done, had he not given Narya into the hands of another whom he felt was wise enough to know how to best make use of its gifts. Do not look upon this turn of events as a confirmation of personal weakness, Olórin. Círdan could have chosen otherwise, but in you he saw the strength to do what he could not: use the ring for the benefit of far more than just a small haven in a growing sea of darkness and despair. That it also protected you was but a minor consequence in comparison. Yet even this small thing caused good where otherwise only greater evil might have happened. Perhaps this information is not useful to your current condition, but it may so be. We must continue to think upon it, to see if it might bear fruit, and enlighten us as to why Frodo's healing is progressing well while yours is not.”

Bilbo snorted — softly, in deference to the Vala's presence. “I don't understand,” he said candidly. “If such a ring protected Gandalf when he was in Middle-earth, couldn't another be made now that would do the same thing? Not make him better, perhaps, but at least stop things from growing worse, and let him live his life in a normal fashion.”

“The skill exists, Master Baggins,” Irmo replied, “but the effort would serve no purpose. Aulë, who has such gifts, has long since regretted how Sauron, who was once of his people, took the skills he learned from the master of all such crafts and perverted it to evil. Devices of power should gain their potency from the blessing of Lord Eru, not the instilling of one's own will. It runs contrary to the purpose of Eru Ilúvatar, and however benevolent the initial intent, the use of such items always exacts a toll upon those who use them — the greater the power, the greater the price paid. You but held the One Ring little used in your possession, yet it left a dark and lasting mark upon you. The power of Nenya kept the land of Lothlórien free from blemish and stain, Vilya made safe and fast the haven of Imladris, but not without cost. The use of the rings' power weighed heavily on those who commanded them, darkening their days with cares and burdens, some of which touched those dearest to them. Such an item could be made here in Aman, but none who understand the true price of power would dare to fashion it.”

The dream master sighed. “There are other things we might do to help, but they also would be temporary, and done too often, would have tragic results. We of the Ainur could support Olórin with our own native power, to free him of the restraints now imposed upon his actions, but it would only be an illusion of healing, which would fade quickly, and it would exact its own terrible price. It would be as if you were to pour water again and again into a broken vessel. It will hold the water for a time, and all seems well, but slowly, it seeps away, leaving the vessel empty. In time, as more water is poured upon the broken shards, it causes what is still whole to crumble utterly, until at last it can no longer contain anything at all and falls to dust. Thus would it be if we of his people attempted to return to Olórin a semblance of the life he should have without healing him of the hurt that was done to him. I would gladly give him my own strength if such a thing could cure him, but it would not be a lasting remedy. He would improve for a time, but as he expended that borrowed strength, none would come to replace it, for the damage that had stolen it would not be repaired. Indeed, at length, what began as an act of pity would but hasten the coming of utter diminishment. None of us wish for this to happen; our desire is to see him made whole again. Do you not also wish this for your friend?”

Bilbo cleared his throat and hedged for a moment. “Well, well now, of course I do, I just didn't understand. I can't quite imagine these injuries you and the others have been talking about, but from what you say, it sounds like what happens with us mortals if we have a wound that festers and instead of cleaning and caring for it properly, we just cover it up and hope that it goes away.”

The Vala nodded. “Very much like that. Those parts of Frodo's wounds that have been troubling him are akin to Olórin's though not quite the same; it is easier for you to understand them because they have left physical scars which you can plainly see. But the deepest part of your kinsman's pain is in the poisons of the spirit evil left behind, and that is the portion most difficult to draw out so that he may be cured.”

“But I am getting better,” Frodo pointed out. “I know it will be a long time before I'm completely free of it, but I've been able to feel myself growing stronger and more at peace with each passing day. Why can't you find at least this much of a cure for Olórin?”

“Because we have never known how to heal a spirit that was injured in this way. The shadow that weakens him is rooted in some way we cannot fathom; it came upon him through no fault of his own, and he does not appear to be clinging to it of his own free will. It is as a leech to his strength, a very elusive one, and we have yet to determine how to pry it away and set him free. But that we will do, Frodo, have no fear. If I must call upon Eru Ilúvatar Himself and beg Him to give me the answer, then that I will do. Olórin has served me well for many years; I owe him more than that for his service.”

“My service was offered without any expectation of reward, Lord Irmo,” Olórin told him, “but I am grateful nonetheless. And I am glad to see that Frodo, and Bilbo, are both benefitting from their stay here in Lórien. Perhaps this is a just payment, for I have spent many more years enjoying life here in Lórien than I likely should have, being a servant of Lord Manwë as I am.”

Irmo gave a surprisingly undignified and skeptical snort as he rose to his feet. “The healing and refreshment of Lórien are free to all who come here, for as long as they need or wish it, and you know that well. Indeed, if we did not offer this to all who visit or dwell in this land, what purpose would my lady and I have here in Aman?” Smiling, he placed one hand on the Maia's shoulder. “Worry not, my counselor and friend, Lord Eru has filled this world with myriad answers to all the questions we could ever think to ask. We will find the one you need, ere long.”

The Istar acknowledged the remark with a gracious nod. “Of that, I no longer have any doubt, since it would seem that Lord Eru has been looking after my welfare for many more years than I had realized.”

He then thanked the dream master for having stayed to tell this news, and saw him to the door. Irmo and the others had long since recognized that it would be impolite to simply vanish in front of one of their own who did not dare to use such abilities. When he returned to the hall, Bilbo was still sitting, a frown puckering his face as he thought furiously over all that had been said; Frodo had risen to collect the empty wine goblets, though he was also thinking.

“Do you really think this offers any new hope?” the younger hobbit asked Olórin as he moved to assist Frodo with the cleaning up. “It does explain some things I'd wondered about, but will it make any difference in helping you get better?”

The wizard shrugged. “I would like to think so, and I did not exaggerate when I told Lord Irmo that I did not doubt a cure could be found. I knew when I was sent back after Moria that Lord Eru had taken interest in my mission, but I had thought it merely a reflection of His approval for what I had done in allowing myself to die so that the rest of you might live and carry on. Some of what He said to me at the time could have implied that His interest was considerably more far reaching, and of earlier origin, but I had thought it quite vain to believe such an interpretation was the truth. Apparently, I was in error, and this does encourage me. But I cannot presume to understand more than the tiniest bit of Lord Eru's plans, or His mind. We must choose our own paths, and though our choices may lead to the wonderful ending He plans for the world, the steps we must take to reach it may be dark and terrible, and full of pain. And we may make the wrong choices, and thus fall forever into darkness. I do not want to meet with such an end, and I will make every effort to avoid it, but I have made mistakes before. If I err now, it is possible there will be no returning from the dark abyss.”

Bilbo harrumphed as he pushed himself out of his chair. “Not if your friends have any say in the matter,” he said bluntly. “If this Lord Ilúvatar is as benevolent as you and the Elves and everyone I've met here have been telling me, I cannot believe He could let something like this happen to you of all people and not lift a finger to prevent it! Oh, yes, I know,” he said, waving his hands to forestall whatever Olórin had been about to say. “He gave everyone a will of their own, and if we make mistakes and choose to do evil or just be a witless fool when we should know better, it's our own fault and we must pay the price for it. That makes perfect sense, and I'm glad to know that all the mean-spirited people I've known who never apologized for any harm they caused will likely get their just rewards in whatever end we all come to.

“But that's just my point, Gandalf! You didn't do anything to warrant the same kind of end as Sauron and those other wizards who turned bad! You did everything you were supposed to do, and more, and if you ever did anything evil to merit such an awful punishment, you've done a splendid job of hiding it. Making mistakes is not wicked; even the Valar have done that from time to time. It shames us when our mistakes hurt others by accident, but no one is perfect. Does Lord Eru make no allowances for that? Or for the fact that you became sick like this because of something beyond your control?”

It was quite likely the most impassioned speech Bilbo had given in many years; both his cousin and his host were startled by it. Frodo somehow managed to find his voice first. “He's right, you know,” the younger hobbit said quietly. “I've thought all these same things time and again since we realized you had been hurt by your life in Middle-earth, and I keep coming round to the same thought over and over again. If Lord Eru approves of all you did and you are in His favor, can't He do anything to help you now? You've more than earned it, more than I earned the privilege of coming here and finding hope and life and health again.”

Olórin was silent for some moments, looking at the goblets he had picked up to carry into the kitchen without actually seeing them. Finally, he let loose a soft breath that shivered with regret. “He could,” he answered, “but that does not mean He will, or must. His plans for the world and all in it are sometimes beyond our understanding. If His will requires us to leave it untimely, we can try to oppose it, but in the end, His will always shall prevail. I have served Him faithfully from the moment He made me, and He is the only parent I have ever known. He created us to be His servants and helpers in the marvelous work of shaping and tending the world and guiding as we could the children He made to live in it. I do not want to meet with an unpleasant end, but if He does ask it of me, should I at the last break faith with Him and refuse to accept my part in His will out of selfish pride?”

Both hobbits saw his point, though neither liked it. Bilbo grumbled, “Well, when you put it that way....”

“No,” Frodo said, reluctantly. “If you were going to do that, you might as well have taken the Ring when I offered it to you and turned straightaway to evil, like Melkor and all his followers. But it still seems quite unfair.”

The Maia nodded. “I agree, it does, which is why I am doing my best to believe that all will be well in the end, even if the road is dark and full of pitfalls. I have walked such ways before. I can do so again, if needs be.”

A disgruntled expression twitched across Frodo's face as he carried the dishes he had collected into the kitchen. “I had been under the impression such things would not be needed again, once we reached the West. I had thought that it had not been spoiled by evil.”

“Not spoiled,” Olórin said as he followed the younger hobbit. “Yet still touched by it. Evil deeds have been done here, and each of us carries the seed of evil within us, in that very freedom of will Lord Eru gave to us. We can refuse to allow it to take root and grow so that we ourselves do not become evil, but even the innocent can suffer at evil's hand. Many who died in the Kinslaying had no evil thought and did no evil deed, yet they were injured and killed by those who had allowed that bitter seed to flourish within them. So long as we have a will and the freedom to use it as we would, we cannot avoid such things. And there will always be innocents who are dealt unwarranted ills through no fault or act of their own. The only place where no evil is suffered is in the Timeless Halls where Lord Eru Himself dwells. Arda will forever have that flaw, for Melkor marred the Music almost from its very beginning. Perhaps someday, after the world is changed, this world will be perfected, but for now, we must make the best of the way it is.”

“Which has always been the way of life,” Bilbo said as he joined them in the kitchen. He scowled good-naturedly at his cousin. “Don't keep encouraging him like this, Frodo, or we'll get nothing from him all day but profound wisdom and gloomy remarks. If this is how you act when you feel encouraged, Gandalf, I shudder to think of how dismal you might be when you are disheartened!”

The wizard laughed, the sound shattering the darkening mood that had been growing about them. “I beg your pardon,” he said, still chuckling. “These are very old habits, I'm afraid, and I shall do my best to avoid falling into them overmuch. If you still had questions about the history of this part of Lórien, Bilbo, perhaps when we are finished here, we can go harass Ványalos about it. The rogue doubtless knows as much as anyone on that account, certainly more than I, and I think it would be quite fair if for once, we went to pester him in his own home rather than suffer his invasion of ours!”

**********

Less than a month after Irmo's visit, in a time Frodo reckoned to be late January, Bilbo went off to visit Glorfindel and his kin for several days. The younger hobbit had let him go, confident that nothing would happen while he was gone that Frodo could not deal with alone, or with the help of their neighbors. Nothing did, not precisely, but one morning, Frodo woke and found Olórin already risen and nowhere to be found. Shadowfax was still in area he had made his paddock and pasture, yet there was no sign of his master, and no note left to say where he had gone.

Frodo tried not to be concerned by this while he made his breakfast, but the oddness of the situation nagged him with one worry he could not banish: what if something had happened during the night to cause Olórin's condition to abruptly change for the worse, hastening it so quickly down that dark path that he had already dwindled to nothing? He repeatedly told himself that such an idea was nonsense, that surely, someone would have sensed such a dire turn approaching. But still, the thoughts would not leave him. He was able to choke down no more than a few bites of his meal, and finally decided that he should go consult Ványalos when he heard the sound of a door opening. For a moment, he feared it was the redhead come to tell him the terrible news, but the fear dissipated when he saw Olórin move past the entrance to the kitchen, headed into the main hall. He breathed a sigh of relief as he pushed away from the table and went after his friend.

“Thank goodness!” he said even before he reached the hall. “I was just about to go find Ványalos to see if he knew what had happened to you. I don't mean to be such a frightful nuisance, but when I saw Shadowfax still here....”

The words still unspoken fell silent in his throat, unspoken, when he entered the hall. Olórin was standing at the window where he had stood on the day Irmo had last come to visit, as still as a guard post, looking out upon the leaf-dappled morning light on the garden. Something about the way he stood had caught Frodo's voice and silenced it, something that seemed at once very unusual and disturbingly familiar. After what seemed the longest of all moments, the Maia spoke, softly.

“It was three years ago, this very day. How strange that it seems an age past now, yet only yesterday. I had fought many battles, faced many enemies before, but I had never imagined a struggle against such a terrible foe. Ten days we fought — ten days! How can it seem as if it lasted but a heartbeat's span, yet continued for an eternity? Never had I felt such exhaustion, such dreadful pain. I did not know one could be both frozen and burned at the once, but so it was, even as we fought in our last desperate stand. I scarce expected a mortal shell could endure such torment for more than a moment, but I discovered the truth, and took ten days in the learning.

“He could have won that battle, if he had simply fled from the depths and not answered any attack I offered. I could not have escaped on my own; I did not know the way, and I could not have found it alone, injured as I already was from the battle above and the long fall engulfed in his fire. But he wanted to crush me, not merely leave me behind to die in the darkness far beneath the earth, nor had he wanted to defeat me in some nameless place where none could see his victory. If he had not been so impatient and eager to attain it in his own way, I would have died far from the sight of any living thing in a nameless sea as cold as the Void, and he could have returned to the world above in triumph. To this day, I do not know how I was able to drag myself out of the icy depths; I was already exhausted, frozen, burned, in pain unlike anything I had ever felt or imagined. I continued the fight only because I knew I must, until either my enemy was defeated, or I was myself slain. I cannot say where I had found the strength to go on, but for ten days I did, and only with the last of all the strength I had left to me was I able to cast him down. When that was spent.... I had thought death something to mourn, something to pity — but I know better, now. It is indeed a gift, a reward to the weary and broken who can go no farther. It is a release from bondage, not cruel punishment. Three years ago this day, I learned that lesson. Did I learn it well enough, or must I be instructed yet again?”

Even though he could tell that the final question was not meant for him to answer, Frodo could sense that Olórin had been speaking to him, though he had not once turned in his direction, nor had his voice raised above that wind-soft murmur. The hobbit did not even try to venture a reply to the rhetorical query. “I didn't know you remembered your fight with the Balrog like this,” he said instead as he stepped farther into the hall, understanding that the Maia had been speaking of that conflict, and of its end, which had been death for both the victor and the defeated. “I thought only I had such dreadful memories that I relived each year. Why did you not say anything of this before?”

“Because it would have served no purpose. I knew that when the time was right, I would return home. I thought I would be able to put it behind me here, let time and distance and healing take the sting from the memories, as they had after my heart was torn apart by Aránayel. And to speak of it to you would have only deepened your pain, for you already had heaped yourself with enough blame for all that happened during the journey of the Ring to the fire. I only spoke of it now because this is the first time since my fall from the Bridge that you and I were in the same place when the day of my death came round again. Unless I were to leave you alone until the day is done, I could not hide this from you, and I have promised not to try. Speaking of it does help, actually, for I know that you understand such inescapable memories and the feelings they stir. I am glad that coming here has been able to help you find some measure of the relief I had thought I would know much more quickly and easily.”

The hobbit frowned. “And that is yet another unfairness, since you were the one who asked leave for me to come here, and this is your home. Can't you ask Ványalos or Lord Irmo or someone to help you the way you helped me the day after we arrived?” It disturbed Frodo to remember that what the Maia had done on that day was quite possibly what had led to the hastening of the weakness that now would not leave him.

Olórin finally turned his face away from the window and looked down at his small friend, a sad smile in his eyes. “Perhaps, but it isn't necessary. My struggle with the Balrog left me burned and frozen and broken, but I was not poisoned by him as you were by Shelob and the Morgul knife, nor maimed in the way Gollum tore the Ring from your hand. The memories are dark, I do not deny it, and they trouble me deeply, but I feel no pain such as you feel from the reawakening of your wounds. You still live in that same body which evil hurt and maimed; mine that suffered so was left behind three years ago, crumbled to dust. We both bear scars that continue to cause us pain and grief, but they are not quite the same, for we are not the same.” The smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I left for a little while this morning to walk in the woods and think, alone, so that when I returned, I could tell you the truth even before you asked what was troubling me. I had expected to return before you woke. I'm sorry if my unexpected absence frightened you.”

Frodo's cheeks colored ever so faintly. “Only because I have a terribly over-active imagination, I'm afraid. After seeing what happened to Saruman when Wormtongue killed him on the very doorstep of Bag End, my mind kept conjuring up images of something of the same sort happening to you, because you'd taken a sudden horrible turn for the worse. You don't look especially well this morning,” he added, raking the taller Maia with a critical eye. Olórin looked paler than usual and tired, a weariness that dimmed the sparkle in his eyes and made his skin seem like the translucent glass of a lamp in which the flame has sunk low and is about to gutter and go out. “Perhaps we should speak to Lord Irmo, or Ványalos, at least. I haven't done much good in trying to help you get well again, but I can at least go to fetch someone who can....”

But the wizard shook his head. “It's not necessary, and you've done as much as anyone else has been able to do — more, in fact, since seeing that you are at last on the mend has done my heart good. I'm tired, my dear Frodo, nothing more. My sleep last night was troubled by unsettling dreams, no doubt because I knew this day was coming, and did not welcome it. You've told me you have always anticipated such anniversaries with dread.”

The hobbit conceded the point. “I did, and I don't suppose it ever helped that when such days arrived, I was in less than the best of health because I had slept so poorly for several nights before. I was fortunate to have Lady Arwen's gem to help me through the most difficult days.” A sudden thought occurred to him, brightening his whole demeanor. “I still have it, you know, though Lady Estë asked me to set it aside when she began my healing in earnest. Might it have some strength in it as Narya did, to protect you? It came from the Elves, and its power has not waned.”

“True, but its power was naught but a pale reflection of even Narya, the least of the three Elven rings. It could not give such protection, though I thank you for offering it. I think it would be best if I simply tried to live the day as I would any other, and neither resist nor invite the troubling memories. There are enough tasks that need to be done that we have been neglecting, and if you would bear me company to attend them, I should require no more than that to keep myself sufficiently distracted. The garden is especially in need of attention, or we will soon have a snarl of unruly growth not even Lady Yavanna could hope to untangle!”

**********

After Frodo cleared away the remains of his breakfast, they set to tending the garden, taking their time about it and sharing lighter tales of their past history with other plant life. Olórin recounted several incidents during his recent life in Middle-earth that had convinced him that cockleburs and nettles were as much a product of Melkor's evil as orcs and trolls, while Frodo told of his more amusing youthful forays into gardening which had been so abysmally unsuccessful, he had been all too easily persuaded by other lads to engage in pilfering the crops of Farmer Maggot rather than continue to murder poor unsuspecting plants under his care. They had been at work for some time and were laughing over Olórin's tale of how he had first discovered the existence of cockleburs after unwittingly making camp after dark in a virtual bed of them, only to wake and find his clothes and hair and beard full of the nuisancy things, when Frodo, about to carry a basket-load of root vegetables to the house, happened to look up and see a shadow pass over the sun. He looked again, more carefully, then gasped.

“It's an eagle,” he said, pointing to the huge bird gliding high overhead. “But see how large it is! Why, I think your friend Gwaihir would seem but a hatchling, beside this one.”

Olórin turned his gaze to where Frodo was pointing, shading his eyes with one slightly dirty hand. “He would indeed,” he agreed. “That is one of the eagles of Lord Manwë, I am not certain which. Doubtless others have been born since I was sent to Middle-earth, and I have not had an opportunity to become familiar with the descendants of those I knew of old, the true eagles and not those of my people who served Lord Manwë in that form. They are seldom seen far beyond the Pelóri, unless he sends them on errands.”

“It's's beautiful. Do you think perhaps he might be going to see Lord Irmo and Lady Estë?”

After a moment, the Maia shook his head. “No, I think perhaps he is coming here. He is already circling to land, and he appears to be headed for the clearing in front of the house.”

The hobbit's eyes widened. He found himself trembling. “Lord Manwë doesn't send them to take people away, does he? Will Shadowfax be frightened of him?” He felt as if he were babbling, asking silly questions, but the words tumbled from his lips, unable to be stopped.

Olórin chuckled as he climbed to his feet. “No, and no. Calm yourself, Frodo. There is no reason whatsoever Lord Manwë would ever banish you from Aman now that you are here, so put that absurd notion from your head before it has a chance to take root. Shadowfax has seen Great Eagles before, if none quite this large, and he has faced the Lord of the Nazgûl without so much as flinching. He will not be bothered by this. But we should go see what is afoot, since the eagles do not come here without some purpose.”

When the reached the front door, however, they did not see the eagle settled on the ground. Instead, they saw a person coming toward the house to meet them, a passenger whom the eagle had swooped down to deposit on the ground before soaring into the skies once again. As the shadow of the great bird's wings passed, Olórin recognized the blue-clad newcomer. “Eönwë! To what do we owe the honor of this visit?”

The tall herald smiled as he climbed the stairs to join them on the porch. He was still a striking figure even without the ceremonial garb in which he had greeted them upon their arrival, though to Frodo's eye, there was a shadow in his expression that had nothing to do with those cast by the eagle or the nearby trees. “Does friendship require an excuse to prompt a visit?” he asked, his glance and smile catching and holding the hobbit as well. “I have been curious to see the results of deeds for which I was partially responsible—“ A sweeping gesture indicated the new house. “—and it has been but a few days less than three years since I last was here, before this place was changed. Will you begrudge me this as a call of courtesy?”

Olórin's answering smile was not dimmed by any shadow; there was the sound of humor in his voice, the raillery of long-time friends jesting in matters with which they are completely at ease. “No indeed, but I note that you came hither in a most unusual fashion! The eagles of the highest peaks of the Pelóri are as large and swift as their ancestors of ancient legend, able to carry many full-clad warriors upon their backs without trouble, but not even they are as swift as the thought that can carry any of our people from one place to another in less than the blink of an eye. Was it but a coincidence that one of Lord Manwë's eagles was bound in this direction for other reasons, and he offered to carry you with him so that he would have company upon the journey? That is not the typical habit of those who are well used to the lonely heights at the very roof of the world.”

Eönwë's smile dimmed to wistfulness as his glance returned to his fellow Maia. “You miss little, my old friend, as ever,” he said softly. “No, it was no coincidence, and my visit is not simply a call to satisfy my curiosity, intrigued though I might be to see what others have wrought, in part at my suggestion. Lord Manwë sent me to ask if you would please come to Ilmarin, for he wishes to speak with you as soon as may be.”

Olórin nodded his understanding. “I am as always his servant, no matter where I happen to reside. I will, of course, obey his command, if I may have but a few moments to clean away the dirt from the garden.”

“There is no need for haste — and this is no command, Olórin. It is our master's request, not a summons. There are matters he desires to discuss with you, but if you do not wish to come, you may refuse, without regret or shame, not matter what your reason.”

The wizard had begun to turn back into the house; something in the herald's voice gave him pause. He studied Eönwë for several lengthy moments before speaking. “As I was told I might do so if I wished, when I was summoned to the Máhanaxar to decide the matter of whether I should return to Middle-earth to complete my unfinished tasks as an Istar? It is not our master's habit to extend social invitations to his servants, save on days of festival and at times when there is clear reason for celebration. I somehow sense that neither of those situations apply today. And never before have I been asked to come to Ilmarin as a guest and not in the service of the Lord and the Lady. What are you not telling me, Eönwë? Do you know what it is Lord Manwë wishes to discuss?”

The eyes of the Istar met those of the Herald, both the same vivid yet deep shade of blue, which they shared with the Vala whom they both served. Eönwë did not look away, but he closed those eyes for a moment before answering, as if he had felt a brief stab of pain. “I know,” he said, “but I am not free to speak of it. It is important, Olórin, that much I can tell you. I would say more if I had not been enjoined against it, and I think you would want to know what you will hear. More than that, I cannot say, except that if he so desires, Master Baggins may come with us, for what will be said might affect him as well.”

Olórin paled. “Then this matter must be important indeed, for never before has any mortal set foot upon the heights of Taniquetil, with or without the leave of Lord Manwë.”

He glanced at Frodo, saw the suddenly troubled expression on the face that had been laughing but a minute before, then pushed aside his own uneasiness and favored the hobbit with a smile that at least appeared genuine. “You are being offered a great honor, Frodo, to be the first of the Second Born to see the magnificence that is Ilmarin. Few of even the greatest of the Eldar are permitted there. You need not come if you do not wish, but I do not think it likely you will be made such an offer again. If you have any desire at all to see the heights of Taniquetil, this is the time to satisfy them.”

Frodo did not need to debate the matter. “Have you decided to go?” he asked. “For if you have, then I will go, too, but if you prefer to stay, then so shall I. I would not feel right, going alone, and doubt I would be welcome to come without you, in any case.”

“Perhaps not, and I would not want you to be robbed of such a unique opportunity merely because I was suffering from a lapse into stubbornness! Very well, Eönwë, we will both come, as soon as we have cleaned away the dust of our work. And I will trust that whatever it is Lord Manwë wishes to discuss, it will not be as grim as your mysterious words seem to forebode.”

The wizard would have felt better about his decision had the herald answered with even the vaguest agreement. But Eönwë remained silent, and Olórin could not dispel the worry that settled upon his heart to both clutch and pierce it like the icy claws of despair.